Dark Biology

by Bonnie Doran

  Jasper took a deep breath that rattled the radio in Frank’s helmet. He attached his tether to the line and jumped off the capsule’s hull toward ISS, using the rope only as a guide. Touching down on the station, Jasper turned and thumbs-upped the others.

  Hildi was next. She pulled herself out of the hatch, tethered her suit, and grasped the line. She hesitated.

  “C’mon, Hildi. You’re holding us up.” Frank wished he’d sounded more humorous, but his comment flew at Hildi with jagged edges.

  Hildi turned, her grin shining. “No worries, Frank. Just admiring the view. It’s not every day you see Florida spinning beneath you.” She held the line loosely like Jasper, pushed off, and pounced on the station with all fours. Maria pulled her toward the docking area by the strap of her air pack. Frank started breathing again. Just he and Larry now. They worked together to shut down all systems. He stared at the gauges. “RCS isn’t responding.”

  “Can you shut it down manually?”

  “Negative.”

  “Leave it. Let’s get out of here.”

  Frank propelled himself through the capsule to open space. Larry followed, securing the hatch after he emerged. Frank stood on the hull, watching the lifeline between the spacecraft and the station grow taut.

  The line snapped.

  Reconciliation shuddered free. Frank and Larry grabbed nearby handholds. The craft broke away from the robotic arm and accelerated with a pronounced yaw. The high-gain antenna snapped off against the arm as the space capsule spun out of reach.

  Frank winced at Leonid’s cursing. He knew Russian, of course, but had never heard those particular words. The torn rope, still knotted to ISS, waved at them in a sinuous I-dare-you-to-catch-me dance.

  They crouched on the capsule. Larry grabbed him, lifted him like a sack of potatoes, and hurled him toward the rope.

  Frank captured the line with one hand and scrambled to the docking port, gasping. Where was Larry? He jerked his head back. Larry clung to the spinning spacecraft as it drifted farther away with every breath. “C’mon.”

  Larry sprang.

  He strained toward the line, floating with exaggerated sluggishness, like those frustrating movie scenes with slow-motion action. Frank tensed, willing Larry to make it.

  Larry missed.

  He collided head first with the station.

  His limp body floated away.

  18

  “I” Plus Three Days

  “Worth, you know I’m right.” Laura glowered at him, hands on hips. The morning sun’s glare filtered through the bedroom blinds and silhouetted her trim figure. A breakfast tray sat on his nightstand. Worth’s lagging appetite refused to perk up at the smell of tea and cinnamon toast.

  “I can’t cancel a seminar. I know I’ll be fine in a couple of days.” He tried to rise from bed but lay back with a groan, pulling the comforter under his chin to hide his shivering. “It’s only the flu.”

  “No, it’s not. Whatever this is, it’s worse than that Hong Kong flu thirty years ago. I should know. That thing laid me low for weeks. That’s why, C. Worthington Hildebrandt, you are going to the doctor.”

  He felt like a microwavable meal left in the oven for three days, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. As Laura plumped his pillow, he reached for the glass of ice water on the tray and chugged it.

  She sat on the bed, forehead furrowed. “Worth, you know how susceptible you are to these things, even with a flu shot. You need to see the doctor. I won’t have my husband dying on me.” Laura sniffled as she reached for a tissue.

  Worth grasped her hand. “You always were too good for me.”

  She gained her composure with remarkable speed. “Let me take your temperature.” She grabbed the digital thermometer from the nightstand and jammed it in his ear.

  “Hey, no fair. You’re drilling that thing into my brain.” Maybe she wasn’t so composed after all.

  “All’s fair in love and illness. Or don’t you remember the words, ‘in sickness or in health’?”

  “Hmph.”

  Beep.

  Laura checked the readout. “One hundred two point four. You’re not going to the doctor’s today.”

  Worth sat a little straighter. “See, I told you it wasn’t serious. I’ll make an appointment for tomorrow.”

  “You’re not going to the doctor’s tomorrow. You’re going to urgent care now.” She pulled open a dresser drawer and threw a pair of briefs and a T-shirt onto the bed. “Get dressed.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot the way she had when their children misbehaved.

  Worth didn’t have the strength to protest. “Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed a cough to hide his ragged breathing. “Maybe they can give me some antibiotics or something.”

  He fought the gravity that bound him to the bed, and he reached for his clothes like a good little boy.

  Laura left the room with a smile of triumph that didn’t extend past her lips. She was really worried.

  The receptionist at urgent care handed Worth a clipboard with a pen and several pages of forms. While Laura paced like a caged tiger, he sat on one of the institutional armchairs—blond wood, blue vinyl seat—and stared at the papers. Other patients, many of them coughing and sneezing, occupied chairs lining the room. A minty medicinal smell wafted from a senior citizen maneuvering through the door. His walker had yellow tennis balls on its feet.

  A chill invaded Worth’s body and made his hand tremble. The typeface on the forms blurred. “Hon, will you do this? Your handwriting is so much neater.”

  Laura gave him a long stare before grabbing the clipboard. The floral scent of her cologne nearly neutralized Mr. Ben Gay. She sat down, balanced the clipboard on her knee, and pursed her lips. Fifteen minutes later, she delivered the forms to the receptionist and dug in her purse for the medical insurance card. Worth smiled at her before another fit of coughing racked him.

  “Worth Hildebrandt?” A nurse with horn-rimmed glasses waited in a doorway for her next victim.

  Several pairs of eyes glanced in his direction. Even here, he couldn’t escape his notoriety. He kissed his wife’s forehead before disappearing through the door, head held high.

  The nurse seemed friendly enough, though she yawned as if she needed another cup of coffee. She ushered him into a chilly exam room. After questioning him endlessly while typing on a laptop, she took his temperature and blood pressure. The cuff squeezed his biceps so hard that Worth looked to make sure his arm was still intact. She finished her notes, said she would inform the doctor, and left. As the minutes stretched, Worth wrapped his arms around his chest, longing for bed and a blanket.

  A doctor entered, wearing a white coat, short-cropped brown hair, and the latest in beards. He scanned the intake info on the laptop and the medical history Laura had completed, frowned, and turned the clipboard toward Worth. Dr. Beard pointed to one of the yes/no questions. “Is this correct?”

  Worth nodded.

  The doctor pulled on blue exam gloves without further comment. He poked, prodded, and told him to breathe deeply. Worth took a deep breath and coughed, his chest rattling, as the man pressed a refrigerated stethoscope to his back.

  Dr. Beard gave him his diagnosis. “You appear to have double pneumonia. I’m starting you on oxygen.”

  The nurse returned, clipped a sensor to Worth’s forefinger, and turned to the pulse-ox display. Then she inserted a cannula in his nostrils and nodded at the improved numbers on the machine. Worth knew the procedure all too well. He tried to ignore the itching invaders in his nose.

  As the oxygen flowed, he relaxed. Tension drained away, now that he didn’t have to battle for every breath. The nurse ducked out and returned with Laura.

  “So, doctor, what do you want this husband of mine to do? Take two aspirin and call you in the morning?”

  Worth recognized Laura’s I’m-going-to-joke-because-I’m-really-worried ploy. He shook his head and regretted the movement. His body wasn’t the only thing that ached.

&n
bsp; The doctor wasn’t fooled by Laura’s tactic, either. “We’re way beyond aspirin, I’m afraid. Your husband has double pneumonia. I’ve asked the nurse to call an ambulance. He needs to be hospitalized.”

  “Ambulance? Hospitalized? I’m not that sick.” Worth’s eyebrows slammed together.

  “Yes, hospitalized.” The doctor wasn’t backing down. “He’s doing better on oxygen, but he needs intravenous antibiotics. Of course, the pneumonia may be a secondary infection. With his high fever, age—”

  “But I’m only 57.”

  “—and this other complication, we’ve got to use aggressive treatment.” The doctor jabbed his pen at the clipboard.

  Laura pinned the doctor with her eyes. “I hope you understand this needs to be kept quiet. If word ever reaches the press—”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hildebrandt. All our patient records are confidential.” The doctor handed her another set of forms. “If you’ll just sign this authorization for transport, we’ll get you on your way.” Dr. Beard left the room.

  Laura rolled her eyes. “I hate forms.”

  ****

  Worth felt like an Egyptian mummy as the EMTs strapped him onto a gurney and secured an oxygen bottle.

  Laura squeezed his hand. “I’ll follow you.”

  “Sure you know the right hospital?”

  “Hmph. Just don’t give these guys any grief.”

  “If he does, we’ll just throw him out the back.” The EMT’s levity made Worth smile, but Laura remained stoic.

  They loaded him into the ambulance and shut the door. Worth closed his eyes and tried to pray for wisdom for the doctors, but concentration wouldn’t come. All he wanted was his own bed and untroubled sleep. He couldn’t form a cohesive sentence. Help, Lord.

  At the emergency entrance, the men deposited him onto another gurney in an examination room surrounded by white drapes. A nurse plugged him into more machines than he could count. Laura soon joined him, a little out of breath. She’d probably run from the parking lot. She frowned at all the equipment.

  A doctor entered the cubicle, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked at the information provided by urgent care, squeezed Worth’s shoulder, and examined him. He endured another round of poking and prodding while Laura found a chair in a corner. The doctor announced her diagnosis. “He appears to have double pneumonia. How long has he been sick?”

  “A couple of days.” Laura frowned.

  “Has he been traveling? Like to Michigan or Ohio? The bacteria there aren’t your run-of-the-mill bugs, and we use different antibiotics for treatment.”

  “We give marriage seminars all over the country. We were in Chicago two weeks ago, then home in Denver.”

  Dr. Ponytail’s gaze traveled to Worth’s face. “So you’re that Hildebrandt. I’ve seen you on television, but you looked a lot healthier.”

  “I felt a lot healthier.”

  She chuckled, scribbling notes on another form. “I’ll order blood work. It could also be a secondary infection to influenza, but it’s a bit early in the season. Was he vaccinated?”

  Worth’s temperature rose. He resented being talked about in the third person.

  One side of Laura’s mouth quirked upward in a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-of-course-he-does expression. “Yes, he got a vaccine, just like he does every year. He’s at risk, after all.”

  Dr. Ponytail made another notation. “Mrs. Hildebrandt, if you’ll wait in the reception room, we’ll get your husband settled in a room. You can join him there after you fill out the forms from the admitting nurse.”

  As the doctor stepped out, Laura muttered, “Paperwork.”

  Worth winked at her as he suppressed another coughing fit. “Don’t worry. I’m in good hands. God’s hands.”

  She nodded, her eyes staring at nothing. “I just didn’t expect this.” She swallowed and attempted a fleeting smile. “I’ll see you as soon as they let me. After I finish their stupid forms.” She stomped out.

  Worth sank into the gurney’s thin mattress and shivered again under a cold, scratchy sheet. The nurse inserted a needle for an IV drip and hung the bottle on the pole attached to the gurney. She tucked his personal belongings on a shelf underneath. His vision filled with the ceiling and its acoustic tiles as an orderly wheeled him through the corridors. The tiles with their precise holes formed a colander, straining out his life force.

  An elevator, a slight sense of rising, and a voice intoning “Fourth floor.” Worth knew the hospital well from numerous visits to sick friends. He racked his tired brain to remember what was on the fourth floor. He caught a glimpse of the sign above the double doors as they pushed him through.

  Intensive Care Unit.

  19

  “I” Plus Three Days

  Carol groaned as she woke. Every muscle ached. She snuggled deeper into the comforter, shivering.

  “C’mon honey, time to rise and shine.” Mike yanked off the comforter.

  Carol dove for it. “No way. I’m not moving from this bed. I feel awful.”

  Mike’s brow creased. “Caught a cold?”

  “No, I think it’s the flu. Knew I’d catch something at that seminar. They kept the rooms so icy.”

  Mike shook his head. “You can’t catch the flu that way. Someone in that crowd probably exposed everyone there.”

  She huffed a breath that morphed into a cough. “I know that.” She kept her tone level. Although she and Mike had apologized to each other after their argument yesterday, she still winced at the memory.

  He’d left without a word but pulled into the garage after twenty long minutes. Carol struggled with the urge to cross her arms. “Where have you been?”

  “Hardware store. Needed some screws.” He cocked his head. “Something wrong?”

  “I…need to apologize. I flew off the handle. I’m sorry.”

  Mike’s head dropped. “I’m sorry, too.” He held out a bouquet of daisies, her favorite. “I figured you needed some cheering up. Come here.” He opened his arms.

  Carol launched herself into them. After a long hug, she sniffed and pulled away. “Let’s put it behind us.” She had fixed a nice dinner. Chinese takeout.

  The vase of daisies sat on the dresser. He acted like nothing had happened, but she couldn’t forgive herself that easily.

  “Can you get me the thermometer? I think I’m running a temp.”

  “Sure.” Mike walked to the bathroom. Carol heard the medicine cabinet open, then the clink of bottles. “Where do you keep it?”

  “Second shelf, right side.”

  Mike returned with the thermometer already inserted into its sanitary sleeve. Carol placed it under her tongue, grimaced at the plastic, antiseptic taste, and waited. He folded his arms, and she felt her anger rise. He never took her illnesses seriously.

  Enough with the “never” stuff.

  Pulling out the instrument, Carol squinted at it. “Hmmm. One hundred degrees. That’s a little high.” She set it on the nightstand.

  Mike picked it up and read it as if he didn’t trust her to do it properly. “Looks like you’re right. But it can’t be the flu. You had a flu shot last month.”

  “Must have gotten some weird strain. The shot’s only good for the most popular one. With all of those people at the seminar, who knows what I was exposed to.”

  “Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.”

  Usually his quips brought a smile to her face, but not today. Carol hoisted herself out of bed to use the bathroom. Her bladder was quite insistent.

  Mike yelled through the closed door. “Is there anything I can get you? I need to leave for work.”

  “I really don’t feel like eating. Maybe some ice water.”

  “Coming right up. You should take some ibuprofen.”

  “I will.” Carol rummaged through the cabinet. “We don’t have any here. I think there’s a bottle in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “Water and ibuprofen. Got it.�
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  Carol shouted down the stairwell. “And could you stop at the store and pick up some of that nighttime stuff? We’re out.”

  “OK.”

  Carol eased back into bed. Mike’s retreating steps made her head hurt with every pounding footfall. How could someone so slight sound like a fullback on the stairs? She sat up as Mike returned with the medicine and a tall glass of water, ice tinkling. After gulping down the pills and water, she snuggled deeper under the comforter. “Thanks.”

  “Call me if you need anything.” A worry line creased his forehead.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s only the flu.”

  ****

  Carol rinsed her mouth after another bout of vomiting. Odd. She didn’t think this was the stomach variety of flu. Shivering, she crawled under the covers.

  The creak of the oil-starved garage door announced Mike’s arrival from work. As he tromped up the stairs, Carol hid her head under the pillow. She just wanted to be left alone.

  “Can’t fool me.” He lifted the pillow and pecked her on the cheek. The tender gesture warmed her. “How do you feel?”

  Her words emerged as a croak. “Terrible. I’m burning up. It’s gone into my chest.”

  Mike took her temperature again. “Hmmm. One hundred three. This isn’t good. Have you eaten anything today?”

  “Just a few crackers. I’m a little sick to my stomach. I vomited all morning.”

  “Maybe it’s a stomach virus. Water?”

  “A little. I’ll go to the doctor’s tomorrow if I don’t feel better.” Carol coughed as if her insides wanted out.

  Mike took his familiar I-won’t-budge stance. “I know a sick wife when I see one. You could be dehydrated. And you’re so pale.” He pulled off the covers, gently this time. “Put on some clothes. I’m taking you to Emergency.”