by Pike, JJ
“More than that,” said Fran. “She wants to have a kind of compulsory conscription.”
“The draft?”
Fran nodded. “The MELT-removal draft.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Paul’s spleen was in a bowl. Betsy finished closing him up. “Do you at least have amoxicillin in your bag?”
Nigel shook his head. “We had some in the cupboard. If we’re done here I’ll go see what the damage is. With any luck he left us something.”
Mimi had been running back and forth between the supply cupboard and the kitchen, listing what was left, but Betsy hadn’t heard her list any meds; only gauze and tape and a couple of suture kits. Fred had done the dirty on them, sneaking out when they were in full panic, taking as much as he could get out the front door without being caught.
“Go,” she said.
Jim had taken Bryony out back as promised. Betsy was glad the little girl didn’t have to watch all the adults panicking. She took Paul’s vitals, updated his chart, and waited. The minute Nigel returned she was going to go find Aggie and start planning. If what she’d said was true, the roads were virtually impassable and Fred would be trapped by his own greed. If he’d walked out carrying only what he needed as he’d said he would he’d have made it much further than he could go in the van.
Nigel was a strange shade of grey. The kind of color you recognize when you’ve worked in a hospital for a long time. “That bad?” she said.
He didn’t answer, but then he didn’t need to.
“You stay with Paul until he wakes up and I’ll go talk to Aggie.” Betsy was already half way out the door.
“Can we use Petra to monitor Paul?”
“Post-op?” Betsy was surprised he’d ask, but she made her way back to her patient’s side.
“I just want to hop out onto the porch and see if Jim needs me. If Bryony does have the disease she’ll be showing signs by now. We want to get ahead of that.”
Checking in on Bryony and Jim was a good call. They’d been out there long enough that one of them should see how the pair were doing. It shouldn’t be her. Professional ethics and all that. Nigel was the right person to undertake that check. “Go. I’ll wait. There and back, mind you. I need to get this search party on the road.” He was right about one thing. She’d been ignoring Petra as a resource. “Petra!”
It didn’t take long for Petra to show her face. She’d clearly been waiting to see her brother. “Can I touch him?”
“No. He just lost his spleen. Do you know what the spleen does?”
“Not really.”
“It’s part of the body’s defense system. It filters out cellular waste, helps maintain fluid balance, and activates infection-fighting white blood cells.”
Petra’s hand flew to her mouth. “How can he live without his spleen? Won’t he get sick with the first thing that comes along?”
“We’re getting to that,” said Betsy. “We’ll treat him with antibiotics now…” No point mentioning that they were out of amoxicillin. “…And then keep a close eye on him. People have been known to live long, healthy lives without their spleen.”
“So I shouldn’t touch him? Because of the germs?”
“Correct.”
“What if I wash my hands very, very carefully? Like scrub them? Like I’m going to do surgery? Like you do?”
Betsy looked towards the sink. Still no water and no electricity. And now, perhaps no more Betadine or, for crying out loud, antibiotics. “No. No touching. Gown up, cover your mouth, get some gloves on. You’re protecting three people now. Don’t forget that. It’s not just you and Paul. It’s you and Paul and Junior.”
Petra nodded. Whatever hysteria had rocked her in the morning had passed. Was “hysterical mornings” an affliction, like morning sickness? Might she have been surfing waves of hormones when she lost it? Whatever the cause—of both her outburst and her current calm—didn’t matter. She was at the counter, tying the back of her surgical gown and putting gloves on like a normal human being (not a nurse or a healthcare practitioner), which meant she was only marginally less germ-laden than she had been a minute earlier.
“Listen to me carefully, Petra. Very, very carefully. Do not, under any circumstances, touch your brother. Don’t touch his bed, his clothes, the dressings. Nothing. Do you hear me? If his condition changes, you call me immediately.”
Petra nodded. “What am I looking for?” She was so serene. Such a contrast with her earlier display of emotion. Betsy didn’t want to mess with that, but heavens!—or, as Jim would have said if he’d been himself and not this shadow of the man she’d once known “Heavens to Betsy!”—how did you impart a lifetime of knowledge to a neophyte? “Watch his breathing, for starters. I’m leaving his urine bag right here where you can see it.” She moved it down the table where it was easy to monitor. “If any blood enters the bag, call me.” She looked down at her patient. It was all going to happen on the inside where they couldn’t see it. Burst blood vessels, infectious agents, white blood cells, clots. The list was endless. All she could do was her best. That was all she was going to do. All any of them could do. “Watch him like a hawk. Tune into him with that twin radar you’re always going on about. Make the two of you one organism again and…as always…any changes…call me.”
The back door opened.
Nigel smiled briefly. Full report, without the words.
“How’s Bryony?” Funny how Petra claimed she could read Paul’s thoughts, but couldn’t decipher Nigel’s face.
“She’s fine. It’s a simple cut. It’s inflamed, but there’s no degradation of the surrounding flesh. Jim tells me she was in the worst part of the camp, exposed to the highest volume of toxins and infectants, and she never showed any symptoms. I’ve got a much clearer picture of what we need to look for. Bryony doesn’t have it. She’s clear.”
“If you want to see what it, what Nefash, looks like,” said Betsy, “head to the garage after Paul wakes up. There’s a cadaver in there you might want to inspect. Don’t get too close.” She paused.
“You have a cadaver in the garage?” Nigel’s voice didn’t tick up, but his eyes said all they needed to say.
Betsy trusted Nigel. He’d become one of the team; cared for Midge; cared for Paul; checked on her darling man without prompting; stayed while Fred fled. It was fine to let him in on that particular secret. If he was to help her protect the family from everything that was coming their way, he needed to be properly informed. “There are several bodies.”
Nigel did not hide his surprise.
Petra looked away, her eyes downcast.
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in when we’re situated. Just take a look at the impact Nefash has on the flesh. Then we can brainstorm how to keep clear of it.”
“Nefash? Here?”
Betsy shrugged. She was fairly certain it was the flesh-eating disease Jim said was in the camps. The same one Petra said she’d seen up at the hospital. They’d all been exposed to the disease—her, Jim, Paul, Petra, Midge, Nigel, and Nurse Cassie who lay dead in her garage—but only one of them had fallen prey to its ravages.
“Along with a bullet from Petra’s gun. Don’t forget that. Honesty at all times.” Evelyn had a point, but not one that Betsy was inclined to share with Nigel. Fine if he knew Cassie had died of her exposure to Nefash. Not as groovy if he knew it hadn’t taken her down on its own. Did she have to tell him?
“If he moves the blanket he’ll see her wounds,” said Evelyn. “You need to tell him. It’s your only chance of keeping him on the team. Lie and he’ll be out the door. Tell the truth and he might stay. It’s a gamble, of course, but the truth, dear Betsy, the truth is always better than the alternative.”
Betsy took a deep, deep breath. She wasn’t sure Nigel was as much a fan of the truth as she and Evelyn were. Few people love the truth the way recovering addicts love it. Still, she had to do it. The alternative was play catch-up after he’d discovered the truth on his own and that never w
ent well.
“I’m sorry to say we weren’t one hundred percent on the level with you when you arrived.”
Nigel cocked his head to one side, all friendliness and ease falling away from his face. “Oh?”
Come on, Betsy. You know this is what you have to do. Get ahead of the news. He might recognize his friend, even though her bandage was long gone and the rest of her wrapped in a blanket.
“Cassie didn’t abandon us, like we let you believe. In fact…”
Nigel let out a long sigh. “You know?” He hung his head for a second, then brushed his arm over his eyes. “It’s a relief. She was a good one, Cassie. I couldn’t believe it when you told me she’d run off and left you. I mean, some people…you know? They’re just better than that.” He clapped Betsy on the shoulder. “She was like you and me. A pro, through and through. It was her calling. A vocation. In the old sense of the word. It was all she’d ever wanted to do, nursing. I’m glad. Really glad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not glad she’s dead. Or that Nefash took her. That’s a tragedy. But I’m glad she didn’t go to the dark side. There are times, my mother used to say, when we are sorely tested and our true colors show through.” He walked towards the back door, wiping his eyes. “I’m glad she stayed on the side of right. People are good, you know?” He didn’t let the door slam on his way out, but eased it shut so as not to disturb any of their patients.
Betsy’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t correct him. He’d heard what he wanted to hear, not what she’d wanted to say. He thought well of his friend. Betsy closed her eyes and begged God to forgive her. Again. She was forever needing to lean on his Grace. She’d allowed Nigel to create a lie by not correcting him.
Ugh.
He was such a good boy. If he’d been hers, she’d have been one proud momma. Some people were that way: good to the core. They were lucky to have found him. She didn’t need to add more horror and pain to a heart that pure.
This little lie was going to remain. That’s all there was to it.
Petra had her eyes glued to her brother’s chest, her mouth moving in time to each breath. Good. She was getting a baseline. Nigel would only be gone for a few minutes. She left Paul in Petra’s care and made her way to her other patient.
Mimi and Aggie were at Midge’s side. They already knew they’d been burgled, Betsy didn’t need to tell them that. They needed her to bolster their spirits and help them get through the next few hours. What they were about to undertake—moving several very sick people over open terrain—was possibly the most dangerous thing Nurse Betsy Asher had done since her time in Vietnam. She was confident they were up to the task, but that didn’t make it any less hazardous.
“Midge, how many fingers do I have up?” Betsy held up three fingers.
“Two,” said Midge.
Oh, dear. Not good.
“And a thumb.”
Betsy laughed with Mimi, Aggie, and Midge, each peal of laughter from the little girl sending them all into another round of snorts and chortles. What a sound. Children laughing in her house! Bliss!
“What’s your name?” She had to do her job, even if it brought the laughter to a halt.
“Margaret Shackleton Polo Magellan…”
Aggie was smiling. Good. A family joke, then.
Midge took a deep breath. “Earhart Armstrong Vespucci…”
“We get the picture,” said Aggie. “You’re an explorer.”
“Lewis and Clark, Lewis and Clark, Lewis and Clark…” Midge fell back on the bed.
Betsy lay her hand on Midge’s face and gently peeled back her eyelid. The whites of her eyes were showing. That was not good.
“What’s happening?” said Mimi.
“She’s having a seizure,” said Betsy.
“But she’s not spasming or going stiff,” said Aggie.
“It’s a different kind of seizure. We used to call this a ‘petit mal’ seizure. She’ll be fine in a minute.” If we’re lucky. If this isn’t a brain bleed. If everything breaks our way. She held Midge’s wrist. Her pulse was steady.
No one in the room moved for three minutes, an eternity when a small child lies unresponsive in a narrow bed.
Midge blinked, her eyes focusing on Betsy. “Where’s Daddy? He told me he’d be back. We were reading about Marco Polo and the special oil he took to Kublai Khan.”
Betsy looked to Aggie. Was the child about to fit again or was there really “special oil” involved in Marco Polo’s story?
Aggie nodded at her sister. “Daddy should be back soon. He and Paul went to look for Mommy, remember?”
“I know that,” said Midge. “But he still promised. After the bear scratched his hand and he fell asleep in the daytime. I didn’t want him to sleep in the day. I wanted him to be awake with me. So I told him the story of Marco Polo to wake him up, but I didn’t know the whole story and he said he would tell me the rest.”
There was nothing Betsy could do about seizures. Aches and pain, slashes and gashes and stitches: sure. Even a splenectomy was within her reach. But brain surgery? No way. Whatever was going on under that helmet was in the hands of the Almighty. She wanted Nigel at her side. Together they’d decide what to do. Was it safe to move the child or was this development a game changer? “Keep her talking. This is very good.”
“Start at the beginning, Midge, and tell me everything you told Daddy.”
“No.” Midge struggled to sit up.
Aggie took one arm and Mimi the other and they helped Midge to a seated position.
“I’ll start when the leopard was walking beside the horse, because I like that bit best.”
Full sentences. Excellent. Betsy wanted to inspect Midge’s stitches, but she needed to clean herself and the room—which Dr. Fred Traitor-Thief Handel hadn’t kept sterile—before she removed Midge’s helmet.
Sean was at Midge’s door. “What can I do? Nigel said we were going to carry Midge. Is she ready? Shall we move her onto the stretcher?”
“No. We’ll do that.” Was she deluding herself? Could she and Mimi and Aggie move Midge? They had to. Medical personnel could not be spared to chase after that snake, Fred. “I want you to go into our garage. Stay close to the doors…”
That wasn’t right. She couldn’t send Sean into a potential contamination zone. He was one of the only people in the house who hadn’t been exposed to Nefash. If it had an incubation period—she hadn’t thought of that before; she’d taken on faith the idea that it moved fast—they might all be carriers and not know it.
“I’ll go.”
“Go where?” said Sean.
“To the garage. I’m going to get you a car.”
“I can get one. You stay with Midge.”
“I don’t want you exposed, too. Just follow me and do as you’re told.”
Sean stashed the stretcher at the bottom of the stairs and trotted after Betsy. “Why do I need a car?”
“Fred ran off.” Betsy rummaged under the coats by the front door. Aggie had made up a small box of meds when she was supposedly leaving, what, four hours ago? It was still there. “Thank God for small mercies.” They’d be able to treat Paul after all. “Put this in the kitchen, by the sink but away from Paul and Petra, then meet me over by the garage. Don’t come in. Wait by the doors.”
Sean took the box and did as he was told, leaving Betsy to her task. She waved at Jim as she passed the back porch. No need to involve him. He’d fuss about which car got what mileage and that wasn’t the point. She needed the smallest car so Sean could follow Fred, even if he was on foot, as far as needed and recover their medical supplies. It was one thing for the Wolfjaw Ridge thieves to ransack their food stores—she could make more pies and preserves just as soon as they were all safe—but she couldn’t make antibiotics or antiviral medications.
If that were the case—if Fred had ripped them off in the worst way possible—they were going to face some dire decisions. Who got whatever small supply they had? Midge, because she was the
youngest? Paul, because he had no spleen? Mimi, because she was immunocompromised? Terrible thoughts which could be addressed later, if and when they knew the outcome of this appalling chase.
She pulled the door to the garage open.
Nigel’s eyes were narrow, his mouth turned down, cheeks flushed. “There’s a hole in her chest.”
“Do not lie to him, Betsy. Tell him the whole truth. Now. This is your chance to make it right. Don’t lie again and let him find out from someone else, down the line.”
