Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic

by Brady, Eoin

  “This goes beyond my first aid training,” George said. “What about doctor on call or an ambulance?”

  “I’ll go up and call one,” Ciara said. “Yous bring him up to the lobby.”

  “Wait, why do we have to do the heavy lifting and you get to make the call?” George said.

  “Weren’t you only saying the other night you got your raise? Head barman. You’re paid more, you do more.”

  The fire door slowly closed behind her, leaving them little light to work with. Fin moved the cloth trolleys away from the man. They were damp where he lay against them. Standing either side of him, together they managed to get him to his feet. His clothes were saturated. Fin wore latex gloves, George was barehanded. The man was pale. Sweat dripped from his face onto the dusty floor like a leaky faucet.

  “The suit is stuck to him,” George said. He made to go through the man’s pockets for information, a room key or a wallet with his name on it.

  “Wait, I’ve gloves,” Fin said. A hotel room card was the first thing out of his jacket pocket. “Looks like you’re our problem, David Brosnan.”

  “He’s on fire.” George grunted under the dead weight of the man. “We won’t be able to drag him up the stairs. Let’s use the service elevator.”

  David’s teeth started chattering. He convulsed, gasping and gulping down air and wept sporadically. Every time he stopped, he seemed to come to his senses enough to be surprised that he was crying. Fin kept looking at George for reassurance. Neither of them had dealt with anything like this before.

  The man retched and threw up rancid bile. It splattered on the metal floor of the elevator and covered their shoes. George cursed and dropped him on the ground when the door dinged open. Unlocking the staff exit to the car park, he washed his shoes under a tap. The cool air was refreshing after the repressive dark heat below. It seemed to soothe David. The weather had worsened since he locked the gates behind Andrew. Wind whistled above the hotel. He heard snapping and the clanging of flag poles on the roof.

  “Nobody ever thought to bring the flags down, did they?” Fin asked.

  “I put liquid in glasses, I thought that was your job.” When George walked back inside, his shoes squelched, but there was no more vomit.

  “By the time I came in, if I went up on the roof, the wind would have thrown me clear over half the country.”

  George tutted and ran into the rain. He came back with the Irish tri-colour, crumpled and dirty. Half the green was torn and frayed. Shielding his eyes from the rain, he looked up. “Looks like Europe is next.”

  “Flags can be replaced. Now come in and help me.”

  Before they got David out of the kitchen, Ciara burst through the door. George still carried the sopping flag. “Look at this, a disgrace.”

  “Would you go away out of that,” Ciara said. “This coming from the man that wouldn’t know if it was green or orange that came first, if not for the flagpole.”

  “Feck off,” George laughed. “What’s the story, who’s coming for him?”

  They lowered David gently to the ground. He whimpered for water. Ciara filled a cup and handed it to him. She nodded her head for them to follow and lowered her voice when she spoke. “I can’t get through to anybody.”

  “You have to press nine first on the phone if you want to call out of the hotel,” Fin said.

  “I know, sure I wait until I’m at work to call my cousin in New Zealand. Besides, the number for emergency services should go straight through. I tried the doctor on call, then the garda station and then the national numbers. Nothing worked.”

  “The storm could be messing with the signal,” Fin suggested.

  “It’s a landline. But fair enough, cables could have been knocked down. That doesn’t explain why I can’t get through to anybody on my mobile.” She took out her mobile, dialled 911 and held it between them. They hunched over with their ears close to it.

  “I don’t think it’s ringing,” George said.

  “Anybody come in to the bar while we were away?” Fin said.

  “Not a soul.”

  “Lock up then.” He took off the gloves and washed his hands in the sink using plenty of antibacterial soap and scalding water. Then he took out his own phone and tried to ring. George did the same.

  “I’ve got nothing,” Fin said.

  “I’m the same. That’s weird. I still have bars of signal though.” George rang Ciara’s phone. After a few seconds it buzzed on her palm. “Why does my name come up as ‘Do Not Answer’?”

  “Because you only ever call me to cover your shift.”

  “Taxi driver that drove me to work earlier mentioned that all he was doing for the day was ferrying people out to the hospital in Castlebar. Whatever’s doing the rounds will have people ringing in, clogging the lines. We’ll keep trying,” Fin said. He opened the internet on his phone. “We could email somebody.”

  “Tweet the police,” George said. “Hashtag 911.”

  “None of us drive,” Ciara said. “Otherwise I would have suggested we take him to Castlebar ourselves.”

  David coughed up yellow phlegm and spoke. “I’m okay.” He sipped the water and slid across the floor to lean against a fridge, relishing the chill. He retched again, but there was nothing left to come up.

  “Where am I?”

  “The Quay Hotel, Westport,” George said.

  There seemed to be no strength left in his body. His arms limp by his side, his head was kept up by resting it on the door behind him. He did manage a shadow of a smile. “I know I’m in Westport. I wanted to know why I was in the kitchen and not my room.”

  Unless this brief sobriety was like the calm eye of a storm, Fin doubted David had any alcohol in his system. “Have you taken anything? I’m a nightporter and these two are bartenders, they’ll likely be taking something when they clock out. It’s okay to tell us. Or is it a case that you were supposed to take medication and just forgot to? We’re trying to get help for you, but at the moment we’re all you have.”

  David lifted his mug up off the floor with great effort and gulped the water down. His head was starting to sway, his eyes unfocusing. We’re going to lose him again soon.

  Ciara rummaged through the freezer and took out a bag of vacuum-packed monkfish. She wrapped it in a dish cloth and held it against David’s forehead. The cool touch brought him back to his senses.

  “Wait, what? You’re trying to get me help? What?” The cloth shaded his eyes from the light and the tension in his body slackened.

  “We found you in the basement,” Ciara said. “This is as lucid as we’ve seen you.”

  “You’re running a fever. There’s a bug doing the rounds, you’ve likely just picked that up from travelling.” George said. “We nearly called an ambulance for you.”

  “No! I’ll be okay. I don’t need help.”

  “You’re okay. We couldn’t get through to anybody. The lines are clogged.”

  What little colour was left in David’s face drained away. He looked dangerously pale.

  “Hey, wow!” Ciara backed away from him.

  He followed the look of shock on their faces down to his hand. His fist was closed so tightly that his nails were starting to cut his palm. “I can’t feel it.” When he concentrated, his fingers loosened. “You can’t get through to anybody?”

  “Lines are full,” George said. “Do you want me to get you something for your hand?”

  Daivd was lost in his own thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was distant. “No. Help me to my room. Wear gloves.”

  He drank as much water as they gave him and kept the cup when they helped him to his feet. He looked horrid, his skin a sickly rubbery pallor like a mannequin.

  “Are you okay to head to bed?” Fin said.

  He nodded and grimaced, his movement caused him pain. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No need for that. There’s no harm done.”

  The elevator stopped on the third floor and they brought him to his room.
Even though he was more lucid, he still needed both Fin and George to support him. Ciara tried his card every possible way but the door remained locked.

  “Hold him,” Fin said. “I spend half my nights recoding cards that were wiped by phones.”

  “Great design.” Ciara put one of David’s hands around her shoulder and held him up, while Fin tried his master key.

  “Ah, here!” Ciara stepped away, letting George shoulder the weight. He cursed trying to keep him up. The man’s legs buckled and he slumped down. His trousers had darkened and the warm, acrid smell of urine filled the hall.

  “He pissed on me,” Ciara used her sleeve to rub her trousers and squirmed at the thought of it. “I’m going to have a shower and get some clean clothes from the laundry.”

  Fin and George tried to keep from sniggering until the elevator doors closed behind her.

  “Mate, you’re lucky there’s not a website that allows hotel staff to review customers, because you’re hovering around a solid one star right now,” George said.

  The red lock light turned green and the room opened. Fin hooked David around the arm and they unceremoniously dumped him on the bed. He crumpled in a heap, his limbs curled close to his core. With the blanket covering him, his shivers started to calm. The room was immaculate. All of his clothes were still inside a small suitcase. The only mess was on the table, where a large laptop hummed, connected to several harddrives. No empty beer bottles filled the waste bin. It was not unusual for Fin to see people sleepwalking through the corridors late at night. He put David’s getting lost in the basement down to the high fever. It worried him and no amount of coaxing could get another word out of David.

  They stayed with him until they were confident that the housekeepers would not find a corpse in the morning.

  “Thanks for waiting with me,” Fin closed the door gently behind them.

  “Don’t mention it, I’m still clocked in, that was a few extra pints for the holidays. Likely the staff party was cut short by the storm anyway.”

  Back in the kitchen they scrubbed themselves as clean as they possibly could. George scoured his arms. “That’s scary. He looks fit enough, imagine what that could do to an elderly or sick person. I’ll have to remind my nan to get a flu booster shot. Ciara must still be downstairs showering. You know she’s annoyed when she overcomes the fear of being down in the basement alone.”

  “Do you think we should hide down there and scare her?” Fin asked.

  “Yes, yes I do. But she would actually kill us if we did that to her tonight.”

  Fin squeezed a quarter of a bottle of disinfectant into his hand and passed the rest to George. “I’m dying for that drink now.”

  Together they finished off the last of the clean-up in the bar, placing the stools on top of the counter and putting chairs on top of tables. He would vacuum and wash the floors later when they were gone. Excitement over the quiet pint they planned to share was marred by Ciara's absence, but it did not stop George and Fin having a round in one of the few camera blind spots. They sat on the top floor in high backed chairs in front of long windows. Rain obscured their view of the street below.

  “Are you sure you want to walk home in that?” Fin said. “There aren’t any taxis.”

  “I wouldn’t mind staying here with another drink and settling into a book. Listening to that downpour. I’ll risk it though. If I stay then I’ll have to be up early to leave before the morning manager gets in and I’ve no desire for that. Will you be okay with your man?”

  “He’ll be in the horrors tomorrow,” Fin took a long drink of his ale. “I’ll check on him throughout the night. Imagine I came across him after yous went home. I wouldn’t have the blood pressure left to call an ambulance for myself.”

  George laughed. Headlights lit up the road below, a taxi pulled up outside and three people rushed into the hotel, jackets covering their heads. George finished his pint in two swallows and started for the stairs.

  “George, have a wonderful Christmas. If you’re about, come in for a cheeky pint.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.”

  3

  After Party

  Rebecca arrived at seven to relieve him. She never looked as happy to see him at the start of the day as she did by its end. She still looked drunk enough that a bouncer would think twice about granting her entry to a club.

  “How’s the head?” Fin asked. She was pale, clammy and downcast. She was saturated from the rain, the spines of her umbrella bent by the force of the wind. He was sure when her alarm went off, she wondered how much she really needed this job. “How many times did you hit the snooze button?”

  She shook her head in response and went straight for the coffee machine. There were usually pain killers under the till; he found a nearly empty packet and handed it to her. She took them gratefully and put on two coffees.

  “The town was absolutely mad last night. I remember most of the dinner and the pub, but nothing of the club and that’s the problem,” she cringed. “We all went out dancing, there wasn’t one among us sober. I’m afraid to go online in case I did something stupid and somebody recorded it.”

  “Anything scandalous happen?”

  “Nothing more salacious than usual – I hope.”

  “Did Ciara seem angry to you last night?”

  “Don’t get me started. I was supposed to stay with her. She never showed up and wouldn’t answer her phone. I ended up spending the night in my car.”

  “That’s not like her. She left without saying a word last night. And you’re a big eejit. Why didn’t you come back here? There’s nothing but empty beds.”

  “There weren’t any taxis. Once the pubs and clubs emptied, the streets were packed with people trying to call family members but nobody seemed to be getting through. I was too drunk to walk back here. So I waited in my car. I thought the cold was going to kill me. How was the night? Anything to report here?”

  He took a sip of the coffee and felt it thaw away the drowsiness that had set in around three A.M. It seemed to bring a bit more life back into Rebecca. Recounting the night had her on the verge of angry tears. She turned on one of the heating lamps over the pass and stood beside it. Fin wrote a quick message to Ciara. ‘Hope you’re okay after last night.’

  “Quiet here for the most part,” he said. “Ciara and George found somebody asleep in the basement. Scared them half to death. He wet himself as we took him back to his room. Ciara got the brunt of it. Of course, George and I laughed at the situation, but we thought she was out of earshot. Could have been why she was pissy.” Rebecca's look of utter disgust only made it funnier.

  “I’ve been checking in on him throughout the night. He’s still alive. We tried calling an ambulance but never got through to one. I think he’s through the worst of it now, so there’s no panic. I wrote his room and details down for you. Told him he could stay on a bit longer after checkout. He looked like he could have kissed me when I said that – had he the strength. It’ll be a slow one for you I reckon.”

  “Just one more day. Thank God. You all set for staying here over the holiday?”

  “I’ve free range of the beer taps and I’m getting paid while I inspect them.”

  Rebecca nodded at the cameras. “Just remember they’re watching.”

  “They’ll have a lovely shot of my pimply arse to use for my employee of the month photo.”

  Rebecca snorted. “Want me to call you a taxi?”

  “Please.” Fin fished out the card he took off the taxi driver who had dropped him to work. She went out to the reception desk. She sat down in the cushioned chair and let out a sigh of relief. She looked so bedraggled that if they needed to cast a receptionist for the hotel in The Shining she would get the job. She dialed the number.

  “That’s weird,” Rebecca said. “There’s not even a tone.” She pressed each button on the speed dial menu but all the calls went unanswered. “Nothing. Storm must have damaged something.”

  Fin took o
ne look at the lashing rain outside. “That’s disappointing.”

  “Not worth the money to head out in that weather. How did you manage to drive here?”

  “It felt like I was on a go-kart track, weaving between fallen branches and blown-over bins. Looks like you’re walking.”

  He finished the rest of his coffee and left the mug in the sink for the kitchen porter. “Where’s that welcoming smile?” He pretended to take the fake smile off his face and threw it to her, like somebody throwing a kiss to a lover. She made a show of catching it in the air and slapped it over her mouth. When she removed her hand she was grinning maniacally. She folded her arms and rested her head to nap.

  “Listen, I’ll not see you again until next year, have a great holiday,” Fin said.

  She gave a muffled goodbye.

  “Just remember, they’re watching.”

  She raised her head off the desk and, bleary-eyed, started her day.

  The rain caught him out in the open when he was only halfway home. He sheltered beneath a tree, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Few cars were on the road, most of the drivers tried to avoid splashing through puddles next to him, apart from one that sent a wave of murky water over him. The driver erratically mounted the footpath further down the road to avoid a branch. Low clouds whipped past the peak of Croagh Patrick, known locally as The Reek. The mountain watched over the tourist town, drawing people from around the world.

  Out beyond Clew Bay, dark clouds tumbled from the sky in thick sheets of rain. The shower swallowed Clare Island and rushed with a hunger towards the mainland. The rumbles of thunder grumbled in the black mass. Fin pulled the chords of his hood tighter, held the rim against the wind and continued homeward at a faster pace.

  His walk home in the early morning before most people were awake was one of the few pleasures of the job. When it felt like dominion of the world would be fought over by him, the milkman and the people in the newspaper delivery vans. The shop he stopped off in to buy the paper was still closed, the young clerk possibly out drinking during the night, starting his day a little later than usual. The newspapers were tightly corded. The image for the front-page story was of a hospital in Dublin, the A&E packed with people waiting to be seen. Fin wormed a paper out from the bundle and waved at the camera. He mouthed ‘I’ll drop in later to pay.’ He only hoped that there was enough food at home to feed the cats.