Pandemic (23 page)

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

“I was afraid to leave them. It came on fast.”

I wanted to tell him about Dad, but I couldn’t break down again. I needed to stay calm, to hold it together.

“Lil?” Cam said, trying to sit up.

I squatted next to her. “Lie down and rest. I’ll stay right here with you.” I pushed a sweaty lock of hair from her eyes, trying not to panic.

“Did you give them any medicine?” I asked Jay.

“Children’s ibuprofen an hour ago. But they’re still feverish.”

“Should we get them to the hospital?” I whispered.

“I called my aunt. It’s impossible. The rooms are full. They set up tents, ‘surge capacity,’ she called it, and those are overflowing, too. She said she’d come home soon.”

“She can’t get them in?”

“If we could get them into the damn hospital don’t you think I would have done it already? What are you, stupid?!”

I retreated as much as I could from him in the crowded bathroom. “Stupid enough to put up with you!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He put his hands to his temples as if he had a tremendous headache. “I can’t let anything happen to Ty. I promised her. I promised.”

“It’s OK,” I said softly. “Where are the washcloths?”

“The hall closet.”

I retrieved two, rinsed them with cold water, rung them out, then placed them gently on Ty’s and Cam’s foreheads.

“Mmmm,” Ty mumbled.

“Why don’t you take a break,” I told Jay. “I’ll sit with them. Maybe you could call Reggie? We should warn the people at the Senior Center that they may have been exposed. TK’s family, too.”

“At this point everyone’s been exposed.”

“Please?”

“All right,” he said.

I rolled towels to put under the kids’ heads. Without electricity for a fan, the bathroom felt stuffy. I knelt by them, stroking their arms, first Cam, then Ty, then Cam again. They both seemed on the verge of sleep. That could be their bodies resting to repair themselves. Or it could be their systems shutting down.

Ty moaned. “It hurts. It really hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“All of me.” He moaned again. “Can you take me to the prison?”

“What?”

Ty’s eyes were glassy, his face flushed with fever. “I need to go there. I need to go to the prison.”

“Um, OK. After you get better we’ll go,” I said. That calmed his babbling.

Cam coughed, a hacking sound. It reminded me of Dad on the phone. But I couldn’t think about him now, couldn’t worry that everyone I loved would soon be gone.

Logic told me to keep replacing the cool cloths on their foreheads. But my emotions were like a broken merry-go-round, spinning in frantic circles, unable to stop.
Don’t let them die. Don’t let them die.

Cam stirred. “Mommy?”

“It’s Lil. Jay and I are taking care of you.”

But if the hospital couldn’t save Megs or Dad, how could Jay and I save the kids?

She closed her eyes again. I adjusted the washcloths, rubbed their cheeks, did everything I could to feel helpful.
Don’t let them die.

Jay checked on us every few minutes.

“We should move them,” he said a little later. “There’s not enough air in here. The family room couch opens into a bed. I’ll put on sheets and pillows. And my aunt said to make a rehydration solution.”

I barely heard what he was saying.
Don’t let them die.
I was so focused on Ty and Cam that it took me awhile to realize that he didn’t return.

“Jay?” I called softly, afraid to wake them.

He didn’t answer.

I knew he was right, that the kids would be better in a room with windows. Cam felt frail and weightless in my arms as I carried her to the family room.

And there was Jay, pale and lifeless, sprawled across the pullout bed.

I would have screamed if it wasn’t for Cam.
This can’t be happening! It can’t be!

After gently placing Cam next to him, I ran to get Ty. I hovered over the three of them, rearranging pillows, replacing washcloths. I opened the window hoping the breeze would clear my head. All three of them were sick. Their survival depended on me now.

Once I found the instructions for the rehydration solution on the kitchen counter, I measured a triple dose: twelve cups of boiled water, six tablespoons of sugar, and one-and-half teaspoons of salt. I stirred everything together, then tried to get each of them to drink it. Cam and Ty got about half of it down, but Jay would barely raise his head. I rummaged through the kitchen, found a crazy straw, and finally got him to drink. It didn’t feel like enough, though. If only I had stronger medicine—

The antiviral!
Why didn’t I think of it sooner? It was my best chance to save them.

I hated to leave them alone, but getting the medicine for them would be worth it. “I’ll be back soon,” I said to the dozing bodies.

I sprinted the whole way. Thankfully, I didn’t see anyone. Back at home, my hand shook as I quickly opened the safe. The two boxes were still there. One for Mom, one for Dad. I grabbed them, realizing bleakly that it was too late for Dad. Should I save a box for Mom? But who knew when Mom would make it back. Jay, Ty, and Cam were sick right now. My parents would want me to help them.

Two boxes. Three sick people. If I had to choose . . . but no. I would divide the two boxes evenly. They would take less medicine each, but it had to be better than nothing.

I shoved the medicine in my backpack, along with some extra soup and bottled water. At the doorway, I caught my breath, trying to calm my many fears: getting sick, witnessing their deaths, dying myself.

Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have to leave the security of home; I didn’t have to immerse myself in the contagious flu; I didn’t have to run down the street alone. I could stay right where I was, safe from the virus, safe from death. Jay’s aunt would be home soon enough to care for them.

Stalling, I weighed the choices. Security or danger?

It was tempting to choose the cautious option. I had spent the last months trying to protect myself from every possible threat that I could think of, real or imagined. Self-preservation had become a way of life for me since the Mr. B incident.

But I finally thought of something worse than dying from the flu: living through it by being selfish. Yes, I wanted to survive, but at what price? My heart thudded, ready for fight or flight. But I was not ready to sit at home. I pictured Jay, Ty, and Cam waiting for me. I imagined them turning blue.

I threw the backpack over my shoulder, locked the door, started to run. Sweat dripped down my face from the exertion. I was harried, careless. And when I rounded the bend, I ran right into a pair of looters.

C
HAPTER
25

The funeral parlors have a waitlist. Coffins are impossible to obtain and the cemetery workers can’t keep up with the grave digging. Death is a business for some of us, and right now the demand for services far exceeds the supply.

—Blue Flu interview, funeral home director

T
wo men in their twenties left the house closest to me with bulky pillowcases slung over their shoulders, like a pair of evil Santa Clauses. Before I could react, one dropped his haul and rushed to block my path. He had slicked-back hair and stood close enough for me to smell his hair gel.

“Hey,” he said.

Danger crackled in the air between us. I couldn’t let him take the medicine. I glanced around for someone or something to help me. Already winded, I couldn’t outrun them. There was nowhere to go. No weapon to fight with. My mind raced to come up with a plan.

I was totally screwed.

His friend picked up the second pillow case and stood by his side. He leered at me, revealing perfectly white teeth.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Perfect Teeth asked.

I clutched the straps on my pack with shaky hands. If I opened my mouth to speak, I might puke.

“The quiet type, huh? You should hang with us for awhile,” Hair Gel said. “Talking is overrated. And you look fun.”

He said this to my chest, leaving no doubt what kind of fun he meant. With Mr. B, the fear crept up on me before I knew why. But now, the terror slammed into me head on.

Perfect Teeth took a step closer. “And she’s pretty, too.”

I thought about screaming. Who would possibly come to my rescue? Pins and needles invaded my hands. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I couldn’t move, afraid to let go of my backpack to wipe the drops away. I thought of Jay, Ty, and Cam waiting helplessly for me, dying.

I had to get away. I breathed in, prepared to scream, but my throat was too dry and all I managed was a loud cough. It gave me an idea. I coughed again, doing my best to make it sound flulike. Summoning the courage to move, I wiped my forehead in a dramatic motion and found my voice.

“Been sick for three days. I don’t have much time.”

Perfect Teeth backed away first, then Hair Gel.

I forced myself to cough again, doubled over from the nausea. That part didn’t need faking, and I clutched my stomach and moaned.

They moved away, quickly, leaving me alone.

“Good luck, girl,” Hair Gel called over his shoulder.

I lumbered toward Jay’s, still pretending to be sick, willing myself not to look back. Finally, I was safely inside.

Jay, Ty, and Cam hadn’t moved in my absence. It took me a good ten minutes to calm down enough to decipher the antiviral dosage instructions. The capsules were meant for adults and I could only guess what Cam and Ty weighed. Finally, I took one capsule and broke it open, giving each kid half of it mixed with some apple sauce. Jay seemed delirious but managed to swallow a pill with water.

Jay’s aunt called. She had become sick, too, and could barely speak. She couldn’t help me. When night came, I thought about changing the sheets on her bed and sleeping there. But each time I left to go upstairs, fear gripped my heart, and I returned five minutes later, terrified that Jay, Cam, or Ty would die during the night. I finally moved a kitchen chair across from the most comfortable seat near the pullout couch and propped up my feet. I didn’t sleep much in my pseudo-bed. Jay, Cam, and Ty took turns groaning and whimpering throughout the night. In the morning, they didn’t seem any better.

I tended to the three of them all day with medicine, rehydration solution, and cool wash cloths.
Please get better,
I whisper-prayed about a thousand times. If Ty died, Jay would never forgive me. If Cam died, I would never forgive myself. If Jay died . . .

I couldn’t imagine it. Jay wasn’t the guy from the smoking corner anymore or Megs’s mystery date or the object of Kayla’s desire. He was Jay who adored his brother, who talked a lot but not too much, who stood by me during the past horrific days. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when I memorized the sound of his sigh, the glint of a silver filling when he laughed, the details of his hands.

Megs, I’m sorry. I like Jay. I really like him. He’s a good person, and if he feels the same way we could make each other happy.

If we managed to survive the pandemic.

At least I was there with him. I wondered if Dad had died alone. The thought made me weepy. His death still felt surreal, as if it were a bad dream and hadn’t really happened.

But it had. I knew at some point I would have to retrieve his ashes, but the logistics seemed impossible now. How could I get to Delaware? How could I be strong enough to face that trip without Mom?

And where was she? I checked my phone again, but there was no word from her.

There was, instead, one text from Kayla. I hesitated before reading it. Her nastiness was the last thing I needed. Finally, I gave in and opened it.

I sucked in my breath. That might be the closest we had come to making peace with each other. Was it possible she hadn’t known about Megs earlier? In all the craziness, I guess it was. I thought about replying, but what I could possibly say after she threatened to tell Jay about Mr. B?

Then Jay moaned in pain and nothing else mattered.

I stayed with him until he fell back into a restless sleep. I needed something cold to drink but the refrigerator was the same gross temperature as the rest of the house. We didn’t need food poisoning on top of everything else so I emptied the contents into garbage bags, then carried the trash to the garage. The thought of going outside alone was too much for me.

I tried to keep busy in other ways, too, when they didn’t need me, changing the sheets, replacing the towels, trying to disinfect the house. Upstairs, I opened Jay’s window, feeling like an intruder in his bedroom. It was messier than I expected, with cookbooks randomly piled around. A framed photo of a woman I assumed to be his mom leaned on his desk. She had kind eyes, like Jay’s. There were no other photos displayed.

So what was the secret he alluded to? A thought kept rattling around in my brain, like a fly tapping against a window trying to get outside. When Jay refused to break into the school, at first I thought it was his way of avoiding trouble so he could take care of Ty. But then Ty had mumbled about visiting prison in his delirium. What if Jay had done something illegal in Arizona? Would that matter to me? How much of his past would I be willing to forgive?

I was holding the photo in my hand when Jay coughed from the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb, still weak, but the color in his face was less sickly looking.

Was he healthy enough to be furious at me for snooping in his room? “I thought the air would help.” I put the frame down with one hand, gesturing toward the opened window with the other.

Jay moved forward slowly, then wrapped both arms around me in a huge hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into my hair before pulling away too soon.

“Your fever seems to be gone. Do you feel better?”

“Still weak, but better.”

We moved slowly downstairs. I got Jay comfortable in the chair I’d been sleeping in so he could rest near Ty. The kids still slept while Jay checked his phone.