Ellie split away from her efforts acting as a go-between for the relief workers when she recognized Officer Merrill among the guards, and joined him watching as Hannah and Brock were added to the group of people who'd been at the front of the protest. A group made up of the malcontents who'd been most visibly threatening the relief workers in the help booth and talking about going over the fence.
“Nabbing them for instigating a riot?” she asked the man, motioning.
He grimaced. “Something like that. Most of them have prior warnings or complaints from other residents.” He spat off to one side. “And then there's your buddies the unhappy lovebirds, who've been nothing but trouble ever since they got here.”
“Really?” she said, surprised. “You mean all their speaking out against my programs?”
Merrill snorted. “No offense to your hard work, ma'am, but that's the least of it. To name just a few things, the wife's accused relief workers of peeping on her in the shower every time she's taken one. As if anyone would be stupid enough to risk exposure to Zolos for that. And they've registered a dozen complaints about passersby coming too close to their tent. And there was that one hysterical false alarm about an intruder trying to get in at them that turned out to be a raccoon sniffing around for food. Then of course there was that dustup with you and your boyfriend.”
It sounded like the man had a good reason to really dislike the Nowaks; that might be why he'd been especially motivated to be lenient about giving her and Hal a first strike after their fight with the couple, rather than just tossing them back in the isolation cells.
“So what happens to them now?” Hal asked as he joined them.
The guard shrugged. “Well, the main motivation for most of these malcontents was paranoia about being exposed to Zolos. Especially Mrs. Breakdown and her Knight in Shining Cellulite over there. So we'll kill two birds with one stone and toss them all back in the isolation cells. Bam! They're as safe from the virus as physically possible, and we don't have to put up with their BS anymore.”
Ellie supposed that made sense. “Any of them balking at that?”
“No, surprisingly. Sure, people complain that the cells suck, but at the same time most of these people were terrified by the outbreak, even minor as it was. They probably like the idea of an added layer of protection between them and the world.”
Merrill started to turn away to get back to corralling the malcontents, then paused and turned back, digging in a pouch on his belt. He pulled out a car key on a ring. “Oh by the way. After reviewing your accusation of theft, I've concluded to my satisfaction that the Nowaks did indeed steal that car from you, Ms. Feldman.”
He spun the key on one gloved finger. “I just confiscated this bad boy from Mr. Nowak's person. Let me get it decontaminated, and we'll make sure it gets back to you when you leave.”
Ellie could hardly believe her ears. “You'd do that for us?”
The man grinned broadly through his faceplate. “Consider it a “thank you” for stepping up to stop this potential riot. Not to mention all the work you've done for the camp.” He winked. “Also, I don't hate the idea of the tantrum those two are going to throw when they realize they've lost their stolen car.”
Merrill sauntered off, leaving Ellie and Hal to stare at each other in disbelief. Then she laughed and threw her arms around her boyfriend, hugging him tight. “We have our car back!” she shouted.
He lifted her off her feet as he hugged her back, spinning her around once while she laughed harder in delight. “I can't believe it,” he agreed. “I mean, I would've preferred justice for those two, but I guess being rewarded for our contributions and the guard hating their guts works too.”
Ellie's mind whirled as her entire perspective shifted to this huge new change.
All their efforts to find a way home were unnecessary now. Aside from their work helping the camp, and their plans for how they'd deal with surviving in the outside world, there was nothing left to do but wait until they could get out and get home to their families.
Maybe she should put more effort into seeing if she could get news about Nick and the kids, or finally get some answers about her mom, whose nursing home had fallen silent so soon after the disaster started.
Hal reluctantly pulled back after a minute or so. “I'd love to stand here hugging you all day,” he said, grinning, “but we've got our meetings to get to, right? They might've been delayed by this excitement, but if we don't show up everyone will just wander off.”
Ellie nodded and turned her back to the protest, leaving the relief workers and guards to finish sorting it out.
Chapter Eight
Mercy
Nick had found the Norsons to be honest, forthright people. Even so, he couldn't really blame them for asking him to keep his family hidden when neighbors came to get water from the pump.
It wasn't exactly an onerous request, since it had only happened six or seven times in the last two days since the family had taken them in. And the neighbors didn't tend to stick around chatting after they'd filled their containers; the fear of Zolos tended to make for people uninterested in socializing.
He didn't want to imagine how those people would respond if they found out that the shed a stone's throw from the pump they were filling their water containers from had two infected people in it. Or that the tent a stone's throw in a different direction might possibly also have an infected person in it.
Although Nick desperately hoped not; Ricky still hadn't shown any symptoms of Zolos since Tallie had gotten sick. While they needed to wait a bit longer from when they'd arrived in Stanberry to be sure, now that his son was safely isolated in his tent with no chance of coming into contact with them, Nick was cautiously optimistic about his chances.
Who knew, maybe Ricky was even immune, like him. Not that he was ever ever going to test that theory.
In any case, if the neighbors were curious about the new car by the shed, or the tent sitting at the edge of the property, or the hoses stretching from the pump to both, they didn't mention it as far as he knew. Not that the Norsons told him much; even Gen, who'd spent every evening so far with him watching the stars come out, albeit from a safe distance away, seemed more interested in talking about their lives in KC than gossiping about neighbors she barely knew.
All that considered, it came as a genuine surprise that afternoon when Mrs. Norson brought another woman, about her age or a bit younger, around to the shed to talk to him.
“Mr. Statton?” she called through the door.
Nick, who'd been occupied with trying to get Tallie to eat more mashed food mixed with water, looked up, wondering if the neighbors who'd come for water were already gone. And, for some reason, Billy's grandma had come for a chitchat for the first time.
“Yes?” he called back cautiously, moving to the door and poking his head out. “How can I h-” He caught sight of the woman with Mrs. Norson and paused, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. “Oh, hi.”
“This is my friend Mrs. Gerson, who lives a few houses down,” his host said, expression very serious. “She wanted to talk to you.”
Nick noticed that Mrs. Gerson's shoulders were hunched in grief, her eyes red and her features drawn and haunted, and had a feeling he knew what was bothering her: she looked like he'd felt when he realized Tallie was sick with Zolos.
“Of course,” he said gently. “What do you need?”
The older woman took a deep breath. “Mr. Statton, Winn tells me you nursed your daughter back to health after she fell sick with Zolos.”
Nick instinctively glanced back at Tallie, who was watching him curiously through drooping, weary eyes. “That's right,” he said, turning back. “We were very blessed.”
“I'm glad for you.” Mrs. Gerson began to weep. “M-my son Mack was out scavenging and came back with it. I didn't know what to do.”
“I'm sorry,” he said gently, remembering his own pain when things looked the worst for Tallie. “Don't give up hope yet, though. He
might still pull through, with care.”
“That's the problem.” She looked away, obviously ashamed. “I want to care for him, but I can't risk being exposed. We've got other children and grandchildren living with us, and we have to keep them safe at all costs.”
Nick had had a suspicion where this was going, and her hopeful look seemed to confirm it. “You want to bring him here?” he asked.
Mrs. Gerson shifted uncomfortably. “He's too weak to move, and we can't come close to him, so . . .”
So they wanted him to go pick him up, too. Leaving Tallie behind on her own. He gave the older woman a helpless look. “I don't have any medical training. I couldn't do more than make sure he gets food and water and try to keep him clean.”
“That's more than we could do.” She took a tentative step closer. “Please, Mr. Statton. We'll give you what food and necessities we can spare. I realize hope is slim, but if you can do anything to improve his chances . . .”
Nick hesitated. Saying yes would mean longer in quarantine. Longer before he could see Ricky. But that wasn't quite as urgent since Gen had agreed to watch his son. And these poor folks might be less inclined to run him out of town if he helped them.
And it was a man's life.
His only other worry was that he didn't want Tallie to be cooped up any longer than necessary. But she was still so weak and needed time to recover anyway. He looked at the older woman staring at him so pleadingly from a safe distance away, and his shoulders sagged.
“Let's go get him,” he said quietly. He turned to Winn. “If you could go ask Gen to keep an eye on the shed, make sure nobody comes prowling around or some stray dog doesn't try to get in, we can go.”
“Of course,” she said, eyes warm with thanks. “We'll make sure Tallie's safe while you're gone.”
Nick ducked back into the shed for a moment to grab his jacket. “I'm going to go on an errand for a few minutes,” he told his daughter briskly. “I'll be coming back with a friend who's sick and needs help.”
“I heard,” she mumbled.
Yeah, he supposed she would've, with them all shouting to be heard across the cautious distance. “Need anything before I go?” She shook her head, so he pulled on his jacket and ducked outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
He turned to find Winn dropping a pair of grocery bags at the shed's boundary. “Please put those on your feet,” she said uncomfortably, “and try not to touch anything as you walk to the Gersons'. Walk in the center of the street, too, where foot traffic is less likely. I know you know how important it is to not spread Zolos.”
“Of course,” Nick said, tying the bags around his feet. Then he followed Mrs. Gerson, who kept glancing over her shoulder to be sure he was sticking to a cautious distance of twenty feet, down the street for five minutes or so past a few widely spaced houses.
The area around Stanberry was beautiful, especially this time of year. Green rolling hills, verdant stands of trees along roads and between properties, and enough isolated shade trees in yards that barely any of the buildings in town were visible.
Of course, the air was as heavy as a wet blanket from the hard rainfall yesterday, which had been a bit of an adventure to keep out of the shed. Knowing this time of year he was sure there'd be more rain to come, which on the plus side was probably great for people needing clean water; they could just collect it on clean tarps into clean containers, or boil what they collected in barrels draining from their gutters.
No Stanberry residents were in view, of course, but around here that didn't feel eerie or out of the ordinary. Nick did feel conspicuous walking around with bags on his feet in the middle of the road, and had a feeling the Norsons' few neighbors were watching him suspiciously from the safety of their houses.
Thankfully the fourth house down the road, all on generously sized properties, turned out to be the Gersons'. It was a big, two-storey structure, one of those that looked like it could be easily a hundred years old, built to the construction standards of that time with large rooms and high ceilings.
Mrs. Gerson led him around outside the fence circling the property until he reached a back door. “Mack's room is just in there on the right,” she said, waving uneasily. “Could you just, um, go in and bring him out while touching as little as you can? I'll wait out here.”
Nick hesitated. “Well first off, how much does your son weigh? I might have trouble moving him unassisted.”
She frowned, looking even more worried. “Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that. He's probably 190, at least.”
Big boy, he thought with a quiet grunt. Of course, he was one to talk when he probably weighed around 35 to 40 pounds more than that, not that he'd weighed himself recently. And for that matter, 190 probably meant Mack was in pretty good shape, depending on his height; if their situations were reversed the guy would probably have an easier time moving Nick than he was going to have.
“Do you have a wagon or a piano dolly or something?” he asked, dreading the prospect of moving a full grown man back to the Norsons' house. It probably wouldn't be very good for the patient, either.
The older woman's frown deepened. “One second.” She ran around the house towards the garage, disappearing inside. He heard a bit of thumping and scraping and some surprisingly salty curses, then after a few minutes she reappeared carrying the last thing he would've expected.
It was a simple sled, one of those flat plastic ones that cost practically nothing. Nick supposed it was all he needed to drag Mack back to the shed, although the scraping noise it made would be as bad as listening to nails on chalkboard the entire way.
She tossed him the sled and a coil of thin rope. “Will these work?”
Looked as if they'd have to. “I think so,” he told her confidently. Tucking the sled under his arm, he headed through the back door into the house, using the sleeve of his jacket to turn the knob. It probably wouldn't make a difference, but better than nothing.
“Hel-” he started to call, then jumped slightly when he saw an older man, Mr. Gerson he assumed, standing farther down the hallway. “Oh, hi.”
The man waved nervously. “It's, um, right there,” he said, pointing to the closest door to Nick's right. “I think Mack tried to drag himself into bed after he started getting weak, but, um . . .”
He nodded. “Don't worry, I'll do my best to take care of him.”
He stepped into the room, which looked like any slightly messy guy's room. It was rank with the smell of stale sweat and BO, along with that subtle but unmistakable smell of sickness. Mack looked to be in his mid-20s and was tall and lean, with slightly shaggy dark hair and a heavy growth of dark stubble. He was slumped on his bed half on and half off the folded back sheet and blanket, as if he hadn't had the energy to get beneath the covers.
The man's head rolled weakly towards the door, face a shocking mask of waxy skin and trickling blood. “Hey,” he rasped in a weak voice, making a sickly attempt at a smile.
“Hey,” Nick said, waving awkwardly. “I'm Nick Statton. I'm going to take you back to the Norsons' place and do my best to care for you.”
“Okay.” Mack's face twisted in concern. “My family?”
“I think they're all okay, from the sounds of it.” He set the sled down on the floor and took a breath. “I'm going to get you there on this sled. It's going to be an ordeal, I'm sorry.”
The man's shoulders shook in a brief spasm of bitter mirth. “I'm dying of Zolos, man. It's all good.”
Nick grabbed Mack under the armpits, which turned out to be sodden with sweat in a way that made his stomach churn. Even knowing he was immune to the virus it was hard not to recoil at the touch, but he forced himself to keep his grip. With a grunt of effort he dragged the younger man off the bed, then with a combination of rolling and heaving managed to get him onto the sled.
It was a ludicrous sight, since Mack was too tall for the length of flat plastic by at least a couple feet. Nick helped him get his shoes on so his feet could drag on the g
round, wrapped him in a blanket, then tied him into the sled with some of the rope, using a pocket knife the man had in the drawer of his desk to cut off a few lengths. With the last of the rope he made a towing loop, tying it to the two flimsy holes punched into the front of the sled for the purpose.
Last of all Nick gathered up a bundle of clean clothes, towels, toiletries, and other things the man would probably need, tucking them under one of Mack's arms. Then he paused and looked around. “Ready?”
His new charge, who looked completely drained by the ordeal already, nodded once and closed his eyes. Nick nodded back anyway, then with a grunt of effort dragged the sled out into the hall and towards the back door.
“Love you, son!” Mr. Gerson called from down the hall. “You'll make it through this, just keep fighting!” A chorus of other voices, out of sight in a room behind the older man, many of them children, also called their love and best wishes.
Mack didn't respond, although tears joined the blood leaking from his closed eyes.
“So do you want to come back for the food and stuff we promised?” Mrs. Gerson asked awkwardly as Nick worked to get Mack safely down the few steps off the porch.
He shook his head. “I'd prefer it if you could give it to the Norsons. If it doesn't come into contact with me then we can all benefit from it.”
“Oh.” The older woman shuffled uncomfortably. “I was thinking of giving you some of the stuff Mack scavenged. It's infected anyway, so we can't use it.”
Her son shifted weakly in protest on the sled. “If you give it three weeks it'll be fine, Mom.”
“Even so, I'd prefer to give you some of that, Mr. Statton.”
Nick didn't like it, since he wanted to repay the Norsons for their kindness. But at least with that food he could take the burden off them, so they only needed to feed Ricky. “All right.” He motioned to Mack. “He's going to need electrolytes. Sports drinks or those tablets that dissolve in water. Even salt will help. And he needs food rich in vitamins and nutrients, preferably fresh, that can be mashed or blended so it's easier to digest.”
Isolation (Book 2): Going Out Page 16
