Vanished (9 page)

There is no way to get the massive Expedition through the stationary cars – in some areas  all three lanes are blocked by vehicles lined up as if they’d been in a traffic jam or something - so  I resort to driving on the curb.

              I’ve seen the T.V. shows and movies.  World war 3, zombies, chemical weapons, the plague, quarantines, nuclear bombs, aliens, and the apocalypse. Mel Gibson running around on a motorcycle, siphoning gas and being terrorized by road gangs.  My mind cycles thru every possible reason for the absence of people from realistic to completely impossible. 

As we get closer to town my anxiety increases because there
aren’t any people
; not a farmer plowing fields, no highway patrol-man clocking my speed, no movement at all. 

              Finally I see the exit for Clinton, Missouri and drive on the side of the ramp, halfway in the grass, around the cars lined up at the stop-light on Waters Street and River Road.  I bring my speed down to twenty five, passing a residential district, and keep a look-out on the houses hoping to see some sign of life; an old man riding a lawnmower, kids kicking a ball in their yard, someone walking their dog or jogging down the road, a mail-man, a cop, a delivery guy, construction workers…..someone…somewhere.

But everything is absolutely still and silent and there is no one to be found.   

              In a surreal state, I edge through town following the “hospital” signs.  The route takes me through the downtown historical district and I pass City Hall, the police station, and a series of shops, slowing to peer through the windows. 

It’s Tuesday afternoon and it’s a ghost-town.  

              The hospital looks normal. I pull up in front of the E.R. doors, kill the engine and open my door.  I hear a whooshing, mechanical sound, repeating over and over.  I run up to the doors and the outer door slides open. I see the source of the whooshing sound; the inner sliding doors are opening and closing because an empty security cart is parked on the pressure plate in front of them.  

The lobby is empty.   To my left there’s one of those gigantic aquariums full of huge tropical fish.  I run over to the front desk. It’s vacant. I lean over the counter, looking back into the admission room.  On the desk is a brown, half-eaten apple, a cell phone with topaz rhinestone case and headphones plugged into it, a monitor, a keyboard, a pad of paper and a cup of pens. Someone’s purse is draped over the back of the chair.

“Hello,” I call out, my voice echoing while I strain to hear a response that never comes.

Straight ahead are the double doors of the ER.  Running over, I pull on the handle but they’re locked.  I bang on them with both fists, “We need help out here.” I freeze, shut-up and listen, hoping I’ll hear footsteps. 

Disappointment surges through me as the realization sets in that
no one
is coming.   

              “Fuck it” I say and jump over the reception counter.  I find the button controlling the ER door and slap it with my open palm, running through the back way.  No one stops me to ask what I’m doing and there aren’t any doctors, nurses or patients.

              Totally spooked, I go back to the double doors leading out into the lobby.  Looking around, I find a chair and wedge it between the doors forcing them to stay open.  Then I vault over the chair and cross the lobby to the front doors.  Not wanting to compete with the opening and shutting lobby doors, I get into the golf-cart, start it up and drive it off the pressure plate dashing through the doors before they close.  

              Trin’s condition hasn’t changed. I carry her inside.  The familiar feeling of her body, pressed like she is against my chest, reassures me that there is still some small degree of normalcy and sanity left in the world. 

              Getting her into a room, I lay her down on the bed, cover her with a blanket and look wildly around, my eyes landing on the oxygen mask.  I follow the instructions, on the booklet hanging from the machine, for administering emergency oxygen and carefully place the mask around her head, sliding it down over her silky, blue-black hair.  Once I’m sure the oxygen is working right, I step out of the room. 

At the nurse’s station, I see a tall cooler on wheels. Jumping over the counter, I land in front of it.

              I pull the cooler open and a cloud of cold steam pours out.  Waving it away I search the names on the vials.  On the third shelf down there is a box with the words
Antivenin
on it.  I open the drawer under the cooler and breathe a sigh of relief when I see a thick green book called
The
Drug Reference Manual
inside.  

Flipping through the pages, I find
Antivenin
and read the first two paragraphs. I need a vial of
sterile diluents
to mix with it.  There are several bottles labeled
sterile diluents
. I check the instructions and grab the vial that has 2.5 milliliters printed on it along with the box of
Antivenin
vials.  

My hands are covered in dirt and grime from being in the cave, so I scrub them, working the lather up to my elbows then rinse with steaming hot water, drying them under the air blower. 

The instructions called for a sterile syringe and I find a box of them in another drawer.  I poke the needle into the rubber stopper of the
diluents
vial, slowly drawing the plunger out and watch the syringe fill with clear liquid.  Gently, I remove the needle from the vial and discard it in the trash.   Checking the instructions again, I push the needle into the rubber stopper of the Antivenin vial, like the diagram in the book shows, careful not to put too much pressure on the plunger with my thumb and the contents mix with the diluents.

              Grabbing an empty plastic tray, I carefully place the vial and syringe inside, adding a handful of band-aids, cotton balls and tape.  

I rush back to Trin.  She is laying on her side sleeping restlessly, her thin, delicate wrists crossed in front of her stomach, her blanket hanging off the side of the bed.  The oxygen mask is still strapped in place over her mouth.  I watch as fog fills the mask when she exhales. 

              I find instructions for setting up the IV on laminated paper hole-punched and stuck inside a binder on the shelf beneath the IV stand. Carefully, I inject the
Antivenin
into the injection port then take a moment to study her veins. 

Inserting the needle into the largest vein I can find on top of her hand, I place a piece of cotton on top of the needle, tape it snuggly down and wrap her hand twice with soft gauze. 

              Content the IV needle is properly inserted I connect the hosing from the machine and open the port watching as the fluid to begins to descend from the IV bag down through the round, clear tubing and into her hand.

              Suddenly the weight of everything that’s happened over the last twenty four hours settles on my shoulders and I stumble back into the chair next to her bed, drawing it up by her side.  My mind flies with blurry images.  I lean over and rest my forehead on the mattress beside her arm.  I’m so tired. 
I just to rest for a few minutes and then I’ll go get the others
.  I close my eyes and remember the drive to the hospital. 

              There is one thought running through my mind as I nod off,
where is everyone?

Chapter Nine

Trin

              My legs ache horribly, my stomach feels like someone punched me in it over and over again, and my head is pounding.  My eyes blink open and I study the pattern in the ceiling realizing with relief that I am not in the cave.  Someone is beside me, holding my hand with both arms.  I smell hand sanitizer, soap, cotton, medicine, sweat and blood.  I lick my cracked lips, my tongue is like-sandpaper and there’s a metallic taste in my mouth.

              I look down and recognize Logan’s leather jacket and his hair covering our arms like melted butterscotch.

              Bright light shines through the window hurting my eyes.

              Straining to move, my stomach seizes with pain and I wrench my hand out of Logan’s grip and grasp my stomach.    

“Hey, you’re alive,” he says, leaning back in the chair and stretching. 

              In the 10
th
of a second it takes to blink, a slideshow of images flash in my mind, memories of waking up in excruciating pain worsened by the fact that Logan was carrying me, jolting my body with every step. I’m shocked that he single handedly carried me out of the cave – on the slippery ledge in the Cathedral Room, through three miles of dense forest.  How?  It wouldn’t have been a simple feat for three people taking turns carrying my weight but for one guy, all by himself, it seemed impossible.

              I’m in a hospital room. It’s quiet and I glance up at the door, expecting to see a nurse or doctor coming around the corner anytime. 

              Logan sees me looking.  He stands, rubs his palms on his pants, and goes over to the sink. “I bet you’re thirsty” he says, his positive tone sounds forced. He brings me a drink of water bending the straw down and holding it to my lips.  I take a sip and he smiles and sets the cup aside.   

              “Thanks, it’s a little awkward with this,” I say, my voice super hoarse, holding up the hand with the IV. 

              “How are you feeling otherwise?” He asks, crossing his thick, muscular arms over his chest and looking down at me.

              “Sore,” I admit “Thank you, by the way, for… I mean…
you
carried me out, right?”

              He cringes, “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember it.” 

              I frown, “Why didn’t you just call the police once you got out of the cave?”
Something isn’t right.
My palms start tingling.  Where are the nurses and doctors, the sounds of other patients?  Twenty six visits to the emergency room and you get pretty familiar with the sounds.  I hear nothing but silence from outside my room and I don’t see anyone.  In fact, it’s darker out there than it is in here.

              “My phone doesn’t work,” Logan explains. He starts twisting the blond and red hair in his go-tee.  The façade of cheerfulness has faded and now Logan looks distressed, concerned. 

              “Where is the doctor?”

              He slowly shakes his head and sighs, “You’re not going to believe this” he says. He leans forward, his face and eyes more intense than I’ve ever seen them before, “there’s no one here, Trin, not a soul in the ER.” The words pour out in a quick murmur and he glances at the door, “No staff, no nurses, doctors or patients. It’s the same in town, like everyone just up and vanished into thin air.”

              I struggle to process what he’s saying.  My eyes fall on the phone beside the bed, “We could just…” I pick up the phone by my bed.  There’s a funny dial tone. I press nine, expecting to hear a regular dial tone.  The line goes dead.  I look blankly down at the phone then up at Logan. He’s frowning, his fingers still twisting the hair on his chin.  

              “The phones don’t work,” he says, dipping his beautiful head down and rubbing the back of his neck before sitting erect again, “That phone doesn’t work and neither do these,” he pulls his cell out of his pocket and hands it to me. “No TV, no radio.”

              I look up suddenly.  “The ringing last night…do you think it has anything to do with everyone being gone?”

Nodding, he seems to suddenly become aware that he’s pulling on his go-tee, and forces his hands down, putting them behind his back. “It’s got to be a factor in all of this.  I wish we had some way of knowing how wide spread this is.”

              “Is everyone else still back at the cave?” I ask getting a flash-back of Madison holding my hand and trying to comfort me after the bite. 

              He stands again and turns his back to me so he can look out the window, “I told them I’d come back for them or send someone but obviously I can’t do the latter.”

              “Can you get this out?” I hold up the hand with the IV needle in it.

              He turns back. “You may need a second dose.”

              I shrug, “If we think I do you can always put it back in.”

              Coming to my side he takes the gauze off first, then the surgical tape and finally he removes the cotton ball revealing the needle stuck into my vein.  I’m strongly aware of his close proximity, the heat coming off of his skin and my heart beat starting to accelerate. “Don’t look,” he tells me glancing up from underneath his lashes to verify I’m not looking. 

              I turn my head, feel him slowly withdraw the needle from my hand and put something soft over the puncture in my skin.  “There,” he says, dropping the needle and hoses on the table beside the bed.