by Greg Dragon
“College students are like that.”
She sighed. “Be careful you don’t become reckless like them. Mitch found medical records. They revealed Miss Harwood became contagious with an unidentified infection. At one point blisters covered her skin and then it sloughed off. Her skinless condition was painful, like burns. Several nurses got sick, and hospital patients did too. Mitch documented several unusual deaths but couldn’t always get their medical records. The estate paid to fumigate the hospital wing, and later the hospital board destroyed it.”
Wilbur couldn’t blink. He froze at the word “contagious.” Was that how Evaney Harwood got into his head? She infected him—all of them?
“Mitch didn’t want to infect me or the grandchildren, so he slept out over the garage. He arranged for a team to sterilize it after he left.”
“We’re vaccinated against meningitis.”
She shook her head. “They couldn’t identify the cause. The hospital sent a specimen to the CDC, and they sent a team to study her. Mitch couldn’t get access to CDC records even when using Freedom of Information routes. At some point in time, she tested clear.”
Wilbur swallowed as his heart raced. “We, the nurses and other staff, haven’t been told she could be contagious. We do take blood and body fluid precautions.”
“Has anyone fallen sick?”
He shrugged. “There’s a turnover despite the perks and pay. I haven’t heard from past employees.”
“I’m not surprised. The symptoms present like seasonal flu. Some staff recovered, but three died of rabies before it became known.”
“Did CDC check the water or other sources?” he asked.
“Everything.”
“Rabies is rare.” Wilbur shuddered at the thought. He didn’t even know rabies symptoms like he did flu.
Mrs. Cain read his mind. “Early rabies symptoms are similar to flu until the second stage, which is serious. Mitch believed her infection became active once a year in the fall. I’ve proved him right.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her back as she went to a wall cabinet and bookcase. His breathing felt labored. Maybe he was allergic to the Bengay odor.
She extracted a thick manila envelope and slid out a poster board from behind the massive cabinet. He noticed her hands shook as she sat. Mrs. Cain had tiny, child-like hands. She tried to hide burn scars, which covered skin from fingers to elbows.
“Wilbur, I’m scared to give you his papers. It feels like I’m keeping an old curse alive. You have no idea how many times I nearly burned this material. People who read about Evaney Harwood and try to solve what happened to her get sucked down a black hole. Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “If I’m infected, I want answers.”
“More than five college students are dead, son. Be careful.”
He nodded.
Sighing, she passed the poster to him. “It’s a death board. After reading Mitch’s papers, I hired PIs to find people who died from odd infections in the hospital. The numbers are staggering, aren’t they?”
Wilbur stared in horror at the death links snaking off patient names, their families, and hospital staff. All became symptomatic from September to December. “Why is one name listed from a missing student’s family member?”
She smiled. “Good catch. Yes, I thought a map from beginning to end would paint an unforgettable picture. One student’s father snuck into her hospital room. He was anxious for news. The poor man never considered she might be contagious.”
“Your map is sick. Did you show this to police?”
“My investigator broke HIPPA laws, the medical chart privacy act, to get information. I’d be slammed, maybe even sued. I had to take the estate to court just to get the money they owed my husband. They beat me and drained our retirement dry. After I got those papers, they settled. I signed a confidentiality agreement.”
“You’re telling me.”
She rubbed her right knee. “In the hearing, Doctor Hatcher claimed he monitored her for infection. He swore there were no positive tests. An RN just died, my trust is breached.”
“Doc said Mary had mental illness. She fasted to cure herself and it killed her.”
“He lies. Ask the other live-in help for their medical history. Look for something you share.”
He laughed happy to lighten the mood. “Like our blood type?”
She cocked her head, staring at him. “What?”
His ears ached, and he felt sick to his stomach. “We all have O negative blood.”
Her face paled. “Really?”
“Wait...I think so, but I’m not certain.”
A smile softened her face. “My Mitch would like that you’re a fact checker.”
“Does Doc Hatcher know about your suspicions or this chart?”
Her little hands fanned her face. “He’s in on the cover-up, dear. I’ve speculated since Miss Harwood survived, the people she came in contact with in later cycles would catch a milder infection. Some become carriers, some shake it off, and others get sick and die. Carriers, as you know, infect but aren’t sick.”
Pain slammed his chest in needle-like sensations. He sat back against the soft cushion, closing his eyes. This changed everything. Now, it was more than a mystery to solve. He might be incubating killer germs. Or maybe O negative blood protects me.
He remembered a student poem in class last semester, an ode to Typhoid Mary written by a nurse. Typhoid Mary, a healthy disease carrier, infected a lot of people that died. Even when the health department explained the situation in stark terms, she kept hiring on as a cook, spreading more typhoid fever, until they locked her away for life.
“I don’t understand. Why invite me inside your home if you suspect I’m contagious?”
A clock chimed 10 p.m. “I almost didn’t. Someone has to stop the deaths. I’ve isolated myself from my grandchildren to keep them safe. I can tell you never suspected infection, so does she scare you?”
He wiped his mouth with his hand and nodded. “She’s waking up.”
One tiny scarred hand flew to her throat. “Oh my, that can’t be good. I thought her brainwaves were nonexistent.”
“Why is it a bad sign?”
“Weird things happen in Cloudland.”
“Tell me,” Wilbur said.
She ticked off the reasons. “Some people cry tears of blood, the long list of the missing, and not a single resident has ever donated an organ for transplant.”
He noticed tears flooded her eyes. Wilbur asked, “How does a carrier infect?”
Mrs. Cain swiped at her eyes and replied, “A cough, a touch, a kiss—who knows?”
“I could infect you, other students, or my professors?” Wilbur remembered one girl he had dated last year who almost died from a brain infection. His chest pain worsened and sweat beaded his forehead. I have to quit going to class. The idea hurt. He dreamed of teaching poetry at UConn.
“I should’ve required Public Health to monitor her for life in my settlement. I regret I didn’t. Ever since I heard about Mary Stinson, I decided to get involved if the opportunity knocked. And here you are. In my opinion, Doctor Hatcher will have a lot to answer for one day.”
“I’ll send specimens off to another lab. We need answers.”
“No! It’s October. You could contaminate the whole lab.” Her body trembled.
Startled by her fear and his lack of understanding, he said, “Thanks for warning me, but how else can I show proof she’s contagious?”
She clasped her tiny hands in prayer. “Mitch said truth is easier to suppress than express when the public welfare is at stake. He’s still missing.”
It would be hard to go against the estate, but like Mrs. Cain he had to take action. He had become a man he didn’t recognize—secretive like his mother before she used drugs to kill the voices in her head. Or was it a Hum in her head?
Wilbur Jenkins held out his hand.
Tears rolled down Mrs. Cain’s apple cheeks, but she handed him the envelo
pe and the poster. “God bless you, Wilbur. Stay safe.”
Rett
Rett drove Anna and her sisters to the sheriff’s headquarters. Shock had deflated all three girls. He couldn’t come to terms with what he saw, nor what he did. His hands stopped shaking seconds before he pulled into the sub-station. The younger girls had fallen asleep, but Anna looked worried. She had glanced back at the road, hoping to see her family van following them. Rett didn’t think her family would ever be reunited.
“Thank you,” Anna said when he parked. “You saved us.”
“You’re welcome.” He carried the girls inside and let Anna tell the deputies her story. Sheriff Ford stepped out of his office and beckoned to Rett. Once he sat in the indicated chair, the sheriff went behind his desk and sat. He sipped coffee and squinted at Rett. “Thanks for helping the Martin girls. What were you doing on Quitman’s property?”
The question stunned Rett, considering the missing people and wild-acting things running around in the woods. “Eddie Jean believes her grandfather turned her horse out to pasture and didn’t sell him. To stop her from checking after school, I went after work.”
The sheriff clearly didn’t believe him, but didn’t say so. “What did you see? The kid said a wild man attacked, and you shot him.”
Rett took a deep breath and nodded. “He wasn’t a hermit, sheriff. He didn’t have eyeballs, but tracked us. Man’s face looked dark like death, and distorted—like he’d gone feral. He had boils on his skin and he stank to high heaven. He ripped off fence planks and growled at me. I heard more coming, so I shot the first one before he could break through. The second one did.”
Sheriff Ford jumped out of his chair, spilling coffee across the desk. “One escaped?”
“Last look in the side mirror showed three on the road.”
“Stay here until I get back,” the sheriff ordered. He went out and shouted to deputies and the whole building emptied in less than two minutes. Rett stepped out and saw the white-faced girls sitting in a room with a female social worker. He heard emergency sirens and saw the flashing lights. Rett waved to Anna before he went out the door. He had no intention of hanging around until Quitman arrived.
Rett exited the empty parking lot and felt he’d done his duty to Anna and her sisters. Now, he needed his family. He had to see and hug each one. Rett checked his watch. Less than twenty minutes before the daycare closed. He tried to call Jenna and then Eddie Jean.
Neither one answered. His gut twisted, but he stayed focused on what he could control.
In the ten minutes between leaving the girls and picking up the boys, Rett decided the sheriff hadn’t reacted to his description because he’d seen one in the flesh. He never batted an eye until Rett mentioned three escaped. The insight chilled him. He realized he’d been right. If Eddie Jean represented the good side to the swarms, the man he killed represented the bad. Both the bad and the good were shielded from public view. Rett regretted he’d tried to hide Eddie Jean’s ability to heal. She had a true gift—a miracle, to be exact.
He arrived five minutes before closing time. The boys ran into his open arms. Rett dropped to his knees to hug them and received their affectionate greetings with gratitude. He’d killed a person. He didn’t even know his name, but the thing had been human once. He bordered on shock and his emotions threatened to spill into mush. His boys pulled him back into normal.
He paid in cash and hurried them onto their booster seats. The boys took turns sharing their news, kid things, like Teddy’s purple-colored spaceship and Tommy’s perfect cartwheel. They talked nonstop about their costumes, the decorations, and the candy in the white plastic trash bag. After ten minutes, they quieted down.
Rett tried to call Eddie Jean again. No answer.
He pressed on the gas pedal and arrived home in record time. Tonight, the law chased monsters instead of speeders. Rett stopped at the curb in front and stared while his stomach performed flip-flops. Orange tape surrounded his home like a TV crime scene. No one had called him, and the sheriff didn’t mention it either. Had everyone in town flipped out?
Their dark house looked sinister in the shadows. His heart skipped so fast he couldn’t breathe. Little white floaters cruised through his vision or were they tears? Rett pulled out his phone to make sure the text from Eddie Jean sent at 3:00 p.m. was real.
“At Shana’s house. Call me from home.”
He read her message out loud like a heartfelt prayer. At least his daughter was safe. Rett stared again at the reassuring words and put his phone back in his pocket. He opened the driver’s door, saw the boys had fallen asleep, and left the door ajar. He staggered up the sidewalk, hoping they were playing a Halloween joke on him. Rett could use a laugh about now. Decorating the house like a crime scene could be a fun Halloween trick.
Dead quiet.
He sneezed and noted a bleach scent lingered on the porch and sidewalk. A padlock kept the door shut, and he knew without checking the same went for the back door. What had happened in his home? He stared at the orange tape, horrified because he didn’t know what it meant. Yellow meant crime scene, but what about orange? Dread made his bones too heavy to move. He dropped down on his knees in the grass beside his wife’s colorful pansies and rocked back and forth. His mind wouldn’t render a conclusion for him to act upon. But colored tape indicates a crime, right? His innards clenched, giving him unspeakable abdominal pain.
Could Jenna have turned into one? Was it rabies? In a flash, Rett recognized similarities between Jenna and the male. He pulled out his phone and texted Joe Vickers a warning. “Cyclops running free. Warn friends and leave town!” Rett hoped Joe understood.
He texted Eddie Jean and told her he would pick her up. Quitman? No, he couldn’t call him.
Rett despised the way Quitman tried to run his relatives’ lives, and those of the townspeople as well. If Quitman had a heart his rules would be easier to tolerate, but he acted like an abandoned cur concerned with his own day-to-day survival. He had lost the ability to love family, friends, and church; hell, Quitman hated pets, babies, and football, too. As far as Rett knew, Quitman loved no one. Not since Sylvie, his wife, passed right after he and Jenna married.
Rett tried to think. He felt duped and betrayed. The emergency signal noise in his head had ratcheted up, and his ears filled with stinky crud. If those things got into town, they could infect others. Time to leave Cloudland. He needed to sink his feet into dry Texas dust to get grounded. At least at the ranch a snake was a snake and not a relative.
Rett stood and realized he heard no neighborhood sounds like dogs barking or doors slamming, or night joggers. The whole street looked dark and deserted. Spooked, he headed back to his SUV. He opened the driver’s door. His boys yawned and smiled at him.
“We’ve got a problem, boys.”
“Momma?” Tommy asked.
The noise in his head sounded like a storm alert buzzer. But he’d have to be deaf to miss the fear in Tommy’s one word. He extracted two aspirin tablets from the console box and dry-swallowed them.
“No, your mother isn’t home.”
“Where’s Eddie Jean?” Teddy asked.
“Sick?” Tommy added in a low voice.
“You ever see your sister sick?”
Tommy nodded and said, “With cramps.”
Rett laughed. “Yeah, I forgot. Hey, bet our girls are out shopping the Halloween sales. Who wants to take my dime?” Rett didn’t count that as a lie. He didn’t want them to worry.
“I will for a dollar.” Teddy piped up.
He noticed them punch fists, as Eddie Jean taught them. They knew he had lied to them. Six-year-olds were trying to humor him. Rett slapped at a bug around his face and climbed into the SUV, feeling stiff and sore. His phone rang, but he didn’t recognize the caller—Ava Allen. “Hello?”
“Daddy?”
“Eddie Jean?” He put her on speaker so the boys could listen.
“Honey, where are you? You can’t come home.”
<
br /> “I know.”
Pain cramped his stomach again and he clicked off the speaker.
“What happened?” he asked, taking the phone outside the SUV.
“Momma and I have a new form of rabies. Granddad has sent men after you and the boys. She didn’t bite or scratch y’all, so I don’t think you’re infected. Granddad said no one has recovered from this disease. Take the boys away, Daddy. Now!”
“No, baby. I can’t…I won’t…leave you.”
“Save my brothers!”
Rett couldn’t answer. He closed his eyes. “Your mother attacked you again?”
“No.”
Rett didn’t like the tone in her voice. “I saw a wild-looking man tonight on Quitman’s land. He looked like a monster and tried to bite me. I shot him. Are you saying he had rabies same as your mother and—”
“Yes, Daddy. Leave town! Goons with guns are tracking you.”
His vision clouded. No father could leave his sick daughter. “Baby, don’t ask me to leave you. I’m—no, we’re coming to get you because we love you. Screw Quitman.”
“No! There isn’t a cure or vaccine. No one recovers from Swarm disease. Don’t let the boys see me like this, or they’ll never be able to sleep again. Save my brothers, please Daddy.”
Rett couldn’t focus because his little girl was sobbing. “You’re a healer honey, you can’t get infected.”
“Momma contracted something new, and it’s airborne. Swarm disease means death. You’ve seen the result. All Franklins can’t die here, Daddy. I love you and the twins.”
Rett yelled. “Eddie Jean! I’m coming for you. You hear me!”
The line went dead.
Rett ran to the SUV. He dropped the keys and punched the steering wheel with bare hands and screamed, “I can’t leave you.”
