The Flu 1/2 (40 page)

Marian needed to be watched. Tom couldn’t do it, despite how insistently he argued with Lars. Lars ordered twenty-four more hours of rest.

“Tom,” Lars said as he stepped into the very small room, “I told you earlier to go home.”

“You said rest. I’m resting. Aren’t I sitting in this chair?”

“Yeah, go on,” Lars said with sarcasm. “You sit in that chair. You rest, then you have a heart attack when the fluid squeezes the hell out of your heart and suffocates it. Because it’s not the pneumonia, congestive heart failure is what is killing those who don’t pass on from septicemia.”

“I always hated you.” Tom held Marian’s hand.

“No, you did not. You were just jealous....” Lars pulled up a chair. “Because I was her first.”

“First what?” Tom asked.

“First love,” Lars exhaled.

Tom laughed. “Oh, shut up, Lars. You know that she felt sorry for your pathetic skinny ass because you were this young kid in college, the brainiac who everyone picked on. Delusional then, delusional now.”

“Yes, well...no one knows that. Tom…we agreed,” Lars said, “I put that awning on the video store, you never tell anyone the truth about my one true love.”

“Stalker,” Tom snickered. “Anyhow, deliver it to me, Lars. I have a good feeling.”

“As well you should.” Lars explained. “That’s why I want you to go home. Nine stitches, a concussion, and the flu.” He whistled. “But you’re lucky. She’s been symptomatic for at least a day. A day, twenty-four hours. If she was septic, she would die. She’s not septic.”

The appropriate reaction would be to show his relief, but Tom didn’t feel the need to outwardly acknowledge it. Long before Lars had said anything, he knew that Marian would be fine. He’d been married to her too long, and was too in tune with his wife, not to be that sure.

* * *

Though his complete exhaustion caused his body to sink into the bed, Mick didn’t sleep. Even with his clothes on, he just enjoyed lying there on his back with Dylan in his arms.

Just a moment or two stolen in the quiet of the evening, before Mick began round fifty.

“And she’s gonna be fine,” Mick told Dylan.

“I know. Lars told me,” Dylan spoke as if her thoughts were focused elsewhere.

“Nine stitches in her head.” He received a relaxed ‘a-hmm’ from her. “Dylan...quit that.”

“What?” She lifted her eyes to him. “I just find it curious how your nipples get so hard through your tee shirt for no reason.”

“It isn’t for no reason, you keep rubbing them to make them that way. Now stop.” He lifted her left hand from his chest. His eyes caught a glimpse of the wedding band and he smiled. He rolled her fingers around his hand and kissed them. “Have I told you lately how happy I am you married me?”

“You tell me every day.”

“That’s because I am.” Mick kissed her then lifted his eyebrows at the double knock on the wall behind his head. He grumbled, “Chris is most definitely feeling better.”

Dylan smiled. “He should be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired,” Chris’ voice carried through the wall.

Mick shook his head. “At least Dustin and Tigger are out.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I would suggest...you know. But...” he motioned his head toward the wall.

Dylan laughed.

Chris pounded on the wall.

Chuckling, Dylan snuggled closer to Mick. “We should sleep. Both of us. Just like this.”

“Want to?” Mick asked.

From the other side of the wall, Chris replied. “Please. I need quiet.”

Mick lifted his arm and banged once. “Go to sleep.” Arm still out, he reached to the night stand and grabbed the alarm clock. He started to set it. “I’ll get up in an hour, check the boys, then crash for the other two. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good.” Dylan reached down for the blanket and covered them, then snuggled up close to Mick. Her hand rested on his chest.

“Don’t play with my nipple,” Mick joked.

Chris gave a pound. “That’s gross.”

Smiling, Mick looked down at Dylan. “You didn’t say anything about what Lars told me.”

“I’m glad.” Dylan nodded. “Very. But it doesn’t seem quite fair.”

“I blame it on the swine flu when I was four.”

“That’s not what I mean. It is fair about that, but not about us.”

Mick looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

Dylan exhaled. “Well, look at us. Look at our family. There’s you. And knock on wood,” Dylan reached and knocked lightly on the night stand, “I’m not sick, Dustin and Tigger so far have been spared when almost all the other kids are ill. Chris made it. My dad, my mom, your mom. We’re lucky, and then I look at the Ross family. Both their boys died this morning and Mrs. Ross isn’t gonna make it.”

Mick closed his eyes. “There is no rhyme or reason, Dylan, for what is happening. None.” After a pause, Mick glanced down at her. “I want to ask you something.”

Three soft pounds hit against the wall. “Ask her when you wake up!” Chris shouted.

“Go to sleep,” Mick ordered him then directed his attention to Dylan. “I know we’ve never discussed it. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot for some reason. The world right now...is gonna be fucked up. I know that, you know that. But I think, no, I know I’m strong enough to take care of you all despite the odds. Do you believe that?”

“With all my heart.”

Mick exhaled. “OK, without making me feel stupid, and without shooting me down right away, will you think about something? I know we aren’t that young anymore, but we’re still young enough. Let’s...when this thing is all over with, let’s have a baby, Dylan.”

Dylan lifted her head from his chest. She stared at him for a few seconds then whispered, “Mick.”

“Okay, go on. Say something sarcastic.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You really want to have a baby with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Mick.” She grinned as she exhaled and giggled. “Oh, Mick, I am so happy to hear you say that.”

“Why?” Mick asked, confused.

“Because I was so scared. I was scared you
would
think we weren’t young enough. I was scared you
would
think this world is too fucked up.”

“Dylan, what are you talking about?”

“Mick. I was scared to tell you I
am
pregnant. We’re having a baby, Mick.”

“You’re lying,” Mick said with disbelief.

“Yeah. I’m lying.” Dylan waited for him to groan. “No, I’m not. We are.” She looked straight into his eyes. “I’m about two months along.”

“You...you....oh my God.” Mick ran his hand down his face. “Oh my God.” He grinned. “We’re having a baby?”

“Yes. So I take it...you’re happy?”

“Dylan,” Mick sat up, pulling her to him, “do you realize, I couldn’t ask for my life to be more complete? We’re...we’re...” Mick let out a loud ‘whew!” then laughed. “We’re having a baby!”

Both at that moment looked at the wall and waited for the pounding to start. Just as they both shrugged thinking Chris was finally asleep, they jumped as the bedroom door flew open.

Chris stood there, pale, shaky, and looking shocked. “You’re having a baby?”

Grinning, Dylan nodded.

“Oh, that is so wrong,” Chris gasped. “That is just so wrong.”

Mick slowly sat up straighter. “It’s not wrong, Chris. There’s nothing wrong about us having a baby.”

“Not the baby. That’s good news. But I know how babies are made, Mick.” Chris gave a knowing nod. “And if you guys can’t have sex until you’re sixty, how in the heck did it happen?”

After seeing the confusion on Dylan’s face, Mick plopped backwards with a moan. “My mom.”

* * *

Lars, maybe. A quiet med station, or darkness. Patrick expected to see any of these things when he drowsily opened his eyes but not a smiling Mick.

Mick grinned widely and chewed his gum as if he knew a secret.

“Mick?” Patrick questioned.

“Hey.” Mick pulled up a chair. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Why? You should be sleeping; you look terrible.”

“Me?” Mick laughed as he sat down. “I’m not the one with the flu. In fact...that’s why I’m here. Guess what?”

Patrick shook his head.

“Lars did a test.” Mick leaned into Patrick. “I’m immune to it.”

“No.”

“Yep.” Mick leaned back.

“That sucks.”

Mick chuckled cockily and smiled wider, then sniffed hard. “Yep. Smell that flu.”

“You’re sick.”

“No, you are.”

“How’s the family?”

“Hanging in there,” Mick replied. “Marian has the flu, but she isn’t septic. Tom’s getting well. My mother is still bitching and Chris is recovering.”

“Tigger?”

“Hanging in there. Not sick.” Mick looked at Patrick. “How are you feeling? I hear you beat the twelve hour mark.”

“Yeah, how about that? How’s everyone holding up today?”

Mick shrugged. “Panicking. We’re starting to uh…we’re starting to lose people now.” His voice cracked and then Mick cleared his throat. “Not as many as the rest of the world, though.”

“We’re still losing them,” Patrick said sadly. “I’ll never get over this.”

“Sure you will.” Mick tossed out a hand. “Lars said you beat....”

“Not the flu,” Patrick whispered. “For what I did.” He saw the confusion on Mick’s face. “Come on, Mick, you know I’m responsible for this.”

Mick stared for a second. “Don’t you think you’re being a little full of yourself taking credit for a history-making plague?”

“Not the plague. I mean what happened in Lodi. If those FBI agents weren’t coming after me, they would have never brought the flu.”

“They didn’t give Lodi the flu,” Mick argued. “The fuckin’ cat did.”

“Who brought the cat?” Patrick asked. “The FBI agents. If they weren’t chasing me, they wouldn’t have been outside the city with an infected animal that got in here.”

“Yeah,” Mick nodded. “OK, I can see why you blame yourself. Good point.”

“I should have never have come to Lodi.”

“Patrick,” Mick gave him a nudge, “it’s really asinine to blame yourself for this. For the flu. I hoped with all my heart, but I never truly thought it would pass us by. My big fear was, what happens if it’s dormant and it hits us after Lars moves on, or after the supplies run bad? It hit us when we were ready. And if you want to blame yourself for anything, blame yourself for the fuckin’ stupid way these cots are set up.”

“Excuse me?” Patrick questioned. “What’s wrong with the cots? It took a lot of thought and planning.”

“I have to squeeze through. When I do, I bump sick people.”

“Then don’t walk around. But I utilized a lot of space. We got over a hundred more cots in here than we thought.”

“That’s right.” Mick smiled. “And you also got over three thousand syringes prepared for immunizations, tubes for testing, tables… You have a lot to blame on yourself, and I say, if it wasn’t for you being so gung ho to help Lars, we wouldn’t have had the efficiency we have. That’s what I blame you for. Now the people of Lodi,” Mick added a joking tone to his voice, “I hear they’re wanting to hang you when it’s done.”

“That’s not....” Patrick paused to cough. He cringed as he grabbed his chest.

“You OK?” Mick asked.

“Yeah. Just a sharp pain.” He held the look of pain for a moment then let it go. “I’ll be fine.”

“Patrick, when this thing is done with, are you staying in Lodi?” Mick asked.

“I was thinking about it. We started that long term survival thing. Then again, I have the hideaway.”

“What’s that?”

“My final place,” Patrick explained. “Up on the Canadian side of the lake. A cabin, lots of land, secluded. I was going there when I couldn’t run in the States anymore.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. Why, wanna pack up everyone and go? Got the keys and the map at the house.”

“I might. Something to think about. But right now you...” Mick swatted Patrick’s leg as he stood up, “need to rest. I just wanted to stop by and torment you some.”

“And you did.” Patrick slightly shook his head and chuckled. “Immune.” He coughed and cringed.

“What can I say?” Mick lifted his hands with an arrogant look. He saw Patrick start to drift. “Patrick…one more thing. You said you should have never come to Lodi. I just wanna let you know, criminal or not,” Mick winked, “you’re a good guy. I’m really glad you ended up here. I made a friend in you I’d like to keep.”

“Thanks, Mick, that means a lot. More than you realize.”

Mick smiled gently. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

With a soft “goodnight” Patrick closed his eyes.

October 2
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