Hope (11 page)

“Honey, I know it’s difficult, but you need to drink something,” he said. He had to get fluids in her or she would die from that.

An idea popped in his head. He remembered Carlos had a box of IV fluid in his garage. If he could get an IV into her, she’d be fine. He laid her back down and rushed as fast as his battered body would take him. He too was in need of fluids and nourishment. It had been days since he had eaten, and his body was suffering for it. He reached the front door, swung it open, and the last people he needed to see were standing in the cul-de-sac. He froze. Unsure if they had seen him, he stepped back into the shadows of his house. By a rough count he saw six heavily armed men. They were searching the bodies of their fallen comrades and inspecting the vehicles.

The men talked back and forth, but it was hard for Neal to understand fully, as he could only hear a word here or there.

They pointed towards Carlos’ house and swarmed it with their rifles at the ready.

Neal went to the spare room to get his rifle, but it wasn’t there. He then remembered using it as a crutch, and he had left it in Beth’s room. Not hesitating, he went there and found it leaning against her chest of drawers. He snatched it and headed back to the spare room. There he’d get a better view of the men.

The men cleared Carlos’ house and reassembled outside.

Neal was in his chair and watching intently. The excitement caused by their presence temporarily made him forget he was sick.

They huddled and were chatting.

Again, it was impossible for him to hear what they were saying.

One man tore away from the group and headed towards Neal’s house.

Neal shouldered his rifle and leveled the sights on the man.

Several of the men hollered and waved for the one man to return.

The one man stopped and came back to the circle and began to wave his arms as if he was arguing.

“Dada,” Beth cried.

Neal’s heart just about jumped out of his chest. He resisted leaving the window, but he needed to see what Beth wanted. He raced through the house, hoping to stop her from calling out again. He arrived at her door to find her on the floor. He rushed to her and asked, “You okay?”

“I had to go potty. I didn’t want to…” she said, embarrassed by the fact she had messed her pajamas.

“It’s fine, honey, it is,” he said, lifting her up. For his weakened state she felt like she weighed two hundred pounds. He got her back in bed and covered her. “I’ll be right back to clean you up,” he said and headed back to his spot in the spare room. He was panicked now. Would they be there still? Were they headed towards his house and about to enter? He ran all the worst-case scenarios through his mind in the mere seconds it took him to get back in place. When he looked out the window and saw them, they weren’t coming his way, but they were interfering with saving Beth’s life because they were emptying out Carlos’ garage.

They rummaged and tore through the boxes of supplies Carlos had stockpiled.

“Please, oh God, please don’t touch the IVs,” he said out loud.

Neal watched for fifteen precious minutes as they ripped through the garage and took what they thought valuable.

When they were finished, they again gathered and chatted.

Neal feared they would come to his house, looking for more.

A radio crackled to life on one man’s hip. He pulled it off and replied. A back and forth conversation occurred.

“Please leave, go, fucking go,” Neal said.

And just like that, the man with the radio ordered all the others into the vehicles, including the Suburban Carlos had stolen and the Lincoln, and drove away.

Neal gulped loudly as he watched them make the turn off the street and disappear. With them gone, he went to go see if the IVs were taken.

The garage was a total mess, boxes turned over and their contents emptied. Personal belongings and items valuable only to Carlos and his family were trampled on.

In that instant Neal paused and looked at a family photo album on the garage floor. Photos of Carlos and Natalie as kids were loose and spread all over. A painful tug at his heart made him miss his life before. He knelt down and picked up one of the photos, it was of Carlos and Natalie on one of their first dates. Seeing the smiling faces in the photo, it made him feel sorry that these men cared so little for another’s life. Gone was sincerity and caring, it was lost to this new brutal world. Those men cared nothing for anyone but their own basic need. None stopped to appreciate that the belongings they were trashing had actually been someone’s and they had taken care of and put value on them. The world was insane, the inhumanity of mankind was thriving, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a small first aid kit. This snapped him back to the task at hand of finding the IVs. He pocketed the photo and started looking. From one box to the next then on to the cabinets, he looked. Nothing. He went into the house and tore through every spot, but came up empty-handed.

The frustration was killing him, but it was also keeping him moving, as a heavy fatigue weighed on him.

After spending an hour, he gave up; it wasn’t there. Either Carlos never had them, or those men had taken them. He’d never know.

Exhausted and angry, he lamented the fact of going back home empty-handed, but he needed to try to get Beth to drink and hopefully eat.

Back in his house, he went directly to Beth’s room and found her asleep. He couldn’t have her sleeping in soiled clothes, so he removed them and with a box of baby wipes cleaned her up.

As he wiped her down, he couldn’t help but notice how thin she looked. It had been days and she already was looking poorly.

What kind of food poisoning could take this long to get over? he asked himself. Needing to know, he headed to his office and found a medical journal. He flipped to the back and looked up food poisoning, found the starting page, and went to it. He quickly scanned the symptoms of
Salmonella
and
E. coli
, but their symptoms didn’t match exactly. He then saw botulism and read that it could cause paralysis, slurred speech, muscle weakness, eyelid drooping and difficulty swallowing, which sounded almost to a tee what they all had to some varying degree. He skimmed over the rest and went directly to treatments. As he read each word, the tension increased. There wasn’t a home remedy for botulism. They all needed emergency medical care, according to the book, and like he suspected, the fluids were critical, and the way they recommended delivery was via IV. His heart sank.

He plopped into his office chair and thought about what he should do and came to the conclusion there wasn’t much. He needed those IVs, but that wasn’t an option right now. Not satisfied, he opened the book again and continued reading. He had to find a way because if he failed, his failure would mean certain death for his family.

Guatay, CA

Drew stepped into the room with a broad smile and said, “It’s dinnertime.” In his right hand he balanced three trays, and in his left he had two sodas. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, holding up the sodas.

“We don’t drink soda,” Charlotte said.

“It’s root beer,” Drew said happily.

“Can we have root beer floats?” Hope asked.

“I wish we could, but that’s not going to happen,” Drew answered.

Charlotte went back to writing in her diary.

Drew slid her tray over next to her and said, “There’s also another surprise.”

Not interested in his games, she kept writing but still asked, “What?”

“Look,” Drew insisted.

Irritated, she looked over and saw a package of Twinkies on her tray. “We don’t eat Twinkies either.”

“Who doesn’t eat Twinkies?” Drew asked rhetorically.

“We don’t.”

Hope then defied her sister and said, “I do, yep.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte challenged.

“Yes, I do. One time Mommy let me have one.”

“Not true,” Charlotte barked.

“Is true. You weren’t there, I was,” Hope declared.

“Figures, you were the spoiled baby in the family,” Charlotte shot back.

Hope ignored Charlotte and went for the Twinkie first.

“You should know the Twinkie was a gift from Chef Bob.”

Hearing Bob’s name caught Charlotte’s attention. “What did he say?”

Seeing how urgent she was with her question, Drew decided to play a game with her. “You should have heard what he said, wow, that’s the only word I have for it.”

“What?”

“He said…tell the girls I gave them a treat,” Drew said.

“And?”

“That was it. Why are you being so dramatic? Plus what do you care what Bob says?” Drew asked.

“I don’t. I just talked with him the other day is all.”

“Don’t mess around with any of the guys. You can’t trust a single one,” Drew informed her as he stuffed a fork full of beans into his mouth.

“But we can trust you?” Charlotte quipped.

“You are tough. Good God, yes, you can trust me. I did save your damn lives,” Drew snapped. He got up and sat next to Hope. “Say, you want to play Go Fish.”

“Sure,” Hope happily replied.

“Was your sister always grumpy?” Drew asked Hope.

Hope didn’t answer; she looked at Charlotte and softly said, “No, she used to be nicer.”

Like a petulant child, Charlotte stuck her tongue out at Hope. She put her head down and continued writing in her diary. She knew she had to be more easygoing but found it difficult, almost impossible.

Drew and Hope laughed as they played cards.

Their laughter irritated Charlotte even more. She paused from her writing and looked at them. She felt like Hope was betraying her parents’ memory, specifically her father’s, by playing nice and having fun. How dare she have fun? She sighed heavily as she stared at a new blank page. What would she write? The messages to her mother now seemed silly. Her mother would never find them, and that was considering she was even alive. She wanted to believe her mother was still out there, but with each day that passed, she lost a little more hope that she’d ever see her again.

She chewed on her lip. What could she write? The blank page stared back at her, taunting her to write something. Charlotte pressed her eyes closed and cleared her thoughts. She wanted to give in and see what would come to her organically.

A thought jumped into her head. Like a light bulb turning on and vanquishing the darkness, she knew what she needed to write. Excited, she put the pen to page and began to write feverishly.

“There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.”
– Bernard Williams

El Centro, CA

Neal couldn’t remember dozing off, but obviously he had. He jerked up and again felt the vertigo that had been plaguing him. His legs felt heavy as he tried to stand. His vision was blurry, so he blinked heavily several times to clear it, but it only worked a little.

The medical journal fell from his lap onto the floor with a thud.

He looked at it and now remembered he was up researching what he could do to save Beth and Karen, and he must have just passed out from exhaustion.

Within arm’s reach was his rifle. Like before he used it as a crutch and lifted up. When he was steady and confident, he took a few steps and paused.

Once more the house was eerily quiet.

By the way the light cast through the window, he could tell it was late morning.

He got to his bedroom and saw Karen.

She was on the far side of the bed now and not moving.

He took a labored step in the room and was greeted by a strong stench. His poor bride was lying in soiled sheets and clothes. He had given so much attention to Beth, and in his own weakened state, he hadn’t been taking as good care of her as he wanted.

When he arrived at the bedside, he rejoiced in getting to sit down.

His movements woke her. She motioned with her hand and said above a whisper, “Neal, is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Bethie?”

“Not sure, I’m checking on her next.”

It took all the energy she had to shift from her side to her back. When she saw him, she cracked a smile. “Hi, love.”

He extended his arm and took her hand. “I love you, babe. I promise I’ll get you cleaned up.”

“Oh, you don’t like my new smell, eau du sickness?” she joked.

He chuckled. Oh, how he loved her. Even in the depth of her illness she was able to find humor.

“Please go check on Beth,” she said.

“How are you?”

“To be honest, I feel like shit. I’m so weak, and the cramps are excruciating, and my throat feels like it’s squeezing.”

“I need you to drink water and eat. You have to eat too.”

“I will. Now go check on Bethie.”

He stood and turned but stopped when she called out.

“I know this is stupid, but did you ever check on Felicia?”

He shook his head.

“I know you’re sick too, but if you feel better, please go. She must be suffering.”

“Botulism, that’s what this is, I think.”

“Botulism? How long will we be sick for, do you know?”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her the prognosis was fifty-fifty if left untreated with the proper antitoxins and without adequate hydration, so he lied, “Soon, but you have to drink water,” he said then left. He paused just outside of Beth’s room and took a deep breath. He couldn’t quite fill his lungs; it was the oddest feeling.

Looking through the beams of light that cut through Beth’s room, he could see her small body lying still. “Beth, sweetheart, it’s Dada. Good morning,” he whispered as he walked in. He came to the side of her bed and was happy to sit down.

She didn’t move when he sat.

He touched her arm and instantly recoiled. Something was wrong. Her arm felt stiff and cold.

“Beth?” he said, turning and pulling her towards him.

Her body rolled to reveal the depressing fact that she was dead.

“Beth! Beth!” he exclaimed as he frantically ran his hands all over her body, touching her throat to check for a pulse, opening her mouth, and touching her chest. He rested his ear and listened for a heartbeat, but nothing. Her body was cold and stiff. “No, no, please God, no!” Neal gripped his daughter’s small body tight to him as he began to sob uncontrollably; his greatest fear was in the room with him. Like a thief in the night, death was in his house. Worse yet it was the one death he couldn’t bear. He was brought back by Karen’s shouts.