Read Online Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) by Randall Wood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randall Wood
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out of the bus.
The smell was overpowering and the flies were on him instantly. He squinted and shook his head to keep his eyes clear long enough to follow her through the corridor of armed men and past the gated wall into the hospital compound itself. Here the walls of the building offered some shade from the sun, and he found himself walking past a long line of people waiting to see two men under a tarp stretched out in the corner closest to the door.
“What’s the line for?” he asked Heather.
“Food and medicine are limited. Some of these people have walked for days to get here. Most have a disease of some kind, or are too malnourished to be treated. The doctors give them a quick physical assessment to determine if they are healthy enough to be saved. If they are, they get a paper chit that means food and medicine. If they aren’t . . . .” She let her thoughts fade, unwilling to voice the alternative.
Eric stood and watched as a young woman handed a baby wrapped in rags to the doctor under the tarp. The doctor pinched the skin on the baby’s back, then on her thighs. The child did not stir or even blink the flies away from its clouded eyes. A stethoscope was placed on its chest and the expression on the doctor’s face clouded. The baby was too far gone. The doctor turned his attention to the mother. She was very emaciated, beyond what little help the food bank could provide. The doctor handed the baby to a large black man assisting him before facing the woman. The woman held out her hand for the paper chit, but the doctor just shook his head. The woman trembled and again stretched out her open hand. But the doctor again shook his head. The assistant grasped the woman by her shoulders and spoke to her in her native tongue. Small tears appeared as she listened to his deep voice, and she allowed herself to be slowly led away.
“What will happen to her?” Eric asked.
“Sometimes the babies die and the mothers carry them for days. They can’t bring themselves to put them down. He’ll find her a place out of the sun to rest. Provide some water. She’ll most likely be gone by morning. Every day at sunrise the dead are loaded into a truck and taken to a mass grave somewhere outside the city.”
“I never imagined.” Eric shook his head.
“There are too many people,” was all Heather replied.
Eric watched the doctor as he steeled himself before seeing the next person in line. Eric met the man’s gaze briefly and was shocked by how young he really was—barely older than himself. The man nodded in return before wiping the sweat from his eyes and facing the next refugee in line.
Eric turned and followed Heather and Sydney into the building. The crowded lobby gave way to corridors filled with stretchers lining the walls. Most held people who quietly suffered while others wailed or moaned to whoever would listen. Native nurses pushed through the masses to attend them as best they could. Mosquito nets hung at intervals in the hallways and eventually the flies dissipated. The hallways revealed rooms with people occupying every available space. Eventually they arrived at an intersection that was divided by a half wall that kept the traffic from the three desks on the other side. A tall, thin white woman dressed in worn scrubs and the expression of one who was overwhelmed, stood on the other side and she watched as the parade of white faces approached. When she saw Heather’s face among them her expression changed to one of recognition and delight.
“Heather, I thought I would not see you for some time!” She rounded the desk and came through the gate to embrace her friend.
“Sister Mary!” Heather replied. “I come bearing gifts.” She barely managed to set the boxes down before the woman wrapped her in a hug.
Sister Mary released her friend and eyed the rest of the group. “All Americans? Can they donate?” she asked.
“Some,” Heather replied.
“I have their types with me,” Sydney
The smell was overpowering and the flies were on him instantly. He squinted and shook his head to keep his eyes clear long enough to follow her through the corridor of armed men and past the gated wall into the hospital compound itself. Here the walls of the building offered some shade from the sun, and he found himself walking past a long line of people waiting to see two men under a tarp stretched out in the corner closest to the door.
“What’s the line for?” he asked Heather.
“Food and medicine are limited. Some of these people have walked for days to get here. Most have a disease of some kind, or are too malnourished to be treated. The doctors give them a quick physical assessment to determine if they are healthy enough to be saved. If they are, they get a paper chit that means food and medicine. If they aren’t . . . .” She let her thoughts fade, unwilling to voice the alternative.
Eric stood and watched as a young woman handed a baby wrapped in rags to the doctor under the tarp. The doctor pinched the skin on the baby’s back, then on her thighs. The child did not stir or even blink the flies away from its clouded eyes. A stethoscope was placed on its chest and the expression on the doctor’s face clouded. The baby was too far gone. The doctor turned his attention to the mother. She was very emaciated, beyond what little help the food bank could provide. The doctor handed the baby to a large black man assisting him before facing the woman. The woman held out her hand for the paper chit, but the doctor just shook his head. The woman trembled and again stretched out her open hand. But the doctor again shook his head. The assistant grasped the woman by her shoulders and spoke to her in her native tongue. Small tears appeared as she listened to his deep voice, and she allowed herself to be slowly led away.
“What will happen to her?” Eric asked.
“Sometimes the babies die and the mothers carry them for days. They can’t bring themselves to put them down. He’ll find her a place out of the sun to rest. Provide some water. She’ll most likely be gone by morning. Every day at sunrise the dead are loaded into a truck and taken to a mass grave somewhere outside the city.”
“I never imagined.” Eric shook his head.
“There are too many people,” was all Heather replied.
Eric watched the doctor as he steeled himself before seeing the next person in line. Eric met the man’s gaze briefly and was shocked by how young he really was—barely older than himself. The man nodded in return before wiping the sweat from his eyes and facing the next refugee in line.
Eric turned and followed Heather and Sydney into the building. The crowded lobby gave way to corridors filled with stretchers lining the walls. Most held people who quietly suffered while others wailed or moaned to whoever would listen. Native nurses pushed through the masses to attend them as best they could. Mosquito nets hung at intervals in the hallways and eventually the flies dissipated. The hallways revealed rooms with people occupying every available space. Eventually they arrived at an intersection that was divided by a half wall that kept the traffic from the three desks on the other side. A tall, thin white woman dressed in worn scrubs and the expression of one who was overwhelmed, stood on the other side and she watched as the parade of white faces approached. When she saw Heather’s face among them her expression changed to one of recognition and delight.
“Heather, I thought I would not see you for some time!” She rounded the desk and came through the gate to embrace her friend.
“Sister Mary!” Heather replied. “I come bearing gifts.” She barely managed to set the boxes down before the woman wrapped her in a hug.
Sister Mary released her friend and eyed the rest of the group. “All Americans? Can they donate?” she asked.
“Some,” Heather replied.
“I have their types with me,” Sydney
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