Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Time of the Fourth Horseman

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “It’s Alexes’ turn.”

  Natalie frowned. “Alexes is with Kirsten, at the fire.”

  “But I thought...” Larsen hesitated.

  “Lisa?”

  Larsen looked more worried. “She’s had her hands full in the lobby. We’ve had over fifty people here already.”

  Natalie felt suddenly cold. She put the bandages down again. “Larsen, stay here, will you? Unless I call you?”

  “Certainly. But Natalie...”

  “Not now.” Natalie went back into the kitchen, and ignored Ernest’s question as he looked up from his cleaning. The door to the laundry stood ajar. Natalie rushed through it, then stopped, one hand still on the knob.

  Stan lay half on the waterbed and half on the floor. A drying track of blood ran from the drain set in the cement floor to Stan’s wrists, which were still pushed against the jagged metal of the ancient broken laundry bucket.

  Natalie’s cry brought Ernest to her. “Natalie, what’s the matter...” Then he saw Stan. “Dear Jesus,” he whispered.

  “How many patients today?” Harry asked as he climbed out of the van. It was midmorning and the night’s work had left him exhausted and hoarse. He saw the dark circles under Natalie’s eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “No, did you?” she countered as she closed the garage door. “I talked to Lisa half an hour ago and I’d guess we’re past thirty so far. There are nine new cases of that polio mutation since yesterday. Which makes over fifty cases in the last four days. With thirteen fatalities. Carol did the house calls this morning and found a few more deaths from it.”

  Harry was helping Ted Lincoln open the rear of the van. “These are the last of them, except one or two Kirsten’s bringing back from her side of the fire. They’ve got it out now.”

  “When will she be back?” Natalie asked.

  “She estimated a couple of hours. She wants to be sure she sees all the firemen who got hurt.”

  “Were there very many?” she asked as she bent over the first cot. The man had a crushed arm where a stone pillar had fallen on him. His breathing was shallow but regular.

  “Some,” he answered vaguely. “Tony’s helping her. He’s also looking for anything he can salvage that we can use. There isn’t much left, but he might find something. It’s worth a try.”

  Natalie felt for the pulse in the man’s neck. “Is this a fireman?”

  “That’s Captain Gottschalk. He’s too old to be fighting fires. I talked to him a little last night. I got the feeling he didn’t know what’s going on.”

  “Poor old man,” Natalie said.

  “There’s a lot of poor old men.”

  Ted Lincoln looked out from the van’s interior. “Give me a hand with this, Harry.”

  Harry reached into the van and tugged at the last cot. Natalie watched the way he moved, seeing the soreness in each motion he made. She breathed deeply. “I have some other bad news, Harry,” she said at last.

  With Ted’s help, Harry lowered the second cot to the floor. “What?” he snapped, preoccupied with the patient.

  “It’s Stan, Harry. He killed himself early this morning.”

  There was a stillness in Harry that went beyond his arrested movement, and beyond the shock on Ted Lincoln’s face. “I see,” he said in a moment. Then, in another tone that was almost hurtful for its coldbloodedness, he went on, “Well, that’s one more bed free. And at least we’ve got Katherine Ng and her people to take up the slack.” Quite suddenly he turned to her. “Oh, Natalie,” he whispered as he saw her face, “I didn’t mean that. Not the way it sounded.” There was such pain in his eyes that Natalie held out her hands to him. “I know,” she said. “It’s too hard, Harry, that’s all.”

  “We can close up now, Harry,” Ted said. “That’s all we’ve got.”

  Automatically Harry reached up and slammed the van doors closed. He looked at the two men on the inflated cots. “Those things are a godsend,” he said.

  Natalie nodded and made a perfunctory check on the second patient. “You don’t have to share this one,” she said bitterly. “The man’s dead anyway.” Without another word she turned and left the garage.

  When Natalie woke, the sun was down and the northernmost attic room was beginning to cool. She put a hand to her forehead as she remembered the day. Her sleep had not refreshed her, and instead she felt slow-witted and heavy. There was a dull throb behind her eyes, and her skin felt two sizes too small for her skull. She swung her legs over the bed and sat, staring into the soft beauty of the early summer afterglow. She got up slowly, testing herself at each movement.

  When she was dressed she went down the hall, feeling guilty now that she realized she was almost an hour late for duty.

  “Natalie,” Lisa Skye said when Natalie tapped her on the shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired. And after this morning, with Stan, and so little sleep...” She stopped. “I’m glad you’re up, though. I feel awful.”

  “Get some sleep,” Natalie recommended, then asked, “What have we got this afternoon so far?”

  Lisa handed her the file folders. “These aren’t really complete. Kit Ng’s paramedic’s been helping me out. Her name’s Sheilah something or other. Howard and Jim are seeing patients. Roger’s in the lab and Maria’s on the floor. If you need anyone else, send Larsen or one of the other nurses to wake them.”

  “Harry?” Natalie asked, since he hadn’t been in his bed in their room.

  “Asleep in the dining room. He stretched out in there a couple of hours ago. He didn’t want to wake you accidentally.” Lisa rose unsteadily. “You mind if I go now? I’m really feeling rotten.”

  Natalie took the file folders, then studied Lisa’s face. “Lisa, do you have a fever?” she asked her.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s just the heat...” She steadied herself against the desk. “Natalie?”

  “I’m here.” She put her arm around Lisa, and found with alarm that she was thinner than she had been even a few days ago. Doing her best to conceal her worry, she led Lisa away from the desk. “Lisa, stop off and have Roger run a couple of tests on you.”

  “I’m okay, Natalie. I’m too tired, that’s all. Too tired.”

  Fright made Natalie speak sharply. “All right, you’re just tired. But have the tests run anyway. We probably all should have tests, come to think of it. We’ve been exposed to trouble every day.”

  Lisa agreed wanly, then surprised Natalie by saying, “Oh, I don’t think you were awake when Kirsten came back?” She didn’t give Natalie a chance to reply. “She brought Peter Justin with her. He’s in with Radick now.”

  “Peter Justin?” Natalie felt more startled than angry at this news. “What did she do that for? What else does he want of us?”

  “He’s sick, Natalie. He’s got the new polio. He knows it. He’s not like he was before. He knows that everything’s gone wrong. He said he’d call it off if he could.” She stumbled and Natalie reached to steady her. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she muttered.

  “I’m ready to take over here,” Natalie said and motioned Lisa away. But as she sat at the desk her thoughts were jumbled, divided between the news that they would now have to deal with Peter Justin, and concern for Lisa. A new, deep sense of foreboding possessed her, and she turned her attention to her patients. She told herself she must not think. There was too much work to do for her to stop and think.

  Harry woke with a start and looked around uncertainly, not remembering where he was. Then he saw the faint shine of the chandeliers above him, lit by the dying fire, and he knew he was in the common room. Natalie had been asleep in their room and he had not wanted to wake her. But now he knew that a sound had awakened him. He got up slowly, then let out a shout as his bare feet were cut by broken glass.

  The door opened, and in a moment the room was filled with light. “What is it?” Roger Nicholas demanded, his lab coat untidily fastened.

  Harry looked up, then returned h
is attention to the sliver of glass still in the ball of his foot. The cut was bleeding freely, and this made it hard for Harry to pull the glass from the wound, for his fingers kept slipping.

  “My God, Harry,” Roger said as he rushed across the room. “How did you get that.”

  Harry gritted his teeth. The cut was beginning to hurt badly now. “I think we’ve had another rock thrown at us. You better be sure that there’s no one out there.” He looked at the french doors. “Yep. A rock. There’s another pane gone. I imagine we can expect more of this as time goes on.”

  Roger grunted and took charge of extracting the glass. “It would be nice to have some suture spray,” he muttered. “I may have to take stitches.”

  “Not a chance,” Harry said loudly. “I couldn’t walk on it then.”

  Roger looked at Harry, annoyance and concern in his face. “What makes you think you can walk on it now?” he asked. “This glass”—he held the shard up to Harry—“that’s what was in your foot. It went between the bones and could easily have cut your foot through if you had put a lot of weight on it. It’s a very messy wound.” He stood up. “Wait a minute. I’m going to get some bandages. Get that foot up in the air and keep it up until I get back.” With these instructions over, he left.

  The hard ache that comes with deep cuts had hit Harry, and he had to clamp his teeth together to keep them from chattering. The clammy chill of shock was on him, and he wished passionately for something hot to drink. He knew that Radick had some brandy with him. Maybe later he could have a glass...

  Roger was back, bandages, tape and a small can of Cut-Seel in his hands. “Kit’s coming with a basin. We’ll clean that up in no time.” He put his supplies on the table, then drew up a chair. “Let me see your other foot.”

  Harry lifted it without a word.

  “All minor here,” Roger said, relieved, when he had finished looking over the other sole. “You’re lucky it’s just one foot. Both feet cut and you’d be in a lot of trouble.”

  Harry felt the cold deepen as he considered what Roger said. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Katherine Ng opened the door. “Roger?” she called uncertainly. “I have the water here, but I thought you ought to know. There’s something going on out by the garage. I heard footsteps out there.”

  “We’ll check later.”

  Harry overrode this. “No. We’ll check now. Whoever threw that rock might still be there.”

  “It’s not that important.” Roger took a firm hold of Harry’s foot.

  “Our nurses and our food are out there. It is that important.” Harry lurched to his feet and swayed dizzily. “You go. Go!”

  Roger hesitated, then went from the room.

  “Kit, help me,” Harry said. “I’ve got to get back there.”

  Katherine Ng put down her basin. “All right,” she said, and went to Harry, taking his weight onto her slender shoulder.

  The faint sound of shouting reached them, and Harry stiffened.

  Wordlessly Katherine began to move, easing the pressure from his bleeding foot as he hobbled out of the room.

  In the hall, Radick and Natalie gave him little more than a worried glance as they rushed toward the kitchen and the back door.

  The sounds were louder now, and there was the unmistakable sound of a car motor revving up.

  Jim Varnay rushed by, and in a moment Kirsten Grant ran past them, her bathrobe tied loosely over her underwear.

  Harry swore, and Katherine said, “We’ll be there in a moment. Don’t worry, Harry.”

  The back kitchen door stood open, and in the uncertain light Harry could see milling bodies, and beyond, a produce truck. For a moment the figures struggled, an indistinct mass, then part of the group broke away and ran for the truck. There was a last scramble, then the truck roared away down the driveway, leaving a few of the doctors stumbling after it.

  “I’ve got to get out there,” Harry said to Katherine.

  But she held him back. “Harry, there’s nothing you can do. You’re bleeding all over the floor as it is. Whatever has happened, they’ll tell you about it. Here, I’ll bring a chair for you and then see what I can do about that bleeding.”

  “It’s not important,” Harry said, but was already feeling waterboned as the rush of adrenalin left him.

  Katherine had got him into a chair when Natalie appeared in the kitchen door. Her lab coat was torn and there was a red welt on her face that would be a bruise by morning. “Harry,” she said in a voice torn with tears held back.

  Harry tried to rise and was firmly pushed back into the chair. “What is it, Natalie?”

  “Harry, they got half the food. Three of the cartons are gone. We don’t have enough left to feed us all more than a week.” Her hands started to shake and she pressed them to her sides. “Alexes tried to stop them.”

  Harry dreaded what she would say next.

  “Oh, Christ, Harry. Alexes is dead.”

  For several minutes no one spoke. The common room was bright, the chandeliers showing with ruthless clarity the defeat on every face.

  It was Peter Justin who broke the silence at last. “I think,” he said in a thread of a voice, with none of his former meticulous arrogance, “I think that perhaps you could get through if I signed a report for you. The I.I.A. unit in control of this area is under the command of Aaron McChesney. He was in Auburn the last I knew.”

  Carol Mendosa rose. “How soon can we get there?” She challenged the others with her eyes. “Alexes is dead now, and Stan and Amanda. Lisa’s upstairs with a temperature of one hundred five. Dave’s tied up in traction and his mind isn’t working at all. Eric’s filled up his veins with poison. How much more has to happen before you’ll leave?”

  Maria Pantopolos shielded her eyes. “She’s right. We can’t stay here.”

  Roger Nicholas nodded. “I was working lab tonight. We’ve got another dozen or so cases of that new polio. At this rate it’s going to spread all over the state, no matter what the I.I.A. does about quarantine. They’ve got to stop it fast or there is going to be a real disaster on their hands.”

  “There already is,” Natalie muttered.

  Ernest Dagstern nodded. “We’re out of beds. None of my colleagues will give us any more space, and you know we can’t take anyone else here. With the burn patients from Inner City, and the others here already, we can’t manage.” He opened helpless hands. “I tried to find more space. But there was no way.”

  “How many people are waiting to get help right now?” Carol demanded. “It’s almost two in the morning. How many people are out there?”

  It was Natalie who answered. “When I turned the desk over to Ted Lincoln, there were twenty-seven people there.”

  “So you see.” Carol sat down. “We should have left last week. We should have cleared out as soon as the new polio turned up.”

  Peter Justin cleared his throat, and said, “I have that polio.” He waited while the alarm disap-peared from the other faces. “I realized several days ago I was ill, and I was puzzled when I couldn’t determine what my disease was. So I made a study and found pretty much what you have discovered, that there is a new variety of polio, and that it is very dangerous.”

  Dominic Hertzog glared at him. “You say that, knowing we’re unprotected.”

  There was a strange calm in Peter Justin’s eyes. “I say this because you have had the same exposure I have.” He fumbled in his vest pocket, extracting at last a thick leather notebook. “This is my diary. It contains all the information I could gather about the new polio. When it first appeared I made notes on it of course, and then, later, when I realized that I had contracted it, I kept a record of the progress of the disease.” He cleared his throat uneasily. “The incubation period, as far as I have determined, is four to five weeks. The disease usually begins with general malaise, loss of appetite, soreness and some swelling in the joints and a low fever. This turns, in the space of a week or so, into a higher fever, acute body aches and muscular
debilitation, loss of weight”—he motioned to his shrunken body—“occasional vertigo, and the beginning of paralysis. The last stages, which have shown a slighter greater than fifty percent fatality rate, last for anywhere from three to ten days. At the end of that time, if death has not occurred, the temperature drops to subnormal and this patient is lethargic for several days before a realistic assessment of the degree of debilitation can be made. Partial paralysis is quite common in those who survive.” He put the notebook on the table. “If you want to take this with you, it will carry some weight with McChesney.”

  “And you?” Natalie asked, a residual horror in her voice. How like Peter Justin to make a graph of his own disease.

  Peter Justin shrugged, and there was a ghost of his former elegance in the motion. “I know the course of the disease, Doctor. There is no earthly reason for me to leave with you. I would only take up valuable space. I will probably die no matter where I am. I can still do a little good if I remain here. I would like the chance to make up, even a little, for what I have done. You see,” he added, trying to laugh. “Harry was right. I didn’t understand what could happen. And I have a debt to pay.”

  Suddenly Harry spoke up, forcing his mind to clear away the cobwebs that morphine had brought. “What about our patients?”

  Carol turned on him. “What about them, Harry?”

  “We can’t just leave them.” His tongue was unwieldy, and he had to take more time to speak clearly. “There are forty-three people in this house who are our patients. We can’t desert them. There are over one hundred house-call patients we see daily. What about them?”

  “What about them?” Carol repeated. “You know we can’t save them. Hell, with you out of commission and Lisa sick, we don’t have enough of us left to manage the patients here and still make the house-call rounds. You know that, Harry. We all know it. But most of us don’t want to face it.”

  For a moment Harry did not speak. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and he could feel his strength ebb as he sat there. “I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “But we need a couple of days here to make sure that our patients are taken care of. We can’t walk out on them. Or maybe you can, Carol. But I can’t.”