Cough (25 page)

Charles Kimble opened his eyes at the same time he gasped. His eyes were dry and blinking felt like going through quicksand. The air he inspired into his lungs was hot. It wasn’t the first time he had woke up. Other times he’d open his eyes and see a woman next to his bed. Sometimes she’d be turning him or moving his body, exercising his legs. It was the same woman each time. Each time she’d smile, say something, then Charles would slip again.

This time he didn’t feel himself slipping. He felt awake. Awake, alive, hungry and thirsty.

Slightly elevated, Charles could tell, even though the room was dark, that he was in a hospital, the same hospital. No lights were on around him, there were empty gurneys in his small room. Getting in tune with his body, he certainly felt like a board. Was he paralyzed in that bed?

He wiggled his toes, then his fingers No, he wasn’t paralyzed.

Being a doctor, he knew, moving from that bed, if he could even do so, would be literally one step at a time. One movement at a time.

He glanced down to his arm and the IV still connected. That was when he saw the note taped to his bed rail.

‘I stayed as long as I could. I had to leave. I’m sorry. God Speed. Sue.’

Sue. That was the woman. It had to be. His eyes skimmed up the IV line and looked at the bag. The bag still had ten percent of the fluid. She wasn’t gone long, hours maybe.

That made Charles feel better.

But where was everyone else? He could only imagine what happened. The dark hospital, him being left alone, his virus obviously went out of control.

What had he done?

His next step was to sit up all the way. He did it slowly, his back crunched and ached with every movement. But he managed to get into an upright position and he looked around. Next to his bed was a water pitcher and glass.

Please, he thought, please be filled.

He reached for it, his hands shaking as he lifted it. It had water. Charles popped the lid and slowly drank from the pitcher. He let the water settle in his mouth before swallowing and that was when he saw another note.

That one surprised him.

I hope when you find this, all is well. If not, then we didn’t beat it. We’re trying, guy. We are fighting. To be honest, you’re the one we need. I’ll be in Littlefield. I hope. Get better. Please. The world needs you. And as long as someone is alive, it is not too late.

Stokes

The note was dated July 4. That was over a week after his last recollection. What all had happened? By the looks of his room, the lack of lights, electricity and cool air, it had gone from bad to worse.

More than anything Charles wanted it to be a bad dream, but it wasn’t. He had to face a new reality, and even though scared, he had to do so, one step at a time.

That began with getting out of the bed.

The clock on the wall that ran without electricity allowed Charles to see that it took him two hours to walk across that room steady enough. It began with ill attempts to get out of bed, falling to the floor and getting back up.

Eventually he did. He got up, moved his legs and kept moving.

He was stiff but mobile.

From the storage room, he found a pair of hospital scrubs and a pack of peanut butter crackers. In an employee locker, he found sneakers. After deeming he was strong enough to venture out without dropping to unconsciousness, Charles did just that.

It took everything he had to get out of that hospital. It exhausted him and once outside, Charles had to stop and sit on the small wall.

He wished he hadn’t.

Outside the hospital he was surrounded by mountains of bodies. A gag built in the back of his throat and weak or not, he forged forward out of that jungle of death in front of the hospital.

He staggered into the street.

Empty.

Not a sound, not a person, no movement. Empty.

Emotionally and physically, Charles collapsed to his knees.

What happened? What had he and Emir done?

He prayed that it wasn’t the whole world, that it was just pockets of civilizations rendered barren. But he would know staying there, he had to move on. Get strength, find a way and get out of the city.

He had to.

“Oh, Goddamn it.” Stokes used a napkin and wiped the grape jam from his shirt.

Thomas giggled.

“It’s not funny. How am I supposed to be taken seriously with grape jelly on my uniform?”

“I’d take your seriously.”

“Thanks, bud.” They sat together on a wall made of railroad ties, both holding fishing rods. “Now, I wanna see you do this right before I go. Then you have to go with boring Albert.”

“Albert’s not boring.” Thomas revved back his line.

“Toss with your wrist,” Stokes instructed.

“He’s fun. We do computer stuff.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not needed now. Maybe later, right now... survival and food. Cast again, that sucked and you missed.”

A clearing of the throat caught Stokes’ attention and he turned around to see Wells coming his way.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wells asked. “Is that an old bathtub?” he pointed to the tub about fifty feet away.

“It is,” Stokes replied. “Using it for aim. We’re fishing.”

“We have a really nice creek for that.”

“I know we do, but fishing for real takes time, and if he doesn’t catch anything he feels bad. So we’re practicing our …” Stokes paused and shaded his eyes. “Is that a car?”

Wells did a double take. “It is. Haven’t seen one come through here in over a month.”

“We taking more residents?” Stokes asked. “I wonder ….” His words slowed down and he stood. “I’ll be damned. I’ll be so goddamned.” He jumped up.

“What?”

“Kimble.”

“Who?”

“Kimble, the virus doctor, the means to an end to this shit.” Stokes put down his rod and ran top speed to the car.

He shrieked loudly with glee and grabbed hold of Charles who had stepped from the car. “Dude, you’re alive.”

“I am.”

“You look amazing. Lost about twenty pounds.” Stokes patted his belly.

“Laying in a coma will do that.”

“Oh my God.” He embraced him again. “You got my note.”

“I did. And …” Charles cased Stokes. “What’s up with the police uniform?”

“I gave up being an agent and staying in this town. I’m the deputy in a four man force. Since this town was kinda of, you know, knocked down, it’s been joined by about three hundred new residents. We’re bouncing back. Someone pissed in the street last week. My first arrest.” He nodded proudly. “I have responsibilities now, too. I can’t leave.”

“Responsibilities?”

“Yeah, see that kid?” Stokes pointed to Thomas. “After the accident, I hit him with the vaccine. But his dad died, brother died and his mom is sitting pretty in a FEMA trailer forty or so miles from here. I’m part of his parent trap until she returns.”

Charles lowered his head. “I did all this.”

“No, you didn’t. German guy did. Dropped the virus every stop on his whirlwind vacation. If this was the place and only place, it would have stopped here. It was ahead of us before anyone in Littlefield coughed.”

“So it’s over?”

“Not by a long shot,” Stokes said. “They are working day in and out on a cure. Vaccine is being distributed. There haven’t been any more outbreaks since Project Savior.”

“What’s that?”

“They found a way to treat the infected, not have them die, but they were still contagious. They rounded them up. Once all the infected were away from population, people stopped getting sick. Vaccine started going out a few days ago. But those infected are still carriers, and have to be medicated for the rest of their lives.”

“It’s a ticking time bomb,” Charles said.

“Yeah, but …the worst is over.”

Charles sighed out. “I saw that. It’s a dead world.”

“Nah, we’re still alive and kicking. I got to go on duty, but are you hungry? Shotsy makes a mean fish burger.”

“Actually, I am. I’m starving. I wanted to get here in hopes you were here. You are.”

“I am.” Stokes reached out and gripped Charles’ shoulder. “It’s good to see you. Good to see you alive. Come on, let’s feed you.”

“Thank you. And I’m not staying long.”

Stokes paused. “Where you gonna go.”

“Somewhere. Anywhere I can set up a lab or join on.”

“The virology world will be glad to hear you’re back and glad to have you. So you aren’t giving up on this.”

“No. Never.” Charles looked around. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will beat this virus. I promise you.”

Stokes smiled. “I believe you.”

Macy had held off. The week before, Camp officials dropped off tiny eighteen inch Christmas trees courtesy of the federal government. She put off placing her tree on the table in her small two room trailer. Because she held hopes of leaving by Christmas. Many of the Eastern Savior camps were closed and empty, the carriers and infected released because vaccination ratio in a lot of areas reached one hundred percent.

But it was getting close to Christmas, her camp was still full, and she promised Thomas and Stokes a self-portrait by the tree. She knew it would be so they would make fun of her.

Macy was in a much better place both physically and emotionally. Ten days after her arrival, she was issued a single person camper. It was in a great spot with a good view of the side fence. In the near five months she had been at the camp, that trailer went from being cold and lonely to home. It helped her find her way, and as time moved on, she made it a home. Pictures of her children surrounded her, the lighting was softer and she had blankets, pillows, quilts and other items from her house made it lived in.

All courtesy of Stokes.

Health wise, Macy still carried the virus. Her treatment was working well, and the new cure for the virus reduced it inside of her by fifty percent.

The cure wasn’t perfected, but authorities believed it was only a matter of time. Since the awakening of Charles Kimble, the work on the cure had made leaps and bounds. Stokes touted him as the miracle man and Macy believed that.

Emotionally, she was getting there. She still missed Clay with all her heart and soul and grieved him every moment. The pain in her chest was still there when she thought about him. The days didn’t get better, they got easier. At least she was able to smile once and a while when she thought about him instead of crying instantly.

It was Monday and she knew they passed out food packs at three PM. She wanted to get there in line so she got one of the good boxes. She didn’t want to get stuck again with the Spam box. However, she had the tree and maybe it was time. She opened the Christmas tree box then leaned back on her bench seat couch, slid the drape and glanced out the tiny window to the wreath that hung on ‘her spot’ of the perimeter fence. A corner of the fence with a small clearing. A few feet from that on the other side were brushes and a couple trees.

It was her spot because that was where Stokes always showed up.

He brought the wreath on the last visit.

Every Sunday was visitor day for the immune to come. It was as if she were in some sort of prison. They even had family dinner on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. The rest of the time, the camp residents cooked their own meals. Food was supplied by the camp and Macy got a lot of care packages.

Every Sunday without fail, Stokes would bring Thomas for the three hour allotment. He always brought something, mainly a food care package. The last visit was the wreath.

Sometimes Wells would come, sometimes Albert. One time even Shotsy showed up with a heck of a care package. She still had four bottles of that one.

Without fail, Stokes showed up.

In the beginning, in the off days, he and Thomas would come to the fence once or twice a week. He’d send a text to Macy and she’d run out. Then he had to leave Thomas behind because it was getting dangerous with the guards threatening him.

He still came out once a week, usually Wednesdays.

One time he came and a regular guard who knew him actually threatened.

“Stokes, Dude, go away. How many times do I have to tell you, you aren’t allowed out there. I got orders to shoot you.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on and shoot me.”

Bang.

While it was meant to be a scare tactic, the bullet ricocheted up and hit Stokes in the ankle. Macy laughed about that. She laughed about a lot of things with Stokes. He seemed to make it his mission to make her laugh.

‘Your hair is getting long,” he complimented once. “Your roots really need done.”

Then the next visit he brought a bottle of hair dye. It wasn’t even her color.

He brought a lot of things, most of which were smiles back to her face, he took care of her son and she was forever grateful.

Sunday visits were upbeat and she saved her down and despair moments for the fence. That was why she put the wreath there.

Macy thought back to a few weeks earlier, her hand clinging to the fence, and Stokes put his fingers over hers.

“You’ll be out of here soon, I promise you.”

She cried that day, missing Clay horribly, aching to hold and see both her sons.

“Kimble is on it. I talk to him all the time. He’s close. So close,” Stokes said.

“The world is so different out there now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. But it’s okay. It’s not bad. It’s simple. You’ll like it. Your Cluck Chicken place never reopened.”

Macy wiped her tears. She wanted to cry, she didn’t want to smile at that moment.

“And of course, it sucks that that no new shows or new seasons started on the TV. But hey, Hitflix is still running. I started watching Lost again. Said when I started it, when I hit the finale, you’ll get out.”

“Oh, yeah, what episode are you on?”

“Eighteen out of one something.”

“Great.” Macy murmured.

“It will be okay, I promise.”

For the most part Macy believed that. Some days she got down.

And before she got down again, she wanted to put up the tree and take that picture to send to Thomas.

She pulled the tree from the box. It was pathetic. As she did, her phone beeped from a text.

She reached to the table and grabbed it.

It was from Stokes. ‘The last episode of Lost was better this time.’

She smiled and shook her head, replying. “Good. I’m still here.”

Beep, ‘I know. Look out the window.”

He was there?
Macy’s eyes widened with excitement and she sent a message. ‘You’re here? It’s Monday.’

‘Look out the window, we’re wasting precious time, Darlin.’

She’d look out the window, just in case it was a joke. He had done that to her before.

Ready to text him, ‘ha, ha, ha’, Macy slid the drape and looked. Instead of seeing the fence, she saw Stokes. Right there, at her window smiling. The sight startled her so much she screamed. Then after catching her breath, she stumbled off the bench seat and leapt for the door. She threw it open.

Stokes stood there.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Do they know you’re here?”

“Um …” Stokes pointed back. “You don’t hear this commotion out here?”

Macy peered out. People were vocally cheering, running about and celebrating.

“The virus cured?” Macy asked with excitement.

Stokes winced. “Um, no. But your camp is liberated. Inoculation hit a hundred percent today in the area.”

“I’m free?”

He lifted his hands. “You’re free. Charles let me know and I tried to time it so I told you before you heard.”

“I’m free.” She jumped from the trailer and into his arms.

Stokes chuckled and returned the embrace. “Don’t think you ever held me so tight.”

“I’m just happy.”

“Well pack up. Your kid is waiting.”

“You should have brought him.”

“No, he’s with Albert cleaning. He’s a mess.” Stokes stepped inside the trailer. “Wow, first time I’ve been in here.” He looked around. “Man, this sucks.”

“Yeah, but it’s been home.”

“But that’s done. It’s time to go back to your home. Pack up. I’ll help.”

A part of Macy was just as scared as she as excited to go back to her home. She hadn’t been there since Clay had died. Stokes told her they made a nice gravesite for Clay, she was anxious to see that. But at the same time, worried that all that hurt that started to heal would cascade back the second she stepped into her living room.

One step at a time, just as she packed on item at a time.

Emotionally ready or not, it was time to go and face the world outside her internment camp.

Reality was, she was sheltered from the post plague horrors of the world. Given food, water, medical care and safety. She knew nothing about what was out there now. Except that cities were gone, technology halted, and there were a lot less people.

Things would never be the way they were before the virus, Macy knew that, but they could be worse, and she held on to that.

While she lost Clay, she still had Thomas. She still had life. In a way, that was all that really mattered and all she needed to move on.

Macy would.

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