by Tracey Ward
It’s so calmly stated that it startles me. Kind of pisses me off a little. Like saying they put Bactine on a paper cut. I feel that pressing a burning hot iron skillet to a man’s open wound is a little more hardcore than a Hello Kitty Band Aide. Where’s the tremor in her voice now?
“He also used his belt as a tourniquet.”
The nurse makes an appreciative sound. “Probably saved his life.”
“That’s what we were hoping for.”
“Where’s the hand?”
“What?”
“His hand,” the nurse repeats patiently. “Where is it? Did you bring it?”
“N-no.”
“Why not? The doctor may have been able to reattach it.”
I highly doubt that. Even if they have a fully trained medical staff here they don’t have the facilities or equipment to pull that off. It’s a bluff to draw us out, to admit that I was bitten.
“Lost,” I say weakly, “in the dark.”
There’s a pause, this woman’s trademark move. Like Syd and his scowl.
“That’s a shame.”
Outside there’s a rush of footsteps, a brief bout of male voices mumbling, then I hear people bursting into the room.
“Doctor,” the nurse says cordially.
“Nurse Evans,” he replies pleasantly. “What’ve we got?”
“Missing limb. He’s lost his hand in a tragic woodcutting accident.”
“The whole hand?” the doctor asks incredulously.
“See for yourself. They used a tourniquet.”
“And something hot, it seems,” he mutters thoughtfully.
I catch a glimpse of an old man with slick black hair and large glasses hunching down beside me, examining my hand.
“Hmm,” he muses. “Messy. Infected no doubt.”
The doctor stands suddenly, glancing around the room.
“Is there no guard? Why isn’t there a guard with a gun? I assume he hasn’t passed his 24 hour quarantine period.”
“No, he hasn’t. I’ll get a guard in here with us.”
“Wait, no, he’s not infected,” Alissa insists.
The doctor looks her over. “Does he have a fever? Because it looks to me like he’s sweating.”
“The accident happened over an hour ago. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s clammy and sweating from shock.”
“Rapid breathing as well.” the doctor states harshly. “Has he vomited?”
Alissa doesn’t answer. I flinch as the doctor drops his face quickly near mine. I hear him sniff sharply then he retreats to the end of the gurney, near the door.
“He’s been vomiting and he’s shaking. Sure signs of the fever. Get a guard in here, now.”
“Those are also signs of shock, aren’t they?” Alissa ask desperately, her voice becoming frustrated and angry.
“It could be, yes,” Nurse Evans agrees softly.
“If we encounter Fever symptoms of any kind, we terminate,” the doctor says adamantly.
“You mean kill him.”
“Yes,” he snarls at Alissa. “Now move aside. I’m getting a guard.”
I hear a quick rustling, a shuffling of feet, a small gasp. Then Alissa speaks quietly.
“I’ll shoot you both before I let that happen.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Miss,” the doctor says tensely, “stay calm.”
I force myself into a sitting position on the bed. The bright area swims in my vision for a moment before righting itself, leaving me feeling disoriented and a little like vomiting. I do my best to rein that in. It won’t exactly help my case.
To my right are the nurse and doctor standing side by side with their hands slightly raised. To my left is Alissa. She’s standing alone, her face stern. Her focus is entirely on the couple in front of her. In her hands she holds a gun.
“I’m very calm,” she tells them.
And the weird thing is, she is. She’s rock solid. Her hand holding the gun is steady as ever and when I look at her eyes, they’re clear. She hasn’t tripped outside her meds into la la land as it might appear. She’s totally and completely lucid. And utterly serious.
“I’m also very tired,” she says evenly. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure you understand. So I suggest we all help each other out. Like human beings.”
“What do you want?” the nurse asks quietly.
“Are you here to score drugs? You can have all the painkillers you want, just don’t shoot.”
Alissa scoffs at the doctor. “Seriously? You think we hacked off his hand looking to rob you of your drug supply?”
He narrows his eyes at her. “It’s not the most extreme attempt we’ve seen.”
“That’s not what this is,” I tell him gruffly. “I was bitten.”
“Jordan,” Alissa begins, her voice going tight.
“No, Ali, they know.” I turn to the two. “Right?”
“Well I didn’t, not until I came in here,” the doctor says indignantly.
The nurse nods, her eyes soft on mine. “I knew.”
“What?!” the doctor cries, turning on her. “How could you?”
“Lower. Your. Voice,” Alissa reminds him clearly.
He glances nervously at Ali, licking his lips. Then returns to berating his subordinate at a more discreet decibel.
“You knew and you let them in here? He could contaminate the whole place! I could have been bitten.”
The nurse looks back at him, her expression bored. When she speaks, her tone is completely without apology.
“He has no bite marks on him. That means he was bitten on his hand, the hand they removed. It takes 5 minutes for The Fever to take hold. 30 for the system to give up entirely. It’s been over 20 minutes since they showed up at the gate and he’s still conscious.” She turns to me. “What’s your name?”
“Jordan.”
“Where are you from?”
“Boston.”
“Do you hunger for brains?”
I chuckle weakly. “No. I don’t really hunger for anything at the moment.”
“You see?” she says to the doctor. “They stopped the infection. We’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a miracle. A breakthrough. They’ll want to know about this.”
“Shhhh!” the doctor insists, glancing quickly between Alissa and I.
“Where’s Dr. Fineman? He should know about this.”
“He was unavailable.”
“He was unaware of what we have here.” She looks to Alissa, turning very slowly, never forgetting the gun in the room. “Can we call someone else in here?”
Alissa considers silently. She’s statue still, barely blinking. I wonder if she’s breathing.
“Ali,” I whisper softly to her. “I trust her.”
She shakes her head mutely.
“How about,” the nurse says to her calmly, “we do what we can for now. We’ll clean and bandage the wound. We’ll give him antibiotics for any infection. That will let more time pass so no one can have any doubt that he’s in the clear. Then we’ll bring in the others. Alright?”
Alissa stares at her, unsure.
“Ali, is it?” the nurse asks gently.
“Alissa.”
“Alissa, I’m Leah. I don’t believe that your… brother?”
Ali shakes her head.
“Okay,” Leah replies, understanding. “I don’t believe he’s infected with The Fever. In fact, I think he’s a triumph. He is the only person we’ve ever heard of who has survived a bite.” She smiles brightly. “That’s amazing. It’s remarkable and exciting and I will shoot this asshole myself,” she says gesturing to the doctor, “if he tries to hurt Jordan.”
Alissa cracks a small smile. I watch her eyes soften as she lowers the gun slowly. The entire room breathes a little easier.
“Doctor,” Leah says, “let’s begin, shall we? This boy has been in pain long enough.”
He shakes his head. “I won’t be part of this. I won’t touch his filthy, infected blood. I won�
�t assist him in any way. We shouldn’t be healing him, we should be putting him in the ground. If any of you had any sense—“
Alissa covers the distance between her and the doctor in a blinding instant. He rears back as she closes in on him, his eyes flashing to the gun still pointed at the floor. Then she moves, fast as a viper, punching him solidly in the face with her right hand. The hand holding the gun. The doctor goes down, his body thumping to the floor.
“Do you need him?” she asks Leah, never looking away from the moaning man at her feet.
“I’ll be less inclined to help you if you shoot him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not. I’m asking if you need him to help with Jordan or can you do it alone? Can I keep him here on the floor?”
“I’d prefer it, actually,” Leah replies.
“Good. Then that’s where he stays. Jordan,” Alissa calls out to me, still not turning from the doctor.
“Yeah?”
“If she does anything that looks shady, you tell me.”
“I will.”
“For as long as he can,” Leah says. She’s already at a cart pulling out gloves, gauze packets, needles, small bottles of liquid. “He’s about to meet Sister Morphine in a second.”
“I’m not opposed to that,” I tell her as I collapse back onto the bed. My last remnants of energy are spent. The action in the room is over, my adrenaline is gone and my brain is back on pain watch. It sucks.
“I didn’t think you would be,” Leah mutters, still rifling through drawers.
She finds whatever she was looking for then wheels the tray full of goodies over beside me. She looks down at my face as she snaps on her gloves.
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’ or I’ll pull the painkillers. I’m not that old.”
“Got it.”
“Have you ever been under anesthetic before?”
“Are you putting him completely under?” Alissa asks, sounding amazed and horrified.
“I wish I could. Even through the morphine, this is going to hurt like hell. But, no, I’m not.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“To gauge his tolerance to drugs.”
“I’ve been under,” I tell her. “I had my wisdom teeth pulled a couple years ago. They put me on Vicodin afterward.”
“And how did you react to that?”
“It made me tired but it took away the pain.”
“Right answer. Alright, let’s get started.”
I hear the flap at the entrance of the tent being pulled aside. My heart slams in my chest, my eyes flying to Alissa. The doctor is on the floor too far to the right to be visible until they come fully inside, but Ali is exposed. Luckily those reflexes of hers are still in gear because she’s hidden the gun behind her back before it could be seen.
“Everything alright in here?” the man calls inside.
Leah moves to the entrance where she takes a defensive stance. “Yes. If we need help we’ll call for it. Now close that door, please. We have an open wound in here. He’s already at risk for infections without you letting every piece of sand, dust and dirt in all of Oregon flood right in.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, looking chastised as he zips the door closed.
I see Alissa smiling at Leah from across my body. “You’re a bit of a pit-bull.”
Leah smirks, filling a syringe. “And don’t you forget it.”
***
Leah is right. Morphine or no, that hurt like hell. I know she was gentle but I still cursed through clenched teeth, calling her every name in the book as she cleaned my hand. For the most part, she ignored me but occasionally, during particularly violent rants, she would chuckle softly.
Alissa spent the entire time with her back to me, her eyes always on the old man laid out on the floor. He never spoke a word. Never protested to anything, never asked to stand up. As far as I know he never moved. Maybe he took a nap. Alissa’s gun was forever pointed at the floor not far from him but she moved it to her left hand, something I took as a sign that she wasn’t really concerned with him anymore. With her right hand free, she took up my mine. I crushed her bones to dust but she never complained. And she never left my side.
Now Leah is injecting another dose of painkillers and a sedative into my arm, hoping to knock me out for a while. She says I’ve deserved the rest and I’m not going to argue with her.
“What happens now?” Alissa asks. She sounds exhausted. I wonder what time it is. Maybe it’s morning.
“Now he sleeps. I’ve given him some pretty strong antibiotics but we’ll need to watch that arm closely for infection. He may not have the Fever but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods yet. We’ll have to watch and wait.”
“For how long?”
“Days.”
My eyes are starting to droop. I have to fight to keep them open.
“We’re lucky if we have minutes.”
I hear the snap of Leah’s gloves coming off. “You’re worried about him.”
The way she says ‘him’ with such disdain leaves no doubt she’s not talking about me.
“Yeah. You would let us stay, I think, but him… No way.”
“Well, it’s not up to him. Or me.”
“Who is it up to then?”
“Jordan.”
My eyes have closed. Their voices are getting farther and farther away, as is my understanding of the conversation.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, his reaction to the antibiotics will be the decider. If he runs a fever of any kind when Doctor Finemen comes in, it’s over. You could pull that gun on him but that’ll be the end of your chances of staying here.”
“Aren’t those chances dead now?”
“The way I saw it, this man made an inappropriate comment toward you. Very offensive, incredibly graphic. Like watching Showtime. You punched him in the face, he refused to assist your friend, so I proceed alone.”
“What about the gun?”
“What gun?”
There’s a pause that goes on for hours. I think I’m asleep but then I hear them speaking far off in the distance.
“Leah?”
“Yes, hon?”
“I think I love you.”
“I get that a lot.”
Chapter Seventeen
I wake up alone but not where I fell asleep. It’s off-putting. As is the fact that I’m not wearing my clothes either. In fact, I’m wearing nothing but a sheet. So that’s weird.
“Hello?” I croak.
No answer.
I look around the darkened room trying to piece together where I am. I’m in a real building. One with bland gray walls and a hideously outdated popcorn ceiling. I roll my head to the side, noting the crown molding and vowing that, given the chance, I’m never to watch HGTV again. Even in the background, as it apparently seeps into your brain and takes root like a tree growing into your foundation. Dammit! No more.
“TV rots your brain,” I mumble to myself.
“What’s that?” a man calls from another room.
I freeze, surprised to find myself not alone. I’m also a little terrified. Alissa and Leah are nowhere around, I have no idea where I am or who is coming and, worst of all, I don’t know if I’m running a fever. I go to raise my hand to rest the back of it against my forehead, but a searing pain runs through it straight into my brain.
“Ahhhh!” I cry out, closing my eyes against the sudden anguish.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the male voice tells me. He’s in the room. I can feel him come to stand beside my bed, his hand resting on the top of my head. “Breathe. Slow and easy. Breathe.”
I latch onto his voice, using the gentle tone of it to bring me down. To give me something else to think about besides the fire in my right hand. It’s like waking up in the RV all over again. Like living out the worst moment of my life on repeat again and again and again. I want to scream fo
r this guy to hack the hand off, to remove the pain, but then I remember. It’s already gone.
Some of the pain recedes instantly. A little of the fire coils within itself and snuffs out, leaving a trail of black smoke curling into the air. I watch it against the backs of my eyelids as I breathe slow and even, puffing my breaths out gently. And just like that I can stand to be alive again. It still hurts, I still want to grab every drug I can find and down it in the hopes that it will bring a half-second of relief, but I don’t feel like I’ll die from it.
“That’s it. Nice and easy. Good. Well done, Jordan.”
I open my eyes to find Santa Claus staring down at me. Perfect white beard, round spectacles, kind eyes. Only he’s too tall and thin. He’s about four inches and forty cases of Thin Mints away from being the true Fat Man.
“You’re Dr. Finemen,” I whisper.
He grins. “Yes. I take it Nurse Evans told you about me.”
“I kind of heard your name thrown around. But she was sure she wanted you to see me before they killed me.”
“Well,” he says casually, pulling up a chair, “she was right about that. Can you tell me what happened to you, Jordan?”
I feel my pulse begin to race. “She and Alissa didn’t tell you?”
“No, they did. Syd as well. I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Where are Alissa and Syd?”
“Quarantine. Just like you. They’re in rooms down the hall from here sleeping. You all had a long night, I understand.”
“Yeah,” I say faintly.
“So,” he insists quietly, “tell me what happened.”
I try to clear my throat but it turns into a coughing fit. Dr. Finemen produces a glass of water from out of nowhere which I sip slowly and gratefully. After a few deep breaths I lay my head back down hard, staring up at the ceiling.
“I, um. I was going into the trees to… use the…”
“You were relieving yourself.”
“Yes. Yeah.”
“And you were attacked?”
“Yeah,” I say again, my eyes closing. “I heard a noise from behind me. I turned to try and fight but I wasn’t fast enough. It got me.”
“The Fever victim.”
I nod silently.
