Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  He pushed on the double doors and stepped through. He believed he was in a dead hospital until he turned to his left and nearly barreled over a woman.

  She screamed, the items in her hands flew up in the air, and she grabbed her chest. She was a woman in her late twenties, hair disheveled, and wearing scrubs.

  “Holy hell you scared me,” she spoke, catching her breath. The just as quick as she played the frightened Florence Nightingale, she switched to Clint Eastwood, reaching behind her back and pulling forth a revolver. She aimed it point blank in Stokes’ face.

  She didn’t tremble and she was confident. That worried Stokes.

  “What the hell do you want?” she asked with deepened, serious voice.

  “Easy. Easy.” Stokes raised his hands. “We aren’t here to rob you.”

  Albert whispered. “We kind of are.”

  “Shut up,” Stokes blasted then looked at the nurse. “I’m a federal agent. If you let me reach into my back pocket I’ll show you my badge.”

  “Which pocket?” she asked.

  “My right.”

  She planted the revolver firmly to his belly as she stepped close and reached around him and into his back pocket. She did so with ease.

  “Shit. Are you a nurse or a cop?” Stokes asked.

  Gun still on Stokes, she blindly flipped open the wallet, glanced down and replaced the hammer on the revolver. She handed Stokes his wallet.

  “Thanks.” Stokes put it in his back pocket,

  She nodded at Albert. “You a federal agent, too?”

  “No. Not me. I’m a pastor.”

  “What’s a federal agent and pastor doing here?”

  “We’re hunkered in a small town about a hundred miles from here,” Stokes said. “We need medication.”

  She chuckled sarcastically. “For the virus? There is no medication that works. You are either one of the few lucky ones immune or you get it and die. No in between. No saving.”

  “No. No saving. But buying time until there is a cure,” Stokes said.

  Albert asked. “What is your name?’

  “Sue.”

  “Sue, it works. We have about two hundred people in town right now using the treatment to keep alive. Some have had the virus for three days now. It works. But we need the medication to keep them alive. We’re gonna run out.”

  “You’re serious.” She stated.

  “What?” Stokes asked. “You believe him and not me?”

  “He’s a man of God.” Sue finally put the revolver behind her pants. “If I can help, I will, but you have to let me know what the treatment is, so I can help people, too.”

  “Absolutely,” Albert said. “And you’ll know when we tell you that it kind of makes sense. Are you the only one here?”

  “No. About fifteen of us remain. We remain because we either lost everyone or have no one here in Vegas.”

  “Are sick still coming in?” Albert asked.

  “Not for a couple days. It’s thinning out in the city.”

  “Why did you stay?” Stokes questioned.

  “The virus isn’t the only reason people were in this hospital. We have sick here,” she said. “They need help, too. A lot of our patients caught the virus, but a few didn’t. And we stay... just in case. Now … what can I get you?”

  Stokes handed her the list.

  After reading it, her eyes lifted. “This is all medication for COPD and Asthma.”

  “Yep.” Stokes nodded.

  “It kinda makes perfect sense.”

  “See?” Albert said. “What’d I tell you?”

  “This way.” She turned and headed down the hall.

  “Sue.” Stokes jotted to catch her. “Hey, listen, after we get what we came here for, there’s something else I need from you.”

  She stared up to him questioning.

  <><><><>

  A single heart monitor beeped steady and slow, as Stokes stood outside the observation window of Room 3L in the ICU.

  “Miracle man,” Sue said. “That’s what we call him. He’s a big reason why a couple of us stayed. He came in before it all started and despite the fact space was limited and sick were in and out of his room, he never got ill. We took him off of life support three days ago and he’s getting stronger.”

  “Still in a coma though. For how long?”

  Sue shrugged. “I don’t know. Hard to say. He suffered a head injury. Bruised ribs, a broken arm. He was fortunate. We heard the accident was bad.”

  “It was.” Stokes pressed his hand against the glass and peered in the room.

  “You can go in there.”

  “Thanks.” Stokes took a step, paused, saw a tablet and pen, grabbed them and then walked into the room.

  Admittedly he didn’t know what Sue meant when she said ‘Sick were in and out’, but when he stepped inside Charles’ small ICU room, he found out. They had brought sick in. Empty gurneys were in the room. All with dirty blood stained sheets. There were eight of them, now pushed off to the side.

  How crowded it had to have been at one point.

  And Charles slept through it all.

  He lay in a slightly elevated bed, monitors patched to his chest and an IV in his arm.

  His head was bandaged and his face a deep black and blue.

  “Hey guy.” Stokes whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can. You need to get better. You need to wake up. The world needs you right now. If you don’t get up real soon, there won’t be a world much longer.” He laid his hand On Charles. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  Stokes stayed and visited a few minutes, and then he took that pad and pen and wrote a note. He folded it and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed.

  He didn’t know when or even if Charles would wake up, but if or when he did, Stokes wanted to make sure Charles knew he was out there waiting on him

  <><><><>

  In the first light of the morning, on his normal walk out to the check point, Wells knew before he got there that something was different.

  In the quiet of the town sound travelled and the increased motor noises of the trucks told him things were switching up.

  Every day Wells walked to the check point, looked out and watched the National Guard. He wondered why they were still there. Why they focused do heavily on his small town. In some twisted fantasy, Wells thought perhaps it wasn’t the world, it wasn’t America, that only Littlefield was sick. That once the virus had burned its way through and out, that all would be okay.

  All wasn’t okay, at least on the outskirts of town.

  Those who remained were all dead.

  Their bodies were on the road, some wrapped in blankets, some not. Other bodies decomposed in the airtight hot cars. All of them were more than just bodies.

  They were people he knew.

  Bill and Mary Scott. Rachel McCurry and her two children. Len Hendrix, his wife and their son. Len had received the antidote, he was immune to the virus, but he wasn’t immune to a gun.

  He had put a bullet in his head as he held his child and his wife in his arms.

  The list, the names went on and on. It was the same at each of the five exits he checked. Yet, every day, Wells walked out there. Walked to the barricade, looked out, stood for a few moments, and left.

  He’d repeat the routine each exit.

  This day, like he thought it would be, was different.

  There was movement at Mills Road.

  The guards in masks, usually fifty yards out, were closer. He believed they would be leaving, they suspected as much. Instead, they were up to something.

  A new vehicle arrived, a plain silver RV.

  Wells watched a soldier point to him, then someone in a biohazard suit walked his way.

  “I am told you come out here every day. So I assume your run this town?” the man in the suit asked.

  “I do. I’m the Chief of Police, Eugene Wells.”

  “I’m Major Fielding. A virologist with the United States Army
Bio Engineering division.”

  “Ok.”

  “How is it in there?”

  “We lost over half our town. So not good. A lot of our folks have locked themselves inside. Some are sick and fighting it.”

  “Are they using the experimental treatment?” he asked.

  “Yes. It doesn’t work on everyone. What may I ask ….”

  “We are going to need a station point, Chief Wells.”

  “I’m sorry. A what?”

  “A set up point.” He indicated to the RV. “We need to run some tests. We need set up near the most densely populated area. So we can reach out.”

  Wells stammered some. “Reach out? Is this something you’re only doing in Littlefield?”

  “No, sir. It’s part of a huge operative to contain the virus. It goes underway nationwide in four hours.”

  “We’re already quarantined.”

  “It’s a bit more than that. We need statistics to see what we’re up against. Containing and controlling is the key to stopping it.”

  “Can you?”

  “We hope.”

  “What difference does one little town make.”

  Fielding stared at Wells for a moment before answering. “Because big city, small town, all it takes is one person. One infected is all it takes to keep this virus alive. Since Littlefield is one of two ground zeroes that makes your town pretty special.”

  Special? Wells shook his head. It was a bad choice of words. He always believed Littlefield was special, but to go down in history as a hotspot of a plague was not what Wells envisioned.

  He told the biohazard man he’d do what needed to be done and would help in anyway. After all, they were medical people coming into his town. Surely if Littlefield was special enough to test, they would be special enough to help.

  Any help for his town was a good thing.

  Thirty-TWO - Reeling in

  With all flights being grounded except government planes, Nadia was grateful for the transportation close enough to home. If not, she probably wouldn’t have made it all the way. The long drive to Montana would require several stops for gasoline and many places were closed.

  In essence she felt like a repeat of history. Carrying her supplies in her car on her way to her lab. The virus sample being one of them. Just like Dr. Kimble. Nadia prayed she didn’t meet his same fate.

  She had spoken to her husband and the family awaited her return. Her oldest son was prepping the lab.

  Aside from carrying her work, Nadia carried the emotional load of knowledge. She knew the decisions made in that meeting room. A project called the Savior Initiative would commence shortly and would start with the towns already under quarantine. She wasn’t sure of the specifics and all it entailed. Those would be emailed to her.

  The treatment for the virus had been announced on the news, and while originally it was intended to save people, Nadia knew they were using it to aid in the initiative. It would take a lot of work to make it work. A huge undertaking if it were to be successful nationally.

  On interstate 90, just outside of Sheraton Wyoming, Nadia ran into a National Guard blockade.

  “Ma’am,” the guard approached the car. “Can I ask where you’re headed?”

  “Billings.” She handed him her billfold, showing her ID. “I’m working on the virus. You can check with your superiors to see my clearances.”

  “I understand, Ma’am, but this is a hot zone.”

  She extended her left arm and indicated to the white thick band on her wrist. “I’m good. I’m immune.”

  He blinked a few times. “I’m not familiar with the bands.”

  “You will be.”

  Almost as if he teetered on not believing her, the guard took her billfold and told her he would be right back.

  He’s get the clearance to let her through, Nadia was certain. Just as she was certain, before too long he would know what the white bands meant. And he also would know the white band was one he’d rarely if ever see again.

  <><><><>

  Macy’s heart beat a little bit faster when she saw the time. She dreaded noon and the bells that tolled when the clock struck twelve. It was a warning sign. A warning letting people know that someone else would soon fall sick. She sat in her kitchen thinking of the morning. It was Independence Day. How different things would be if the virus wouldn’t have hit. Instead of sitting there dreading the bells, Macy would’ve been excited for them. She would have been in the middle of making potato salad or something like that. That was what the community of Littlefield did. It was their special holiday. Everyone gathered at the local park right next to the ball field. Everybody brought something. There were food booths set up with affordable treats and other items. The Little League game was treated like it was the World Series. Clay would have been playing. He would’ve been pitching. Instead he sat in the living room acting nonchalant as he played his zombie video game.

  She could hear her boys laughing and cheering as they played the game. Did they know? They had to. She was the most neurotic of them all. Constantly pacing constantly double checking her breath. Taking her medication religiously and counting each pill because each pill, was another day of her life.

  Then the bells rang.

  Macy froze.

  She sat there in some sort of suspended animation of fear.

  It was the same every day. Once the bells stopped, she stood and walked into the living room.

  “Mom,” Clay said. “Don’t watch us. It’s weird.”

  “Are you okay?” Macy asked.

  “Yeah, we’re fine. We’re playing a game. Honestly.”

  “I’m just checking.”

  “I know. But then you just stand there and stare at us.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re not sick yet.” Clay said. “Maybe Thomas and I are immune. The news said some people don’t get it. We’ve been hanging around you. We’re not sick.”

  “True.”

  “So don’t…”

  Clay had stopped talking.

  “Clay?”

  He had been facing the television sitting next to his little brother when he peered over his shoulder at Macy. So why he stop speaking. His nose was bleeding. His finger reached up to touch the ball of blood that rolled across his top lip.

  In a weepy voice, he peered to Macy. “Mom?”

  Macy’s heart dumped so hard in her chest, she swore it stopped beating.

  Thomas said, “Maybe it’s not the sickness. Maybe it’s just a nosebleed.”

  “How does your chest feel?” Macy asked

  “Heavy. It feels like there’s something there.”

  Immediately Macy ran to the kitchen and grabbed the inhaler that was dedicated for Clay. She was confident when she handed him the inhaler.

  “Pump it and inhale as it releases, Okay?” she handed it to him.

  “I’m not coughing.”

  “Neither was I. Just … do it.”

  Clay stood up and grabbed the inhaler. The second he did, he coughed.

  “Come on Clay, take it,” Macy said. She was confident, she knew it was going to work.

  Clay coughed again, it sounded like a dog barking and then he took the inhaler and did as instructed.

  Two pumps.

  He caught his breath.

  “How do you feel now?” Macy asked.

  “My chest still feels heavy.”

  “You can do two more pumps,” Macy told him.

  Clay nodded, inhaled, coughed and brought the inhaler to his mouth,

  Two pumps and then Clay started coughing out of control.

  “Oh my God,” Macy cried out then swing a point to Thomas. “Run to town. Get the chief, Get Dr. Harmon.”

  “Mom …” Thomas whimpered.

  “Go. Run as fast as you can.”

  Thomas nodded nervously, then raced from the house.

  “Clay,” Macy called for her son.

  His thin body jerked and jolted with each horrendous, violent co
ugh. His eyes grew red and his face blue.

  “Baby, please.” Macy held the inhaler, again to him ‘Two more.”

  Clay reached out. His hands aimed blindly at nothing, he looked like he was trying to swim through the air as he desperately fought to stop coughing and catch his breath,

  Macy pumped the mist by his mouth, hoping against hope it would affect him. It had to work. Why wasn’t it working? Her son was fighting what was happening to his body and there was nothing Macy could do but watch.

  Then Clay stopped coughing.

  He dropped to his knees, hands on his thighs and stared out.

  Macy sighed in relief. It worked. She smiled. “Sweetie.” She walked around to face him and crouched before him. “Sweetie look at me.”

  Clay didn’t.

  “I know you’re scared. It was scary. Whew.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I was scared. But you got it under control.”

  Clay didn’t move.

  “Clay?”

  There was a quiet moment and then Clay didn’t just lift his head, he propelled forward at Macy, ramming shoulder first into her chest and sending her sailing back.

  Clay didn’t cough, he screamed maniacally and flailed his fist repeated one after another at Macy.

  Macy struggled to stop his swinging arms, pleading with Clay to stop, but it was no use. He didn’t hear her or acknowledge her. The twelve year old child, pummeled her, fist over fist. The blows landed to her chest, her stomach, face and arms.

  It was maddening and dreamlike. All Macy could do was her best to defend herself and cry.

  <><><><>

  It didn’t take long for the military or whoever it was, to take over town. It had one perk, the soldiers helped move the remaining bodies and cars that scattered about Main Street. Wells, Stokes and Albert were inundated with the task when everyone else took off.

  The invasion of personnel made room in the town square that hadn’t seen a resident since the outbreak.

  A long, expandable, white mobile research lab was set center of town. There was a small team of medical professionals walking about doing readings with some sort of wand, while wearing hazmat suits.

  Outside the Mobile lab was a white tent.

  All of that was consistent with quarantine, but why weren’t they there earlier. Why, if they positioned in town the day of the outbreak, did the military pull out if they were going to return anyway?