Braving The Storms (Strengthen What Remains Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty Four

Hollister Hotel, Saturday, October 3
^rd

Zach leaned against the glass near the corner of his bedroom. From his perch atop the hotel he viewed city hall from one window and Library Park from the other. The park had been the center of the community economy for nearly a year. Now it stood empty as the Kern flu burned through the town.

Still weak, he pulled a chair over and sat, staring at the deathly quiet city below.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in.” Zach looked over his shoulder.

Sergeant Hall stepped into the room with his medic bag. “Vicki told me you were awake.” He smiled.

“Awake, but weak.” Zach started to stand.

“No. No, sit.” Hall pulled a chair beside him. He checked Zach’s temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and throat. “I think we can safely say you’re on the mend. I won’t be coming to see you again unless you need me. About half the armory has the flu. We’ve even set up our own isolation ward.”

Zach’s mouth gaped. “Have guys died?”

“Eleven, and there will be more. Hundreds have died in town.” Hall shook his head. “This whole year has been like the pale horse of tribulation.”

He didn’t understand the reference to a horse, but decided not to ask. Zach stared out the window after the sergeant departed, feeling a strange mixture of thankfulness at being alive and sadness for his friends and neighbors that perished. Only when the sun shone in his eyes did he turn back to the room.

Again there came a knock at the door. Mr. Hollister entered the room holding a tray. “I come with bread and fish. Biblically inspired foods for a time of tribulation and pestilence.”

Zach didn’t understand the Bible allusion, but he knew about tribulation and guessed at pestilence, and nodded. Hungry, he ate the warm bread. “How are the building renovations going?”

“Good. The bakery will be done soon. That’s where the bread came from.”

“Really? This is good, but Library Park is vacant. I don’t think we’ll get any customers walking over from there.”

“I still have some money-making plans for this building, but with the sickness ravaging the town, and the world, I want to turn this place into our own personal life preserver.”

* * *

Rural Lewis County, Saturday, October 3
^rd

His father hurled himself between Liz and Caden, then shrieked in pain. Caden struggled to stand under the dead weight of Bob Wilson. His father pushed Liz away with his left arm, then stumbled backwards and fell to his knees.

“Did I do that?” Liz, her eyes wide, backed away. “Why are you here?” She dropped the bloody knife, turned and ran.

Caden pushed Bob’s body to the side. “Dad, are you okay?”

His father leaned against the rail and looked at him with wide eyes. Blood stained the right side of his shirt.

Leaving Bob face down on the porch, Caden hurried over. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

His dad nodded and then tried to stand, but toppled forward.

Caden helped him up. With his father’s left arm over his shoulders they hurried toward the pickup. “Come on, I want to be gone before Liz shows up with another knife.”

After opening the passenger door, Caden helped his father into the truck. Then he took a dirty towel from the back of the cab, ripped open his father’s shirt, and pressed it against a four-inch slash wound. “Hold this against the cut. Keep pressure on it.” Caden darted to the driver’s side and sped away.

“We should tell your mother,” his father muttered as they passed the family farm.

“I’ll phone from the ….” He had headed toward the hospital out of habit, but now wondered if he should go to the armory. The hospital had actual doctors, but also hundreds of Kern flu patients. The armory had only a few patients waiting for a bed at the hospital. The medics weren’t doctors, but had specific training on knife wounds. Ahead, the turn toward one or the other loomed larger. “Ahhh.”

“Hospital. It’s closer and Dr. Scott will treat me.” With a moan his father slid down in the seat.

Caden pressed the gas. “Stay with me Dad. It’s not that bad of a cut.”

“Rag’s soaked. Shirt’s ruined and my side hurts.”

Caden pulled into the emergency room entrance and ran to find help. Patients filled every seat inside. They sat on the floor, or seemed to wander aimlessly. He looked for a doctor or nurse. A large sign with a bright red arrow directed those with Kern flu symptoms to another room, but there were no directions for other patients. Several nurses in biohazard suits hurried through the lobby, one pushed a patient on a gurney. None slowed enough to speak. He regretted not taking his father to the armory.

“Sure is busy.”

He turned at the sound of his father’s voice. “Dad!”

A few yards away his father wobbled toward him.

“How did you get here?” Caden shoved past two people to get to him.

“It’s easier to get down out of the truck, than it is to get up and in.” His father stumbled. “Walking hurts a bit though. I need to sit down.”

But there were no seats so, with his father leaning on him, Caden continued on toward the examination rooms. As they turned a corner, a nurse blocked their path.

“Why are you back here?”

“Looking for help,” Caden replied. “My father was stabbed.”

The nurse looked at the torn and bloody shirt. She pointed to a wheelchair. “Use that and take him to room six.” She turned. “I’ll inform the doctor and be there shortly.”

As he helped his father onto the table, the older man let out a moan. “Come on Dad, lean toward the bed. You’ll be fine. That cut isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”

An old, pale man looked at him with a weak smile. “No, but it’s the worst
I’ve
seen.”

Caden forced a smile in return. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but as the seconds ticked by and the blood-soaked cloth dripped onto the examination table, his worry grew.

The nurse returned two minutes later. She removed the rag and tossed it in the trash. Then performed a quick exam and placed a large bandage over the wound. She turned for the door. “The doctor will be here soon.”

“Wait!” Caden jumped to his feet. He hadn’t used his position as military commander to secure favorable treatment for himself or his family in the past, but now he would. “Inform Dr. Scott I’m here with my wounded father. I’d like her to treat him.”

“She’s in the isolation ward.”

“Well, get her.”

“You don’t understand.”

Caden stepped closer to the nurse, anger ready to erupt.

“Look, I know you’re concerned about your father, but you don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Dr. Scott is a patient. She has Kern flu.”

* * *

Hollister Hotel, Saturday, October 3
^rd

“Use the building to preserve our lives?” Zach rubbed his chin. “How do you plan to do that?”

“First we keep unwanted people out. The exit doors are old, but they’re solid wood. I’m going to install new door frames, strike plates and deadbolts.”

“Strike plates?”

Hollister laughed. “I sometimes think I should have stayed a carpenter. It certainly has been more useful than my law degree this year.”

Zach smiled, still confused.

Mr. Hollister placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get started, you just get well, so you can help me.”

The next morning, after a breakfast of fish, bread, and an apple slice, Zach made his way to the first floor. The smell of fresh bread enticed him to the bakery where he found DeLynn, kneading bread with a flour smudged face.

“Hello beautiful.”

She cast him a doubtful glance and continued her work. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

Zach sat in a chair. “Thanks to everyone, I’m getting better.” He inhaled the smell of bread. “Have you seen Vicki?”

“She set the fish traps this morning so I could bake.”

“I can see Library Park from my bedroom. It’s empty. No one is going to be coming here for food.”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. “We go to them. People pay us in cash or trade for home delivery.”

Zach thought of DeLynn handing a bag of food to someone at their front door. Then he imagined that person with Kern flu. “Isn’t that dangerous? I mean with the flu and all?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Dad does the actual delivery and he wears a mask. The person leaves money, or trade, on the porch and we drop off a box of food. We never actually see the people.”

“You started this while I was sick?”

“Dad thought of the idea. There are a lot of hungry, desperate people out there. More than we can supply.”

* * *

Hansen General Hospital, Saturday, October 3
^rd

“Oh.” Caden sat, stunned by the news of Dr. Scott’s illness.

He had no idea how long he sat there, worrying about his father and Dr. Scott, before the nurse returned. A young man with dark hair followed. Caden would have thought he was fresh out of high school, or perhaps a college undergrad, but he wore the white coat of a doctor.

The nurse briefed him as they entered. “This is the knife wound I mentioned. It’s about four inches in length along the upper abdominal quadrant and reaching into muscle tissue.”

The doctor walked directly to Caden’s father. “How long ago did you get cut?”

“About 90 minutes ago.” His father turned to Caden. “Call your mother.”

Caden wanted to listen to what the doctor said, but stepped out. As he walked along the hall he pulled out his phone, thinking of what to say. He reached the lobby and looked around. Several people were perspiring. The room smelled of body order and vomit. A few lay on the floor asleep or unconscious. Death inhabited the room.

Caden felt sure several had Kern flu. Couldn’t they read the sign directing them to another room? Were they in denial? He held his breath and hurried through the room.

Outside, he inhaled deep drafts to cleanse his lungs of whatever might have infiltrated them, but smoke and the scent of trash came with the air. Looking about he observed more families camped along the lot than before. Families cooked with camp stoves or over open flames. A mountain of trash bags stood in the far corner of the lot.

He had been in such a rush going in that he hadn’t noticed. Still he knew his mother, and the rest of the family, needed to be told of his dad’s condition, but he didn’t want any of them to come to this place.

Reaching the truck, he opened the driver’s side door. The smell of blood greeted him. He rolled down the window. Caden ran his hand along the still moist seat and shuddered at the thought of his mother riding to the hospital while sitting on the blood of her husband.

After several minutes he pulled out his phone and called his sister. “Lisa, where are you right now?”

“In my room at the house, why?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. What’s going on weird brother?”

“First, Dad is okay.”

“What!”

“Stay where you are, and hear me out.” He told her what happened earlier in the morning and about taking his father to the hospital.

“We need to tell Mom,” Lisa cried, tears in her voice “We should be there.”

“No. I’m sure Dad will be fine. I don’t want Mom to rush over here. There are a lot of sick and dying people and he isn’t one of them.”

“You won’t be able to keep Mom away.”

“I can’t imagine they’ll keep Dad long. They might release him tonight.” Caden sighed. “All I need is a little help from you.”

“What do you want?”

“You have the only vehicle at the house. Go visit Brooks at the armory. That way Mom won’t have a car when I tell her about Dad. I’ll say that I’m staying with him until they release him and that he’ll be home soon.”

“Did you say Dad was attacked while you were at the Wilson farm?”

“Yes. Why?”

“There’s a big cloud of black smoke coming from that direction.”

Chapter Twenty Five

Hansen General Hospital, Saturday, October 3
^rd

Afraid the fire might spread through the dry grass and trees to their farm, Caden phoned 911 from the hospital parking lot.

Instead of a human voice, he heard a recorded message. “Due to the high number of calls and a shortage of personnel, please use the following menu. If you, or someone you know, has Kern flu symptoms, press one. To report a death, or for the removal of a body, press two. To report a felony crime, press three. To report a fire, press four. For all other ….”

Caden pressed four.

“Please hold.” After that only silence.

For once in his life Caden wanted to hear elevator music or something. After a while he hung up and phoned his sister back. “Where are you?”

“On my way to the armory—like you said. Why?”

“Can you stop by the fire station and report the fire?” He told her about his 911 experience.

“Well, someone got through. Fire trucks are coming down the highway toward me.”

He heard the wail of the sirens over the phone.

When the trucks passed and they could talk again, Lisa sighed. “Are you sure we should be manipulating Mom like this?”

“Like what?”

“Me pretending to be on a date just so Mom won’t have a car to take her to the hospital.”

“If it keeps her alive, we’ve done the right thing. They’re working on Dad right now and he’ll probably be home soon. I really don’t want Mom here if it can be avoided.” Caden looked at the hospital entrance. “I should get back in there with Dad.”

He knew it didn’t make much sense, but he held his breath as he passed through the lobby. As he entered the examining room he noted that his father had more color. Several intravenous bags hung above the table with tubes stretching down to his father’s arm. The doctor continued to work on the wound, but his dad smiled when Caden walked in.

The doctor finished, and looked at both father and son. “The injury is deep enough that I’d like to keep you overnight to ensure there is no further bleeding.”

Caden tensed as the doctor spoke. “Ahhh.” He glanced at his father who seemed resigned to the idea. “I’d want my father to have a private room.”

“You’re kidding right?” The doctor laughed. “Everyone is doubled or tripled up.”

“I could take him to the armory.” Caden stepped close to his father. “We have medics there.”

“You’re worried about the flu aren’t you?” His father squeezed Caden’s hand. “You have flu at the armory. It’s sweeping through the town. If God has determined it’s my time….” He shrugged.

The doctor wrote on a pad. “We have a wing of the hospital for non-flu patients.” The doctor wrote on a pad. “He’ll be there.”

“I’ll be fine son. Come get me in the morning.”

The doctor passed his notes to the nurse. “We work hard to isolate our regular patients from those with the flu.”

Caden frowned. “We all breathe the same air.”

The doctor shrugged, and left the room.

Back in the parking lot, Caden pulled out his phone. He had planned on phoning his mother and then avoiding her so she wouldn’t have a car to take her to the hospital, but perhaps Lisa was right, such tactics were just manipulation. If a soldier were injured or killed, he would visit the family. His mother deserved the same respect. As he slid the phone back in his pocket, it rang.

“Where are you two?”

Caden sighed at the sound of his mother’s voice. “I’m on my way home now. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“What do you mean? Where are you? Is Trevor okay?”

“Ahhh.” Caden bit his lip. Earlier he had wanted to do this over the phone. Now he preferred to do it in person, but if his mother kept asking questions, she would pry it out of him. “Yes, I’m fine. Dad will be fine.”

“What? What happened?”

As he drove toward home he explained the morning events.

“What?” she nearly shouted. “I should be with him.”

Caden had anticipated that statement. He didn’t want to mention Kern flu at the hospital, certain it would add to his mother’s worries, as it did his, but he still needed to answer her. “The place is crowded and the staff is very busy.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re worried about the Kern flu. Isn’t that right?”

“Ahhh, Yes, Mom, but he’ll probably come home tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

“I know what you’re thinking right now and I don’t want you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Just call and talk to him.”

“I will,” she said flatly, “and I’m going to see him.”

Caden sighed. “There are hundreds of Kern flu patients at the hospital. They have Dad isolated, but there is a chance of exposure for anyone going in or out of the building.”

For several moments silence passed between them. “Okay, I’ll call Trevor and see what he says.”

That would have to do for now.

When he turned on to Hopps Road, he noticed a sheriff’s car about a quarter mile ahead and decided to follow. As he expected, Hoover turned in at the Wilson farm. Only smoldering black wisps still drifted into the sky. The firefighters packed their equipment. Half of the home had collapsed in on itself leaving burned lumber and a blackened chimney where a once proud home had been. A deputy stood next to his patrol car along the house.

The smell of smoke greeted Caden as he stepped from the pickup.

Twenty feet ahead, Hoover smiled a greeting. “I suppose you knew them.”

“Yeah.” Caden nodded. “Sad day. How is Liz? She was pretty confused and upset earlier.”

“Dead, I think. The firefighters reported two bodies in the rubble. You were here earlier?”

“Yeah. Four cows got loose last night. My dad and I were looking for the owner. We arrived here about eleven this morning.”

Hoover pulled out a pad and wrote as they walked toward the charred rubble. “So you were probably the last ones to see them alive.”

“I think Bob was dead when we arrived. Liz was alive when we left.”

Hoover nodded. “Stick around. I’ll need to ask you more questions.” The sheriff turned his attention to the deputy. As they spoke, Caden retreated from the acrid smoke and smell of burnt flesh. Finding a bench upwind and far enough from the house that it remained unburnt, he sat. He didn’t know the Wilson’s well, so it didn’t take long for his thoughts to return to his father and what to do if his mother insisted on going to the hospital.

Hoover called him over several minutes later. “I just need to ask some questions and then you can go. Do you mind following me around?”

“No.”

The sheriff turned toward the house. “Tell me again what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”

As Caden explained the morning events, they entered through the still blackened front door. He paused just inside the house. Crime scene tape blocked entry to the kitchen. The deputy stood nearby.

Hoover’s head swept back and forth as they proceeded through the living room. “Liz attacked Trevor with a knife?”

“I’m sure it was an accident. She seemed to think I hurt Bob and tried to get to him. Dad got in the way.”

The sheriff pursed his lips. “Okay.” He continued the slow walk around the room. “Why would Liz burn down the house?”

The comment had been no more than a mutter, but Caden decided to answer. “She had dementia. It might have been an accident.”

The lawman nodded and continued his walk until he stood outside the taped off kitchen.

The deputy pointed. “She’s just inside.”

Hoover knelt under the tape and bent over the badly charred body.

Only a shoe told Caden he looked upon the remains of Liz Wilson. Such sights and smells were familiar to him, but he had spent years pushing them to dark, rarely visited corners of his mind.

Hoover looked up at the deputy. “Give me gloves.” When he put them on, he knelt and examined the body up close.

Caden hung back.

The sheriff lifted the body slightly, and put his face near the ground. A moment later he stood. A serious look covered his face. “That looks like a gunshot wound. This might be murder.”

* * *

Hollister Hotel, Sunday, October 4
^th

Bright sunshine poured through Zach’s window from a clear blue sky. He buried his face in the pillow. “Curtains,” he mumbled. “I need curtains.”

As he lay in bed trying to ignore the sun that warmed his sheets, he assessed how he felt. Hunger seemed to be the strongest sensation. After several minutes, a combination of sunlight and stomach growls drove him from the bed.

He paused to sit as he dressed. Putting on clothes had never been so strenuous. He breathed deeply. While he felt tolerably well, clearly it would take some time to regain his strength.

When he stepped from the bedroom, a familiar, but recently uncommon, smell greeted him.

“We have eggs!” Vicki smiled. “Well, we’ve always had eggs for the bakery, but today we have enough for breakfast.”

“Do you have bacon?”

“Don’t be silly. Breakfast is eggs, apple slices, and bread. Oh, and water.”

“That’s all?”

“Would you like some fish? I learned in social studies that in Japan they eat fish for breakfast.”

“No fish.” Zach shook his head. “When this is over, I’m never going to eat fish again.”

After breakfast he headed toward the door.

“You should rest.” Vicki collected dishes from the table.

“I’ll take it easy.” Zach opened the apartment door. “I just want to get out and earn a bit of my room and board.”

Vicki nodded. “Mr. Hollister said he would be working on the first floor all weekend.”

“Thanks.” Zach stepped from the penthouse into the short hallway. DeLynn’s mother stood at the far end, staring out the window. “Good morning Mrs. Hollister.”

She barely nodded.

He pressed the elevator button and the doors opened. Zach stepped in wondering why the woman always seemed so sad. As he rode down to the first floor his thoughts turned to the day before him. Knowing his strength hadn’t returned, Zach felt resting in the penthouse would be letting Mr. Hollister down. The man had given him a home. Even if he just worked part of the day, it would be better than taking the whole of it off.

Sheets of plywood, 2 x 4s, several sawhorses, a circular saw, and lots of dust, greeted Zach as he exited the elevator at the lobby. From one corner of the hotel the sound of hammering echoed.

As Zach entered the store, Mr. Hollister turned and smiled.

“It’s good to see you up and about. If you’re well enough to help, the work will go much faster.”

Zach took a deep breath and smiled.

A routine quickly developed. Zach helped Mr. Hollister and he showed Zach what he did, how he did it and why.

Nearly an hour later, DeLynn and Vicki walked through the lobby pulling wagons filled with food.

Tired, Zach sat on an old wooden chair. He looked over the wagons full of corn, tomatoes, onions, beans, jars of honey, apples, pears and various canned goods. “Where’d you get all that and why aren’t we eating it?”

“You do eat some of it,” DeLynn said.

Mr. Hollister joined them. “I’ve been buying food from local farms and selling most of it for the lumber and tools we need to get the stores up and running. The remainder we eat, but I admit there is not much left for us.”

“That’s why we still fish,” Vicki added.

As the morning progressed, Zach assumed more of each task, cutting and hammering lumber into place according to Mr. Hollister’s direction. In the lobby, as Zach finished cutting several boards, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he expected to see Mr. Hollister, but DeLynn’s mother stood beside him.

Her face appeared relaxed, peaceful, almost serene. She smiled. “You’re a good young man. I hope you never lose that quality.”

Zach dropped the saw on the bench. Rarely did she speak to him and she never smiled—at least not at him. “Ah, thanks.”

She turned and walked toward the lobby.

A bit confused, Zach returned to his work.

Near noon DeLynn arrived holding two lunch plates. Passing them to Zach and her dad she asked. “Have either of you seen Mom? I can’t find her.”