Page 56 of The Dire Reaction

“I’d say you’re a people doctor. I’m glad you’re here.” She sets the mug on the floor next to me just as I’m finishing taping down his bandage. “Do you go by Doc, or, it’s Danielle, right?”

“Dani is good.” I try to flash her a smile, but I’m sure I’m some crazy caricature of the Joker right now. “Do you go by Elizabeth?” I brush another errant tear from my cheek. What a day to meet his family.

“Elly, usually. Easier to say.” She sits on the edge of the couch, her hands twisting around her coffee cup.

After cutting his jacket and shirt off of him, I check the rest of his back for wounds, my fingers tracing his broad shoulders, the defined muscles along his spine, and the narrow ”V” of his waist. “Can we roll him back? I need to patch up his other arm and start an IV.” There are three liters of saline in my trauma bag. They’re made for humans, I just repurpose them for animals when I need to. Now, I’m glad I spent the little bit extra.

Getting all the torn bits of his clothing out of the way, I smooth out a clean blanket beneath him before we roll him gently onto his back.

It doesn’t take much longer to get the rest of his smaller injuries cleaned up and bandaged. The large rubber tourniquet makes the veins on his arms bulge, popping from beneath his cool skin. Tracing the bluish lines, I slide the needle in with a practiced movement, but still gritting my teeth because, well, it’s Sam. This is so much harder on a person, especially one I care about.

“Will you bring one of the chairs over, please? I’m going to hang his IV bag from it.” Flashbacks of that first night giving Thor his treatment, sitting on the floor with Sam, flicker behind my eyes as she drags the wooden chair over. The same one Sam and I rode on just a few hours ago.

“That’s clever, using the chair.” She gives me a weak smile.

“Thanks, it works well.” I don’t really want to elaborate. If she lost her husband to the dogs, the last thing I want to do is volunteer that I may have been one of the ones to cause the mutations.

I get him covered up tightly, and check the flow before standing. Tingling floods through my feet as the circulation is restored. Dang, that hurts! It feels like ants are crawling under my skin.

Elly helps me to get the rest of his tattered clothes gathered up into a garbage bag and puts it by the door. A hollow bang of the closet door, and she returns with the mop and bucket. “I’m going to clean this up.” She gestures at the long slick of blood trailing from Sam to the door. Tears stain her face as she bites her lip, but her hands stay busy filling the bucket and then working the mop in long arcs across the wood floor.

Perching on the edge of the couch, I catch a glimpse of my stained clothes. My legs are a roadmap of every twist in the grass, slide in the mud, and kneeling in the puddles of Sam. Wrapping my stained hands around my abdomen, the full weight of his injuries crashes down on me. My stomach twists and rolls like a snake writhing on hot asphalt.

A knot forms in my throat while staring at him. He’s so pale, his breathing is so shallow, and his heartbeat is still weak. It’s a blessing and a curse being able to hear it. I almost wish I couldn’t for a moment because I could maybe delude myself into thinking he is better. His face is so serene, his full lips parted above his strong chin. The little dimple in his left cheek is hidden, but I’ve seen it when he laughs and it lights up my chest in fireflies.

Agony rips a sob from me. I might never see his dimple again. How can I hurt this bad? Why do I feel myself wishing it was me instead of him? But, I don’t want him to feel this helplessness either. There’s an ache that feels like it’s ripping me in half, that tries to drag me to the floor and shred me from the inside out.

“Is there anything else that can be done?” Elly asks as the mop pulls her closer.

My voice doesn’t work, so I just shake my head.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know if anything changes.” The dripping mop head brushes the edge of the blanket on the floor as she makes one last pass.

With stiff legs, I nod, stand and head into the bedroom. Not even bothering with closing the door, I just strip clothes until I’m shivering and naked standing in the bathtub waiting for the frigid water to warm.

Scalding water melts the dam holding back the deluge of tears. I have never cried this hard or this violently. Wracking sobs shudder through my body until it hurts. I can’t gasp enough air, my lungs seizing with every keening wail.

The worst passes. My throat is too raw to make a sound. I can’t breathe through my nose, it’s so stuffed, even with the heavy steam from the shower.

Even with the tears, I try to keep it short. I know his IV will be running out soon, and I don’t want that to happen. After sliding on a pair of clean yoga pants and flannel shirt, I find Elly sitting on the couch, her knees hugging her chest, with a cup of coffee clutched in her hands.

Changing out the flaccid IV bag, I listen to his heartbeat. The rhythm I’ve grown so used to sounds foreign now. Weak.

But, louder? Slightly? Or is that wishful thinking?

The second bag, I don’t leave quite on full blast like the first. I don’t want to blow his vein by pushing too much too quickly.

“How many of those do you have?” Elly asks, her eyes fixed on the dripping in the tube running into his arm.

“I have one more. We should have a better idea then, I hope.” Another thought hits me. “Do you know if Sam has any allergies to antibiotics?” He has a stash in the refrigerator for his livestock. But, something is better than nothing right now.

“The only thing I know he’s allergic to is bananas.” Her eyes never waver from the IV. I didn’t notice the heavy bags under them earlier, but now I see her face is gaunt, almost haggard, and she looks exhausted. “There’s no one left to help. Sam’s very lucky you were here.” She looks down, picking at the skin on her thumb. “There was no helping John. It happened so fast…” Her voice trails off as her eyes unfocus.

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to ask her what happened or let it go. Maybe I’ll let her tell me when she’s ready.

I do find some antibiotics in the refrigerator and add some to his IV. Who knows what kind of nasty bacteria the mutant dogs are carrying. I wonder if they have bacteria like us or if they have some of the antibacterial properties of dog saliva?

The chimes of the ringtone on my phone breaks the silence, but it isn’t on the table.

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