Read Online After the End: Survival by Dave Stebbins - Free Book Online
Authors: Dave Stebbins
Ads: Link
of the monitor speaker. He turned his head toward Pete, grinned, waved, turned back to the control board, pushed a switch and began talking into the microphone.
"KAMR and Garth Brooks. Seven-fourteen, local authorities are asking for the public's help in identifying the body of the young girl who was murdered earlier this week. I'll have that and other news at seven thirty. Right now, it's time for the weather, brought to you by Fancher's Fried Chicken. The forecast, right after this." Larry pushed a switch on a cart machine, and the sound of a rooster crowing came over the speaker.
"Tell you what, Pete. Besides the newscast, I'll cut a promo with the girl's description and air it throughout the day."
"Thanks again," Pete said, softly closing the control room door as he exited. Glad that's over with.
Morning clinic was slow and routine. The clinic building was simply a house across the street from Pete's residence. This morning he saw two cases of diarrhea and vomiting, probably food related. A six week re-check of a man’s broken wrist, and an elderly woman with uncontrolled high blood pressure who'd suffered a stroke. Two women, both in their sixties, brought her in a two-wheeled wheelbarrow.
"Ladies, it would have been a lot easier if I had just gone over to Mrs. Franklin's house." The patient, wearing a bright red sweat suit, shook her head defiantly and made a cooing noise. The right side of her face was slack and saliva covered her cheek.
"Hell, Pete, we know that. And that's what we told Eunice. Just as soon hollered down a well, all the good it done."
"She's as tough as a nickel steak," the other woman chimed in.
"OK. You're here now. Eunice, what's your problem?"
Eunice narrowed her left eye, made a grunting noise, and put her hand on her abdomen.
"She's all stove up's the problem. Can't move her bowels."
After a brief examination, Pete gave the women some elderberry syrup and an enema bag.
"Use warm water," was about all the explaining he had to do. He stood watching from the front yard of the clinic building. The women moved slowly down the street, taking turns pushing the wheelbarrow.
What a perfect picture, Pete thought. Probably just what the original planners of the Affordable Care Act had in mind to start out with.
"Hey! Hey, Doctor!"
It had been pretty good morning up to this point. Jason Owens was an IV drug abuser and had been diagnosed HIV positive before the Change. In the last six months he had developed a full blown case of AIDS. Pete’s dislike for the man had nothing to do with any social stigma. Pete's personal feelings for the man were simply that he was a flaming asshole and always had been.
Jason was still a good fifty feet away, his thin frame moving quickly across the yard. His face and arms were very pale and covered with purple blotches.
"This damn skin ointment isn't doing shit. You're a quack. And now look at me! I've got fucking fur growing on my tongue." Jason's tongue protruded now, and Pete could see it was covered with a white growth.
"Jason, you've got AIDS. I really can't do anything for you. I wish I could. Why don't you go see Dr. Flood? He's a bona fide physician. Maybe he can do something for you I can't."
I shouldn't have said that. Jay doesn't deserve this guy either.
"I did! And he told me to come to you."
Flood, you S.O.B.
"Well, come on in. I'll try and make you up some kind of solution you can gargle with, maybe help your throat out some." Red pepper and honey, Pete thought. Mix it with tomato juice.
"’Maybe help my throat?’ What kind of shit are you going to give me this time? Hey, Pete ! You got a little wifey Pete ? Maybe I could help her out some. What do you think, Pete?"
Pete turned to see Jason performing pelvic thrusts, rhythmically pulling his hands to his waist. Pete watched for several seconds and reached for an IV pole hanging from the ceiling. It was three feet long, made of half inch galvanized pipe. With a single fluid motion, he
"KAMR and Garth Brooks. Seven-fourteen, local authorities are asking for the public's help in identifying the body of the young girl who was murdered earlier this week. I'll have that and other news at seven thirty. Right now, it's time for the weather, brought to you by Fancher's Fried Chicken. The forecast, right after this." Larry pushed a switch on a cart machine, and the sound of a rooster crowing came over the speaker.
"Tell you what, Pete. Besides the newscast, I'll cut a promo with the girl's description and air it throughout the day."
"Thanks again," Pete said, softly closing the control room door as he exited. Glad that's over with.
Morning clinic was slow and routine. The clinic building was simply a house across the street from Pete's residence. This morning he saw two cases of diarrhea and vomiting, probably food related. A six week re-check of a man’s broken wrist, and an elderly woman with uncontrolled high blood pressure who'd suffered a stroke. Two women, both in their sixties, brought her in a two-wheeled wheelbarrow.
"Ladies, it would have been a lot easier if I had just gone over to Mrs. Franklin's house." The patient, wearing a bright red sweat suit, shook her head defiantly and made a cooing noise. The right side of her face was slack and saliva covered her cheek.
"Hell, Pete, we know that. And that's what we told Eunice. Just as soon hollered down a well, all the good it done."
"She's as tough as a nickel steak," the other woman chimed in.
"OK. You're here now. Eunice, what's your problem?"
Eunice narrowed her left eye, made a grunting noise, and put her hand on her abdomen.
"She's all stove up's the problem. Can't move her bowels."
After a brief examination, Pete gave the women some elderberry syrup and an enema bag.
"Use warm water," was about all the explaining he had to do. He stood watching from the front yard of the clinic building. The women moved slowly down the street, taking turns pushing the wheelbarrow.
What a perfect picture, Pete thought. Probably just what the original planners of the Affordable Care Act had in mind to start out with.
"Hey! Hey, Doctor!"
It had been pretty good morning up to this point. Jason Owens was an IV drug abuser and had been diagnosed HIV positive before the Change. In the last six months he had developed a full blown case of AIDS. Pete’s dislike for the man had nothing to do with any social stigma. Pete's personal feelings for the man were simply that he was a flaming asshole and always had been.
Jason was still a good fifty feet away, his thin frame moving quickly across the yard. His face and arms were very pale and covered with purple blotches.
"This damn skin ointment isn't doing shit. You're a quack. And now look at me! I've got fucking fur growing on my tongue." Jason's tongue protruded now, and Pete could see it was covered with a white growth.
"Jason, you've got AIDS. I really can't do anything for you. I wish I could. Why don't you go see Dr. Flood? He's a bona fide physician. Maybe he can do something for you I can't."
I shouldn't have said that. Jay doesn't deserve this guy either.
"I did! And he told me to come to you."
Flood, you S.O.B.
"Well, come on in. I'll try and make you up some kind of solution you can gargle with, maybe help your throat out some." Red pepper and honey, Pete thought. Mix it with tomato juice.
"’Maybe help my throat?’ What kind of shit are you going to give me this time? Hey, Pete ! You got a little wifey Pete ? Maybe I could help her out some. What do you think, Pete?"
Pete turned to see Jason performing pelvic thrusts, rhythmically pulling his hands to his waist. Pete watched for several seconds and reached for an IV pole hanging from the ceiling. It was three feet long, made of half inch galvanized pipe. With a single fluid motion, he
Similar Books
