"Boy, have I got a story for you guys."
Chapter 23: Check-In Time
Clara sat in a hospital room, lost in thought. She wasthinking of ways to un-see the things that she had seen. Short of a lobotomy,she wasn't coming up with any ideas.
The door to the room swung open, and a frazzled lookingnurse walked into the room. Immediately, Clara popped to her feet and then sankback down into the chair in pain. Her ankle had swollen to twice its size. Thenurse saw her pain and began examining her ankle.
"Where's Courtney?" she asked as the nurse, apretty young blonde, began testing out the flexibility of her ankle.
"Is that the man they had to strap down?" sheasked.
She nodded her head and hissed through her teeth as thenurse tested her ankle a little too liberally.
"They've got him up in observation."
"Can I see him," Clara asked.
The nurse looked up at her, obviously wondering how muchshe should tell her. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Clara couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Areyou going to let me see him or not?"
The nurse looked at her apologetically and said,"That's not really up to me."
"Well then who the fuck is it up to? I'd like totalk to them right now."
The nurse gently let Clara's foot back onto the groundand said, "It looks like you have a high ankle sprain, but we'll probablywant to get some X-rays just to be sure."
She didn't know why she did it, but Clara slapped thewoman across the face and pulled her closer by her shirt. "I don't give adamn about my ankle. I want to know what's happening with my man. Now eitheryou're going to tell me, or you're going to be a very unhappy person."
The nurse's already big eyes became even wider. Someoneat the entrance to the room cleared their throat. "That won't benecessary." It was the doctor who had taken charge in the E.R. Dark bagshad appeared under her eyes, and her hair, despite being bound in a ponytail,seemed to have a mind of its own. She stood there looking at her, her hands inher pockets.
There was something of her mother in the woman, and for asecond, she was slightly embarrassed of her behavior. She let go of the nurse,and she backed away, thankful that she still had all of her teeth. At leastthat's what Clara hoped she was feeling.
"How is he?" Clara asked the doctor.
The doctor pursed her thin lips and said, "Not verygood."
"What does that mean? Why won't anyone give me astraight answer?"
The doctor walked across the room and sat down on thewheeled examination stool. She pulled the rubber band from her hair and lether brown locks dangle free before gathering it up with her hands and puttingthe rubber band back in place. "It's complicated. Your husband seems to havesome sort of infection."
Clara shook her head and ignored the husband comment."What sort of infection?"
The doctor looked out the room's window before answering."That's the complicated part. We're not sure what type of infection it is.He's burning up, and we're pumping enough antibiotics through him to cure theplague, but he's not responding. There's no cognition there whatsoever."
Clara sat back in her chair and let the doctor's wordssink in. As far as she could tell, there was no sign of hope. "Can I seehim at least?"
The doctor looked at her and thought for a second."Normally, I would say it was a bad idea, but maybe you can get him torespond to you."
The doctor stood up and began to walk out of the room.Clara attempted to stand, but her ankle wouldn't allow it. The doctor moved tohelp her by putting her arm under her shoulder. "We've got to get thatchecked out."
"After," Clara muttered, "after."
With her arm slung over the doctor's shoulder, theylimped through the hospital. As she took in the chaotic state of the hospital,Clara couldn't help but sense that there was an air of discomfort permeatingthe entire place. Everyone seemed to be in motion, grave looks and pensivelychewed lips were everywhere.
The doctor, Joan she had said her name was, didn't sayanything, but Clara could feel the tension in her shoulders. Something was notright. When Clara commented on it, Joan merely brushed her off, but she couldsee the unease in the corner of her mouth, as if she almost wanted to saysomething but didn't quite know what to say.
They boarded an elevator, and Joan punched the button forthe sixth floor. They waited in silence as the door slid shut. When the doorsopened again, they began their ponderous approach. Armed security guards linedthe hallways, and it appeared they were doing everything by the numbers. Awhite sign with red letters in the hallway read, "Quarantine Wing."
They weren't kidding when they said that he had some sortof infection. "What do you know about this infection?" she asked asthey hobbled towards the checkpoint.
Joan gave her the truth. "We know next to nothingabout the infection, but we do know that antibiotics seem to be ineffective.The victims lose cognition, and as you saw before, seem to be driven to consumehuman flesh. It's a nightmare. I suspect that the disease began as some sort ofairborne virus, like the flu, but your husband presents an entirely differentsort of scenario."
"How so?" Clara grunted as her ankle sent painup her leg.
"Well, according to your report, your husband wasnever sick, and he contracted the infection from some sort of bite. If thisdisease continues unchecked, and we don't find a cure, we're in for a very badtime."
As they approached the main desk on the floor, an armedsecurity guard stepped in front of them and blocked their passage. Joan showedher I.D. badge, and the man scanned it with a portable scanner. "Dr.Winston," the man said in greeting, then looked pointedly at Clara.
"Don't worry, she's with me." The man steppedto the side and let them pass. It was all very serious business, and the hairon the back of Clara's neck stood up for a second. What Clara had just told herwas too much, the possibilities too bleak. Where was her ray of
