The Flu 1/2 (41 page)

Dylan made a mental reminder to have Mick check the water heater, because the hot water felt just a little cool. But even less than hot, the shower still felt refreshing. Of course, not as much as the four hours of sleep she had. It was the first time in days she had that much sleep at one time. Mick never woke her. He only left a note that he had checked the boys. Then again, that was a while ago and it was time to check them once more.

As she finished brushing her teeth, fully dressed and ready to start the day, Dylan opened the bathroom door and jumped, startled to see Dustin standing there. “I’m sorry, honey, all yours,” she told him.

“Mom?” Dustin cleared his throat. “I’m not sure, but I think I feel a little stuffy.”

With a sinking heart, Dylan lifted her hand to Dustin’s face. “You’re not warm.”

“So what do we do?”

“Oh, we take you down and get you tested.”

“Mom,” Dustin whined. “I get tested all the time.”

“And it doesn’t hurt to be safe.” Dylan saw that he was going to complain. “No arguments. Get dressed, I’ll check Tigger and then we’ll head down. Okay?”

Dustin nodded.

“Good. Get ready, I’ll be back.” Dylan kissed Dustin on the cheek and walked down the hall. Though she could have waited a little longer to check, previous false test or not, she wasn’t taking a chance. To Dylan, being uncertain meant any symptoms were mild, and mild symptoms told her that, if it was the flu, it was early enough to stop it.

* * *

Bodies lined up outside of the school were covered and waiting to be placed on the truck that would take them to the old Tool and Die building. The sight made Mick stop. A few hours earlier there wasn’t a line of deceased. He knew there were deaths. He had heard that from Haddock, who was doing pretty good at thwarting the flu.

Mick watched the few men that had volunteered lift the bodies. After saying a short prayer, he fell back on the thought that put him in a semi-good mood. Word from Lars was that the second wave was slowing down. Four more days and Lars was confident that all those in Lodi who would catch it would have caught it. The countdown was underway in Mick’s mind.

In the mood to harass Patrick, possibly torment him about slacking on his food stockpiling responsibilities, Mick entered the gym.

He could see Patrick lying on the cot sleeping and that added fuel to Mick’s playful fire. “Hey,” Mick called to him. “Man, sick or not, you are lazy.” He gave a light smack to Patrick as he walked around to face him. “You gonna get....” Mick froze. His heart dropped when he stared at Patrick’s wide open eyes “Oh my God.” Laying his hands on Patrick’s shoulder, Mick felt the coolness of his body. As he rolled Patrick onto his back, he saw the entire left side of Patrick’s body was black from the settled blood. “Lars,” Mick called out. “Lars!” Nearly hyperventilating, Mick shook his head. “Not you…not....”

“What hap....” Lars didn’t need to ask when his eyes fell upon Patrick’s body.

“Lars?” Mick questioned. “You said he beat this. You said he beat the septicemia.”

Lars swallowed with difficulty. “There are other things that are just as threatening. I keep...I keep telling people this, yet everyone remains so confident.” His final word dropped with an abundance of sadness. He lifted the blanket whispering, “I’m sorry, Patrick, my friend.”

Watching the interaction sent Mick into a flurry of confusion. He didn’t understand it; he had assumed all was fine. Patrick, not a few hours earlier,
was
fine. Mick had tried to keep a mental distance from all that was happening; that was how he stayed so strong. Yet here he was, unable to distance himself. Patrick was his friend. He didn’t know how to feel, or how to act. All he knew was that he had to get out of there. Hurrying through the narrow aisle of cots filled Mick with even more sadness as he rushed to leave the gym.

He flung the doors open in his haste to get outside, and the fresh air brought the vision of death again. Wanting badly to catch his bearings, Mick started to turn to walk away, but as he did, he saw Dylan and Dustin approach the gym.

“No,” he ground out. He knew they would only be approaching for one reason. “Dylan.” He raced over.

“Mick,” Dylan’s voice quivered a little.

“What’s wrong?” Mick asked.

“Dustin has the flu.”

Mick reached out laying his hands on Dustin’s face. “I’ll get him in there. Where’s Tigger?” he asked, almost panicked.

“Mick, calm down,” Dylan said, sensing his anxiety. “Tigger’s home. He’s fine. And Dustin...” She smiled. “He’ll be fine. We got it early.”

“Yeah.” Dustin smiled. “I don’t even feel sick. Just a little stuffy. Mom? Go on home with Tigger.”

Dylan nodded and embraced him. “I love you. I’ll be back when they hit you with that second dose.”

“Ok,” Dustin said. “Go on, though. Mick’s here.”

Sliding her hand down his face, Dylan backed up. “Take care of him, Mick.”

“I will.” Mick put his arm around Dustin. “Let’s get you inside.” He started to walk with him.

“You all right, Mick?” Dustin asked.

“Um, yeah.” Mick pulled Dustin closer and kissed him on the cheek as he did.

“You seem worried. Don’t be getting worried on me, Mick. I mean, I barely have a sniffle, I haven’t even sneezed yet. We got it early so there’s nothing to worry about. We beat it, right?”

Mick slowed down his pace as he walked into the gym. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Kurt and Henry were removing Patrick’s body from the cot. A hard lump formed in Mick’s throat.

“Mick? I’ll beat it, right?”

“Yeah.” Mick gave a soft smile to Dustin. “You’ll beat it, Dustin. You’ll beat it.”

Hands folded as in prayer, Mick kept his eyes steady on a sleeping Dustin. Like with Chris, he never left his side. He didn’t understand the feelings in his gut. He tried to decipher them and reason them through, but he was scared for Dustin and a sick feeling hit him every time Dustin took one of those breaths that grew increasingly labored. A few hours earlier he’d spoken with Kurt; Kurt told Mick how impressively early Dustin checked into the station. How ‘on top’ of it the mature young man was. Mick fed on that, trying to derive some comfort from those words, but they weren’t relieving him. They didn’t help ease the worry. Perhaps Patrick was too much on his mind for Mick to think clearly or feel confident, maybe because he
had been
confident that Patrick would be fine and that belief had slapped him in the face. To Mick, Patrick was the epitome of proof that nothing should be assumed and nothing should be taken for granted.

So engrossed in his thoughts, in what was happening, and nearly hypnotized by watching Dustin, Mick jolted a little when he felt someone brush against him. Dylan laid her hand on his back.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“What are you doing here?” Mick asked.

“I got tired of waiting. It’s been over twelve hours.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m getting nervous. How is he?” Dylan placed her hand on Dustin. “Mick, he’s warm.”

“Yeah, I know. And really congested.” He pulled the covers up further over Dustin.

Dylan’s eyes rose to the empty IV bag. “What’s going on? Why haven’t they started his second bag?”

“I don’t know. Maybe...” Mick let out a breath and smiled. “Here comes Lars now. They probably got busy.”

Lars slowly approached the cot. “Dylan, what uh, what are you doing down here?”

“I came to check on Dustin,” Dylan said. “Mick hadn’t come home. But since I see you’re getting ready to start the second—”

“Can I see you two outside for a moment?” Lars asked. “Please.”

Mick’s eyes shifted to Dylan as he stood up. “Lars?”

“Please,” Lars whispered, then without waiting, walked across the gym.

Dylan knew something wasn’t right; her reaction time was slow, so she didn’t move at first. Then, clenching Mick’s hand tightly, they walked out of the gym. When they stepped outside, Lars stood there, his back to them, his hand resting on the back of his neck.

“Lars?” Dylan called him.

His loud sigh echoed and then Lars turned around. He stared with heartbreaking intensity at Mick and Dylan.

That was enough for Mick. His eyes closed. “No.”

Dylan quickly looked at Mick “No what?” She glanced to Lars. “What?”

“Dylan...” Lars stepped to her, “there will be no second bag. Take Dustin home.”

Mick could feel the pain rising inside of him. It crept in, rumbled from his chest to his throat. He closed his eyes tighter and his hand went to his face. He screamed inside.

“What...what are you saying?” Dylan asked with worry. “Lars, what are you saying?” She stepped to him. “We brought him here early enough. Didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Lars stated. “The time frame was perfect. His levels of septicemia were very low. But...but Dustin failed to respond to the therapy. His levels rose.”

“No.” Dylan shook her head and all the breath escaped her body. “No. Keep trying.”

“Dylan, I’m sorry.” Lars nodded slowly, sadly, and walked toward the gym.

“No!” Dylan grabbed his arm. “Try it again, Lars. Try it again. Please,” she beseeched him. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Lars shook his head. “You must take the boy home.” He couldn’t speak or look at Dylan anymore, and needing to get from her, he went inside.

“Lars! That’s my son!” Dylan screamed, raging toward the door but was stopped by Mick. She couldn’t process this reality; it wasn’t happening, it
couldn’t
be happening, but the second she looked at the expression on Mick’s face, she crumpled into the reality, fell into his arms, and broke down. “No, Mick....” she whimpered, buried within his tight grasp, “no.”

* * *

The tip of Tigger’s tiny nose fit perfectly between Mick’s slightly parted lips. With closed eyes, he kissed him, then pulled back to look at the sleeping child, so innocent, lying in the center of his and Dylan’s bed, curled up and lost beneath the covers. Tigger hadn’t awoken even as he was being moved from his bed. There was a lot of shuffling around, and it surprised Mick that none of the boys woke up during the process. To him, that was good, no questions would be asked that Mick and Dylan weren’t ready to answer.

Slipping quietly from the bed after stealing a few moments with Tigger, Mick left the room. He walked two doors down to Tigger’s room where they had taken Dustin. Reaching for the doorknob, Mick paused when he heard the muffled sob. If it were possible, his heart broke again. Slowly he opened the door and as he did, he looked at Dylan. Her head rested on Dustin’s leg as she sat on the floor next to the bed.

Dylan heard him and raised her eyes; then she sobbed again and her head dropped.

How Mick was even able to breathe at that moment he didn’t know. It felt to him as if he had lost all ability to do anything. Think. Walk. His body felt heavier and his hand rested firmly on Dustin’s leg as he made his way next to Dylan.

Dylan sobbed as she spoke. “This isn’t happening,” she whimpered. “Oh, God,” she cried. “This can’t be happening, Mick.”

Mick was always strong, never one to be labeled silent, but at that second he couldn’t speak. His throat closed in each attempt to do so. He laid his free hand on Dylan’s back and inched closer to her, dropping his head to her arm.

Dylan’s head lifted only slightly. Her vision was blurred with the tears that welled in her eyes with a vengeance before they fell. “I keep hoping there was a mistake.” She felt Mick grab her arms and she moved into his embrace. “There isn’t a mistake, is there?” Again she sniffled, wiping her hand across her cheek. “What do we tell him when he wakes up? How do we tell him?” Her words lost all articulation as she whispered softly. “What am I gonna do, Mick? He’s my son.” Crying, her head fell back down to Dustin’s leg and her hands gripped him with desperation. “He’s my son.”

October 3
^rd

“
Break it up!”

It was the loudest Mick could ever recall himself yelling. Even thinking back to his years in the service, he didn’t remember ever yelling that loud, that deep, and with that much emotion as he did at the two men fighting at the food center.

“
You come in here and fight about fuckin’ milk! There are other things to worry about. Keep it up and you’ll find your own fuckin’ milk. Your own fuckin’ food. I won’t put up with it!’

Crash!

What had caused Mick to crack like this, painfully slamming one man into a wall and the other into a shelving unit? Was it Mick’s inability to deal with the emotions that raged through him? He would guess that was the case, that and the fact that despite where he wanted to be, where his priorities screamed he’d go, he was stuck here. He was still distributing food, still breaking up fights, and still maintaining calm.

And on top of the events that transpired before the sun had even risen into the clear sky, Mick was moving bodies. Too many bodies.