Breakdown (37 page)

“How bad is it?” Chris asked him.

“Hard to say, yet. Seems nearly everyone’s got it.”

Chris’s stomach contracted. “How many dead?”

“No one yet. Give it a couple days, I would guess.”

Chris grabbed a chair and pulled it out of the way. “We’re going up the road, Harry.”

“If you’re smart, you’ll turn that rig around and get out of here while you can.”

“I can’t do that.” Chris motioned to Michael, who eased the lorry past on the narrow road. Chris put the chairs and boards back into place.

“Well, good luck, son,” Harry said. He turned and went back into his house. Chris climbed back into the cab.

“How bad is it?” Michael asked.

“Bad. He says nearly everyone’s got it. No one dead, yet.”

“Yet,” Michael said grimly. “Damn, damn. Pauline?”

“He doesn’t know.”

Michael cursed again and beat the steering wheel once with one fist, took a huge breath, released the brakes.

Chris sat tensed on the edge of his seat, heart pounding, while Michael drove slowly through the deserted village and made the turn at the church. He shifted gears to climb the hill to the house. Chris kept a grip on the door handle. Before Michael came to a full stop, Chris had the door open, jumped down, and ran.

“Pauline!” He sprinted around to the back of the house into the empty yard. “Pauline!” He threw open the back door.

She was pushing herself up from the kitchen table. She burst into tears when she saw him.

“No! Don’t come in! We’ve all got it!”

Chris ignored her words, crossed the kitchen with giant steps, and folded her into his arms.

“It’s okay, love. I’m here now.”

She sobbed against his chest, grabbed on to him. Chris held her tight to him, eyes screwed shut, legs gone weak. After a moment he loosed his hold. He brushed the hair away from her face, put his lips to her forehead. Her skin felt hot and she shook in waves. Chris rocked her gently, made soothing noises. The house was cold, the table and sink were stacked with dirty dishes. A bucket sat on the floor next to the table where she had been sitting. Chris could smell it. Michael came in.

“She says they all have it,” Chris told him.

Michael dumped the rucksacks on the floor. “I’ll go up.” He headed for the stairs.

“I’m scared,” Pauline said. “Chris, I’m scared!”

“I know,” he said. “I’m here now. Michael’s here, too. We’ll take care of everything. It’s okay, now.” He stroked her for a moment more. “You need to be in bed. C’mon, love, I’ll put you to bed.”

“The fire’s gone out, there’s no more wood,” she said as he walked her toward the stairs.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“There’s nothing to eat.”

“I’ve brought some food; don’t worry about it.”

He helped her up the stairs.

“How did you get here?” she asked halfway up.

“Michael brought me.”

“Michael’s here, too?”

“Yes, we’ll take care of everything,” he said, trying to stay calm.

Her bed was in disarray. The room stank of vomit. A basin on the floor hadn’t been emptied, and dirty clothes and towels were piled near the closet door.

“Do you want to change?” he asked, but she crawled into the bed in her clothes with a little mewling noise. He pulled the covers over her, smoothed her hair.

Michael put his head in the door. “They’re all doing okay. How is she?”

“Exhausted. Ill.”

“Wes!” Pauline said suddenly from the bed.

Chris sat down next to her. “What about him?”

“He came to help. Told him not to come in the house. He was staying in the barn. Haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Okay, I’ll see to him. Go to sleep now. We’ll take care of everything.”

“Don’t go,” she whimpered, clutching at his hand.

“I’ll be back in just a bit.”

“How’s Mum?” she asked.

“Mum is fine; she’s doing well,” Michael said from the doorway. “Everybody is doing fine.”

“Go to sleep, love,” Chris said. “I’ll be back.”

He tucked her hand under the covers and stood up, with a glance at Michael. He bent to pick up the basin from the floor.

“The place is a mess,” Michael said in a low voice. “I’ll get started up here; you go see about Wes.”

Chris dumped the basin in the loo, but the flush bucket stood empty. He left the bowl and went down, Michael right behind him.

“Where would they keep more buckets?” Michael asked.

There were two by the outdoor pump. Michael worked the handle while Chris went on to the barn.

“Wes?” he called out as he pushed back the door. “Wes, are you here?” He squinted in the near darkness. Wes had made himself a bed in a hay pile with a couple of old blankets. He shifted and made a noise. Chris knelt down, felt his forehead: hot and dry.

“Who are you?” Wes said.

“It’s me, Chris.”

Wes rubbed his eyes and looked again. “You came back.”

“Yes, I’m here to take care of you.”

“I think Pauline is ill.” Wes tried to sit up.

“I know.”

“Everyone in town was getting ill, so I came here.”

“I’m going to take you inside, Wes.” Chris scooped him up out of the hay. Wes put his arms around Chris’s neck, rested his head on Chris’s shoulder. His clothes smelled bad, but at least he had several layers and a heavy coat and knit cap to keep him warm.

“She said not to go in the house,” Wes said.

“It’s okay now.”

“I took care of the animals.”

“You did a great job,” Chris said as he carried the boy across the yard. He took him into the house and up to the spare room, stripped him down, and put him to bed.

“I’m thirsty,” Wes said.

“I’ll get you some water.” Chris figured everyone else would probably need some, too. He went down to the kitchen, but there didn’t seem to be any drinking water left. The stove was barely warm. He rummaged in his rucksack and came up with a bottle of water, a clean T-shirt, and a pair of underwear for Wes. He got a cup and took it all upstairs.

Michael was dumping another bowl into the loo.

“There’s no drinking water,” Chris told him. “I’ve got this one.”

“There’s another in my pack.”

“I’ll get the stove going, boil more,” Chris said, and took a clean bowl with him for Wes.

Chris got the clothes on Wes. They were too big but better than nothing. He gave him a small amount of water and left a little more in the cup on the chair. He looked in on Pauline; she was asleep. He went into Grace’s room.

“Chris, dear,” she said from the bed. “Michael said you were here.”

“Hello, Grace,” he said, sitting down next to her. “Do you want some water? Are you keeping anything down?”

“I think I’m actually a bit better than yesterday,” she said. Chris poured a small amount into a cup from her bedside table and handed it to her. He held her head up off the pillow while she drank it. “Thank you, dear. Is Pauline still all right? Thank heavens she didn’t get ill.”

“Um, she’s awfully tired. I put her to bed. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, I’m all right for now.” She grasped his arm. “I’m so glad you’re here to help now.”

“We’ll take care of everything,” he said, with a hand on her shoulder.

Marie and George were both asleep. Michael was on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor next to George’s side of the bed. Chris left the water with him and went down to the kitchen.

Chris filled the empty woodbox from the pile outside and got the fire going in the stove. He pumped more water and put several pots and the kettle on to boil. He took the bucket from the floor in the kitchen, washed it out with plenty of soap, and put it on the stove to heat. He looked around, found another bucket on the stairs down to the cellar. He took it and the now-heated and hopefully disinfected bucket from the stove outside and filled them at the pump. He carried them both upstairs.

“We’re going to have to change some sheets,” Michael said, washing his hands in the basin.

Chris nodded. “I have to wash Wes’s clothes, too.” He handed him the heated bucket. “Here, this water is a little warm. I’ll have some boiling soon. You’re using plenty of soap?”

“Hell, yes.”

Chris took a clean bowl into Pauline’s room, set it on the floor, and stood there, next to the bed. The hair around her face was damp with sweat, her eyes crusted in the corners. Chris got a flannel and a small bowl of warm water. He sat down next to her and wiped her face clean carefully. She made little noises, shifted around. A sense of helplessness flooded through Chris. He stood up, stared a moment more, then went out into the hall. He leaned with his head against the wall outside her door, his stomach a deep pit with howling creatures writhing at the black bottom of it. He kept seeing Pauline in the bed, looking the way Sophie had looked when he had finally got home from the airport.

Michael came out into the hall. “Keep it together, Price.”

Chris took a deep breath, nodded. “It’s too late for masks, now, isn’t it?”

“I’d say so.”

“I’ve never got it yet.”

“I have. I wonder which of us is safer.”

“I should have kept her in Hurleigh,” Chris whispered.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Price. This is her home. And if you had, who would have been here to take care of the rest of them?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, fighting back the clawing crowd trying to climb up his throat.

“It’ll be okay, Price.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“No ‘what-ifs.’ It’s going to be okay. C’mon, get moving. Don’t think.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Chris went downstairs. He gazed around the kitchen. Dirty dishes covered the table, filled the sink. Muddy footprints tracked across the floor from the door to the woodbox. The scrap bucket was full. Chris carried the bucket of wasted food out to the pigs in the barn. He dumped it into the trough, and the familiar old despair ballooned as he imagined Pauline cooking the food that no one was eating, on top of everything else she had to do. The thought of her pushing herself, doing pointless work in a haze of confusion and exhaustion, made him groan. He checked all the animals and collected more than a dozen eggs in the chicken house. He stood in the yard and breathed the cold air before he went back inside. He poured the boiled drinking water into shallow pans to cool quickly, put more on to heat.

Michael came down for more water while Chris was starting the washing up.

“Pauline’s fine,” he told Chris. “She’s sleeping.”

“I should have been here,” Chris said, gesturing around at the mess.

“Don’t,” Michael said, frowning. “You’re here now.”

It took Chris a long time to get all the dishes cleaned and put away. He went up and checked on Pauline, then got Wes’s dirty clothes and scrubbed them in a washtub on the kitchen floor, rinsed them in the sink, hung them on a folding rack near the stove. Michael came down again, this time with a bundle of bedsheets.

“I’ve changed Mum’s and Pauline’s sheets,” he said. “I might need some help with George and Marie’s.”

Chris held out his hands for them. “I’ll wash them.”

“Let’s take a break,” Michael said, tossing the pile onto the floor. “I have a treat for us. I was going to save it, but God, I need it.” He rummaged in his rucksack. “Here it is,” he said, pulling out a paper sack. “They must have a coffeepot somewhere around here, eh?”

“Coffeepot? What for?”

“This, my friend, is coffee. You remember what that is, don’t you?”

“Are you serious?”

“Never more so. Let’s get brewing.”

“Where the hell did you get it?”

“Connections, Price, connections. I know a chap.”

Chris found the coffeepot and got the coffee brewing. His mouth watered at the smell. “Oh my God,” he said, standing near the stove, breathing in the aroma. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee?”

“Hell of a long time, I’d guess,” Michael said. “The smell alone is enough to keep me going. Quite an improvement on what I’ve been smelling the last several hours.”

In a few minutes, they each had a steaming mug in front of them.

“There’s sugar, but the cows have gone dry,” Chris said.

“Black,” Michael said, and sipped carefully. He closed his eyes and sighed. “That takes me back. How about you? You feeling better?”

Chris looked up at him. “Did you see the mess? Did you see the food? She just kept cooking food that no one could eat.”

Michael nodded grimly. “Confusion. It’s not uncommon. I’ve seen it before.”

“She was alone, trying to do it all by herself.” Chris started chewing on his thumbnail.

“Relax, Chris,” Michael said. “Look, I’ve seen a lot of plague. I worked in a hospital for a few weeks once. This isn’t like what I saw there. They’re getting better, all of them. It’s changed or something. Mutated. I don’t think we’re dealing with the same thing as before.” He took another sip of coffee. “I think they’re all going to be fine, I really do.”

Chris looked at him, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“What have we got to eat?”

Chris rummaged in the food bag, thinking about what Michael had said. He had seen a lot of the New Plague and this
was
different, but it was hard to put aside past experiences. He had seen too much death from the plague to be able to feel comfortable about this outbreak. “Quite a few tins, jars of veggies, potatoes...” he said to Michael. He pulled out a loaf of bread wrapped in waxed paper, then some muffins and a jar of jam. “I got some eggs earlier. Want me to fry some up?”

“This is good for now,” Michael said, taking a muffin. Chris got a knife for the jam, spread up one for himself, and handed the knife over to Michael.

Michael dipped into the jam. “So what was that nickname your mate called you? Tag?”

It took Chris a moment to even remember that Brian had called him that. “Oh, that. It’s from a long time ago. I don’t answer to it.” He gave Michael a look.

“What’s it stand for?”

Chris bit into his muffin and did not answer.

“Oh, c’mon, Price, spill it.”

“Not a chance. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.” Chris got up and took his coffee and muffin with him. “I’m going to check on Pauline,” he said over his shoulder, and went upstairs.