Melt (Book 7): Flee

by Pike, JJ

  “Get them to calm down. Way, way, way down,” said Nigel.

  Paul’s belly was full of blood. They had no suction option, so Nigel was in charge of blotting at the incision while Betsy searched for the source.

  “Nigel?” Aggie was at the door. “Can we steal you?”

  “No,” said Betsy.

  “Bryony has taken her splint off.”

  “That’s not a medical emergency.” Betsy didn’t look up. “You and Sean know how to wrap an arm. Sedate her again if you must, but you can’t have Nigel.”

  “Bryony has scratched a hole in her arm.”

  “Good grief,” said Betsy. “Okay. Well. You know what to do. Use your training, Aggie. Let us work.” The blood had pooled again, telling her she was close to solving the mystery.

  “She won’t let anyone get close. She says she’s going to see her mommy. She wants to die and go to heaven where her mommy is waiting for her.”

  “You can solve this one, Aggie. I’m serious.”

  Aggie left them to their work, but the noise in the front room didn’t let up.

  “Spleen.”

  “Right.”

  “Have you done a splenectomy before?”

  Betsy nodded. She had. Over 30 years earlier. It had not gone well. Young man, peak health, everything to live for, dead at 19. It was the same story, thousands of times over, though most of them not at her hand. He hadn’t died on the table. It was the complications that came afterwards that got him. They didn’t have the necessary vaccines or antibiotics. Couldn’t protect him against everything that lurked in the jungle. He’d died screaming. Meningitis.

  Paul’s case wasn’t dissimilar. They weren’t able to prep him properly for this op. In a perfect world, they’d have given him some protection against whatever infectious agents were out there. She felt the tremor travel down from her chest to her hand. Couldn’t let that continue. Didn’t matter if Nefash, as Jim had called it, was loose in upstate New York somewhere. Paul would bleed to death before he’d succumb to any infection.

  Right on cue her AA sponsor, Evelyn, was right there with her advice. “‘Adversity truly introduces us to ourselves.’ One of my favorite quotes from The Big Book. Embrace the adversity, Betsy. It’s all part of the plan. He only tests those who can bear it, and then, only as far as they’re willing to go.”

  “Maybe He got it wrong this time,” Betsy shot back. “I’m not ready for this test. A young man may die because I’m not properly prepared.”

  Betsy almost believed that God—well, not God directly, because He wasn’t in charge in that way, but God as expressed by her life, her circumstances, her challenges—wouldn’t push her over the edge. In this instance, she had no choice. Whether she believed she was up to the task or not, she was the only one qualified to remove Paul’s bloody and bleeding spleen.

  Evelyn had told her, more than once, that she could lay her trouble at God’s feet. That His shoulders were large enough to bear whatever she couldn’t carry. He wouldn’t mind if she grumbled a little.

  So, grumble she did.

  “This isn’t a hospital. It’s not even a field hospital. It’s my kitchen. We have a hodgepodge mess of supplies and are only able to meet the needs of our patients because Petra and Aggie were brilliant thieves and Nigel here was willing to abandon his post and come help us. We have enough opioids to sedate an entire city, an assortment of antibiotics (that may last three months if we’re very, very lucky), and whatever surgical equipment Nigel managed to sneak out of the hospital. We’re understaffed, undersupplied, and underprepared. If this child makes it, it will be a miracle. This is an impossibly complicated mountain you’ve given me to climb. So don’t talk to me about tests. I know all about tests…”

  Evelyn was quiet. She never said what didn’t need to be said. She truly believed, at the cellular level, that God didn’t test them beyond their ability to take it. She also believed in miracles. Betsy had asked for His help; He wouldn’t let them down. If she’d been there in Betsy’s kitchen, which she had been many times over the years, she’d have nodded and smiled. Not in a cruel way but rather with a “you’ve got this” vibe coming off her.

  Even imagining Evelyn helped calm Betsy.

  “We’ll tie off the pancreas first.”

  Nigel was already there with a set of clamps. “Can we do a partial splenectomy? We don’t want to leave him with no defenses against infection. Especially now.”

  “Maybe.” Betsy tied off the pancreas in preparation.

  Paul was right on the cusp; not a child, but not an adult. Would he need prophylactic antibiotics? Could they spare them? Where would they get more? Actually, it was madness not to give him any antibiotics they had. Sean could always head out and meet up with one of his drug-dealing contacts. Betsy disapproved of the dope peddlers less and less as time went on.

  “Betsy?” It was Aggie again, this time agitated.

  Betsy realized she’d retreated all the way into herself, effectively blocking out the sounds in the next room but while she’d been worrying about God and tests and spleens, the screaming had continued.

  Bryony’s lament had been whittled down to a single line, repeated at great volume. “I want my mommy. I want my mommy. I waaaaaaaaaaant my mommmmmmmy.”

  Aggie shouted over the sounds of Mimi pleading and Sean reasoning with the child. “Doctor Fred won’t let anyone touch Bryony.”

  Betsy looked up. “Say what?”

  “He says she has the same thing they had at the hospital. The flesh-eating bacteria. He says it’s highly contagious. If we touch her, we die.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Betsy couldn’t leave Paul. Someone had to be willing to step up and take control of the situation.

  “She keeps bashing her arm on the side of the bench. There’s blood everywhere.”

  “I’ll do it.” Jim was awake.

  “You stay right where you are,” said Betsy. He couldn’t move. Well, he could but he shouldn’t. He needed coddling and care and cobbler and cream. She was torn between what her hands needed to do and what her heart begged for.

  “I’m not afraid. Bryony knows me. We’re pals. I can get her to stop.” He pushed himself onto his knees, holding his saline bag with one hand, and then used the drawer pull to heave himself off the floor.

  Betsy’s heart rioted. Why him? God? Answer me! Why him? Does it always have to be the good ones? Get a lesser mortal to do your bidding. She knew better than to open her mouth. Once her husband decided he was going to do something, he did it.

  Jim used the counter by the sink as his walking stick. He shouldn’t have been upright. She wanted to tell him to take a seat, she’d make him a nice cup of coffee and bring a dish of ice cream. No electricity: no coffee until they got a fire going and no ice cream for the foreseeable future.

  “Cover yourself. Wear protection. There are gloves and gowns on the counter.” said Nigel. “Fred’s not wrong. Whatever came out of Manhattan was brutal. I heard some gory stories from the nurses who came up with those patients. You do not want to get this stuff on your skin.”

  “Did you see it yourself?” said Betsy.

  “No.” Nigel didn’t stop working. His hands were in Paul’s wound, keeping the site clear so she could work.

  “I think I saw it in our garage,” said Betsy. “It moves fast.”

  “Yep. Fast.” Jim took forever to get the surgical gown on. Even longer with the gloves. “I’m going in.” He was trying to be funny, but the smallness of his voice and the slowness of his step made Betsy ache. It took him at least two minutes to get from the kitchen to the front room when normally it would have taken all of fifteen seconds.

  She strained to hear what he said to the little girl, but she only heard snippets. “Mommy” was high on the list. As was “brave.” Whatever he was saying it was having the desired effect. Bryony was slowing down. When her caterwauling finally ceased Jim’s voice wafted into the kitchen.

  “She’d be so proud of you,
Bryony.” His drawl was a salve to Betsy’s soul. That was what her husband sounded like: molasses and catfish and hours in the garage up to his elbow in old cars. Oh my, he didn’t know about his cars. Well, that would come later. “Your mommy would want you to stay here, with us.”

  Bryony said something through hiccups and sobs. Betsy couldn’t hear what.

  “I know it. I miss my little girl, too.”

  The tears trickled down Betsy’s face. She’d been so crazed after Esther’s death she’d barely been able to talk about the loss, which meant she’d rarely heard what Jim felt on the subject.

  “I held her for an hour but in that hour I was the happiest man alive.”

  More tears.

  “She was perfect.”

  He didn’t add “and dead.”

  “She looked just like her mommy.”

  Nigel reached across Paul and wiped Betsy’s face with a piece of gauze, dropped it in the kidney dish, changed his gloves, but didn’t miss a beat. No words, just a kind action.

  “She had my Betsy’s eyes. I bet you look like your mommy.”

  Words from Bryony.

  “I bet. She must be very pretty because you’re very pretty.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. The house curled towards Jim’s expert handling of a distraught and damaged little girl, willing him to reach her before she did something unthinkable.

  “Maybe we should…” Jim waited. Betsy knew exactly what his face would look like: eyes soft, mouth curved in a small smile, everything beaming with goodness and light. “…Maybe we can go into the kitchen and let my Betsy see to your arm. Then you and me will go out onto the porch and we’ll draw some pictures. You don’t know this, but I’m not too bad when it comes to drawing. If you told me everything you remembered about your mommy, I bet I could draw her for you.”

  By the time Jim escorted Bryony into the kitchen, Paul’s splenectomy was well underway. They weren’t going to be able to make do with a partial. The whole organ had to come out. Betsy couldn’t stop, but she could at least instruct her beloved. She saw Bryony’s arm out of the corner of her eye: limp from the break and now streaming with blood where she’d injured herself. She didn’t want Jim to give her too much by way of sedation, but Bryony needed some painkillers.

  “Have you inspected the wound?” she said.

  “I have,” said Jim.

  “And? Anything unusual?”

  “Nope. Everything about Bryony is amazing,” said Jim. Had he switched to code? Of course he had. He wouldn’t outright say if she was in danger. He was too cautious for that. He knew, as did she, that even little children listen carefully.

  “Wonderful,” said Betsy. “Long may it last.” She wanted to know if he thought Bryony was out of the woods or if she’d contracted this horrible disease they were all so afraid of.

  “I’m sure it will. We’ve seen some things, Bryony and me. We know that it’s better out here than it was in there and there are good people who want to do good things, don’t we Bryony?”

  The little girl whimpered. Though it was hard to see them, because she had to keep her eyes on Paul’s guts, Betsy thought the two were holding hands. How precious that her husband got to help a little girl.

  “Why don’t I go and set him up?” said Nigel. “Won’t take me more than a minute.”

  Betsy nodded.

  Nigel ran from the room and, as advertised, returned with his trauma kit in under a minute. It was like the ones she and Jim had purchased, but better. Medical grade. He had everything and then some. He crouched down beside Jim and Bryony and he pulled out bandages and splints and wipes and creams. “I know my friend Jim has done this before, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s going to clean you up, make it stop hurting, and then bandage your arm so it can get better. How does that sound?”

  Bryony mumbled.

  Nigel was back at the table, new gloves already on. “Fred’s gone,” he whispered.

  Betsy looked up. “Gone?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “He was supposed to be watching Midge, but he left Aggie in there and said he’d be right back. That was five minutes ago. His bag’s gone.”

  Betsy swore under her breath. She didn’t take her eyes off Paul’s guts but her mind went to all the places where Fred might do harm. The medical supplies were all on that side of the house. “Mimi!” she screamed.

  Nigel jumped.

  “Sorry,” said Betsy. “I’m going to do it again. You can’t cover your ears, but you can brace yourself. Got to get a search party out now if he’s done what I think he’s done. Mimi!”

  Mimi scuttled into the doorway.

  “Go check the three large cupboards outside Midge’s room.”

  “What am I checking for?”

  “Medical supplies.” She turned to Nigel. “That’s where everything is stored, right?”

  Nigel shook his head. “Some. My medical bag’s here, but…”

  “Yes? But?” Betsy tried not to be sharp, but she could feel the bad thing coming their way.

  “I unloaded everything from our minivan into the cupboards when we first arrived, but once we made the decision to go to the mines, Fred and I took turns taking stuff back out to the van.”

  “Did you hear that, Mimi?”

  “Should I start by the van or the cupboards?”

  “Check that the van’s still here.” Mimi prayed Nigel had the keys and not Fred. “Then come back and check the cupboards.”

  “Got it.” Mimi hurried away. Since Petra’s announcement she’d been nothing but helpful. Betsy hadn’t seen her close to a bottle. Good thing. If Fred had turned on them and stolen their supplies she was going to need to put together a hunting party and go after him. Betsy knew instantly that she’d have Aggie lead that charge which meant Mimi would need to take her place at Midge’s side. Too many patients, not enough caregivers. Her mind turned and spun, like one of those windchimes Jo liked so much, but her hands were steady and her aim true. Arteries. Ligaments. Sutures. The surgery had a rhythm all its own.

  “He won’t have taken much.” Nigel didn’t look up from his task. “Maybe just one blister pack. That’s what he cared about most, protecting his thyroid in case of fallout. He wanted to get to his family.”

  Betsy didn’t blame Nigel for Fred’s treachery, but she could see why he’d blame himself. He’d brought Fred onboard.

  “He’s a doctor. Do no harm is in his marrow. He’s one of the good guys. We’ll be fine.”

  Betsy slowed her breathing deliberately. The next few minutes would change the course of their lives. Not just hers and Jim’s, but everyone’s.

  “Eyes on your task, Betsy. The outcome is already decided. Trust Him. All will be well.” Oh, Evelyn, she thought, I hope you’re right.

  The front door crashed into the wall.

  In seconds they’d know.

  Mimi was flushed and panting. Not good news. Betsy could taste it. They’d been double-crossed by that weasel the minute her back was turned.

  “The van’s gone.”

  Nigel swore a blue streak. He’d believed in his colleague. It was a shock to his system. He fell over himself apologizing to the room.

  Betsy made all the right sounds, but she was thinking about how they could go after the doctor. Perhaps Sean could go? On the motorbike? No, the girl who’d come with Paul had that. Who then? And how? There were cars aplenty. Sean could take one of those.

  “There’s more,” said Mimi. “He took the bags Aggie had stacked out front. He has our guns, beds, tents…the lot.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bill struggled to understand where he was. It was dark. No way he’d been asleep all day. Had he? He was lying, not sitting, so it wasn’t the van. He felt around him. No Alice, no dogs, nothing he recognized. He was in a bed. He used his legs to push himself upright. Hard to do with one arm strapped to your chest. The pain was at a 23 out of 10. Better than it had been when Alice kn
ocked him out but not something you could live with on a day-to-day basis. By the time he was sitting he was drenched in sweat. A sliver of light slid between the edge of the curtains and the window. Had they made it home? He waited for his eyes to adjust. Not a room he knew.

  The door eased open very slowly.

  Bill had no weapon. No way to defend himself. If someone came at him he was going to have to kick his way to freedom.

  “You awake?” Alice had a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other. “They have a family-sized Coleman stove with a full tank of propane. It’s like paradise.”