Jalal nodded again, “That’s good advice, Salim. “
Salim pointed to a spot overhead. Jalal examined the blue sky with the binoculars.
“Do you miss anything about America?” Jalal asked.
Salim thought about it for a minute, but had trouble gleaning down his long list to something that sounded worthy of being missed. “Do you miss anything about London?”
“Some.” Jalal sighed. “Coming here, is this what you thought it would be?”
Salim shook his head, but wasn’t sure what to say.
Chapter 7
Kapchorwa’s few hundred shanties, houses, buildings, and huts surrounded a particularly snaky section of red dirt road on the lower northern slopes of Mt. Elgon. The road straightened out east of town and didn’t hit any sizable population center until it was well into Kenya.
Behind the town to the south, Mt. Elgon, wrapped in misty forests and shades of green, rose to fourteen thousand feet. Up there, locals farmed coffee or worked at one of the resorts that catered to tourists anxious to hike the mountain and stand under Sipi Falls. To the northeast, more mountains grew up out of the fertile plains dotted with farms and forest. Far below to the west, the flat land stretched until all the details faded to a gray that was consumed by a sky blazing yellow and orange in the setting sun.
Austin always stopped for at least a moment to watch the sun set in the evenings. It was a wholly different experience than what he was used to back home in Denver—being on the plain, watching the sun sink behind the Rocky Mountains.
“Let’s go.”
Austin turned away from the yellow sky, took a few quick steps to catch up with Rashid, and together they walked up the center of the dirt road through the deserted town. An occasional muffled cry carried on the wind. Austin cocked his head to try to hear it again, but the sounds were elusive and soft, hard to define.
Ahead on the hospital’s wide front porch, a heavyset figure was reaching up to put a flame in the lantern that hung above the door.
“Electricity is out again,” Rashid deduced.
With the lantern’s glow growing, the woman went back inside.
Austin said, “That was Nurse Mary-Margaret, I think.”
“Yeah,” Rashid agreed.
They continued up the road, seeing no one until they climbed the six steps up to the hospital’s porch and let themselves in the front door. The smell of sickness rolled out of the interior gloom, turning Austin’s stomach.
Lanterns hanging down the length of the ward on the ceiling’s beams weren’t bright enough to lift the rectangular room entirely out of darkness. The concrete floor reflected little light, and the sea foam green paint on the lower half of the cinderblock walls didn’t help. A dozen screened windows were equally spaced across the white upper half of each of the walls. Those on the west side of the building let in the last of the sun’s rays.
At the other end of the ward, one door opened to a simple operating room, another to an exam room, and a supply closet. The two shabby desks that usually sat just inside and on either side of the door were gone. Not moved to anywhere Austin could see—they were just gone. Near the far end, Dr. Littlefield, an American, was talking to his Ugandan counterpart, Dr. Ruhindi. Nurse Mary-Margaret had just joined them. The two African nurses, faces covered with surgical masks, full aprons, and rubber gloves, were each busy doing something for one of the—
Austin’s mouth fell open as his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he saw the number of patients.
With forty-eight generously spaced beds, the hospital hadn’t been more than half full all summer. But extra cots had been brought in, all of which were full. Even the space between the beds was covered in rows of people lying on mats and blankets, sleeping, coughing, and bleeding. The smell of urine, feces, and vomit were thick in the air. Austin covered his mouth.
Some primal memory told him those people were dying, while instinct urged him to run.
The door banged closed. Nurse Mary-Margaret turned and hurried toward them. The look on her face made it clear that it had been a mistake for them to come inside.
Chapter 8
Austin couldn’t take his eyes off of the hundred people lying on soiled sheets as they coughed and wheezed and stared into space with all hope gone from their eyes. Nurse Mary-Margaret bodily pushed him and Rashid out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “Why did you come back?”
“Uh,” was all Austin could think to say, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
In a voice that seemed to come from somewhere down the street, Rashid asked, “Ebola?”
Nurse Mary-Margaret nodded and tears welled up in her eyes, but they didn’t flow. She had gotten very good at keeping them under control. “You should go to your sponsor’s house. Stay there.”
“Nobody’s home,” Austin said, as though that had any relevance. He was still reeling.
Mary-Margaret glanced over her shoulder at the closed door behind her.
“What?” Austin implored. There was something in that look.
Rashid asked, “Isaac…is he in there?”
For a second, Mary-Margaret didn’t answer. “Yes.”
Austin started putting the pieces together. “Benoit, Margaux. They’re not at the house.”
Mary-Margaret hesitated again. “Inside.”
“They have Ebola?”
Mary-Margaret shook her head but said, “Yes.”
Rashid asked, “Will they die?”
Nurse Mary-Margaret didn’t nod, she didn’t shake her head. She seemed stuck between the two gestures.
“That doesn’t answer the question.” Rashid was afraid. Whether for himself or the others, Austin couldn’t tell.
“There is no answer,” Mary-Margaret said.
The three looked at one another in silence, each waiting for one of the others to lead. Austin didn’t know what to do. Going back to the house, drinking—again—from the same water, the same cups, using the same utensils that Isaac, Benoit, and Margaux had used, would put him and Rashid at risk.
In many ways, it wasn’t a risk. If the Ebola virus was in the house, Austin feared they already had it. “I’ve heard that it’s transmitted by bodily fluids. What other ways can we catch it?” Austin looked at Rashid. “We may already be infected.”
“Why do you say that?” Mary-Margaret feigned doubt, but it was a thin, pointless mask.
Austin explained that they drank water when they got back to the house.
“There’s nothing certain about that.” Nurse Mary-Margaret shook her head. “Direct contact with the bodily fluids of something or someone who is infected is the only way we know for sure to contract Ebola. You’re probably not infected. Dump the water and boil everything when you get back to the house.”
“How did Isaac, Benoit, and Margaux get infected?” Austin asked.
“They were helping with the other patients. They’ve been here since it started.”
“When did it start?” Austin didn’t remember anything unusual in Kapchorwa when they left nearly a week earlier. Had the disease been present and he didn’t notice?
“The day after you left for Mbale.”
“How long does it take for the symptoms to show up after you’ve been exposed?”
“A few days to several weeks,” answered Mary-Margaret.
Austin gestured at Rashid. “So me and Rashid could already have it. We could have caught it before we left.”