One Second After [39]
He wanted to blow but could see she was exhausted, beleaguered.
"How are you, Caroline?"
"Fine, I guess," she said woodenly.
He looked down the corridor. The stench was so overwhelming that he felt it should be a visible fog.
"What in hell is going on here?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
She was in shock. He could now see that. The poor girl was numbed, hollow eyed.
"When did you last sleep?"
She looked up at the clock on the wall. It was frozen at 4:50.
Feeble cries echoed down the corridor: "help me, help me, help me ..."
"A few hours last night, I guess."
"Are any other staff here?"
"There's Janice down on the other wing. I think Waldo is still here."
"And that's it?"
She nodded.
"I'll be right back."
He braced himself and started down the corridor. All exterior doors were open, but there was no breeze and the heat was suffocating. Yet another building designed for complete climate control and year-round comfort with computerized environmental controls. The small windows in each room barely cracked open, and the temperature inside was as high, perhaps higher than outside.
The first room he looked into revealed an elderly woman; he remembered her as having Alzheimer's. She was rocking back and forth, sheets kicked off, lying in her own filth.
The next room: two elderly men, one sitting in a motorized wheelchair that no longer moved, the other lying on a bed, the sheets drenched in urine.
They both glanced up at him.
"Son, could you get us some water?" the one in the wheelchair asked, ever so politely. "Sure."
He backed out of the room and went back to the desk.
"Can I have a pitcher for some water?"
She shook her head.
"We ran out last night."
"What do you mean, 'ran out'?"
"Just that. No running water."
"Don't you have a reserve tank? Aren't you supposed to have a reserve somewhere?"
"I don't know," she said listlessly. "I think there's an emergency well that runs off the generator." "Jesus Christ."
He opened the door to the hallway bathroom and recoiled, gagging. A woman was sitting on the toilet, slumped over ... dead, already the smell of decay filling the tiny room.
He turned and went back down the main corridor to the kitchen, storming in. One elderly man was there, balanced on his walker, heavy steel fridge door open, a package of hot dogs in his hand, and he was eating them cold.
"Hi there," the man said. "Care for one?" And he offered the pack up. "No thanks."
John went over to the sink, turned the taps . .. nothing. "Damn it."
Back out in the dining area, he took the lid off a large recessed canister that usually held ice. There was water in the bottom, and taking two juice cups, he filled them up and was back out and down the hall, returning to the room with the two old men. He handed each of them a cup.
"Thank God," the one in the wheelchair whispered, sipping on it, John having to hold the other cup so that the man in the bed could sip it down.
The man in the wheelchair was wearing an old commemorative cap, "Big Red One—Omaha Beach 1944-2004" emblazoned on it. Pins across the front, which John instantly recognized, Combat Infantry Badge, Silver Star, two Purple Hearts, miniature sergeant's chevrons. He felt sick looking at the man, sipping the last of the water in the cup and holding it back up.
"Son, I hate to bother you," the man whispered. "My chair just won't move. Would you mind getting me another drink?"
"John, where in hell are you?"
It was Jen, her voice shrill.
"Right there, Mom."
"Sir, I'll be back shortly," John said, and he fled the room.
He tried to not look into the rooms as he walked down the corridor. An elderly woman, naked, sitting curled up and crying, a sickly scent from the next room, and he dared to look in.... A body of a bloated man, face yellowing with the beginnings of decay, bedsheets kicked off from