Plague Ship by Leonard Goldberg Page A

die.”
    “Death will come later,” David said, “when you are an old woman.”
    “I’m old now.”
    “Not old enough,” David argued and reached for a skin patch containing scopolamine. He placed it firmly behind her ear. “The medicine will be absorbed through your skin, and you’ll feel better soon.”
    “If I die, send my body back to Costa Rica,” Juanita requested.
    “Don’t talk like that!” Kit said, clearly upset by her nanny’s death wish. “You do what my dad says and get well.”
    “Okay, Little One.” Juanita managed a weak smile as she called Kit by the pet name she’d given the child years ago. The nanny closed her eyes and drifted off.
    “She’ll be okay, won’t she, Dad?” Kit asked quietly.
    “She’ll be fine.”
    “You promise?”
    “I promise,” David said, then stroked his daughter’s raven-black hair. “Now, what do you say we go and catch a movie?”
    “Which one?”
    “Maybe the one about soccer,” he suggested, aware of Kit’s love for the game.
    “You mean Bend It Like Beckham ?”
    “Nah. That’s old. There’s a new one from England about a girl’s soccer team that has to overcome a lot of problems.”
    “Great! When does it start?”
    “We’ll check and—”
    There was a loud knock on the door.
    Carolyn rushed into the cabin and urgently waved David over. “Marilyn just called from the sick bay. Her son Will is really ill! It sounds double bad.”
    “What are his symptoms?” David asked quickly.
    “His face has turned purple, and he’s coughing up bright red blood.”
    “Oh Lord!” David said and ran for the door.

five
    Marilyn Wyman was terrified by her son’s appearance. Will’s face had a grotesque, bluish-purple hue, and he was struggling for every breath.
    “Wh-what’s causing his complexion to have that awful color?” Marilyn asked frantically.
    “Lack of oxygen to his tissues,” David answered and reached for a stethoscope.
    “Why can’t he get oxygen to his tissues?”
    “Let me listen to his lungs, then we’ll talk more.” David placed his stethoscope on the boy’s chest and heard a cacophony of wheezes and crackles. But the breath sounds were clearly diminished. It was an ominous sign. He looked up at Marilyn and said, “Will has widespread pneumonia.”
    “Oh, my God!” Marilyn moaned.
    “Which explains why his oxygen level is low,” David said, as he touched Will’s forehead. The boy felt like he was burning up, yet he seemed to be shivering. No gross chills, just shivers. David glanced over to Carolyn. “Get a temperature for us.”
    “It was 102.8º a few minutes ago,” the sick-bay nurse volunteered.
    Carolyn nodded, but still applied a digital thermometer to the skin over the boy’s temporal artery. With her free hand, she adjusted the plastic mask on Will’s face that was delivering oxygen at a rate of three liters per minute. The supplemental oxygen didn’t seem to be helping. Will’s lips were as blue as ever.
    David quickly looked to the sick-bay nurse. “Do we have a chest film on him?”
    The nurse nodded. “Dr. Maggio is reviewing it now.”
    “What about a complete blood count?”
    The nurse shook her head.
    David turned back to Carolyn. “Draw some blood and do a stat CBC.”
    “What about blood gases?” Carolyn asked.
    “You’re dreaming.” David was almost certain that tests to determine the blood levels of oxygen and carbon dioxide weren’t available in the ship’s small laboratory, but to be sure he asked the sick-bay nurse, “Can you do blood gases down here?”
    The nurse shrugged, apparently not understanding what the term meant.
    Carolyn gazed at the digital thermometer and reported, “His temperature is 103.6º.”
    “Give him two Tylenol tablets,” David directed.
    “He won’t take anything by mouth,” the sick-bay nurse said. “He just shakes his head and babbles incoherently.”
    “What about Tylenol suppositories?” Carolyn suggested, as she drew blood from Will’s