Part 12 (2/2)
”Dr. Robbins, our supply is extremely low. Too low to give the entire camp their next dosage.”
”I'm aware of -”
”No.” Gutierrez cut him off. ”I don't think you are. I've got a couple hundred people - more now, the nurses can't keep up with the influx of new infected patients arriving daily who, unless they get another round of benzodiazepines soon, they're going to come out of the stupors we've kept them in. Now, you might not be too concerned about this little catastrophe in the making, but I sure the h.e.l.l am. There are thirty nurses, doctors, technicians and volunteers here - all of which will end up dinner entrees unless you or someone manages to get some s.h.i.+pments out here.”
”Josh, calm down for a moment and listen to me,” Robbins began.
”Calm down?” Gutierrez heard his own voice raise a couple octaves. ”Have you really thought about what's going to happen out here when the sedation wears off of all of these infected people?”
”I'm not going to bulls.h.i.+t you, Josh. I'm not getting any help from the government. Colonel Weir has done everything he can, but basically, we're all being hung out to dry. This infection is bigger than Texas, but to hear him tell it, Weir's superiors are cutting him off from information as well. It's like the G.o.dd.a.m.n government is trying to contain the spread of Toxin RE68 by quarantining infected states and leaving them to their own ends.”
”So, that's it?”
”I'm afraid so. I'm working non-stop to break this - to develop some sort of antidote - but I'm only one man. I don't have a research lab and our Internet access is down, too. Frankly, if I didn't know any better, I'd think we were being isolated on purpose.”
”You think they're cutting us off?”
”I can't say for sure, Josh. But I can tell you I've got a d.a.m.n bad feeling that gets worse every time I talk to Weir. We're really on our own.”
”What about the phones?”
”I'm surprised I was able to get through to you. I've been trying for a day now.”
Gutierrez sighed. ”I'm telling the staff they can leave whenever they want.”
Robbins was quiet. ”I don't know if that's a good idea.”
”What the h.e.l.l, Robbins? If they stay, it's suicide. I know your tests at the hospital were pretty successful, but we've discovered that some of the infected are still violent even when sedated. They're strapped to cots that they flip over regularly. Some bust through the straps and we've resorted to physical force to contain them. This infection advances at different rates in different patients. Some of these people look like someone went and dug their stinking corpses from a grave. Their flesh is deteriorating before our eyes. Without the sedatives there's no telling what exactly will happen and when. I'm not asking anyone to stay here if we can't sedate these monsters!”
”Okay.”
”I'm not asking for your G.o.dd.a.m.n permission.”
The phone began to cut out. ”Josh?”
”You're cutting out-” Gutierrez spoke louder, as if that would somehow help Robbins hear him over the jumbled airwaves. The phone went dead. ”Fanf.u.c.kingtastic.” He returned the phone to his pocket.
He walked across the pasture to the check-in table. Nurse Ford was busy typing social security numbers, dates of birth, and names on a laptop that glowed across her features. One man didn't look infected at all. He stood at the check in table with a young girl by his side, expectantly watching the doctor's approach.
”h.e.l.lo, I'm Dr. Gutierrez. Can I help you?”
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, doctor. Name's Thomas Corliss, this is my daughter, Selah.” Thomas's hand rested protectively on his daughter's shoulder. The little girl had a face mask on, elastic cord knotted on the back of her head to make it smaller. It was a shop mask used for the reduction of paint fumes, but it was probably all they had. The little girl's eyes were big and shone with fear. She watched him closely. She was an intense little girl, but she didn't look infected.
”You and your daughter look well, Mr. Corliss, this is a camp for infected people. We have limited s.p.a.ce and limited capabilities.”
”Yes, I know. I'm bringing my mother, Lily. My father died of the infection this morning. I ... can't leave my mother.” His tone of voice was edged with resolve.
”You stay at your own risk, Mr. Corliss. And I don't mind telling you, the risk is getting greater. We do have some family members of the infected here, but we have separate tents to house non-infected people that absolutely insist upon staying.” Dr. Gutierrez said. ”But really, if I were you,” the doctor's eyes flashed to the girl, Selah. ”I would not stay.”
”But my mother-”
”If it were me, I'd take your mother, sick or not, and your girl here, and go back home. Things are only getting worse.” Gutierrez saw no point in mincing words, but he stopped just short of dooming the man and his daughter to a certain death. After tonight, he wasn't sure if he was even staying.
The nurse gave Gutierrez a fearful, questioning look. ”Doris, you're free to leave at any time. I'm not sugar-coating the state of things for anyone any longer.” Nurse Ford, whose trembling was barely perceptible in the deep shadows of the tent, continued to type.
”All the same, doctor,” said Thomas stubbornly. ”I think we'll stay here. My mother is seriously ill and she needs medical treatment.”
”Suit yourself. Roger will show you to the tents for the non-infected. You'll find them unpleasant at best, I'm afraid. There are only a few portable toilets and the water is delivered through hoses rigged up to temporary showers and sinks. The only food available is provided in the form of Army MREs and those are in short supply. Here comes Roger now.” Dr. Gutierrez pointed to a man in dirty green scrubs.
”Thank you, doctor,” Thomas held onto his daughter's shoulder and steered her toward the orderly, Roger.
Gutierrez watched them go and then tapped on the table in front of Doris Ford. ”I meant what I said, Doris. There's an ambulance leaving in about fifteen minutes, if I were you, I'd be on it. The benzo's in low supply and Robbins says we aren't getting any more.”
”But what about you, doctor?” Her fear for him was evident in her face. Her large eyes panned back and forth, searching his face, looking for some sign that he might go with her. He knew she'd begun to show signs of having a thing for him, but so far he'd refused to acknowledge it. Still, it was nice to know that someone cared.
”I haven't decided yet.”
An Army reservist and a Greenville police officer approached from the left. A mixture of able-bodied police and military patrolled the camp.
”Dr. Gutierrez?” the middle-aged police officer said. He had an air of authority that came from more than his uniform and badge. It was clear by his stance that he'd been doing his job for a while and was confident in his abilities. ”Can we have a moment of your time?”
Gutierrez shrugged. ”Sure, what is it?”
”Are you able to send any email out? We aren't picking anything up on the wireless. We knew the clinic had a landline.”
”It comes and goes. Mostly goes. You can give it a try if you want.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a low signal. Possibly he could access the Web from his phone if necessary. ”What's up?” Gutierrez walked with the two men through the tall gra.s.s toward the clinic.
The police officer cleared his throat. He walked with one hand hitched high on the b.u.t.t of his revolver. ”We believe we've positively identified a wanted fugitive and terrorist Bal Shem. Man's in Tent B2.”
There was a pause as the doctor absorbed the information. ”Is he sedated?”
The men nodded in unison. ”But, we need to see if we can download a better photo than the one we have here-” The Army reservist unfolded a worn, computer-printed, fuzzy black and white image of the suspected terrorist. ”I've had this since the beginning of the lockdown. Everyone was given one and told to keep an eye out for him.”
Gutierrez ran his hands through his unwashed hair and over his face. He rubbed his eyes and smoothed his wiry, unshaven beard. ”How certain are you that the guy in Tent B2 is this Bal Shem person?”
”Pretty d.a.m.n sure, doc,” said the cop.
”That's not good.” Gutierrez stood on the metal steps of the trailer, looking out over the camp. d.a.m.n. What the h.e.l.l else could go wrong? In about four hours, they would have over 200 raging, infected zombie lunatics on their hands, and now they also had the mastermind behind the f.u.c.king terrorist attack doped up in one of the tents? f.u.c.king A.
”No sir, it's not good at all,” the Army reservist said, fear quaking in his voice.
”It's a f.u.c.kin' nightmare, is what it is, doc. That's one bad son of a b.i.t.c.h in there. Throw him and his f.u.c.ked up ideology in with the rest of this hornet's nest, and we've got nothin' but bad s.h.i.+t fixin' to erupt.” The police officer spat a wad of pulpy, black tobacco and juice onto the gra.s.sy ground. ”But, like we said, we need that 100 percent positive ID to confirm he's Bal Shem. Don't want to be doin' anything too hasty.”
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