“Got a whole freezer of these,” Sam said. “Just be ruined if the power doesn’t come back on.” He set the heavy plate on the table. “I’m not sure how we can cook-”
Savagely, Stern snatched the meat and downed it in a single, vast inhalation. Sam yelped in surprise, took a step back, almost falling.
Stern’s eyes fixed on him, and, for a terrible moment, Sam felt like a rabbit caught in the searchlight glare of a wolf. Seeing it, Stern chuckled, and his eyes lost some of their edge. He held the platter out with one sharp-nailed hand. His dagger teeth caught the lamplight as he intoned, dragon’s voice attempting a childish falsetto, “Please, sir… may I have some more?”
Blood was in the air, and things worse than blood. The hospital was suffocating, bedlam in the crowded, narrow corridors lit by candles and whatever else the hospital staff had scrounged up. Cal even spied a menorah casting its glimmering light on the triage teams bent over forms on gurneys.
Cal had cautioned Colleen to stay outside with Tina while he ventured into the labyrinthine building in search of aid. But gaining the ear of a doctor or nurse was impossible; each rushing medic was besieged by supplicants, deafened by pleas. Initially, they had tried to quarantine those who seemed infected by this strange new disease or diseases. But the masses had soon overwhelmed them, and all systems had broken down, replaced by a frantic improvisation.
The wounded and ailing sat or stood wherever they could, some rocking, some moaning, others silent and numb. One boy of ten or so lay cradled in his mother’s arms, his hair half-fallen out, eyes huge and vacant as he chanted television listings in an endless drone. From the woman Cal learned that there were many cases of odd fevers, inexplicable pains, alarming growths beneath the skin, as well as those directly injured by fire and quake. And not anyone here to tend them or explain.
Cal thought of Tina, out in the cart, fever consuming her like kindling. Panic swirled about him, and he felt his own panic rising to meet it. She’s slipping away from me, she’s slipping away, and there’s nothing I can do.
No. I won’t accept that. He fought his immobility, bulled through the crowds, collared a blank-eyed, wispy internist named Marquette, forced his attention. Keeping a grip on the man’s arm, Cal barked out Tina’s symptoms, demanded advice, treatment.
But Marquette began gabbling about what happened when the quake had hit, the emergency generators and backup batteries failing. Operating rooms had turned into hell-black chambers of horrors, with not even the light from flatline monitors to show the gaping cavities of the suddenly stilled bodies on the tables. Every operating room had been in use, with teams frantically, hopelessly trying to keep hearts and lungs going.
Not to mention the nightmares in the ICU and the incubator room off Maternity. .
Screams had echoed down the corridors long before the newly maimed and diseased had descended on them.
“You want advice?” Marquette finished shrilly. “Take her home.” He tore free of Cal’s grasp and plunged into the mob, was swallowed up.
Cal stood silent, alone amid the mayhem and noise, the families crouched with their wasted, broken ones. His eyes stung, and he found he had to will every breath. He summoned calm, focused on a single thought.
I’ve got to get her a doctor.
Somewhere in this fucking city, there had to be someone.
But every doctor would be under siege, unreachable. It would be exactly the same as here.
Unless somehow he were unknown. Unless-
Unless his degree wasn’t worth toilet paper.
Doc. Who had fled Russia, abandoned his practice. Who joked about atherosclerosis and heart attacks as he dished out franks and praline-covered coconut. I don’t even know where he lives.
But I know where he works.
If he’s there. At this hour. .
On the first night after the end of the world? He just might be.
Cal found Colleen near the alley that led to the delivery entrance, away from the crowd. Beside her, Tina was a tight-curled knot in the cart, blanket thrown off, eyes half open. She made no response as Cal approached.
“It’s hopeless in there,” he said and looked down at his sister. “Tina?”
Colleen touched his arm. “She can’t hear you. Fever’s got her.”
Cal ran his fingers through Tina’s matted hair, along the blazing smooth brow. “There’s someone I know, a little. He used to be a doctor. I think maybe he’ll help, if he can, if I can find him.”
He cast a desperate glance at Tina, remembering the endless trudge from Eighty-first. It took so long to get her anywhere, and she was burning, fading away even as he watched.
“I’ll stay with her,” Colleen said. He hesitated. “It’s okay. We’ll be safe. We’ll wait over there.” She gestured across the street.
“Over there” was a concrete playground. Cal spied flares and torches, hustling dark forms, some in uniforms, erecting tents and uncrating supplies.
“National Guard,” said Colleen. “Started setting up while you were inside. It’s for folks whose buildings got wrecked or who can’t hack the climb, whatever.”
She closed the gap between them. “We’ll be here when you get back. Get a move on.” He nodded and turned away, caught his stride, leaving them behind. The night air filled his lungs.
It felt good to run.
Toward the end, Stern had gotten a little daintier. He was no longer swallowing the bones.
They lay heaped on the platter before him, between the German porcelain candelabra. He held the last, teeth scraping the final bit of meat from it. Then he tossed it on the pile and belched. “There goes my cholesterol.”
Across from him, Sam perched on his chair’s edge, fascinated. The freezer was empty now, but what did that matter? “You remind me of Hoss on Bonanza. He liked to eat. And no one messed with him.”
Stern nodded solemnly, regarded his strange dark hands with their stiletto nails. “No one messes with the big guy…”
“That’s right!” Sam bounced to his feet. “They respect power. They respect what can hurt them.”
The oil lamp behind Stern had died, and Sam stepped into its pool of shadow. “I remember the blackout in ’65,” he said, voice high and fast. “This dark that just went on and on, and no one to tell you what was right or wrong except you. I remember thinking, What if this just goes on forever? But then the next day came, and it ended.”
He strode to face Stern, peered at his craggy face. “But this is different, isn’t it, Ely? I mean, there’s you, for instance. Blackout wouldn’t explain you.”
Stern scowled, looked beyond Sam at the blackness, at nothing. “My therapist, those slugs on the street, they thought I was sick. I’m not sick.” He stretched expansively, rippling muscle visible where coat seams had burst. “I’m becoming.”
“Becoming what?” Sam asked, reverent, enchanted. Wanting, himself, to become. To become anything.
Stern rose like a tower. “I’ll know when I get there.”
Sam timidly reached up, nearly to the length of his arm, and daubed a linen napkin on Stern’s mouth. “You got a little. . blood on your lip.” God, he was magnificent, and terrible.
“Thanks.” Stern turned from him, striding out of the dining room toward the living room, the door. He was leaving.
“Wait! Wait!” Sam overtook him in the front room, blocked his way. “You go out there, it will be just the same, everywhere. They’ll chase you, hunt you down. They never appreciate what’s different, what’s special. I know.” The words cascaded out, pleading. “We can help each other. You can stay here. I can keep you safe, hidden, get you food.”