Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (23 page)

“Follow me,” he demanded of Sam. “First we have to find shelter.”

He pedaled hard and fast for the nearest exit, Sam hovering close to the left of his rear wheel, and he realized with sudden surprise that they’d made it clear to Fort Worth, Texas. Proudly he peered down at the small boy crumpled against the handlebars. Despite Seth’s weakened state, they’d actually covered a respectable distance in a short amount of time. Perceptive as a hawk, his eyes scanned the road and landed on an old Exxon gas station and adjoining 7-Eleven just off Exit 55 in Mesquite. Though the door was shattered and open to the elements they didn’t have time to be picky. He pulled up to the store in a skid, a cloud of dust and sand billowing behind. The bike fell to the ground with a clatter as he awkwardly negotiated Seth through the entrance.

Weeds, grasses, and of course the familiar fungi had begun their slow invasion of the space. Dry leaves crunched beneath their feet as he and Sam moved toward the back of the store. There, they spread out a blanket and set Seth gently atop it. And there, Jeremy peered at his ashen complexion, slackened jaw, and sweaty head. Sam was a bundle of nerves. Afraid even to touch him, she rocked on her heels, hands fluttering against her thighs. Her voice was at least an octave higher than normal, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“What should we do? she heaved. “Is he going to die? Dad, why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he tell us he was this sick?”

“Sam, he’ll be fine. We just have to—“

“Is he dying? He’s dying right?” She leaned over him, touched her cheek to his, and peered up at Jeremy with shining eyes. “We don’t even know what his temperature is. What if he doesn’t wake up at all? If he’s in a coma then we won’t be able to get him to eat or drink anything right? What happens then?”

Jeremy’s eyes traveled over his daughter’s stricken face. It wasn’t healthy for her to get this worked up. Her eyes were moving rapidly, the pupils constricted.

“Sam. You need to calm down. I’m telling you, he’ll be fine—“

“Dad, have you ever really thought about what would happen to a person if they fell into a coma
now
? I mean, what if he remains unconscious for a week? Have you ever considered what you would do? For him? Or for me if I did? Dad, it’s a death sentence. Think about it. There are no IV’s. No intravenous fluids or feeding tubes. It would be a slow starvation, a slow dehydration. Dad, this could happen to me as much as it could happen to Seth. What if we can’t wake him up?”

She was beginning to work herself into a mild hysteria; the cadence of her speech faster as her frenzied mind shaped the images. The tempo of her rocking increased to match the measure and meter of her tumbling words. Jeremy set Seth’s limp arm back down on his chest and traded it for Sam’s clammy hand. Lightly he squeezed.

“Sam.”

“We can’t lose him, Dad. First Mom, then Peter. We can’t.”

“Sam. That’s enough.”

He clenched his teeth. This wasn’t working. Her face was red, her hands balled into fists. He seized her shoulders and shook.

“Sam, that’s enough! Look at me. Now.”

He rarely raised his voice to her and the effect was instantaneous. She met his gaze and held it, chin firm and challenging before she crumpled in defeat.

“Sam, if you want to help him, then get me a bottle of water from your pack and pour a bit of it onto a clean cloth.”

Immediately she scuttled for the pack, happy at last to finally be set to task.

“The water from the Caddie River,” he clarified, “not the fresh water.”

Some handful of days prior—he wasn’t sure how many at this point—they’d made it to the Caddie River, a smaller waterway fed by even smaller tributaries. The water there, when boiled, was clean enough for bathing and washing clothes, and they’d refilled their bottles accordingly before leaving. They were rationing their drinking water very carefully now, scouting for additional bottles at each stop along the way. Jeremy hoped this Exxon might contain a few well-hidden treasures of its own. At least here he could check for bottles that had fallen behind shelves or small packets of travel-sized medications that may have slipped between the counters.

Sam scooted back to him on hands and knees. She poured the river water onto a semi-clean shirt and stared stupidly at Jeremy, waiting impatiently for his next instruction. He reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. God, how he hated to see her this way. There had been too much loss in her young life thus far, too much forfeiture of happiness, and far too much pain. He mustn’t lose Seth. That would be the last straw.

“Thanks Pike.” His tone was patient, instructional. “Now, the first thing we need to do is cool him down a bit, but we’ll need more rags and more water to do it. I’ll take anything we’ve got: clothes, socks, old rags, anything.”

While she rummaged through the backpack he tore the T-shirt from Seth’s chest. The garment was drenched with a sour-smelling fever-sweat. The hemming of the shirt, damp and frayed at the bottom, gave easily to his insistent fingers and ripping cleanly from the base to the band of thicker fabric that circled the neck. He was burning up and Jeremy had no means of properly gauging his temperature. Sam was right. They were out of their depth here. She pushed random pieces of clothing into his hands and together they soaked and packed the cool cloth against Seth’s skin. They tucked it beneath his neck and armpits, and draped it across his forehead and eyes. Sam poured a bit of water across his neck and laid wet socks along each side of his throat.

“To cool his blood,” she explained softly. Jeremy arched his brow at that and she pointed to his throat. “His carotid artery is there right?”

“That it is,” he returned with a smile. “Where do you learn this stuff?” He paused a moment then pointed to Seth’s curled hands. “I think we should do the same thing to the pulse points at both his wrists, don’t you? To cool the blood?”

Soberly she nodded, and wrapped his wrists in her last pair of socks. “He’s really sick isn’t he? It’s his leg, right?” Her voice shook and she seemed to brace herself for his answer.

“Yes. He’s quite ill, Sam. And yes—I’m pretty sure it’s the leg. It’s infected.” For a moment he sat back on his heels, surveyed their work then leaned forward with a frown. “I think we should try to coax a bit of water into his mouth. Somehow we need to get aspirin in him to break the fever.”

Sam scooted to Jeremy’s pack and produced one of the bottles of drinking water and a wooden bowl. She tipped the aspirin and dropped three pills into her palm. These she crushed beneath the bottom of the water bottle, and with an unspoken question in her eyes peered at Jeremy.

“All of it,” he encouraged as his gaze strayed to the bottle. “We’ll just consider that his bottle from now on and continue to dose him for the next few days.”

She sprinkled the crushed powder into the bottle, capped it, and shook it till it swirled a cloudy white. They tried their best to sit him up, to coax a few drops onto his lips and get him to swallow, though Jeremy wasn’t sure their efforts were productive. More of the water seemed to dribble down his chin than down his throat. He suppressed a sigh.
Some is better than none
, he reflected darkly.

“Now what?” Sam’s eyes were less frenzied as they swept his small body.

Jeremy peered at her sidelong. Though she had calmed down a little, was she really ready for
this
? This part wouldn’t be pretty.

He took a breath. “Now we need to tend to the wound. You stay near his head and keep refreshing the towels. Keep ‘em cool. They’ll warm quicker than you think.”

He slid to Seth’s feet and removed his shoes. As he rolled the cuffed pant leg up around Seth’s knee, a sense of profound dread threatened to paralyze him. Frightened to lay eyes on the wound, he suddenly realized he was playing at courage for Sam’s sake. Perhaps he could treat the wound somewhat, but if he couldn’t cleanse it completely, there would be no chance for recovery at all.

The smell hit him first and again he cursed himself. Several days before, he’d noticed a faint odor, had he not? But what more could he try now than what had already been done before? Surely he’d done all he could with the limited supplies at hand. He grit his teeth. It hadn’t been enough and now he had to pull off a miracle. From the edge of the laceration he pulled free the bandage, peeling slowly and carefully and with delicate fingers so he wouldn’t re-open healthy parts of the scab. He stifled a gasp. Beneath the covering it was bad. The flesh around the wound was inflamed and warm. Puss leaked from the lower end. But it was the fine webbing of red streaks that spidered from its edges that stilled his breath.

Septicemia.

Indeed the infection was beginning to contaminate his blood.

“Sam, I need the first aid kit please.”

She retrieved it and returned, caught sight of the wound, and gasped. Dropping to her knees she watched Jeremy work. As he had done the day prior, he squeezed the tapered end of the wound to excrete the puss. Though a small bit came out, he worried for how much might be trapped beneath the scab. What if he were to reopen the laceration? Just a bit. Bleeding was good right? Cleansing. He wasn’t a doctor, but the notion sounded right. Sam winced beside him as he splashed alcohol over the tip of his pocketknife and touched the blade to the swollen skin.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a fervent whisper.

He shook his head as if attempting to cast aside his own doubts. Absently, and through pursed lips, he answered, “I just think we should let it bleed freely. Proud flesh, right?”

“Proud flesh? What the hell does that mean?”

Jeremy’s mind whirred as he slipped the blade beneath the firmer part of the black scab and pried up the corner.

“It’s something I said to Meghan about Peter’s leg.” As if he were suffering a mild hysteria of his own, he almost let out an insane burst of laughter. “She was so offended. She hated the term. I can’t even remember what made me think of it. She scolded me for comparing him to a horse,” he laughed mirthlessly. “But I was right then and I think I’m right now. We have to cut away the infected parts. Or at least squeeze them out.”

Sam didn’t speak and he felt her eyes upon him as he bled the corner of the wound. The blood came fast, thick, and dark. Thank God Seth was unconscious for this. The pain would have been unbearable. Sam winced as Jeremy pushed deep at the skin, pinching it, and working out the last of the foulness within. He bathed the area in alcohol—the last of the alcohol, he noted with pursed lips. And when the blood ran a brighter red, he moved to apply a fresh bandage. Sam caught his sleeve.

“Maybe we should let it breath for a bit. Let the air get to it.”

Jeremy sighed and rocked back on his heels. “Your guess is as good as mine, Sam.” He inspected the wound, bent close enough to note that most of the foul smell had dissipated. He nodded. It was a good sign.

“All right. I agree. We’ll let the air in, but we can’t allow it to dry out. Let’s give it an hour to breath and then we’ll bind it in light wrappings. I think we should keep it covered. Prevent dust or debris from drifting in.”

She seemed mollified by that and moved back to Seth’s slackened face. Jeremy elevated his leg atop a pile of old blankets and rolled from his ankles onto his rear. On his hands he crab-walked backward till he came to rest against the cold metal of a shelf. Sam pushed herself to her feet and joined him, slid to the floor, and set her hands to her knees. Together they watched the rise and fall of Seth’s chest.

“What happened to you back there?” she whispered. “I thought you’d cracked up or something.”

“Cracked up?”

“Unhinged. Gone crazy.”

He rolled his head toward her. “Thanks for reminding me about the trigger.”

She shrugged. “It just came to me. It was Grandpa Liam’s thing. Remember?”

He smiled. “I remember
now
. Thanks to you.” Enjoying a moment of silence, he let his eyes drift closed, then opened them, and with curiosity faced her again. “Do
you
have a trigger?”

“Not really.”

“What do you mean,
not really
? You either have one or you don’t.”

Picking at mud that had dried on the fabric of her pants, she answered. “I’ve never given it much thought I guess. Never needed one. Always had you for that. But I guess if I did have one it would be Mom.” She returned her eyes to Seth. “So now what?”

Jeremy lifted his hands to his temples and responded with sudden weariness. “Did you just say ‘now what’?”

“Yeah. What do we do now? What’s our plan? What are our three?”

Jeremy smiled. ‘The three’—more Liam-speak. She wanted to know the possible courses of action, wanted to be certain Jeremy was making a decision that was the best option out of three. The worst decision a person could make was no decision at all. She wanted to be sure that at the very least he’d made one. Or maybe she was frightened of the one he would make.

“Forget three. I can only think of one possible solution right now.” He slapped his hands against his trousers. Blood rushed to his feet with a tingling sensation as he stretched out his legs. “What do we do now?” he repeated as he cupped his hands to his eyes. He sighed. “I suppose the only thing we can do is wait.”