Sick

by Tom Leveen

  I wonder if Laura really made it to safety. Physically and otherwise. “You see Laura anywhere?” I ask Cammy.

  “No,” she says. “And why do you care all of a sudden? Thought you didn’t like her craziness, or whatever you called it.”

  “I got over it.” I open Kenzie’s phone. “Let me try my mom,” I tell everyone, and scroll through Kenzie’s contact list until I hit Mom’s number. I punch the send key, and then the speaker button.

  The line rings several times. Just when I’m about to give up, Mom answers.

  “Mackenzie!” she cries. “Honey, are you all right? Where are you? Where is your brother?”

  “Mom,” I croak, grateful to hear her voice. “It’s me. Kenzie’s here with me. She’s safe.”

  “I’m okay, Mom,” Kenzie calls.

  I hear Mom sigh with relief. “Where are you?”

  “We’re in the drama teacher’s office,” I say. “You’re on speaker. I’m here with the guys you talked to earlier. Chad, Travis, and Jaime. Cammy’s here too.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Murphy,” Cammy calls halfheartedly.

  “Oh, thank god,” Mom says. “I’m so glad you’re all okay!”

  “Mom, we sort of have a problem,” I say.

  “What? What is it? Are you all right?”

  I clear my throat and avoid Chad’s searing gaze. “It’s Chad. Mom … he got bit.”

  Silence.

  “What do we do?” I say.

  “Chad?” Mom says. “Are you there?”

  “Oorah,” Chad says. “Alive and well.”

  “Chad, did the bite break the skin?”

  “You could say that.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe.”

  “Where were you bitten?”

  “Hand. Left hand. Just below the little finger.”

  “All right,” Mom says, her voice becoming officious. “Clean and bind the wound. You have hydrogen peroxide? Some other antiseptic?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We doused it pretty good.”

  “Good. Bind his hand, but not too tightly. No tourniquets. All right?”

  “Okay …”

  “Then immobilize the arm,” Mom goes on. “As if it were broken. Wrap it to his body. Keep the bite below the heart.”

  Jaime immediately scours through Golab’s belongings and finds a dark-colored scarf. He follows Mom’s instructions, strapping Chad’s arm down across his stomach.

  “Do you have NSAIDs?” Mom asks.

  “En-say … what?”

  “Aspirin, ibuprofen, naproxen.”

  Jaime snorts a laugh and moves to Golab’s desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out a huge bottle of ibuprofen and sets it on the desktop. “Plus Pepto, Tums, cough drops, you name it.”

  Yeah, I want to say to him, because Tums are gonna be a big help here. I take the ibuprofen bottle, gauging from the weight that it must be half full. Probably more than a hundred tabs.

  “Um … yeah, we have those. Ibuprofen, I mean.” I have to fight to keep the panic from rising in my voice. Mom’s cool doctor’s voice helps a little.

  “Dose him with those,” she says. “Give him twice what the label says, twice as often as it says to. Got it?”

  I pass the pill bottle back to Jaime, who pours several pills into his hand, unlocks the fridge, and hands a small bottle of water to Chad. Chad takes it with a nod and swallows the pills. Jaime, god bless him, pulls out two other bottles of water, larger, and we begin passing them around. Then he stands in front of the open refrigerator like he’s taking inventory. I can’t see into it from my position. Funny, none of us thought to do that before we locked the fridge.

  “Okay, what else?” I say to Mom.

  “Chad? What kind of shape are you in? Overall. Pretty healthy?”

  Even though she can’t see it, I nod. Chad’s always been a bull, but he really filled out after signing up for the Marines.

  “I was gettin’ in shape for boot camp this summer,” Chad says. I notice Travis visibly react to that, like he can’t believe it. “I’m prolly in the best shape I ever been in.”

  “Good. That might help. The disease spreads faster in people with preexisting conditions and those who aren’t generally healthy.”

  “Like, on school lunch?” Jaime mutters, sneering at the carpet. “That’s most of the class …”

  “Brian,” Mom goes on, “do you have access to any benzodiazepines?”

  “Mom, I’m not a doctor. Speak English.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mom says. “Ah—Xanax? Serax? Valium? Tranxene? Libri—”

  “Wait, wait, wait … Valium?”

  “Yes.”

  My lungs constrict and sink into my stomach. My eyes shut. “How about Klonopin? Is that the same thing?”

  “Sure, clonazepam or Klonopin would work. Brian? Do have access to any of these?”

  I swallow something rancid. “Yes.”

  Travis and Jaime give me inquisitive glances. Chad, Cammy, and Kenzie do not.

  “Very good,” Mom says. “Get Chad started on them immediately. If it’s a prescription that a student has, probably one pill every four hours. Chad, those will sedate you fairly well, if not put you to sleep. Increase the dose to once every two hours if the effects begin to wear off.”

  “What’ll that do?” I ask, my throat dry.

  Mom hesitates. “It will help reduce the likelihood of a violent outburst,” she says carefully. “And Chad … I’m so sorry, hon, but if you were bitten by an infected person, you will become violent. That much is certain.”

  “How soon can you be here?” I ask. My legs have begun to shake.

  “I’ll get there as soon as possible,” is her nonanswer. “I promise. The sheriff’s office is doing a sweep through town here, door to door. We keep finding infected people. They’re insane. They attack without any regard for their own safety.”

  Yeah, we know, I think to myself, and it’s plain I’m not the only one thinking it.

  “There’s not much else I can do here,” Mom goes on. “So I’m coming back to Phoenix. And I’m coming to get you.”

  “Mom, it’s fucking anarchy out here. You can’t just pick us up in Principal Winsor’s office.”

  She doesn’t correct my language. “I’m coming with two sheriff’s deputies,” Mom says. “I’ll be perfectly fine. You just stay put with your sister. We’ll find a way in.”

  “Mom, please—”

  “This isn’t a debate, Brian. Stay locked indoors.”

  “But Laura’s out there,” I tell her. “In the school. Maybe alone. I can’t leave her there.”

  Of course, now there’s another reason I need to find her, but I don’t bother explaining it to Mom.

  “Brian, no. You don’t do anything. You stay put.”

  “Mrs. Murphy?” Travis says. “Do you know anything more about this infection yet? What are we dealing with?” He’s touching the wound on his face as he asks.

  Mom sighs again. “The bacteria shares traits with Group A streptococcus, which leads to necrotizing fasciitis.”

  “I’m sorry, can we get that in American?” Cammy says.

  “Flesh-eating disease,” Mom says after a pause.

  Cammy covers her eyes while everyone else looks at anything other than Chad. Chad sits motionless.

  “That’s not a medical definition,” Mom adds quickly. “That’s just something the media decided to call it years ago, rather sensationally. There’s also evidence the disease causes a new form of gouty arthritis, the kind seen in some diabetics. That’s what creates the crystal-like formations.”

  “So what’s gonna happen to me?” Chad blurts.

  “If what we’ve seen so far holds true,” Mom says hesitantly, “your first symptom will likely be lower back pain, followed by pain in your joints as the gout spreads. Then tophi—the crystallized skin will start to appear, primarily on the chest, back, arms, and hands. Your eyes will likely jaundice, become yellow.
And after that …”

  Mom pauses again.

  “G’head, Mrs. M,” Chad says, only this time his voice cracks just a bit. “How long do I got?”

  “It’s hard to say, Chad,” Mom says gently. “Some of the victims appear to have suffered the effects rapidly, while in others it’s taken up to twelve hours or more. We just don’t know.”

  “Define rapidly,” Travis says, stroking the bandage on his face.

  “Two hours to become symptomatic,” Mom says. “That’s a guess right now. The real danger is in determining when the patient loses control. That’s part of the sinister nature of this contagion. If it was always fast spreading, we could catch it and stop it quickly. Unfortunately, we know now that symptomatic patients were treated and released over the last several days, only to become violent and unpredictable several hours later.”

  “Mrs. Murphy?” Jaime says. “I’m just wondering. The infection itself, is it fatal?”

  “It doesn’t appear so,” Mom says. “But it’s frankly too early to tell. It is horrifically painful, and maddening. Quite literally. It might be more merciful if it—”

  Mom cuts herself off. I guess she remembers Chad’s in the room.

  Chad slowly leans back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Just then, a bang sounds on Mom’s end of the line. A blast. Like from a shotgun.

  Mom shrieks in shock, which brings me to my feet. “Mom!”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mom says, breathing hard. “Oh, lord. Okay. Brian? You should be ready to isolate Chad in as safe a manner as possible until we can get him medical attention.”

  “What kind of attention?” I shout at the phone. “You said there was no cure!”

  “Not yet,” Mom says. “But we are working on it. Please believe me.”

  It isn’t a matter of whether I believe her; of course I do. Something this big, this bad, hurting so many people—of course people are working on a cure. But how long will that take?

  I guess it doesn’t matter. I know what we have to do.

  Over the speaker, we hear someone call out, “Dr. Murphy!”

  “Just a moment!” Mom shouts. “Now listen to me. All of you. The best thing you can do is stay put. Communication with Phoenix has been sporadic. It might take some time, but I promise we will come and get you.”

  “What’s the spread?” I ask. “I mean, how far has this thing gone already?”

  Mom is quiet. It’s enough of a response to make my skin chill.

  “We’re not sure,” Mom says. “The government is having a hard time trying to pin down exactly how many cases there are. But they are definitely multiplying, and fast. The CDC and Homeland are trying to come up with a public announcement, which will probably go live in the next hour, but it may be too late to do much good. And not everyone will see it. Panic has already begun, and now the priority will be coming up with a way to keep it reduced as much as possible.”

  I remember the rampage on Scarlet Avenue. The backup on the 51.

  “At this point, people attempting to flee what they think is a bioterror attack are as much a danger as those with the disease,” Mom says. “We’ve heard that local stations jumped the gun and advised people to get out of town.”

  I think about Tara’s dad, who so heroically arrived in his van only to get carjacked and eventually … well, eaten.

  “Mom,” I say, “you’ve got to get us out of here. Use a helicopter or something.”

  “Brian, I’m trying,” Mom says. “I am, sweetheart. You know I am. I’m terrified for you. But right now, stay locked indoors and stay as far away from these infected people as you possibly can.” She pauses. “You’re not the only ones,” she adds softly.

  We all stare at the phone. Mom seems somehow to guess what the expression on our faces is.

  “There are other schools,” she says. “All grades, all ages. Day cares …”

  Jaime, still standing in front of the open fridge, presses his lips together and clenches a fist. Thinking of his brother, I’m sure.

  “Shopping centers,” Mom goes on. “Libraries, office buildings … It’s a big city, and police and rescue are stretched thin. The National Guard has been activated, finally, but you can’t just say, ‘Go help everyone,’ and expect the wheels to move right away. It’s a bureaucracy, with all the red tape that goes along with it. They don’t know how to arm themselves, what the rules of engagement are, where to set up to launch an initial sweep. It’s going to take time. They have to secure high-value areas first, like our nuclear power plants, the dams, that sort of thing. Otherwise the whole state could go off the grid.”

  “Can’t you just mow ’em down?” Chad demands.

  “Chad, no,” Mom says firmly. “These are sick people. We wouldn’t ‘mow down’ people with AIDS or bird flu or plague. Brian, Mackenzie?”

  “Yeah,” we say in unison.

  “I love you,” Mom says. “Stay quiet, and stay locked indoors. The bacteria affects the brain, and the infected are extremely dangerous.”

  Chad grins helplessly and shakes his head in disbelief, as if to say, Yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.

  Then from Mom’s end of the call, I hear someone shouting, “Move, move! Coming up the alley!”

  “Oh, my god!” my mother screams. “Behind the van, behind the van!”

  “Mom!”

  “Miguel, this way!” Mom shouts. “This way, behind the—”

  Some guy yells my mom’s name. “Get back!”

  The line goes dead.

  I put the phone to my ear for what feels like ten years. Finally, I close it.

  “What happened?” Kenzie whispers.

  I stare at the carpet. It’s old, threadbare, puke colored.

  “Brian?” Kenzie’s voice floats toward me through a tunnel, bouncing in the empty space between my ears. “What was that?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice hollow. “We’re on our own.” I hand Kenzie her phone back. “Be careful with that,” I say quietly. “It’s our only line outside right now.”

  Kenzie nods seriously and puts the phone back into her pocket. Her scowl hasn’t budged. No one looks at us.

  In the silence, Travis says quietly to Chad, “You joined the Marines?”

  “Yeah, so?” Chad says. “What, you hot for guys in uniform or somethin’?”

  “My dad was in the Army,” Travis says. “So was his brother. My uncle Steve.” He takes a sip from his water bottle. “He hates me too.”

  Chad says nothing.

  “Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m a fag,” Travis says, trying to laugh. “Least that’s what Dad says.” He takes another drink.

  Chad remains silent, eyes flicking from one spot on the carpet to another.

  No time for a big cuddle-fest. I give myself a mental slap, telling myself that Mom is surrounded by police. She has to be okay. Has to be.

  “So the clock’s ticking,” I say to everyone, hunkering down and pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to come up with an alternative to what I know has to be done now. “We should ask the kids in the hallway if they have any of those medications.”

  “If they do, it’ll be in their bags,” Jaime says. “In the Black Box.”

  “Still got to ask. What are you looking at in there?”

  Jaime blinks, as if just realizing he’s still holding the refrigerator door open. “Today’s Tuesday.”

  “Uh, yeah?”

  “Golab cleans out the fridge every Friday,” Jaime says. “In terms of food, we’re looking at a can of Diet Coke, one more bottle of water, and something that I can only hope is some kind of goat cheese.” He tries the freezer. “And exactly one frozen personal pan pizza. Also, ice.”

  He lets the doors shut, then abruptly shouts something in Spanish. I don’t need to speak the language to know what he’s saying.

  “So that means—” Travis says, then shuts up.

  “It means we’d better ask about those meds,” I say, avoiding Chad�
��s eyes.

  Jaime goes to the door and cracks it open after Kenzie scoots out of his way. He calls to Kat and quickly describes what we’re looking for. Kat heads for the stagecraft students and Jaime closes the door again.

  “Okay,” I say. “We’ve got two hours. Maybe more, but let’s say two. Plan A, ask the drama kids. Hopefully, someone in the hall has Valium or something like it.”

  “If not?” Travis says.

  “Then we have to gear up for Plan B.” I turn to Chad. “Dude?”

  “Yeah, Bri.”

  “What do you want to do, man?”

  Chad gets to his feet. Picks up his bat in his good right hand. We all tense visibly.

  “Think,” he says. “Just think. I’ll be by the doors. I know where you’re headed with this. I’d better rest up.”

  With that, he walks to the office door, opens it, and steps through, headed toward the double orange doors.

  I slowly close the office door behind him.

  “What’s he mean by that?” Travis says.

  I make eye contact with Kenzie. She nods, and swallows hard.

  “Let’s get some rest,” I say. “Just—a little bit. Half hour.”

  Travis looks incredulous. “Hey, you heard your own mother,” he says. “We got to figure out what to do about Prince Charming out there. Like, now.”

  “Half hour,” I repeat. “I got a plan, but I need to think about it. Okay?”

  Jaime takes a deep breath, then picks up his red duffel bag. “I think he’s got the right idea,” Jaime says. “I’m going up to the roof. Think.”

  “Mohawk out there might have, like, an hour before he goes ballistic,” Travis warns.

  “Yeah, and you might too, for all we know,” I say. “Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, all right? Thirty minutes.”

  Jaime slides his Starfire through his belt and heads for the door. “We’ll meet back here.”

  “Sure thing,” Travis says with disgust. He crosses to the door and gives me a direct gaze. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t push me right now, man.”

  Travis, about three-plus inches taller than me, considers for a moment, then nods.

  “Cool,” he says. “I’ll push you in thirty.”

  “I’LL SIT WITH CHAD,” CAMMY SAYS, STANDING up as the door closes behind Jaime and Travis.