Chapter 13

Whatever caused the students of Scirewood Academy to fall ill had affected the residents of Morgan Creek as well. As Mike rolled past the front of the small town’s only Urgent Care facility with his three sick passengers, he knew for certain they would not be receiving medical treatment there anytime soon.

Hundreds of fearful townsfolk crowded the sidewalk and parking lot outside the tiny clinic, clamoring to check in and be seen. A lone, brave nurse stood outside the tinted glass doors, working valiantly to triage and prioritize the sickest patients, but the crowd was relentless. Heated arguments flared over who should be let in next, and Mike figured it was only a matter of time before those arguments turned into fistfights.

Loitering just beyond the main crush of desperate medical seekers were the truly sick. Folks too weak to bully their way to the front. Some were propped up by friends and loved ones, some rested on the ground, and a few lie sprawled out in wheelbarrows.

Mike drifted past what appeared to be a large gathering of family members. Most were sick and suffering burns, some worse than others, the worst afflicted being an elderly couple around whom the others huddled. A woman, perhaps the elderly couple’s daughter, sat on the asphalt with her mother’s head in her lap, crying while her husband tried to force his way into the crowd to no avail.

On the periphery were the healthy and the curious. Townies who had either accompanied sick friends and relatives to the clinic, or simply wandered over to gawk. They stood gathered in small clumps to gossip and smoke cigarettes. Mike pulled up next to a cluster of older men jawing and spitting tobacco.

When they turned at the sound of the growling motor and squealing brakes, he lowered the volume on the car’s static filled radio and asked, “Is this the only clinic in town?”

As a newcomer to the area, Mike was only familiar with this particular Urgent Care because its sign was visible from the highway, and he drove past it every day on his way to work. Without a functioning map and GPS, he was forced to rely on his knowledge of the area to get around, which wasn’t good. One old timer stepped forward and leaned over the window, resting his arm on the top of the car, but pulled his head back when the smell from inside hit him.

“Only one outside of Asheville,” he said, confirming Mike’s fears.

“Are there any other doctors in town?” he asked hopefully.

“There’s an Iraqi fella has a family practice down on Main Street, a couple blocks past Guy’s Auto Shop. Name of Hamid or Mahdi or some shit. But a lot of folks who couldn’t get in here already headed that way.” He peered into the car to look at Mike’s suffering passengers and shook his head in sympathy.

The stench was gag inducing, forcing Mike to drive with the windows rolled down. The three girls, Natalie and her best friend Taylor, along with Syndey Bennett, groaned loudly as their condition rapidly deteriorated. Natalie rode up front, curled in the bucket seat like a wounded, shivering animal. Already, the color of her burns had deepened to a dark red, and small blisters were beginning to lift from her skin.

“You might try the medical center up in Mars Hill,” he suggested. “It’s bigger than this place. Otherwise, your best bet’s heading down to Mission Hospital in Asheville.”

Mike nodded, grateful for the advice but doubtful they’d have better luck at either location. If this small flyspeck of a town was this overrun, he could only imagine the bedlam happening in Asheville and Mars Hill. He was about to thank the man and pull away, but lingered to ask a few more questions.

“Did everyone lose power down here too?” he asked.

“Everyone without a genny,” the man confirmed.

“What about phones? Has anyone been able to make a call?”

The old timer lowered his head to spit at his feet, then shook it slowly with a wry smile on his tobacco-stained lips. “Nope,” he said. “They got us good.”

“Who did?”

“Shit, who do you think? The damned Russkies. Caught us with our pants down.”

“What makes you think it was the Russians?”

The old man slapped the top of the car and cackled, then backed away. Before turning to rejoin his buddies, he pointed his finger at Mike and said, “Good luck to you, son. The end times are upon us.” He threw his arms out wide. “Welcome to the Apocalypse!”

On the off chance the doctor mentioned by the townie was accepting patients, Mike risked a detour down Main Street. There was little traffic on the street. Just a handful of old pickups and a rusted out tractor. As he passed the mechanic’s shop, he saw several people walking in the same direction. A few blocks further down, he stopped in front of the doctor’s office.

According to the painted-on sign, the small, two story medical building was shared by several private practitioners. Mostly therapists and psychologists, an orthodontist, and one Dr. Yousef Mahdi, MD. Several hopefuls stood outside, knocking on the plate glass windows and rattling the locked door, but the offices were quite obviously closed on early Sunday evenings.

This is hopeless, Mike thought. They weren’t going to find a hospital or treatment center that wasn’t already overrun with patients. The event, whatever it was, seemed to have created a mass casualty situation. Any hospital within reach would be mobbed by thousands, maybe tens of thousands of victims by now. Widespread power outages and a lack of communication would only compound the problems and, very soon, desperation would give way to panic.

The best chance for the sick girls was back at Scirewood. Despite her lack of confidence to treat their symptoms, Renata was a registered nurse. She’d gone to nursing school and she was licensed. With any luck, she also had some clinical experience. She might not be able to save them all, but with the support of the faculty, she could at least try.

What they really needed was medicine, though what kind he didn’t know. Mike racked his brain, trying to recall everything he knew about radiation sickness. He’d taken one particle physics course at Caltech that touched on it, but that was over twenty years ago. Instead of trying to remember the details, he simply looked at Natalie to gauge her symptoms.

She was severely burned. She was in pain. She was vomiting and had diarrhea. What else? Her immune system! He recalled that radiation exposure was particularly harsh on the immune system. Not just from the burns, but because it decimated your bone marrow.

Okay, so she needed antibiotics, and pain meds too. Opioids if he could find them, otherwise Tylenol or Advil would have to do. Something to calm her stomach. Antinausea medication. Was that a thing? It must be. She probably needed lots of fluids to stay hydrated too, which would eventually need to be delivered by IV he guessed, but she could drink it for now. Maybe he could find some Gatorade somewhere. Or they might be able to mix up their own electrolyte solution if Renata knew the recipe.

With a shopping list in mind, Mike tried to remember where there might be a CVS or Walgreens nearby. He couldn’t recall ever having seen one before. Shit.

“Do any of you know where there’s a drug store around here?” he asked his three passengers. Though they suffered greatly, they were still responsive, but were growing increasingly disoriented and confused.

“Ice cream,” Taylor said in a weak voice.

“You want some ice cream, honey?” Mike asked. “I’ll get you some ice cream when we get back to school, okay? Right now, I need to find a pharmacy.”

Taylor shook her head and tapped him on the shoulder, then pointed down the street. “No, the ice cream shop. It’s a ... whatever you call it. They sell drugs.” When Mike furrowed his brow, she leaned back in her seat and sighed. “Just drive.”

Two and a half blocks down the road, Mike stopped in front of Doc Murphy’s Soda Fountain. Written on the window in white, gothic typeface were the words, Your Neighborhood Apothecary & Ice Cream Shoppe.

“I’ll be,” he said.

This was an aspect of small town hipster life he’d never experienced before. More importantly for the girls, however, was the fact that the store wasn’t yet overrun with sick people. In fact, except for the open sign hanging in the door, he would have assumed the place was closed. Maybe their luck was finally changing.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

The shop was way overdone in Prohibition era kitsch, and seemed to function more as a novelty stop for passing tourists than a retail pharmacy for locals. Regardless, the large Rx sign hanging over the back counter was a welcome sight. Mike approached the counter, but no one was about, so he rang the bell.

“Cash only!” someone yelled from the back.

Mike checked his wallet. He had sixty-eight dollars. Would that be enough to buy anything in this tourist trap? he wondered. He hoped so.

“I have cash!” he yelled back.

A heavyset Asian woman in glasses and an oversized white lab coat shuffled to the counter from behind a rack of medicines. Although she wasn’t burned like the others he’d seen, Mike could tell right away that she was sick.

“Hi. I need a few different things, okay,” he said and started ticking them off. “Antibiotics, pain medication, antinausea stuff, and electrolytes.”

“I can only sell you over-the-counter,” she said slowly. “Nothing prescription. The computer’s down.”

At first he thought she sounded bored, but Mike quickly realized it was lethargy. Her illness was already wearing her down. He shook his head.

“I understand that, but I don’t have a prescription. What I do have are twenty very sick girls up at Scirewood Academy. You know, the school up the hill?” He didn’t seem to be getting through to her. “Well, they’re in really bad shape. In fact, they’re dying, okay, and they desperately need this stuff, so please, can you make an exception this one time? We have a registered nurse up there too, if that helps. She’ll know what to do.”

With great patience, the woman delivered an obviously canned line. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I can’t help you. I could lose my license.”

Mike was about to plead his case further but paused to regard the pharmacist for a moment. She seemed to be in pretty bad shape herself. In fact, she leaned on the counter for support. He looked around. Except for her, the place was empty. He noted the name on her badge.

“Why are you still here, Kali?” he asked, softening his voice. “Don’t you know what’s going on out there?”

Her eyes, which had drifted away, refocused on him. “No one came to relieve my shift,” she said flatly.

“Why didn’t you go home then?”

She looked away to stare out the window. Her expression became grim, and she clenched her jaw to keep her chin from shaking.

“I tried,” she said, losing the battle with her emotions, “but my car wouldn’t start, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Mike reached out to put his hand on hers, and the tiny gesture of humanity cracked her stoic façade. A stifled sob escaped her lips, but she fought to hold it in.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes and her eyebrows drifted apart. She shook her head. “Too far,” she whispered.

Her shoulders shook and tears filled her eyes, and then she leaned forward to heave a sob that wrenched Mike’s heart. This poor woman had been left to suffer and possibly die all alone, far away from family and friends. He wished he could do something for her, but he had only one thing to offer.

“Why don’t you come back with me to the school,” he said impulsively, stroking her hand. “You’re sick. The nurse can look after you. You don’t have to stay here by yourself anymore.”

Whether she heard him or not he didn’t know because Kali hid her face in the crook of her arm to cry. He rubbed her back and she clutched his hand in response. At last, she gathered herself together and stood to reclaim her poise. Lifting her glasses to wipe her wet face with her sleeve, she looked at Mike and then turned to consider the fully-stocked shelves of pharmaceuticals standing behind her.

If the strong smell of body fluids turned Kali’s stomach, she never once let on. Fitting her into the car hadn’t been easy, but Mike managed to squeeze all three girls together in the backseat with only minimal fuss. The fact of the matter was, they had very little strength left to complain, and they were growing increasingly delirious. He needed to get them back to Scirewood fast.