Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  And there was the one thing that struck Wells as off. The presence of six M938 Army Military trucks. The long ones with the gated sides and metal arches. The trucks typically hauled boxes and food, sometimes covered with a tarp. But these one were empty, not covered and sitting idle as if waiting to be loaded.

  It was hustle, bustle, move out of the way for about two hours, and then it stopped.

  Wells found himself inside the tent, at the request of one of the medical workers. More like demand. Dr. Harmon was there as well. Both were the first ones, hand extended giving a blood sample. A tiny tube taken from their fingers.

  “Why this? Why now?” Wells asked the man.

  “We’re testing your blood.” The man, who identified himself as Major Fielding, replied.

  “No, shit. Is this all part of your counting and containing?”

  “You can say that. Things are happening. Do you need a band aid?”

  “No.” Wells said and stood. He waited for the Dr. Harmon so they could both leave the tent. As they reached the flap, fielding approached them.

  “Chief Wells.”

  Wells stopped.

  “Chief, we can do this quickly and easily. How many people in this town, right now are using the treatment?”

  Wells looked at Harmon, then replied. “I believe one eighty give or take.”

  “Do you know who these people are and where they live?”

  Wells sarcastically huffed a chuckle.

  “It’s a small town,” Dr. Harmon said. “Of course we do.”

  “We’ll need those names and addresses.” Fielding said.

  A single nod, and with Harmon at his side, Wells pushed aside the flap to the tent. As soon as he stepped out, everything barreled him over.

  Fielding telling them they have to account and contain, the blood samples, handling things quickly, the addresses of the sick … and upon those thoughts, Wells saw the big empty trucks, but this time he saw them differently. Not as vehicles bringing items, but rather taking them away.

  Before he could fully process, perhaps ask Fielding about it, little Thomas Anderson called his name in the distance.

  “Chief! Chief Wells!”

  Wells peered outward to see Thomas running down the road. With Harmon at his side, they made their way to Thomas.

  “Chief!”

  “Thomas, what is it?”

  His face was red from running, and he had a hard time catching his breath. “Chief. My brother is sick. My mom said to get you and Dr. Harmon fast.”

  Wells didn’t hesitate. He quickly headed to the Anderson home.

  After telling him to go ahead, Wells heard Dr. Harmon tell someone he had a medical emergency. He didn’t think much of it until he saw Dr. Harmon stepping out of a jeep at the same time he made it to the Anderson house after running top speed.

  He left Thomas in the dust, figuring the child would eventually catch up. After all, it was Littlefield, there was really no danger.

  Wells trotted to the front porch and Harmon held up his bag and a small box. “I grabbed the nebulizer just …”

  A struggling scream carried out to them and without hesitation, Wells blasted open the door.

  The living room was in complete disarray and center of the floor, Macy latched onto Clay in what Wells could only describe as some sort of Full Nelson submission hold or something from the UFC. On her back, Clay was on top of her, his back pressed to her chest. Macy’s arms hooked under Clay’s, holding his arms straight and locked as she clasped her hands behind his neck. Her legs were curled around and over his.

  It didn’t stop the boy, he thrashed back and forth.

  Macy’s face was bloody, as well as her arms and legs. It was a struggle for her, and Wells guessed one that wasn’t just a physical battle.

  “Please help me,” Macy cried out.

  Dr. Harmon set down his bag. “I have a sedative.” He pulled out a syringe and opened it, then a bottle.

  “Hurry, please, I can’t …”

  After a scream from Clay, Macy’s hold broke and the boy leapt forth, charging at Dr. Harmon. Wells was fast, he latched on to Clay by the waist. Being bigger than Macy, Wells was able to subdue Clay a lot easier. Clay still kicked and screamed.

  “Hold him steady.” Dr. Harmon instructed as he approached with the needle.

  “You’re gonna have to hit him anywhere you can,” Wells said. “He’s wiry.”

  Dr. Harmon moved up and down in debate and finally he landed a spot. “There. Done.”

  “How long?” Wells asked.

  “A few seconds.”

  The jerks and thrashes slowed down in speed and intensity and then finally Clay slumped and passed out.

  “Put him on the couch.” Dr. Harmon ordered.

  As soon as Wells set him down, Macy rushed over.

  “We have to try something else.” She pleaded. “The inhalers didn’t work.”

  “Macy…” Wells reached to her. “Listen …”

  “We have to try.”

  Wells looked at Macy’s face. Her lips was swollen, face scratched and bruise. She held her side as well.

  “We have to try.”

  Speaking calmly, Wells turned Macy to face him. “You need to get medical help.”

  “I need to help my son,” Macy pushed from Wells and knelt on the floor by Clay. “It worked on me. It has to work on him.”

  “Macy, if the rescue inhalers didn’t work,” Wells said. “I …”

  “We’ll try the nebulizer,” said Dr. Harmon. “That delivers a greater dose. We’ll try that. I can’t make promises. But, like you said, we can try.”

  His mouth dropped open and Wells stared at Dr. Harmon, he watched him intensely as he wrestled with the box he had brought. Was he serious? Wells thought. He knew and the doctor knew that once the dementia set it, it was a sure fire sign that the virus took hold. So knowing that, Wells wondered what he was doing.

  Dr. Harmon emptied medication into the dispenser of the machine, plugged it in and then attached a face mask to Clay. He turned on the machine and it hummed. “We’re trying. But you need to let me take a look at you. Okay?”

  Macy’s pouted holding back tears, and her hand clutched Dr. Harmon’s with gratefulness. “Thank you.”

  Wells cleared his throat. “Doc, can I see you for one moment.” He pointed to the porch.

  “Yes,” he said then told Macy. “I’ll be right back.”

  Wells stepped out on the porch and waited for Dr. Harmon.

  “What’s up?” Dr. Harmon asked.

  In a low whisper, Wells spoke.

  “She asked to try again. We’re trying again.”

  “We know …”

  “Nothing. Each person is different. Do you want to go tell that mother that we won’t try, at least try to save her son? One look at her should tell you she will fight to save him.”

  Wells lowered his head.

  “And you have another problem.”

  “What’s that?” Wells asked.

  “While I work on this son, you need to find the other. Where’s Thomas?”

  Wells looked over his shoulder to an empty street. “Shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  Wells took off, running back in the direction of town. He figured he’d find Thomas moving at a snail’s pace. Thomas wasn’t an athletic child and Wells, figured the run into town kicked his ass. But Thomas wasn’t anywhere en route. In fact, Wells started to worry, until he sought out Fielding to see if they spotted a child. There in the tent was Thomas.

  “What’s going on?” Wells asked.

  Thomas held up his finger. “They took some blood.”

  “You what?” Wells asked.

  “It’s mandatory for those asymptomatic. I figured since we had him …”

  “You didn’t have him. He’s a child. Come on, Thomas.” Wells grabbed the boy’s hand. “Let’s go home.” At the edge of the tent, Wells stopped and turned to Fielding. “And do
n’t touch another child in this town without permission. You hear?” He took Thomas from the tent.

  “They gave me a sucker.” He held up a lollipop.

  “Swell.”

  “Are we going home?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes, yes we are.”

  “Is my brother better.”

  Wells didn’t answer.

  “Chief, is Clay sick or is he better.”

  Without knowing how to accurately respond, Wells did the best he could and simply said, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  THIRTY-THREE – Say no more

  Littlefield, AZ

  July 4

  “I’m sorry, Macy.”

  Hearing Dr. Harmon’s words of defeat pained Macy as much as hearing Clay cough. He coughed constantly, even in his sedated state. His face was pale, blood periodically dripped from his nose and Macy also was wiping it from his mouth when he coughed.

  “We can keep trying the treatments, every couple hours,” Dr. Harmon said. “I left the medication here. At the very least it will help him breathe.”

  Macy sat at one end of the couch. Clay’s head was on her lap. Thomas sat on the floor by her feet. She sniffled sluggishly and wiped her eyes.

  “Don’t forget to take your medication. I know you’re not thinking about it,” Dr. Harmon said. “But you have Thomas to worry about. That rib is pretty bad, so deep breaths.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “I left the sedatives on the coffee table.” He showed her. “If he is agitated or in a hysteria state, give him a dose. That should ease up some later.”

  Macy nodded.

  “I’ll leave you be.”

  “How long?” Macy asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How long do I have left with my son?”

  “If treatment doesn’t work, no more than twenty four hours from onset of symptoms.”

  “So when the bells toll.” Macy whimpered out. “It’s all I have left.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dr. Harmon reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

  Macy watched him head toward the door, but only briefly. She returned to staring at Clay, listening and feeling him cough as he lay in her arms. She was drawn from that moment when she heard Dr. Harmon at the door.

  “This is really not a good time.”

  Macy looked up. He was speaking to a man in a biohazard suit.

  “Sorry, sir, it is mandatory that all residents of Littlefield submit to a blood test.”

  “Are you doing this in every town?” Dr. Harmon asked. “Disturbing grieving mothers?”

  “Sir, my job is this town. Now if you …”

  “A blood test for what?” Macy asked.

  The man stepped in. “We need to determine how many are infected.”

  “You don’t need to check my blood,” Macy said.

  “Ma’am, even though you have been in close contact, there is a chance you may not …”

  “I’m sick.” Macy said almost dazed. “I’ve been sick for days. No need to check my blood. I have it.” She returned to looking at Clay.

  The conversation continued for another moment behind her with Dr. Harmon confirming her name and that she was using the treatment. Then after another apology, Dr. Harmon left.

  Macy was consumed with feelings that were all over the emotional map. Fear, anxiety, loss. Her heart ached for child in her arms and the one who sat clinging to her legs.

  She didn’t know how much time she had, but Macy was going to absorb every single second she had remaining with both her boys.

  <><><><>

  Las Vegas, NV

  “I had to see,” Stokes said.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  There were still in Vegas. It wasn’t the plan, but Sue had been so nice to them and helpful, they could only return the favor. She and the remaining dozen hospital personnel had pretty much set up residence in the hospital. Watching and caring as best as they could for those who remained, while the hospital around them was nothing but a dead pool.

  Stokes and Albert took on the task of moving bodies. Continuing where someone else had left off. Moving them outside.

  They thought about burning them, but the pile was too close to the hospital.

  Maybe after it was all said and done. Sue and the others could burn them.

  From the looks of things, ‘all said and done’ wasn’t that far off.

  They hit area pharmacies, but by the time they finished getting ready to go it was dark. Stokes and Albert decided to spend the night. In the morning, they’d start their round of neighboring towns, then return to Russell.

  Staying the night in Vegas prompted a sightseeing tour. The Strip was still lit up. Though tourists didn’t move in droves down the sidewalks. Doors were closed to the casinos and as they passed, they saw no one inside.

  A few of the high end hotels took to sealing off with plastic. They had guards with gasmasks outside. As if they were protecting their guests from everything.

  Maybe it was working. Who knew?

  The Strip was a complete contrast to Fremont Street. That was completely dark. Plastic garnished the buildings, quarantine tape and signs were everywhere. It was like a scene from the movie, The Stand. Bodies were in the street. It was as if when Fremont went down, someone said, “Okay, nothing we can do. Turn off the lights.” And they left.

  A plague ridden scene. A once bustling atmosphere dead and abandoned.

  They had higher hopes for the Strip. But in their walk, they saw only a few people. People stranded in Vegas, just moving along. An area that at night was crowded with homeless trying to claim a spot was void of life. The homeless that lay on the sidewalk were dead.

  Albert played with his phone.

  “Still trying to reach your brother?” Stokes asked.

  “No answer. At least we know the phones still work.”

  “Sorry I dragged you out. I had to see,” Stokes said.

  “Yeah, me, too.” Albert replied.

  “I was here once. You couldn’t move a foot down the sidewalk without being bumped.”

  “Or someone trying to solicit you.”

  “Do you think it will ever rise from the ashes?” Stokes asked.

  “One day. Yeah, I do. Maybe not right away. But it will. It’ll take time. No one will have money to gamble.”

  “Will money matter?” Stokes asked.

  “Probably not for a while. Things are crashing. Civilization as we know it is done. It’ll only get worse. We’ve got to plan on sectioning off and being our own entity, surviving that way.”

  Stokes laughed. “Kind of melodramatic, don’t you think one week after an outbreak.”

  “Look around my friend.” Albert pointed to a burnt out building then to an overturned charred police car. “Busted buildings, looting, violence, bodies just lying around. Defeat. Even if we save the world from the virus … the world sadly … can’t save humanity.”

  <><><><>

  Littlefield, AZ

  “Well this just blows balls.” Shotsy spoke. He rarely did and when words did come from the senior man’s mouth they surely were zingers. He shook his head, staring at the television while drying a glass.

  Wells and Dr. Harmon, seated at the bar, both looked up to the television. The news was on. The news was one of the few programs that played and that was only every few hours. For the most part it was a blue screen on every channel. A message that stated the station would return.

  The image on the screen showed trucks moving into a fenced off area that contained so many white tents it was hard to count.

  “An executive order signed tonight by the President goes into effect tomorrow at six AM Eastern Standard time,” the anchorwoman said. “The Bill which is being called the Savior Operation mirrors tactics that have been taken in many other countries. It calls for the voluntary quarantine of those who suspect they have been exposed and a mandatory quarantine for those who were immediately exposed to those who are infec
ted.”

  The television then showed the president, “Quarantining the infected from the well is a practice that dates back to biblical times. It is one of the most effective ways to stop infection. This is a serious threat to man’s existence and serious measures must be taken. We have one hundred and fifty-three facilities around the country that were originally in place for emergency situations. They will be fully operational in thirty-six hours but will be open to receiving residents tomorrow morning.”

  The anchorwoman continued, “Those knowingly in close contact with an infected, or those sick, are encouraged to report to a facility. Those areas without power, the National Guard has been deployed to release this information. Civil liberty organizations are calling for a boycott of …”

  Wells stopped listening. He lifted his glass and brought it to his mouth. “Encouraging people to report.” He shook his head and took a dink. “Give me a break. People aren’t going to go to these camps.”

  “Hey, Eugene, take a look at those pictures,” Dr. Harmon said. “Looks to me like people aren’t gonna have a choice.

  <><><><>

  “Please God, just one more lucid moment. Just one.” Macy prayed and pleaded in her mind as she held Clay. Her freshly bleeding hand stung a little. Another injury she had received. Even Thomas wasn’t immune to physical trauma at the hands of Clay’s violent outbursts. A cut graced his temple by his right eyebrow.

  Each time the sedative wore off Clay would open his eyes. Macy swore he looked at her, she’d call his name and say the prayer in her mind, “Please God let me have a lucid moment.” Then that prayer went unanswered as Clay jumped up, swinging and screaming until Macy injected him again.

  Thomas was a trooper, only a few times did he panic and want to cry. But for the most part he helped his mother, never leaving her side and battling it out right along with her. He finally passed out from exhaustion and slept on the carpet next to the couch. Macy covered him but didn’t move him. She didn’t want to. She needed to be by both her sons.