Resonance

by A. J. Scudiere

  She pushed off from the gurney, landing on shaky legs and, using the bed frame, stabilized herself. Another minute. Time to walk.

  Just then she heard a voice. Her reaction time being slow, she was barely able to shield her eyes as the tent flap was thrown in. Because she was facing west, the sunset poured through the open side, illuminating the silhouette of a woman holding back the heavy fabric.

  “Oh my God, Doctor Brookwood! You’re up!”

  “Of course I’m up.” Why wouldn’t she be? Again something niggled at the back of her brain. She knew that voice.

  As the woman approached into the darker portions of the tent, she developed eyes and features. Lucy. Jillian sniffed. She blinked. Hadn’t Lucy died? Well, whoever was keeping the records had done a crappy job. She wondered who else was mis-recorded. Her own family. Jordan’s. She shuddered.

  “Is something wrong?” Lucy tilted her head as if trying to see her more clearly.

  “No. It’s nothing.” But Jillian wondered. She held her tongue, figuring Lucy wouldn’t want to know she’d made the ‘dead’ list. Or maybe she would. “It’s just . . . I thought I saw your name on the ‘deceased’ list. You might want to call your family.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, and turned to a physician who was standing right beside her. The young man shrugged and Lucy turned back to Jillian. “Dr. Brookwood, I’ll check that right out. But if you’ll just sit back, Dr. Lee will take all your vital signs.”

  “Vital signs?” Jillian almost laughed. “Wow. Are y’all getting paranoid?” But she knew what it was like to have a non-compliant patient, so she shrugged out of the left sleeve of her jacket, being careful not to drag the cuff along the IV insertion site on the back of her hand. But she didn’t even scrape it, just continued to question the doctor.

  Her first thought was that he was very intent on listening to her pulse as he took her BP. He didn’t even make eye contact. As though he had never done this before. Her second thought was that he was young. Which was disturbing, because she was considered young to be a practicing physician.

  He stood upright and nodded at her. “It’s all textbook.”

  She smiled, feeling a little condescending, even though she wished it would go away. “I’m always 120 over 80.” He wrote in her chart, having had it thrust out to him by Lucy. And Jillian startled. She hadn’t remembered to pull a single chart this whole time. It was the right protocol but it hadn’t even crossed her mind. And clearly the record keeping was getting screwed up if Lucy Whitman had made the ‘dead’ list.

  But she shook it off. “What’s with the complete set of vitals after a nap? Did it concern you that I slept so long?”

  “Well, it was a long nap.” Lucy looked at her young physician in some side glance that Jillian couldn’t decipher. But she didn’t want to. She hadn’t ever been able to make hide nor hair of Lucy. So she let it be.

  She started out of the tent. “I’m going to go now.” She had to find Jordan, and David. And the more she thought about it, they needed to be in charge of notifying Becky Sorenson’s family, whichever of them had survived. And Leon Peppersmith’s, too. She’d let the person in charge handle the rest. But she felt she owed it to those two families. And she knew Jordan would agree. But as she passed the front entry of the tent the young doctor’s hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. The grip wasn’t harsh, but she also wasn’t going to go anywhere until he decided to release her.

  And that pissed her off. Trying to stay as level-headed as she could, she ground the words out between her teeth. “Would you mind explaining to me why you’re restraining me?”

  She felt the heat flare under her skin as he had the balls to look sheepish. “Oh, I’m not restraining you, doctor.”

  “Then remove your hand.”

  He did, but stepped in front of her. And just as she was about to yell at him, he spoke. Again sounding trite. “I just think it’s important that you understand that you just woke from the coma that you saw so many patients go into.”

  Her muscles relaxed. “Well now, there’s the problem. I was actually out of this coma before any of you were. I woke up first.” She continued even though they were clearly questioning her. Sharing furtive looks as if she were a child. “I went back to sleep because I was exhausted. I had spent so much time hauling people inside and checking them out that I practically passed out.”

  She could see that they didn’t believe her, but she had really ceased to care. They had been busy sleeping their time away, while she had worked herself to the bone. Then the little smartass in the white jacket tried again to stop her from leaving the tent. “Dr. Brookwood . . .”

  “Dr. . .” She read the name on the front of his jacket, since she had forgotten it precisely the moment after Lucy had told her. “Lee.” She’d had enough. “I’m leaving.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  Her teeth clenched again. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the world had dropped dead one by one around her. That Landerly was threatening to name the damn thing after them. This little . . . whatever he was, was trying to restrain her. “I understand that you don’t think that. I don’t care.”

  “As your physician-”

  She didn’t let him get any further than that. “You aren’t my physician. You’ll do well to remember that I am a physician.”

  He opened his mouth and she didn’t let him start, just gave him something to chew on. “I am also your superior.”

  With that he huffed out his breath and turned to Lucy Whitman. “Well, I guess we’ve done what we can.”

  “All right then.” Lucy handed him the chart. “We did the right thing. If she won’t listen then that’s her own fault.” The two of them strolled out of the tent looking like old chums. Like there hadn’t been a fully charged atmosphere just a second before.

  But Jillian took it as a breath of relief. The air was clear now. They were gone.

  And, as usual since this whole thing had started, she had plenty to do.

  She had to find Jordan, and see where he had moved David. And . . .

  Jillian blinked.

  She had just realized that she never found out what had happened to Dr. Landerly.

  Her chest constricted a little at the thought that he was probably gone. She’d seen his labs, and he had all the hallmarks of the ones who had failed early.

  David’s stare had gone blank.

  Jordan had witnessed the blow to pride the man had taken just to ask for morphine, and he had happily pushed the drug into David’s IV. It took only a second away from the paperwork that he was pouring over with Landerly. And for a moment it took his mind off Jillian.

  It was all insane.

  Jillian and David had seemed immune. But she had slipped back under - for no apparent reason. Why hadn’t David gone back under? It had to have something to do with the pattern of exposure. Jordan’s hands clicked through the rhythms of capping the needle and flicking it into the sharps container while his brain wandered through problems.

  He had identical exposure to Jilly, up to a point. When he had gone to Lake James he had continued going in and out of the weaker bubbles. Jillian and David had stayed in Nevada, and had wandered into the path of that sweep - which felled everyone in its path, healthy, old, young. And now they were showing different symptoms than everyone else.

  His theory was Swiss cheese it had so many holes. The problem was that they weren’t just different now - they had been different even as far back as Nevada. When that reversal had swept, Jillian and David had walked out. And the way Jilly had told it, they had stood within the bubble and watched others walk in and fall at their feet. So they had to have been mutated, or different, before that.

  If only Jillian would wake up and tie the loose ends.

  Landerly hadn’t come into the tent to check on her. The old man was too much like Jillian. If it was scientifically interesting he would be able to stand for hours and watch a patient breathe. After about two mi
nutes of that he would be able to point out that every seventh breath was some micro-seconds shorter than the others and why that was significant. Then he’d check the chart for the patient’s name. But if there was nothing new about this patient, someone else could make the effort.

  So Jordan had called his father, leaving Landerly alone with the reams of lists. Glad to hear Jackson’s voice, and no longer startled by the fact that his Dad would cry over the phone. Jordan didn’t know what had connected them again, finally, but he wasn’t about fight it or hinder it in any way.

  Now he watched as David passed through the initial phases of morphine intoxication. David’s musculature relaxed, his face no longer quite so tense. The glazed look wasn’t uncommon either. But David hadn’t been really talkative since they had brought Jillian back in.

  When Jordan explained that she was under again, Carter had wrenched himself around trying to get a look at her, even though she was directly behind his head, and the shoulder harness prevented him from doing anything of the sort.

  What Jordan hadn’t been able to get the geologist to say what he was feeling. Jordan had two good guesses. The first was that he was actually concerned for Jillian, which normally Jordan would have dismissed. But Dr. Carter seemed to have developed an attraction to the little dark spitfire and Jordan certainly couldn’t fault that. The second option was that he and Jillian had gone step by step together. Immune in Nevada. Falling under here just after everyone else. Waking early. It was a logical progression that David was watching her to see what was coming next, if he might fall back under as well.

  But he just stared at the white walls of the tent. He said he was writing his paper in his head while he waited for his laptop. Someone had confiscated it for medical use, while he’d been recuperating from his fall, and the staff had yet to locate it. David wasn’t happy about that either. His theories were floating out there in the ether, he had said.

  Jordan watched while David sank into a peaceful slumber, then woke the man, just for a second. Just to be sure.

  Then he steeled himself, knowing he had no more cause to avoid Landerly, which he knew in his heart of hearts was exactly what he was doing. And he marched himself right back into the records tent.

  Landerly didn’t look up, or acknowledge his return in any way other than to begin speaking. Jordan briefly wondered if Landerly had simply continued the conversation all along, not even realizing he was gone. He suppressed the smile that fought to be free and tried to pay attention.

  “We don’t have an age bias. Or a race bias. Nor seemingly a continental bias.”

  “Why ‘seemingly’?” Jordan seated himself and picked up one of the tomes.

  “Many continents aren’t fully reporting - like Africa. There’s an interesting case. With their numbers of AIDS infected I’m curious how they’ll fare. But they’re barely reporting at all. The towns that are look like they match our numbers here and Europe.”

  “What about India?”

  “Same. Their reporting is better, but not great.” He removed his glasses, aging himself ten years in the process, and rubbed at his eyes. But his voice continued. “There’s some issue with the Australian Outback as well. There are a lot of people, some aboriginal, that may never have been accounted for. And we don’t know what happened to them.”

  Jordan thought for a minute. They had been frantically writing everything down as they thought of it and discounted it. Although he hadn’t been sure what it mattered until Jillian had slipped back under. But now there was a goal – they had to see if there was any way to pull her out. And help anyone who went back under like her.

  “What about gender bias?”

  “What?” Dr. Landerly had already engrossed himself in the next long list, jotting on it in slashes of pencil, with no regard for the fact that the book would be looked over by anyone with family in that area. That they might not want to see Landerly’s number counting or comments on age and race in their family member’s margins.

  Jordan spoke, knowing he was rehashing, but thinking that it might trigger something important. “The women went under first, pretty much everywhere. So this thing does have some sort of gender distinction. The only person who’s slipped back under is female.”

  “Hmmmmm.” He flipped through several pages. “I haven’t seen it in the survival rates.”

  Jordan just set down his pencil and began flipping pages looking for anything unusual. But after several hours his butt hurt. He hadn’t found anything that stood out. And he needed to check on David.

  And Jillian.

  Without a word, he got up and walked out. He couldn’t go into the tent though. And without even a hesitation stalked past, going through the dark of night, under glaring overhead field lights creating enough light between the tents to see by. Stepping carefully on the cold dark grass, he made his way into the now functioning cafeteria and got himself a soda. Which he’d gotten hooked on again after having practically given them up when he graduated med school. Oh well. He wasn’t dead. He’d survived a disease worse than the plague. What was a soda going to do him really?

  With his soda in hand, he forced himself back to the tent that Jillian and David shared. Afraid of what he would find when he checked Jillian, he tried to rouse David first. And had no success.

  Tamping down the frisson of fear that escaped up through his senses, he set down the drink and went about it the right way. But he got no response. “David!” He tapped on the man. Pinched him. Yelled again.

  Nothing. The geologist didn’t even sputter when Jordan yanked up his eyelids and shone his penlight directly in. Damn the man.

  “Landerly!” He used all his lungpower. “Somebody get me Dr. Landerly from the records tent!”

  A tech popped his face in and asked Jordan to repeat the instruction. Jordan thanked him and went through with the rest of a vital signs check. After he’d been through everything he knew to do, twice, he gave up and turned to Jillian. Landerly walked in just as Jordan finished taking her vitals.

  “Landerly.” He heard the shaking in his voice, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Her respirations are at sixteen.”

  “So? That’s within normal.”

  He shook his head. “Jillian’s always textbook. She’s always eighteen. Right when she went under the first time and this time, too. When she’s asleep . . . she’s eighteen.”

  Landerly cocked his head.

  But Jordan kept going. “She’s slipping.”

  19

  With her lower lip between her teeth, Jillian walked out into the dark beyond her tent. People scuttled here and there, each seemingly with a purpose. Many of them held charts, and most of the tents were lit like Jack-o-lanterns, a soft glow perfusing through the canvas and pouring blindingly out of the openings. In one of the open tents doctors in white coats were passing papers around in a lively debate while a mechanic in the background took a wrench to one of the UV-and-visible-light machines. It looked like a Christmas card for the scientific community.

  It was organized. Purposeful.

  What a difference a day could make.

  Jillian took a deep breath and found her own purpose. She was starving. All the family notifications could wait, but she’d pass right back out if she didn’t eat something. With determination, she headed toward the building, passing square white tents, the flaps ruffling in the breeze, and she pulled her jacket a little tighter.

  With luck, she’d find Jordan in the cafeteria. Maybe even David - if she’d been asleep for twenty-seven hours and woke up in his bed then his hip must have been well enough to get into a wheelchair. He could be anywhere, as long as he had someone to keep an eye on him. She figured he’d be downgraded from morphine to Percocet by now.

  And if they weren’t there, then at least someone she knew would be. Throwing open the door she was assaulted by the smells of cheap Italian food. The pasta wouldn’t be quite al dente, and the sauce would be thin. And the bread would be steamy, meaning not crusty.<
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  And it would be heavenly.

  She followed her nose, not even bothering to look around for anyone she knew. If they wanted her, they would have to yell. Loud.

  She grabbed a thick Corian tray and piled it high with food as she moved down the line. The bread was in her mouth before she even began ladling up soggy looking green beans.

  But in minutes she was sitting alone at a table, methodically moving the fork from plate to mouth, eating as fast as she could, breathing deeply and inhaling the smells until she had finished every bite.

  After sitting for a moment, she hauled herself up and stacked her tray on top of the trashcan as she exited into the cold night air. The sky had gone from trailing reds, that she remembered as fact and not as feeling, to dark navy set with bright stars.

  For the first time in her life it gave a deep feeling of belonging, of being a tiny part of something else. Jillian stood silently. Digesting. Breathing. Staring. Wondering if the world would shift again beneath her feet. If she’d get sick, pass out, fall under again. But she was fairly confident that it would stay steady now. That her deep inhales wouldn’t draw in anything dangerous.

  It was all broken by the revving of an engine as the car pulled into the drop-off lane, reminding her that they had hijacked a high-school.

  Her brows pulled together.

  If the car was pulling up, that meant it had been somewhere, even if it was just around town.

  The reports told that the whole world had switched. That everyone had gone under and either woken up or died. But that meant as soon as they cleared things up here, they could go home.

  Suddenly the air wasn’t so inviting. She didn’t feel so safe.

  She longed for the streets of Atlanta. Not even Signal Mountain where she’d grown up. Georgia was the home she had chosen. She could go back to her job, maybe even get in a few days of nine-to-five, write some reports. Jillian snorted to herself, likely she would spend the rest of her career writing this report.