Eat, Prey, Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse (Zombie, Dark Fantasy, Dystopian, Horror, & Post-Apocalyptic Boxed Set), page 118
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And here I was- round robin. I had owned the practice for 3 years now. And the only things wrong with my happy little picture were Nurse Kayla and the absence of a family. The towns people respected me and trusted me for the most part. And being single wasn’t the worst thing I could be, although I did get an earful from the occasional disgruntled wife when she caught her husband staring a little too long at me, like it was my fault that her husband’s eyes were idle and unsatisfied at home. It wasn’t like I went around in short skirts and heels. I spent ninety-nine percent of my time in scrubs or running clothes. I took exercise and nutrition very seriously, so my 43 year-old body was in good shape and I still didn’t have a single gray in my black hair. I could thank my mom for that little gem of genetics. The dark complexion and blue eyes were my dad’s doing. .
My hand knocked gently on the exam room’s door. “Here I come!” I called cheerfully, putting on a good face for my patient, despite my soul-sucking interaction with Nurse Kayla.
Entering the room, I was surprised to see little Duke lying down on the exam table. He was apparently not feeling well. Glancing down on the case notes, I saw the ‘sick visit’ label in bright red. Not sure how I’d missed that…
Looking up from the folder, I glanced at Mrs. Morgan’s face. It was pale and distorted with concern.
“So, Duke, it says here you’re not feeling very well. How long have you been sick?” I turned my back on the mother and son as I put on a pair of size small, blue gloves- latex free since six of my current patients were allergic. Duke didn’t answer. When I turned back around, his eyes were closed.
“Well… I guess he started feeling like crap… Oh, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Morgan blushed, as if she’d just cursed explicitly.
“It’s okay, Denise; I’ve heard worse in my life.” I chuckled and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back, as if my brushing off the ‘bad’ word was nearly as tasteless as her saying it.
“Duke just hasn’t been right since that last battery of shots… so that was last Thursday, wasn’t it? Could it be a reaction or something??”
“I doubt it, but let’s take a look and see what’s going on here. Duke can you turn your head so I can look into your ear?” I reached for a magnetized wall plate that held an otoscope, stethoscope, and an assortment of other tools. Patiently, I watched as the boy slowly responded to my words- turning his head, his eyes shutting tighter, as if the movement took some effort and caused him discomfort. “Does that hurt, Duke? To move your head like that, I mean.”
“A little.” His voice was a croak and my mind started listing off any diagnosis that could account for the lethargy, joint pain, and paleness. It was as if Duke was having trouble understanding and directing his body to respond appropriately. Physical and cognitive symptoms. A reaction to a vaccine or a vaccine additive?
I’d rarely encountered a severe vaccine reaction in my career; normally it was mild- faintness, moderate diarrhea, a low-grade fever. I’d once had a little girl experience a seizure after receiving the DTaP- that had scared the shit out of me, but she’d recovered. Duke’s symptoms didn’t overtly point toward vaccine complications, but that’s when Mrs. Morgan had said he’d begun to feel unwell- at his last wellness check, when he’d received his 11 year Tdap and his HPV4.
I peered into the boy’s ears. They were clear, as was the sinus cavity. “Duke, can you open your eyes for me?” He groaned, but complied, parting his eyelids barely enough for me to get a decent look. The eyes. The eyes- which had seemed normal when I’d first entered the room- were coated in a thin milky film; beneath the film, I could make out traces of broken capillaries.
My mind raced, processing hundreds of possible causes in a split second. Hemorrhagic fever? West Nile? Lyme? I checked Duke’s head quickly for trauma and then behind both ears for swelling or redness. Mastoiditis, a middle ear infection, could cause the fever and lethargy. No dice. I frowned, trading the otoscope for the stethoscope.
“Take a deep breath for me, Duke.” I held the instrument against his chest beneath his tee, moving it three times and repeating my instruction, then moving to his back and once again listening intently. He was struggling to breathe and the sound of air exiting his lungs was raspy and unsettling. Straightening up, I placed my hands on my hips and the stethoscope around my neck. Looking from the sleepy boy to the anxious mom, I stood up and walked to the door.
“Denise, I’m going to step out for a moment and talk to my Nurse. Hang tight. Feel free to turn on the television if Duke would like to watch some cartoons.” I pointed at the small TV nestled in the corner of the room near the ceiling.
“Is he alright?” Denise was close to tears.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be just fine, Denise. Probably just a severe case of conjunctivitis paired with a virus of some sorts. I wouldn’t worry over it too much. We’ll have him mended and getting into trouble before you can blink.”
I waited for a nod before I exited the room. Denise’s voice followed me out into the hall. “Do you want to watch something, Baby? Can I get you some water or something?” Duke’s reply was so weak that I couldn’t make out his words as I closed the door with a click.
“Kayla?” I called, walking towards the break room- where she could normally be found when not needed (and when she was needed). If I couldn’t find her, I’d have to get Leslie. She was manning the front desk today since our receptionist was out on maternity leave. “Kayla?” Hints of ham and cheese wafted to my nose from the break room. Barely an hour into our work day, and Kayla was already taking a break for a snack. No wonder the woman looked like she weighed 400 pounds plus.
As I entered the staff lounge area, I wasn’t surprised to see Kayla chewing noisily with a microwavable breakfast sandwich glued to her hand like an extension of her body. I frowned and something inside of me clicked. We were short-staffed, I needed her, but I didn’t have to work with her. Mentally asking my patients to forgive me, I decided to have Leslie and Kayla switch jobs for the day. “Kayla, I want you to work the desk today. Leslie can help with the appointments.” Without another word, I turned around and left the room. I could hear Kayla’s protest, muffled by a large bite of English muffin and dry egg product.
“Leslie, can you come help me with the appointments? I’m going to have Kayla work the front.” The reception desk was separated from the file room by a moveable partition- Leslie couldn’t see me, but the separation was thin enough to hear me. In a matter of seconds, Leslie’s head popped into view, her kinky brown curls bouncing with life.
The look on her face was confused. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? There are a lot of sick kids and agitated parents out there and… well, Kayla’s not the most calming person.”
“I’m sure.” What I wanted to say was that I’d rather save myself from Kayla than save my patients from her, but voicing the truth would only add to my selfishness.
“Okay, well, I just checked in the Fields family and they’re the last scheduled until 11 o’clock, but we’ve had a ton of walk-in patients.”
“All sick?”
“Yeah. They all look the same, actually. Kind of pale and exhausted. Jim Marsh had to carry his girl in, because she was so tired. I suggested he hit the emergency room, but he insisted on seeing you.”
“Was Duke Morgan the first walk-in?”
“Yeah. You know how Mrs. Morgan gets if she isn’t put into an exam room immediately.”
I nodded. Mrs. Morgan would pace at the receptionist window until her needs were met. “So, I’ve got a waiting room full of kids that look like Duke. Maybe a new flu strain?” I paused, thinking. “Can you bring all the patient files to my office, tell Mrs. Morgan I’ll be back shortly, and put one of the other children with similar symptoms into exam room B?”
In my office, I quickly made a second cup of coffee- sitting down just in time to take the stack of tan folders from Leslie’s grasp. “Thanks, Leslie. You know, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to do a full blood panel on Duke Morgan. Can you draw the blood and label it for send-out? Sorry, I know I’m piling a lot on you this morning.”
“No problem, Doctor Lynn.” Leslie smiled. “It is definitely one of our busier mornings in a long time.” Leslie turned to leave and then spun back around. “I put Jennifer Marsh in room B. Her dad’s really agitated.”
“Okay. Just try to keep everyone calm. I’m sure it’s just a virus.”
Leslie didn’t close my door all the way, but I was too engrossed in the patient files to get up and finish the job.
I got halfway through my coffee before a disturbing coincidence had me frozen. They’ve all recently had vaccinations. Different ages. Different vaccinations. Some receiving their first year shots, others receiving the tail end of the HPV. Is there a common additive sourced for the different vaccines? Different manufacturers… What was making these kids sick?
I needed to get a look at Jennifer Marsh. See if there was anything different about her condition. Picking up Jennifer’s file, I made my way to exam room B. When I opened the door, Jennifer looked like she was sleeping and her Dad was sitting on the rolling stool next to the exam table. His arms were crossed across his chest and his face was contorted with worry.
“Hi, Jim. How’s our little Jennifer today?” The little girl was barely moving, her chest rising and falling slowly. I examined her gently, not asking her to move until I needed to listen to her lungs. Her father had to help sit her up. I’d never seen a small child so weak. And her eyes were the same as Duke’s- coated with a film, broken capillaries, dilated like she was on drugs.
“Well? What is it? Does she need an antibiotic? We’ve got really good prescription coverage now that I’ve been at my new job six months.” Jim Marsh spoke quickly, his nerves obviously frayed.
“I’m honestly not sure, Jim. I’ve just seen another patient with the same symptoms. It could be a particularly nasty virus or some sort of autoimmune response.” I knew the second explanation was improbable. An autoimmune disorder would affect the eyes, but to have multiple patients develop similar autoimmune disorders… or even different autoimmune disorders at the same time… it wasn’t just highly unlikely, I’d call it improbable. Maybe there was an environmental factor I wasn’t considering?
“What can I do then? She’s miserable. She doesn’t want to eat, she barely drinks anything. This has been going on for days.” Jim’s voice grew louder with each word, until Jennifer groaned and tried to shift her body and open her eyes. “Sorry, honey. Just relax. Daddy will be quieter.” Jim’s hand stroked his daughter’s wheat-colored hair. She was sweating now, and some of the strands were plastered against her forehead. Nurse Leslie had taken her vitals before I came in; her temperature had been in the normal to mid-range.
I re-took it now, gently placing the thermometer tip in her ear and waiting for the beep.
105 degrees.
More than a six degree spike in under 30 minutes.
“What is it? Does she have a fever?” Jim was standing now. I’d forgotten how tall he was, well over six feet. Even a teddy bear of a man could make me nervous if he towered over my petite frame like Mr. Marsh did.
“Yes. It’s spiked since you’ve brought her in and I’m worried she’s going to become more dehydrated. I think we should give her a dose of Tylenol to reduce the fever and consider admitting her to the hospital for observation until we can figure out what’s going on. They can at least give her fluids. I’ll have Nurse Leslie take blood for a panel.”
The big man’s shoulders were slumped and he looked back at his sleeping daughter. Of its own volition, my hand found its way to Jim’s shoulder. “Jim, it’s going to be okay. Jennifer is a healthy girl, whatever this is, she’ll fight it off. We just need to give her a little help.” I watched as his hand rubbed away the first of, what I guessed, would be many tears. I couldn’t imagine having a child, let alone a child suffering.
“I’m going to get in contact with some people, see if these symptoms are showing up in other towns. A few phone calls and maybe we’ll discover this is an easy-to-treat issue that’s running through the country.”
Jim didn’t say anything, he just nodded and sat back down next to Jennifer.
“Nurse Leslie will be back in a few minutes with the medicine and to take blood. I’ll have her bring you both some water. Can I get you anything else?”
Jennifer was stirring again; she seemed so small on the exam table, her knees scrunched against her chest and little tremors racing up and down her frame. Tiny little earthquakes on a tiny little landscape. I loved working with children, but seeing them sick… it physically pained me. Every damn time.
This time, when I went into my office, I locked the door behind me.
Drumming my fingers against my desk, I stared at my grandmother’s cup. What the hell is going on?
I logged into the medical data base; I spared no expense when it came to accessing the continually changing world of medicine. Just because I lived in a backwoods Texas town, didn’t mean I had to leave the modern world completely behind.
Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to eliminate every remote possibility… every virus, bacterial infection, disorder, and obscure ailment that could account for the acute symptoms in multiple patients with similar gestations. After that, my only option was to reach out- send email after email to colleagues. I didn’t expect an immediate response. Most of these people led busy lives- research, double shifts, grant meetings. At best, I hoped someone would contact me before the end of the week.
So I nearly jumped out of my chair when my desk phone rang shrilly.
“Hello?”
“Virginia? It’s Stephen.”
“Jesus, Stephen. It’s been nearly a year! How’s Pensacola treating you? How’re Miranda and Tanya? I miss seeing pictures of her; you need to post more online!” I forgot my troubles for a moment; it was nice to hear from a friend on a rough morning.
“Look, Virginia, I read your email.” Stephen’s voice was serious, more serious than I’d ever heard it. “It hasn’t hit the media yet… God… the public would be in a frenzy already if it had… Miranda’s not answering the phone. Tanya was sick. Jesus… I’ve got to get home.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Stephen? I just emailed you about a few sick kids. It’s no big…”
Stephen paid me back with his own rude interruption. “They started showing up at the hospital around 2 AM- dozens of kids, all with similar symptoms. Some more advanced than others. By 7 when I got back here, the ER was in chaos. Whatever it is changes, mutates. One minute these kids are just tired, next they spike a fever and show unprecedented levels of adolescent aggression. A boy bit a nurse’s ear off, for Christ’s sake.”
The line went silent for a moment. It couldn’t be the same thing. “You’re being a tad alarmist, Stephen. My kids here are tired and one spiked a fever, but they’re responsive. Facial cavities clear, lungs too. Their eyes are a bit strange- almost like a new strain of pink eye maybe. It really can’t be the same thing- not at the same time halfway across the country.” I tried to make my voice reasonable. Stephen had always been a bit of an alarmist- the kind of doctor that prescribes preventative rather than responsive treatments.
“Their eyes are glazed over? Like with an opaque film, broken capillaries and extreme dilation?” Stephen acted like he hadn’t heard my rationalizations.
I nodded and then realized that Stephen couldn’t see me. “Yeah, that’s right. Do the kids there have that too?”
“Jesus. Jesus, this thing is everywhere.” Stephen’s voice trailed off and when he spoke again, it was with more urgency. “Virginia, these aren’t just sick kids. You can’t treat them like that; they’re dangerous.”
“They’re just kids, Stephen. Kids. We aren’t talking about homicidal maniacs.”
“Virginia. Do. Not. Hesitate. If they are exhibiting symptoms, get the hell out of there. Call the CDC. Our hospital is on lockdown; it’s a damn Level 1 unknown outbreak and that is what’s happening there. Believe me. Do not mess around with this shit.”
“What the HELL are you talking about Stephen. I’m not leav….” I heard a crash on the other line, glass breaking. “Stephen… Stephen, are you alright?”
“Damn it, Virginia. Listen to me. Get out of there. Do not let one of them bite you. Just get the hell out of there!” Another crash and a bang. I could hear Stephen yelling. He wasn’t holding the phone any longer.
A scream, a scream that cut through to my core.
And the line went silent again; this time, Stephen’s voice did not break the silence.
As if echoing Stephen’s yell, a high pitched scream echoed through the halls of my small practice like a Claxton in an old fire station. My reaction was automatic, thoughtless. I scrambled from behind my desk, unlocked my door, and threw it open wide- not even caring that the knob slammed into the protective plate. A second agonizing cry reached my eyes as I stepped out into the hallway. My entire body tingled, fear settling in as Stephen’s words rattled in my head.
Duke and his mother were no longer inside exam room A. They were in the hall. And I struggled to comprehend the picture in front of me. Mrs. Morgan was prone on the ground. Duke straddled her; his face was planted against her breasts and his mouth worked greedily. Blood spilled down his mother’s sides, pooling on the terrazzo floor. I began to move forward, wanting to take action, reprimand the boy, save the mother, do something. But my movement caught Duke’s attention and when he lifted his head, I nearly collapsed in shock.
The terror inside me grew until it was its own monster. I could not take my eyes off his face, the face of the once cute boy with the ‘oh-so’ Texas name. I had treated him so many times- for scraped knees and head colds. Now his face was contorted, alien; his eyes were soulless and nearly all white, the foggy film thicker and obscuring color. Blood ran from his curved, cruel lips, creating a river from mouth, to chin, to chest.
Duke rolled off of his mother’s body and onto all fours. It was animalistic. It was predatory. I gagged and stumbled backwards as Denise Morgan began to lift herself up from the ground. Her skin was pale, her eyes lifeless, but otherwise unchanged; she looked at me… and I knew she was dead. I moved further away, clanging into a rolling table of equipment in my hurry to escape the scene unfolding outside my office. The noise seemed to activate something in the boy and he leaped toward me, snarling and spitting. Little droplets of saliva mixed with his mother’s blood sailed toward me. Without thinking I grabbed the door to exam room B and swung it open as hard as I could. The resounding crunch told me that I hadn’t missed my mark, I peered around the door- which now acted as a barrier between me and the horror. The boy was on the ground, motionless, his frontal lobe caved inward like a divot in the ground caused by a driver in the hands of a skill-less golfer.
