“Tell me.” Mick closed his eyes tightly, clenching his facial muscles so tightly that the blood rushed to his ears.
“We need to hook him up for his second dose. His levels dropped. We’re on our way.”
Mick exhaled loudly with relief and grabbed Chris’ face and kissed him. “Did you hear that?” Overcome with emotion, he spoke to the boy. “Way to fight. Oh, I’m proud of you. I have to go tell your mom.” Mick stood up. “I’ll be back.” He touched Chris once more. “I’ll be right back.”
Mick hurried urgently from the observation bay. He knew he heard Lars calling out to him about not returning, but Mick ignored that. Not returning was not an option. At that moment all that Mick knew was that he had to go home and give Dylan the news.
Dylan had paced. The final hours were an eternity, but she couldn’t sleep. She went down to the gym four times and was sent away. The results would be given when they were complete. All she thought about was Chris. How she missed the first home run he ever hit because her hair appointment ran long. How she wanted to hear those long-winded stories he told so many times that she only pretended to hear. She felt insane with worry, sick to her stomach with sadness.
She desperately wanted to know what was going on, but she feared the answer so much that, when she heard Mick open the screen door, she spun away from seeing his face.
Mick’s expression would say it all. An earthquake of fright went through her body when the front door clicked. With her eyes tightly closed, a single tear fell and Dylan gathered the strength to turn around. Mick’s expression did say it all, and so did his body as he crossed the floor in one step, wrapped her tightly in his arms, lifted her from the floor and embraced her with such strength that it muffled her shout of jubilation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
October 1st
If the layers of skin upon Mick’s face were evidence of his frustration, he would have rubbed them off hours earlier by continually rubbing his hands over his mouth and chin.
It was day three into the flu, and it had been the longest three days of his life. Rough was an understatement. And Mick showed outward signs of that, as well. Even though it lacked the standard “rule book” appearance, Mick had his own style of Chief of Police uniform. He’d always looked crisp and sharp, but he was long past worrying about something so trivial. He grabbed what he could that hadn’t made it into the pile of undone laundry. He sported a pair of old baggy jeans. His hair, usually pulled back into a neat ponytail, fell against his shoulders as he kept the front out of his eyes by wearing a backwards baseball cap. He still wore his symbols of authority, the shoulder harness and badge, but they were somewhat buried underneath the long denim over-shirt.
There didn’t seem much time for anything. Between keeping order, shuttling in and out the sick, and making sure food was distributed, Mick estimated he had zero time to take care of himself. He hadn’t shaved in days, nor had he slept much. Every free moment he had was being spent with Dylan, the boys, and his mother. They centered him.
Despite how much Mick was doing, he still managed to project strength. He had to, not only for the townspeople, but for his family.
Big shoulders or not, Mick worried every time another task fell upon him.
Again, his hand ran across his chin. “No.” He shook his head at Mayor Brad Connally. “I don’t have the free hands.”
“What about those not sick?”
Mick laughed. “They aren’t coming out. Come on. Do you blame them? They listened to Lars. They know they just have to wait it out. This task you’re asking is one they will not do.”
Brad moved slowly as he stood up. “This has to be a concern.”
“Yes, I understand that. But, there’s nothing that can be done. As cold as this sounds, we’ve only lost twenty-four lives. More are on their way. We have to deal with it when this thing is over with, not during.”
“The hospital can’t hold anymore in the morgue. Sgt. Dion said he tried to find you with this…”
“Me?” Mick snapped. “Why me? He went to you, this is your town.”
“Aside from the fact that I have to get down to that aid station myself, no, Mick, this ceased being my town a long time ago. This… this is your town. People look to you for answers, and they are gonna look to you for answers about what the hell we are gonna do with all the dead.”
“I don’t want to deal with this issue…” Mick’s voice cracked with frustration as he tried to maintain his temper. “I have to get through this flu, then I’ll deal with the aftermath.”
“They need answers.”
“And you need to get down to the aid station.” Mick shook his head. “I have to go.”
“Mick, you’re gonna have to deal with it sooner or later. Find a resolution now.”
Mick paused before leaving. “Do you honestly think this is gonna be a major concern?”
“Yes.” Brad nodded. “Two doors down, Mrs. Hawk lost her husband. She wants to bury him, Mick. Can you blame her? Everyone is gonna want to bury those they lose.”
“And there’ll be way too many to be digging single plots. I can’t… I can’t take people from Lars and the station and send them out to dig plots. I can’t. Anyone that’s helping has to go where they are needed. We will bury our dead when this thing is done. People are just gonna have to understand that. And I think they will.” He grabbed the door. “Get down to that station. I’ll come up with something.” His shoulders feeling the strain of too much extra weight, Mick walked from the Mayor’s house, wishing that there were someone else to help carry his burden.
Lars pulled the partition curtain closed and returned to the small table with Kurt and Henry. “Sorry about that.”
Henry gave a “no problem” wave of his hand. “Hey, we knew the meeting would be interrupted.”
Lars sat down. “Now where were we?” He pulled a sheet of paper forward. “Volunteers. We’re doing well.”
Kurt spoke up, “Tom Roberts said when he gets well, he will be back to help out.”
“Which, knowing Tom,” Lars smiled, “will be fast. I’ve had the same commitment from others, which is good. We’re gonna hit a busy phase. We had our first wave, and a few trickled in after that. Now we’re gonna get hit with the big one.”
Henry nodded his understanding. “The ones who got infected from our original flu victims.”
“The close contact victims,” Lars said. “Yes. Our overall success rate at beating the septicemia was eighty percent. I look for the overall to be around sixty this time.” He saw the curious looks. “Confidence, gentlemen, will be the killer. The second wave knows how well we beat this flu in the first round. These people won’t be as scared, therefore, they won’t be so rushed to get here… and they may wait too long. And just about the time they start coming in we’ll start losing those who weren’t so fortunate from our first round.”
“Speaking of which…” Kurt interrupted, “Chief Owens said any that pass on here in the station are to be moved to the old Tool and Die building until this thing runs its course and a full burial can be arranged for everyone.”
Lars shook his head. “Mick doesn’t stop, does he? Good plan though. Weather is cool enough to slow decomposition. Let’s reiterate to our workers that they must practice safe methods of handling bodies. Henry? Stats?”
“We’ve brought in seventeen hundred and three residents so far. The children are my main concern. I estimate that, less the twenty-five percent who will now end up being immune, we’ll have four hundred due in. That’s a lot of kids. You and I know that’s where most of our deaths will occur.”