The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [85]
“Death is coming for you, too,” the boy slurred.
He tried to pull away. John held him tight. The boy stared out at the darkness, and turned his eyes back to John. For a moment, the boy’s eyes seemed to clear, to connect.
“I seen the ghost of an old woman out there, John,” he said.
“Yes, it’s me. It’s okay. It’s me, John. I’m your teacher, Alex.”
“Alex? My brother? He was one of the lucky ones in Kuigpak.”
John let go of the boy and took a step back, his mind racing through his memories of the dried and withered faces in gym.
The boy swayed like a thin tree in the wind and pointed his middle finger at John as he took another step away, “I’m not like my brother. I wanted to watch it happen. And now I seen everything.”
JOHN AND ANNA were the last of the school’s five teachers into the principal’s office. Dave shut his door, pointed to the remaining two seats, and then sat in the oversized chair behind his desk.
“I’m sure you heard about the flu virus spreading through the Yukon villages,” he began and then took a drink of a diet cola and cleared his throat. “From what the District Office has told me, this flu thing has hit the schools pretty hard. We’re trying to be proactive and head this off at the pass.”
“What kind of flu are we talking about?”
The question came from Sandra, a frumpy middle-school teacher in sweatpants, who overreacted to every announcement that had ever come from the principal’s mouth.
“They aren’t sure. Two years ago we had a really bad RSV outbreak. Half a dozen medevacs of babies and toddlers from just about every village in the area. This sounds similar. They’ve sent twenty or thirty folks from Hooper Bay to Bethel for treatment. A few villages on the Kuskokwim side have sent in a few kids, too. I’m sure you’ve been listening to the news on the radio.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Anna asked.
“Good question, Anna. For now the D.O. wants us to promote hand washing and keep an eye out for kids with runny noses and coughs. Any sick kids are to go straight to the clinic. If you can also try to wipe desks and keyboards and doorknobs, that will help, too.”
Sandra chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? Promote hand washing? These kids don’t have running water at home! Half of them have coughs and runny noses at any given time. We’re supposed to send them home?”
The principal nodded. “For now,” he said, “send them home.”
“That’s the plan?” Sandra said. “No offence, but that’s ridiculous.”
John felt like telling her to shut up. Anna gently patted his knee.
Dave made circles on his desk with a black pen, rubbed the top of his shiny head with his other hand, and then stood up and paced behind his desk. He stopped in front of his office window, which looked out across the open tundra plain to the west. He tapped the pen against the window. “There’s something else,” he said, “probably nothing, but my wife’s friend at the hospital in Bethel said if this outbreak comes back as a possible strain of bird flu to expect quarantine for at least a couple of weeks. Minimum.”
Sandra gasped and pushed back from the table. “Bird flu? Bird flu? Quarantine? What do you mean?”
“Now relax, Sandra. I said it’s probably nothing.”
“Nothing? I’m not staying here to find out. I’m taking sick leave and heading to Anchorage. I’ll wait this sickness out somewhere safe with adequate medical facilities, running water, law enforcement. Half of the men in the village are away at war. We’ll be helpless quarantined. I refuse to be put in such a compromising position.”
“I think you’re overreacting,” the principal said.
“Do you guys think so?” she asked and turned to the other teachers. John looked away. The woman annoyed him to no end.
“I hardly think this could be bird flu,” Anna said. “Plus, none of my students seem sick. A few snotty noses, but that’s at any school. I don’t think it will hurt to stress some hand washing habits.”
“Well, I’m not waiting around to find out,” Sandra said. “I’m not comfortable waiting to see if