“Who, Mick?” Dylan smiled. “He’s a tower of strength.”
“No, he’s not. Look at him. Michael Owens never had a poker face. He’s the most emotionally-charged man I know. He’s not that strong right now.”
“He has to be, I need him to be.”
“And so does the entire goddamn town of Lodi. But...Dylan,” Tom laid his hand on her shoulder, “don’t put that pressure on him. Be your own strength. He can stand there and hold you. I can stand here and hold you. But nothing will take away what you’re feeling, nothing will make you stronger, but you.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Dylan kissed her father on the cheek. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“No I don’t. Because if I did, I certainly would be saying the right thing right now to take this all away for you.”
Dylan immediately threw arms around Tom and embraced him, burying her head against him. More than he realized, she wished he could take it all away for her. But unlike the skinned knees that healed with a kiss, a trip to the store on a bad day, nothing could or would be able to take it from her. Nothing except a miracle, and Dylan, though she wished for one with all her heart, knew the reality of a miracle occurring was slim.
* * *
It was the first time since Lars’ first experience with the flu many years earlier that he had done so. He didn’t know what caused him to reach that breaking point, to act so unprofessionally, but he did. Hands to his ears, like a child, he blocked out the horrendous scream of agony that blasted across the gym from the cafeteria.
The final scream of death made by so many. But the one that sent him over the edge, the one cry that no amount of morphine subdued, cut straight through him. It wasn’t one of a child, a woman, or anyone he was personally close to. It just was the final straw.
It ceased and Lars lowered his hands and looked at Kurt and Henry. “My apologies.”
Henry shook his head. “I found myself doing that twice last night. Plus, something totally unforgivable, I find myself saying, ‘please just die. Let go, let go’.”
“That’s not unforgivable,” Kurt intervened. “It’s compassionate.”
Lars chuckled with a hint of defense and anger. “Euthanasia is compassionate right now. If that was me out there, my wife, my child, parent, I would choose euthanasia over that agony.”
“You’re knowledgeable,” Henry stated.
“I am very straightforward with these people,” Lars rebutted. “They aren’t listening.”
“They aren’t doctors,” Henry argued. “They are people. These are the ones they love that are dying. Of course they aren’t gonna say, hey, just put them out of their misery. They are gonna hold on to the hope that things might turn around at any second.”
“Even as their internal organs liquefy and emerge?” Lars questioned with sarcasm.
“Even then.” Henry tossed his hands up. “If I had a child, I don’t know if I could make that decision either. Has anyone?”
Kurt answered, “Seventeen. That’s it. Out of the four hundred that have died so far and six hundred well on their way, only seventeen asked for that route and we delivered.”
“Six hundred?” Lars snapped with surprise. “Why is that number so high?”
“Why are you so angry tonight?” Henry stood up. “Calm down.”
“I can’t,” Lars said. “How in God’s name did we go from saving seventy percent of those with septicemia to fifty?”
“We didn’t. They did,” Henry responded. “You called it. Overconfidence. They waited too long, most of them. We expected it. And the child deaths are skewing the ratio. The children, the children just don’t have the response and the strength adults do.”
Lars closed his eyes. “The most painful loss.”
Kurt interceded, “At least...at least it looks like the flu has run its course with the children. The numbers show only a few remain unscathed. Some of those children we can accredit to the immunization and some to genetics.” Kurt noticed the sudden change on Lars face. It went almost peaceful. “What? What did I say?”
“I’m having a horrendously bitter night.”
Henry nodded to Kurt with a grumble. “You can say that again.”
“But,” Lars said, “I was thinking a drink would help. However, we’re too busy. Instead, Kurt, you told me how else I can get that dose of feel-good.” He walked to his table of folders and began to flip through them. “Here it is.” He pulled out a folder. “I thought it was a bad time, when indeed it is a perfect time.”
Confused, Kurt looked at him. “I don’t understand. Can you tell me how I just brightened your day?”
“Absolutely.” Lars smiled. “By telling me how to brighten, even just a little, someone else’s day. Excuse me.”
Henry turned to a questioning Kurt and tossed up his hands. “Don’t ask me. He’s Lars Rayburn.”
* * *
“Hooked up.” Mick moved the television closer to the bed. “Can you see?”
Dustin nodded then returned to talking to Chris. “And the German suplex....” He struggled to not cough. “I want that forever known as the Dust-plex.”
“Cool.” Chris nodded. “I wanna go with some sort of crippler move. You know.” He wrote down on the sheet of paper he had over the magazine. “Call it the Chrispler.”
Dustin laughed and that made him cough. It grew violent and his face turned purple during his struggle.
“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered.
“Enough talk,” Dylan intervened, she had to get hold of herself when she saw Dustin’s struggle. Calmly, she reached behind his back. “Mick, can you give me....”
“Absolutely.” When Chris moved out of the way, Mick sat on that edge of the bed. Hand to Dustin’s back, he leaned him forward a bit, allowing Dustin’s chest to rest in his other hand. “Remember what Lars said. Calm. Okay?” Mick said while firmly striking Dustin’s back.
Dustin coughed, his airways cleared, and the red started to leave his face. He took a couple of breaths, as best as he could.
“Better?” Mick asked.
With closed eyes, Dustin nodded.
Dylan brought the wet cloth to his face, wiping around with a firm gentleness. “Did you want to watch your disk?”
“Yeah.” Dustin turned to Chris. “Can you get it?”
“Wrestlemania Three?” Chris asked and received a nod then took off in an excited sprint, but he didn’t make it far. His feet got tangled in his own sleeping bag and he tumbled to the floor with a thump.
It was better than any medicine and Dustin laughed, coughing again.
Mick pulled Dustin upright. “Christ, Chris, you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He stood up. “I should have waited until I was ready to sleep to put that down, huh?” He moved to the door. “I’ll be back.”
Laying Dustin back, Mick shook his head. “Your brother.”
“Hey, Mick?” Dustin shifted his eyes to his mom. There was a sadness about him. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.” Mick leaned closer; when he did, Dustin brought his lips to his ear and whispered.
Dylan knew something was up as she watched Mick listen to Dustin and throw a glance to her. Her eyes all but asked, “What’s going on?”
Mick nodded. “Dylan, can you...can you give us a minute.”
“Oh, sure.” She put down the rag and leaned down to Dustin. “I’ll be right back. Want anything?”
“No. Yeah. Some water,” Dustin struggled to speak.
“You got it.” After a gentle wink and smile, Dylan walked from the room. Pulling the door closed, she stepped into the hall. Hearing the click of the lock, Dylan’s heart sank with a feeling of uselessness and perhaps a bit of jealousy that she was being shut out at that second. But hearing Chris ascending the steps drew her attention, so not only did she go to retrieve Dustin a drink, she went to cut Chris off.
There was a weakness to his thin arms that Mick knew Dustin was unawar
e of. He felt the assistance Dustin tried to give, as Mick finished putting a new shirt over his head. “There,” Mick said then straightened Dustin’s hair.
“I didn’t need a shirt.” Dustin lay back.
“I always feel much better when I put on a fresh tee shirt.” After unlocking the door, Mick sat on the side of the bed facing Dustin. “You feel better?”
“Much.” Dustin stared down. “You’re not gonna say anything to Mom are you?”
Mick shook his head. “No.”
“Mick?” His glassy eyes raised to Mick’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m sorry for what Mom is feeling.”
“Don’t.” The word was strong with emotions when Mick delivered it. “Don’t.” He laid a firm hand on the side of Dustin’s face, cupping the entire cheek in his hand. “Don’t let me hear you apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. We do. Because we’re such a...such a goddamn mess over this. I wish, Dustin...” Mick looked into his eyes, “I wish with all my heart I could have one ounce of your strength right now. I am very....” The cracking and breaking up of Mick’s voice betrayed his emotions. “I am very proud of you. I love you very much.”
Dustin’s breath was quivering and rumbling when he looked at Mick and saw the strained look on his face, along with the gloss of unshed tears in his eyes. “You’re pretty cool, Mick. I love you, too.”
Mick’s free hand went to his eyes and he squeezed them shut with his forefinger and thumb. The clearing of his throat didn’t help clear away what he struggled to hold back.
“I don’t believe it,” Dustin said with a sense of awe.
Mick cleared his throat again and opened his eyes. “What?”
“Many men have tried,” Dustin rasped out. “They tried to break the mighty Mick Owens. Man, haven’t I always said I would be the one?”
“Just don’t...don’t tell your mom.”
“It’s an exchange of secrets.” Dustin’s fingers moved slowly toward Mick’s hand, and he weakly grabbed it. “Can I tell you another secret? I’m kind of scared. Does that make me not tough? You’re always tough. You don’t get scared...do you, Mick?”
Mick wanted so badly to do his stock grumble at a typical “Dustin- style” question. He wanted to blast out an argument like always, but this time he couldn’t. There was no argument. Dustin was right. And with the honesty he always gave the boys, Mick just grabbed Dustin and hugged him like he had never done before. His face was pressed tightly against Dustin’s body, and his words were muffled as he spoke to Dustin. “I have never been so scared in all my life.”
Dustin, as best as he could, grabbed tighter to Mick. “Then I guess it’s okay, huh? Scared’s not so bad now.”
Another squeeze conveyed his feelings to Dustin, then Mick pulled back from the embrace. He aimed a hard emotional stare at Dustin followed by a smile. “I’ll be....” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.” His hand firm on Dustin’s, Mick leaned down and pressed his lips hard against Dustin’s forehead, leaving them there for a moment. “I’ll be back.” He couldn’t look at Dustin for another second. Face red, his body feeling like a volcano ready to erupt, Mick hurried from the room past Dylan and Chris who had just stepped in.
Down the steps, across the living room, through the kitchen and out the back door. Mick didn’t stop until he reached the back yard.
What he wanted to do was just let go. Drop to the ground, curl up like a child and break down, allowing everything he felt to flow out. But he couldn’t. Something told him he just had to be strong, but strength was difficult to come by just then. Mick fought and fought to keep it inside. His fist clenched as his body tensed up, and a fireball of pain shot from his gut and radiated through his chest. Turning sharply, he faced the single tree in the back yard. Muffled by the image Mick had to project, he growled out an anguished scream as he raged his fist into the side of the tree.
The connection with the bark didn’t even pinch his fist. Mick’s emotional agony overshadowed his physical pain. His mouth parted in a silent cry that he tried diligently to keep inside, he leaned into the tree.
Mick was lost in this moment, hurling out all of the pain that he felt as if the tree could absorb it for him. He couldn’t move; he was frozen there. His reaction time slowed, and he realized it when he couldn’t pull himself together when he heard the crunch of leaves near him.
Slowly, with his forehead lowered to his arm against the tree trunk, Mick looked up at his visitor.
Lars took another step forward. “I’ve had many new experiences with this flu. You...you have just driven home to me the true meaning of pain.” Another step closer, and Lars’ voice whispered. “It’s all right, Mick. It is all right to let it out.”
Mick turned around and leaned his back against the tree, his voice growling his pain. “Oh my God, Lars. Pain. You said pain. I have been shot, stabbed, beat up…but I have never in my life felt a pain like this.” Mick’s arms crossed tight, squeezing against his own midsection. “I can’t take it. I cannot take what I am feeling right now.”
“I won’t pretend to know what you are going through, you or Dylan. I can only imagine. I am so sorry that you are feeling such pain.” Lars moved to him.
“The mother in Cleveland.”
“Excuse me?”
Mick swallowed and took a deep breath; he let it out slowly as he stared at the sky. “You said a while ago, the mother in Cleveland who knew she was losing her child. You wanted to stop a mother in Lodi from feeling that.”
Lars remembered that speech well. “Yes, I recall saying that. Mick, I tried.”
“You did it,” Mick said. “You did.” He sniffed hard. “Dylan just so happened to end up being the mother you saved and the mother in Cleveland.” He growled out softly, “God.” Closing his eyes Mick stepped away from the tree. “I keep wanting to ask ‘why’.” He looked at Lars. “Is that stupid? I know there is no answer to that question. But I keep wanting to ask.”
“Everyone does. Those who survived, those still ill, and all of you who are losing someone. Why.” Lars dropped his voice. “You’re right. There is no answer to why some were spared. The injection perhaps, gambling with the timing, poor genetics...good genetics.” He shrugged. “No reason.”
“And it’s not over. Not for us. We were confident after Chris beat this. We’re hanging on to futile hope with Dustin. Lars....” Mick breathed out his words, “I had to change his bed. He thought....” Mick squinted his eyes in pain as he spoke. “Dustin thought, you know, that he had an accident.” Another shudder of emotions escaped him. “Blood. Lars, all there was, was blood on that bed. Blood. I’m not handling this well.”
“Yes, you are.”
Mick shook his head. “No...no, I’m not. I’m trying to look like I am, for Dylan, for Dustin. But I’m not. I’m dying. I’m physically dying inside. And we still have Tigger to worry about.”
“No, you don’t.” Lars reached into his back pocket. “That’s why I’m here. To ease your mind, even if just a little.” He held up a folded sheet of paper. “Lou Smith, you know him, he’s immune. His son Craig, nine, immune, too. Brian Watts, immune. His six year old son Lenny is immune. Genetics, Mick. You’re immune. Only goes to figure...” Lars handed him a sheet of paper. “So is your son.”
Mick didn’t open the paper, he took it, and closed his eyes.
“Tigger is your son, Mick. Did you know that, or did I just drop the bombshell of the century here?”
Mick’s words dragged as he spoke. “No. I knew. We...we knew. How did you....?”
“When he came down for his daily flu testing, I had to run an immunity test. I had to. There was no reason whatsoever for that boy to be well. He, of all people, with his medical history should have fallen first.” Lars watched Mick nod. “But, I have to say, I’m shocked. I’ve known you your entire life, Mick. I would have never thought you to be one to….”
“Deny my child?” Mick asked. “Let me tell you something, Lars,” his voice d
eepened as he answered, “never.” Mick raised his eyebrow. “It was not what I wanted to do. Come on, you know mine and Dylan’s history. I’ve loved her forever. We always hooked up, innocently though, when her and Sam would split. But that one time....that one break up, I thought that was it. I did. She made love to me, and that told me so much. She wouldn’t have gone that far, that deep, if it wasn’t really over with Sam.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No. After about a month, they got back together. Dylan...was pregnant.” He tossed up his hands. “We found out shortly after their reunion, and there wasn’t a doubt it was my child because their reunion hadn’t become physical yet.”
“What did you do?” Lars asked.
“I wanted the baby. I wanted the chance. It was my chance to have Dylan. To have a family. To finally have it all. Chris was just starting Little League then. And I remember thinking how great it was gonna be that I would be more than just ‘Mick’ at those games. I went to every one of those games, you know. Dustin’s, too.” Mick winked softly as he nodded his head. “I never missed a moment in these boys’ lives. Dylan was my best friend, and they were the closest thing I had to my own kids.”
“Then came Tigger.”
“Then came Tigger,” Mick said. “Sam knew. And it kicked my ass that he was so understanding about it. Sam’s attitude was he just wanted to get past it, move on, put the incident behind us. We were all friends. But it wasn’t Sam’s attitude that dictated this situation. Not at all. He called another one of his little meetings.” Mick chuckled. “I was determined, I wanted my kid. But what changed me was Dustin and Chris. I looked at them that night. They had their mom, their dad...their family. And all the good I have ever done, all the looking up to me that they did, would be...” Mick snapped his fingers, “gone, the second I stepped into the picture in a different role. So we decided that no one would know Tigger was my kid. Sam would raise him, treat him as his own, Tigger would call him...Dad. I was allowed to see him as much as I wanted, spend time with him alone. But it never happened, that alone time I mean. It felt unfair to do that. So I ended taking all the boys for overnights and trips.”
The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 32
