The Flu 1/2 (45 page)

After a sniffle, in a second of silence, Rose shivered, grabbed onto Mick’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”

Mick bit his bottom lip. “I just wanted you to know. You may want to stop over and see him. He’s not...chances are he’s not gonna make it through the night.”

Hearing that, even though she knew it was coming, made Rose’s chest sink with sadness.

“Mom, I don’t know how Dylan’s doing it. I don’t. It hit her some time yesterday that Dustin, no matter we do, no matter how hard we pray, he’s leaving us. Why can’t I accept that? Why am I so damn angry over this? And hurt. Oh, God, I don’t even wanna touch that. I just wanna pick him up, take him somewhere, and say ‘Help him,’ but there’s nowhere to go. Nothing will help.”

“That’s what the problem is right now with you, Mick,” Rose said to her son. “You’ve always rushed in, saved the day, righted a wrong. You can’t fix this one. Dylan’s faced that easier, because despite how tough you think you are, she’s always been more reality-based than you. You see something, and you want it, no matter how far from your reach, you go after it. And...and usually, you get it. But Dylan, she goes after what she knows is within that reach, never too far from it. She knows this is out of her hands. It’s in God’s hands now. She won’t touch it. You, Michael, if you could take on God right now to win that boy back, you would. But you can’t. This battle for you is unwinnable. Not to say, if you could, you wouldn’t give God a pretty good fight.” She winked.

“My typical comeback would be, ‘nah, I’d kick His ass’, but....” Mick chuckled, “I really need Him right now, and I don’t want to say anything to piss Him off.”

“I hear that.” Rose gave a pat to his hand. “You’ll get through this, Mick. No matter how bad you hurt, you will get through this. Life goes on. It really does. And you are strong, Mick, no matter what you say right now. I kinda think that may be the reason you feel so weak; it isn’t because you are, it’s just that fate stole some of your strength and tucked it away in reserve so you can go full force when this is over.”

“What if I’m not able to do that?” Mick asked.

“You will be.” Rose embraced her son and almost died when she felt how tightly he held on. And through that hug, she realized that perhaps, even just a little, she did indeed give the comfort and words as a mother she had always wanted to give.

* * *

“To cop a ‘Patrick’ phrase,” Lars chuckled softly, “this sucks. This really...sucks.” Lars dropped down onto the fresh mound of dirt and took a seat. An artificial flower, perfect in its beauty, was in his hand. He peered up across the field to the lines and lines of fresh graves. To him it seemed like a miniature Arlington Cemetery. No headstones or crosses adorned the graves yet, just single wooden stick grave markers which held a white cloth with the name of each of the dead. The wind was brisk and the white cloths all flapped in a small orchestra of noise. They looked like white flags, but somehow they didn’t hold the typical stigma of surrender. To Lars they waved in glorification of life, because there had been no surrender from those who passed on from the flu. They battled, they fought hard, and in essence, in their own way, they really won. They had moved on to something much better, where those who were left behind were left to live a life of grief, painful reminders, decades of hurt and struggles.

“I brought you a cheesy gift. All the others will be envious.” Lars placed the wire stem into the earth. “There. You have a decoration. I apologize for not coming straight out here yesterday when you were buried. But I’m sure you understand. It’s been bad. Very bad. Tonight, tomorrow....” Lars exhaled, “is the finale. Dear God, the company you will have out here. We didn’t do as well as we wanted to, Patrick. The second wave undid the great stats we had. What happened?” He shook his head. “Confidence. Too many came in too late. We had a lot of young not respond. I think you’re lucky that you have missed this last round. In case you’re curious....no. Aside from not being able to get there, I’ve no plans to go back to Africa. I do have plans to stay in Lodi.” Lars gasped as if he were faking shock. “Surprised? You and Mick laid a lot of groundwork for survival. My God, the pressure that is going to fall upon that man’s shoulders when this thing is over. People look to him as a leader. He’s gonna have to pull them through. He’ll need some help since...you abandoned him. Just like you to run, isn’t it? As I have said to you so many times, just like a criminal. Can I let you in on a little secret?” Lars dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have never viewed you as a criminal. I think you know that, I only liked to joke with you. I need to tell you something, Patrick, if you don’t mind. I wished I could have told you these things when you were around. I guess that regret will be multiplied ten-fold around here by everyone. But, forgive the sappiness. I’ll allow you to haunt my dreams and badger me, how’s that?” There was a pause of silence and sadness from Lars. “A month never is long, but when you seem to spend every single day with someone, it can contain a lifetime. You have never treated me as any more than the man I am. Your bizarre curiosity of me made me laugh and your energy and youth made me feel alive. I guess in essence you are a criminal, because my friend, you stole my heart. And when I speak of you in the years to come, as I keep your name alive, your spirit, I will always preface your name with the words, ‘my friend’. Because you are.” Lars ran his hand over the mound of dirt. He grabbed a little and placed it in his pocket. He let out a long breath and folded his arms over his bent knees. “Ah. Okay, sappy time over, mind if I hang out for a while and insult you?”

* * *

Peyton Place
, the ageless story, was Marian’s favorite movie. Tom hated the thought of staying in the bedroom and watching it with her, but she asked for it. And since her spirits and health were improving, Tom gave in. It took a while, but he found that movie in his pile of ‘hide for good’ movies at the video store.

Some soup would hit the spot for the two of them. He had done a lot of digging the previous night, and he hadn’t warmed up from the chill that had set into his bones.

Movie under his arm, two mugs of soup in his hand, Tom pushed the bedroom door opened with his foot. “Hey, dinner and a movie. Just like old times.”

There was a gurgling sound that hit him the second he stepped in. Down onto the dresser went the mugs, the movie dropped from under his arms and Tom flew to the bed. “Marian!”

White.
Her face was white, her eyes wide in panic as she struggled for each breath that seemed to come through a thick, slushy mud.

“Can’t...can’t…breathe,” Marian tried to gasp. The rumbling was louder.

Tom grabbed her hand with worry. “I’ll be back, Marian. I’ll be right back. I have to get Lars.” Murmuring, over and over, ‘I’ll be back’ Tom flew to the door.

“Tom?” Marian called out softly.

It was clear, too clear and perfect. Tom skidded to a stop. He heard nothing, and he knew. Slowly, he turned from the bedroom door.

Marian’s eyes had closed. She didn’t move or breathe. The silence bespoke of a blanketing peace that gave a small bit of comfort. But it wasn’t enough to ease the broken heart that, at that moment, Tom suffered. He felt a part of his own soul leave. Marian was gone.

* * *

Thump.

Against the hollowing chest cavity of his young body, Dustin’s lungs snapped against the struggle to take a breath, echoing in a sense his own beating drum, his final dance in life. There was complete and utter silence from everyone in the room. The only noise came from Dustin. The long breaths in, the thump, the wheeze out. Slowly, with a heartbreaking and frightening pause between each one.

He was sitting nearly upright, but his head tilted to the right, his eyes on his mother. His eyes that wouldn’t close held a half focus as they partially rolled to the back of his head.

Dustin had stopped blinking. The only movements he made were involuntary, the quick rise of his chest and slight twitch of his head with his inhalations.

Dylan held his hand, her eyes staying on him, trying telepathically to relay some sort of message of hope and freedom from fear.

Chris huddled in the dark corner, knees to his chest, eyes glued to Dustin.

Mick prayed. Between his palms, pressed to his lips, was Dustin’s hand.

Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.

Another moment of quietude ensued, only it was too long, much longer than any of the other breathless hushes. Dylan’s eyes rose to meet Mick’s and as soon as they did, a sound broke the silence.

It was whimpering, a tiny whine, soft, short. Dustin’s eyes shifted, and again he made that noise. It was almost inaudible. Then after a heavy gasping wheeze, Dustin’s breathing went out of control, labored, hard. And with the most paralyzing, anguish-filled scream they’d ever heard, his mouth dropped open, his body flung forward and Dustin’s arms reached out frantically as if desperately asking for help.

“Mick!” Dylan screamed, lunging for Dustin as his body convulsed out of control.

But Mick was there already, slipping behind Dustin, wrapping his entire being around the boy to keep his body still. No amount of strength could stop the uncontrollable shaking Dustin did, and nothing, absolutely nothing, blocked out the horrendous scream.

Over and over, long, loudly and painfully, Dustin cried out.

“Dustin!” Dylan grabbed his hand, her words trembling and crying. “Dustin, baby, let go.”

Mick cradled him, holding him tighter and tighter “Shh. We’re here. Just let go, it’s all right. We love you. We’re here.” Mick wanted to bellow out at that moment; everything crumbled inside of him as he held Dustin, trying to take it from him.

His ears covered, head down, Chris cried out over the screams of his brother and the painful pleas of Mick and Dylan. “Make him stop. Help him! Help him!”

Dylan swiped hard at the tears on her face. “Maybe, if I held him, Mick. Maybe if I held him...” She sat on the bed, scooting closer, and Mick moved Dustin from his arms to hers.

The cry of his pain buried itself against his mother’s shoulder. And when his body completely met hers, chest to chest, Dylan’s arms around him, Dustin fell silent.

Mick watched it as if in slow motion. The drastic arching of Dylan’s neck as her head flung back, the veins that protruded in agony, the redness that crept from her throat to her face, they all precluded the most heart-wrenching, soul-annihilating cry Mick had ever heard.

Dustin’s still body rested, braced within the grip of Dylan’s grief. And in a painfully completed circle, against the body that gave him life, in the arms of his mother, Dustin surrendered his last breath.

October 8
^th

It was the first one made, Mick made sure of it. He did it himself, a thick wooden cross, treated so it wouldn’t ruin, with Dustin’s name on it. Dustin was also buried farther from everyone else, next to Marian.

During the course of the day, Mick continued to stop at Dustin’s grave. Every breather he took, he walked over to say hello and wish with all his heart just to be able to hear Dustin one more time, make one of those statements where he defended Mick with a vengeance, then in a single breath tore it down with a simple ‘do you, Mick?’

It would be the last of the long days during which bodies were buried.

It was over. The big wave of death hit twenty-four hours after Dustin had passed away, and with as much grief that Mick held, it was a wave of distraction he needed.

The calm following the end of the flu brought a sense of anxiety to Mick. He was facing the battle Lars always spoke of, the battle to go on. But Mick was pretty certain, as hard as it would be, as difficult as it was to face, he would be able to go on. He didn’t have a choice.

* * *

Lars took a second to peer up at the amber glow of the evening sky. The manmade illumination brought on by the burning bodies, it was yet another sign of the end of the flu era. He walked into the nearly empty gymnasium. It had been weeks since he had been able to walk across the empty floor. He paused at the circle, closed his eyes and imagined that the silence was a room full of applause and cheers. Those that came from children, an abundance of enthusiasm that would be a long time coming before it occurred again in that school gym.

Relinquishing the memory of many school basketball games and pep rallies, Lars went back to what he was originally doing in that gym: Finishing up.

Henry and Kurt packed boxes with folders, sealing them with duct tape and stacking them alphabetically.

“How’s it going?” Lars asked as he approached the pair.

“Fine,” Henry answered. “Just getting things ready for future documentation. When we’ll do that, I don’t know. Perhaps someone out there will want the task.”

Kurt chuckled. “Do you honestly think you’ll let them? You were anal about keeping everything in order. You did a good job.”

“We all did,” Henry said.

“You didn’t say,” Lars stated, “are you two staying on in Lodi?”

“Absolutely,” Kurt replied. “We want to help. Tom’s been putting together a new village council to help out Chief Owens during the restructuring. Don’t know what we can do, but we volunteered our services.”