by Mark Kelly
“This is taking too long,” she whispered to Baker. “Can’t you do something?”
“Dines!” Baker shouted out the window. “What’s the holdup? We need to get Taxson to the base infirmary ASAP.”
A female soldier strolled over and rested her arms on the door. “Sorry, Baker, transit into town is temporarily on hold. The general’s got his panties in a knot, and Abrams won’t take a piss in a pot without the general’s permission.”
“This is bullshit,” Baker said angrily. “I’ve got an injured soldier in the back. Last time Taxson and I came through, we didn’t have any problems. What’s the deal today?”
“A bunch of Gees from town showed up at the base this morning. When the general told the guys at the gate to send them away, the bastards tried to break in. I heard it was a real shit storm.”
“What’s a Gee?” Mei asked.
“You are.”
“Pardon?”
“REF-U-GEE,” Dines said in a loud voice, spelling out each vowel and speaking slowly as if Mei were deaf and dim-witted.
“We are not refugees,” Lucia said in a proud voice from the back seat. “We have a home on a farm with a garden.”
Dines scowled and gave Lucia an annoyed look. Then she turned to Baker and said, “Who are they again?”
“She’s a doc,” Baker replied, pointing his thumb at Mei. “When Taxson slipped and banged his head, she’s the one who treated him. She thinks he might have a TBI. That’s why we’ve got to get him back to the base for an X-ray.”
“What the hell is a TBI?”
“Traumatic Brain Injury,” Mei said, supporting the lie Baker had just told. Before they left the farmhouse, he’d warned them that under no circumstances were they to tell anyone Taxson had been infected. If they did, they would never be allowed on base, and might be shot.
“What about them?” Dines asked, glancing at Lucia and Saanvi and scoffing. “Are they doctors too? Sure don’t look like it.”
“They all live together,” Baker said. “It didn’t seem right to leave them behind.”
Dines rolled her eyes and gave him a sympathetic look. “Civvies…they’re pretty much helpless, aren’t they?”
Lucia grunted something unintelligible in Spanish that Mei guessed was probably an insult. Dines, not surprisingly, took it that way as well. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Lucia.
“You got something to say?”
“Not to you,” Lucia replied.
Baker let out a heavy sigh. Perhaps sensing that things were about to spin out of control, he opened the door and climbed out of the G-Wagon.
“Wait here, I’m going to go and see if I can sort this out,” he said to Mei. Then he looked at Lucia and added, “And don’t say another word.”
Mei watched him walk to the side of an armored personnel carrier where he argued with the soldier sitting on top of the giant vehicle. After a minute of spirited conversation, the soldier reluctantly nodded and gave Baker the thumbs-up. Baker turned and jogged back to the G-wagon with Dines right beside him. As they neared, it became obvious Dines was flirting with him.
“She should just take her top off,” Lucia said to Saanvi who giggled. “It would be faster and less painful than listening to her try to seduce him. Do you think I should suggest it?” She made a move as if she were about to shout something out the window.
“Don’t you dare,” Mei said, pushing Lucia back in the seat.
Baker opened the door and shot them both a dirty look. He frowned when he saw the wicked smile on Lucia’s face.
“We’re good to go,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. He glanced out the window at Dines. “Thanks for your help.”
“When you’re on base, stop by for a drink,” she said to him. “I’m in the shacks—room F16.”
“Shacks? That is perfect for a puta like you,” Lucia muttered under her breath.
“Shacks is what we call the barracks,” Dines said, her eyes lighting up in anger. “What’s your problem?”
“You.”
“That’s enough—both of you,” Baker barked. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t drink,” he said out the window to Dines as he put the G-wagon in gear.
Mei glanced in the rear-view mirror as they pulled away. Dines had a frown on her face, but the corners of Lucia’s mouth were turned up in a tiny smile.
A half-hour later, they reached a small town that had become a gigantic refugee camp. As they drove down the main street, Mei stared out the window at the lean-tos and roughly built shacks in the parking lots of the abandoned stores.
Some of the make-shift shelters were nothing more than plastic tarps strung over ropes while others were bits of plywood and sheets of galvanized steel slapped together into something that before the pandemic wouldn’t have looked out of place in a third-world ghetto.
Most of the refugees wore a handkerchief or bandanna over their mouth in a futile attempt to protect against the pandemic bacteria. Mei fought the urge to roll down the window and tell them it was pointless.
She watched and smiled as a handful of children, barefoot and shirtless, chased each other around a circle of women cooking over an open fire. But a few yards back from the cooking fire, a man with a crewcut who was out of uniform but looked like a soldier, disappeared into a tent followed by a young woman still in her teens. The girl wore a mini-skirt and teetered on a pair of stilettos. Mei heard an angry flurry of Spanish and turned to see Lucia with a hardness in her eyes. When Baker turned as well, Lucia looked away.
After they passed through the refugee shanty-town, they approached the entrance to a well-guarded army base. Coils of concertina wire had been placed a few yards in front of the chainlink fence to provide a first line of defense. Beyond the razor-wire, two bunkers constructed of sandbags and concrete blocks loomed over the road. The concrete, blackened from fire and pockmarked with bullet holes, partially hid two soldiers who sat behind a pair of heavy machine guns nervously watching them.
Baker brought the jeep to a stop well before the gate. The surrounding pavement was stained with splotches of blood. Mei could smell traces of something in the air—smoke or sulfur from gunfire, she thought.
“Everyone, keep quiet and let me do the talking,” Baker said in a low voice. He slowly opened the door and stepped out of the G-wagon.
A soldier appeared from inside the shack that served as a gatehouse. He smiled and slowly shook his head.
“Jesus H. Christ, look what the cat dragged in. Baker, you crazy son of a bitch, what are you doing back here? Didn’t Leduc kick your sorry American ass out?”
“Nice to see you too, Chenney,” Baker replied. “For your information, the general didn’t kick us out, he politely asked us to leave.”
Chenney slung his rifle over his shoulder and took a couple of steps towards Baker. “You know I can’t let you back in without permission, right?” He gave Baker an apologetic half-smile and then frowned when he noticed Mei and the others.
“Who the hell are they and where’s Taxson?”
“Hurt—he’s in the back,” Baker replied. He pointed at Mei. “This fine lady is a doctor. She and her friends were kind enough to give us a hand, but I need to get Taxson to the infirmary. He banged up his head.”
Chenney stepped away and strolled around to the back of the G-wagon. He looked in through the rear window and scrutinized Chenney’s limp body.
“I don’t see any bandages, Baker. Thought you said he hurt his head.”
Baker shared a worried glance with Mei. Her heart skipped a beat. It was time for another lie. She shifted into doctor-mode.
“That’s a common misunderstanding,” she said to Chenney. “Traumatic Brain Injuries don’t necessarily result from physical damage to the cranium. Any type of sudden movement of the brain within the skull will result in neuron dysfunction. It’s important that we properly diagnose him and immediately start treatment.”
Chenney scrunched up his face. “Okay, but if he hurt his head,
how come he’s wrapped up in blankets?”
“He’s just sick,” Baker said, unhelpfully.
“Sick how?” Chenney asked, reaching for his rifle. “Does he have the fucking bug, Baker?”
“He’s not contagious,” Mei blurted.
Chenney took a step back. He stared at her. “How the fuck do you know?”
“I’m a doctor.”
“Sure you are, and I’m the Pope.”
“She is a doctor, Chenney,” Baker snarled. “Stop being an asshole and let us through. Abrams should have radioed ahead. I’ve got news for Leduc. I can’t say anything more than—”
“Chenney, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” a voice croaked.
They all turned to see Taxson sitting upright and grimacing. Mei jumped out of the G-wagon and ran around to the back. She opened the rear doors and climbed in and knelt beside him.
“You need to lie down,” she said, gently easing him onto the floor. He struggled for a second and then relented, too weak to do anything else. A minute later, he was unconscious again.
“How is he?” Baker asked.
“Not good.”
Baker’s jaw tightened. “What do you say, Chenney? On my heart, I promise you Taxson isn’t contagious. Are you going to be an asshole, or are you going to let us through?”
Chenney’s eyes darted about as he scrutinized the occupants of the Jeep. “I’ll let you through, but I need to take your temperature—all of you—and if any of you are hot, none of you are going through that gate.”
Baker stiffened.
Mei knew what he was thinking: What if Taxson still has a fever? There was no doubt he did. She was one hundred percent certain of it. All she had to do was look at the sweat beading on his forehead to know it. But it wasn’t from the bacteria; it was from the perforated colon.
“You don’t need to take our temperature,” Baker protested.
“Don’t worry, Baker. It ain’t like what Abrams does at the checkpoint.”
While Mei wondered what exactly it was they did at the check-point, Chenney disappeared into the guardhouse. He returned seconds later with something in his hand.
“Are you really a doctor?” he asked Mei.
She nodded.
“Then I guess you probably know how to use one of these?” He held up a run-of-the-mill electronic thermometer and said, “You do it. I don’t want to get too close.” He handed it to her and stepped away from the vehicle. “Everybody out. The doc is going to take your temperature.”
The thermometer was like the ones she had used a thousand times before at Bellevue. “Do you have any lens filters?” she asked.
“Any what?”
She tapped the pointy end of the thermometer. “Lens filters. They’re the little plastic caps that go on the end of the temperature probe. They’re for maintaining proper hygiene.”
Chenney gave her an incredulous look. “No offense, Doc, but you got bigger things to worry about than earwax.”
Mei felt her face flush.
Starting with Baker and leaving Taxson to the end, she reset the thermometer and took everyone’s temperature, showing the readout to Chenney each time.
“Okay, you’re all good. Do him now,” Chenney said. He moved further away and pointed at the back of the G-wagon where Taxson’s limp body lay.
Taking her time because she didn’t know what else to do, Mei climbed into the back of the G-wagon and stuck the thermometer in Taxson’s ear. Seconds later, the thermometer beeped.
Without a miracle, they were screwed. She glanced at the display.
101.3
No miracles today.
“What’s the reading, Doc? Bring it here so I can see,” Chenney said to her from his safe position by the side of the guardhouse.
Mei’s heart pounded as she sat up. “N-no reading. I was just resetting it,” she said, lying.
“Hurry up.”
Chenney took a step towards the G-wagon. Desperate and unable to think of anything else to do, she dropped to the floor out of his sight and stuck the probe in her own ear.
“Come on, what’s the reading?” she heard him ask. The thermometer beeped, and she jumped up. Chenney was two steps away with his hand out. He grabbed the thermometer from her, his eyes narrowing as he read the display.
“99.1—”
He frowned and looked at her as if he didn’t believe it.
“Are you sure you did it right?”
Afraid to speak, she nodded.
“Maybe you should do it again.”
With her heart pounding in her chest, she shook her head. “No, there’s no need; they’re very accurate. We used them all the time at the hospital I used to work at.”
“Then I guess you’re good to go,” he said reluctantly.
“Come on, everyone into the G-wagon,” Baker shouted, urging them into action before Chenney changed his mind.
“Chenney, thanks…I won’t forget this.”
“No problem, Baker. Just don’t make me regret it.” Chenney gave a thumbs-up to the soldiers inside the fence. On his signal, the metal wheels of the gate clattered on the pavement as the barrier slowly opened.
Mei shared a look with Baker. It wasn’t over yet. They still had two more people to convince; the base doctor, a surgeon who would repair the damage to Taxson’s colon, and General Leduc who would kick them out or more likely, execute them if he didn’t believe their story.
21
The General
Baker pulled up in front of the base infirmary and stopped the G-wagon. He disappeared inside, returning a minute later with a soldier who was wearing a white lab coat over army fatigues. She had a stethoscope around her neck and a cautious but slightly confused expression on her face.
“This is Captain Doggard,” Baker said to Mei. “She’s the base doc.”
“Did you explain the situation?” Mei asked, carefully choosing her words. Judging by the expression on Doggard’s face, she guessed the answer was no.
“I figured it was best if you two talked doctor-to-doctor,” Baker replied. “I didn’t want to make things worse.”
Worse? It was hard to imagine how things could be worse, Mei thought. Who knew how many rules they had broken bringing a sick man on base.
“I suspect he has a perforated colon, but it’s only an educated guess,” she said to Doggard. “Are you able to do a CT scan?”
Doggard shook her head. “No, we don’t have any advanced imaging equipment; just an older model X-ray machine and no electricity to power it.” She moved around to the back of the G-wagon to look at Taxson. “Why do you suspect a perforated colon? Is he showing signs of hematemesis?”
Mei nodded. “He started vomiting blood last night.”
“Is the perforation trauma-induced?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Bacterial toxins.”
Doggard’s eyes widened and her face turned pale. She stepped away from the G-wagon and spoke in an angry voice. “You imbeciles…bringing an infected person on base is a capital offense. You’ve put us all at risk.” Then she glared at Mei. “And you should have known better if you’re a doctor like he says you are.”
“Please…you have to believe me. He’s not contagious and I can prove it,” Mei said. “Do you have a GDH A/B toxin test kit?”
Even as she asked, Mei doubted it. If the soldiers had test kits like the ones she had used at Bellevue, they wouldn’t be using thermometers as a diagnosis tool.
Doggard shook her head. “We ran out months ago. There might still be one or two in the supply closet, but they’re long past their expiration date.”
“Would you please check?” Mei pleaded. “If you have a kit, I’ll do the test. You won’t have to get anywhere near him.”
“Even if I had a kit, I wouldn’t waste it on this foolishness,” Doggard replied. “You know as well as I do that if he has a perforated colon from toxins, the test will show a positive presence for them.”
�
�No, it won’t,” Mei said. “I’m certain the perforation occurred before he was cured.”
Doggard scowled at Mei. “Cured? That’s medically impossible.”
“Please, let me do it,” Mei said. “You have nothing to lose but a single test kit. I’ll explain everything afterwards, but he’s in critical condition. He needs surgery, and every second we stand here arguing is putting him at greater risk.”
Doggard’s forehead wrinkled as she considered the request. Finally, she nodded.
“Stay here and don’t move. If anyone approaches, tell them to stay away,” she said sternly. “Until I see a negative test result, you, and everyone in this vehicle are under quarantine. Understand?”
Mei nodded.
“This is good, right?” Baker said when Doggard disappeared into the infirmary to get the test kit.
Mei didn’t have the heart to tell him that Taxson could still test positive for the toxins if the antibiotics she had given him to treat the other infections negated the effects of the FMT. And if that was the case, Goddard would refuse to perform the surgery; Taxson would die; she, Saanvi, and Lucia would be placed in quarantine, and Baker would be executed for a capital crime.
“Right…good news.” She smiled weakly.
“Here you go,” Goddard said, returning with the test kit. “It’s the last one that hasn’t passed its expiration date.” She placed it on the hood of the G-wagon and stepped back as Mei walked over to retrieve it.
With Goddard and Baker watching from a safe distance, Mei climbed into the back of the G-wagon and knelt next to Taxson. She unwrapped the foil package and performed the test. Then she placed the vials out of the way where they wouldn’t be accidentally knocked over.
“What now?” Baker asked.
“We wait for the test results,” Mei said, experiencing a powerful sense of déjà vu as she spoke. “It’s a simple test, takes about ten minutes.”
A lifetime ago, she had said those exact words to Jason Grant, the young intern at Bellevue who had died alongside Lucia’s children. She prayed the outcome was different this time.
