The pressure built behind his eyes, and he knew another sneeze was coming. It wasn’t good to stay much longer. Taking a breath, he grabbed that bag, and raised his eyes to Marian who stood at the other end of the room.
“I’ve got to go,” he stated.
Marian whimpered. “Tom.” She took a step to him.
“No. Stay back.” He held up his hand. “You aren’t sick, so you might not be exposed yet. Good thing…” he coughed and chuckled sadly, “Good thing we had that spat last night and I slept on the couch, huh?” He lifted the bag and turned. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Let me go with you,” Marian beseeched.
“You heard what they said yesterday when they warned us it was coming. They need to keep confusion to a minimum at the aid station. They’ll hit me with those antibiotics and send me home in a day or so. But I have to go. Time is valuable here. I’m an old man.”
Marian’s head dropped. “I’ll pray.”
“You do that.” Tom walked to the door and reached for it. “Ya know… I still am madly in love with you after all these years.”
A single tear ran down Marian’s cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Have no fear.” Tom opened the door. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy so you can have Lars Rayburn. I’m not gonna die from this flu. I promise.”
Marian could only close her eyes tighter and cry even harder when Tom walked out.
“And this is Patrick McCaffrey.” Lars introduced Patrick to Henry and Kurt. “He has been my right hand man.”
Henry shook Patrick’s hand. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Patrick responded. “So, tell me, what brought you from the Center?”
“Well,” Henry let out a breath. “We were coming here anyhow. We figured you could use our help. We are, despite our cushy office jobs, both doctors.”
Kurt smiled. “And somewhat experienced with this flu.” He looked around the gymnasium to the lines and lines of empty, perfectly made-up cots. “This is quite the set up.”
“We’re ready to go,” Lars said. “IV poles, tubing, all prepped. No wasted time. Time is of the essence. We were able to get close to a thousand cots in here, plus thirty at the hospital. We’re hoping not everyone comes down with it at one time. We’re expecting waves. Get them dosed up, see that they’re out of danger, send them home, and make room for the next person.”
Henry nodded. “Will you be doing the testing?”
“Yes,” Lars replied. “I’ll need you, Kurt, Patrick and other medically trained townspeople on IVs. I’ll be perched at the table pricking fingers and testing to see if it’s the flu. If they have symptoms, they’ll show it.”
Nervously, Patrick took in the silence. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and all this readiness will be for nothing. Maybe by the grace of God, Lars, it really did miss us.”
Before Lars could respond with an “I hope” the gymnasium door slammed and echoed across the room. Lars looked up to see a gentleman standing there holding a little girl.
“Dr. Rayburn,” he spoke from across the gym, “my little girl… I believe… I believe she has that flu.”
After a glance to Patrick that conveyed “you were just saying?” Lars walked across the gym to the man and his daughter.
Hands that were always strong and steady, hands that never twitched a millimeter, trembled out of control, and the radio that Mick held sailed to the ground breaking in three pieces. He didn’t stop to pick it up, he aimed his focus outward and charged full speed from the station.
The front steps were a mere impedance as he tore down them and hopped onto his bike. There was zero hesitation in his jump to start it and even less as he quickly rode off.
Roaring and choked with tears, the scream that came from Tigger was bigger than his entire body. His little arms extended out to desperately reach his brother as Dylan lifted him up and pulled him from Chris’ legs.
“That’s my brother!” Tigger cried. “Why can’t I touch my brother?”
Dylan couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt as if it were caving in from her sob-choked breaths. With a deep sigh, she looked over her shoulder at Chris who stood by the door. His face was red and puffy; his bottom lip quivered from crying. “You can’t, Chris,” Dylan said sadly.
Dustin’s eyes shifted from his mother to Chris. His brother stood there alone, frightened, and with a deep tearful breath, Dustin shook his head. “Well, I don’t care about no flu.” He raced to his brother.
“Dustin.”
“I don’t care.” Dustin threw his arms around his little brother who stood nearly head to head with him. “He’s my brother, Mom. He’s my brother.”
Chris knew he shouldn’t, but he held on to Dustin, squeezing him tightly with all he had. “I’m scared, Dustin.”
“Dustin, please!” Dylan, crying, grabbed Dustin’s arm. The more she tried to separate the pair, the tighter they held on. “Please don’t…”
The front door flew open and Mick charged in.
Dylan wiped her hand under her nose. “Mick,” she whimpered out. “How…”
“Dustin radioed me.” Mick’s eyes landed sadly on Chris. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped to him.
“He was fine over breakfast,” Dylan said. “And then… and then…” Seeing Tigger charging forth, Dylan intercepted him.
Mick extended his hand between the embracing boys and laid it upon Chris’ cheek. “This boy’s fevered bad, Dylan. I have to get him down there.”
“I know, I know.” Dylan wiped her eyes.
Chris felt the huge hand engulf his entire face and he turned into that hand for comfort. “Mick, please tell me don’t be scared.” His words were thick and muffled with congestion not just from crying, but from the flu. “Please?”
The moment Chris’ brown eyes, red and glossy, met his own, Mick’s heart stopped. He thought at that moment that his chest was so tight that he would choke. “Don’t be scared. It’ll be fine. Let’s go. Dustin, let him go.”
“I love you,” Dustin whispered into his brother’s ear. “Get better.”
The nod Chris gave was rapid and frightened. “Mom?”
Laying a strong arm around Chris, Mick walked him to the door.
Dylan followed, “Dustin, I need you to watch…”
“Dylan,” Mick stopped her. “You can’t go.”
“He’s my son!” Dylan cried, shaking with emotion.
“You can’t go. You know the rules of that station,” Mick explained. “You’re upset and there’s too much flu down there. You stay put.”
“But, Mick…”
“No,” Mick stated firmly. “You have to be here with these boys and away from that aid station. You hear?”
Overcome with sadness and frustration, Dylan charged forth, “Fuck you, he’s my son!”
“Yes, he is!” Mick blasted “And so are they! What good is it gonna do any of these boys if you get sick! There are over five hundred sick people at that station already, Dylan. That flu is thick down there. You stay here with them, where it is safe.”
Dylan’s mouth trembled, and her voice sounded defeated. “He’s my son, Mick.”
“I won’t leave his side. I promise you,” Mick said, speaking directly into her soul. “I promise.”
Chris stared helplessly at Dylan; when she saw his fear, Dylan broke through the barrier that was Mick and grasped Chris. “You tell me. You tell me. If you say you want me with you, I don’t give a shit about the flu. I don’t give a shit about what the rules are. If you want me with you, I am there. I’ll go.”