Kevin backed away. “I’ll come back later and show you my baby girl, Olivia.”
The nurse proceeded to staple his wound.
“Norsburg, Norsburg,” he mumbled, and then louder: “I know that name!”
“Oh yeah, how’s that.”
“Are you related to Ayesha Norsburg?”
“She’s my niece.” She dabbed at the stapled wound and re-wrapped it with gauze just as her niece had done the day before. “Do you know her?” she asked.
“I was looking after her when her Mom died.”
“Why aren’t you look after her now?”
“I have enough problems of my own. I don’t need to be looking after that brat too.”
She stormed off, leaving him sitting alone, shackled to his stretcher.
Joe lay back and closed his eyes. Visions of violence, sadness and guilt kept him from sleep. About a half-hour later, someone unshackled him from his stretcher and handcuffed him to the handrail on the wall.
“Sorry, buddy, we need the stretcher. The cops will be here shortly to bring you to your new home,” said the nurse.
He sat on the hallway floor with his handcuffed hand over his head attached to the guard rail. It was uncomfortable and even painful.
I deserve this. I deserve worse. I deserve whatever jail holds for me too.
He had nodded off when Kevin’s voice woke him. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Kevin was standing next to him with a newborn baby in his arms.
“Yeah, congrats, Kevin, that’s great.” There wasn’t much feeling in his voice.
“Amidst all this chaos,” Kevin looked around him at the hospital hallway full of sick and dying people and then to the newborn baby in his arms, “there is still hope for the future.”
“Not for me, there’s not.”
Kevin gently rocked his baby in his arms. “There is always hope. God gives us little miracles sometimes, like Olivia here, to remind us that he still cares.”
“I don’t think he cares for me. Not after what I’ve done.”
“God will always forgive, no matter what you’ve done.”
“The world around us is dying, I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about, and I’m on my way to jail, and you talk about a God of hope?”
Little Olivia fussed a little. “Do you know what St. Jude is?”
“I believe it’s the hospital where I am currently being incarcerated.”
“Yes, but St. Jude, do you know what he’s the patron saint of?”
“No, I’m not Catholic.”
The baby started crying. “He’s the patron saint of lost causes.” Kevin stood up as Olivia appeared to get more agitated and was starting to cry. “I’ve got to get this little gal back to her mother.”
“Okay.” Kevin was staring down at the floor.
“Don’t lose hope, Joe. You’re a decent guy, and there’s still hope for you. There’s always hope.”
He walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner. The blond teenage boy on the stretcher next to Joe had stopped coughing and was now dead silent.
Did he just die? I’m not a decent guy, and there is not much hope for this world and definitely not much hope for me.
Chapter 11
Monique woke up in the hospital bed, sore and still tired. She shared the room with three other people, and not all of them were new mothers. St. Jude’s Hospital was overloaded and understaffed, so they were unable to have dedicated maternity rooms. Most of the other patients in the room had privacy curtains that hid them from her view. The patient beside her was no exception. It looked like his family was coming in to visit him. Monique assumed the woman was his wife, and the toddler was his son. They were talking and crying loudly, and the wife peeked around the curtain. “I am so sorry; we did not mean to wake you.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright, I’ve slept enough already,” she answered.
The toddler walked through the curtain and fell towards Monique’s bed. He grabbed at the sheets to steady himself, causing them to pull off the bed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry again to disturb you,” the mother apologized again.
“Really, it’s fine. I’m going to have to get used to it soon.”
“Are you pregnant…or…”
“I gave birth just a few hours ago.”
“Wow, you recovered quickly. Where is the little one now?”
Monique pointed at Kevin, carrying Olivia into the room. “There she is.”
Kevin handed the baby to Monique.
“There’s my precious,” she said.
The wife looked at Olivia with a look of melancholy in her eyes.
“Would you like to hold her?” Monique asked.
“Are you sure, I mean…”
“Absolutely,” said Monique. “My name’s Monique, and this is my husband Kevin, and this tiny miracle is Olivia.”
The mother handed off her son to her husband, who was now looking on. “My name is Lily, and that’s my husband Garret and my son Mason.” She pointed to the man in the bed and the little boy sitting at his feet.
Lily carefully held Olivia in her arms, and her lips appeared to be quivering slightly.
Mason watched his mother. “My brother Tommy is gone to Heaven.”
“Yes, that right,” said Lily, “but Mommy and Daddy are still here with you.”
Olivia could see the tears welling up in Lily’s eyes as she gently rocked Olivia.
Monique leaned forward in the bed and hugged Lily, who was still holding the baby. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
When they had finished hugging and crying, Monique asked, “Is that why you’re here?”
“No, it’s been two weeks since he passed,” Lily answered, “Garret here hurt his nose.”
Garret was holding a gauze pad up to his nose. “I did not hurt my nose. Some crazy man with a bottle attacked me.”
“Don’t exaggerate, honey. He was too drunk to hit you very hard.”
“I might have a concussion.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Lily scolded him.
Kevin interrupted their spat. “Did this man have dark hair, mid-30’s, bit of gut, and did he hit you with a bottle in a park?”
“Yes,” said Garret, “how did you know?”
“Look, I’m very sorry,” said Kevin, “He’s my friend, and he’s going through a really difficult time right now.”
Garret looked angry.
Kevin continued. “It’s not an excuse. He was wrong to hurt you. I think he mistook you for the guy that ransacked his apartment.”
“What?” said Monique, “What are you talking about, Kevin?”
Kevin looked back at Monique. “Remember the guy that you hit with a baseball?”
“You hit someone with a baseball?” asked Lily.
“He was breaking into people’s cars,” explained Monique.
“Anyway,” continued Kevin, “That same man that chased us that day, broke into Joe’s building and trashed the place. Joe was angry and drunk. He thought Garret here was that same man. That’s why he attacked him.”
A police officer entered the room. “Mr. Garret Kavanagh, I need to ask you some more questions.”
“Sure,” said Garrett, “what do you need to know?”
“We’re not pressing charges,” stated Lily.
“We aren’t?” asked Garret.
“No, dear, we are not. Your nose isn’t even broken. Besides, do you want to go to court to testify and all that other stuff for a bloody nose?”
Garret’s shoulders dropped in resignation. “Fine.”
“Are you sure, sir?” asked the officer.
Garret nodded.
“Okay, I’m going to keep him overnight at the local jail to make sure he’s sobered up. He may still be charged with drunk and disorderly,” said the officer and then left the room.
Monique reached out to touch Lily’s hand. “That was very kind of you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about.
Now, we should let you and your baby rest.” She turned to leave.
“Can I ask a favour of you?” asked Monique.
“Sure, anything, what do you need?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra baby seat, would you?”
Chapter 12
Joe was taken to the Ingerwood Police Station. In the morning they put him on a bus that drove for over five hours to the Abitido Jail outside of the capital city of Commerce. When Joe arrived, he was placed in a cell with two other men who had already claimed both bunks. He had to sleep on the cold hard floor with nothing more than a dirty blanket and hard pillow.
His cellmates were a skinny, scraggly looking guy named Jimmy and a nervous middle-aged man with thick glasses named Benaiah.
Jimmy mostly kept to his top bunk and slept. He rarely spoke. Joe never spoke much either. Jimmy would sometimes stay in the cell when everyone else went to the cafeteria to eat or for the daily free time in the yard outside. Joe was pretty sure he was sick.
Benaiah talked enough to make up for Jimmy’s silence. He even talked in his sleep. He talked about the virus and how he heard the Chinese were immune, but most people in North America were not, and they were all going to die. He also talked about the insurrection in the States and that it was going to start a civil war in that country, and many were going to die. He talked about wars on the other side of the world. Bombs were dropping, and troops were being mobilized. He talked about how so many people had already died. The government was falling apart, and civil society was crumbling. Gangs were taking to the streets and killing for food and supplies. He talked about how the food supply chain was broken, and people were starving to death. Pretty much all his stories and theories ended with people dying. Joe didn’t mind all the gloomy talk. He didn’t care about anything.
One morning Jimmy was dead. Two guards with masks showed up. They opened the cell door, checked Jimmy’s pulse, loaded him on their stretcher and left. Joe was sure he should have been sadder about it, but he was just relieved to finally have a bed. The top bunk wasn’t very soft, and he could feel the springs through the thin mattress, but it was still better than the cold, hard concrete floor.
They were given a few hours every afternoon to go outside to get some fresh air. The early September air was still warm, but the heatwaves had abated. A small group played basketball on the concrete court while some prisoners exercised in the outdoor gym. Most of them talked amongst themselves in various groups around the yard and under a small wooden pavilion.
The only people Joe knew at the jail were his cellmates, Jimmy and Benaiah. Jimmy was dead, and that afternoon Benaiah was working with a group of prisoners doing janitorial work in the administration wing. So, Joe was alone. He wandered around the yard contemplating his transgressions. As he passed by the pavilion, a short heavily tattooed Latino with a thin moustache and too many earrings stepped in front of him. Joe was looking down as he walked, and deep in his misery. He almost walked right into the man, but stopped just in time.
“Where you going, Pendejo?” The Latino stood with his hands on his hips. “You think you can just walk wherever you want?” A group of six other prisoners stood behind, trying to look as menacing as possible. “This area here,” he pointed at the pavilion, “this is Rafael Javier’s house. Do you know who Rafael Javier is?”
Joe just stood there, staring off into the distance. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” He scratched at the dark stubble on his chin.
The man pushed him. “That would be me, fresa? And you didn’t ask my permission to enter mi casa, did you?”
Joe was barely paying attention. He knew that if he antagonized this man, he would get a beating. Just like the beating, he gave that poor man in the park.
Joe slapped Rafael across the face as hard as he could.
Rafael returned the slap with a backhand across his left cheek, causing Joe to stumble and fall on his back. Like a wake of vultures, Rafael’s group crowded around him and began kicking him. Joe didn’t fight back or try to block the blows. They kicked his legs, kicked him in the stomach, and kicked him in the back. He felt the searing pain and continued taking the kicks. This was his punishment. This was his penance. Maybe, they would kill him and then it would be over. In the distance, he thought he could hear yelling from the guards. After a couple of vicious strikes to the head, Joe passed out.
Joe woke the next day in the prison medical station. His body hurt everywhere. His legs and arms were bruised, he had a couple of broken ribs, two black eyes and a mild concussion. The nurse told him his wounds would heal. He wasn’t sure if that was true.
They bandaged him up, gave him some aspirin and sent him back to his cell.
Chapter 13
The government had been sending emergency money to all Canadians still alive, since the shutdowns. Neither Monique nor Kevin had gone to work for weeks, but they still had food and most essentials. It was still possible to get items from some stores if you could find one that was open. There was an initial run on many essential items, but the devastating death toll reduced the demand. Online ordering was not always reliable, as many warehouse workers and delivery drivers had either died or stopped going to work.
The garbage truck was coming once every two weeks instead of weekly, but it was still reliable. For that, Monique was grateful, since this meant she could still use disposable diapers.
Olivia was four weeks old and growing fast. Monique was changing her diaper on the floor while Roxie sat watching, when Kevin walked in.
“Where did you go?” asked Monique.
The dog got up to greet him.
“I went to Joe’s apartment,” he replied, rubbing Roxie behind the ears.
“Is he back yet?”
“No, but I did meet his friend Blender.”
“That’s a weird name.”
“That’s what I thought. It looks like Joe is still in jail, and this Blender guy is taking care of his apartment.”
“When will Joe be getting out?”
“I don’t know. Blender hadn’t heard anything.”
“We should go to the police station and find out where they’re keeping him. We should at least visit him. Other than when he drinks too much, he seems like a nice guy.”
“Okay, I guess I could go to the station and ask.”
Monique pressed the final tape securing the diaper and lifted the baby. “We’re coming too.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“We need to get out and give this little one some fresh air and some visual stimulation.”
“I don’t want you guys to get sick or…”
“The virus is airborne, and we are either going to die of it or we’re immune. Staying in the house is not healthy for either of us, is it?” She directed the last part to Olivia.
“Fine, but what about the dog? Are we going to leave her here?”
“Nope, we are taking her with us for protection.”
“They won’t let her on the bus, will they?”
“I can be very persuasive.”
They packed the diaper bag, put the baby in the stroller, put Roxie on a leash and walked to the bus stop.
The bus was running at reduced service but still ran twice per day. There was no one else at the stop as they waited, and the bus appeared to be empty when it arrived.
Kevin stepped onto the bus carrying the stroller and swiped their bus passes. The dog walked up the steps in front of Monique and Olivia.
“Whoa,” the bus driver said in a muffled voice from behind his shield, “no dogs, unless their service dogs.”
“There’s nobody on the bus, and have you been out there lately? We need protection. There are some bad people out there.” She held up the baby. “You wouldn’t want this tiny innocent baby to be orphaned, would you?”
The driver rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you the rules, and now I’m going to check my rear-view mirror. I hope I don’t miss any dogs getting on my bus while I’m not pa
ying attention.” He made an exaggerated gesture of looking out the window at his mirror.
With the baby, the dog and the stroller, it took them some time to get settled in their seats in the middle of the bus.
“I can’t believe that worked,” said Kevin.
“I told you, I can be persuasive. Besides, no one cares much about the rules anymore. There are more important issues, like staying alive, that makes these trivial rules unimportant.”
The bus wasn’t quite empty. At the back of the bus was a young boy and girl, who were whispering to each other.
Monique peered over her seat, “Are you kids okay?”
The girl had dark skin and neat braids in her hair. Her eyes were red and puffy. “We’re fine, thank you.” She reached up and pulled the bus stop cord. The bell sounded, and the bus began to slow. The girl nudged the boy, and they both stood up and made their way to the rear door. The boy had thick glasses and messy hair, and they both carried full backpacks.
The bus stopped, the doors opened, and they both got off. The doors closed, and the bus slowly regained speed.
Monique pointed to an apartment building that was hollowed out and blackened from a recent fire. “Isn’t that where Joe lives?”
“No, he’s across the road at the older building, there.” He pointed across the road.
A half-hour later, they got off downtown, two blocks from the station. The morning air was warm, but the cool wind reminded them that summer was over. They passed by a group of older teens on the sidewalk, but once they saw the big German Shepherd, they ignored them. Downtown was calm. Half the businesses were closed, and many people were now staying indoors. Others, however, had taken the opportunity to loot and vandalize. There seemed to be a steady stream of various sirens wailing across the city. Traffic was steady, but there were not the usual traffic jams.
They moved from the relative calm of the downtown to the chaos inside the Ingerwood Police Station. The lobby was the size of a basketball court. There were two rows of seating on the left and a large reception counter to the right. At the back of the room were double doors that led into the rest of the station. The lobby was filled with people. One officer was sitting beside a prostitute arguing. Beside him, two officers were struggling to control a large angry woman. Near the back, a large group of elderly men and women were arguing. A long line started at the reception desk, snaked around the seating and ended near the entrance. Men and women of various ages, sexes and ethnicity talked, argued, yelled and whispered in the line. Policemen and women constantly streamed in and out of the double doors at the back of the station. It was loud and chaotic, and it didn’t feel like the air conditioning was working.
Black Flag | Book 1 | Surviving The Scourge Page 7
