Face of the Earth

by Doug Raber

  A few minutes later, as Woodrow Sorrelhorse looked at TV, Evelyn watched Jackson climb up onto his lap.

  She smiled at the scene, but then her smile turned to a frown. “Jackson, what is that in your mouth? Dad, please get that away from him. Hurry, before he cuts himself.” Evelyn ran over and took the microscope slide that Jackson had put in his mouth. She was relieved to find that he hadn’t cut himself. She even opened his mouth and looked inside to be sure. Then she turned to the box from her eBay purchase. She must have moved it down to the coffee table by mistake, when she was getting something off the bookshelf.

  She spoke to her father, but the words were really directed toward herself. “This really isn’t safe here. I’m taking this in to school tomorrow. I’m sure Jillian will let me keep it in the science storeroom for a while.”

  As Evelyn turned to walk back to her pile of laundry, her exasperation grew. “Dad, Please! I’ve said a million times that you shouldn’t let Jackson put your oxygen tube in his mouth. If either one of you has any germs, the other is going to get sick too. And besides, it’s just gross.”

  * * *

  Day 16: Complications

  For two days after Jackson was seen by Dr. Parker, Evelyn and Jack thought their son was getting better. But then on Thursday, Jackson’s symptoms were more severe. When Jack came home from work at the end of the day, he saw it immediately. Before that, they hadn’t worried. After all, Dr. Parker had said that Jackson might have a rough couple of days before he got better. But this was different. It wasn’t just a rash anymore. The lesions had become really bad. There were more of them, they looked really horrible, and they were filled with pus.

  “Evie, he’s burning up. We’ve got to do something.”

  I know he feels bad, Jack. But remember that Dr. Parker said it would be bad for a few days before it got better. If he doesn’t improve by tomorrow, I’ll take him to Dr. Parker again. Remember, Jack, I’ve been with him all day, and my dad watched him when I needed a nap. Dad’s sleeping now himself. He’s been a little under the weather. When I give Jackson a bath, he feels better. And the antihistamine that he prescribed helps the poor little guy sleep. He’ll get better soon. He’s got to.”

  “I hope so Evie.” Jack pulled Evelyn to him and hugged her. He held her tighter, his eyes brimming with tears. Then he turned and walked away. He would never let Evelyn see that part of him.

  They took turns that night. Between lukewarm baths and the acetaminophen, they were able to keep his temperature below 103. But they knew how hard it was on Jackson. He wasn’t screaming anymore, just whimpering. Jack called in sick the next morning.

  It was on Friday morning, just before noon, when Jack suggested that Evelyn should wake Jackson from his latest nap. “Let’s check him again now. If his fever is still up there, we have to take him back to Dr. Parker.”

  Evelyn stood up from her chair by the crib and leaned over. “He feels cooler, Jack. Maybe that’s good.” There was a pause—and then a scream of pure agony. “Jack! Jack, come quick! He’s not breathing.”

  * * *

  Day 21: Dr. Akebe

  Jimmy Shepherd looked again at Ethan. He didn’t like what he saw. The toddler was hot as blazes. His forehead felt like it was on fire when Jimmy touched him with the back of his hand. We’ve got to get him to the hospital, Stacey, and we have to do it right away. Something’s really wrong. We’re leaving now. I’ve got Emily’s coat. You can put it on her in the car.

  The closest hospital was just across the river, the San Juan Regional Medical Center. When they arrived at the emergency department, the first thing they encountered was red tape. It reminded Jimmy of when he was in the Army. Hurry up and stand in line. But this wasn’t the same thing, and he had a hard time keeping his temper under control while they made copies of his driver’s license and the insurance card. When the receptionist told him to have a seat, that someone would be with him shortly, he almost lost it. He could see that it was a slow afternoon, and there was nobody else in the waiting room.

  He was able to avoid yelling, but only barely. “Please ma’am. My son is real sick. We thought he had chickenpox, but something’s wrong now. Something real bad.” Before the nurse could once again respond in the condescending voice that was making Jimmy angry, a man in a white coat walked up to the desk.

  “My name is Dr. Akebe. Please tell me what your problem is.” Then he saw Ethan.

  Jimmy started to explain the progression of Ethan’s illness over the previous several days, but Dr. Akebe interrupted him. “Please follow me. Bring your little girl, also.”

  “Dr. Akebe, where are you going? Exam room two is available. Dr. Akebe!”

  “We are going to the Pediatric Ward. The rooms at the end of the hallway are all empty. We will be in the last room. Please ask the Director to call me on the telephone in that room. In the meantime, I want nobody to go to that group of rooms. No nurses, no laboratory technicians, no other doctors. Not unless they are at least 33 years of age. Do you understand me?”

  “Dr. Akebe, what are you …?”

  “Nurse, I asked you a question. Do you understand the instructions I just gave?”

  “Yes Doctor, but …”

  “There shall be no ‘buts.’ You shall do as I have instructed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Dr. Akebe.”

  “Very good.”

  He turned to the Shepherd family. “Now if you will just follow me, please.”

  As instructed, Jimmy and Stacey picked up their children and followed Dr. Akebe at a brisk pace along the hospital corridors. They didn’t know just what was happening, but they knew it was serious. And Jimmy recognized someone who understood the concept of command and control. When they reached the entry to the pediatric ward, the three women at the nurses’ station were visibly irritated. Clearly, they had been warned by telephone of Dr. Akebe’s intentions.

  “I’m Carrie Castillo. I’m the head nurse in pediatrics. I was born in 1967. And I am 46 years old. And I’ve been here a lot longer than you have, Dr. Akebe.” She pronounced it Uh Kee Bee, each syllable with attitude, hands on hips, spoiling for a fight.

  Dr. Akebe didn’t notice her challenge, or at least he chose not to show that he noticed. “Thank you Nurse Castillo. Would you please take this family to the last room on the corridor? Please try to make the child comfortable. He is most certainly not comfortable right now.” Akebe looked at Jimmy. “The child has a high fever?”

  “Yes, doctor. The last time we checked, it was up to 105. We’re really scared. Please help him, doctor.”

  “We shall do what we can.” Akebe turned to the other nurses. “Until I give you further instructions nobody other than the parents, the child, Nurse Castillo, and I are to be in that corridor.” He paused to look at the nearest rooms. “An exception, please. If there are patients in any of the rooms in that corridor, you will move them immediately to rooms on the other hallway.”

  “But Dr. Akebe, you have no …”

  He spoke quietly, firmly, and slowly. “You will do as I said. You have no choice in this matter. And you will do it quickly, please.”

  The nurses were stunned. Jimmy and Stacey were even more confused about the interaction, but already their attention was elsewhere. They had to follow Dr. Akebe down the hallway.”

  As Jimmy and Stacey stood to one side of the bed, the nurse tried to make Ethan more comfortable. She prepared some cold compresses and gave one to each of the parents, asking them to gently put them on Ethan’s body. “It will help ease the fever.”

  Carrie Castillo turned to Dr. Akebe. “Is there anything I can do to assist in the diagnosis, doctor?”

  “Shortly, perhaps. There are other things I must do first.”

  The phone rang, and Dr. Akebe walked over to it. He moved the base and handset away from the bed to the corner of the room. When he answered, he turned his back on the others and spoke quietly. Stacey couldn’t hear most of the conversation, picking up only a few words here
and there. “… child … variola … yes, I know … I am sorry, but it is true …” Then, more clearly, he said, “Please would you get for me the main contact number, the reporting number for the CDC. They must learn of this.” Then he hung up.

  “Dr. Akebe,” Stacey began.

  Akebe held up his hand. It was less imperious than the orders to the nurses who had objected, and it wasn’t an unkind gesture. But it was enough that Stacey knew she should be quiet for a while. The phone rang again, and Akebe said virtually nothing. He wrote something on a pad of paper, uttered a simple “Thank you,” and hung up. Then he turned to the others and said, “I’ll be in the next room. Please remain here and try to be comfortable.”

  Once again, Stacey tried her best to overhear. But even though Dr. Akebe was talking more loudly now, it was more difficult to hear anything from the next room. She could again make out the word “variola.” It sounded familiar, and she wished she could remember what it was. Whatever was going on, she didn’t like it.

  At one point, Dr. Akebe raised his voice, clearly frustrated and angry. “I understand that it is not possible. What I am telling you, however, is that it has happened nevertheless. I was a child in Botswana during the outbreak in 1973, and I was in Somalia as a medical student with the WHO for the last known case in 1977. I have treated cases before. I know what it looks like. There can be no question. You must send a team at once.”

  When he returned to the room with the Shepherd family, Stacey decided that she would brook no further delays. “Dr. Akebe, you’ve got to …”

  Once again, the hand went up, but this time it was conciliatory, almost deferential. “I am sorry to have been so rude to you, but there were things that were necessary. We have a serious problem. I also am very sorry to tell you that your son has smallpox.”

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Artifacts

  Nearly west from us a gap opened in the high table-lands which limit the view in that direction; that through which the San Juan flows to its junction with the Colorado.

  —Report of the Exploring Expedition, J. S. Newberry, 1876‡

  Day 19: San Juan River

  It was late Sunday afternoon, and Greg Anniston, dressed in a terrycloth robe, looked out at the San Juan River. What an incredible weekend.

  When he and Danielle had discovered that each of them needed to be in Arizona by Monday evening, they decided to spend the weekend together and drive to Arizona on Monday morning. Danielle told him about a fishing lodge she had seen on a previous trip. It was about three hours north of Albuquerque on the San Juan River, near a place called Navajo Dam.

  It was less than an hour from Farmington, where Danielle needed to scout out possible purchases, but they would have plenty of time for themselves. On Monday morning, they would drive west into Arizona. Danielle said she would drop Greg off in Flagstaff before continuing to Phoenix. “This will take us through some beautiful country, Greg, right through the heart of the Navajo Reservation. It’s the largest Indian reservation in the United States.”

  They were able to reserve a cabin for two nights. It wasn’t luxurious. In fact, it was a bit Spartan, but the privacy and the views made up for it. And the meals prepared by the chef at the lodge were superb. But in contrast to most of the guests who traveled great distances for the wonderful fly fishing, Greg and Danielle had other things in mind. The first thing they did on arrival was to push the two twin beds together, creating a home-made king-size bed, and they put it to good use.

  Along with their extended periods in bed, they went on afternoon antiques expeditions. Danielle had been thrilled with some of the items she’d found, and Greg was in turn delighted to find that this seemed to enhance her physical appetites.

  Greg turned when he heard the bathroom door open. Danielle had finished her shower, and she was toweling off. He stared at her, transfixed. She was smart, and he was enchanted by her sense of humor, but her physical nature and ease with her body astonished him. As she finished drying off, she stood there, naked, with no sign of self-consciousness. Instead, she just smiled, facing him with complete self-assurance. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, highlighting her tall frame. Greg’s gaze moved to her breasts. Damn, they’re nice.

  His eyes traveled slowly down her body. Now, as he admired the exquisite female form standing in front of him, he amazed himself once again. He had thought that he was completely spent—tired, exhausted, depleted. But as he took in this visual feast, he felt himself stirring once again.

  Danielle put the towel in front of her naked body again. “Why don’t you hop in the shower, Greg? Get yourself all nice and clean.”

  * * *

  Day 20: Cabin Fever

  Monday morning was sunny and beautiful. Danielle drove the rented Jeep through the outskirts of Farmington. The Jeep had space for the antiques she acquired, and she felt a lot safer with a four-wheel drive vehicle. It had been in the low thirties at 8:00 a.m., and it was ready to break into the forties an hour later. The morning sun was at their backs as they traveled due west on U.S. 64, the highway following the general path of the San Juan River. Danielle had predicted that they wouldn’t make any stops until they were well into Arizona, and the state line was another half hour away.

  “Watch it, Danielle. That guy is driving like a lunatic.” Greg had been watching the pickup truck as they gained on it, but he wasn’t sure that Danielle had noticed the erratic behavior.

  “Yeah, I see it. You think he’s drunk or something?”

  Danielle slowed almost to a stop as they came up behind the truck. It was an old, beat up Chevy, with a paint job that looked like it had been done a few square inches at a time in different shades of gray. The exhaust was acrid, and abruptly it turned to black smoke. Just as suddenly, the driver made a hard right turn from the highway onto a side road. The truck fishtailed as the driver struggled to maintain control and came to a stop by some trees on the shoulder. Danielle made the same turn, although a bit more cautiously, and pulled up behind the pickup.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We can’t just keep on going, Greg. Whatever the problem, he needs help. It doesn’t matter whether it’s his truck or he’s drunk. It’s too cold to just leave him stuck out here.”

  They got out of the Jeep and walked slowly up to the pickup, noticing that the driver was half slumped over the wheel. Danielle spoke first. “Can we give you some help?”

  Jack Redhouse looked at Danielle but spoke to Greg. “Uh yeah, man. Yeah, thanks. Little problem here. Just bought some groceries and my truck broke down.”

  “Looks like we were going the same direction. Can we give you a ride home?” Greg asked.

  The man’s eyes were glassy, and his speech was slow. Almost like he was drunk, but not quite. “That would be a real help. My cabin is about five klicks from here.” He recognized the confusion on their faces. “About three miles.”

  Greg looked at Danielle for guidance, and she gave an imperceptible nod. “That’s not too far. We’ll be glad to drive you. Army?”

  “U.S. Marine Corps, sir. First Gulf War and again in Iraq. Sometimes I forget that civilians use miles.”

  “Either way, we can get you there. You just need to show us the way. What about your truck? You can’t just leave it here.”

  “It won’t drive anywhere by itself. Or with anyone else right now. I’ll just leave the keys in it. One of my buddies will take care of it later.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s get into the Jeep. Hand me whatever you want to bring. You said there were groceries? Danielle is driving. You want to sit up front to give directions?”

  “Back seat is better. I’m real tired. Rough couple of days. Need to get some sleep. Name’s Jack—Jack Redhouse. I live in Farmington, on the outskirts, but staying at my cabin just north of here. Just inside the reservation. My father built it. Good place to get away from stuff, clear your head. Know what I mean?”

  Greg nodded. “Good to meet you Jack. I’
m Greg. Greg Anniston.” He still wasn’t quite sure whether Jack was drunk, or maybe sick, or just very tired. But Danielle was right. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was that they could help get Jack to his cabin safely.

  Greg walked around to the passenger side of the truck and picked up the backpack that Jack had pointed to. It was beat up, old green canvas, army style. At second glance, he noticed the letters USMC. Jack saw him looking at it. “Yeah, I’ve been carrying that Alice pack around ever since I got out. About seven years now. Seems like a thousand years ago. It holds all kinds of stuff, and it never wears out.”

  He noticed the quizzical look on Greg’s face. “A.L.I.C.E. Not a person. Stands for ‘all-purpose something-or-other carrying equipment.’ The military has abbreviations for everything.”

  Greg put the Alice pack in the back seat next to Jack, and they all climbed into the Jeep. Danielle asked, “Keep on going west on Route 64?”

  “Yeah. Two or three miles. There’s a big ridge on the right, and you turn north onto 38. That’s Indian Road 38. I’m full-blooded Navajo. Sorry if I’m rambling some. I’m real tired. Feel like hell. Tough week at home. It’s why I need to get away. Just a couple of days.”

  Forty minutes later, as Danielle slowed for a hard curve in the road, Jack pointed to left. “Over there—on the left. Head up into that dry stream bed. Cabin’s a couple hundred yards back. Can’t see it from here.”

  Following Jack’s instructions, Danielle turned off the road. She drove slowly, but this was what a Jeep was designed for. After a few hundred feet she spotted the cabin, part way up a hillside. She pulled to a stop, and everyone got out. As Jack stood, his knees buckled slightly. “Whoa! A little shaky here.”