her kit over toward her with one foot while the man recovered his breath. She inched her way out of the door and closed it. Ripping the mask from her face, she doused the rags Juliana had left for her with the alcohol next to it. It smelled almost like turpentine and it burned against Ruth’s skin, but she didn’t care. She swiped her face and hands and then slid down to sit in front of the door.
Behind her, she could still hear the man roaring and hacking, like some great blockage had been suddenly released. She could see now, why Juliana had thought he was infected with the Plague. Ruth wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t. But she’d never seen an Infected talk before, never had one ask for help. If that man could do it, why couldn’t Charlie?
She picked herself up and went over to the window. The sky was bleaching to a dull gray over the city. It would be morning soon, Juliana would be back soon. Ruth couldn’t risk exposing her, but she had to get a message to Bill and she had to find out who the man in the room was. Her head throbbed where the hair had been ripped out and her heart was still racing. She didn’t want to return to the cramped cell, but she knew he’d need her help to breathe before long. The man’s cries had subsided into a dull pattern of moans and rattling coughs. She listened at the door until the moans died off into a wheezing gurgle. Then she carefully slid into the room. The man was lying on his back, unconscious, his breath carving a pothole in his chest while he struggled, even in his sleep. The ambu bag was hurled against a far wall but was unbroken. Ruth carefully stepped over him to retrieve it. The towel she had tried to use was a tattered ribbon near his mouth. It gleamed like a dirty bone. She kicked it away and knelt by the man, careful not to let her guard down this time. She pulled a clean mask onto her own face and then pressed the plastic mouthpiece of the ambubag against his. He didn’t wake up, and she felt sweat slide down her neck as she began pumping the bulb again.
Ruth watched the gray light well up in the cell’s tiny barred window. Her mind played a litany every time she pumped. One breath for him, one less breath for Charlie. She knew she was close to panic. Bill wouldn’t do it without her. He couldn’t. Especially when Juliana delivered her message. Maybe he’d come see the man, and realize she just needed some time to figure out what made him different. He’d see there could be a cure for Charlie. But as the morning took on a sparkling radiance as the sun splashed onto the snow, Ruth only felt more dread.
At last, Juliana knocked softly at the door. Ruth leaned into it and called through. “I’m passing through the directions and a list of what I need. You have to tell Bill to wait, no matter what. Just wait for me. Understand?”
“I’ll tell him, I promise,” came the muffled reply.
“And tell him this man talked to me last night.”
There was a long silence. “What?”
“This man, he talked to me, I need you to tell Bill— for our son.”
“Ruth that’s impossible. The Infected don’t speak. At least, not in words. I think you are too tired. Maybe we should switch so you can rest.” The doorknob began to turn.
“No! No Juliana, you can’t come in here. I wasn’t hallucinating. Please, just tell Bill. Make him promise to wait.” Ruth slid the wrinkled bit of paper from her prescription pad through the crack. It disappeared as Juliana pulled it the rest of the way.
“Okay,” said Juliana, hesitation making her speak slowly, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. In time for breakfast anyway. Don’t worry if the others get— loud. I’ll be back soon and they are safe in their rooms.”
She knew it would take about an hour to walk there, but it didn’t make the time crawl by any faster. Her arms ached from pumping and the man’s breath didn’t sound much better. What had been just an attempt, a nod toward duty, was now dire
Behind her, she could still hear the man roaring and hacking, like some great blockage had been suddenly released. She could see now, why Juliana had thought he was infected with the Plague. Ruth wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t. But she’d never seen an Infected talk before, never had one ask for help. If that man could do it, why couldn’t Charlie?
She picked herself up and went over to the window. The sky was bleaching to a dull gray over the city. It would be morning soon, Juliana would be back soon. Ruth couldn’t risk exposing her, but she had to get a message to Bill and she had to find out who the man in the room was. Her head throbbed where the hair had been ripped out and her heart was still racing. She didn’t want to return to the cramped cell, but she knew he’d need her help to breathe before long. The man’s cries had subsided into a dull pattern of moans and rattling coughs. She listened at the door until the moans died off into a wheezing gurgle. Then she carefully slid into the room. The man was lying on his back, unconscious, his breath carving a pothole in his chest while he struggled, even in his sleep. The ambu bag was hurled against a far wall but was unbroken. Ruth carefully stepped over him to retrieve it. The towel she had tried to use was a tattered ribbon near his mouth. It gleamed like a dirty bone. She kicked it away and knelt by the man, careful not to let her guard down this time. She pulled a clean mask onto her own face and then pressed the plastic mouthpiece of the ambubag against his. He didn’t wake up, and she felt sweat slide down her neck as she began pumping the bulb again.
Ruth watched the gray light well up in the cell’s tiny barred window. Her mind played a litany every time she pumped. One breath for him, one less breath for Charlie. She knew she was close to panic. Bill wouldn’t do it without her. He couldn’t. Especially when Juliana delivered her message. Maybe he’d come see the man, and realize she just needed some time to figure out what made him different. He’d see there could be a cure for Charlie. But as the morning took on a sparkling radiance as the sun splashed onto the snow, Ruth only felt more dread.
At last, Juliana knocked softly at the door. Ruth leaned into it and called through. “I’m passing through the directions and a list of what I need. You have to tell Bill to wait, no matter what. Just wait for me. Understand?”
“I’ll tell him, I promise,” came the muffled reply.
“And tell him this man talked to me last night.”
There was a long silence. “What?”
“This man, he talked to me, I need you to tell Bill— for our son.”
“Ruth that’s impossible. The Infected don’t speak. At least, not in words. I think you are too tired. Maybe we should switch so you can rest.” The doorknob began to turn.
“No! No Juliana, you can’t come in here. I wasn’t hallucinating. Please, just tell Bill. Make him promise to wait.” Ruth slid the wrinkled bit of paper from her prescription pad through the crack. It disappeared as Juliana pulled it the rest of the way.
“Okay,” said Juliana, hesitation making her speak slowly, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. In time for breakfast anyway. Don’t worry if the others get— loud. I’ll be back soon and they are safe in their rooms.”
She knew it would take about an hour to walk there, but it didn’t make the time crawl by any faster. Her arms ached from pumping and the man’s breath didn’t sound much better. What had been just an attempt, a nod toward duty, was now dire
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