by Tim McBain
My mom stopped dragging and shoved me next to an empty bed. We both ducked behind it, peeking back the way we’d come.
Dr. Kaiser slipped through one of the partitions walling off a patient.
“What is all the commotion out here?”
The four men had finally made it into the main tent area. They were rough-looking, even from a distance. Haggard and shifty-eyed. Maybe it was just the fact that they all carried guns that made them scary. The man in front wore a black cowboy hat.
“Give us what we want, and we won’t kill you,” the cowboy said.
Icy fingers ran over my skin, scaring up goose bumps.
“This is a medical facility. We have nothing — ”
The man took one quick step and bashed Dr. Kaiser in the face with the butt of his rifle. The doctor stumbled backward and fell against a gurney.
Like a pack of dogs used to hunting as a group, the other three men spread out, training their guns on Lisa and Richie.
“You,” the man pointing a pistol at Lisa said. “Why don’t you and I take a walk?”
But it wasn’t really a question so much as an order.
“Why don’t you suck my balls?” she said.
The guy actually looked a little taken aback by that, and I silently cheered.
The cowboy threw back his head and laughed.
“She’s too feisty for you, Craig. That one looks a little more your speed.”
He used his rifle to gesture at one of the patients lying in a nearby bed. The other men laughed, and the one called Craig made a sour face. I thought maybe they would just take what they wanted and leave.
But the cowboy turned to Lisa and said, “Craig may not be able to handle you, but that’s OK. I like ‘em wild.”
With a tick of his head, he gestured at the privacy curtain at his elbow.
“Let’s go. Inside.”
She didn’t move. The cowboy raised his rifle and aimed it at Lisa’s face.
“This can go two ways. Put up a fight, and I hurt you. Do what I say, and I won’t. It’s your choice. When I’m done, you can show me where you keep the good shit.”
Lisa stood her ground, and I thought she was going to force his hand. But after a few seconds, she strode past him and whisked through the curtain.
Craig’s gaze fell on Trish then, and I watched her shrink into herself. As if taking that as encouragement, he moved in on her, grasping the back of her neck with his free hand.
“I’ll take this one,” he said, and Trish started to cry.
Richie, as if snapping out of a trance, tried to intervene.
“Leave them alone,” he said, voice shaking.
As quick as a striking rattlesnake, the cowboy threw him to the ground and kicked him twice. Richie didn’t get up.
“Spread out and grab what you can,” Cowboy Hat said before disappearing through the curtain behind Lisa.
The men eyeballed each other and seemed to silently choose a direction to split off into. They reminded me again of pack animals on the hunt.
We needed a better hiding spot. I knew my mom had the same thought, because without a word, we both crawled for the farthest corner of the tent on our hands and knees, trying to be as quiet as possible, but also trying to be quick.
My mom gestured to the giant laundry carts we use to store the linens. I’d spent half my shift yesterday folding and stacking the sheets and pillowcases inside. It kind of irked me to crawl in there and muss them up. And once my mom started piling all that fabric on top of us, it was kind of claustrophobic under there. Hot and hard to breathe. But I was so terrified of the men outside, I didn’t dare move.
The layers of sheets and clothes and scrubs may have concealed us from sight, but it didn’t block out the sounds. The men laughing. Trish crying.
It occurred to me that the men were in here without quarantine garb on, and I prayed to God that they’d all be oozing blood and pus from every orifice by tomorrow morning.
I think I’ll have nightmares of those sounds for the rest of my life. I felt like such a coward hiding there in the darkness.
Believe it or not, I actually fell asleep in that laundry hamper. It made it really hard to tell how long it had been since all the chaos had started. But eventually I felt my mom’s fingers worm their way through the layers of cloth and tap me on the back.
Our heads popped out, which I imagine might have been a funny sight under different circumstances.
“Stay right where you are,” she said.
I nodded. Honestly, I had no urge to come out from that cart.
She clambered over the side, the wheels rattling a little as she pushed off the edge. She held still, I guess waiting to see if anyone would come investigate the sound. Nothing happened.
She turned back once before she disappeared through the sheeting, checking to make sure I was waiting like I’d promised.
The minutes ticked by as I waited for her to return. My breathing was fast and shallow. I tried to slow it down but couldn’t. It might have only been seconds that she’d been gone, but it felt eternal.
The curtains to my right rustled. I stopped breathing altogether.
And then my mom stepped through.
“OK. You can come out now.”
Lisa, Trish, and Dr. Kaiser were huddled toward the front of the tent, talking in hushed tones and nursing wounds both physical and mental.
“How long ago did he go for help?” Dr. Kaiser asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, shouldn’t someone go check on him?”
“I think we should stay put.”
Trish hadn’t uttered a word, I noticed. She just stood there with a vacant stare, clutching her sweater tightly around herself.
“What’s happening?” my mom asked.
“Richie went to try to find someone from the National Guard. But he hasn’t come back.”
We stayed in the quarantine tent until it got light out, and then the group of us walked back to camp proper together, wanting to be certain we all got back safely.
When we reached the main camp area, we were able to glean bits and pieces of what had happened last night from the people we passed. Apparently a large group of refugees from the city and surrounding areas had been gathering in front of the gate all evening.
As soon as the sun set, the crowd turned hostile. A fire broke out. The horde knocked down the gate. Shots were fired. The rumor was that one of the guards had been hit.
No one seemed to know if anyone had died in the scuffle. I felt dizzy at the thought that it might have been Max who’d been shot.
When we finally got back to our tent, my mom immediately dropped into her cot and fell asleep. I don’t know how. I couldn’t sit still. I got up and went to explore. I needed to find Breanne and Max and make sure they were OK.
I checked Breanne’s tent first, but it was empty. I learned from a group of chattering women I passed that people were gathering in the mess tent, so I headed that way.
Halfway there, someone called my name. It was Max. And he used my real name.
He ran across the footpath and wrapped both arms around me. He smelled kind of sweaty but not even in a bad way. In a… manly way. (Shut up.)
People were trying to walk around us, so Max released me, and we scooted between two tents.
“Breanne and I checked your tent this morning, but you weren’t there,” he said.
“Breanne’s OK?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. Bennett, too.”
I made a face, and he laughed. I noticed a scrape on his cheek. I wanted to reach for his face. To touch him. But I didn’t.
“What happened to your cheek?”
He brushed his fingers against the redness and winced.
“Some guy hit me with a rock.”
“A rock? What the hell happened last night?”
“Well, I wasn’t there for all of it. Only when the crowd started getting rowdy and the gate guards called for reinforcements,” Max began.
“By then, they’d started throwing things at us. Through and over the fence. A few of them tried to climb the fence, only to get caught on the concertina wire at the top. They start shaking the fence. Shouting. Somehow — no one knows why or how — one of the cars in the lot burst into flames. I don’t know if it was on purpose or an accident. Maybe one of the tiki torches went over, I don’t know.
“But once that lit up, it started a frenzy. The throng broke through the gate. One of our guys fired into the air, trying to scare them back. Someone in the mob shot back. Napier took a bullet in the calf. The rioters scattered, some fleeing, some heading farther into camp. Two of them got trampled pretty bad. A bunch of supplies got stolen.”
He paused and shook his head.
“It was utter chaos. Took us until morning to get camp secured again. Most of them took off on their own, afraid of what kind of retaliation they might face once we could actually see what the hell was going on.”
“I’m glad you’re OK,” I said.
My throat felt all thick like I was on the verge of tears or something.
“So where were you? With the group that hid behind the porta-potties?”
I shook my head.
“No, I was in the quarantine tent. Night shift.”
His eyes were on my face, and they went wide.
“The quarantine tent?”
Word of what happened to Lisa and Trish must have already spread.
“Did they—”
“No,” I interrupted. “My mom and I climbed into some big laundry hoppers and covered ourselves with the sheets. They didn’t find us.”
“Jesus,” he said, angling his face down at his feet.
We headed to the mess tent together, and Breanne was there. She fawned over me some, and then she recounted her version of last night’s events.
When she finally calmed down enough to ask where I’d been, I glanced at Max and said, “I’ll tell you later.”
Sgt. Grantham came in eventually and gave a sort of rah-rah speech about how we stuck together and stood strong, blah blah blah. Something about it annoyed me, and I got angrier and angrier while he talked, thinking about how the people that have been risking their own lives to help other people since Day 1 — and by that I mean all of the real staff of the quarantine tent — were just left to fend for themselves last night. No one came to help us, not even after Richie ran back to camp to tell them what happened.
After a while I realized my hands were balled into fists, and I was gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I turned on my heel and walked out of the tent.
Your BFF, who has had enough of the bullshit,
Erin
Erin
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
3 days after
Kel-
The rationing is finally hitting me. I wake up hungry. I go to bed hungry. The other night I dreamed about a giant pile of French fries, stacked taller than me, a big mountain on top of a table. And I was just shoveling them in my face, handful after handful.
I mean, honestly, I’d eat just about anything at this point. The instant mashed potatoes I compared to wet toilet paper a few weeks ago would be heavenly right now. Has it really been a few weeks? I can’t tell if it seems like it should be more or less time. Time seems weird here when every day is almost the same.
And any little thing can suddenly turn into a craving. This morning I woke up absolutely hankering for a hot dog. (You can take your jokes about my desperate thirst for wieners and shove them in the hole of your choice.) I can’t even remember the last time I ate a hot dog! It must have been quite a while, because my mom never buys them. Only my dad ever did. But here I am, drooling over the thought of a grilled frank slathered with spicy mustard and dill relish. And potato chips! Man, I would stab a bitch for a bag of potato chips.
Remember when we used to dip potato chips into our Spaghettio’s? Or how about when we’d pour Sprite into your mom’s fancy wine glasses and pretend our Sprite and Spaghettio’s was champagne and caviar?
I saw Max very briefly today. I was reading at the tree, and he sauntered over, arms smudged with engine grease.
“Mendel!”
“Huh?”
“Gregor Mendel! It didn’t come to me at first because he’s always credited with inventing the science of genetics. But he was a botanist, so all of his experiments that resulted in discovering dominant and recessive genes were related to plants. Peas, I think.”
I groaned.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like the nickname?”
“It’s not that,” I said and squeezed my eyes closed. “But you mentioned peas and that made me think of split pea soup, and that made me think about how effing starving I am.”
“Reach into my pocket.”
I peered over the edge of the book. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a candy bar in there.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
He stifled what I thought was a sheepish smile.
“Come on. My hands are all dirty.”
I sat up tall so I could peek into the pocket.
“Alright. But I feel funny about this,” I teased.
There really was a Snickers bar in there. I unwrapped it, and we passed it back and forth. I suppose technically we have now officially swapped spit, but not in the way I’d always imagined.
I can’t remember when I last had something that sugary. It was so sweet, I almost got a headrush.
While we ate, Max grilled me about what was happening in Odd Thomas, and I gave him a summary of what I’d read. It really was like giving an oral book report.
He had to get back to work after that. I thanked him for sharing the candy with me.
“Anytime, young Mendel.”
He put out his fist, and I bumped my knuckles against his, wishing he hadn’t added the young part in front of Mendel.
Let’s see… what else? We lost a patient in the quarantine tent today. I guess I never mention that, but it happens. I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing. I know I should be sad, and I know I should be scared, but it just doesn’t seem real somehow. Not even a little bit. Does that make any sense?
Anyway, the sickest part of me wants to laugh when they say it that way. Lost. Lost a patient… Did they check under the beds? Between the couch cushions?
I don’t know why we can’t just say, “They died.”
But we don’t.
Other than that, it’s the same old thing. We’re low on supplies, of course. That’s not new, really. We’re just low on more supplies now.
I thought it would be more awkward or something after what happened the night of the riot. But everyone just keeps plugging along. I guess it probably helps that we all have a job to do. One where people are literally relying on us to survive.
I was dumping a bedpan earlier (a glamorous task, I know), and I had to walk in between these two big semi trucks that have been parked behind the quarantine tent the whole time I’ve been here. I never really think about them that much, but today I noticed a really horrible smell. My mom was also on bedpan duty, and as I passed her, I asked what the stench was.
Her eyes went to the roll-up doors on the back of one of the trucks and lingered there for a moment.
“They’re refrigerator trucks. They were storing extra food in there. The perishables. Now it’s rotting.”
“Oh,” I said. “Ew.”
I wonder how much food went to waste just sitting there in the heat. It’s enough to make a girl get kinda weepy.
Well, I just yawned three times in a row. I guess that’s my cue to go to bed, even though it’s not even fully dark yet.
Your sleepyhead of a BFF,
Erin
Erin
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
4 days after
Kelly-
You know it’s a good sign when the guy you’ve been crushing on says, “So, I take it you’re a big fan of food.”
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br /> We were lying in the grass at the edge of the cornfield, staring up at the clouds. I didn’t answer at first. The only sense I could make of it was that he was suggesting I was fat. Or maybe he felt like I hogged the Snickers bar we shared?
After a few seconds, when I still hadn’t said anything, he brought his hand to his mouth and pretended like he was using a walkie-talkie.
“Psht. This is base camp to Erin. Base camp to Erin, do you read? Over. Psht.”
“I heard you. I just don’t understand the question.”
“You said you wanted to be a chef.”
“Oh!” Man, I’m dumb. “Yeah. Food is good.”
“And you like to cook?”
“Yeah. Mostly soup.”
He laughed. I wish you could hear him laugh. And see his face. His eyes get all crinkly in the corners and sometimes instead of really letting himself laugh he sort of makes a hissing sound between his teeth.
“Soup?”
“That’s what I fucking said.”
That made him laugh harder.
“Laugh it up, but you’ll regret it when you hear the genius idea my best friend and I came up with. You’ll beg me to let you invest in our little scheme.”
“OK,” he said, trying to look more serious. “Lay it on me.”
“We’re going to start a restaurant that’s all soup, all the time. A dozen or maybe two a day. Chicken noodle, cream of tomato, broccoli cheddar, wild mushroom, chicken and rice.” I counted the flavors off on my fingers. “And of course, our Friday special: clam chowder.”
He turned his head so he was facing me, and he was just kind of watching me and blinking. An odd smile touched his lips, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
“You are a very strange girl.”
He didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, though. My heart turned into a puddle of sticky ooze that dripped down the inside of my rib cage, coating the bones and muscle in melted heart-goo.
And then Breanne showed up.
“Who’s strange?” she asked, plopping down in the grass two inches from Max’s head.
