INFECTION 2.0

~ TEN ~

It was crazy at Saint Matthew’s Regional Hospital. Anyone that was on a call had been called in. Anyone that had scheduled time off had been called, and if they answered the phone, were asked to come in. It started about twelve hours earlier, a teenage girl complaining of vomiting and chills. A couple of hours later another couple of people came in with the same symptoms. Not long after that was a car accident on Highway 14. Had the driver of the car that caused the wreck survived, he would have mentioned a sudden wave of nausea is what caused him to drift into oncoming traffic. He was the only casualty in the incident, though four others were admitted to the hospital, three with serious trauma.

It escalated from there. Another multiple car accidents, more workplace accidents, household accidents, and even more people coming in with sudden illness. Those that work in the hospital are supposed to be cool and collected at times like this, but by midnight it was clear to everyone that this was no normal night. Already, between the employees and volunteers, there were whispered rumors of some kind of outbreak.

Could it be terrorists? Why? What would make a little college town like Hallmark a target? Maybe it was in the water? Could there be something in the pesticides or fertilizers the farmers were using? From the outside the people bustled and hurried along, doing everything they could for their patients.

Just under the surface nervousness and fear were beginning to well up. By five in the morning, it seemed that paranoia and panic could take over at any minute.

“You shouldn’t be back here!” a nurse wearing a flimsy, light blue smock snapped.

The man in the blood-stained leather jacket and faded blue jeans looked shocked, “I got lost.” he said quietly. He did not look at the woman but scanned the hallway. “My brother asked me to get him a soda but they must have moved him while I was away.” he flashed the can that was in his left hand.

“Who’s your brother?” The woman sounded annoyed as she stepped over to a small desk with a computer on it.

“John,”

A quick second passed before he noticed her glaring at him, “Sorry, John Coleman, I guess I’m still a little rattled.”

“You and I both,” the woman muttered. “He’s down there, 245.” She pointed.

“Thank you.” He was several steps away and moving as he called the words back.

He counted along with the numbers on the doors as he walked. Halfway down the hallway, he noticed a janitorial cart that had a wastebasket on the side. From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a billfold that contained John Coleman’s driver’s license. This he carelessly tossed away without slowing.