Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Time of the Fourth Horseman

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “If we could have gotten out,” Natalie put in, giving Dave Lillijanthal a pointed look. Dave shrugged.

  Stan Kooznetz ran water into the sink. “I guess the wells are still good,” he said, not wanting to indulge in too much optimism.

  “Then, maybe I shouldn’t have stolen that water truck,” Harry suggested, but his words were cut short by Amanda Divanello. “No, you were right. We’re going to hold that water in reserve. We may need it if the power breaks down and we can’t use the pumps, or if the wells turn out to be contaminated.”

  “Let’s get our bearings first,” Harry said, and turned to look at the group. “Which of you want to take the cellars? We’ll need notes.”

  Three hands were raised, reluctantly. Harry nodded. “Ted, you can be in charge,” he told the gentle, methodical Edward Lincoln. “You, Dominic and Roger can take the cellars. Make sure you check out everything, including seepage, if there is any.”

  “Right.” Ted nodded to the other two. In a few moments their footsteps echoed back from the long cellar stairs.

  Kirsten Grant and Alexes Castor agreed to see to the garage, and Natalie volunteered to go with Radick and Maria Pantopolos to the attic. The rest divided the two main floors between them.

  “I wonder if there are any alarms we’re setting off?” Natalie said as she climbed the main staircase.

  In the end they agreed that the formal dining room, with its three crystal chandeliers and rosewood table, which could seat thirty, would be their common room, their retreat, while the rest of the house, with the exception of the attic bedrooms and larger kitchen, would be converted to treatment areas.

  “There’s eight bedrooms in the attic, so we’ll work out how to double up.”

  “We can take care of that in shifts. If we have to.” Dominic Hertzog leaned back in the rosewood chair and went on, “I hope one of you has thought about shifts, because I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a twenty-four hour place.”

  “What do you mean?” Amanda Divanello tapped the table angrily with her pencil, and watched Dominic as if he were a blue baby she had to operate on.

  “I mean that I listened to the news. And tonight they’ve finally admitted that there is an outbreak of a ‘smallpox-like’ disease, which they are hard at work developing a vaccine for. Mark Howland was interviewed, and you wouldn’t believe the way that bastard talked...” He stopped. “Sorry, Natalie.”

  “I’ve heard him, too. Don’t apologize,” she said, and saw approval in Harry’s eyes. She felt pleased and confused.

  “Go on, Dominic. What did he say?” Amanda insisted.

  “The usual waffle. Assurances that the situation was surely temporary, that there was no need for panic, and of course a plea to the people not to travel so that this outbreak can be isolated. Then the City Patrol announced that all the roads out of this area would be closed so that this thing could be taken care of right here. So, no traffic from further away than Fresno or Sacramento, or Auburn on the east and Tracy on the west.”

  “You mean we’re sealed off,” Radick said gently. “I suppose it was to be expected, and yet, it is still a betrayal.”

  Amanda turned to Harry. “How soon can we be open for patients?”

  Harry looked around the table. “If we work very hard, tomorrow. We can start on Saturday, around noon, I’d guess, to do examinations, and full treatment by Monday, if we’re lucky. Figure Wednesday at the very latest.”

  Ernest broke in. “If you need any of my equipment, it’s at your disposal. I can transport most of my lab over here, if that would simplify your work for you.” He looked at them hopefully. “This epidemic frightens me. I can’t sit back and ignore it, or wait to die.”

  “Your lab equipment would mean a lot to us,” Harry said, and saw the others nod. “Thanks, Ernest.”

  Suddenly Carol Mendosa said, “I wish we had some nurses or paramedics. Without them, we’ll have to do all the routine chores as well as the doctoring. Christ, I haven’t changed an occupied bed since I was an intern. Where are we going to get the time to do it all? Why didn’t they fire some nurses when they fired us?”

  There was shocked silence. Then Natalie said, “Oh, great. We remembered blankets, we remembered food and water, but we forgot nurses.”

  Jim Varnay glanced up, his dark face revealing little of his thoughts. He bit his lip judiciously. “I can go back to Westbank tomorrow. I know some nurses,” he said, ignoring Dave Lillijanthal’s sly aside, “I’ll bet you do,” to say, “They’ll listen to me. We’ve worked emergency room together for three years. Want to come with me, Ted?”

  Ted Lincoln nodded. “Sure. We can do recruiting. We can phone the other hospitals. Inner City might have a few nurses to spare.”

  “No one has any nurses to spare, believe me.” Carol Mendosa got up and paced the length of the rich oriental carpet. “We’ve got to get help somewhere. A couple of nurses won’t be enough.”

  “They’ll have to be. And if we don’t get them, we’ll have to manage on our own.” Natalie had spoken softly, but they all heard her. “Because if we don’t, we’re dead.”

  “Three nurses. I guess we can get by with them,” Natalie said to Harry the next night as they sat in their room, which was the converted artist’s studio at the far end of the north wing.

  “We’ll have to.” Harry looked out the huge windows toward the skyscrapers of Sacramento. He felt awkward now that he and Natalie had time to themselves. He had agreed to share the room with her because it seemed to be expected, but now he wondered. He looked at the two narrow beds and the screen between them, and all the embarrassment he had never felt when Natalie shared his apartment came to him.

  “What is it, Harry?” Natalie asked, studying him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Would you rather have one of the men room with you?” Her question was so to the point that he felt angry. “It’s not that,” he lied. “I can’t stop worrying about the diseases. Did you hear the news tonight? They have officially stopped issuing statements about the ‘flu’ epidemic.”

  But Natalie was not to be put off. “I’ll talk to Radick, if you like, or ask Amanda if she minds letting me share her room.”

  Harry sighed. “Okay. It bothers me. I don’t know why, but it does.”

  Natalie nodded, then rose and went to him. “Harry, if you want me to move, I’ll move. But tell me, will you?”

  He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, never mind, Natalie. I’m being a fool. It’ll pass. I’d probably be just as jumpy with Radick for a roommate. At least we’re used to each other.”

  She gave him a dubious smile. “Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. It isn’t fair to either of us to drive each other nuts.”

  “That isn’t likely to happen,” he said, too glibly, and saw doubt in her eyes. He relented.

  “Okay. If things don’t work out, I’ll let you know.”

  “That makes how many patients today?” Harry asked Jim Varnay on Tuesday night as he closed the salon door behind an old woman. Converted now to an examination room, the fine flecked wallpaper seemed out of place next to the white cabinets donated by Ernest Dagstern.

  “Thirty-three. And there’s five more waiting.” Jim touched the old-fashioned stethoscope which hung around his neck. “You know, I haven’t used one of these things in years. Funny. I’d forgot how much you can find out by just listening with it.”

  “How do you mean?” Harry asked, looking up from his scribbled notes.

  “Well, look, when you plug a patient into a diagnostic computer, it does all the thumping and listening and measuring, and sure, it can catch a lot of things people might overlook, because it can process information on a wide spectrum, and it isn’t distracted by headaches or personal pressures or dislikes. I know that. But when you hear the sounds of the heart and the breath, there are so many ... undefinable bits of information you get.”

  “Did you get any about that woman?” Harry gestured toward the door. />
  “Mrs. Saunders? Well, don’t quote me, but I think her heart is catching up with her. There’s a stress, and I don’t mean blood pressure. Her heart sounds ... tired.”

  Harry nodded. “What about her otherwise?”

  Jim shrugged. “For the time being, all she needs is a vacation. Which she isn’t going to get. And the first real exposure she gets to a bad disease, it’s all over. She doesn’t have anything left to fight back with.”

  Harry closed his folder. “Too bad. You ready for dinner?”

  “Harry, I was ready for lunch, but it never seemed to happen. Damn right I’m ready. Lead the way.” But as they were leaving the room, Jim paused for a moment. “Harry, has anyone said anything to you about a Tristam?”

  Harry checked himself, memory flickering. “I thought... No. It’s gone. I know I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “She mentioned a Tristam. She seemed afraid of him. I was wondering if he were some kind of local hood, or just her own problem.”

  “I don’t know,” Harry said, and pulled the door closed.

  “How many admits have we got?” Natalie asked Lisa Skye, who was sitting at the improvised admission desk in the foyer.

  “Eight, so far. We’ve sent the borderline cases home.” Lisa pushed her fine fair hair off her forehead. “I don’t know, Nat. That kid with smallpox really upset me. I didn’t realize what it could look like.” She clenched her small-boned hands. “I’m going to have to talk to Radick, I guess,” she said shakily.

  “I know.” Natalie unbuttoned the top of her smock. “I didn’t appreciate what we’re getting ourselves into. Really, I didn’t. I thought it would be like Westbank but on a smaller scale. It frightens me, Lisa.” She dropped a folder on the desk. “This one is going to have to be put on our house-call list. Severe asthma. As the stress gets worse, her asthma is going to get worse, too. She’s got two brothers at home, one of whom she says is very sick, but she can’t talk him into seeing a doctor. Apparently, some of the kids are catching onto the disease trouble, and they’re mad. I can’t blame them. I’m mad, too.”

  “Dave Lillijanthal’s taking the house rounds this week. Do you have any special instructions for him?” Lisa held a pen, ready to add information.

  “Yeah. He should take the case seriously. But he won’t.” Natalie leaned on the desk, feeling very tired. “Dinner should be about ready. Are you on night call?”

  Lisa shook her head. “It’s you and Stan and Radick.” She consulted a page in front of her. “I’m on tomorrow night with Kirsten Grant and Howie Webbster.” She put the schedule down. “It’s going to get difficult.”

  Natalie nodded. “Did I hear right earlier. Did we get a typhus?”

  “We did. He’s on the second floor in the north wing. He’s in very bad shape. And we don’t have the drugs and equipment to pull him through, not now.” She looked-up at Natalie. “I wrote to my mother last week and the letter came back. And Amanda said that Laetitia wanted to make her usual trip to San Diego yesterday and was not allowed to go. Nat, we’re sealed off. Not just trucks and food and flu scare, we’re being kept here.”

  “I know.” She thought of Mark and Peter Justin and was suddenly very angry. “This bright idea they had. I hope they’re the ones who get the cancer and the diphtheria and the cholera and the tetanus and the polio. I want them to know what they’ve done. Not intellectually, but feel what disease does to the body, watch themselves die...” She stopped, feeling the horror, horror for herself.

  “Nat,” Lisa said softly after a moment, “I don’t mean this the way it sounds, but maybe you better talk to Radick.” She hurried on. “I don’t mean it that way, Nat. But it’s too hard to carry all that alone.”

  Slowly Natalie cooled her anger. She said to Lisa, “I know what you mean. And you’re right.”

  Harry watched the patient, puzzled. The child couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve, a slight boy with delicate features. He shivered as Harry touched him. “Are you cold?” Harry asked.

  “Some,” the boy said.

  Harry touched the boy again, and felt the skin hot and dry under his fingers. He could tell that the boy had a low-grade fever, but why? What was giving it to him? “How are you feeling generally?” Harry asked.

  “Rotten. They’s why I came here. I wouldn’t$rsquo;ve come here otherwise.”

  “Do you have an appetite?” Harry felt those familiar prickings that told him the boy was seriously ill. But the disease must be an elusive one, because he could not find a lead on it.

  “Not much.”

  “How long have you felt badly?” Harry checked the pulse, which was a little fast, but not seriously so.

  “Couple of days.”

  While he shook down a thermometer, Harry said, “You said you felt rotten: what do you mean? Is it because of your loss of appetite?”

  “My gut’s fine,” the boy snapped, his sullen eyes on Harry’s thermometer. “I get dizzy sometimes, and I have a headache.” Harry put the thermometer in the boy’s mouth, saying, “I’m glad you told me.” He did not know what he had been told, but the persistent air of distrust worried him, and he wanted to break through the boy’s hostility, and perhaps discover what was wrong with him. As he studied the boy covertly he toyed with the idea of having Ernest look him over. In the last few days Harry’s respect for the chiropractor had grown. Headaches, dizziness, might respond to Ernest’s expertise.

  “Well?” the boy said when Harry took the thermometer from his mouth.

  Harry finished recording it before he said, “Moderate. One hundred and three-fifths.” Harry had been surprised. He had thought that the fever would be lower. He frowned. “Can we keep you here overnight?” he asked.

  “No,” the boy said, too quickly. “I got to get home, man.”

  “It would be better if we had some time to observe you. I don’t like the thought of you walking around with a fever.” Harry tapped the boy’s shoulder. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “None of your business. You fix me up. That’s all I want from you.” He pulled the examination gown around himself protectively. “I don’t have to tell you nothing.”

  Harry nodded. “All right. Will you tell me where you live, so that one of the doctors can check on you tomorrow?” He saw the hostility in the boy’s young eyes, and went on, “I know you don’t like doctors, but I think you should let us see you again. What you have might be catching, and before you expose your friends to whatever you’ve got, I’d like the chance to try to cure you, or at least find out what’s wrong.”

  The boy’s gaze wavered. “Catching? What makes you think this is catching.”

  “Most diseases are. And we are in the middle of an epidemic.”

  “That’s a bunch of bull!” The boy spat.

  Harry stopped. “What is?”

  “That epidemic. There ain’t an epidemic. They’re killing kids, that’s what’s going on. So don’t talk epidemic to me, you bastard.” The boy had flushed darkly, and when his outburst was over, he retreated into surliness.

  “Who told you that, about killing kids?” Harry asked, deeply concerned.

  “I heard it.”

  Harry tried again, leaning toward the boy, his face intent. “Can you tell me who? Look, I admit that kids are dying from diseases they shouldn’t die from. We’ve seen too many of them to doubt that. But it doesn’t mean that you’re the only targets, or that you aren’t really sick. Do you understand that? You have some kind of disease. If you don’t let us treat you, you may get much worse, and you may give it to your friends. I don’t think you want to do that. So please, tell me who thinks kids are being killed.”

  The boy gave him a poisonous look.

  “It’s very important,” Harry said persuasively. “Don’t you see, we can work together. And perhaps we can stop the worst of the outbreak before it happens.”

  “You doctors are all alike,” the boy said, very worldly and tired. “You al
ways think you can sling the bull and we’ll go along with it because we’re scared to die. Holy, holy, holy. I know what asses you are. I’m not gonna help you wipe us out.” He swung off the examination table. “Can I get dressed now?”

  Harry felt very helpless. “Certainly.” He made one last try. “Will you at least promise me that you’ll let us take blood and urine samples so that if there is anything seriously wrong with you, we’ll have a chance to find out what? We need to know what you have if we’re going to make this easier for you. And if you don’t care about yourself, think about the others. Please.” He did not know if he had made any headway with the boy. He waited, feeling fear.

  The boy shrugged. “Can’t hurt to leave you a little piss. You can put it on the flowers.” He giggled. “You can take some blood out of my finger, but you aren’t putting needles in me. That’s how you’re killing us. Tris...” He stopped. “We know about that way.”

  “Thank you.” Harry schooled his face to show no surprise. Tris. He and Jim had been talking about Tristam. Was there really such a person? Was he the one they had to deal with? “Stop at the table at the end of the hall, and the nurse will tell you what to do.”

  The boy looked at him. “What if I am sick? What then?”

  “We’ll try to make you well, if you give us a chance. If you don’t feel any better, come back in five days, okay? You’ll know by then if you’re going to get well on your own.”

  The boy gave him a measured stare. “Okay. Five days.” He went behind the screen to dress.

  “Well, what is it?” Harry asked Natalie as she bent over a microscope. It was very late, but the Van Dreyter house was still full of light, and the line of patients had not diminished.

  Natalie shook her head and concentrated on the slide. “I don’t know.” She leaned back and passed one hand over her eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired. I should be able to figure it out.”

  “Well, what does it look like, then?” Harry demanded, feeling anxious, and hating to admit he was frightened.