Death's Awakening (8 page)

That’s when she
saw the broken vase. It must have gotten knocked over when she fell.
A pool of glass and water and tulips as red as her mother’s
blood all mingled on the floor under and around her mother’s
body.

There wasn’t a
lot of room between the bed and the wall, but Parrish managed to
squeeze through without stepping on her mom. She grabbed her hand and
tried to lift her back onto the bed. At first, her mom seemed to
help, pulling her weight against Parrish’s hand. But she only
made it an inch off the ground when her legs gave out and she tumbled
back into the broken glass on the floor.

Parrish looked around,
her stomach twisting.

She wasn’t strong
enough to pick her mom up and put her back in bed, but maybe if she
got lower, she could kind of push her up enough that she would be
able to pull herself up with her arms instead of her legs. When she
knelt, pinpricks of glass sunk into the flesh on Parrish’s
knees and the palms of her hands.

“I was trying to
get to the bathroom, but my legs just wouldn’t work,” her
mother said in a frail whisper, struggling to sit up. “I don’t
think I can stand up.”

The confusion in her
mother’s tone terrified her.

“I’m going
to put my hands under you. When I do, I want you to try to grab the
sheets and pull yourself up onto the bed, okay?” Parrish asked.
She used all her strength to lift up as her mother clawed at the
bedsheets. Slowly, her mom managed to pull herself far enough that
Parrish could get her on to the top of the large King-sized bed.

Parrish pulled the
comforter from the foot of the bed and tossed it into the corner. She
grabbed a pillow and used it to sweep the pieces of broken glass
aside as best she could. A sharp piece sliced into her heel and she
sucked a breath through her teeth. She lifted her foot and picked the
shard from her flesh, setting it on the bedside table with a clink.
Blood trickled from the wound, mingling with the pool of blood
already on the floor and all over the sheets.

Violent coughs shook
her mother’s body and she doubled over on the bed, her
shoulders trembling.

Parrish moved beside
her and put her arms around her mom’s shoulders, patting her
gently until the coughing stopped.

“I don’t
know what to do,” she said. “Do you want me to call a
doctor or something?”

Her mom shook her head
and lay back against the wet pillow. “I’m sure I’ll
be fine,” she said. “I just feel weak.”

Sweat dripped from her
mother’s forehead. Parrish raised her hand to touch her
mother’s cheek, then drew in a shallow breath.

She was burning up.

Water from the flowers
soaked the pink gown she wore, but her hair and neck were drenched in
sweat.

Parrish bit her lip,
every muscle in her face tense. She needed to find a thermometer.
Fast.

“I’ll be
right back.”

Her mother didn’t
even acknowledge her. She just lay there against the bed, her entire
body trembling.

Parrish ran toward the
bathroom, every footstep stinging as her bloody heel hit the ground.
Yesterday, her mom would have killed her for getting blood on the
expensive rug that covered part of the hardwood floors in the
bedroom. Tonight, though, it was the least important thing in the
world.

In the bathroom,
Parrish rummaged through cabinets and drawers, searching for both a
thermometer and a first aid kit. She needed a bandage for her foot,
and she needed enough to cover the worst scrapes on her mom’s
arms and legs.

She found a full box of
bandages in a drawer at the bottom of the vanity. Parrish grabbed a
handful and stuck them between her teeth. She’d put it on after
she found the thermometer.

There had to be one in
there somewhere.

A strangled cry sounded
from the next room. Parrish gripped the drawers tighter, pulling them
out so fast some of the contents spilled onto the floor around her. A
purple digital thermometer clacked onto the floor and she breathed a
sigh of relief.

She ran it under the
faucet for a second, then wiped it off on her t-shirt and rushed back
into the bedroom where her mom was now curled up into a shivering
ball. She looked tiny on the big bed.

Parrish sat down next
to her mother and lifted her head just enough to prop a second pillow
underneath. She stuck the thermometer against her closed lips. “Put
this under your tongue.”

Her mom’s eyes
fluttered open, then closed as her head rolled back onto the pillow.

Parrish pressed the
button on the thermometer and placed it inside her mom’s mouth,
holding it there. With her free hand, she pulled the bandages from
her mouth and tossed them on the bed. She unwrapped one with the help
of her teeth, then stuck it over the small gash on the heel of her
foot. The wound pulsed like a ticking clock.

It felt like an hour
waiting for the stupid beep on that thermometer.

Parrish’s toes
tapped against the air and she pressed her lips tight. She couldn’t
remember the last time she’d been in her parents’ bed.
Years ago. Probably before Zoe was born. She used to crawl into bed
after waking up in the middle of the night, sandwiching herself
between her parents.

That was lifetime ago.

Suddenly, Parrish felt
like a child again. A little girl clinging to her mother for
reassurance.

The thermometer beeped.
Parrish sat up with lightning speed, pulling the digital thermometer
back.

105.2

She stared at it for a
few seconds too long, shaking it as if the number would somehow
magically change. Her vision blurred. She closed her eyes and opened
them again, not wanting to believe the number.

Her heart tightened in
her chest and she dropped her hand to her side, staring ahead.

No, this couldn’t
be real. 105? She’d never even heard of anyone having a
temperature that high before. Maybe the thermometer was broken?

But she knew it wasn’t.

She needed to call her
dad. He would know what to do. She searched the room for her mom’s
cell, but couldn’t find it.

“I’ll be
right back,” she said, but her mom was delirious. Curled up and
shivering. Parrish stood there staring at her for a moment, not
believing the sight of her. Was she going to be okay?

She blinked back tears
and pushed herself into action. She ran to her bedroom and dug her
own cell out of her bag. It took her several tries to even open the
app for her phone. Her hands were shaking too badly and her brain
wasn’t working right.

Finally, her dad’s
picture came up on the screen and she touched the little green phone
icon. She brought the phone to her cheek, then walked quickly back to
her parents’ room. After a moment of nothing but dead air, she
looked at the phone, shaking her head. What was wrong with this
stupid thing?

She stopped the call,
then touched the green phone again and waited. The phone wouldn’t
dial. Was it broken? She tried again. This time, she got a weird set
of beeping tones and an automated message.

“Our system is
currently experiencing a high volume of calls. Please hang up and try
your call again later.”

Parrish collapsed on to
the bed at her mother’s side. It was nearly three in the
morning. How were they experiencing a high call volume.

Her stomach twisted.
She put her hand on her mother’s arm, trying to hold herself
together, but the panic was seeping in.

She’d never had
to call 911 before, but her mom’s temperature was scary high.
Parrish dialed the three digits with trembling fingers, then ran back
to her room and grabbed her laptop. She opened the top and brought up
an internet browser. She brought up a Google search for ‘what
to do for high fever’.

The results came up
fast, but still there’d been no answer at 911.

Parrish pulled the
phone away from her cheek again and stared at it. Maybe something
really was wrong with it. She dialed again and hit the speaker
button, then threw a quick glance toward her mother’s room.

The answers on Google
all suggested things like cold towels, Tylenol, and lukewarm baths.
There was no way she’d be able to carry her mom to the bathtub,
but she could try cold towels. There might be some Tylenol in the
medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom, too.

Parrish snatched up her
phone and ran down the stairs.

Still no answer on 911.
Her phone had to be broken or have some kind of wonky signal. She
picked up the wireless phone in the kitchen and dialed from there.
Even if the cell towers were down for some reason, the home line
should work. She dialed and held her breath, her heart beating in her
eardrums.

It was busy.

Parrish’s mouth
dropped open and she pressed the phone tighter against her face. She
was breathless. Unable to make sense of this.

How could 911 be busy?

Terror flashed through
her veins like a hot fire. Something was very wrong. A nightmare come
to life.

She hit redial, but got
the same busy tone. She slammed the phone down on the countertops and
gripped the edge of the granite with both hands, her head hung low.
Oh God. What was she supposed to do? What the hell was going on?

She tried to pull in a
deep breath, but her lungs were tight and closed. She had to keep
moving. She needed to stay focused. She had to get her mother’s
fever down.

She threw open a drawer
next to the fridge and grabbed a plastic bag, then tossed a handful
of ice cubes inside. She rummaged through the medicine cabinet,
finding some ibuprofen and Tylenol, then ran back up the stairs to
her mom.

“I got some ice,”
she said as she walked into the bedroom.

But what she saw
stopped her in her tracks. The bag of ice and the pill bottles slid
from Parrish’s hand.

Her mother sat in pool
of vomit on the bed, bright red blood dripping from the corner of her
mouth. She looked up at Parrish and tried to smile, but it came out
sideways, like a clown from some kind of nightmare circus.

Her eyes rolled back in
her head, then she toppled forward, her body limp.

Noah had been slipping
in and out of sleep for the past couple hours. He was exhausted, but
his mind just wouldn’t seem to turn off. His father had been
working in the basement for days and he refused to tell Noah anything
about whatever illness was going around.

But something was
definitely going on.

Noah had tried to get
together with a couple of his friends earlier in the evening and none
of them had been feeling well. His friend Alex had even been admitted
to the hospital.

How serious was this
thing?

His dad knew. Why
wasn’t he talking about it? Noah was about one more sleepless
hour away from knocking down the basement door.

A loud banging broke
through the silence.

He shot straight up and
listened. Was that coming from the basement?

Another bang and he
realized that no, someone was at the front door. He looked at the
glowing clock beside his bed. It was almost four in the morning.

He jumped out of bed
and ran to his window. Someone was pacing back and forth on the front
porch, but he couldn’t see them well enough to tell who it was.

An image of the sick
man from the other night flashed through his head. The news had
reported on him saying that he’d walked nearly two miles from
his house in a delirious fever before finally collapsing on their
street. Had someone else wandered over here?

Or was one of his
neighbors in trouble?

He grabbed his jeans
from the floor and stepped into them, then grabbed a t-shirt out of
the dirty clothes pile. He took the stairs at record pace and threw
the door open just as he pulled the shirt over his head.

Parrish Sorrows turned,
her violet eyes wide. He’d never seen her without her dark
eyeliner. “I’m so sorry to wake you up, but I didn’t
know what else to do.”

“What’s
wrong?” he asked. She was the last person he’d expected
to see at his door in the middle of the night. He wiped the tiredness
from his eyes. “Come in.”

She shook her head
wildly from side-to-side. “There’s no time,” she
said. “I have to get my mom to the hospital, but I can’t
carry her down the stairs by myself. Can you help me?”

She was already
starting to walk back down the steps, looking back to see if he would
follow her.

“What’s
wrong with her?” he asked. But he already knew. Dread sunk deep
in his stomach like a stone.

“105 degree fever
and now she’s throwing up,” Parrish said, a choked sob
cutting off the end of her words. She took a breath. “I have to
get her to the car, please.”

He looked back toward
the house. “Let me grab my cell phone. I’ll call an
ambulance.”

“No,” she
said. She’d practically yelled it.

He turned back,
questioning with his eyes.

“I tried that,”
she said. She walked down a few more steps, inching toward her house.
“The phones don’t work, Noah. I can’t get through
to my Dad in New York and 911 is busy. We need to go, now. If you
can’t help me, I’ll go next door.”

Noah gripped the door.
He couldn’t process this. The phones weren’t working? How
could 911 be busy? Maybe she was delirious. “No, I’ll
help you. Wait here a second.”

He took the steps two
at a time and snatched his cell phone from the charger beside his
bed. He dialed 911 as he ran back downstairs and out the door.
Parrish was already halfway back to her house.

The phone connected and
he got a busy signal. He stared at the phone for a second making sure
he’d dialed right. He dialed again.

Busy.

His skin went cold. He
froze on the front porch as he watched Parrish throw open the front
door of her house. She looked over at him, their eyes connecting
across the darkness.