I can’t believe this. I close my eyes, feeling like the dumbest, most idiotic person in the whole world. He played me for a fool. My gun goes back to the holster, but the distance between us remains.
I’m tired. The pain, fever, thirst, and hunger, I can deal it. This? Him lying to prove a point? This is too much.
“Why? Why did you do this?” My words barely make it out, as I gasp for air. “Is it to punish me? I said I’m sorry. So why?”
He offers me no answer.
“Explain to me why you wasted bullets and risked both our lives. Why can’t you trust me? I said I wasn’t ready.”
“But you are. You just proved it.”
I let out a laugh, bitter and tired.
He moves forward. “What happened at the factory—”
I cut him before he can say more bullshit. “What happened was that I followed your rules and guidelines and everything else. I trusted you. Why can’t you do the same for me?”
“I trusted your abilities, Lily. You need to trust them too. I didn’t raise a weak girl for a daughter.”
If my arm didn’t hurt so damn much and his jaw wasn’t made of stone, I’d punch him. “Weak? My arm is killing me. I can’t think straight. That’s pain, not me being weak.”
He places a hand on my good shoulder. “Yes, I know. And now you know it too.”
The Doctor IV
December 14th, Monday, 8 am
I wait until the others leave the landing pad. Tigh is the last one to jump out of the helicopter, and when he realizes I'm not moving, he stops next to me.
“What is it, Doc?”
“I’m sorry about Jones.”
He stares at me, arms crossed. “He knew the risks. We all did.”
I can't delay this any longer. My heart races, but the girl holding my neck isn't going to vanish in the next few hours. It's time to come clean, before someone else notices first.
“Tigh… I did something.”
He looks at the girl immediately. His clean-shaved face darkens and his grip on the gun tightens.
I clear my throat, breathing deeply. “This girl is bitten. She's infected. The disease hasn't spread completely yet. We’ve time. We can secure her in a room where she won't cause any problems. I can watch her, make sure she's safe. And, maybe with luck, try to figure out this disease.”
“Are you?”
“I am what?”
“Bitten. Did she bite you?”
I shake my head. He looks at the compound's entrance as the rest of the group moves away.
“This is our chance. She's small and frail, she's not a risk to anyone.” My arguments are ignored, he keeps watching the group get inside. “Are you listening to me?”
He turns to me and grabs the girl out of my hands, walking away. I follow him, heart racing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, anxious. “Tigh, answer me.”
“Stop talking.”
He's not going to the entrance, he's moving to the opposite direction, toward the woods.
I catch up, grabbing him by the arm. “No. Don't you dare. You can't do this.”
I don't have the strength to stop him. He's going to kill that little girl and there is nothing I can do. We reach the forest, all the while he ignores my pleading.
He places the girl gently against a tree. She's still sleeping, but dark lumps are all over her face now. He takes out his gun, messing with it.
I panic and place myself between them, arms open. “Tigh, please. Listen to me, we won't have a better opportunity to study the disease. I can do this. I can work on a vaccine. Don't you understand?”
“I understand you put us at risk. Again. You're careless, selfish and ungrateful,” his cold answer fills me with fear. “This girl will kill us. There is no other way.”
“Maybe I'm all that. But this is not about you or me. This is about saving lives, this is about fixing this thing. A cure is worth the risk. Please.”
He aims the gun at me. “Move.”
“No. You have to shoot me first.”
He lowers the gun, and moves closer, while I let out a sigh of relief.
“No, I don't.” He pushes me out of the way, hard. I taste dirt, trying to get up fast, before he does it. My body is too slow, so I try reason again.
“I know this family wasn't the first time someone asked for help over the radio.” My words make him hesitate, and he turns to face me. “All this time, ever since we came here, you heard people calling for help, didn't you?”
He's frozen, jaw tight and shoulders stiff.
“I'm right, aren't I? That's why you couldn't sleep. You wanted to help, it was tearing you apart not to.”
“This is not the same thing.”
I step closer, reaching him. “Yes, it is. She's just a sick girl. Not a monster.” I place a hand on his gun, slowly lowering it. “If we do this, then we can save even more people.”
Tigh doesn't move. I interpret that as a sign he isn't going to stop me. Crouching, I take the girl in my arms again. We walk together, and go inside the compound.
There, Charlie waits for us, questions on the tip of his tongue. “Sir, what happened?”
“Not now,” is his only answer, walking past the pilot and telling me to follow him.
The doors close behind us. There is no going back now, we made our choice. He takes me to the sick bay. The room has a bed with straps on each side, perfect to secure our patient. I place the girl gently on the bed and Tigh fastens the straps on her chest and feet—she's too small and half of the bed is empty.
“I'm going to need someone to assist me,” I say, while looking for supplies inside the cabinets. “Someone we can trust.”
His grimace and frown leave me no doubt he's hates, deeply, both me and what we are doing.
“Please. Maybe Tom. He'll understand,” I ask, hoping I'm right. “The parents should know too, but don’t let them inside. It’s better if they don’t see her like this.”
He grabs my arm with force, making me wince. “This is the last time I ever do something for you. Understand? If this girl bites you, I’ll personally put you out of your misery. And if anything, anything happens to my men, it’s on you. Not me. I hope you can live with that.”
Tigh leaves, slamming the door behind him. I hear the click of him turning the lock on. I’m not surprised that he doesn't care if the girl attacks me and I have no way out. His harsh words shake me to the core, but I know I’m doing the right thing. I prefer dealing with his hatred, than watching people die without being able to do anything.
After looking inside every box, cabinet, and drawer I find first aid kits, alcohol, new plastic gloves, a stethoscope, and flu shots. There are some antibiotics, which would be helpful if this turns out to be bacterial, and not a virus as previously suspected by the hospital's staff. On the room’s counter there's also a microscope, petri dishes, and other materials to cultivate biological samples. It's far from a proper lab, but it's better than nothing.
I go back to the girl, drawing a blood sample from her arm's vein. She doesn't react to the needle, which signals the infection spread to her brain already—her neurological response to pain is cut off. There isn't much time before she wakes up, desperate for nourishment of the carnivorous kind. I take a scalpel and remove two tissues samples from one of the black lumps on her body. Next I open her mouth, gloves protecting my hands. She doesn’t react while I use a cotton swab to take a saliva sample.
The door opens and Tom walks in, eyes wide. “Doc… What did you do?”
“What I had to. I need your help. Are you okay with this?”
He stays away from the bed and me, probably still absorbing the situation. His long hesitation worries me.
“Tom, you don't need to help me. But if you won't, then leave and find me someone who can.”
I know I sound rude and harsh, but I have enough experience with first-year students to see when someone will just get in the way of a procedure. It's better for everyone if only the o
nes ready to deal with the situation stay.
“I can help.” He gulps for air and moves closer. “It just so… The Sarge’s really okay with this?”
Not at all, he hates my guts.
“Yes, for now. Can you find some raw meat and bring it here? She'll wake up soon, and we are going to need a distraction.”
He nods and leaves me alone again without locking the door, so I do it instead from inside. Tigh had the right idea. If something happens, is better if it stays contained only to this room. I take the needle full of blood, let a single drop into a glass slide for the microscope then empty the rest inside a test tube, shaking it and storing it in a small refrigerator. The swab and tissues go onto three different petri dishes.
Someone knocks on the door. I open it and Tom enters with a plastic bag in hands.
“Is this good enough?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m going to need a notebook, pen, and water. Lots of it. And any alcohol we can spare. Also a portable oven and propane gas tank.”
He leaves once again, while I roll a chair next to the girl’s bed and wait. Five minutes later, her eyes open, but her body stays still. She barely breathes, her chest rising once or twice in ten minutes. My presence provokes no reaction—she can’t see me, nor does show any heightened senses of smell or hearing yet.
Only when someone knocks on the door, she starts thrashing, forcing her body to try to escape the straps holding her down. I get up after making sure she doesn’t have the strength to free herself.
Tom brings everything I asked. We place the supplies on the counter, while he keeps looking over his shoulder, worried about the girl’s reaction. She’s still writhing her body, trying to break the hold. She keeps moaning and the bed shakes.
“Have you ever seen The Exorcist?” Tom mutters to me. “This is way creepier.”
I give him a smile. He hesitates before asking the question.
“Do you really think you can cure her?”
Perhaps if this was the best-case scenario I could. If she came to my hospital only with a fever, with proper examinations and equipment, I could place her in a coma to avoid the brain damage and hope her antibodies did the rest. This, however, is the worst-case scenario and the brain is already compromised. Her best hope is a miracle. Or maybe a priest.
Saving her is not the point of this and I need to accept that. Easy, safe access to an infected patient is the reason for endangering the whole base. A vaccine to make healthy people immune is our best bet.
I can’t say this to Tom. If I tell him I’m using this little girl as a lab rat, I’ll have to admit to myself I’m breaking ethical guidelines and my own oaths, as well making him an accomplice, for the unlikely possibility of a vaccine. This is my burden to bear, not his.
“Yes. I hope so.”
“What we do now?”
“Tests. We test her reflexes, her reactions. We try treatments, see if her immune system reacts to it.”
“That doesn’t sound too promising.”
I sigh, grabbing the notebook and pen he brought. “Watch her while I analyze the samples I took,” I ask, rolling my chair next to the microscope.
I stare at cells, tissue and blood. The samples tell me little I don’t know already. She’s infected with a virus that dissolves and breaks host cells quicker than anything I’ve ever seen, while duplicating itself just as fast. The path of destruction causes inflammation and deterioration of the brain. Respiratory and heart arrest follows the paralysis of the throat’s muscles. It’s exactly the same pattern of the rabies virus in host animals.
The puzzling part is the body’s reaction to what usually meant death. The heartbeat is too slow and the breath too uneven to sustain a healthy body, yet she keeps moving, attacking, squirming. Is she conscious? Does she understand her surroundings, but something impedes communication or motor control?
I start the physical tests with Tom’s help.
We distract her with pieces of meat, we offer her water, and make her drink it when she screams at it. Her teeth start to yellow then turn black. Turfs of hair fall out while she twists her body. The lumps spread and grow. Her skin is dry and rough. It’s easy to understand how people would think she’s dead and decomposing.
We turn the lights off, to watch her from a distance. We make her stare at a flashlight for ten minutes. The only major breakthrough occurs when we let her eat some of the meat: she gorges herself on it, swallowing with difficulty, then, stops moving all together, almost like hibernating.
After three hours of this, Tom suggests we take a break. The strain of the morning mission and the tension of the room have me agreeing with him.
“You should go, I’ll stay with her,” I say, finishing my notes on the day’s session. “It’s not safe leaving her alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You deserve the rest.”
“Okay. The Sarge left Castro and Matthews outside. If anything happens, call them.”
“Nothing is going to happen. Don’t worry.”
He opens the door.
“Tom…” I call him. He turns. “Thank you.”
He nods brightly and locks the door behind him. With one last look at the girl, to make sure she’s still unresponsive, I go back to the samples. My knowledge of virology is limited to medical school’s books, but I try to follow the steps to produce a weakened version of the virus by heating one sample and drying another. It’s too early to tell how weak it’ll need to be for a vaccine.
This won’t matter without test subjects.
I need rats. Lots of rats. And cages to keep them.
My thoughts are interrupted by shouts at the door. The girl stirs, head snapping at its direction.
“Let me see her, let me see my daughter,” a woman shouts. “I want to see her.”
I close my eyes, breathing deeply. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “Let them in,” I say to the other side of the door.
Anna and her husband enter, someone gave them new clothes and they look better, clean and hydrated. The mother runs toward the bed, but I stop her gently. The girl’s already thrashing again. New stimulus seems to generate greater response.
“She’s infected, highly dangerous. Please understand.”
Anna nods and lets her husband place his hands on her shoulder. They stare at their little girl, eyes watering.
“What can we do?” the father asks, voice trembling. “Can we do anything to help?”
“You can tell me how long ago she was bitten.”
“I’m not sure, we… We didn’t notice until we were already inside the supermarket. That was three days ago.”
“And when did the lumps and fever start?”
“Yesterday.”
Okay, that’s twenty-four at least. That’s a long incubation period. Gives us some time for pos-exposure treatment. A ten hour window, perhaps. Compared to our subject in St. Jude’s, it’s a long time.
“Doctor, please tell me you can cure my baby,” Anna takes my hands. “You have to.”
“She’s in an advanced stage.” I don’t meet her eyes. “I can’t promise anything.”
“But it’s possible, right? There’s a chance…?”
I nod, not able to tell her the truth.
“Her name is Victoria,” the father adds. “It means victory. She won’t stop fighting, so please don’t give up on her.”
They leave only after I promise to do everything I can. Another lie I’ll have to live with.
The Geek V
November 24th, Tuesday, 11 am
The next day the sun rises, like it always does. It's a windy, but sunny day. The tale of our battle against our first horde of zombies spreads faster than the disease itself. People realized that while they slept comfortably, they were very close to being eaten alive, if it weren’t for us. Volunteers come from every part of town to help patrol, and clear the bodies. While this is happening, Roger and the wonder team work on fixing the wired fence around the vulnerable parts of
our home. Zombies keep appearing on the forest’s edge, but with more people patrolling, things aren’t that bad.
I don't leave Ma’s side.
She's fine. We are fine. The town is fine.
None of it matters; after the adrenaline rush died down, I began to feel lost, numb, and all sorts of terrible thoughts now fill my mind. What if she died? What if she were bitten? What if she were hurt and in need of surgery and blood?
We don't have a hospital; the closest thing we have for a doctor is Nurse Felicity, and changing kids’ band-aids and giving them flu shots are the sum of her experience on the field. Even if the school nurse had the necessary abilities to treat serious injuries, we don't have any equipment. Sure, we bought antibiotics, flu shots and all kinds of legal drugs to treat diabetes, blood pressure, pain and other conditions. In terms of actual surgical equipment, I completely forgot to buy anything.
I feel dumb. I don't like feeling dumb. Margaret’s punch still stings too, but I’m better off worrying about things I can actually fix.
“Danny, you don't really have to follow me everywhere, you know that?” Ma asks me, hand on my arm. “I'm fine. Nothing happened to me.”
She’s been repeating the same phrase since yesterday, but it doesn't register in my mind. Sure, she's fine now, but what about later? I didn't plan this enough. There were loads of doctors before the zombie outbreak; I’m pretty sure one would’ve liked to get paid and survive the Apocalypse while at it. So why I didn’t think of this sooner?
“Honey, you should go help Roger. You don't need to stay. You hate paperwork.” I can hear her, but it's like I'm too far away to bother responding. “You can stop worrying now. The zombies are gone.”
I need to correct my mistake by somehow finding a doctor. I could form a team, leave Redwood and look for surviving doctors in nearby towns. If they had family, I would offer to let them come too, to build some goodwill and trust. We could bring trucks with plenty of storage space to load beds, IVs, and other stuff from a hospital in Whitefield. It's a bit far away, true, perhaps a few days from here by car if the roads are safe and still good, but it's worth the risk in the long run. If there is a long run, of course.
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