Breakdown (39 page)

“I wasn’t really sleeping.”

“You seem a bit off.”

“I’m still tired, but I’m all right.”

“Mum’s up.”

“Yeah? Great.”

“She’s in the sitting room, resting. She helped me make muffins earlier. One thing I never did learn to make properly.”

Chris sipped his coffee. “I’ll go in and see her in a bit.”

“I’m just going out to see what Wes is up to and get a bit more wood in, then I thought I should scrub this floor.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a hand.”

Michael went out. Chris forced himself to eat the bread. Michael was right, he needed to eat. His head felt muzzy. He wondered if maybe he should go back to bed, but he thought about the series of dreams that had disturbed his sleep. He didn’t want to go through them again just yet. He drank the coffee, hoping the caffeine would clear his head. When he finished, he pushed himself up from the table and went in to see Grace.

She sat in the easy chair, a blanket over her knees, her eyes closed. She opened them as he came in and smiled.

“It’s good to see you up,” Chris said.

“Well, out of bed, anyway. Still not much good, I’m afraid.”

“Take your time; don’t push yourself.”

“Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m a little tired, still,” he admitted. “Did you get your coffee?”

She sighed. “Oh, yes. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

The floor tilted. Chris had to take a step to keep from falling over. He reached out for a handhold, but found nothing.

“I’m not used to the caffeine,” he said. He sagged down onto the couch. Things in the corners of his vision fell apart into jagged pieces.

“Maybe you should get some more sleep,” Grace said.

“I will do, after a while,” he said, putting his head back and closing his eyes. His stomach churned, and the couch began a slow, disconcerting roll. Chris broke into a sweat as kaleidoscope colors wheeled in his brain.
No, no...it’s too soon...
He took deep breaths, hoping it would pass, but it only got worse.

“Chris, are you all right?” he heard someone say. It sounded like Grace, but it couldn’t be Grace...she was upstairs in bed, wasn’t she?

He pushed up off the couch, used the walls and distorted doorways to brace himself, and lurched into the kitchen. The sink seemed a long way off, up a steep slant, past pinwheels of fire, but he made it, just barely, and vomited three times.

Chris hung on to the edge of the counter, found a cup, rinsed his mouth, spit into the sink. His legs had gone to rubber. He didn’t think he would make it to the table if he let go of the sink, so he stayed there, shaking. Amazingly, everything in the kitchen—chaos a moment ago—had returned to normal.

The back door opened. Cooper came in with an armload of wood.

Chris gasped as tendrils of black snaked in and coiled around the chair legs. “Close the door!”

“I did,” Cooper said. He dumped the wood into the woodbox, brushed his hands on his trousers. “You okay?”

“Where’s Jon?” Chris asked, panic growing.

“I think he’s ill, Michael,” Grace’s voice said from the doorway.

“How did you get here?” Chris asked.

Cooper stepped over writhing cables on the floor as if they weren’t there. He put his hand to Chris’s forehead and glanced into the sink. “Aw, crap. You just lost your lunch, didn’t you?”

Chris nodded, blinked. The kitchen had gone the wrong colors.
Jon stayed behind.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...” His knees chose that moment to buckle. He collapsed to the floor.

“Chris!” Cooper exclaimed, partly catching him. “Well, I guess we know which of us is safer, eh?”

“It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
Pauline!

“Apparently not. You’re burning up.”

“Where’s Pauline?”

“She’s fine, Chris.”

“I left her behind—”

“No, she’s just upstairs. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“I can’t walk.” The room seemed to be filling with fog.
Where’s Jon?

“Hang on to me. Chris—?”

He couldn’t make his arms work either. The fog got thicker.
Pauline...paulinepaulinepauline...
The formless beast hissed and growled, then everything went black.

CHAPTER 33

“H
ello, beautiful.” Michael smiled at Pauline from a chair next to her bed.

Pauline blinked to clear the cobwebs, and some of it started to come back to her.

“I’m thirsty.”

Michael held a cup for her to sip from. The cool water slid down her throat, the most wonderful thing she could imagine.

“Not too much,” Michael said, taking the cup away when she tried to drink it all. “Give it a minute to settle, then you can have some more.”

She remembered something even more wonderful, and her heart pounded. “Chris is here!”

“He’s downstairs, on the couch.”

“Send him up—I want to see him.”

Michael hesitated. “Ah, well, I can’t, love. He’s going to need a few days.”

“He got ill?”

“Intensely,” Michael admitted. “But, luckily, our plague seems to have turned into something a good deal less lethal. No deaths in the village, or here either, I’m happy to report.”

A sob welled up from deep within her. Worry and fear and relief all mixed together in a storm of emotion she couldn’t contain. She put her hands over her face and cried. Michael was there next to her in an instant, on the edge of the bed, patting her shoulder.

“There, there, Paulie, everything’s fine,” he cooed. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Everybody’s fine.”

She managed to sit up and grab him, and he put his arms around her. She wished they were Chris’s arms, but Michael’s familiar arms would do right now. She cried some more, then calmed herself. Michael handed her a handkerchief from her bedside table.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You were under a hell of a strain, Paulie.” For once, Michael looked serious. “You did a great job. I’m proud of you.”

“Is Mum okay?”

“She’s fine, tucked up in a chair in the sitting room, keeping an eye on Chris.” Michael eased her back onto her pillow.

“George? Marie?”

“George is up and about today. Marie is still in bed, but doing great.”

“Wes?”

“He was up yesterday. Been a great help.”

“He was a big help to me, too.”

“I know; he told me all about it.”

“Can I have more water now?”

Michael filled the cup again and gave it to her. She sipped it slowly, as much as he would let her drink.

“What about you? You look like hell, Michael.”

Michael put a hand over his heart. “Oh, I’m hurt.”

“No really, are you getting enough rest?”

“Not at all. Overworked, overstressed. First time in my life, I have to say. And hopefully the last.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Michael,” she said, more tears coming.

“Good grief, don’t start again! Is there anything you need, sweetie?”

“I need to use the loo.”

“Well, that’s a good sign.” He helped her out of bed.

“How do you know about the village?”

“Freddie was here to check on everyone,” he said, keeping a hand on her arm. “Brought us a basket of goodies in exchange for one of the hens. I gave her some eggs, too. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” she said, but the hallway tilted, and she put a hand out to steady herself. “Okay, maybe I’m a bit dizzy. I can certainly manage in here by myself.” She shut the bathroom door firmly. When she came out, she went to her bedroom closet. She got out her warm robe and slippers.

“I take it you’re getting up?” Michael said from the doorway.

“I am. I’m going down to see Chris.” She stopped in front of the mirror above the bureau, made a face, and worked at her hair with the brush. She pulled it back and clipped it. While she was doing that, Michael had stepped closer. He stared at the pictures, then reached out and picked up the one of Chris, the one Jon had given her, and scrutinized it.

“Great picture. What, was he some sort of rock star or something?” He gave her a little grin.

Pauline opened the drawer again and handed the CD Brian had given her to Michael. It was the most famous one,
Good Match
. Michael’s mouth fell open.

“Wolcott Price—holy crap! I used to own this!”

She took it back from him, put it back in the drawer. “Are you coming?” she asked, and went out the door.

* * *

“Paulie,” Michael said, gently shaking her awake. “Wake up, love.” He hated to do it; she looked so peaceful there in the bed next to Chris, but he didn’t like the way Chris’s breathing sounded.

Pauline took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon. You need to have some lunch, keep your strength up.”

She sat up, rubbed at her face, and looked over at Chris in the bed. She smiled.

Michael opened a curtain to let more light in. He went back to the bed, sat down next to Chris, and put his hand to his forehead. He tried to keep his face neutral, but an odd feeling changed to a twisting in his stomach.

“What is it?” Pauline asked.

“He’s hot again.”

“But his fever broke last night.” Pauline reached out to feel him, too. “He’s hotter than he was.”

“Was he breathing like this when you went to sleep?”

“No, it was quiet, regular. Normal.”

Chris grunted, shifted, but did not wake up.

“I don’t like this,” Michael said to her, and she looked at him with worry plain on her face.

“But he was getting better, like all of us.”

“Yeah, I thought so, but now...I don’t know,” Michael said. A little anger swelled in him. Chris should be well on his way to recovery, taking water and broth, getting up to use the loo. It had been three days. He’d even been awake and lucid last night. A second fever and breathing trouble were signs of something much more serious. “Let’s go eat something. He’s sleeping fine. You can come down for a little while.”

He helped Pauline into her robe and slippers, followed her down the stairs. Grace and Marie had put together a hot lunch. George came in with an armload of wood. Wes was already at the table.

“Chris has a fever again,” Pauline said, her voice tight. “And Michael thinks he’s breathing oddly.”

All heads turned to Michael.

“A little setback is all, probably.” He tried not to sound too concerned, especially with Wes there. “Let’s see how he gets on today.”

Pauline kept looking at him while she ate. She hurried through her food.

“I’m going back up,” she said.

“I’ll be up in a little while, dear,” Grace said.

* * *

“It’s colder, isn’t it?” Wes said as he and Michael left the barn after finishing the evening chores.

Michael pulled the door shut firmly and latched it. “I believe it is.” He gazed up at the wash of bright stars against the black night sky, puffed out crystal breath into the pristine icy silence. A gust of wind cut across his face, invading his lungs when he took a breath in shock. “And windier, too. Let’s grab some wood before we go in.” They veered off to the woodpile and got an armload each.

“Is supper ready?” Wes asked as soon as they got inside, before he’d even dumped the wood.

“Soon,” Marie told him.

Michael went up to check on Chris. At the top of the staircase he paused, his stomach contracting. The sound of Chris’s breathing came out of Pauline’s bedroom. He hurried in. Grace sat in the chair by the bed.

“Where’s Paulie?” he asked her.

“She went to the loo to have a wash.”

Michael felt Chris’s forehead and neck. Grace had been wiping him down with a cool cloth, but the fever had not abated.

“He’s worse.”

“I don’t like it.” Michael wanted to shout in frustration, beat on the wall.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Michael shook his head. “No, not really. Try to get his fever down.” He tried to remember what they had done at the hospital. Oxygen, but that was out of the question, of course. IV fluids, again, out of the question. Antivirals: hopeless. “We could try to humidify the air.”

“Boiling water on the stove?” Grace suggested.

“Too far away. Oh, wait, I’ve got a camp cooker in the rig. We can get a pot boiling right up here. That might help. I’ll see to it.” He went out the door.

Pauline came out of the bathroom with a towel over her arm. It was dark in the hall, and he could barely see her face.

“He’s worse,” she said, the way Grace had, but with more worry in her voice.

“Yes.” Michael reached out to touch her arm. They had been in this hallway before, years ago, when her father was dying of a stroke, and she had said nearly the same thing. He remembered the tone of her voice, the same fear in it now as then.

“How bad is it?”

Michael didn’t answer her, didn’t know what to say. Like the other time, he had no good news for her.

“Michael.”

“I’ve seen it like this,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not good, Paulie.”

“What can we do?”

“Not much.” He told her about the camp stove.

“We can’t take him to hospital?” she asked as if she already knew the answer.

Michael wanted to hold her. “They won’t take him, love. Not anymore.”

She nodded, swayed.

“Paulie, why don’t you try to get a little nap in the spare room? I’ll come wake you in an hour or so.”

“No, I’m not leaving him now. I have to get back.” Her voice wavered, and she put a hand to her face. A sob escaped her. She stepped forward, put her head against him. Michael put his arms around her.

“Oh, Paulie,” he whispered, barely managing to keep his voice steady. She grabbed him and cried into his shirt, trying to muffle her sobs. He closed his eyes, had to take a deep breath. She calmed after a few minutes, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, pulling away from him.

“This is what happened to his wife. To Sophie. He told me. She couldn’t breathe. He held her while she died. Oh God, Michael...”

“It might not come to that,” he said, but he had seen it before, and he felt the anger again.

“What are his chances?”