Gone Series: Plague Part 17

"Ants? I ate beetles," Ben bragged.

They went on like this for a while, rowing their heavy-laden boat and bragging about the awful things they had eaten.

Quinn noticed something he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Hold up," he said.

"Aw, is Captain Ahab tired of rowing?"

"You've got good eyes, Elise, look over there." Quinn pointed toward the barrier across a half mile of water.

"What? It's still there."

"Not the barrier. The water. Look at the water."

The four of them shielded their eyes from the sun and stared. "Huh," Quinn said at last. "Does that or does that not look like there's a breeze blowing over there? It's a little choppy."

"Yeah," Cigar agreed. "Weird, huh?"

Quinn nodded thoughtfully. It was something new. Something very strange. He would tell Albert about it when they got into town.

"Okay, enough with that. Let's get back on those oars." The other boats were catching up to them. Quinn could see each of them in turn stop and stare at the clear evidence of wind.

"What's it mean?" Ben asked.

Quinn shrugged. "That's above my pay grade, as my dad used to say. I'll let Albert and Astrid figure that out. Me, I'm just a dumb fisherman," he said.

"Oh, look," Elise teased. "I see an oar with no one pulling it."

Quinn laughed. He seated himself properly, braced his feet, and grabbed the available oar. His back, like those of all the fishing fleet, was thick with muscle.

He was happy. This life made him happy. The sun, the salt water, the smell of fish. The backbreaking work. It all made him happy.

It was simple. It was important.

Quinn thought about the breeze blowing across the water. There was nothing sinister about a nice breeze. And yet he had the feeling it spelled trouble.

Dahra Baidoo had seven new cases of flu. That made thirteen in all. The so-called hospital rang with the percussion of coughing.

No one had died in the night.

But no one had gotten well yet, either. Lana's touch did not heal this illness. Which meant Dahra was no longer in the business of keeping kids comfortable until Lana came around and made everything better: she was now in the business of trying to understand this sickness.

She took temperatures. She kept more-or-less careful charts showing the progression of the sickness.

She tried not to think about Jennifer's story. Jennifer wasn't backing off her tale: she had seen the other Jennifer cough herself to death.

Dahra also tried not to think about what it meant if illness could develop an immunity to Lana.

A kid named Pookie was her worst case right at the moment. She stared at the thermometer in her hand, not quite believing it-106 degrees. She had never seen a number that high.

Pookie was shaking like he was freezing. He was no longer able to answer questions sensibly. He had started talking to someone who was not exactly there, talking about how he didn't want to go to school because he hadn't finished his report.

And his cough was getting louder and more violent.

The flu had laughed at the Tylenol she gave Pookie. His fever had burned right through it. Whether or not he developed some kind of killing cough, he would die of fever if it rose much higher. She had to bring it down.

The book suggested an ice bath. The odds of that were precisely zero. No water, let alone ice. If Albert didn't arrange a water delivery soon, kids would be falling out from thirst, not even waiting to die of fever or cough.

Dahra made a decision. Ellen was there helping out, along with one of the new kids from the island, Virtue. She wished she had time to talk to Virtue: Dahra's parents were from Africa. And so was Virtue himself.

"We have to cool him down," Dahra said. "Virtue? Hold down the fort here, okay? We're going to the beach."

Ellen and Dahra maneuvered Pookie into a wheelbarrow. The three of them made an odd procession down San Pablo Avenue to the beach.

Crossing the sand was the hard part. But finally they made it to the lacy surf and set the sick kid down. Water surged around him.

Not an ice bath, maybe, but close enough. She figured the cold salt water should drain away some of the heat inside Pookie's body.

"There," Ellen said. "Hopefully he can walk back on his own."

Dahra flopped onto the sand beside Ellen. Ellen said, "You heard about Drake, right?"

"Him escaping? Yeah. Don't worry, Sam will get him."

Ellen shook her head. "Sam's out of town. Albert got him to go off for water. Or something like that."

"Sam's gone?" Dahra looked nervously over her shoulder. No reason Drake would come after her. But Drake didn't need a reason. "It'll be okay. Dekka and Brianna and-"

Pookie coughed, coughed, doubled over, choked on sea-water, and then coughed so powerfully that it made a clear indent in the water.

"Whoa," Ellen said.

Pookie sat up. His head lolled back and forth like a marionette with a loose string.

He coughed and the force of it threw him backward into the water with a splash.

Dahra ran to pull him up, but he'd done it on his own. He got to his feet, staggering.

He coughed and it was like an explosion. He flew backward. Like he'd been hit by a car.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Dahra cried.

Pookie rolled over, on hands and knees, and coughed again so powerfully that sand flew. Something pink and raw was sprayed across the sand crater.

"No, no, no," Dahra moaned and backed away.

Pookie coughed again and the force of it lifted him up onto his toes, bent him back in a C. Blood sprayed from his mouth and drained out of his ears.

With blank, uncomprehending eyes he stared at Dahra. And fell dead, facedown in the surf.

No one spoke.

Dahra barely breathed.

For several very long seconds Dahra stood paralyzed.

She blinked. "Ellen, quick, into the water. Get wet all over. Scrub off with your hands!" Dahra followed her own advice. She plunged in and submerged.

When she came up, she yelled, "Now stay away from Pookie's body. Stay in the sun for a while. Until you're dry. Sunlight is supposed to kill flu virus on your skin."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Ellen said and her face went pale. "He coughed his insides out."

"Just do what I tell you! Face up to the sun, I have to go!"

She ran back across the beach, her insides churning, panic eating at her.

She spotted Quinn and the fishing fleet pulling wearily up to the dock down at the marina. She ran as fast as she could, waving her hands over her head to attract attention.

Quinn and some of the others saw her, they just didn't understand why she was yelling. Dahra was sweating hard by the time she reached the dock.

"No! No! Don't come any closer!" she yelled to Quinn.

"What the-"

"Pookie just died," Dahra panted. "Flu. Maybe. But, oh, G.o.d. Just don't come any closer. In fact, don't get off the boats."

"I already had the flu," Cigar said.

"So did Pookie," Dahra said. "Listen to me: it's catching and it's way bad."

Quinn motioned for his people to stay in their boats. "What are we supposed to do, Dahra? We can't just float around forever."

Dahra sighed. "Let me think."

"I have to go check on my-," one of the fishermen said.

"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Dahra yelled. She had acquired a fair amount of medical knowledge since stupidly volunteering to run the so-called hospital. But that didn't make her a doctor.

She remembered reading about flu, though. Nothing spread faster. Nothing mutated and adapted faster. Hand washing removed it, alcohol killed it, sunlight killed it a little, anyway. But once it was in your nose and lungs it could go crazy and kill you. Especially some new strain.

"Stay in your boats," Dahra said. "We're still going to need food. Throw your fish onto the dock. I'll get Albert to send someone here to collect it. Then go back out, row up the coast a little ways, and camp out."

"Camp out?" Quinn echoed.

"Yes!"

"You're serious."

"No, it's my idea of a joke, Quinn," Dahra snapped. "Pookie just coughed up a lung and fell over dead. You understand what I'm saying? I mean he coughed his actual lungs out of his mouth. Hah hah hah, it's so funny."

Quinn took a step back.

Dahra waited for him to make up his mind. She had no right to give orders. Except that she knew what was happening and no one else did.

"Okay," Quinn said. "There's a spot just up the sh.o.r.e. Tell Albert to send someone right away for the fish. We have a nice big catch here. We got a shark."

"Yeah, whatever." Dahra's thoughts were already turning to her next move. The virus was the enemy: she was the general in this battle. But only two thoughts were really clear in her mind: One, Jennifer B had been telling the truth. And two, how could Dahra hope to avoid catching it?

Chapter Fifteen.

37 HOURS, 15 MINUTES.

"NEAR," PACK LEADER said.

"Where?" Sam asked wearily. It had been a long night, followed by a long morning of tired feet and bruised shins.

They were over the hills, coming down the long slope toward the road and Lake Evian. It would have been easier to come up the road, this was definitely the long way around, but Sam had needed to see Hunter first.

To kill Hunter.

And now, if he could, he meant to find the nest of greenies and take them out.

Once more he saw the dark, troubled looks of the judges he feared would someday weigh his every action. He heard their questions. What right did you have to take Hunter's life, Mr. Temple? Yes, we understand that he did not wish to be eaten alive, but still, Mr. Temple, don't you understand that every life is sacred?

The road was below them, cut off from view by a large, rocky outcropping. He'd been down that road a few times, back during the early water runs. Enough times to picture the spot in his head.

"The rock is all busted up down there, boulders and crevices," Sam said. "It's like a shallow cave, only it doesn't go in very far, I don't think."

"The snakes that fly are there," Pack Leader confirmed. "Now kill me, Bright Hands."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why lie?" Pack Leader snarled.