Read Online The Eleventh Plague by Jeff Hirsch - Free Book Online

called, but Will didn’t even turn back. His grievously wounded leg seemed to be causing him no trouble at all. Sam shook his head. “You ready?”
    Sam offered me his hand but I ignored it and dropped onto the asphalt. Marcus had gone ahead into the house, so Sam and I lifted Dad out of the wagon before Jackson led the horses away. Dread settled over me as I followed Sam up the white house’s stairs. The door seemed like a great set of jaws, ready to swallow me whole.
    “You okay?” Sam asked.
    “Fine,” I said, sucking back the fear so he wouldn’t see. “Let’s go.”
    I held my breath as we stepped inside. I had never seen anything like the room we were in. It had clean white walls, a brick fireplace with an only slightly cracked marble mantel, and scuffed wood floors. All of it was lit with candles and small oil lamps that cast a dim amber glow. It smelled of sweet wood smoke and somewhere, faintly, what I thought was baking bread.
    “Set him here.”
    Sam pointed to a cot just under a window beside the front door. We got Dad off the pallet and onto it just as Marcus hurried into the room from another part of the house, a small woman with curly black hair following him.
    “This is Violet,” Marcus said.
    The woman pushed through us, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she came. “What happened?” Her voice was sharp and flat as a shot.
    “He fell,” I said.
    Violet dropped down by Dad’s side. “How far?” When I didn’t answer, she turned back. “How far?”
    “I don’t know. Ten, twenty feet? He was in the water and hit his head.”
    Violet gently slid her fingers behind Dad’s head and closed her eyes, concentrating. “More like thirty feet, I think. He lost consciousness immediately?”
    “I don’t know. I think so.”
    Violet went to a wooden cabinet along the wall and pulled open one of about ten narrow drawers. Inside I saw rows of small glass bottleswith white labels. Gleaming silver instruments lay beside them. I tried to get a better look, but Violet selected a few instruments, then snapped the drawer closed and came back to Dad’s side.
    She worked quietly, listening to Dad’s heart, checking his temperature, pulling back his eyelids to stare into his eyes. Her movements were quick and precise but never rushed, as though she was moving methodically through some checklist in her head. Even when she unwrapped his head and the blood began to flow again, she didn’t panic. Instead, she grabbed some clean bandages and went to work.
    I couldn’t watch. The way she poked and prodded at him made me feel sick and hot. I turned away; outside the window, I could see a group gathering in the park, a small assembly of women and children in old jeans and flannels. Some were tending the beginnings of a bonfire, while others set a collection of torches into the ground and opened up a large plastic folding table.
    “It’s Thanksgiving.”
    I turned to Marcus and Sam, standing behind me. “What?”
    “Today,” Marcus said. “At least we think it is. Anyway, that’s what we got the deer for. Couldn’t find a turkey. We’re putting together a barbecue tonight out in the park. Why don’t we all go? Violet will come get us when she’s done.”
    I shook my head and turned back to Dad. If they thought I’d leave him alone so easily, they were crazy.
    “Look, there’s really nothing you can do here. Why don’t we —”
    “Marc, maybe it’s better if he stays inside for the time being. Right?” Sam said it gently, but there was a trace of warning there.
    “Why don’t you go on ahead, Marcus?” Violet said. “You too, Sam. We’ll be okay here.”
    “Vi —” Marcus started, then pulled back. “You sure?”
    Violet examined me over her shoulder. Her lips lifted into a thin smile beneath her blue eyes and pink freckles.
    “You’re not going to be any trouble, are you?” she asked.
    The way she was leaning over my father — was it a threat? His life was in her hands. I shook