Better in the Dark (21 page)

“She’s not a young woman,” Harry said idly.

“She’s got heart trouble,” Natalie snapped at him.

“She told me she’s taking care of it.”

Natalie snorted. “Okay. But I think we ought to keep an eye on her. We can’t afford to lose one more of us. Having Dave out of commission is bad enough.”

“You’re right,” Harry agreed. “I’ll keep an eye on her, then.”

“Thanks.”

There were over a dozen people waiting in the reception room, most of them sick. Harry scowled at the files handed to him, and nodded to Jane Fletcher. “Who’s first in this lot?” he asked, giving a worried glance at the patients.

“Blairing and Santiago. I’d take Santiago first,” said Fletcher with her nurse’s firmness, and a knowing nod. “The boy, Jaime Santiago, he’s very sick. I’m almost certain you’ll want to admit him. Otherwise...”

“Okay.” Harry tucked the files under his arm. “Send Santiago in.”

“The Santiago kid has that stuff that looks like polio,” Harry reported in the lab a little later. “Damn it, we need more information about it. Can you get a workup on it? And we’ll need a complete series on Mrs. Blairing. Unless I miss my guess, she’s diabetic, and might have something more on top of it. We’ll have to use the old glucose-tolerance test. We aren’t set up for computer diagnosis.” He sighed in exasperation. “I’m beginning to realize how much we took for granted at Westbank.”

Howard Webbster looked up. “I’ll run her as soon as I can.”

Fletcher looked in the door. “Phone for you, Harry. It’s Stan.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and nodding his excuses to Howard, went into the hall. “Harry here,” he said to the phone.

“Hi. I’m leaving Inner City.”

“Any luck?” Harry asked without much hope.

“No. Both Wexford and Justin refused to discuss the matter. And Harry, Peter’s got something.” He paused to make sure Harry understood. “I spent almost an hour with him, and he looks sick.”

“What does he have? Do you know?”

“I didn’t have the chance to find out. But it might be important later on.” Stan cleared his throat and went on. “No help from anyone down here. They’re swamped with patients, and they really don’t have enough staff to keep going. It’s worse than Westbank. I don’t see how they’re managing at all.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said sarcastically. “If this keeps up much longer, they’re going to need our help more than we need theirs.”

Harry cursed mentally. He had hoped that there would be a way to stop the insanity now, but he no longer believed that. Now he feared what lay ahead, and the fear was ice in his vitals. “Do you need a ride back?”

“What’s the patient load there right now?”

“Very heavy. We’re all going to be working late.”

There was a pause. “Okay. I’ll get back on my own. Buses are running on the beltway, and that should get me there in about ninety minutes to two hours.”

Harry said, “Are you sure? I can send one of the nurses to get you.”

“This is their rest period. They need it. Don’t worry about me.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Natalie knocked on the lab door later, and it was Amanda who admitted her. “Hi,” she said. “Do you mind if I run these through very fast? I’ll try not to get in your way.”

“Be my guest,” Amanda said without looking up from her microscope. “The extra slides are in the second drawer.”

“That’s handy.” Natalie reached for the slides and set to work.

“What do you think you’ve got?”

“Leukemia. I saw one case in medical school. The patient was an older woman, a Christian Scientist who hadn’t got the vaccine. It was very sad. It’s a terrible disease.”

“Is this patient old or young?” Amanda asked as she made a note on the chart at her side.

“Young. About seven. Very pretty little girl. I don’t know what to tell her aunt. I hope it isn’t, but if the cancer vaccines aren’t given, and with the atmospheric carcinogen count the way it is...” She did not go on, filled with anger at the irresponsible decisions which had brought them to this dreadful time. “What have you got?”

“Another diphtheria, a typhus, which means that we’re going to have to be very careful about sanitation from now on. And there’re a couple of minor viral infections of no particular importance. And a couple cases of respiratory impairment, but I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“There’s a tuberculosis admit on Alexes’ list. We’ve put him in a closed room, and we’re taking all the precautions we can. I hope it isn’t as serious as Alexes seems to think.” Natalie put down her materials. “I used to think that the serious challenges had left medicine. I wish I could get that feeling back again.”

Amanda sighed. “No. You’ve never taken this for granted. You think you have, but I’ve watched you.” She paused, yawned, and said, “I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Take a break,” Natalie suggested.

“I’ve got to finish these things first. Then I’ll sit down. No, about what I was saying: you’re truly conscientious. That’s rare. It’s rare in doctors and everywhere else. I admire you for it.” Amanda stopped. “And we should both get back to work.”

Natalie gestured her agreement and set up her specimen for a blood count.

Radick nodded sympathetically. “You say the patient is young?” he asked Natalie, who told him the child’s age. “Seven is very young to die.” Radick was sadly thoughtful. “Do you want me to tell the parents, or shall you?”

“Guardian. An aunt. She’s quite young herself, not more than twenty-five. I just don’t know what to say to her, Radick. I’ve tried to think for the last half hour. How do you tell either of them that the girl has leukemia, and the disease is quite advanced?”

“I don’t know. Oh, I can soften the blow, and perhaps help them avert the worst effects of the shock, but there is not way to alter the truth. If the child has this cancer, there is very little we can do other than lessen the worst of her suffering.” He turned away, suddenly very angry. “I hope all those smug, anonymous men who made these decisions have to go through this. I hope they have to see stricken faces and the tortured eyes. I hope they have to watch impotently while their children die...” He broke off and looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I did not mean to burden you with my frustration or my rage.”

She shrugged.

“That’s part of the trouble. We can do so little, and then we start to hate ourselves because we can do nothing. I have often thought that physicians’ arrogance—and it is a disease rampant among us—is an attempt to immunize ourselves against self-hate.” He sat down on the bench at the breakfast table, which had become his office. “Very well. Send in the child and her aunt, and I will talk to them and do what I can, though it will be little enough.”

“Radick,” Natalie ventured.

“Go away,” he said in gruff compassion. “Go into our common room and give yourself a few minutes to be calm again. We both need it.” He showed her a gentle smile ravaged by grief. “Go away,” he repeated softly.

“The girl’s name is Melanie Lovat. The aunt’s name is Sheila Wentworth.”

Radick nodded. “Thank you.”

The common room was almost deserted, and the litter of three days covered the formal dining table. Papers, coffee mugs, a crumpled lab smock, all lay on the fine-grained wood. By the tile-inlaid fireplace on the far side of the room several chairs were drawn up, and newssheets lay in piles on the low coffee table. Natalie made a half-hearted attempt to neaten the room, then dropped into one of the elegant chairs opposite Amanda.

“You look tired,” Amanda said after a moment or two.

“So do you.” She was more concerned than her voice showed. Amanda’s face was clay-colored with fatigue, and her breathing was strained. “Have you kept up with your drugs?” Natalie asked, hating herself for asking.

“Of course,” Amanda said. “But you know what it’s like: it’s hard to relax with this going on. So I don’t sleep as well as I ought, I know it.”

Natalie nodded.

“Have you seen the news today? They’re admitting that the death rate is up sixteen per cent.”

“Which probably means twice that,” Natalie added.

“No doubt. Absenteeism is running at almost forty per cent, according to official releases. Undoubtedly some of this can be accounted for by those staying home to take care of sick family members, and some are staying home out of fear. But that’s still too many.” She sighed. “Is Stan back yet?”

“Not that I know of. He’s planning to take a bus at the Great Beltway. Which means he’ll probably be late. One of the patients, a Mr. Eastly, said he had to wait almost two hours for a bus yesterday.” Fleetingly, Natalie wondered why she felt she had to have an explanation for Stan’s absence. She told herself it was nerves. “Why don’t you take a nap, Amanda? You aren’t on duty for another four hours.”

Amanda nodded. “Thank you. I believe I will.” She rose unsteadily. “I might look in on Mr. Rice. He’s going fast, and I think he’s frightened.” Amanda walked slowly to the door. “Will you call me when you go off duty? I don’t want to set my alarm. It will waken Carol and Lisa on the other side of the screen.”

“All right. If you’re not up, I’ll call you.” Natalie watched the door close behind Amanda. Then remembering Radick’s instructions, she tried to rest and compose herself, which very quickly made her nervous. At last she reached for the screen and turned it on. Light, inane entertainment might be the counterirritant she needed.

A news broadcast was in progress, and she was about to try another network when she was caught by a name she thought she recognized. She turned the sound higher and waited.

“... on the steps of Stockton’s Central Administration Building. Dr. Patman, who was dismissed for cause from Westbank Hospital last month, claimed that the current outbreak of disease was a deliberate plot on the part of the government, an experiment in population control. Dr. Patman demanded that the administration answer his charges, and when asked to leave, he threatened to fill his own veins with certain toxins he said he was carrying on his person. The City Patrol was called to subdue Dr. Patman...”

Natalie watched, transfixed as Eric Patman’s tiny figure struggled with the uniformed men on the screen. Then she saw him lift something, and whatever his words mouthed, the announcer’s smooth voice covered.

“Dr. Patman had been suffering from depression, and had convinced himself that the current city health problem was engineered by certain nameless agencies of the federal government, according to Dr. Miles Wexford, chief administrator at Westbank Hospital.”

“You clever bastards,” Natalie said to the screen.

“On examination, Dr. Patman was found to have died from a self-administered injection of botulin.”

Natalie was half out of her chair. “What?”

“A suicide note was found in his apartment, admitting his intention to kill himself in this manner if he could not convince the authorities to stop what he termed ‘this unmitigated atrocity.’ There will be a private hearing in the coroner’s office tomorrow to determine Dr. Patman’s state of mind at the time of his death.” On the screen a bad picture of Eric showed him working with slides in his immunological laboratory, the very picture of a mad scientist.

“Liar!” Natalie shouted, getting out of her chair completely. The newscaster had gone blandly on to other topics.

Helpless rage washed over her as she watched the screen. Eric Patman was dead. He had killed himself to stop this horrible farce, and the news had made a slightly off-color joke of his sacrifice. Eric Patman was dead. Natalie found herself shaking, her hands held tightly together, her body tightened intolerably. Eric Patman was dead. Somehow she would have to tell the others.

Natalie was still awake, staring at the ceiling when Harry came into their room. She watched him without speaking while he pulled off his lab coat, his shirt, then his shoes. When he went to stare out the window, her eyes followed him. At last she asked, “What time is it?”

“About quarter after four.” He did not turn around. “We lost Mr. Wanstern a little while ago. We couldn’t keep him going any longer.” He was silent for a moment. “I heard about Eric. God! Poor guy.”

Natalie waited. She knew there was more.

“Stan’s not back yet, either. Larsen, that new nurse? She called the City Patrol, but they haven’t seen him. I guess that’s something.”

“He probably stopped to make a house call. If the case is bad, he could still be there.”

“Yeah.”

“If anything had happened to him, we’d have heard by now. They’d bring him here, the way they brought Dave.”

Harry said nothing.

“Harry?” Natalie asked after a time.

“I’m here.”

The desolation in his voice touched her. She got out of bed and silently, chastely, went into his arms.