flu shots?”
The woman's eyes went wide and she wrote something down as she answered.
“I'm sorry, that's confidential, but as you can imagine, in this population, some portion had, and for whatever reason, others had not. That's all I can say.”
Sid looked down at the Post-it the nurse had handed her.
3 o'clock, Rogue Ales Pub.
She'd passed it on her way into town and wondered whether the woman lived that direction or if she just didn't want to be seen with her. She suspected the latter.
“Well, I'm sorry to bother you,” Sid said and left.
It was after two, so Sid went straight to the pub. It was rustic, looking more like a cowboy bar than a pub, but Oregonians loved their microbrews, so she knew the fare would be good. Only a few other tables were filled, but between lunch and dinner in a small town, this might have been normal, and probably what the nurse was counting on. She ordered a diet soda and beer-battered fish and chips. She'd have an ale with the woman when she arrived, but one was the limit when she had to drive back to Portland. She took in the aroma. There wasn't much better than beer-battered fresh fish. She was glad that a closed port didn't mean a fishing ban, though it did cross her mind to wonder why.
She pulled out her laptop as she waited. Her article was working out nicely. The Oregonian might even buy it. She'd worked for them once upon a time and they'd laid her off when newspaper belts got tight. She felt they hadn't needed to cut as deeply as they did, so she sometimes avoided them. Still, she knew the editor and could trust her for a fast turnaround if she didn't want the article, leaving Sid free to try the smaller papers that didn't want the same level of exclusivity. Always best to have a back-up plan.
The nurse, who introduced herself as Mara, had changed clothes before she came. She wore cowboy boots, blue jeans and a sweatshirt under a flannel jacket, very much like the city stereotypes of the coastal lumberjacks. Not that there had been many real lumberjacks on the Oregon coast for a few decades, but the image hadn't faded.
“Can I be confidential?” she said as she sat.
“Of course you can. Though it helps if I can say 'a nurse in a coastal nursing home'.”
Her head bobbed in agreement. “I guess that's okay. Your question struck me... I noticed the same thing. About eighty percent of the residents got the flu shot—batch came in and we gave it. But four residents couldn't because of other things they take, and a few refused. All but one who got the shot died, and three who didn't get the shot lived, almost half. So the shot actually made it worse.”
That sounded worse than ineffective. “Had anyone had the flu before the shots came?”
“Two people—part of the four who couldn't have the shot, and both died. That was why they were so rushed to get everyone vaccinated.”
“Do you talk to any other nurses in town?”
“Not really. I'm just an LPN. The people at the urgent care are RNs and sort of act like they're a different class.”
Sidney had heard of that kind of snobbery from Sarah, so she knew it was true. She thanked Mara, bought her a beer and they talked about what Mara had observed outside of the nursing home. She'd seen a family that lived in her apartment complex die of it—a mom and three kids. And she'd heard of others. But mostly what she had observed was people who were either out of work due to the closed port, or because of the economy. They had largely taken the advice of the authorities and gone to stay with friends or family elsewhere.
Sid was relieved to hear that the ghost town wasn't entirely related to deaths. But the worms were only starting to slither out of their can.
Her cell buzzed with a circus tune and Grant's goofiest face as she was driving back into Portland. He'd programmed it himself and she put him on speaker as she pulled off the Fremont Bridge. “Sid, can I ask you for help with something?”
Grant
The woman's eyes went wide and she wrote something down as she answered.
“I'm sorry, that's confidential, but as you can imagine, in this population, some portion had, and for whatever reason, others had not. That's all I can say.”
Sid looked down at the Post-it the nurse had handed her.
3 o'clock, Rogue Ales Pub.
She'd passed it on her way into town and wondered whether the woman lived that direction or if she just didn't want to be seen with her. She suspected the latter.
“Well, I'm sorry to bother you,” Sid said and left.
It was after two, so Sid went straight to the pub. It was rustic, looking more like a cowboy bar than a pub, but Oregonians loved their microbrews, so she knew the fare would be good. Only a few other tables were filled, but between lunch and dinner in a small town, this might have been normal, and probably what the nurse was counting on. She ordered a diet soda and beer-battered fish and chips. She'd have an ale with the woman when she arrived, but one was the limit when she had to drive back to Portland. She took in the aroma. There wasn't much better than beer-battered fresh fish. She was glad that a closed port didn't mean a fishing ban, though it did cross her mind to wonder why.
She pulled out her laptop as she waited. Her article was working out nicely. The Oregonian might even buy it. She'd worked for them once upon a time and they'd laid her off when newspaper belts got tight. She felt they hadn't needed to cut as deeply as they did, so she sometimes avoided them. Still, she knew the editor and could trust her for a fast turnaround if she didn't want the article, leaving Sid free to try the smaller papers that didn't want the same level of exclusivity. Always best to have a back-up plan.
The nurse, who introduced herself as Mara, had changed clothes before she came. She wore cowboy boots, blue jeans and a sweatshirt under a flannel jacket, very much like the city stereotypes of the coastal lumberjacks. Not that there had been many real lumberjacks on the Oregon coast for a few decades, but the image hadn't faded.
“Can I be confidential?” she said as she sat.
“Of course you can. Though it helps if I can say 'a nurse in a coastal nursing home'.”
Her head bobbed in agreement. “I guess that's okay. Your question struck me... I noticed the same thing. About eighty percent of the residents got the flu shot—batch came in and we gave it. But four residents couldn't because of other things they take, and a few refused. All but one who got the shot died, and three who didn't get the shot lived, almost half. So the shot actually made it worse.”
That sounded worse than ineffective. “Had anyone had the flu before the shots came?”
“Two people—part of the four who couldn't have the shot, and both died. That was why they were so rushed to get everyone vaccinated.”
“Do you talk to any other nurses in town?”
“Not really. I'm just an LPN. The people at the urgent care are RNs and sort of act like they're a different class.”
Sidney had heard of that kind of snobbery from Sarah, so she knew it was true. She thanked Mara, bought her a beer and they talked about what Mara had observed outside of the nursing home. She'd seen a family that lived in her apartment complex die of it—a mom and three kids. And she'd heard of others. But mostly what she had observed was people who were either out of work due to the closed port, or because of the economy. They had largely taken the advice of the authorities and gone to stay with friends or family elsewhere.
Sid was relieved to hear that the ghost town wasn't entirely related to deaths. But the worms were only starting to slither out of their can.
Her cell buzzed with a circus tune and Grant's goofiest face as she was driving back into Portland. He'd programmed it himself and she put him on speaker as she pulled off the Fremont Bridge. “Sid, can I ask you for help with something?”
Grant
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