by Ann Benson
Could he do this again? The last time he had conquered plague it had been his own disease, and Kate had been as little as a whisper. She had done for him, by an expenditure of will, what he had not managed to do for Adele: she had forced him, in his delirium, to swallow the horrid potion that was his only hope for cure. She had held her small hands over his mouth and nose until he had no choice but to swallow or suffocate. And though death might have been welcome then, he had chosen to swallow. He had lived, and in the years since, the girl had described that moment as one of the most difficult she had ever faced, more difficult even than watching her own mother succumb.
Should she go through that again, with her child so near due?
No, he thought decisively, it cannot be allowed.
So when they came together again in the vestibule, he told her that she must stay behind with de Chauliac.
“Pere! Never!”
“De Chauliac, convince her of the folly of it. Tell her she must stay here with you.”
“I would, colleague, but my words will mean little, for I do not intend to stay here myself.”
They were ushered quietly through the château. Alejandro felt himself almost shrinking from the guilty familiarity of the place, and he dreaded his first encounter with the countess, for by rights, his first gesture toward her ought to be to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness for the falseness of his love.
But had it been false? Not entirely. In another time or place, under different circumstances, they might have flourished in their little courtship, for he found Elizabeth to be a pleasing companion, lively and jovial. She had a quick wit and keen intelligence, and the sound of her voice pleased him greatly. Moreover, he did not wish to hurt her.
But she was no Adele, and never would be.
His concern over their initial confrontation proved to be groundless, for the place seemed deserted. Few servants were about beyond the one who led them, and when they opened the door to the room where the small boy lay in his bed, the manservant turned quickly to depart. Alejandro caught him by the wrist and said, “There are things we will require to do this. You need not come inside, only leave them here, outside the door. Do not fail to answer the ring, or the child may suffer more, and I will be sure your mistress knows who failed her.”
They tied cloth masks provided by de Chauliac around their faces, and entered, closing the door quickly behind them. The smell of plague assaulted them instantly, and the first thing Alejandro did was to throw open the windows to let in some breathable air. They found the boy lying under the mink coverlet in his sweaty nightclothes, soiled with his own excrement, for no one, including his mother, could come close enough to see to his care. His heart ached with sorrow for the boy, whose neck was swollen and dark and whose eyes were wide with fear. Surrounded by strangers, he would now be subjected to what would seem like cruel torture masked in the garb of a cure.
Alejandro stripped away the fur and bundled it into a corner, then pulled the bell and went to the door. The manservant came to the hallway, but would not come near the door, though it was opened only a crack. “Bring fresh linens and nightclothes, and several large pitchers of clean water. And a new robe for the bed—but it must be wool, not fur. We will need a pot for boiling, and food for three days for all of us. Leave it all here, outside the door.”
Back inside, as he waited for the items to be brought, Alejandro took de Chauliac aside. “You put yourself in grave danger by being here. Kate and I have both survived this. And I have never seen one who survived the first trial contract this pest again. So I am sure we will be safe. But you—you are vulnerable, I fear.”
“Nevertheless, I shall remain here. I am oathbound.”
“Curb your oath, Frenchman, or you will learn this cure, but you will not be able to deliver it after the learning.”
With unbending determination, de Chauliac said, “I will stay.”
“Then stand back, so you do not breathe the child’s air humors. Then perhaps you will not be afflicted.”
“But I must see this for myself … this is among the finest wisdom to be had in my lifetime.”
Alejandro stared at him, and finally said, “It is nothing more than the wisdom of a crone. A woman.”
“So you have said, colleague, but there must be more to it than that.”
“De Chauliac,” Alejandro said, “it is that alone. And you must never underestimate the power of a woman to do what needs to be done.”
34
There was a task that Janie desperately wanted to see done waiting inside Jameson Memorial Hospital, but when she arrived there in her car one quick look told her that there was simply no getting near the facility in a vehicle. The parking lots were cordoned off to accommodate a fleet of vehicles that would have looked more at home in front of a military installation than a hospital. Cops in green suits were letting ambulances onto the driving areas of the hospital’s grounds, but not private cars, so Janie parked her Volvo a few blocks away in a place that was sadly familiar from her pre-Out-break life, a lot behind the school her daughter, Betsy, had once attended. After checking that the gas cap was indeed locked, she set out to walk the remaining distance to the glass and steel hospital.
Time was wasting. She knew she needed to finish this work and then leave, quickly, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet move as fast as she wanted them to—like swamp weeds, old memories tangled around her ankles and brought her to a halt at the edge of the parking lot. She turned halfway and gazed back at the near-empty expanse of pavement that once held buses and minivans, and watched as a thin, dry breeze bent the green shafts of plantain that poked up, accusations of neglect, from between the cracks. She had once stood on the same spot and watched as hearses pulled out of that school lot in a long, continuous line, each one easing slowly over the same speed bumps she’d negotiated hundreds of times with a car full of laughing children, all destined for happy homes with loving parents, their natural place in a world that was as it ought to be.
An involuntary shudder ran through her; she stiffened as it made its cold way down her spine. She tore herself away from the pain and turned back toward the hospital, and as she neared it she saw post drivers on the roadside and huge rolls of chain link on a flatbed truck. It had taken only a day or two the first time around to rim the hospital completely with the metal barrier. The turn of two sunsets, Alejandro might have said if he were here. Jameson Memorial would soon be a fortress as formidable as any medieval castle the ancient physician had passed through on his journey across Europe, and far more deadly. It was just no place for a sick child to be, and the delivery of Alejandro’s saving grace to Abraham Prives seemed reason enough to brave the gauntlet of halls and corners and stairwells required to reach him.
But when she came face-to-face with the newly erected security station and its shiny chrome and plastic scanner, her bravado felt thin and inadequate. The guards were suited in the familiar but dreaded green, and when she saw them together in a cluster Janie could not help but think of Heathrow Airport, where they’d been amassed along the mezzanine like sharpshooters over a barrel of fish, ready to take out anyone who misbehaved.
When she approached, one of them pointed to the ID sensor, so Janie stepped forward and ran her hand, palm up, under its laser reader. He handed her a face mask. She took it and slipped it on. No words were exchanged.
She was then directed by another series of hand signals to step forward and pass through the scanner itself. It would be at this point that she’d be taken, if a reason to do so surfaced, though no one knew quite yet where the retention centers were this time around. Within a few days, Janie knew that a frantic relative with political or financial influence would have pried the information out of some frazzled civil servant preparing to desert his post for the assumed safety of the hinterlands, one who no longer worried about the consequences of telling.
By the time any of this happened she would be ensconced in the foothills hideaway, out of harm’s reach.
Eventually, they would learn where people were being taken.
Not that knowing it would make a bit of difference.
The alarm did not ring, and Janie was waved through. She ran down the hallway, her footsteps echoing on the hard tile floor, and then flew up the stairs, bypassing entirely the elevator with its recycled air. The doors to all the rooms were closed, but none bore the deadly green tape yet, the fearful sign of quarantine. Still, there was an eerie sense of emptiness to the place, and when Janie reached Abraham’s room, she went right in and closed the door quickly behind her.
Not that closing it would make a bit of difference.
She found Mrs. Prives at the bedside, precisely where she expected the woman would be, clutching her son’s hand in what seemed an effort to preserve whatever spirit remained within him. When the mother saw Janie, an almost painful look of relief came over her face.
“Oh, thank God you’re here, everyone seems to have just up and left.”
Janie came bedside and put a hand on the distraught woman’s shoulder, though she was sure that whatever comfort the touch might provide would seem small and insignificant. “It’s getting crazy out there,” she said, inclining her head toward the door. “DR SAM—”
“That much I know,” the woman said abruptly.
There was a helpless sound to Mrs. Prives’s voice that gave Janie a moment of pause.
“Has anyone come in to talk to you yet?”
“No. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around at all. I’m starting to get really scared by all this—I just wish I knew something about what’s going on here.”
“I think anyone who could leave already has,” Janie said. “And I can’t blame anyone for going home. I’m going, uh, home myself as soon as I finish up here.”
“But who’s going to take care of Abraham now, if everyone’s gone?” Her voice was almost pleading.
“That’s why I’m here,” Janie said. “He’ll be taken care of, I promise.”
She opened her bag and took out the small vial she’d brought with her.
Mrs. Prives followed the vial with worried eyes. “What’s that?” she asked nervously.
Janie said the simplest thing she could think of in the hope that it would suffice. “This is a gene wash, from a donor we found after some protracted searching. There’s a snippet of DNA in there that will replace a damaged strip in Abraham’s genes. The damage happened a long time ago. This isn’t going to repair the break he already has, but it will keep Abraham from breaking any more bones, at least from shattering them. Now, the break he already has will require surgery—”
“Oh, dear God,” Mrs. Prives moaned. “But—the contamination—will it be safe to do it, now that …”
“Where it’ll be done, there will be a sterile environment,” Janie reassured her. “But please, I need you to listen to me now,” she said. “I won’t be available to you after today. I’ve made some arrangements for Abraham. This afternoon someone from the foundation will come to transport him to their medical facility. It’ll be a special ward that he’s going to, where there are other boys with similar problems, and they’ll all be receiving treatment for shattered bones—starting with the same gene wash. And after that takes effect, surgery to repair the shattering. Then follow-up therapy.”
She checked the drip rate of the liquid. Wanting it to go faster, she opened the valve a bit. “No one here will know anything about it. But with what’s going on outside, they won’t try to stop you or get in your way when you take him out of here. So just go with your son and get him settled in. I don’t know if you’ll be able to stay with him during his treatment, but I assure you that he will be well cared for, and that everything possible will be done to correct the damage to his vertebrae and his spine.”
“What are the chances that … that …”
Janie didn’t wait for Mrs. Prives to conquer her fear of completing the question. She went ahead and answered it, as frankly as possible. “He may not play soccer again,” she said, “but there’s a very good chance that he’ll walk.”
Still fighting off the tears, Mrs. Prives put a hand over her mouth. She looked at Abraham, then back at Janie, who smiled and said, “You can cry now. It’s okay.”
And as the mother burst into sobs of relief, Janie leaned over and patted her gently on the arm. “Good luck, Mrs. Prives,” she said quietly. “I really hope that you and everyone you love will make it through.” She straightened and looked around the room, then at Abraham. There was nothing more she could or should do.
“Now I have to go to some of the people I love.” She turned and left.
But before she escaped the growing madness to go to Caroline’s house, Janie had one more thing left to do. She wove her car carefully through the thickening traffic with her doors locked and her windows fully up. It was hot in the car, because air-conditioning sucked up too much gas, and she knew she wouldn’t be getting any more in the foreseeable future. She was sweating, and she felt drained by both heat and anxiety. But soon, when all of this was behind her, she knew she would be cool and dry, and if God was good, safe.
She passed the tall buildings of the university and headed for the south end of the campus to the book depository. There were only two cars in the parking area. One, she assumed, had to belong to Myra Ross.
Inside the starkly modern facility she found no chaos, no panic, just immense quiet and the same filtered, almost holy light that she’d admired in this building on her other visits. And before she got to her business, she stopped and stood in the shaft of a skylight’s beam to let the illumination wash through her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and let the light transfuse her with energy. When she opened her eyes again, Myra Ross was standing in front of her.
“They told me you’d come,” she said.
“You know what’s going on out there?”
Myra shook her head slowly and made a wistful smile. “It’s hard to miss,” she said, “if you have your eyes open.”
“We all missed it before.”
“We won’t again,” Myra said sadly. “So. I think I may know why you’ve come, but tell me anyway, just so I can see if dreams actually do come true.”
“And the dream you’re referring to, what would that be?”
“That you’ll leave the journal here.”
Janie looked down, almost in shame. “I can’t. I’m going away from here for a while. For—the duration. I want to take the journal with me.”
Myra sighed and gazed off to one side. “I thought you might. And I understand why, I really do.” She glanced back up at Janie again. “I don’t even fault you. But I’d like to ask you to reconsider. It’s very safe here. Even if we’re forced to close, this facility is like a fortress, it’s designed to withstand an assault, even one with heavy weapons. So there’s no reason to worry, really.”
“It’s not that. I know it will be fine. I have the feeling if it came to that, you’d be right there at the door with a machine gun, keeping the bad guys at bay.”
Myra let out a small chuckle and inclined her head slightly. “I’ve kept a whole slew of bad guys at bay before in other times and places, and I’m not so old yet that I couldn’t do it again.”
Janie thought briefly of the gun nestled next to Virtual Memorial. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I want the journal with me. It’s become so important to me, like those things from my old life that I managed to save from the fire. I can’t stand the notion of being separated from it.”
“All right, I’ll get it, then.” Myra started to take a step, then stalled and said, “You’re sure about this?”
Janie nodded.
“Well,” she said, “wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”
In less than a minute she returned with a carefully padded envelope, secured with a string.
“You really were expecting me,” Janie said.
“Yes, I was.”
Janie looked into Myra’s eyes. She saw no visible fear, but plenty of dete
rmination and resolve. “I hope we’ll meet again when this is over.”
“I do too, dear.”
“Do you have someplace to go?”
“I’ll stay here, of course. I have everything I need, and I’ll be doing something I care about. Where else would I go?”
“Yes, where else,” Janie said quietly.
“And yourself? Will you be safe? You’re welcome to be here, there’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you. But I have good arrangements. I’ll be—out of town,” she said. “Some friends have a safe place, out in the country.”
“Well, good-bye, then.”
“Good-bye.”
They reached out and hugged each other. Then Janie turned and started toward the door.
“Dr. Crowe.”
She stopped and looked back. “Yes?”
“I feel like I should be saying ‘And there goes my daughter, the doctor …’ Please, go with God.”
“I will. And you.”
She left Myra with the depository’s treasures, and departed with one of her own, one of the few that remained.
It was the best of news, but the worst of times to be hearing it.
“Oh, my God, Caroline, it’s wonderful, but now.…”
“I know,” she said. There was an edge of worry in Caroline’s voice but it was being drowned out by happiness. She wanted this badly. “It’s so ironic—we’ve been trying so hard, and Michael is just so thrilled, and now all the rest of this happens.”
“Life always finds a way,” Janie said. “Even in bad situations.” She put a hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “And this is going to be bad, I think.”
Caroline looked off into some undefined distance, thinking her private thoughts about the world her child would come into. “I know,” she said softly. “Michael says it’s happening very fast. He’s overwhelmed again. Already.” When she glanced up again her face showed both sadness and fear. “They all are, he says.”
