“Will be he all right?” asked Marissa, hardly noticing her own shivering.
“So long as we act now…” Sheridan looked up and over to one of the horses. “Someone take the saddle off that horse and bring me the blankets and anything else we can use.”
Abigail and Shiloh moved to the horses and began unbuckling the saddles.
“Okay, Marissa, help me strip him,” said Sheridan.
Marissa looked up in surprise. “Here?”
“Yes here,” answered Sheridan. “The wet clothes are actually chilling him further. We need to get him out of them and into the dry blankets.”
She took a closer look at Marissa. “How much warmer are you compared to him?”
Marissa shook her head and head out her hands. Sheridan took them and nodded. “Okay, you strip too. Your body heat will help warm him.”
Marissa began to strip, not even caring or noticing a stranger was still there. Finally, she was down to her underwear and Sheridan wrapped her and Derek loosely.
“He’s freezing,” pointed out Marissa.
“Anything else?” asked Sheridan as she checked his eyes.
“I don’t think he’s breathing too well,” she answered, her ear on his chest. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Sheridan moved quickly to check for herself, first putting her ear to one side of his chest and then to the other. “Shiloh, how far is that sleigh?”
“They said they’d be a few minutes. Nathan needed to be able to get a team and then harness them and he’s not as fast as me,” she answered, kneeling down beside them. “Why?”
“I think he’s developing something a bit quick is all,” she answered, purposely choosing to not alarm them.
In reality she was very worried. The rattle she could hear and the fact that she could feel his body heat recovering—and rising—was not a good sign. While it could be something as minor as a cold she suspected that it probably was not going to be.
The sleigh finally came over the last hill with Nathan driving. “He learnt well,” pointed out Marissa.
“His mother’s son,” answered Shiloh, a small smile on her face.
Nathan threw everyone a dry set of clothes. Those who had not already stripped did so without quibbling over who was there. Sheridan noticed the raised eyebrows from—Abigail, if she remembered correctly—but the woman still stripped down and dressed in the dry clothing brought to her.
Sheridan let out a bark of laughter when she noticed that all Nathan could find was the SCA garb which meant now everyone was dressed as though they had come out of the Middle Ages.
“Was this all you could find?” asked Shiloh sharply as she pulled the loose under dress and then an unisex T-tunic over her head, cinching it with the belt from her jeans. “Really?”
Nathan sighed. “It was the only thing I could find with any great amount of speed that was not only close at hand but could adjust to fit no matter who I was trying to dress… and it still be warm.”
“He doth have a point…” Abigail grinned archly as the stares in her direction met with an indifferent shrug. “What?”
“Oh, she fits in here,” said Marissa as she looked over at Sheridan.
Sheridan sighed heavily as she directed Shiloh and Nathan to lift Derek up and into the back of the sleigh. They used the straw and a now ample supply of woollen blankets and cloaks to wrap him warmly. Nathan passed her the medical kit from one of the ambulances from the Fire Hall they had raided earlier in the year. “Okay, Nathan, get us back to the house now,” said Sheridan. “But be steady about it. We can’t afford to jostle him around too much.”
Marissa climbed into the sleigh as Nathan led the horses in a loose egg shaped loop so that he could reverse back. Shiloh nodded and waved as they headed back to the house. “Are you all right, Reese?” she asked quietly.
“As well as can be expected,” she answered, and she glanced over at Sheridan.
She’s hovering, realized Marissa. I’ve only seen doctors hover when things aren’t good, and then they just don’t want to tell you that. “Sheri, truthfully… what did you hear?”
“A rattle,” answered Sheridan, shaking her head. “It could be nothing but I’ll know more once we get him back to the house.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Waking was slow and sluggish. And if his head was anything to go by, it was also painful with a side of horrible. Derek’s head throbbed and he moaned helplessly. Coughing, he rolled over and tried futilely to ignore the fact that his face was crusted over while his nose was too congested to let him breathe. He did not even want to think about what was running down the back of his throat, but that naturally meant that he did.
He rolled over and thanked the person who was helping him from falling out of his bed and into the bin as he dry-heaved and coughed up more of the crap that coated the inside of his lungs.
That same person helped pick up his semi limp form and rolled him onto the pile of pillows, wiping his forehead in the process.
Finally, he gingerly cracked open his eyes to gaze at the face of a very worried Marissa.
“I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I can guess,” she said softly.
Derek wanted to answer her, but he could only cough and moan.
“Here,” Sheridan said, who he had not noticed being present, helping him up as she slid an oxygen mask over his face. “Breathe that—it’ll help.”
At that moment he did not seriously think anything would, but strangely enough, it did. The taste of it told him it was not entirely just oxygen, but there was a faint tinge of something almost minty and it tasted off. Not bad, but just off. He just could not place what it was.
Whatever it was, it made breathing easier and his head clearer.
“How long?” he croaked through the mask.
“You’ve been in and out of it for a few days,” answered Sheridan. “Acute hypothermia, which made a cold that much worse. You ended up with pneumonia, Derek. I’m treating you for that now and you’ll be fine but you’ll have to take it easy.”
It was then that he realized that he was not even in his own bed—or his own room—but was instead in Sheridan’s clinic.
He laid back down again, enjoying the respite that the oxygen laced with whatever she had concocted was giving him from the respiratory hell that pneumonia had caused. He drifted comfortably, not even caring that he fell asleep on any of them. He was dimly aware of a pat on his shoulder meant to be comforting before sliding completely back out again.
When he next woke, Sheridan was sitting beside his bed. She was staring out the window, but there was no expression on her face. “Sheri?” he asked, touching her knee.
She looked down, and laid her hand on his.
“I nearly killed you,” she said.
“No, I chose to go into that barn,” he answered.
She shook her head, pulling away from him. He sighed and then blew out another breath. “Sheridan, look at me,” he said, as he stared up at the ceiling, hands folded across his chest. When she continued to look at the wall, he said again, “Sheridan Nerys Wither, you look at your godfather right now.”
At the sound, and tone, in his voice—one he had not had to use with her since she was fourteen—she looked back at him, startled into obeying. He held up a finger, ignoring the fact that her grandfather had always held his index finger up the same way when he had a point to make, and said, “This… is… not… your… fault.”
“Yes, it is,” said Sheridan, quietly. “Without thinking, I not only endangered you but others. Terrence told me last spring that that barn needed to be torn down. We had to move the horses to another one.”
In the past few years, the Vermilion had been flooding more severely each spring. Buildings once above the flood mark now ran the risk of being underwater part of the spring. Flat, low-lying areas, such as fields with barns held the greatest risk.
“Had you been able to move those horses before, I am sure you would have,” answered Derek. “Bu
t, considering the circumstances, no one has had time.”
“And that’s what makes this worse,” she answered, throwing up her hands. “First, I lost Terry, and then I damn near made Reese a widow too.”
Derek let his hand fall back to the bed as his tongue seized to the top of his mouth. He was rarely caught speechless, but if anyone could make him lose track of his own thoughts, it was usually the frustrating hurricane in the form of his youngest goddaughter.
And, as usual, hurricane Sheridan did not disappoint.
Well, shit, he thought. What do I say to that?
He sighed, and looked back up at the ceiling. “That wasn’t your fault either,” he finally said. “That was no one’s fault, not even his.”
“I should have pushed him harder to go get his meds,” she retorted.
“He did go, and he was told to wait because their shipment never came a week before everything happened,” answered Derek, and he saw Sheridan pale until her usual dusky complexion was as white as paper.
“Say again?” she asked, quiet and even.
“He went a week or so before the power went out, and stayed out,” answered Derek. “But he was told that the pharmacy had nothing left. Their shipment never came in—so we went to the hospital and they gave him three days. I guess they felt that three days was enough for a shipment to come in… but we know what happened instead.”
Sheridan leaned back in her chair as her mouth dropped open. “Son of a…” she breathed, and then her brows knit and her entire expression darkened. “This was no sudden fall. This was happening slowly… so slowly that none of us noticed until the power went out and it was enough to make us notice.”
Derek sighed. I’d rather have her move from depressing and blaming herself to angry and ready to kick doors down any day…
… So long as it isn’t aimed at me.
“Now you’ve got the idea,” said Derek, and he pointed at her. “And me being laid up is no more your fault than Terrence not being able to get his pills. It was just bad luck, and you can’t control luck—or we’d all have been lottery winners long ago.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I still had to bury him, and you were too sick to even know that we did,” she answered.
“Ah, well, I’m sorry to have not been able to support you during that, but at the same time I’m glad you did bury him instead of waiting for me to get better,” said Derek, and he blew out a breath as he looked at her sideways. “What is it?”
“We weren’t sure if we were burying you next,” said Sheridan.
He sighed heavily, and then held out one arm towards her, his hand palm up. She stared at it, and he beckoned her to move closer. When she failed to move, he blew her a raspberry. Her eyes widened, and then she started to titter.
“Sheridan, come here,” he said.
She wiped her eyes and shifted closer, and when she was within reach he grabbed her hand and held it. “I did not leave Reese a widow. I am still here, my heart is still beating and I am still breathing,” he said. “And that’s your doing.”
* * * * *
With less of a walk and more of a limp, Daniel found himself at the edge of Lake Ramsey. Here, the houses were nothing, but burned out shells that had already been picked over. Nothing remained on this side of Sudbury.
He was not all that surprised—it was not far from the downtown core and easily accessed by the gangs. Once they had picked over the area for supplies, they simply destroyed it. Graffiti littered the walls and streets as testament to his observation.
The dead area made him safe simply because it had already been rejected by anyone still alive. At least the shoreline was reasonably untouched but, with his wounds and the cold water, the lake still had a few spots where ice floated. He had no way of leaving the area.
It was depressing that he would find his end here—with no way to tell his family or friends where to find his bones. Finding him would be like winning the lottery before—rare and not at all likely.
He sat down on one of the blackened rocks.
Unlike what was behind him the view in front of him was gorgeous. The leaves were starting to unfurl which gave the trees the appearance of having tiny green beads at the tips of every branch. The water was a dark slate which also betrayed its current frigid nature. The blackened rocks that surrounded everything—a throwback to when the old mining companies stripped the entire region of everything and then the numerous smelters smoked it all out—grounded the picture against the white bark of the birches on the islands that dotted the lake.
It was quiet. Nothing broke the serenity of his surroundings except the occasional bird chirp of what birds had flown back north from where they had spent the winter.
His only regret in dying here was that his daughter would never know what happened to her father. He moved his hand away from his side and noted that the bleeding was as steady as it had been when he was first wounded.
The crackle of his radio coming to life surprised him and it startled the birds into flying away.
“Is anyone reading this frequency?” came a voice through it. “Can anyone hear me?”
It should not have been possible—the portable two-way radio, always affectionately called a walkie-talkie, was secure and meant for police use. Its frequencies required a special scanner to even here, let alone broadcast. Yet someone had—and not just anyone. He lifted his hand to his shoulder where his handset rested.
“Lieutenant Wither here,” he answered. “Adrienne, good to hear you’re still kicking.”
“Dan? You’re still alive?” came another, far more familiar voice and Daniel started to laugh
Russell had survived. Relief flooded him. Out of everyone he could not confirm as still alive, at least he had one.
“Yeah, but unless I find shelter or something really soon I won’t be.” He took a breath. “I’m wounded, and I’m at the side of the lake. I’d give you my exact position, but I’m not sure who else might be listening in. Listen—City Hall's gone… the Police Service tower is probably in the hands of gangs. For however long, it stays standing, anyway.”
There was a long silence and Adrienne came back. “Then it’s best if we keep quiet too. Listen—we know a bit of what went down. I was at my parents’ when it happened and by some stretch of luck your brother ended up off the road right by us. You and I know where that is. We headed a bit south of that to a settlement on yet another lake. If you somehow can make it…”
Daniel frowned and looked down at the water. “I don’t know if I can but I’ll damn well try. Listen if I don’t, Russ, did Sheridan head into the city?”
“No, bro, she didn’t. She went home. I’m sure she’s in good hands,” answered Russell.
Daniel nodded, even though no one was there to see it, “Yeah, I’m sure she is… and will be.”
“As soon as you’re there. Dan?” asked Russell.
Except for the radio, the birds and the lapping of the water on the rocky shores all was quiet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sheridan stared at him in disbelief. “You want to hold your morning meeting in here?” she asked incredulously. “You should be resting.”
“I am resting,” he maintained. “Look, it’ll just be long enough to check on reports and see how they’re doing. I won’t get up and do anything and we’ll keep it short.”
“I will allow it, but,” she began, holding up a hand as he balked. “You have to hold to my conditions.”
“And those are?” he asked, with a sigh.
“One, you don’t get to lead these meetings every day… maybe once or twice a week until I’m satisfied with your recovery,” she listed. “Two, you limit your meetings to half an hour, or shorter. Three, if I or Em see that you’re tiring, you hand over the lead of the meeting to your second and you rest.”
Derek did not like those conditions one bit, but he had to admit they were reasonable and fit his current condition. “It’ll do,” he grumbled, laying back.
“I had a meeting to run,” he answered. “And now I slept through it. They’ll be in the field training by now.”
“They’re doing fine without you—as you trained them to do,” she answered. “At least you’re doing better. You’re actually sleeping instead of that... whatever it was you were in before when your fever was so high. We almost lost you.”
He sobered then and realized that he had almost died. If not for Dr. Wither he would have been dead. Granted, if not for the same doctor he would not have been in this predicament, either. All things considered, he had still been very lucky. “I don’t ever want to be in that position again, Reese,” he said quietly. “When that water was up to my thighs and I fell into it… and it kept rising and the barn was making this groaning noise… I couldn’t even call out loud enough for Sheri or Shiloh to hear me. It was blind luck that…”
He paused as he realized his memory was unclear on just who it was to pull him out. “Was it Shiloh who came looking for me when she did?”
Marissa was quiet. “No, but the person who managed to find you didn’t say what made her turn left instead of the right that the girls saw you head in last. She just did and then she happened to turn her head before you went under the water or she would never have even seen you go under. We’d have never found you.”
Derek sighed and laid back. “You know me, Reese, I don’t subscribe to God, or in Sheri and Shiloh’s case, Gods…but something was watching me that day.”
“Or it was just plain luck,” said Zachary as he sat down by Derek’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than the first time I woke up,” he answered truthfully. “Not great, though. Apparently still a long way from back to normal if my random sleeping pattern and raspy breathing is anything to go by.”
“Sheri says you have a few weeks, if not months, of recovery to go yet,” said Emilie as she came over to check his IV and other tubes. “Okay, everyone out. I have to check him over and there are certain tasks that are best left unseen.”
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