One Second After [66]
Reaching around to the back corner of the desk, he pulled out a dust-covered bottle. There had been several times in his life when drinking had damn near won out, the last time for several weeks after Mary died. The dust on the bottle was a reassurance. He poured a double scotch out into an empty coffee cup and drained it down in two gulps.
The thunderstorm that had been on the western horizon rolled in, rain slashing against the window ... a soothing sound.
When Makala came into the room a half hour later to check his hand, he was fast asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
DAY 1
"John, you look like crap warmed over."
He nodded, walking into the conference room for what had now become their daily meeting.
"Thanks, Tom. I needed that."
In spite of Makala's attention, John's hand was still infected and he was running a fever of just over a hundred and a half.
He settled into what was now his chair at the middle of the table. Interesting how quickly habits form regarding a meeting: sit in a chair once and the following day that's where you sit again, symbolism of who sits at the foot and head of the table the same. Kate still held that symbolic position at the head, but it was actually Charlie now, sitting to her right, who ran the morning briefing, Tom at the foot of the table. Doc Kellor had become part of the team as well, sitting across from John. Two more were present, he didn't recognize either, one dressed in a police uniform, a Swannanoa Police Department patch stitched on his sleeve, the second man in jeans and T-shirt, both in their midforties.
John picked up the cup of coffee that was waiting for him with his left hand.
"Let me look at that," Kellor said, getting out of his chair and coming around the table.
He eased back the surgical gauze that Makala had redressed the wound with the evening before.
"Good stitching job, couldn't have done better myself."
John said nothing. The dozen stitches Makala had sewed had been done without any painkiller other than a swig of a scotch, and he had sweated that out silently, though he had cursed a bit when she had dosed the wound with alcohol.
Kellor leaned over and sniffed the bandage and shook his head. "How did it get infected like this?"
"I think when I was carrying my father-in-law, at the nursing home." "Treatment?"
"Makala Turner, the nurse who volunteered to help run the nursing home, she put me on Cipro. Got some from the nursing home."
"Most likely fecal contact," Kellor said, nodding and looking at the wound. "But you can also get some pretty tough strains of bacteria and viruses growing even in the cleanest hospital or home, strep or staph.
"Let's talk about this later," Kellor said, and went back to his seat.
Kate cleared her throat.
"OK, let's get started. We got a new problem. Dr. Kellor, would you lead off?"
The old "town doc" nodded.
"We've got an outbreak of salmonella at the refugee center in the elementary school. It was bound to happen. I've got at least a hundred sick over there this morning. A mess, a damn mess."
"How did it get started?" Kate asked.
Kellor looked at her with surprise.
"Hell, Kate. People are used to running water, hundreds of gallons a day. Food with dates stamped on it; one day over the limit and we used to throw it out. There's six hundred people camped there. At least we still have enough water pressure for the toilets to flush, but no hot water and, to be blunt, no toilet paper or paper towels as well. It's getting nasty.
"Come on, people. Think about it. Most of us haven't bathed in ten days, toilet paper's getting scarce, soup line meals twice a day at the refugee center, food now of real questionable safety, I'll bet that damn near every person in there will be crapping their guts out and puking by the end of the day."
He sighed.
"Seven dead this morning. I checked before coming over here. Two of them infants, the rest elderly. Dehydrated out and couldn't get electrolytes