“Nancy,” he said as she stood and ran out the door. “Nancy, what’s wrong?”
17
Lance Page felt hot. He was lying in his living room, watching television, and his eyelids were boiling. Sweat was pouring out of him, and he was shivering.
Someone knocked on his door. With great effort, he rose and answered it.
His supervisor, Michelle, was standing on the porch.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Sorry for popping in, but nobody’s phones are working. We think there’s a big outage or something.”
“It’s okay. What did you need, Michelle?”
“Hey, I know you just left, but you sure you can’t come in? It’s just that we can’t get a hold of Nancy, either, and we’re short two people. If you could come in, it would really help.”
He swallowed, and his throat was tight. “Maybe half a shift.”
“Half a shift would be an enormous help.”
“Okay. Give me fifteen.”
Lance put on his scrubs and sneakers, then headed out the door. He locked it behind him and then opened it again. He went to the fridge to get a soda and left again, heading toward Saint Anthony’s, which wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk from his house.
When he arrived, he went directly to the bathroom and used wet paper towels to mop his head, belly, and underarms. Then he clocked in and went to the nurse’s station for assignments.
The day was grinding slowly through, and Lance only lasted a few hours before he felt like it was time to go. He checked the board. A twelve-year-old boy named Max White had come to the ER with stomach pains, and his mother was worried that he’d gotten food poisoning from uncooked meat at a barbeque.
Lance went in and did his best to smile.
“How are ya guys?” he said.
“He’s started throwing up since we got here.”
Lance bent over to take the boy’s vitals, and a single drop of sweat rolled off his head and onto the boy. It struck his lips, and the boy wiped away the spatter with his arm without saying anything, but the mother said, “Excuse me, you dropped sweat on my son.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just really hot.” He moved away from him. “I’ll be right back.” Lance went out to the shift leader and said, “I have to leave. I don’t feel good at all, Michelle.”
“No prob. I think the rush has died down. Thanks for coming out. You gonna be able to make it tomorrow?”
“It’s my day off tomorrow.”
“Oh, right. Okay, have a good one then.”
“Thanks.”
After getting home, Lance slept for four hours. He hoped a nap would make him feel better, but when he woke up, the fever was worse. He tried calling his girlfriend to come and spend the night, but he was too weak to walk over to his phone. His throat still felt tight, and he was having trouble breathing. His lips and even his eyes were dry from dehydration, and he knew he had to drink something but was too faint to get anything.
With all the strength he could force out of himself, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He got as far as the bathroom before he sat on the toilet to relieve himself, but something was wrong. He didn’t have the normal sensation of release. It felt more loose and messy. He stood and looked down. The toilet water was completely dark; red-black streaks crossed the bowl.
Max White stood in his backyard with his two brothers and his two-year-old sister. He didn’t feel well and hadn’t for four days. He was hot and sweaty, and his mother kept giving him water, juice, and ice cream, but none of it made him feel better. He’d thrown up a couple of times, but that had stopped two days ago.
“Max, let’s play,” his brother Martin said. He flung a baseball at him, but Max couldn’t lift his arm in time to catch it. It struck him on the side of the head, and he fell back and lay on the grass. He wanted to lie in bed. It had been his mother’s idea to come out to get some air and sunshine. He sat up.
“You all right?” Martin asked.
Max stood. His throat was on fire, and he took the soda Martin was holding. He drank down a few gulps before handing it back to him. “I don’t feel good.”
“Oh my gosh!” Martin screamed. “Mom!”
Rebecca White came out of the house and saw Max collapsed on the grass. Martin was standing next to him. Her eldest son and young daughter were playing on the other side of the yard.
“Martin, what’s going on? What did you do to your brother?”
Martin was trembling. As she came upon Max, she screamed.
Blood was gushing out of his eyes and nose. He opened his mouth to talk, and a torrent of blood spewed out over Martin and the lawn. Max tried to cry, but vomited instead. Rebecca scooped up her son and ran to the car to drive him to the hospital, Max spitting up onto her chest and neck as she ran.
18
Howie woke with a banging in his head and was sitting up before he even knew where he was. He always thought that people who’d been knocked out woke up slowly, like they did in the movies. He’d thought his vision would be blurry at first and then he would hear things and slowly come to. But that was not what happened.
He was lost in a sea of darkness and barely aware of himself, and then, out of nowhere, he was back. He jumped up so violently that he tweaked his neck. He was leaning against a chain-link fence, but the area he was in was much smaller than what he remembered. Around him were four other men and only three cots.
“You all right?” one of them said, a man in a tank top, whose arms were covered with tattoos.
“That’s the second time that’s happened today.” Howie groaned, twisting his neck. “Where am I?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. We still in LA, though, but we ain’t near no beach.”
Howie looked around. He was surrounded by trees, and a single guardsman sat at a table, with his feet up.
“What is this place?”
“Told you, man, we don’t know nothin’. They ain’t sayin’ shit.”
Howie rose to his feet. He was dizzy and touched his face, feeling the stickiness of dried blood. “My daughter,” he said. “I left my daughter at that place by herself.”
“Take it up with him,” he said, pointing with his chin to the guardsman. “But he ain’t in a talkin’ mood. That one there tried to talk to him, and the soldier damn near shot him. If I were you, I’d keep quiet right now. Everyone’s on edge.”
Howie shook his head. “This is America,” he said, a hint of panic in his voice. “This is fucking America. They can’t do this.”
“Hey, man, you preachin’ to the choir. I lived off the grid in Montana lotta years. Then I come here for work and ain’t here but six months, and now I’m in a cage. But shit, how’d people like you not see this comin’? All them phone records and e-mails the government was collectin’. Our passwords, bank info, what movies and books we liked. What did you think they was gonna use all that for? This is about control, man. That’s the only thing government can do. Control. Ain’t got no other purpose. It’s blind to everything else.”
Howie leaned back against the fence, putting his hands to his head. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but it didn’t help. “There’s gotta be a way out of here. I have to get back to my daughter.”
He shrugged. “Wish I could help, man. But the only door’s got a lock on it, and that muthafucker right there’s got the key. How you think we get it?”
Howie glanced at the guardsman and then back to the man with the tattoos. The chain-link fence was a military brand and the holes were much larger than standard. “Just do what I say, and follow my lead.” He shouted to the guardsman, “Hey, hey, please come here. Hey!”
The guardsman appeared annoyed. He was playing on a cell phone, which he put down, and stood up. Howie saw the outline of the rifle slung over his shoulder. The guardsman came to within a couple of feet of the fence.
“What do you want?” he asked.