Containment (35 page)

After several tense moments and a seemingly Herculean effort by Dr. Caldwell, they had nearly controlled the bleeding from each of the three bullet wounds, though the bandages pressed firmly against Art’s hip were still spotting through the several layers applied. The dose of morphine administered to Art had also thankfully taken effect enough to let him rest.

Dr. Caldwell finally set back onto his haunches, tilted his head back, and let out a long, labored sigh. He looked over at Neil. “We’ve got to talk.”

Obviously agitated and her emotions on the rise, Meghan demanded, “So what the hell are you suggesting?”

Dr. Caldwell, seeing Meghan’s growing and animated concern, said as calmly as possible so as not to throw gasoline on the proverbial fire, “I’m not suggesting anything. I don’t think any of us have suggested any course of action.”

Defensively, she fired back, “No, but you did make it pretty clear that Art is going to be nothing but a burden and perhaps a burden not worth...” She couldn’t finish.

“Meghan, all I said was that, because of his injuries, it is unlikely that I can do anything to help him other than try and manage his pain. Maybe help him be comfortable, but even that is going to be a challenge.”

“Until he dies. You forgot to say ‘until he dies’.”

Ignoring her, Dr. Caldwell continued, “And also that it is unlikely that he would be walking any time soon, if ever again. We’re talking Nineteenth Century medicine here. Either he is going to heal or he’s not, but only time will tell.”

Under his breath, Neil said to himself, “Something we once again don’t have much of.” He turned to Meghan. “Meghan, we have to think about all of us and which are the best ideas to keep us all alive. That hasn’t changed. Remember when we left the house and we had to leave Rachel and Tony?”

“That was different.”

“Only by degree and by personality. Is that more important this time? Is he somehow more special than Rachel? Or Tony?”

She looked at him with her eyes full of pain. Neil could see the conflict and the confusion. She turned and ran back downstairs just as the tears started to fill the bottoms of her eyes. She flashed one last watery look at him before she descended the stairs and then was gone. He considered chasing after her but his stung pride, like a heavy barnacled anchor, planted his feet to the floor.

As silent spectators, Emma, Claire, Gerald, and Evelyn watched the scene play itself out.

Finally, Emma said, “I’ll go check on her.”

“And I guess I’ll go check on Art,” Evelyn said.

Dr. Caldwell said, “Thank you ladies. Well played, Neil.”

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘it’s not what you said; it’s how you said it’?”

Neil rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You sayin’ I was bein’ insensitive?”

Nodding his head, Dr. Caldwell answered, “That pretty much sums it up, yes.”

“Yeah. Came up a couple times during the divorce. I guess I’m defective in that department.”

Jerry finally said, “So, back to the task at hand.”

The big question that Meghan dreaded, as did all of them—including Neil—was what to do now. There was no doubt in any of their minds that their current and strictly temporary refuge had been compromised. The fact that they were about to be on the run again was no longer a point of debate and they all accepted that.

Malachi’s shooting would act like a magnet for the zombies who had been seeking them out unsuccessfully for the past several days. The series of shots would help their predatory instincts to hone in on their position. Malachi’s subsequent action in running down the road while yelling and shooting the assault rifle would help to detour them temporarily but they had no illusions any longer about staying there long term.

Dr. Caldwell wondered about poor Malachi. He couldn’t be certain, of course, But Dr. Caldwell wanted to think that Malachi had realized what he’d done and how he’d compromised everyone else’s lives and had chosen, in that moment of clarity, to do what he must to make amends. Dr. Caldwell hoped that Malachi was able to slay the ghosts of his past before they got him. The doctor was also keenly aware that if they were to delay too long, then the best of what Malachi had done would be outdone by the worst of his actions. If had Malachi just sacrificed himself to buy them a little time, then they had damned well better use it to the best of their abilities.

It was a familiar topic and a replayed discussion. They needed to decide a direction and a route. They also needed to decide what to take and how it would best be carried. It would have been much easier if they had a vehicle at their disposal, but that was obviously not an option. Wishing for a vehicle was as effective as wishing for a helicopter to come and spirit them away. Neither were realistic possibilities.

Throughout this exchange, Neil’s voice was curiously and perceptibly absent. He nodded and listened, but his distraction was obvious to all of them. His input was as desperately needed as was his leadership, but neither were forthcoming.

He wanted to go to Meghan but what he’d do then, he didn’t know. He could feel the divide that had been forced between them, and when he thought about that, he couldn’t help the anger that he felt toward Art. It wasn’t Neil’s fault that he realized he really didn’t like the guy right about the time Malachi went nuts. And now that Art had been shot, Neil’s feelings toward him made him feel and look like a jerk. And that kind of pissed off Neil too. Just because a guy has been shot, doesn’t excuse him for his actions. But Neil couldn’t think of anything that Art had done really. He’d been difficult and a bit of a naysayer, but he hadn’t actually done anything. Neil was certain that Art had been a....

If Neil was going to be perfectly honest with himself, he’d just have to admit that his dislike of Art was as inexplicable and subjective as a lot of modern interpretive dance. He’d also have to admit that he never really put any effort into getting to know Art as anything other than another set of hands with which to get things done. Their interactions had been limited at best despite having shared some fairly intimate space on occasion over the past few weeks.

In fairly short order, Neil was completely ashamed of himself for his foolish pride and his jealousy. His ex was right and now so was Meghan. He deserved every bit of their enmity, if that’s what it was that he was getting. The world would likely end and all life extinguished before the mystery of Woman and her effect on man would ever be untangled by unworthy mortals. If there was ever a proof of God’s existence, it is that there has to be one being in the universe that understands women. If not God, then who? Still, if he didn’t show any jealousy, then he could be accused of not caring enough. With regard to women, Neil didn’t see a whole lot of options to win.

His dad, probably the smartest guy he knew, would likely say something like: ‘it’s not about winning the game or even scoring points, it’s just about playing the game and getting something out of it’. He said things like that a lot to Neil while he was growing up. Neil probably should have listened to him more often rather than think of all the ways in which his dad was wrong about everything. Once again, another missed opportunity that had been kicking him in the ass his entire life.

Badgering himself and second guessing everything that he’d done to date made him angry again, but this time the anger was more of a mood spoiler than it was anything else. He decided to let Dr. Caldwell deal with Art and for Jerry to deal with the others. Neil retired to a bedroom with Jules and Danny and shut the door. There were fewer questions with the children and those that were asked weren’t nearly as taxing as those that he would face from the adults in the other room.

The debate continued and continued, resurfacing at every opportunity. Despite the high emotions and the loud voices, a decision was reached upon which they all could agree.

Gerald was completely sincere when he said, “Geez, Doc. That’s impressive. They teach you how to do that in medical school?”

Impressed with his own handiwork as well, Dr. Caldwell nonetheless didn’t want to sound cocky. “Nope. Scouts.”

“Scouts...Boy Scouts, that is, wasn’t too popular where I grew up. At least not in our neighborhood. I ‘spect most folks just didn’t have that much extra money for such things. Whatcha call this thing again?”

“It’s called a travois. As I recall, the Plains Indians used them to move the sick or the hurt and sometimes even the old.”

Gerald, always full of good humor, joked, “I think I may be a little of each I’m afraid.”

Dr. Caldwell answered with a smile, “I think one travois at a time is about all we can handle.”

Gerald asked, “So are we really going to be able to move him and us?”

Dr. Caldwell nodded reassuringly. “It’s going to take all of us working together but I think we can. We can’t stay here much longer. I just hope we have time to get ourselves prepared enough for the long road ahead.”

Almost on cue, Jerry and Claire burst into the garage where Dr. Caldwell and Gerald were working. They’d just finished burying Dave in the backyard without any fanfare or even an audience. Nothing dramatic or the least bit consoling was said. Jerry’s face was very serious and Claire’s looked somewhat nervous.

The doctor asked, “What’s wrong?”

Jerry looked at Claire and said with alarm, “The buzzing. We can hear the buzzing again. I think they’re getting close.”

“Shit. Have you told Neil yet?”

Jerry nodded. “Yeah. He’s getting Jules and Danny together. Evelyn and Emma are helping gather together some last minute supplies.”

“And Meghan?”

“She’s still hanging out with Art,” Claire said.

“Is he conscious?”

“In and out.”

“When he’s in, is he being quieter?”

Jerry shook his head.

Dr. Caldwell stood up from his creation and used his authoritative voice. “It’s time then. We’ve got to get out of here while there is still daylight. Maybe we can get to another hiding spot before it gets dark.” To himself, Dr. Caldwell muttered, “Maybe I can give him something to put him out and keep him quiet.”

Neither Jerry nor Claire said anything to that. They just looked at the travois seemingly made of mop handles and bed linen. It seemed so fragile...too fragile to be able to transport a person. They could only hope that their concerns were unfounded; this hope was unfortunately in addition to the hope that transporting the stricken Art would not so hobble them that they’d all soon be meeting their collective fates. All of this would certainly be easier if they still had a vehicle.

When he thought about or, more correctly, pined for the minivan, he always thought about Maggie and her betrayal. He’d trusted her no more or less than anyone else and yet she had been allowed to hamstring them so thoroughly and so cleanly. How anyone who claimed to have any connection to Christianity, or any other faith for that matter, could do something so vile was a mystery to him. He’d known a lot of Christians in his day, and they were, by and large, good people and understood there existed a balance to expressing their faith and conducting themselves as responsible citizens; faith footed in absolutes and civic interaction based upon compromise. There were fundamentalists on both sides of that divide but he tended to ignore their extreme messages. This understanding struck him during his more philosophical quiet moments, which were becoming rarer as the days and weeks passed.

As it was, he’d made no effort to understand either Maggie as an individual or her motivation. He had neither the time nor the interest to spend considering why or how she could be so incredibly and ruthlessly hateful as to want to cause such suffering. His anger and resentment, not to mention his constant fatigue, overwhelmed any half-hearted attempts to seek revelation about her. He only reserved a dull rage and a distant hope that their paths would cross again.

Dr. Caldwell remembered the task they had just completed and asked, “You guys okay?”

Both of them nodded but said nothing.

Dr. Caldwell said quietly, “Thank you for taking care of that.”

“Seemed a little cold to me,” Claire remarked. “He may have been a bit of a jerk, but he deserved better. We all deserve better.”

Dr. Caldwell bowed his head and said, “Amen to that.”

Meanwhile, Neil, sitting in the bedroom with Jules and Danny, finished reading a book to the two kids. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to give a single detail from what he had read. He was as disinterested and unengaged in the activity as was a traffic light on a timed schedule in the early morning hours. With neither cars nor pedestrians around, the light merely cycled through its trichromatic faces much the way Neil saw and read the words.

His distraction was evident to the children who had probably heard more personality and interest from the voice announcing airport security policies than they were from him. They listened politely, hoping to encourage future readings with perhaps a little more enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to be more on edge since the police officer hurt Art, but Neil seemed to be just the opposite.

If either Danny or Jules were a trained psychologist, they would have described Neil’s affect as flat, if not a little depressed. He was just barely going through the motions of the day-to-day routine. Danny didn’t like to see Neil that way. To him, Neil had firmly occupied a place of awe and power. He was the man who made the decisions that kept them all alive. He was the rock that all of them needed to hold back the flood of doubt and insecurity. But the rock was crumbling and starting to crack and it scared Danny to think that there wouldn’t be that someone who could so decisively lead them. Dr. Caldwell and Jerry were both smart and were good at helping everyone, but neither of them had that special something that Neil had.