The Malefic Nation (Graham's Resolution Book 4) (2 page)

“Okay group, I’ve called this quick meeting to get us going in a timely manner this morning,” said Dalton. Everyone—pack your bags. Then manage your other assigned tasks—from Bang getting the chickens in their place to Reuben gassing up the trucks. Any questions?”

“I need to examine the injured before we set out,” Clarisse said, her hand raised.

“Really?” Dalton was a little exasperated with the bandages, antibacterial ointment, and medications she kept applying or pumping into him.

Clarisse dropped her arm in frustration. “Yes, Dalton;
especially
you.” She then called out, “McCann, Tala, Sam, and Rick as well.”

“I’m not
injured
. Just pointing that out,” Tala interjected.

“Of course not Tala—sorry. Anyone else needing medical attention before we head out, see me after. This is the time to tell me about blisters, boils, lice—whatever you’ve got, bring it to me.” A chuckle erupted around the room before she continued. “In all seriousness, don’t tell me you need medical attention when we’re on the road and all our supplies are packed up. Now’s the time.”

No one else spoke up, so Dalton clapped his hand to his thigh and said, “All right. Everyone get to work. I want to be out of here in twenty minutes, tops. Oh, and everyone do your business before we leave. We’re not stopping for potty breaks.”

The crowd in the main room dispersed, leaving only the injured and Clarisse along with her large tackle box full of medical supplies.

“I’ll meet with you last, Tala,” she said. Tala smiled and wandered off to use the restroom, taking the potty warning seriously.

“Let’s start with McCann, since he’s the least injured,” Clarisse said, opening up her first aid supplies. She adjusted her stethoscope around her neck and said, “Let’s see it. Take off your shirt.”

“It sounds so inappropriate when you say it like that,” Rick joked. “He’s only a boy, for Christ’s sake.”

McCann chuckled, but Clarisse was not amused. “Shut up,” she said to Rick without breaking concentration.

“Don’t mess with her today, Rick,” Dalton warned.

McCann unbuttoned his shirt and slid his injured arm out of the sleeve while Dalton sat nearby.

“That still looks bad,” Dalton said.

“Does everyone have to watch?” McCann asked.

Clarisse examined the pink scar tissue over the gunshot wound in McCann’s shoulder. “Actually, it looks pretty good. There’s no infection, and it’s healing well. And I want you to keep it covered day and night. I know it’s still tender, but the wound will toughen in time. Any questions?” she asked.

“Nope, I’m good,” McCann said, eager to get his shirt back on.

“I know you don’t like to take it, but if you took some ibuprofen it would lesson some of the swelling and ease the pain. It’s going to be a long day.”

“No ma’am, thank you,” McCann simply said in response.

“Okay. I want you to stay and help with these guys. Watch and learn, in other words. Next?” Clarisse called out.

Sam came forward before the others had a chance. “I’ve got stuff to do, so let’s get this over with,” he said, dropping his pants without being told. He exposed his left inner thigh to the stitched gash he’d sustained when they’d fled the besieged prepper camp.

Clarisse knew he was embarrassed because his face turned shades of pink behind his beard, but he was making the best of the situation. He turned his one leg out, showing a bandage that covered his stitches. Clarisse replaced her gloves and then looked at him before she touched the injury. “What is this goo?”

“It’s honey,” Sam said.

“Honey? I didn’t tell you to put honey on your injury. Look Sam, I know you like to do things your own way, but you could have introduced a secondary infection to your wound with this stuff. Where did you get it?”

McCann and the others were silent. Getting chewed out in front of your buddies by Clarisse was never fun.

“Is it infected?” Sam said calmly.

“No, it looks pretty good, actually.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“What if the honey had botulism spores?” Clarisse asked.

“I boiled it before I applied it.”

She huffed out a breath. “Look, I know studies showed honey is a great substitute for antibacterial ointment, but we have sufficient supplies of the ointment. You don’t need to resort to honey—not yet. Are you still taking the antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Got any great backups for that?” Clarisse asked with an unnecessary degree of attitude.

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “But there are other alternatives.”

“We have modern medicine for now, Sam. Let’s stick with the tried and true while we still have it. When we run out, we’ll use other methods and risk new complications,” she said, rebandaging the wound. “We’ll leave the stitches in for a few more days. That was a serious wound, and you can’t afford an infection right now.”

“Got it,” Sam said, pulling up his pants.

“Dalton, you’re up.”

“Rick’s going next,” Dalton said, his voice serious.

Clarisse looked at him, ready to challenge his authority, but Dalton gave her a stern look. He wasn’t happy with her treatment of Sam, she suspected, but that couldn’t be helped. She knew it was wrong to undermine Sam in front of everyone—especially McCann—and she probably deserved Dalton’s disapproval, but she couldn’t let Sam utilize his own means of healing without at least consulting her first.

“Okay then, Rick, you’re next.”

“Mine’s not nearly as interesting,” he said, sitting down.

“Any concussion is serious, Rick.” Clarisse held up a pen for Rick to follow with his eyes as she waved it from side to side. “Any dizziness, nausea, or headaches?”

“No.”

“Sleeping okay?”

“No one is sleeping okay,” Rick said, as if she had made a joke.

Clarisse pressed around the wound slightly. Green bruising spread out at the base of Rick’s skull, where shrapnel from an arterial blast had hit him. “Everything looks good, it’s nicely scabbed over. Let’s look at your shin now. Any issues?”

“It just itches; I’m trying not to scratch it,” Rick said.

“That’s normal—it’s healing well—but try not to scratch off the scabs. I’d say you were lucky twice.”

Rick’s face turned serious. Even though she hadn’t intended to, Clarisse had reminded him of Steven’s death again, in a spilt second bringing Rick back to one of their greatest losses. If she hadn’t felt bad for giving Sam a hard time about the alternative medicine, she was miserable now for reminding Rick of Steven’s death.
Damn, I can’t do anything right today.

“Let me know if anything changes. Keep taking the anti-inflammatory for swelling,” Clarisse said, and Rick recovered his pant leg and set off to work.

While McCann noted Rick’s condition on the iPad she kept their medical records in, Clarisse washed her hands again and donned another pair of gloves.

Dalton approached and pulled up his green army T-shirt. Clarisse knew he was upset with her, so she turned to McCann, silently signaling,
I think I can handle this one, and Tala’s next. You go ahead and pack up.

“You sure?” McCann asked.

“Yep,” she said, knowing she was in for one of Dalton’s lectures. “Please have Tala come in about ten minutes.”

After getting his head out of the T-shirt, Dalton gingerly pulled the sleeve over his bandaged shoulder. Clarisse pulled off the taped bandages, taking care not to yank out any of Dalton’s chest hairs. He watched her but said nothing.

“Go ahead, say it.”

“Say what?” he asked.

“Why am I such a bitch?” she said.

“I wasn’t going to say that, but since you asked, why
are
you such a bitch this morning?”

Clarisse looked into Dalton’s face; she hadn’t noticed that he now held her by the waist to steady her as she stood on her toes to inspect and redress his shoulder wound.

“I guess I’m just worried about everyone. We have serious injuries and a pregnant woman with us, and we don’t know where we’re going to sleep tonight. And we can’t stay here.”

“I know you don’t do well with change, Clarisse, but we have to leave and regroup. We’re not far enough away. There will be more resources in Hope, and we can give Tala a chance to have the baby and give ourselves time to heal and come up with a plan to return.”

She looked away, and Dalton gave her waist a little shake. “We
will
come back, Clarisse. We’ll get rid of them somehow, and we’ll make it safe again.”

She nodded, even though she doubted his words, and Dalton pulled her near to kiss her on the forehead. “Now, do you have any of Sam’s honey? I hear it works better than this goop.”

Clarisse snickered and shook her head, adding, “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re just worried. We all are. Now, let’s hurry up and get out of here,” Dalton said, slipping his T-shirt back on.

There was a light rap on the door frame, and then Tala’s voice: “Are you ready for me Clarisse?”

Clarisse turned to the door, and behind Tala she could see trucks being loaded and moved into position. They would leave here soon. “Yes, come in,” she said as Dalton exited.

Tala held one hand on her belly as she walked nearer to Clarisse.

“Everything okay?” Clarisse asked.

“I think so. We’re all a little edgy this morning,” Tala said.

“Yeah.” Clarisse nodded as she held the stethoscope to Tala’s swollen belly. Hearing the baby’s steady cadence, she smiled. “Sounds perfect.” She then slipped a wireless blood pressure cuff over Tala’s arm while holding her cell phone.

“Well, that’s one I haven’t seen before,” Tala remarked. “Is that your phone?”

Clarisse held it up, “Yeah. I have an app on here for blood pressure calculations. Of course, it’s worthless as a cell phone now, but I still use the app for this blood pressure cuff. The cuff eats up batteries, so I don’t use it often, but for this trip I thought it would come in handy without having to open up all of the medical supplies.” As the cuff squeezed Tala’s arm, Clarisse watched for the pressure to fall within the normal range.

“How do you keep the cell phone batteries charged?” Tala asked.

Clarisse held up this little device with a hand crank attached to it. “I use this nifty gadget Rick gave me. You plug in the USB and then depress this in your palm over and over until it charges the phone. Actually, it takes a while, so I gave it to the boys—to charge both the phone and the iPad. Anything to keep those guys busy and out of trouble.” She laughed, then looked directly at Tala. “Since you’re well past the twenty-week mark, we need to keep track of your blood pressure. Of course, we’re all bound to hit the limits these days.”

Tala smiled. “I’m putting my trust in Hope. I think we’ll find a safe place to rest a while.”

“Aren’t you worried about not having the baby in the United States?” Clarisse asked. No one else had mentioned it, but she knew they were all thinking how significant that was.

Tala took in a deep breath, then let it out. “No, I’m not worried about it. This baby is American because
we’re
American. Just because we have to have it in another place doesn’t change who the child is. Besides, I don’t think we can really think in those terms anymore; with so few people left, I don’t think borders hold the same significance they used to. There may not even
be
borders anymore, though we’ll see soon enough, I guess.

“We’re putting distance between us and a danger to our survival. We’ll come back to confront that danger at a later date, because we know it’s a cancer that must be dealt with. That’s how I feel, at least. Dalton may have other ideas. You have to remember, I’m Native American. My people are from this continent, and”—she pointed a finger at Clarisse and smiled—“to my ancestors
you
were the trespassers on our land who came in and set the borders.”

Clarisse nodded. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Invaders never do.” Tala chuckled, shaking her head.

“Okay Pocahontas, any complaints? Physically, I mean?”

“None,” Tala said.

“Great. Please make sure you drink plenty of water. I know that’s a problem when we don’t stop very often, but we can’t afford for you to get a urinary tract infection. Please tell me if anything concerns you,” Clarisse said, stressing this statement because she knew Tala didn’t like to complain.

“You ladies ready?” Graham asked from the doorway. “We’re all loaded up.”

“I think so,” Tala said as Graham helped her down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurry up, or they’ll leave you behind,” Graham warned Clarisse with a smile.

Clarisse picked up her medical satchel and looked behind her to see if they’d forgotten anything. She wondered how many people had taken refuge here in this old, weathered cabin. The back door stood open, as it had before they’d arrived. Animals would once again inhabit this refuge, reclaiming as their own this shelter from the wind and rain until the wood rotted completely through and back to the earth.