by Alana Terry
Willow crossed her arms. “I could think of less painful ways to learn patience if you asked me.”
Kennedy glanced around. At least hospitals were interesting places to people-watch if you found yourself stuck in one. Across from her, a toddler in an adult-sized mask was sleeping on his mother’s lap. His legs were curled up until he was no bigger than a beach ball, and his hands were tucked down by his knees. He looked almost cherubic. A middle-aged man was talking to the security guard in front of the ER entrance. Kennedy couldn’t tell if he was animated because he was angry or worried.
She looked behind her. Nipah was one of those diseases that made people contagious a few days before they developed symptoms. How many people weren’t sick now but would be by the end of the week? Would Kennedy be among them? How long was this lockdown going to take?
“So what else does God have to say about this sort of stuff?” Willow asked.
Kennedy had to get used to her roommate taking spiritual matters seriously for a change. “Well, I guess he tells us not to be anxious. Have you read the verse about the birds? He says that not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from God’s will and that we’re worth a lot more in God’s sight than they are.”
“So if we die of some horrific disease, it’s only because God wanted us to?”
Kennedy sighed. “I guess that just about sums it up.”
They were silent for a few minutes before Willow took off her mask. “Can they really keep us here like this?” she asked in a whisper. “I mean, legally and stuff?”
Kennedy shrugged. “I guess if they have a good enough reason.”
Willow shook her head. “This country is so messed up. You know, this whole Nipah virus probably already has some homeopathic cure, but they’re not telling us about it because it doesn’t profit the big corporations. It all comes down to money in the end. Like that couple who nearly got sent to jail because they refused chemo for their son.” She shook her head. “Wicked insane. What do you think?”
The question caught Kennedy off guard. “About chemotherapy?” Her mind was still reeling after her brief encounter with Dominic and the mysterious lockdown. She couldn’t even remember when they started talking about cancer.
“No, about sickness in general. And medicine. I mean, aren’t there a lot of religious folks who deny medical care because they just assume God’s going to heal them and that’s that? Is that in the Bible or something?”
“No, I mean, it’s just ...” Why couldn’t she give a straight answer?
“But what about how Jesus healed so many people in ancient times? Is that something he still can do today? Or does he just leave it up to the doctors and nurses now?”
Kennedy knew Dominic would have a better answer for her. They’d talked about the power of prayer and healing before. Dominic knew a little girl who’d been hit by a drunk driver. The doctors thought she was completely brain-dead, but Dominic and the parents prayed over her, and within a few hours she woke up from her coma and eventually made a full recovery that left the medical community baffled. Of course God could still heal people in miraculous ways, but that still didn’t explain how it worked or how he picked which Christians got divine intervention and which didn’t.
“Well, it’s definitely possible for God to heal someone,” she began, but Willow’s questions compounded too fast before she could answer any of them thoroughly.
“And what about those Christians who say God will cure anyone who has enough faith? Like Cameron Hopewell or whatever his name is, strutting around on TV shouting at people to be healed. Makes it out like if you go to a doctor or something you’re not trusting God enough. Tells diabetics to go off their meds, that sort of thing. Is there something to that?”
“No, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with seeking medical treatment. It’s just ...” Why was she always fumbling her words like this?
“So it’s not wrong to go to a doctor and take medicine.”
“Not at all.”
“But what about the dangerous drugs with all their horrible side effects and things like that? What’s the Bible got to say about those?”
Kennedy didn’t have a ready answer and would be surprised if any of the theologians in her contacts list would fare better on that one. “I guess it’s up to each person to make the choice that seems best to them.” It was a cop-out, but it was all she had to offer.
They were silent for a while longer. Kennedy hadn’t stopped worrying about Carl. She wished she knew what was going on.
Willow had pulled the mask back over her face. She leaned back in her seat and asked, “So what are we supposed to do now?”
“Do?”
“Yeah. You know. Do. It’s a verb. Means take action.”
What did Willow expect? That Kennedy could snap her fingers and bring an end to the lockdown? That she could call up Dominic and tell him she and Willow wanted to go home? “I don’t know.”
“Well, what would your pastor or his wife do if they were out here? What do you think they’re doing right now?”
“I’m sure they’re back there praying together.” Kennedy took a small slice of comfort at the thought of the Lindgrens’ strong faith, but her emotions were clouded by her fears for Carl’s health. Why hadn’t Sandy given her more information? Kennedy should call, but her battery was nearly dead after all those messages she’d delivered to the prayer chain on the way to Providence. She’d seen enough hospital dramas with her mom to know a real quarantine could last several days. How long did it take for Nipah symptoms to develop? Where was her dad’s WebMD recital when she needed it?
“So what is it they’re praying for exactly? Do you just pray you won’t get sick and then everything works out? I feel like a lot more Christians would be healthy if it were that simple.”
Kennedy shook her head. “No, it’s not that simple.” She knew all too well there were some sicknesses you just couldn’t pray away. How it all worked was a mystery to her and would probably remain so until the day she died.
Willow nudged her softly in the ribs. “Ok, so your pastor and his wife are praying. Doesn’t that mean we should be doing it too?”
“Praying for what?”
“You’re the one with all those years of Sunday-school-girl living under your belt. Why don’t you tell me?”
Kennedy glanced around the crowded waiting room. “You want to pray right here? Like just drop our heads and start talking to God?”
She shrugged. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“No. Not really.”
“Then let’s have at it.” Willow folded her hands and bowed her head like she did the night she prayed to be saved.
Kennedy shot one more nervous glance around and then decided if her brand-new baby Christian of a roommate could pray out in public, she could too. She pulled down her mask so she wouldn’t have to feel like she was yelling and took in a deep breath, wondering how to start. How did you pray in a situation like this? What was there to say other than your will be done? Isn’t that what was going to happen anyway? So why pray for anything else? When it came right down to it, why bother to pray at all?
To Kennedy’s surprise, Willow started first. “Dear Jesus, hey thanks so much that we got Woong here in time to see his dad before they locked the doors. We hope that Carl’s just fine. And please tell the hospital folks to let us leave. If people here are sick, we hope that you make them well. I guess that’s all. Amen.”
She looked up and raised an eyebrow at Kennedy. “You gonna pray, too?”
Kennedy unfolded her hands. “No, I think you covered everything.”
Willow frowned. “Felt pretty short.”
“I’m sure it was fine.” She couldn’t explain why her throat had chosen now of all times to threaten to close in on her and cut off her breath. Or why her heart decided to start racing as fast as the police officer had to drive that bus in Speed.
She stood up, thankful that her muscles could still support her weight. She was
dizzy, but she could make it to the bathroom. She grabbed her phone. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in just a sec.”
Willow acted like she was about to stand up. “Where are you going? Something wrong?”
Kennedy held out her hand. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ve just ... I have to pee. I’ll be back soon.”
“Sheesh, woman. You’d think you had a bladder the size of a ping-pong ball.”
Kennedy didn’t reply. She just hoped she’d make it to the bathroom before panic took complete control over her body.
Panting, choking, half-sobbing, she floundered almost blindly into the restroom. She sank onto one of the toilets, too paralyzed to even worry about germs. She fumbled with her phone, praying she wouldn’t drop it into the bowl.
Please be there. Please be there.
She didn’t bother to think about what time it might be right now in Yanji. There was only one voice she needed to hear.
“Kennedy? Everything all right?”
She sniffed loudly, thankful there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom with her.
“Daddy?” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care.
“What is it, princess? What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip, praying for her cell phone to hold its charge for at least a few more minutes.
“What’s wrong?” her dad repeated.
“You watching the news?” she asked in a shaky whisper.
“I’ve got Channel 2 up right here. Looks like there’s something happening over at one of the hospitals. Providence? Is that near you?”
Snot dribbled down her nose. Tears raced down her cheeks. Her breath caught twice before she could hiccup out the next words.
“I’m here, Dad. I’m at the hospital right now. I’m in the middle of a lockdown.”
CHAPTER 11
“Kennedy. Princess.” Her father’s voice was authoritative. Not a trace of panic. Not a trace of impatience as Kennedy wheezed and choked and tried desperately to keep from suffocating in the cramped bathroom stall. “Where are you right now? Where exactly?”
“In the bathroom,” she managed to reply.
“Not good enough. What part of the hospital are you in?”
“The ER.”
“What are you doing there?” Her dad spoke to her as if she were a preschooler practicing her animal sounds. And what does the cow say?
She sniffed. Something about her dad’s authoritative tone grounded her. She tried to cling to whatever strength he was offering her from the other side of the planet. “Carl ... Something was wrong with Carl. Sandy called and said I should bring Woong here to see him.”
“And what are Carl’s symptoms? Does he have a fever? Swelling in the brain? Aches?”
“I don’t know.” Kennedy wiped her nose on a wad of scratchy toilet paper.
“Ok. So where’s Woong? Is he there with you?”
“No. He’s with his parents. We were just about to leave when they shut the doors.” Her lungs spasmed as she tried to take in a pained breath. “We were just a foot away from the exit.”
“Who’s we?” her dad demanded. “Who are you there with?”
“Willow. I came here with Willow.”
“She’s not sick, is she?”
“No, we’re both fine. But we’re stuck here. And they’re not giving us any answers or telling us when we’ll be able to go.”
“That’s all right.” How could her dad lie to her like that? This was the guy who was freaking out when some unnamed 72-year-old pig farmer in Bangladesh came down with the Nipah virus. He’d freaked out way back then, and now here she was, stuck in a hospital in the middle of an outbreak about to reach the level of global pandemic, and he was telling her she was fine.
“I don’t know what’s going on. They haven’t told us anything.”
“Is it the Nipah?” he asked. “Have you been exposed?”
“I don’t know. I just came here so Woong could be with his dad.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. She couldn’t erase her brain’s projected images of Carl, weak and sick in a faded hospital gown, faintly holding his son’s hand. What was wrong with him? Would he be ok? She could almost endure the thought of being locked here if she knew he was all right.
“What about the other patients in the ER? What kind of symptoms have you seen there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” That’s what made this entire scenario so unbearable. The uncertainty. When would they get released? What if they weren’t sick yet but would catch the disease while they were all shut up in here like the prisoners in Shawshank Redemption?
“Ok. Well, hospitals get locked down for all kinds of reasons. Is it just the ER or the whole thing that’s closed?”
“I think it’s the whole thing.”
“You think?”
She felt the edge of annoyance creep through her veins. Being angry at her dad was preferable to feeling so panicked and terrified. “How should I know? Nobody’s telling us anything.”
“Just calm down. Don’t get so worked up if you can help it.”
Don’t get so worked up. He was the perfect person to tell her that. Mr. The-World-is-Ending. Thanks, Dad. That’s really helpful.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructed.
As if Kennedy weren’t trying.
“Ok, listen to me. If this lockdown has something to do with the Nipah virus, if they’re worried about infection, they’re going to set up triage stations. Figure out who needs to be quarantined, who needs to be isolated, who may or may not have been exposed. That’s what’s going to happen if they think there’s been some sort of outbreak. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know how fast people end up getting sick, right? Perfectly fine and then bam, they’re too sick to walk in half an hour’s time. So you got to stay alert. Keep your eye on all the other patients there. Avoid getting close to anyone.”
“I know.” She wished she’d listened to her dad sooner, wished she hadn’t ignored all his earlier advice.
“And I know Nipah’s scary stuff, but remember it might not be that. There are plenty of other reasons hospitals go into lockdown.”
“Like what?”
“Could be anything. Terrorist attack. Security breach. Armed gunman.”
Did her dad honestly expect any of this information to be helpful?
“What you want to do is stay close to the people you think are in charge. Look around. Position yourself near the ones who are most likely to have the answers. And then just wait it out. Nearly all of these situations get resolved in less than twenty-four hours.”
It was confirmed. Her dad would never be invited to give a motivational speech anywhere.
“Ok.” At least she could breathe a little easier now. At least she knew what to look for. If this was some sort of quarantine, they’d separate them into groups. Isolate the sickest. Keep the healthy from getting exposed.
“Listen. Who do you know that you could call? Someone who might know what’s going on? What about that journalist friend you’ve got? Do you have his number?”
“I don’t remember.” She didn’t want to admit her phone was just a quarter of a bar away from dying. It had already beeped at her once.
“Think of people you know who might be able to tell you what’s going on. Keep your phone right next to you. Don’t waste your charge on games or anything like that. You never know how long this sort of thing will take to get resolved.”
“All right.” She was only listening to his words with half her mental energy. With the rest, she was begging God to keep the phone working until they were through with their conversation.
“I’m going to let you go now, princess. I’ll call my lawyer friend. See if Jefferson knows anything about what’s going on.”
Kennedy couldn’t figure out what information a Worcester attorney would have about a hospital lockdown, but she didn’t ask. Maybe her dad just needed to feel useful. Feel like he was taking some sort of proactive measures.
/> Maybe she was more like him than she cared to admit.
“I love you, baby girl. You know that, right?”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
“You take care now. And save your phone battery. I’ll text you if I find out anything.”
“Ok.”
“Stay safe. Be smart.”
“I will.”
“Ok. Love you.”
“You, too.”
She sniffed and stared at the phone, thankful her battery had lasted through the entire conversation. She should write down her dad’s number before it completely died. That way she could call him on Willow’s phone if she needed to.
God, I just want to get out of here.
At least her breathing had calmed down. She wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. She could do this. Walk back out to Willow. Give a smile. Pretend like everything was ok.
But was that what she should do? If Willow was open with her own struggles and doubts, shouldn’t Kennedy try to be at least somewhat transparent? Then again, it’s not like she was keeping her PTSD a secret. They’d talked about it just a few seconds before the lockdown.
No, Kennedy was doing what she needed to do. Get through the day without turning into a complete mess, a psychological puddle too pathetic to do anything. She just had to keep on functioning. That’s all the victory she could expect at a time like this.
One minute at a time.
She went to the sink and washed her face, studying herself in the mirror to see if her eyes would betray her recent tears.
She jumped when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Kennedy, it’s Dominic.”
He cut her off when she started to ask about a dozen different questions at once.
“Listen to me. Listen very carefully. You might be in danger. You and Willow need to get out of the ER and meet me at the ...”
She pressed the phone harder against her ear as if that would make her hear better. “What? Where’d you go? What did you just say?”