Better in the Dark (17 page)

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering more lab equipment. I thought you might want it.” He opened the door to his small laboratory, revealing several more boxes of supplies. “From what you’ve told me, Dr. Smith, we are in for some very difficult times.”

“What do you think is happening?” Harry asked, wondering how much he had accidentally revealed.

Ernest Dagstern had learned quite a lot. His words were crisp and his summation accurate and rational. “Am I right?” he asked when he was, through.

“You’re right,” Harry said, his respect for the man growing. “But I didn’t say that much, did I?”

“Well, no. I have my regular patients, too, and I do my own lab work on them, you know. I know what they have, Harry.” Both of them knew that Ernest had joined them. “And I am not the only chiropractor who knows. But we didn’t know what to do without your help. That’s not the sort of thing we treat, although I’ve done some work with polio victims after the fact.” He closed the laboratory door and motioned for Harry and Natalie to follow him to the kitchen.

Stan Kooznetz was already there, his long face looking severe. “You’ve seen the setup?” he asked without preamble.

“It’s not bad,” Harry said quickly hoping to forestall any outbreak of temper.

“It’s damn good, considering,” Stan agreed. “But where are we going to work? Yes,” he went on, with a wave of his hand, “I know we talked about the Van Dreyter house, but how the hell are we going to take it over? By military coup? What?”

Again Ernest interrupted them. “I thought you knew,” he said. “But, of course, you wouldn’t. The Van Dreyter house has been closed for three days because of the ‘flu’ epidemic. It’s empty.”

“Hallelujah,” Natalie whispered as she sat down to wait for the rest to arrive.

It was a big house, built on lines that had gone out of fashion before the First World War. It had turrets and cupolas, attics and basements, a wine cellar, two kitchens, a formal drawing room and two informal salons, a tea nook, a formal dining room, an informal dining room, fifteen bedrooms (not counting servants’ quarters), eight bathrooms, and three small apartments in the grooms’ quarters in the old stable which had long since been turned into a garage. It also had its own water supply, pumped up from deep wells.

Breaking in wasn’t as hard as they had thought it would be. One of the pantry windows was open, and Lisa Skye, being the smallest, was lifted through, and then she merely unlocked the back door.

“Will you look at this place?” Dave Lillijanthal breathed as his flashlight played over the cavernous kitchen. “You could cook for an army down here.”

“They probably did.” Amanda Divanello touched the central table, feeling the grooves left by decades of knives and cleavers.

“Do you think they still work?” Natalie asked, studying the eight-burner stove.

“Probably.”

Harry cleared his throat. “We better get some exploring done,” he said. “This might take some time.”

“There are two wings to the house,” Ernest Dagstern announced. “I took the tour last week. The west wing is the larger, and has the formal drawing and dining rooms. The north wing has more bedrooms and there’s an artist’s studio in the northmost attic bedroom. We can make our exploration in two groups.” He gave Harry an apologetic look.

“I like the idea,” Harry agreed. “I wish one of us had thought to come here.”

“If we could have gotten out,” Natalie put in, giving Dave Lillijanthal a pointed look. Dave shrugged.

Stan Kooznetz ran water into the sink. “I guess the wells are still good,” he said, not wanting to indulge in too much optimism.

“Then, maybe I shouldn’t have stolen that water truck,” Harry suggested, but his words were cut short by Amanda Divanello. “No, you were right. We’re going to hold that water in reserve. We may need it if the power breaks down and we can’t use the pumps, or if the wells turn out to be contaminated.”

“Let’s get our bearings first,” Harry said, and turned to look at the group. “Which of you want to take the cellars? We’ll need notes.”

Three hands were raised, reluctantly. Harry nodded. “Ted, you can be in charge,” he told the gentle, methodical Edward Lincoln. “You, Dominic and Roger can take the cellars. Make sure you check out everything, including seepage, if there is any.”

“Right.” Ted nodded to the other two. In a few moments their footsteps echoed back from the long cellar stairs.

Kirsten Grant and Alexes Castor agreed to see to the garage, and Natalie volunteered to go with Radick and Maria Pantopolos to the attic. The rest divided the two main floors between them.

“I wonder if there are any alarms we’re setting off?” Natalie said as she climbed the main staircase.

In the end they agreed that the formal dining room, with its three crystal chandeliers and rosewood table, which could seat thirty, would be their common room, their retreat, while the rest of the house, with the exception of the attic bedrooms and larger kitchen, would be converted to treatment areas.

“There’s eight bedrooms in the attic, so we’ll work out how to double up.”

“We can take care of that in shifts. If we have to.” Dominic Hertzog leaned back in the rosewood chair and went on, “I hope one of you has thought about shifts, because I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a twenty-four hour place.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda Divanello tapped the table angrily with her pencil, and watched Dominic as if he were a blue baby she had to operate on.

“I mean that I listened to the news. And tonight they’ve finally admitted that there is an outbreak of a ‘smallpox-like’ disease, which they are hard at work developing a vaccine for. Mark Howland was interviewed, and you wouldn’t believe the way that bastard talked...” He stopped. “Sorry, Natalie.”

“I’ve heard him, too. Don’t apologize,” she said, and saw approval in Harry’s eyes. She felt pleased and confused.

“Go on, Dominic. What did he say?” Amanda insisted.

“The usual waffle. Assurances that the situation was surely temporary, that there was no need for panic, and of course a plea to the people not to travel so that this outbreak can be isolated. Then the City Patrol announced that all the roads out of this area would be closed so that this thing could be taken care of right here. So, no traffic from further away than Fresno or Sacramento, or Auburn on the east and Tracy on the west.”

“You mean we’re sealed off,” Radick said gently. “I suppose it was to be expected, and yet, it is still a betrayal.”

Amanda turned to Harry. “How soon can we be open for patients?”

Harry looked around the table. “If we work very hard, tomorrow. We can start on Saturday, around noon, I’d guess, to do examinations, and full treatment by Monday, if we’re lucky. Figure Wednesday at the very latest.”

Ernest broke in. “If you need any of my equipment, it’s at your disposal. I can transport most of my lab over here, if that would simplify your work for you.” He looked at them hopefully. “This epidemic frightens me. I can’t sit back and ignore it, or wait to die.”

“Your lab equipment would mean a lot to us,” Harry said, and saw the others nod. “Thanks, Ernest.”

Suddenly Carol Mendosa said, “I wish we had some nurses or paramedics. Without them, we’ll have to do all the routine chores as well as the doctoring. Christ, I haven’t changed an occupied bed since I was an intern. Where are we going to get the time to do it all? Why didn’t they fire some nurses when they fired us?”

There was shocked silence. Then Natalie said, “Oh, great. We remembered blankets, we remembered food and water, but we forgot nurses.”

Jim Varnay glanced up, his dark face revealing little of his thoughts. He bit his lip judiciously. “I can go back to Westbank tomorrow. I know some nurses,” he said, ignoring Dave Lillijanthal’s sly aside, “I’ll bet you do,” to say, “They’ll listen to me. We’ve worked emergency room together for three years. Want to come with me, Ted?”

Ted Lincoln nodded. “Sure. We can do recruiting. We can phone the other hospitals. Inner City might have a few nurses to spare.”

“No one has any nurses to spare, believe me.” Carol Mendosa got up and paced the length of the rich oriental carpet. “We’ve got to get help somewhere. A couple of nurses won’t be enough.”

“They’ll have to be. And if we don’t get them, we’ll have to manage on our own.” Natalie had spoken softly, but they all heard her. “Because if we don’t, we’re dead.”

“Three nurses. I guess we can get by with them,” Natalie said to Harry the next night as they sat in their room, which was the converted artist’s studio at the far end of the north wing.

“We’ll have to.” Harry looked out the huge windows toward the skyscrapers of Sacramento. He felt awkward now that he and Natalie had time to themselves. He had agreed to share the room with her because it seemed to be expected, but now he wondered. He looked at the two narrow beds and the screen between them, and all the embarrassment he had never felt when Natalie shared his apartment came to him.

“What is it, Harry?” Natalie asked, studying him.

“Nothing.”

“Would you rather have one of the men room with you?” Her question was so to the point that he felt angry. “It’s not that,” he lied. “I can’t stop worrying about the diseases. Did you hear the news tonight? They have officially stopped issuing statements about the ‘flu’ epidemic.”

But Natalie was not to be put off. “I’ll talk to Radick, if you like, or ask Amanda if she minds letting me share her room.”

Harry sighed. “Okay. It bothers me. I don’t know why, but it does.”

Natalie nodded, then rose and went to him. “Harry, if you want me to move, I’ll move. But tell me, will you?”

He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, never mind, Natalie. I’m being a fool. It’ll pass. I’d probably be just as jumpy with Radick for a roommate. At least we’re used to each other.”

She gave him a dubious smile. “Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. It isn’t fair to either of us to drive each other nuts.”

“That isn’t likely to happen,” he said, too glibly, and saw doubt in her eyes. He relented.

“Okay. If things don’t work out, I’ll let you know.”

“That makes how many patients today?” Harry asked Jim Varnay on Tuesday night as he closed the salon door behind an old woman. Converted now to an examination room, the fine flecked wallpaper seemed out of place next to the white cabinets donated by Ernest Dagstern.

“Thirty-three. And there’s five more waiting.” Jim touched the old-fashioned stethoscope which hung around his neck. “You know, I haven’t used one of these things in years. Funny. I’d forgot how much you can find out by just listening with it.”

“How do you mean?” Harry asked, looking up from his scribbled notes.

“Well, look, when you plug a patient into a diagnostic computer, it does all the thumping and listening and measuring, and sure, it can catch a lot of things people might overlook, because it can process information on a wide spectrum, and it isn’t distracted by headaches or personal pressures or dislikes. I know that. But when you hear the sounds of the heart and the breath, there are so many ... undefinable bits of information you get.”

“Did you get any about that woman?” Harry gestured toward the door.

“Mrs. Saunders? Well, don’t quote me, but I think her heart is catching up with her. There’s a stress, and I don’t mean blood pressure. Her heart sounds ... tired.”

Harry nodded. “What about her otherwise?”

Jim shrugged. “For the time being, all she needs is a vacation. Which she isn’t going to get. And the first real exposure she gets to a bad disease, it’s all over. She doesn’t have anything left to fight back with.”

Harry closed his folder. “Too bad. You ready for dinner?”

“Harry, I was ready for lunch, but it never seemed to happen. Damn right I’m ready. Lead the way.” But as they were leaving the room, Jim paused for a moment. “Harry, has anyone said anything to you about a Tristam?”

Harry checked himself, memory flickering. “I thought... No. It’s gone. I know I’ve heard that name before.”

“Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “She mentioned a Tristam. She seemed afraid of him. I was wondering if he were some kind of local hood, or just her own problem.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, and pulled the door closed.

“How many admits have we got?” Natalie asked Lisa Skye, who was sitting at the improvised admission desk in the foyer.

“Eight, so far. We’ve sent the borderline cases home.” Lisa pushed her fine fair hair off her forehead. “I don’t know, Nat. That kid with smallpox really upset me. I didn’t realize what it could look like.” She clenched her small-boned hands. “I’m going to have to talk to Radick, I guess,” she said shakily.

“I know.” Natalie unbuttoned the top of her smock. “I didn’t appreciate what we’re getting ourselves into. Really, I didn’t. I thought it would be like Westbank but on a smaller scale. It frightens me, Lisa.” She dropped a folder on the desk. “This one is going to have to be put on our house-call list. Severe asthma. As the stress gets worse, her asthma is going to get worse, too. She’s got two brothers at home, one of whom she says is very sick, but she can’t talk him into seeing a doctor. Apparently, some of the kids are catching onto the disease trouble, and they’re mad. I can’t blame them. I’m mad, too.”

“Dave Lillijanthal’s taking the house rounds this week. Do you have any special instructions for him?” Lisa held a pen, ready to add information.

“Yeah. He should take the case seriously. But he won’t.” Natalie leaned on the desk, feeling very tired. “Dinner should be about ready. Are you on night call?”

Lisa shook her head. “It’s you and Stan and Radick.” She consulted a page in front of her. “I’m on tomorrow night with Kirsten Grant and Howie Webbster.” She put the schedule down. “It’s going to get difficult.”

Natalie nodded. “Did I hear right earlier. Did we get a typhus?”

“We did. He’s on the second floor in the north wing. He’s in very bad shape. And we don’t have the drugs and equipment to pull him through, not now.” She looked-up at Natalie. “I wrote to my mother last week and the letter came back. And Amanda said that Laetitia wanted to make her usual trip to San Diego yesterday and was not allowed to go. Nat, we’re sealed off. Not just trucks and food and flu scare, we’re being kept here.”