Dust (12 page)

My focus on the doctor immediately went elsewhere when I emerged inside. It was bigger than it appeared, and filled with cots. Not a single one of them empty. They lined from front to back, with barely any walking room between them.

I heard a rushed ‘excuse me’, and that snapped me from my stare. I turned, it was him. The doctor. At least he looked like a doctor. Younger, but no older than forty, he wore soiled hospital scrubs, his brown hair was a mess, and he moved with a rush. I followed him. He worked on a patient.

I stood across from him on the other side of the cart. “Excuse me.”

“Give me one CC ... ”

“I’m not a nurse.”

He finally looked up at me. “Are you looking for someone? Because I can’t help you.”

“No. See my husband is sick. And ... ”

“Is he in here? I’m sure I’ll get to him.” He aimed his voice elsewhere. “Nurse.”

“No, he’s home.”

“Nurse.” He called again for assistance. “What do you want?” he asked me.

“He’s needs help.”

“I can’t ... ” Disgusted, the doctor’s hands stopped moving. “Shit.” He shook his head and raised the sheet over the patient’s head.

I was mortified. A man died before me and I didn’t even notice. For a second I was caught in a stare of the covered body, and then I realized the doctor walked away. “Wait.” I pursued him.

He spoke as he walked backwards. “I can’t help you. Sorry.” He turned and went to another patient.

I wasn’t giving up. There had to be another health care worker in that tent. I started the search and then I spotted her. She was at the far end of the tent. “Oh, my God,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Yu, an older Asian woman lived six houses up the street from me. I spoke to her only on occasion, usually a ‘how are you’, and I discovered her name when Matty sold her Girl Scout cookies. I’d wave to her often, when I saw her leaving for work, dressed in white. Mrs. Yu was in tent three. Not as a victim, but as a worker. She was a nurse. She knew me, she would help. Filled with optimism, I hurried her way.

She left one patient and moved to another.

“Mrs. Yu!” I called her. “Mrs. Yu.”

She glanced up, peered around, then focused again on her patient.

Out of breath, I arrived. “Thank God. Thank God. Mrs. Yu?”

She looked at me as if she didn’t know who I was.

“I’m Jo. Jo, your neighbor from down the street.”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “Please step back. This patient convulses.”

I moved back an inch. “Mrs. Yu. Can you help me? My husband Sam is sick. Very sick.”

“Where is he, I will go to him in a moment.”

“He’s home.”

“Then you need to bring him here.”

“He’s too sick to bring here.”

“Then I cannot help him,” she said firm, almost annoyed. She stepped to the next cart.

I followed. “Please.”

Mrs. Yu paid me no mind. I understood her focus, I did. I just needed her attention for one second. Her hands moved to the neck of a woman, and to the bandage there. As soon as Mrs. Yu lifted the bandage, like a fountain, a stream of blood shot up at her. She quickly recovered the injury. “Dr. Niles! Cot seven! Bleeder.”

I looked for whom she called, and saw it was the same doctor I had just spoken to.

“Look,” she spoke stern to me. “You are going to have to leave.”

I nodded and stepped away slowly.

“Jo.” Mrs. Yu called my attention. “You should be ashamed to come here with two healthy hands and ask for help when so much help is needed.”

I was so stunned and speechless over her words that I didn’t even notice Dr. Niles had bumped me back even further. If I felt bad when I got there, at that moment I felt even worse.

Hating to admit it, I had reached defeat. There had to be another way, but right there and then was not the place.

Until I started to leave. As if they were a glowing neon green they stole my attention. Open boxes were stacked four high on a table and created a pseudo shelf. It was clear that the boxes contained medication. A woman worked, pulling items from the boxes, and creating medication set-ups on a table before her.

I stepped closer, trying to be inconspicuous while I scanned box by box. But what I needed wasn’t in the boxes; it was on the table in a white industrial size jar. Even at a distance I was pretty sure the label read ... Penicillin.

But how to get it. Remaining certain that I couldn’t ask, I had to think of a way. And then ... salvation.

“Nurse, we need your help over here!” Dr. Niles yelled out. “Morphine, hurry!”

The woman at the table, grabbed something, and left her post.

I watched and waited until she joined Dr. Niles and Mrs. Yu, then I inched my way even closer to the medication. My eyes never left the trio. I was in utter debate on whether or not I should just go over and grab what I needed or wait until the woman returned. I contemplated a few seconds, and then I made up my mind. It had to be done. Dr. Niles, Mrs. Yu and the woman were busy. A soldier posted by the door hadn’t even noticed me. An opportunity was offered and I took it. I raced over to the table. Just a handful, that’s all I needed. Take them. Go.

My hand reached for the jar, and my heart nearly stopped when my wrist was grabbed. Shaking, I looked up. It was Dr. Niles.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked hard.

“Please, my husband is sick. He’s dying. He needs antibiotics. Please.”

Dr. Niles’ focus went elsewhere. It shifted slightly to his right.

The soldier had made his way over.

I closed my eyes. “Shit.”

“Everything all right?” the soldier asked Dr. Niles.

“No. No it’s not.” He released my wrist. “Get her out of here.”

The soldier grabbed hold of my arm and began to lead me.

“Wait.” I beckoned, trying not to go. “Please, Doctor. My husband is sick.”

Dr. Niles gave a single nod to the soldier. “Now. Get her out.”

No longer was a gentle escort in order, I felt the arms of the soldier wrap around me from behind and I was lifted with force from the ground.

“No!” While being carried out, I saw Dr. Niles look over. Acting on pure emotions, and without thinking, I cried out. “Why couldn’t you help me? You dick. You could have helped me. My husband is dying. Why couldn’t you help me?”

Surmounted with anger, sadness and failure, what I said and how I acted became a blur. Everything started blacking out, and before I knew it I was out of that tent.

13. All Good Things
 

I could have been arrested. I was grateful that I wasn’t. The soldier physically dropped me outside of the camp, in an area that could be considered a ‘back door’. He gave me orders to calm my ass down and go back home. Then he told me, ‘Don’t make me shoot you’. I was nearly positive he wasn’t serious, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. I ran.

It certainly was roundabout, taking me a good half-mile out of the way in my journey home. But there was a positive side; I was able to avoid the hoards of people. For some strange reason, no one even attempted to find a ‘backdoor’ to the camp. Maybe someone did, and they learned their lesson like me, that sneaking in was a useless move.

Making it to my street was a bit more difficult, not because of distance or obstacles, but because I began to ache. My side was sore from being punched, my knee bled from being thrown, and my body wasn’t used to walking any distance.

If I would have had the energy to jump up and down like Rocky when I reached my street, I would have. I felt a sense of victory, and had finally stopped being angry about failing. But something sparked in me again as I approached Mrs. Yu’s home. Not anger, not at all. I looked at her home, then at some of the houses around hers. I wondered if it was my imagination, or did Mrs. Yu’s home suffer the least damage? Was it a blessing from above, a payment for being such an angel of mercy at the rescue station? Other than a few broken windows, and scattered debris, her home was fine. Moving along, I stopped when they caught my attention. Mrs. Yu’s home, like everyone else’s, was covered with a thick gray dust, blown concrete laid about her lawn, along with ash. But amongst all that destitution, they remained—two red flowers.

It was amazing. Was it a symbol that life prevailed, or rather life was struggling to survive but lay buried beneath the rubble. I recalled how often I saw Mrs. Yu working on the garden. She took pride in her flowerbed. Always attentive, nurturing, in some ways the flowers were like her children. She enjoyed watching them grow, basking in the beauty of them. With diligence they tried to stand tall. Like some sort of message to Mrs. Yu, screaming, that they survived, her children were alive and well.

Without hesitation, I walked up to those flowers and yanked them out. Mean spirited or not, I felt a sense of justification, and I moved on.

My house was in view. I was almost there, and then ... I saw Mark my neighbor.

He didn’t look well, not at all. He was sitting on his front steps and stood when he saw me. It felt odd the way he waited for me and it wasn’t as if he were waiting with open arms. He glared. His face burnt, clothes tattered, and even though Mark was six-foot-four, three hundred pounds to match, somehow he looked even bigger.

I kept moving.

Where was my head? Did I think it was just another day in May? I acted as if it were. Lifting my hand in a slight wave, I murmured out a, ‘Hey, Mark.’ and focused on my house.

Mark blocked my way. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

It was a strange thing to say to me, and it didn’t feel comfortable at all. “Um ... thanks. Excuse me, I want to get home.” Twenty feet at most and I would have been home.

“That’s what I thought.” Mark grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me back.

“Hey.” I struggled with his fingers that not only gripped my arm, but lifted me some as well. “Stop it. You’re hurting me.”

“Where is my stuff?”

“What?” I asked confused.

“You took my stuff. Where is it?”

“I don’t ... ” I pulled at his hand. “Know what you’re talking about.”

“You took my things.” He stared hard at me. “Never mind, I’ll go get them myself.” With throw of his arm he tossed me aside.

I caught myself before I fell completely. Then I saw Mark turn and head to my house. “My kids. Oh shit.” Grabbing my stance, I charged after him with a drawn out, ‘No!’ Full speed I ran, doing the only thing I could think of to stop him—I leapt on his back as if my hundred pounds would hold him back.

He tried to shuck me from him, but I held tighter. Knowing full well it was wrong, I used my only debilitating option. My fingers gripped tight to the burnt portion of his face and I gnawed as deeply as I could.

My error.

Mark cried out, but not in pain. With an angry bellow, he grabbed hold of my head, and jerked his body and me.

I flew, and swore at that second my life passed before my eyes. I landed hard on my back and felt the sharp pain of concrete jam into me. When I opened my eyes, I saw Mark. He wasn’t heading to my home, he was raging toward me.

Through the corner of my eye I spotted it. A long rod of metal protruded from the ground. A pipe maybe, or piece of a porch, I didn’t know, but it was a weapon. My fingers extended, and just as I gripped it, Mark arrived.