He bundled up under the covers and stared at the peeling plaster ceiling. The decrepit radiator rumbled to life, the old iron monster grunting and breathing hot air into the freezing flat. Its heat was no match for the chill that beat past the poorly sealed windows. Slowly, the cold filled the room, and no matter how many blankets Desmond wrapped himself in, he got colder.
To his surprise, the feeling of falling asleep in the cold brought to mind a memory. He saw himself trudging through the snow. The freezing powder was ankle deep. A small home sat in the distance. A wispy column of smoke rose from it, dissolving as it reached toward the full moon, a gray rope fraying in the sky. The snow fell faster with each step, whiting out the column of smoke and the cabin below.
Soon the snow was knee deep, slowing him almost to a halt. His legs burned with exhaustion as he lifted them, planted them, and pushed forward. His lungs ached from the cold. He just wanted to lie down and rest. But he resisted. He knew it would be his end. He had to keep going. Tears welled in his eyes, oozed onto his cheeks, and froze there. He carried something in his hands. It was heavy and cold, but he dared not drop it. His life depended on it.
Amid the wall of white snow, an orange beacon of hope shined through: the glow from the windows of the home. Safety was in sight. Seeing the warm home gave Desmond the energy to push on, even though he wanted to simply collapse in the snow and give up.
At the porch, he grabbed a timber column, panting, willing himself to cross to the door. He imagined it opening, the man inside seeing him, picking him up, and carrying him to the warmth of the fire. But Desmond knew that wouldn’t happen; the demon within the cabin wasn’t that kind of man. He was likely warming himself by the fire, hoping the boy he had never wanted was dead, buried in the snow-covered fields, gone for good.
That thought steeled Desmond’s will to live. He pushed forward, threw the door open, dropped the object he had carried, and stared at the man sitting by the large stone fire, a bottle filled with amber liquid at his side.
Without looking back, the monster called in a gruff, English accent, “Shut the bloody door, boy.”
Desmond slammed the door, stripped his snow-coated jacket off, and rushed to the fire. The heat scorched him at first, and he drew back, collapsing on the wood floor as he pulled more of the frozen and soaked clothes off. Shivering, he stared at the man, silently asking, Why didn’t you come looking for me? Don’t you care at all?
The man snorted dismissively, looked back at the fire, and gripped the bottle by the neck. He took a long pull, then handed it to Desmond.
“Drink. It’s the only thing for it.”
Desmond hesitated, then took the bottle and sipped from it. The liquid was like fire on the back of his throat, burning at first, then numbing as it went down. Despite the wretched taste, he felt warmer. And less pain. A second later, he took another sip of the whiskey.
The memory faded, leaving the taste of liquor in his mouth.
Lying in the flat in Berlin, freezing, Desmond realized exactly what he wanted at that moment: a tall bottle of whiskey. He imagined himself leaving the flat, descending the stairs, and buying the bottle. He imagined the first drink hitting his lips, how warm he’d feel then, how much more relaxed he’d be, how much better he’d sleep, how much better things would go tomorrow.
But just as he was about to rise from the bed, his mind reminded him of something: drinking was something he didn’t do anymore. And he also recalled why: drinking had already taken too much from him. Though he couldn’t specifically remember it, he knew that years ago he had made a promise to himself not to let alcohol take anything else from him.
Desmond knew then that he was the kind of person who kept his promises, especially the ones he made to himself. He wouldn’t seek warmth in a bottle that night—or any other night. He would bear the cold, and the pain in his body, and the painful memories in his mind. He would bear them all alone. He had done it before.
Day 2
900 Infected
13 Dead
Chapter 13
After his morning ritual, Dr. Elim Kibet donned an impermeable gown, boot covers, a facemask, goggles, and two pairs of gloves. As he walked the corridor, he barely recognized the sleepy, rural hospital. It was bustling with activity now. Everyone who had stayed was pitching in.
He opened a door and greeted his patient, the American named Lucas Turner. The young man had broken with the disease during the night. Despite his discomfort and ill health, Lucas was extremely polite. Elim knew the smell of chlorine emanating from his suit was overpowering to his patient, yet Lucas did not complain. He took the bottle of ORS Elim handed him and drank some, wincing as he swallowed.
“I know,” Elim said. “It’s bad. But it will keep you alive.”
Lucas only nodded.
“I’ve sent another request for help. I’m optimistic that someone will come soon.”
Lucas’s cheeks were flushed, and red rings had begun forming around his eyes. He spoke with a scratchy voice. “I was wondering if you would send an email to my parents. My phone’s dead.” He took a sheet of paper off the side table and held it up. It contained an email address and a short, handwritten message.
Elim reached for it, but Lucas drew it back.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to, like, put it in a plastic bag or… take a cell phone picture of it or something.”
“Yes, that’s a very wise idea, Mr. Turner.”
Elim stripped the outer glove off his right hand, drew his phone out of his pocket, and snapped a photo.
Back at his desk, he composed an email to Lucas’s parents.
Subject: A message from your son Lucas
Dear Sir and Madam,
I am a physician at Mandera Referral Hospital currently caring for your son. He asked me to pass this message along.
Sincerely,
Dr. Elim Kibet
** Message from Lucas follows **
Dear Mom and Dad,
Please don’t worry about me. I know you worry yourselves sick as it is.
Since my last email, I’ve begun running a fever. They don’t know if I have what Steven had, but the doctors and nurses here are doing everything they can for me. I am in no pain.