The Flu 1/2 (39 page)

“Speaking of which...” Kurt interrupted, “Chief Owens said any that pass on here in the station are to be moved to the old Tool and Die building until this thing runs its course and a full burial can be arranged for everyone.”

Lars shook his head. “Mick doesn’t stop, does he? Good plan though. Weather is cool enough to slow decomposition. Let’s reiterate to our workers that they must practice safe methods of handling bodies. Henry? Stats?”

“We’ve brought in seventeen hundred and three residents so far. The children are my main concern. I estimate that, less the twenty-five percent who will now end up being immune, we’ll have four hundred due in. That’s a lot of kids. You and I know that’s where most of our deaths will occur.”

Lars swallowed with difficulty. “With my estimation of twelve hundred in this next wave that means that kids will make up a third. Let’s just try to keep our wits about us. Nothing was harder for me than to send a child back home with their parent and telling them....I’m sorry.” Shaking off the emotions brought on by that thought, Lars looked to Kurt. “How are preparations going?’

“We lost two of the doctors at the hospital. They’re down with the flu. I just don’t trust a quick training of anyone to do tests. So I went ahead and did some crash course IV training with folks. Let them start the IV and we’ll do the finger pricks. We may get overwhelmed, but at least the results will be accurate. I have slides prepared and ready to go for this second wave.”

Lars nodded. “Good. But this should be it. It should start tonight, hit hard through tomorrow afternoon, then fizzle. A trickle here and there over the next day or so, as you gentleman have seen, but that will be it. This time next week, the first of three wars will be over.”

Henry looked up curious. “Three?”

“Oh yes,” Lars replied. “Facing and conquering the flu is the first. Facing the grief will be a second battle. But the third will be the most difficult, and won’t be over within a week. That war will be facing tomorrow and surviving.” As he said that, Lars’ eyes raised when he heard the sliding of the curtain. “Patrick,” Lars said in rebuke. “Where is your mask?”

Patrick cleared his throat, but as he spoke, his words were thick. “I don’t need one. In fact I don’t think I need a confirmation test either. I’m pretty sure...no...” He closed his eyes. “I’m certain I have the flu.”

* * *

“Now, quit fussing.” Tom ordered and smacked away Marian’s hand as she fluffed his pillow.

“I have to fuss. You’re sick.”

“I’m home. I’m getting better.”

Marian gave a fling of a hand and finished up. “Juice.” She pointed to the glass on the table. “Remote.” She handed it to Tom. “John Wayne movie already in the player. You are ready to go.” After bending down to kiss him, Marian gave a quick sniff and smiled. “Get some rest.”

“Whoa. Hold up,” Tom called to her.

“Yes?” Marian looked back at him as she tried to leave.

“Are you sick?”

“Who, me?” Marin giggled. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You sound stuffy…”

“Sinuses.” She held up her hand. “See, I was checked.”

“Let me look for the prick mark.”

“It’s there. Now watch your movie and rest.” She tried again to leave.

“Marian, I’m very serious. Are...are you sick?”

“No, Tom, no. I’ll check back in a bit.” Smiling once more, Marian pulled the bedroom door closed as she stepped into the hallway. Pausing there she lifted a tissue to her nose and wiped, taking a shivering breath as, feeling a chill, she wrapped her sweater tighter around her as she walked away.

* * *

Was his mother laughing? Thinking? Chris didn’t know, all he could see were her eyes, the rest of her face was covered with the blue mask. But he knew one thing for certain, his mother wasn’t crying and that made him feel good.

“Open up.” Dylan held the spoon near Chris’ mouth. “Take it.”

The spoon clanked as it glided against Chris’ teeth when he took the cough medicine and cringed.

“Lars said the cough has to break up.” She set the bottle on his dresser.

“It is breaking up. Listen.” Chris coughed and the congestion rumbled.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Dylan smiled and sat on the bed. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“I’m glad I’m home, too. It was bad down there, Mom. People crying, Mick kissing me all the time.”

Dylan snickered. “Mick kisses everybody. Been a problem of his since he was in school. How come you think he got beat up all the time? Kept on kissing people. Kissed your father once.”

“No, he did not.” Chris laughed which made him cough again. “But speaking of school. Will we ever go again, Mom?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I really don’t. Maybe when the flu is over, Patrick can teach.”

“Mick says Patrick has the flu.”

Dylan’s eyes widened. “He does?”

“Yep. When he stopped by this morning, he said he saw Patrick in the aid station.”

“Oh, no. I hope he gets better,” Dylan said with worry. “And poor Eunice Bender. They just started out. She’s probably really upset.”

“She died,” Chris said nonchalantly.

“Eunice Bender died?” Dylan asked shocked. “When?”

“Yesterday afternoon right before I came home. They were beating on her chest and stuff. Said she had infested heart failures.”

“Congestive heart failure?”

“That’s it.” Chris nodded. “I feel better, did I tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Dylan spoke dazed. “Did you see all this, Chris?”

“What? Eunice dying or them beating on her chest?”

“Both.”

“No.” Chris shook his head. “I saw them beating her, Lars and that Henry guy. But then the other little Burt or Kurt came over and said to them to stop. It was useless. Why do you think he said that Mom? Didn’t he like Eunice?”

“What he meant....” Dylan searched for the right words. “Was that Eunice probably was passed on for a while. Poor Patrick.”

“He has the flu.”

“You said that. And I...” Dylan quickly looked up when the door opened. “Dustin,” she scolded, “out.”

“I just wanted to say hi.” Dustin stepped inside.

“Me, too.” Tigger darted in.

“Out!” Dylan ordered.

“Can’t we stay by the door?” Dustin asked. “And just talk to him for a minute. We got our masks on.”

“Yeah,” Tigger repeated. “We got on our masks.”

“Mom?” Chris looked up to her. “They got on their masks.”

Dylan grumbled. “I know. But I’d rather keep you boys separated.”

Dustin laughed. “Mom, haven’t you figured out yet, there’s no way to keep us away from him.”

“I’m sure I can figure out some way,” Dylan spoke over Chris’ coughing.

“Mom, it’s called brother chivalry.” Dustin scoffed.

Noticing the violent sound of the cough, Dylan with concern, turned her head to Chris. “Are you all right?” She asked.

Mouth tightly closed, Chris nodded.

“What’s wrong?”

Cheeks puffed out, lips zipped, eyes watering, Chris muffled some noises.

“You need to spit?” Dylan asked, got another nod and lifted a cup to him. As soon as Chris relinquished what he held in his mouth, Dylan looked away from Chris to the loud sounds of disgust followed by the slamming of the door. Dustin and Tigger were gone. With a shrug she retrieved the cup. “Well, so much for brother chivalry.”

* * *

Mick shook his head, groaned and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I stop and visit you.”

Lying on the cot, refusing to show she was ill, Rose flipped him off.

“Nice. Thank you.”

“Use that authority and get my ass out of here.”

“It isn’t a matter of authority,” Mick said. “It’s a matter of getting the complete dose of antibiotics.”

“I can get them at home.”

“You get them here,” Mick argued. “They have to watch you. You can have a heart attack, have a reaction. Suddenly fall...silent.” He raised his eyebrow.

“Is that a fuckin’ dig?”

“Dig at what?” Mick tossed up his hands. “How come everyone else is either knocked out or loopy during this antibiotic phase and you’re still a feisty old broad.”

“Fuck you, I am not an old broad.” Rose folded her arms. “I want to go home.”

“Your home is up by Ashtabula. You mean you want to go to my home. And I say ‘no’.”

After flipping him off again, Rose motioned with her head. “Patrick’s sick.”

Mick looked over to where Patrick lay. “I know. It doesn’t seem right though, him laying here with everyone else.”

“What? He’s too good?”

“He’s been nothing but help. He should get some privacy.”

“What’s he know? He’s passed out.”

“Man,” Mick shook his head, “you are just full of compassion.”

Suddenly Rose’s demeanor changed. “I do have compassion. For those I love. Mick.” She grabbed his arm. “You guys are watching Tigger, right?”

“Yeah, we are. Both boys are getting round the clock checks. Trust me.”

“How often?” Rose questioned.

“Every two hours on the dot. Sometimes sooner. Check for fever, check for congestion. We’re on the ball. Don’t worry. If they get it, we’ll catch it within the time frame.”

“Even with Tigger?”

Mick winked. “Even with Tigger.”

He was having a walking meeting with Lars when Henry stopped the second he stepped into the gym.

“What’s the matter?” Lars asked.

“Him.” Henry pointed to Mick. “Chief Owens.”

“What about him?”

“Okay, I think I can pretty much call myself an expert about this flu. From what I learned, healthcare workers immediately came down with the flu within forty-eight hours of initially starting to help. Unprotected workers got hit with a vengeance. So....” He looked at Lars. “If that’s the case, if those are the facts, why is that man not down and out?”

“I don’t know.” Lars answered with a hard look at Mick. “But you know what?” He started to walk away from Henry. “I’m gonna find out.”

* * *

Tom had to admit he was tired and worn. His chest was hurting from the coughing and his throat was sore from forcing out the phlegm that always got stuck there. He could have probably just fallen fast asleep, but there was always something about the movie
The Green Berets
. No matter how many times he had seen it before, he could never turn away before watching the entire movie.

End music playing, touched once again by John Wayne’s heroism, Tom lifted the remote and flicked off the set. The silence of the room was broken with the crash of glass. Quickly he jolted his head toward the sound that seemed rather close. “Marian?” he called out. “Marian, you break something?”

He waited for a response and didn’t receive one. Figuring he wasn’t projecting his voice, he tried again. “Marian!” He coughed from the strain and grew worried at the silence.

Lifting the covers off his body, Tom slowly climbed out of bed. The room spun for a second from the lack of circulation. After catching his balance, Tom used the bed and other furniture for support and made his way across the bedroom.

He called the entire route. His ability to stand up straight was nil, and his hand stayed on the wall the length of the corridor. Just as he got to the top of the staircase and readied to descend, he froze.

Thinking that he saw wrong and hoping it was a trick his eyes played on him, Tom slowly looked behind him to the bathroom.

Feet. Marian’s feet.

Seeing this gave Tom an immediate infusion of strength. He spun around and flew into the bathroom.

Had he been wearing his bedroom slippers, at the force he ran inside, he probably would have fallen. His bare feet splashed in the puddle of water that splattered across the linoleum where Marian lay, unresponsive, unmoving. He knew she was still alive because he heard her breathing, and
that
wasn’t a good sign. When he dropped to his knees to aid his wife, he noticed the thin trickle of blood that flowed like a stream through the spilled water. Tom’s horror multiplied; not only did he hear the rumbling of congestion emanate from Marian’s chest, it was coupled with the sight of blood that completely encircled Marian’s head.

The shelves were empty, the products were removed, but the big white sink was the giveaway that it was, at one time, a broom closet. While Kurt took the time to x-ray Marian, Lars took the time to create a private space for her. He cleaned out the closet with the help of Mick, moved a hospital bed in there, and designated it Marian’s room.

She couldn’t be at home, Lars knew that. It was too far for him to constantly be going over to check on her. They had one doctor in the hospital who was fortunate enough to be showing immunity to the flu.