by Keith Taylor
Karen’s mouth opened and closed for a moment, her brow knitted in confusion. “April… Yeah, October eighteenth. It was… Oh, God.”
She buried her head in her hands, and when she lifted herself back up her eyes were welling with tears. “April fifth was Robbie’s birthday. Of course Emily was born in October. I knew that. Why did I say April?”
“It’s OK.” Ramos squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s really OK. A little confusion is expected.”
Karen wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Expected of what, Doc? What’s going to happen to me? Will I end up like that crazy guy out there, barely conscious of where I am?”
Ramos shook his head firmly. “No, absolutely not. I’m guessing that guy was directly exposed to the fallout from the moment of the blast. He got five, ten times your dose, and by his mental state and his seizure I'm guessing he had a severe cerebral edema. He was dead long before he found his way down to us. His body just hadn’t figured it out yet.”
“So I’m not gonna go crazy?”
“No, you’re not gonna go crazy. The confusion you’re feeling now is as bad as it’ll get, I hope.”
“But you still don’t know if I’ll survive?”
Ramos looked uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly as he carefully framed the answer.
“I’m not an expert on radiation sickness, Karen. I’m sorry I can’t hand down the word of God on a stone tablet, but I only studied this stuff for a couple semesters half a lifetime ago. All I remember is that the LD50/60 – that’s the dose at which 50% of people will die within 60 days – is something like two and a half Grays. Some people can die with as little as one. Others can survive six.”
“So… so what, it’s 50/50 whether I’ll live or die?”
Ramos blew out his cheeks and shrugged. “Without treatment? Maybe. If you’ve taken enough damage to your bone marrow your white count will tank, and then…” He didn’t want to continue, but he could see from Karen’s expression that she wanted the truth, no matter how bleak. He sighed.
“Most people who die from radiation sickness aren’t killed by the radiation itself. They’re killed by internal bleeding caused by the breakdown of tissue, or by an infection that a weakened immune system can’t fight off. It’s… it’s like AIDS, in a way. The condition itself is just a catalyst. It damages your immune system so badly that you can be taken out by the common cold.”
Karen’s head dropped. She stared vacantly at the floor, fighting off tears.
“I’m sorry, I…” Ramos awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “People always told me my bedside manner sucks.”
“No, Doc, it’s fine,” Karen replied, not at all convincingly. “I asked you not to sugarcoat it.” She let out a long groan. “Oh, I think I’m gonna throw up. Can you get me some water?” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then a thought occurred to her. “Wait, is it safe for us to drink water from the faucet?”
Ramos nodded, climbing to his feet. “It’ll be safe enough. By the time it reaches the faucet almost all of the fallout will have been filtered out. It’s not so dangerous that we have to worry about it.” He looked around the bathroom. “Hang on, I need to find a glass for you. Can you give me a minute?”
Karen shook her head. “I’ll come with you.” Ramos began to protest, but she waved him off. “Doc, I don’t want to spend another minute in this room. Can you help me up?”
She held out her hands, and with his help she raised herself on legs that shook like a newborn foal. For a moment she worried she didn’t have the energy to stand unaided, but eventually her balance returned enough for her to pull on her underwear and reclaim a fraction of her dignity.
“Oh, Christ, look at me,” she gasped, catching sight of herself in the grimy mirror above the basin. From the neck up her skin was bright pink, and so swollen that her eyes were pinched half closed.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Ramos assured her. “It’s not much more than a bad sunburn. The redness should fade in a week of so, but we’ll keep an eye out for blistering. Try not to scratch if it starts to itch, or you could scar.”
Karen almost laughed, but the nausea had stolen her sense of humor. “Itchy skin is pretty far down my list of concerns, Doc, but I’ll bear it in mind.” She turned away from the mirror. “OK, let’s get out of here.”
Emily was waiting on the other side of the door as Ramos pulled it open, eyes wide and fearful. She looked like she’d been crying, but the smile returned the moment she saw Karen on her feet.
“Mommy!” she squealed, eyes alight with joy. She ran towards Karen for a hug, but Ramos caught her as she swept past him.
“Whoa there. I don’t think your mom’s ready for bear hugs just yet, Emily. Why don’t we let her rest a little, OK?”
Emily fell back, disappointed. “Mommy always gives me a hug when I get sick.”
“Of course she does,” Ramos smiled. “Hugs are the perfect medicine for kids, but sometimes grownups need a little rest to get better. And water. Shall we go find mommy a drink of water?”
Emily nodded enthusiastically.
“Thank you, pumpkin,” Karen said weakly. “I love you.”
“OK,” said Ramos, “I think I saw a glass in that break room over there. What do you say you and I go look for it?”
Emily led Ramos by the hand through the door while Karen felt her way over to the office chair, supporting herself on the desks to keep from stumbling. As she lowered herself into the seat she stared at the drops of blood on the empty floor beside it. Ramos must have dragged Jared’s body out into the hall before following her to the bathroom.
She found it difficult to grasp just how little time it had taken for the fallout to destroy the man. He’d been out in it… what, no more than an hour or so since the blast? Sixty minutes of exposure, and it had been enough to wreak such damage on his body that his sanity had burned away like a morning mist. Karen had been out for no more than five minutes, but even that may have been enough to sign her death warrant.
What had the Doc said? A 50/50 chance of survival without treatment? She didn’t like the sound of those odds.
The break room door swung open, and Emily emerged holding a bottle of mineral water. “Mommy, it’s still cold!” She ran over and handed it to Karen, who spun off the cap and greedily chugged half of it before she took a gasping breath.
“Oh, God, that’s good. Thank you, pumpkin.” She turned to Ramos. “There’s a refrigerator?”
“Yeah,” Ramos confirmed. “There’s not much in the way of food, but we’re all set for chilled water and coffee for a while, provided the power holds out. Now I think about it, I’m not sure how the lights are even still on. Do you think there’s some kind of generator? I guess there’d have to be, right? To keep the fans running and—”
“Doc,” Karen interrupted. She beckoned him closer, lowering her voice so Emily couldn’t hear. “What you said earlier about my… my odds? You said that's without treatment, right?”
Ramos nodded.
“So what would be the treatment, if I showed up like this at the hospital on a regular day?”
Ramos perched on the edge of the desk beside him and pondered the question.
“Well, I’m no expert, but right away I’d run a blood panel to establish your white count. That’d give me a better idea of the exact radiation dose you absorbed, and how much damage has been done to your bone marrow. I’d probably give you a transfusion and start treatment with granulocyte-colony stimulating factor to boost your white count and strengthen your immune system, and I’d start you on an anti-emetic to deal with the nausea.”
He thought about it a little longer. “Oh, and topical treatments to deal with your burns and prevent blistering. That’s where an infection would probably sneak through. I’m sure a specialist would have a better idea, but that’s about the size of it.”
Karen nodded. “And if I got this treatment my odds would be…?”
Ramos pulled a face. “
We don’t like to handicap these things, Karen. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Damn it, Doc!” Karen snapped. “Nobody’s going to sue you if you get it wrong. I just want an idea, OK?”
“OK, OK. I’d imagine if you got the right treatment, if you didn’t get a higher dose than my estimate, and knowing that you’re clearly a fighter… yeah, your odds of making it through would be good. I’d expect you to survive.”
Karen leaned back in her chair, fighting off another wave of nausea. “And without it, 50/50. I should have stayed in bed this morning.”
Behind her eyes the throbbing pressure of a headache was beginning to build. She wasn’t sure if it was the radiation or the stress, but either way it felt like a big one. She kneaded the bridge of her nose, groaning.
“Are you really sick, mommy?” Emily took hold of Karen’s arm and leaned gently into her shoulder, holding herself back from a full hug.
Karen wrapped her arm around her daughter, drawing her in. “It’s OK, honey, I’m just a little bit sick. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Emily sniffled and turned to Ramos. “She said I didn’t have to worry when daddy got sick, but he didn't get better.”
“Oh, honey,” Karen stroked her hair. “It’s nothing like that. I just need a little medicine, that’s all, but we can’t get it right now so we just need to sit tight a while, OK?”
“Can’t Doctor Ramos get the medicine? You said Daddy always knew how to get medicine.”
Karen almost laughed at what Emily had gleaned from overheard arguments. She must have eavesdropped on a row about Jack faking scripts for Percocet.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” she said. “Even Doctor Ramos doesn’t know where we can get the medicine I need. All the hospitals are closed right now. We’ll go looking for it as soon as—”
“Wait.” Ramos interrupted her, scratching his stubble, deep in thought. He suddenly stood bolt upright and crossed the room with a sense of purpose, muttering to himself. “Wait, wait, wait… just hold on a minute.” He pulled open the door to the hallway, and without another word he vanished.
“Doc! Where the hell are you going?”
For a couple of minutes Karen stared open mouthed at the door. She had no clue what Ramos was thinking, but she didn’t have the energy to chase him. She doubted she could even pull herself out of the chair unless someone rolled a grenade under it.
Eventually the door swung open again, and Ramos reappeared holding his irradiated lab coat gingerly between two fingers. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He carefully reached into a pocket and pulled something from it, then tossed the coat as far as he could back out into the hall.
“Sorry, but Emily’s right. I do know where to get the medicine. Look.” He dropped into Karen’s lap a sheaf of printed pages, packed from corner to corner with small print that looked like… Karen didn’t know what it was, but it all looked vaguely medical in nature.
“That’s what the National Guard were evacuating from the hospital before I found you. They cleaned out our medical stores down to the last aspirin. Look, it’s all here.” He snatched the papers back, flipping the pages. “G-CSF. They have enough Neupogen to replenish your white count a hundred times over. Tetanus vaccine, chlorhexidine, silver nitrate, blood units for all types. They got everything. This,” he poked at the list with a finger, “this will keep you alive.”
Realization dawned on Karen. “They were evacuating this stuff? To the…?” She shook her head. “No! Absolutely not, Doc. I won’t take Emily there. We’ll have to think of something else.”
“There is nothing else. The safe zone is the only game in town, Karen, and if you don’t want to go there you’ll have to…” he cupped his hands over Emily’s ears, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “You’ll have to explain to your little girl why her mom has to die before she’s out of the damned second grade. Her brother’s already gone, and there’s no telling if Jack’s still alive. Do you really want her to be all alone in the world? You think I can take care of her? I can barely take care of myself.” He released Emily, patting her head. “Sorry, honey, just a little grown up talk.”
Emily’s eyes were full of tears, and she looked up at her mom. “I heard what he was saying. Mommy, are you going to die?” Her lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want you to die!” She gripped Karen’s arm tight, turning to Ramos with fear in her eyes. “You’re not going to let my mommy die, right?”
Ramos shook his head, lowering himself into a crouch before Emily. “No, honey, I’m not going to let her die.” He looked up at Karen, ignoring the anger and frustration in her face. “We’re going to get her the medicine she needs.”
΅
CHAPTER SEVEN
AN ACT OF GOD
JACK STARED CURIOUSLY at Douglas Garside's blank, uncomprehending face, wondering just what might have gone wrong with the screwed up internal wiring of the man’s mind.
For the life of him he couldn’t figure out how the guy ticked. Boomer’s appearance had sent him fleeing up a tree in a fit of terror, and when Jack arrived he’d become apoplectic with rage, but when he told the over-excitable Brit about the nuclear blast in the skies above… nothing. Garside accepted the news with polite disinterest, as if Jack had just told him the score of a game in a sport he didn’t follow. It was… eerie.
At first Jack wondered if the man might have misunderstood what he was trying to tell him. He’d heard the old joke about the US and England being divided by a common language, and he knew the Brits used their own terms for things like sidewalks and elevators, but surely it wasn't possible that American and British English had diverged so far that a Brit wouldn’t understand that a nuke had exploded above his head? Jack tried to explain again using simpler words, looking for an angle that might get through to the man, but once again Garside merely shrugged.
“Well, it was always a matter of time with you lot, wasn’t it?” he sighed, as if this were nothing but a casual conversation about the weather. “Always waving your nuclear willy around, poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I can’t say I’m at all surprised that someone finally waggled theirs back.”
Jack stared at the man in disbelief. He couldn’t grasp how he could be so blasé about a nuclear attack. “You know this happened pretty much directly above us, right?” He pointed a finger straight up. “A nuclear blast. Above us. Right up there.”
Garside let out a dry chuckle, peering up into the dark sky. “You know, I always thought Americans all pronounced it ‘nucular’. You live and learn.” He sniffed. “Anyway, I don’t like to get involved in other people's affairs. I’m just a visitor, so I don’t suppose it’s my place to comment.”
He nudged his glasses further up his nose and peered over Jack’s shoulder as he bent over the engine bay. “So, have you figured out my car trouble yet?” he asked, in a tone that suggested that as far as he was concerned it was time to move away from nuclear war and on to more important matters.
Jack pushed away from the engine bay and wiped his oily hands on his jacket. “Yeah, I figured out your damned car trouble. See that thing right there?” He snapped, jabbing a finger at the alternator. “It overloaded and fried all your electrics.”
Garside tutted. “Bugger. Sounds like an expensive repair.”
“And do you know why it overloaded, Doug?” Jack asked, testily.
“It’s Douglas, if you don’t mind,” Garside corrected. “I never warmed to Doug. And no, I’m afraid I’m not really au fait with the inner workings of cars.”
“It overloaded, Doug,” Jack explained, “because a nuclear bomb exploded a few miles over your head, and it sent a massive electromagnetic pulse cascading through the atmosphere, wiping out every power line, vehicle and circuit board for Christ knows how many miles around. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Do you get how serious this is?”
Garside fell silent, staring down with glazed eyes at the engine, deep in thought. His shoulders slumped as he lean
ed against the car.
Jack coughed and awkwardly averted his gaze, leaving the man to his thoughts. It looked like reality was finally sinking in. Maybe he’d been too hard on him, he thought. It seemed clear to him that Garside was in shock. He'd dealt with the news by shutting down and refusing to face the situation, unable to think clearly and process what happened, but by the stricken expression creeping across his face it looked as if he was finally beginning to grasp the enormity of what was going on.
Eventually Garside stepped away from the car. He took a few paces towards the trees, clasped his hands behind his head and drew a deep breath before letting out a disconsolate sigh.
“My insurance isn’t going to cover this repair, is it? I got the fully comprehensive package, but I suppose those cheating buggers will argue it’s an act of God, won’t they?”
Jack finally lost his patience with the man. “For Christ’s sake, Doug!” He stepped back from the car and threw up his hands. “You’re acting like it’s no big deal that nukes are blowing up above your head! Are you mentally ill, or are you just stupid?”
For a moment Garside seemed to seriously ponder the question. He tilted his head back and looked to the sky above him, then back to Jack before replying in a calm, quiet voice.
“Sir, I’m neither stupid nor mentally ill. I’m just British, and we know a thing or two about keeping a level head in a crisis. Have you never heard of the Blitz?”
Jack glowered at Garside. “You freaked out at the sight of a labrador, Doug. Let’s not go overboard with your keep calm and carry on bullshit.”
Garside bristled. “It was merely a prudent reaction to an imminent threat, Mr. Archer, and I’m not sure I appreciate your tone.”
“You squealed like a stuck pig and climbed a tree,” Jack mocked.
