Cough (17 page)

Margaret Baker was always considered a spry women. In her eighties she moved faster than most people half her age and that held true as sat up from her cot in the fire hall, lunged from the bed, raced across the room and slammed into the wall.

Wells hurried over to help her and Dr. Harmon stopped him.

“Let her go. She’ll do it three more times, go back to bed, and next fifteen minutes she’ll repeat,” Dr. Harmon said. “We’ve moved the dangerous ones to the back.”

“This is insane.”

“Did you hear the news?” Dr. Harmon asked. “This is normal with the second wave. The virus is causing hallucinations.”

“For how long?”

“We don’t know. The hallucinations are a blessing. Because they don’t realize how sick they are. I feel bad for the ones not hallucinating.” He pointed to a man on a cot, curled up on his side, hacking as he slept. Sprinkles of blood stains laced his pillow. “They’re suffering. This thing is not pretty.”

“But not everyone is getting infected. We had forty people in here.”

“We did. I sent the ones that didn’t show any symptoms home. Stay on their property, call if they need anything. Twenty of the forty in here got sick. I’m gonna guess ten of the remaining will be sick tomorrow, the next day a few more until it hits all those who will get it. Just like the flu.”

“But some won’t.”

“Some won’t.”

“Was there any warning when it started?” Wells asked.

“Some said they felt sick. Hard to breathe, others started with a nose bleed. Actually about a third of them started with a nose bleed.”

“Any official word on this?”

Dr. Harmon shook his head. “Cable’s back and any information I get is the same as everyone else. The news. And the news just doesn’t know. The doctor who did the most research, one of the guys in the car accident here, is still in a coma. He’s the one with the answers. It’s all guess work right now.”

Wells took a look around the fire hall as he and the doctor moved off to toward the front near the entrance. A week earlier they were tearing down from Bess and Jim’s wedding and getting ready for Bingo. Now it was set up as a supply distribution center and medical station. Some of the ill were in cots, some were self tormenting. Screaming, shouting, hitting things, tearing apart pillows. One thing they all had in common … they all coughed.

“I’m documenting,” Dr. Harmon said. “Everything. Every hour, every symptoms, every phase. I want to be more prepared for the next round.”

“Can it change?”

“I would think not. Or rather hope not. I don’t have the hands to deal with this and there is really nothing I can do. I don’t know if they’ll live, die, recover or stay like this.”

Wells sighed out heavily.

“Have you been out to the check points since the last round got sick?”

“No, I was actually heading out that way now.”

“Can you let me know what you see? What you find?”

“Absolutely.” Wells reached for the door and stopped. “Doc. Do you think they’ll find a cure? A treatment for this?”

Dr. Harmon pressed his lips tightly together and hands in his pocket exhaled. “I do. But in my medical opinion. It doesn’t matter. At this rate... it’s already too late.”

<><><><>

His brother said to meet him on Downy Road, but Albert was already there. He felt a sense of obligation to check on those who stayed in the line of traffic, bring them water. Most of all Albert felt compelled to go as close to the shut down as possible.

Over twenty four hours earlier, the military rolled into and around town. Then they just focused around town.

Satellite photos showed the barricades even though there wasn’t a huge population in Littlefield, Albert wondered how they were managing to keep everyone in. How the barricades were overrun.

He toted a red wagon filled with food and water. He had a good mile to reach the front of the line, it wouldn’t have taken him long had he not slowed down to look.

There was no help he could offer. Families from the cars had set up camp outside their vehicles. The sounds of coughing and crying were strong. The noise of the squeaky wheeled wagon was buried beneath the sounds of the sick.

Why didn’t they go home? Why did they choose to wait it out?

He gave water to them that was all he could do.

Mr. Montgomery had his wife on a leash made from his belt. As Albert passed their car, the fifty year old woman raced out, swinging her arms, her mouth moved as if she were trying to say something. Sounds emerged, nothing in the form of words.

Albert stared at her for the longest time, her deeply blood shot eyes, blood laced nose. Her skin pale.

He reached out his hand to her, she was fevered.

“I’m sorry,” Albert said. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“Me, too.”

Albert jolted at the sound of the voice. Mr. Montgomery came from the others side of the car. He was ill. That was obviously.

“I didn’t know what else to do with her. Last I heard, before my car ran out of gas was some people hallucinated. She’s not dangerous, well maybe to herself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mr. Montgomery coughed. “I suppose I should be glad both of us aren’t that way.”

Albert nodded. Trying to avoid talking about it. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Albert started to walk.

“I thought of killing her,” Mr. Montgomery said.

Albert stopped.

“Was that wrong?”

“Thinking about it?” Albert paused. “No. She’s suffering.”

“I’m been thinking about it since she got like this three hours ago. She’s enraged, crying, screaming, fevered. How long? How long will she be like this? Will she live? Die?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, thinking about it isn’t wrong ... is doing it?”

“It depends on what you think is wrong,” said Albert. “What is the lesser evil?”

“I guess. Will God forgive me?”

“Honestly.” Albert squinted and looked up to the sky. “I don’t think God is paying much attention right now.”

Mr. Montgomery leaned against his car. He winced when his wife ran forward then slammed back.

Albert walked on.

About ten cars later, Albert heard a single shot. He didn’t question what that was, he knew. Just as he turned to peer over his shoulder, he heard another. That told Albert enough. He didn’t look back. No need to. He moved forward.

<><><><>

Stokes had appointed himself ration supervisor. While electricity was still up and running, he made his way to Breyer’s market and collected all things that wouldn’t last much longer, with or without power. The big thing being the large amount of bologna that the store pre sliced for the Jumbo deli meat sale.

He took a good hour packing the sliced meat that was held in the cooler, then loaded a truck with bread and milk.

Wells had sent word to the townspeople to mark their homes with a yellow marker if no one was sick, red if they were, black if they were just waiting.

“Please change your flags so we can keep track.’ Wells urged.

Problem was, a lot of the townspeople tried unsuccessfully to leave. Though a large group had abandoned their cars and headed back to their houses.

He made stops at the houses that were flagged, because they were the only houses he knew were occupied. People were grateful for the food.

Stokes didn’t mind doing his part, but the empty streets void of people made it eerie. There were a few more bodies on the street. Some wrapped in blankets, curtains, all placed by the sidewalk. He made a note of where they were.

He drove down Macy’s street.

She was the last house on the right.

No flag, yellow flag, red, black, black.

It seemed the yellow flags were few and far between.

Some of those homes took extra precaution. Stokes could see the plastic placed over windows and doors. They were air tight. Stokes had no doubt that they would survive and ride it out.

A single back cloth hung between the two doors of Macy’s duplex and as he pulled over, he watched Macy walk out and change the flag. His heart dropped to his stomach when he saw it was red.

Immediately, he jumped from the car.

“Macy?” He called out with question. “Who is sick?”

She lowered her head. “Lila.”

“Oh, man.”

“Conrad, I want to go and check on her. I heard her coughing. It started about an hour ago. She sent me a message to stay away. But she needs help.”

“Have you talked to her since?”

“She stopped texting, I’m scared, and it’s quiet. But I don’t want to expose …”

“No.” He held up his hand. “Stay away. You guys have not gotten sick. Don’t test the odds. Did she say she was just coughing? Was there any other noise.”

“You mean was she violent like the news said people are getting?” Macy asked. “Not that I heard. She said she was sick and couldn’t stop coughing. No other noise.”

Stokes placed his hands on Macy’s shoulder. “Go on in the house. I’ll go check on her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m positive.” Stokes gave an upward nod of his head to signal to Macy to go into her side of the duplex and then after he knew she was inside, he knocked on Lila’s door.

No reply.

“Lila,” Stokes called out. “This is Agent Stokes. I hear you’re sick. I’m coming in. Okay?”

He waited, when he didn’t receive a reply, he turned the knob and opened the door. “Lila,” he called out when he walked in.

The house was quiet, too quiet for someone that had a coughing virus and that gave Stokes a bad feeling. There weren’t any particular smells, either.

“Lila.”

She wasn’t on the first floor. Stokes somehow expected to discover her, like they did Rege, in the kitchen. But she was a contact victim, according to Kimble’s research, contact victims lived longer. They didn’t die immediately like the ones who were exposed to the pure virus.

He peered out the kitchen window to see if she was in the backyard. She wasn’t.

The duplex was small. Two rooms on the first floor. A living room and kitchen, the staircase to the upstairs was located in the living room.

Stokes walked up, gliding his hand against the stained wooden railing as his feet creaked on the floorboards of every step.

The second floor had two bedrooms and a bathroom, and as he stood at the top of the steps he felt a breeze hit his right arm. In a home that should have had air conditioning on, there was a window open somewhere.

The light bang of a door, made him jolt and he turned to his right to see the ajar door, hitting off the frame from the force of the breeze.

He wanted to call out again, but knew it was useless.

He moved down the small hallway and pushed open the door.

As soon as he stepped inside, he knew his search was over.

The bedroom was painted a pretty blue with white lace curtains. The full size bed had a blue and white quilt and tucked neatly under them lying peacefully was Lila.

Stokes didn’t need to check her to know she had passed, but he went over to her anyhow.

She looked peaceful, not sick. She lay on her back, propped up on a pillow. Her hands rested on her stomach on top of a bible and pair of rosary beads.

Her eyes were closed. It was evident she didn’t suffer. Was it that she was too frail to begin with to handle it? Then Stokes saw it. The half full glass of water on the nightstand next to her and the open and empty prescription pill bottle.

He looked at the label. They were pain pills for someone else. Stokes wasn’t sure how many had been in the bottle, but after checking for a pulse and finding none, he knew there were enough.

Lila knew there was enough.

Lila also knew the virus was bad and deadly. She made the decision that before the virus controlled her, she was taking control. A part of Stokes envied that strength.

He lifted the quilt to cover her and then he stepped from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Despite the fact that Macy told Stokes she would wait inside her house, it was driving her insane. It was duplex and the one thing about living in a shared building was noises travelled through the thin walls.

She immediately went into her side and sat on the staircase where she could hear.

She heard him call out, walk around and more so, she heard him go up the steps.

It was only a few minutes and he came back down and upon hearing that, she went back outside.

Stokes was walking out.

“How is she?” Macy asked.

Stokes pulled the door closed and stepped outside. “She … she passed away.”