Considerable Destruction Series (Book 1): Evasion (

by Hernandez, Erica

  “Oh, that sucks.” Rob comes up behind Jose, his kinky afro less receding than Jose’s black waves. “It’s a mess out there, but they’ll be fine. Sam’s with them?”

  “Yeah. This is her thing, ya know?” I shrug, my hands raised in a helpless gesture.

  “That’s right,” Rob agrees, a full head taller than Jose. “We figured with the critical state of affairs, we should all be together despite our separations. Are you okay with that?” Rob is more direct than Jose.

  “I think that makes sense,” I agree.

  “¿Como estás?” Jose asks how I am again. He’s looking at me, probingly, and it’s unnerving. He hasn’t looked at me like that in years.

  ‘Mas o menos,” I shrug. “Es dificil cuando la mitad de mi familia no estan aquí.” I tell him I’m so-so, but it’s difficult with half my family gone. I feel relieved and a little fluttery, wondering what it will be like having him around again. Will we just be friends?

  “How about I check the generator and you could check the fence line. I think we should build a fence around the front, if we can find the wood.” Jose begins organizing with Rob and they head out to the backyard.

  Jose has always had a psychic connection to the dead. He doesn’t like to admit it, nor is he comfortable with it, but he shared it with me. Every time one of his family members in Guatemala dies, he feels it before he gets the news. I wonder if something is telling him we need a fence in front. Thinking about the strange behavior of the unwell, the violence of my client, I figure it makes sense.

  “Sam checked the generator, but maybe it needs a tune up?” I holler after them.

  The girls and I unload the truck. There are boxes of food, their Bug-Out-Bags, and a few garbage bags full of clothes. We set them inside the entryway from the garage. Then we take the food down to the cellar, where we keep root vegetables and whatever doesn’t fit elsewhere. The guys have had a garden and clearly took time to clear the produce. There are root vegetables, beans, squash, cabbage, tomatoes and tomatillos, and hot peppers. I set the perishables aside to take to the kitchen. We’ll have more tomatillos and tomatoes to cook down, but lots will sit in a window to ripen. I used to get really stressed out in the fall with a great harvest, knowing the brunt of the work would fall on my shoulders. It was overwhelming, I didn’t enjoy doing it alone. Now others to help, it’s a social extravaganza.

  I’m back to mincing garlic and peppers with the girls, while the apple sauce cooks. We get the salsa cooking and then Sheba’s at the window, growl-talking, as excited butterflies erupt in my belly.

  “I bet that’s them!” I exclaim, racing to the window with Gracie and Dixie. It’s Jonathan’s car pulling into the driveway.

  “Holy shit! Jonathan’s here!” I’m thrilled to see him, my third son, two years younger than Alex. An unfamiliar woman exits the driver’s seat, as Sheba’s growl changes to a threatening bark. She’s dressed in a white lab coat and surgical mask. She is curvaceous, with curly, copper, shoulder-length hair. I watch her walk around the car, opening the other door. She helps Jonathan, obviously sick, out of the car. He looks a little woozy. I glance around cautiously for street crazies, then rush out to help.

  “He’s got it, hasn’t he?” I ask her, chest aching, realizing this terrible illness has befallen my son.

  “Yes. I figured you’d want him at home. My family is across the country, so I didn’t have anyone who needed me. I grabbed a bag full of meds that might help. There are masks and scrubs you can put on over your clothes to protect yourself from the virus. There are also rubber gloves. Put them on.” She commands an air of authority. “If we can get him through it, he may get delusional or violent, maybe you’ve noticed the mobs?”

  “That’s clear, yes,” I tell her as I grab the bag, layering up with protective gear. “I’m Eliana,” I introduce myself, helping her get Jonathan to the door, trying to refocus my fear with functioning.

  “I’m Katie, nice to meet you,” she says. I realize Jonathan hasn’t said a word. He’s hot, sweating, wobbly. “We need to get him to a bed. He’s pretty feverish, and the hospital isn’t safe. Patients and doctors alike are dropping like flies. Some survive though, so let’s put our heads together and make him one of those.” She gives me a determined look. “He’s always talking about your knowledge of natural healing. What do you recommend? What we’re doing at the hospital doesn’t seem to help at all.”

  “Maybe we should go around the side,” I suggest. “We have a spare bedroom disconnected from the house.”

  “That’s much better. You lead,” She says, following. “If we can keep him quarantined that would be ideal.”

  We head around the side of the house. “It’s bad, huh?” I’m holding back tears.

  “It is,” she agrees, following me. “Over 90% die, but Jon is strong. He might make it.”

  Crying silently, I lead her through the back gate around to where Jose’s shop used to be. It’s a very small room, but it’ll work. I grab the key and open the door for her, opening up the bed so she can lay him in it.

  “This is perfect for quarantining.” She lays him in the bed.

  He’s completely out of it. His eyes are open but he seems unresponsive. “I’ll get him on elderberry syrup and a really strong cold fighter tea,” I start rambling, grief settling in my chest. “We need to get lysine into him and echinacea, some garlic honey and get him into a tepid bath. Are you staying? You’re welcome to join us. We might have to put people in sleeping bags on the floor, but if you don’t mind, we’re happy to have you.”

  “Thank you. I’m not eager to run home and be alone in this. It’d be nice to have a few things from my house, but safety in numbers.” She sits on the bed side and there’s a look in her eye, clearly concerned about him. “Do you have a thermometer handy?”

  “Sure, just a second. I’ll bring that, some elderberry syrup, and a spoon. We should also give him the homeopathic flu medicine and some lysine. Probably slather him with comfrey salve also. Can you spoon feed it to him?”

  She nods. “Absolutely.”

  “I can mix the lysine with jam until he’s awake and can swallow pills. I’ll bring some crushed garlic and honey. We just need to make sure the homeopath is given with 15-20 minutes surrounding it so his mouth is clean. What are the other symptoms besides fever?”

  “Sore throat, congestion, head ache, cough, aches, the usual, just much more severe. Oh, and some get swollen, cracked lips.” She feels his forehead. “Do you have a sink nearby?”

  I nod.

  “Wash your face and any exposed skin well.”

  I just nod again, heading for the back door. I step immediately into the bathroom by the back door. I leave the supplies she handed me, wash my face, my hands in the gloves, grab the thermometer, and look for the supplies in the kitchen.

  Gracie meets me. “Is he sick?” She looks worried. Her forehead is scrunched up and her eyes look teary.

  “Yes, very, but if anyone has a chance at survival, it’s Jonathan,” I reassure her, while grabbing my healing bag. “If you want to see him, you have to wear the scrubs, mask, and gloves in the bag by the back door.” I grab my mortar and pestle, crush the lysine, adding jam. “Could you please start water for tea and make a really strong cold fighter tea?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  I rush back outside to the little bedroom. “How high is his temperature?”

  “Pretty high, 104.3.” She sags. “We should probably give him some aspirin.” She sounds defeated. My chest aches sharply, fear overflowing in tears. “You think he’s going to die.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Many do, but not all. We haven’t tried any of your natural remedies. Do you have other family who are alive?” She looks up then, right into my eyes.

  “Yes.” Just the one word is all I can say, as I stem the flow of tears.

  She looks a little brighter. “Maybe your genes are better, somehow?”

  That makes me think. So far, all my kids are
alive except Rasheen, who died years ago. Maybe genetics are the key.

  “This is comfrey salve. It can be rubbed on his throat, face, forehead, anywhere you can think of to absorb, beating the infection. Here’s the lysine, and the homeopath. I’d probably do the homeopath last but be sure to wait at least 15 minutes, maybe get some water in him first.”

  She takes the comfrey, opening it. “This smells good, nothing like traditional medicine. It will be a pleasure to use!” She begins rubbing it on his face. “Do you have any fever reducer?”

  “Um, probably.” I look up slightly, trying to visualize my medicine cabinet. Then I look at her. “Thanks, it does smell good. Here’s a spoon for the syrup and we’re making strong tea for him. Let me know how well he swallows, okay?” I am torn between wanting to care for him myself and needing to prepare food for everyone. “I’ll go get what we have, probably Tylenol or Ibuprophen.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give him the syrup. Whatever you have is fine.” She looks at me and smiles, attempting to reassure me. I walk back to the main house; my aching chest grabs my attention as my mind jumps from Jonathan’s illness to Eli and Alex still out with Sam and Simon. I breathe deeply while I walk inside to get some traditional medicine, stopping to wash.

  “The tea’s ready,” Gracie tells me as I walk in the kitchen. “Is he going to die, Mom?” She has tears in her eyes too.

  “I hope not,” I tell her, looking straight into her eyes, tears in my own. “Thanks, sweetie, for making the tea.” I reach out to hug her, realizing Jonathan won’t be able to swallow the pill. When she’s ready to let me go, I look in the fridge for some jam to mix with the pills. I grab a cup of tea, add honey to it, carrying both outside again.

  Back in the little bedroom, Katie is petting Jonathan’s hair. She looks up as I walk in. “He’s a brilliant man, your son, I have a great deal of respect for him. He’s going to be a great doctor.” He mumbles incoherently now and then, but remains unresponsive.

  “Thank you. He’s worked hard for this.” I set the medicine and tea on the bedside table. “When he was young and Eli was born, I got really sick with post-partum depression. It was bad. I think it influenced his decision. His older brother, Rasheen was accepted to medical school, but was never able to go.”

  “What happened?” she asks.

  I realize she doesn’t know Rasheen. “He met a gorgeous woman, who turned him onto heroin, and eventually overdosed. He tried so hard to quit. He was just so unhappy.”

  “Oh, my God. That must have been awful for you!” She reaches out for my hand.

  I take her hand, grateful for it. “It shattered my heart…” I look off far away, no longer with her in the room, remembering the first few years when I cried every day, gradually getting through a day without crying seemed like progression. “I’ll never be the same. I’ve grown a great deal since then, but I’d give anything to have him back.”

  “I can’t imagine.” She stands up, taking me in her arms. She seems to understand that the only thing you can offer someone who has suffered a tragic loss is love. “My father died when I was ten. I wasn’t that close to him but it was a terrible shock.”

  “I can’t imagine losing a parent as a young girl.” I rub her back, while she rubs circles on mine.

  We part comfortably. “When he’s had some of these natural medicines, I’ll come help in the kitchen. I’m a good prep cook!” She laughs.

  “I’d be happy to lend you some clothes,” I tell her, returning to the house, washing before working in the kitchen.

  “How’s Jonathan?” Dixie asks.

  “Not good. But we’re doing everything we can for him. How’s the salsa coming? Does it need anything?” I’m trying to distract myself from my concerns for my sons. Jonathan and Katie will need clothes.

  Dixie slides the recipe book over towards me. “We’ve got the garlic, peppers, and lemon in there. How much salt?” She sways her hips, smiling over her shoulder. “Maybe he just needs a jump start!”

  Laughter ensues. That girl is funny like her mother! I grab the calculator and multiply by the number of recipes. “Wow! That’s a lot of salt. Do we have that much?”

  Gracie grabs the back-up salt from the pantry. “Yeah, we have plenty.”

  “We have room in the pot. We should add the stuff Rob and Jose brought over.” I measure, pour it in, and stir. I lift the lids for the apple sauce and stir each one. “These can cook a while. We could fill the dryer since the stove is full. Then we need to start canning stuff.”

  “Let’s do the fruit they brought separately since this stuff is ready,” Dixie suggests. “I’ll get the dryer set up. Is it in the garage?” I nod. She’s practically hops out of the kitchen, her black curls bouncing behind her.

  “You’re right. We’re too close to start adding more ingredients,” I concede. Jonathan and our four missing members nudge at my mind, distracting me. My shoulders and neck are tight with worry.

  “I’m getting guns and knives on our persons before work on the fence,” Rob says, scratching his kinky curls as he strides in from the back door. “The generator is ready for service. Any sign of Sam and the guys?” His worry puts an edge in his voice.

  “No, Jonathan showed up with a friend and he’s sick,” I say, just over a whisper, like a hushed breeze. Rob comes over, hugging me. “He’ll be fine.” He wraps me up in a strong, brotherly embrace. “He’s a strong, young man. He’ll get better.” I appreciate the hug and his kind words, wanting to believe them, true or not. We’re both worried about family and need hugs. We just stand there for a minute, taking solace in our friendship.

  “Okay, I better go help Jose. We’re not going to get all the way around the yard without more wood, but we’re thinking of salvaging from the neighbor’s homes if they are empty or filled with dead. We can extend the yard by taking out the fence sections that divide yards. Then we can use those in the front. How do you feel about that?”

  “That’s okay with me, if those people are gone…” I trail off.

  Katie meets me in the kitchen, “I’ve done all I can for a while. What can I do here?”

  “Hi, I’m Rob.”

  “I’m Katie, nice to meet you. I work with Jonathan at the hospital.”

  “Thanks for bringing him home to us.” Rob makes it clear that we’re family, even though we’re not related.

  “Could you stir the apple sauce.” I point to the pot. “We’ll start canning pretty soon and could use help bringing in jars.”

  Just then Sheba starts whine-growling at the front window. “Oh, my, God, maybe that’s them!” I rush to the window; a strange car pulls into the driveway.

  “Katie, there’s a strange car outside. Do you have a weapon? Guys, stay back.” I grow cold, chest constricted, pulling a knife out of my belt. Then I watch them get out. “Oh my God, they’re here! It’s just a different car.” I open the door, not seeing any threats, and rush outside. Sam is helping Simon out, as he pushes her away.

  Eli is trying to get Alex out, who is obviously injured. I rush to help Eli, hugging him in the process. “What happened?” My gut surges with adrenalin as I look at the bloody bandage on Alex’s head. My stomach drops as tears well up in my eyes.

  “There was a gang of crazy guys throwing rocks,” Eli explains. “We had an accident in Alex’s car and had to take another. We got him bandaged up at the rental but dad wasn’t there. On the way home, some idiot threw something at Simon. And Mom, they have guns! One of them shot at us!”

  I open the door, anger bubbling up which I push aside. “Your dads’ showed up ahead of you. They’re okay.” Katie is there as we walk in. “Katie, this is my son, Eli and this new patient is my other son, Alex. Eli, this is Katie. These are Sam and Simon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Eli, Sam, Simon. I’ll take care of Alex, then I’ll check you.”

  She shakes Eli’s hand, touching Simon’s arm gently, while making eye contact with Sam. She steps into the kitchen to wash her hands. We take Alex to
the couch as she returns to take over. I run to the kitchen to wash my hands, sharing the water with Sam. “Alex looks bad. Do you think he’ll have brain damage?”

  She gives me a quick hug. “I doubt that, sweetie. Scalp wounds bleed more than anything and always look bad. He’ll be fine.” She walks over to Simon, who’s sitting at the table. “Let’s see that arm,” She instructs him.

  “Yeah.” I’m keeping it together.

  “I’ll get the melaleuca, its antibacterial and less caustic than hydrogen peroxide. You have some, don’t you?” Sam is already heading to the bathroom.

  “Of course, but it’s in here, not the bathroom, silly!” I tease her.

  I keep an eye on Simon. “Simon? You’ve lost some blood there. Do you need to lay down?” The bandage looks saturated and he’s looking a little worse for wear, washed out. Just then he begins to slowly collapse, stumbling towards a chair. “Shit!” he exclaims, embarrassed.

  “Bring that bag out of Gracie’s room and put on gloves and a mask,” Katie tells Eli, passing him some from her pocket, amazing me with her efficiency. “I’ll get to Simon next. I think this guy needs to be sewn up. I have supplies in the bag.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll stay here with Simon,” Sam nudges me. I move to help Katie, while waiting for Eli. Eli sets the bag on the table.

  “What do you want first?”

  “Just dump it all on the table next to me.” I see bottles and tubes, one of which she picks up. “Open this and squeeze a dollop on his head.” I do as I’m told, my worry distracted by action.

  “Open a sterile gauze-pad,” she instructs.

  Again, I follow instructions, breathing deeply, beginning to feel nauseous. I can’t lose another child, begins its nasty loop in my head.

  “Pass me a package with a needle.” I see a package, putting on rubber gloves, I hand her the needle with pre-threaded fiber. She sews up his wound in minutes.

  “Eight stitches. That’s a substantial cut!. Now, you can put comfrey on these, and a sterile bandage. I’ll go take care of Simon.” She’s mighty chipper, but it’s not her son. I take over, dashing into the kitchen for the comfrey salve and back to Alex. I put some on, adding a sterile bandage and tape him up.