The Journal: Crimson Skies: (The Journal Book 3) (35 page)

“No, I didn’t think it wise. I’m doubting my
wisdom now,” he answered.

“How are they going to hunt?” I asked.

“That’s why I doubt the wisdom of that
decision. I’d like to know how someone took down the deer that
we’ve been eating!”

“Oh, those came from Art Collins, as payment
for some supplies.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” he looked up from his
bowl of soup. “I was more concerned with violence than I was with
hunting; my error. I should have remembered that the mind is the
only true weapon, everything else is just a tool, and we need
tools.”

“My group members all have guns and rifles.
I’m sure they would be happy to do the hunting. I haven’t seen any
deer moving though. They seem to be content to stay up at the
Resort,” I said.

“My team are well armed, too. Plus,” he
looked guilty, “I did control an armory.” He laughed. “Even though
I can safely say we have plenty of munitions, it won’t last
forever.”

“True, but the best shots only need one
bullet.”

~~~

I did not want to go to Camp Tamarack. I did
need to find one of the Sisters though, so it was my lucky day that
I saw Sister Margaret coming out of the school.

“I’ve wanted to ask about the clothes
Amanda’s been washing,” I stopped her on the sidewalk. “How is that
working out?”

“It has been a Godsend having her help us
that way, though we’re done now,” Sister said.

“Done? What do you mean?”

“There are only eight people left at the camp
now and all well on the way to recovery. They should be going home
tomorrow. “We haven’t had any new patients in days. I truly feel we
are over this flu. Thank God!” She crossed herself.

“How is Father Constantine doing?” I asked
carefully.

“He has recovered fully from the flu.
Recovering from losing Doris will take much longer,” Sister
Margaret said solemnly. “And on behalf of the other Sisters, I want
to thank you and Dr. Mark for all you’ve done. As much as Doris was
willing to do, without the doctor, Father Constantine would have
died, we know this.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “We
won’t forget, and neither will God, how thoughtful you were with
Sister Doris. One of our greatest desires is to have Last Rites at
our passing. That she was granted this means everything to us.”

December 1

I was getting a fire going in the stove when
Mark came down the hall.

“Did we drink a lot of wine last night or
something equally stupid? I feel like crap.” He plopped down in the
kitchen chair.

“We did have wine with dinner, only one glass
each though,” I brushed a wayward lock of curly hair off his
forehead. “Mark, you’re hot.”

“Thank you sweetheart, you’re hot too.” He
sniffled.

“No, I mean fever hot.” I put my hand fully
across his dry forehead. He was burning up. I retrieved his little
black bag and pulled out the thermometer. I poured a small amount
of rubbing alcohol in a glass and swished the thermometer in it,
and then shook it a few times. After seeing it was down, I stuck it
in Mark’s mouth.

After a couple of minutes, I took it back and
read it.

“Mark, you have a fever of 103. You’re sick.”
My voice trembled and my hands started shaking.

He looked at me with such disbelief, I handed
the glass tube to him so he could read it, just as he sneezed.

“No wonder you’ve been so tired lately,
you’ve been fighting coming down with… this,” I said, not wanting
to say the word flu. “You need some antibiotics and back to
bed!”

“I was to relieve James today. He’s been
working around the clock and needs a break,” Mark said, putting his
head down on his arms.

I retrieved a vial from the refrigerator that
I knew was an antibiotic, and pulled a syringe from the box beside
it. I filled it and stabbed Mark in the arm. He didn’t seem to
notice. Then I poured a half glass of water.

“Mark, you have to sit up for me and drink
some water.” I coaxed him upright in the chair and held the glass
while he drank. “Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

It was difficult getting him down the narrow
hall. I felt like I was supporting all of his weight and dragging
him. If this was the flu everyone else had, it hit Mark hard and
fast.

I managed to get him back into our bed,
though he fought me when I tried to prop him up.

“I just want to lie down and sleep,
Allex.”

“All this time I’ve been listening to you
tell every one of your patients that you can’t lay completely down,
you
have
to stay at a forty-five degree angle. Now do it!”
He was finally compliant and I pushed both pillows behind his back,
but the angle wasn’t enough. He coughed. The phlegm was pink.

~~~

“Is there anyone listening?” I said into the
FRS radio.

“I’m here, Mom,” Eric said. “What’s up?”

“I need some help.” I hesitated to get him
involved but I didn’t have much choice. “Come with an N-99 mask and
double gloved, Mark is sick.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said after a
momentary silence.

~~~

Eric was still affixing his mask standing at
the door. I waited until he was done, then I opened it. He had a
very worried and scared look in his eyes.

“I need to get Mark sitting up more in bed. I
think one of the couch cushions should do it, but I can’t move that
and him too.” I looked at my son. “I don’t want you touching him;
just put the cushion in place. I’m already exposed; I don’t want
you to be!”

It didn’t take long. I grabbed Mark’s wrists
and pulled; he offered no resistance. Eric angled the cushion then
backed away. I pulled the blankets up around Mark’s chest and
walked out with Eric.

“Mom… how are you feeling?” he asked, his
voice trembling.

“Tired and worried,” I answered. “I so want
to give you a hug, but I can’t! I know I’m sick too, maybe a day or
two behind.” I let the tears flow. Eric reached for me and I backed
away. “No! Don’t touch me! I gave Mark some antibiotics. I just
hope it isn’t too late,” I choked on those words.

“Have
you
had any yet?” Eric asked
quietly.

“No, not yet. Let me show you which vial and
how to do it… just in case.”

Just in case I’m too sick to do it for
myself. Just in case this sickness spreads to your family. Just in
case.
I said it all in my head, but not out loud, never out
loud.

“And
don’t touch anything
!”

I gave myself a shot in the thigh while Eric
watched, nodding that he understood what to do. I put the vial back
in the refrigerator, away from the rest, and set the syringe in the
jar of alcohol. Although they were designed for one time use, we
didn’t have that luxury.

“This is
my
syringe. I will keep
Mark’s in the other room. Now, go home, throw away these gloves and
mask, and take a shower, wash your clothes. You don’t want to be
accidently carrying this back with you.”

“Mom… I love you,” my son broke down and
cried.

“I love you too. I love all of you! I will
use the FRS to call tonight around six o’clock. Now go. I’m going
to fix some soup.”

While I still can
.

~~~

I heard the pounding, but felt it was more in
my brain than on the door. I raised my aching head from my arms
where I had been resting on the table. Everything hurt. I saw a
shadow at the door, raising a fist to start pounding again. I
lifted the mask that dangled around my neck and settled it over my
nose and mouth before I opened the door.

“Oh, thank God you’re here! I need the doctor
right away!”

“Judi, right? What’s the problem?” I coughed
lightly.

“It’s Marci, my daughter; she’s gone into
labor and something is wrong!” she cried. I remembered the case:
Marci, a sweet, petite blond, had just turned thirteen and was
walking home from school in Marquette when she was attacked and
gang raped. Now she was pregnant and about to deliver.

“I’m sorry, the doctor is sick. He can’t help
you.”

“I don’t care, she needs him! I think the
baby is stuck!” she wailed.

“You don’t understand. The doctor is sick,
very sick, with this flu. When he’s awake he’s delirious and can’t
function. Go see Dr. James.” I really did feel sorry for her.

“No one can find him,” she sobbed
angrily.

“Maybe Gray can help.”

She looked at me with sad brown eyes. “Gray
died two days ago. If I can’t find her help, Marci will die
too.”

“Just do the best you can,” I answered her
and as I went into a fit of coughing I closed and locked the
door.

~~~

Mark’s breathing was so strained, and I felt
so helpless that I kicked the cushion out from behind him and
wedged myself in place. I sat with Mark’s head and shoulders in my
lap, trying to ease his labored breathing, his dark, sweat drenched
hair resting against my chest, and I held him until his breathing
slowed then stopped. I laid down beside him and curled my feverish
body around his cooling one and cried until I had nothing left, and
then I cried some more.

I fell into a deep sleep while my body
burned, and woke drenched in sweat. My fever had broken and I felt
somewhat better until I turned and saw the still body of my husband
on the other side of the bed. I let the tears flow one more time
for my loss. We had only four months together, and it wasn’t nearly
enough.

December 2

I struggled to sit up, knowing I must. I
stood on shaky legs and wrapped my robe around my shoulders, making
my way to the kitchen.

After starting a fire in the wood stove, I
set coffee to brew. Everything I did felt mechanical, and it felt
all wrong. I was empty inside.

A chill was creeping into my bones from the
sweat damp pajamas, so I retrieved fresh clothes from the back
room, averting my eyes from the bed as I passed. In the shower, I
set it on hot to ease the aches in my muscles, though it would not
ease the ache in my heart. As I washed the greasy, sick sweat from
my body and hair I knew that others still needed me and I must pull
myself together. There were things that needed doing. Mark still
needed me too, one last time.

After one glance in the mirror, I avoided
looking at my haunted reflection. My eyes were bloodshot and
swollen from my tears, my face splotchy and thin from the lack of
food.

Dressed in flannel pants and a long sleeved
t-shirt, I poured some coffee and headed to the table.

The coughing from the other room startled me
and sent my full coffee cup crashing to the floor.

In the bedroom it was a shock to see Mark
leaning over the side of the bed, coughing. I reached him in time
to keep him from tumbling to the floor. He spat out a glob of dark
brown phlegm onto the towel I had covering his chest.

“Oh, that hurt,” he murmured. I held him,
speechless. “Can you help me sit up?”

I stuffed some pillows behind him and pulled
the covers tightly around him, still not having spoken a word.

“You look better,” Mark said. “How long was I
asleep?”

“Mark,” I couldn’t find the words I
needed.

“What’s wrong, Allex?”

“I thought… I thought you were dead,” I
whimpered. He stared at me, disbelieving. “You stopped breathing
and I couldn’t find a pulse. That was almost twelve hours ago.”

“I see. Well that might explain the strange
dreams. I found myself here, yet not here. You were crying, weren’t
you?” he stroked my cheek as I nodded. “I didn’t hear you and I
couldn't really see you, but I… felt your anguish. Allex, I think I
was in a coma.”

“Do your vitals slow that much while in a
coma?”

“For some, it’s possible,” Mark closed his
eyes for a few moments. When he opened them again, the cloudy
confusion was gone and the deep blueness had returned. “I wasn’t
ready to leave you.”

I helped him to the bathroom and turned on
the water for the shower he asked for. While he was bathing I
retrieved his gray and burgundy flannel pants from a drawer, along
with a gray t-shirt. I smiled when I remembered him wearing these
the first night he came to stay here.

“Oh, that feels so much better,” he said
toweling his hair. He sat in the chair across from me and I poured
him some coffee. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this, Allex,
it must have been frightening.”

“It was, Mark. I have never felt so hollow in
my life.” I reached across the table and took his cool hand in
mine. He yawned.

“Even though I slept for over twelve hours,
I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go lay back down for a while. I love
you, Allex, I always will, until death do us part.”

“I love you too, Mark, until death do us
part,” I answered with our personal affirmation. I watched as he
made his way down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

~~~

I raised my head off of my arms. I had a
crick in my neck and my forearms were numb from sleeping like that
for so long. I sat up, feeling a bit dizzy. The room was cold; the
fire in the stove must have gone out. I looked around, and our
coffee cups were gone. I must have cleared the table without
thinking about it.

The sun was starting to set. I must have been
sleeping for hours! I should wake Mark and fix us something to
eat.

In our bedroom, Mark was lying there… just as
he had been this morning; he was even still in his pajamas, not his
flannels. I brushed my fingers across his cheek. He was icy cold. I
felt my knees give out and I clutched the edge of the bed. Kneeling
beside him, I laid my head on his still chest and cried.

I had wanted to tell him one last time that I
loved him so much that I had hallucinated his recovery.