Better in the Dark (26 page)

“Do you want me to stay? I can help.”

She looked at him once more. “Would you?

When the fire began I’d been on the floor over fifteen hours. I’m worn out. I can use your help.”

She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “You see what we have here. I’ve got one other doctor and three paramedics and a nurse.” Her voice wavered toward the end, but she controlled it.

“Thank you. You’d better get that van over here.

The worst of the burns and one or two of the diseased patients must go.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll bring it up at the far end.”

“Yes.” Katherine Ng put her hand to her eyes. “Do you have stimulants? I need something to keep me going.”

“I haven’t on me, but I can get them.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at the patient on the cot. “You’ll be taking him with you the first trip.” Her short laughter was mirthless.

Harry looked at the tangle of charred clothes and the hideously melted features. “Christ. Who is it, do you know?”

“Oh, yes, I know. It’s Miles Wexford.”

Within twenty minutes Ted Lincoln had rushed off in the van, driving at the very edge of control, well past the speed of caution. Harry watched him go, then turned back into the shelter. Near him two children shared a cot, and their feeble hacking and mucus-covered lips were testaments to the smoke they had inhaled. Harry also noticed the rash on their bodies and wondered if it were measles or the early stages of smallpox.

“Not those,” Katherine Ng said. “They’re going to be okay now. But I need you for the borderline cases. That man there, the one with the lacerated thigh. Take care of him, and then the woman on number five cot.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and began work on the man with the lacerated thigh.

The kitchen had been pressed into use for surgery, and Alexes Castor had moved the meal-preparation equipment into the garage where there was a small workshop.

Carol Mendosa worked feverishly over a young woman whose legs were crusted, bleeding stumps. Ernest Dagstern was her assistant and nurse, and Carol was secretly surprised at his calm good sense.

Natalie, on the other side of the table, monitored the anesthesia. “Carol, you’ve got to make it fast. She’s not doing well.”

“I’m trying,” Carol snapped. “I haven’t done a lot of surgery, and never a double amputation. And never on a kitchen table.” She stood still while Ernest patted the sweat from her face. “We should have nurses, we should have the laser equipment. This is close enough to butchery to make my stomach turn.”

“Just get those things off her,” Natalie said, with more feeling than she knew.

“Those things are feet,” Carol snapped.

“Not any more,” said Natalie.

Dave Lillijanthal lay in his makeshift traction, the elegance and beauty of his body now quite gone. He was half conscious, lost in that strange twilight where there was neither pain nor thought.

Beside him Celeste Larsen sat, her nurse’s uniform crumpled and gray. Her hands were busy making bandage pads, moving almost independently from the stack of gauze, through the motions, and then to the completed pile. She looked up as Natalie came in. “You’re through?” she asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

“We’re through. For whatever good it did.” She studied Dave, but her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

“You lost her?”

“Yes. We’d almost got the left foot off. Without real equipment...” Her voice trailed off. “How’s Dave?”

Larsen stopped making the bandages. “I don’t like the feel of him. Radick was in earlier, and he was concerned.”

Natalie gathered her hands into knots of frustration. “We don’t have the time or the staff for this. He can’t be this way. Dave, Dave, damn it, why did you have to let yourself get caught?”

Dave’s eyes opened a little wider and he tried to turn toward her. The slight movement, the helplessness of the man, were so pathetic that it struck her to the heart. “Oh, Dave,” she whispered.

“Natalie?” Larsen said, putting one hand on her arm. “Can’t you get some rest?”

“With two more vanloads coming in? I don’t even know where we’re going to put them. I don’t know how we’re going to take care of them. There isn’t room enough for the patients we have now.” She brought her rising voice back under control. “I’m sorry, Larsen. It’s just that I’m tired and I’m scared.”

Celeste Larsen regarded her with a thoughtful frown. “We were talking, over in the nurses’ quarters, about this. Thornton is sick, but Tim Walsh and I are fine. We can take some of the less badly hurt patients over there. Or, if you want to keep the patients all in one place, we can make room there for a couple of you doctors. That can free some of the attic rooms for patients.”

“Larsen, I don’t want to do that.”

“I’ve already asked Lisa, and she thinks it’s a good idea. You can change your mind if you want, but I think it will work.”

“Harry’s bringing back a couple more nurses and three paramedics. I don’t even know where they’ll sleep.” Sternly Natalie told herself to stop doing this. She had to make decisions, and they had to be made now. She glanced at the pile of bandages. “Are those ready for the sterilizer?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take them in.” Then she looked again at Larsen. “Larsen, do whatever you think is best.” She picked up the bandages. “You’ve all done so well. We couldn’t have done any of this without you.” She stopped again. “Do you know who’s looking after Stan?”

“It’s Alexes’ turn.”

Natalie frowned. “Alexes is with Kirsten, at the fire.”

“But I thought...” Larsen hesitated.

“Lisa?”

Larsen looked more worried. “She’s had her hands full in the lobby. We’ve had over fifty people here already.”

Natalie felt suddenly cold. She put the bandages down again. “Larsen, stay here, will you? Unless I call you?”

“Certainly. But Natalie...”

“Not now.” Natalie went back into the kitchen, and ignored Ernest’s question as he looked up from his cleaning. The door to the laundry stood ajar. Natalie rushed through it, then stopped, one hand still on the knob.

Stan lay half on the waterbed and half on the floor. A drying track of blood ran from the drain set in the cement floor to Stan’s wrists, which were still pushed against the jagged metal of the ancient broken laundry bucket.

Natalie’s cry brought Ernest to her. “Natalie, what’s the matter...” Then he saw Stan. “Dear Jesus,” he whispered.

“How many patients today?” Harry asked as he climbed out of the van. It was midmorning and the night’s work had left him exhausted and hoarse. He saw the dark circles under Natalie’s eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“No, did you?” she countered as she closed the garage door. “I talked to Lisa half an hour ago and I’d guess we’re past thirty so far. There are nine new cases of that polio mutation since yesterday. Which makes over fifty cases in the last four days. With thirteen fatalities. Carol did the house calls this morning and found a few more deaths from it.”

Harry was helping Ted Lincoln open the rear of the van. “These are the last of them, except one or two Kirsten’s bringing back from her side of the fire. They’ve got it out now.”

“When will she be back?” Natalie asked.

“She estimated a couple of hours. She wants to be sure she sees all the firemen who got hurt.”

“Were there very many?” she asked as she bent over the first cot. The man had a crushed arm where a stone pillar had fallen on him. His breathing was shallow but regular.

“Some,” he answered vaguely. “Tony’s helping her. He’s also looking for anything he can salvage that we can use. There isn’t much left, but he might find something. It’s worth a try.”

Natalie felt for the pulse in the man’s neck. “Is this a fireman?”

“That’s Captain Gottschalk. He’s too old to be fighting fires. I talked to him a little last night. I got the feeling he didn’t know what’s going on.”

“Poor old man,” Natalie said.

“There’s a lot of poor old men.”

Ted Lincoln looked out from the van’s interior. “Give me a hand with this, Harry.”

Harry reached into the van and tugged at the last cot. Natalie watched the way he moved, seeing the soreness in each motion he made. She breathed deeply. “I have some other bad news, Harry,” she said at last.

With Ted’s help, Harry lowered the second cot to the floor. “What?” he snapped, preoccupied with the patient.

“It’s Stan, Harry. He killed himself early this morning.”

There was a stillness in Harry that went beyond his arrested movement, and beyond the shock on Ted Lincoln’s face. “I see,” he said in a moment. Then, in another tone that was almost hurtful for its coldbloodedness, he went on, “Well, that’s one more bed free. And at least we’ve got Katherine Ng and her people to take up the slack.” Quite suddenly he turned to her. “Oh, Natalie,” he whispered as he saw her face, “I didn’t mean that. Not the way it sounded.” There was such pain in his eyes that Natalie held out her hands to him. “I know,” she said. “It’s too hard, Harry, that’s all.”

“We can close up now, Harry,” Ted said. “That’s all we’ve got.”

Automatically Harry reached up and slammed the van doors closed. He looked at the two men on the inflated cots. “Those things are a godsend,” he said.

Natalie nodded and made a perfunctory check on the second patient. “You don’t have to share this one,” she said bitterly. “The man’s dead anyway.” Without another word she turned and left the garage.

When Natalie woke, the sun was down and the northernmost attic room was beginning to cool. She put a hand to her forehead as she remembered the day. Her sleep had not refreshed her, and instead she felt slow-witted and heavy. There was a dull throb behind her eyes, and her skin felt two sizes too small for her skull. She swung her legs over the bed and sat, staring into the soft beauty of the early summer afterglow. She got up slowly, testing herself at each movement.

When she was dressed she went down the hall, feeling guilty now that she realized she was almost an hour late for duty.

“Natalie,” Lisa Skye said when Natalie tapped her on the shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired. And after this morning, with Stan, and so little sleep...” She stopped. “I’m glad you’re up, though. I feel awful.”

“Get some sleep,” Natalie recommended, then asked, “What have we got this afternoon so far?”

Lisa handed her the file folders. “These aren’t really complete. Kit Ng’s paramedic’s been helping me out. Her name’s Sheilah something or other. Howard and Jim are seeing patients. Roger’s in the lab and Maria’s on the floor. If you need anyone else, send Larsen or one of the other nurses to wake them.”

“Harry?” Natalie asked, since he hadn’t been in his bed in their room.

“Asleep in the dining room. He stretched out in there a couple of hours ago. He didn’t want to wake you accidentally.” Lisa rose unsteadily. “You mind if I go now? I’m really feeling rotten.”

Natalie took the file folders, then studied Lisa’s face. “Lisa, do you have a fever?” she asked her.

“I don’t know. I think it’s just the heat...” She steadied herself against the desk. “Natalie?”

“I’m here.” She put her arm around Lisa, and found with alarm that she was thinner than she had been even a few days ago. Doing her best to conceal her worry, she led Lisa away from the desk. “Lisa, stop off and have Roger run a couple of tests on you.”

“I’m okay, Natalie. I’m too tired, that’s all. Too tired.”

Fright made Natalie speak sharply. “All right, you’re just tired. But have the tests run anyway. We probably all should have tests, come to think of it. We’ve been exposed to trouble every day.”

Lisa agreed wanly, then surprised Natalie by saying, “Oh, I don’t think you were awake when Kirsten came back?” She didn’t give Natalie a chance to reply. “She brought Peter Justin with her. He’s in with Radick now.”

“Peter Justin?” Natalie felt more startled than angry at this news. “What did she do that for? What else does he want of us?”

“He’s sick, Natalie. He’s got the new polio. He knows it. He’s not like he was before. He knows that everything’s gone wrong. He said he’d call it off if he could.” She stumbled and Natalie reached to steady her. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she muttered.

“I’m ready to take over here,” Natalie said and motioned Lisa away. But as she sat at the desk her thoughts were jumbled, divided between the news that they would now have to deal with Peter Justin, and concern for Lisa. A new, deep sense of foreboding possessed her, and she turned her attention to her patients. She told herself she must not think. There was too much work to do for her to stop and think.

Harry woke with a start and looked around uncertainly, not remembering where he was. Then he saw the faint shine of the chandeliers above him, lit by the dying fire, and he knew he was in the common room. Natalie had been asleep in their room and he had not wanted to wake her. But now he knew that a sound had awakened him. He got up slowly, then let out a shout as his bare feet were cut by broken glass.

The door opened, and in a moment the room was filled with light. “What is it?” Roger Nicholas demanded, his lab coat untidily fastened.

Harry looked up, then returned his attention to the sliver of glass still in the ball of his foot. The cut was bleeding freely, and this made it hard for Harry to pull the glass from the wound, for his fingers kept slipping.

“My God, Harry,” Roger said as he rushed across the room. “How did you get that.”

Harry gritted his teeth. The cut was beginning to hurt badly now. “I think we’ve had another rock thrown at us. You better be sure that there’s no one out there.” He looked at the french doors. “Yep. A rock. There’s another pane gone. I imagine we can expect more of this as time goes on.”

Roger grunted and took charge of extracting the glass. “It would be nice to have some suture spray,” he muttered. “I may have to take stitches.”

“Not a chance,” Harry said loudly. “I couldn’t walk on it then.”

Roger looked at Harry, annoyance and concern in his face. “What makes you think you can walk on it now?” he asked. “This glass”—he held the shard up to Harry—“that’s what was in your foot. It went between the bones and could easily have cut your foot through if you had put a lot of weight on it. It’s a very messy wound.” He stood up. “Wait a minute. I’m going to get some bandages. Get that foot up in the air and keep it up until I get back.” With these instructions over, he left.