Jacqueline Druga - What Tomorrow Brings

She ignored their pleas for help, and pushed her way through the people. Finally, she spotted Terrence. She whimpered in pain at the sight of him, then inhaled a bit of bravery and walked to him.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“She died, didn’t she?” Terrence asked.

“No. No she didn’t. I have her in a private area. It… it doesn’t look good, Terrence.” Deana touched his arm. “I have her comfortable. It’s a wait and see right now.”

Terrence brought his hand up and squeezed the corner of his eyes.

“I know you are ill.”

“I’m fine.”

“Terrence, I have medication that can give you some relief. Take it and sit with the baby, okay?”

“Yeah.” Terrence emotional once again, only nodded.

“Macy, Mylena, your mom?”

“They’re… they’re fine. A little weak, but fine. We managed to get out of the city and below. I just did some stupid shit in the name of my family. That’s how I got this way.”

“I would be surprised if you didn’t.”

“I told them to stay put for now.”

“Good. I need you to rest. Stay with the baby and rest. What happened? You said she was hit by a car? I didn’t think cars were running.”

“This one was,” Terrence said. “It was off when the bombs hit. The guy stole our food and was driving out of the garage when he hit her. He just kept going.”

“Oh my God.”

“I had the chance, you know, to kill him early on when he was trouble.”

“That’s not you,” Deana said.

“If I had, my daughter would not…” Terrence paused.

“What is it?” Deana asked.

“Him. He’s here. There.” Terrence brushed by her.

“Terrence!” she called out, but he ignored her. She watched him rage across the crowded room to a man seated on the floor, holding on to a woman. It was as if he wasn’t even sick, Terrence grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him, and like a locomotive with a driving force, carried him ten feet and slammed him into a wall.

Deana ran over as Terrence held the man there by his throat.

“You son of a bitch!” Terrence blasted. “You did this to my daughter.”

“I didn’t…” The man choked. “I didn’t see her. I swear. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Terrence tightened his chokehold on the man and Deana did nothing to stop him. She reached out to Terrence, but retracted her hand.

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Terrence graveled, “My child is dying now because of you.” He squeezed tighter and the man’s face turned red.

Deana didn’t know how Terrence had the strength. He held the man to the wall with one choking grip and revved back his fist.

The man repeated, “I’m sorry. Please don’t. My wife needs me. Please…”

Terrence stopped. “More than anything I want to hurt you. I won’t. You have to live with this. I won’t let my last act be me taking another man’s life.” Terrence said passionately. “May God have…”

Deana raced forward because she saw it happening. She was too late. Terrence completely released his grip of the man, swayed some, staggered backwards, then toppled to the ground.

‘I don’t know where to begin, or to explain why I did what I did,” Mark’s letter read. ‘I was an idiot and I hope you will forgive me. I know it might be too late. I pray this world is kind to you and that you rise above all that we let bring us down….’

Then he had to stop writing. His head was pounding. It was the kind of headache that spread from temple to temple, making his cheek bones feel as if they were broken. Mark couldn’t even move his jaw without pain shooting up into his skull.

The headache was the mildest of all that ailed him.

Eight hours earlier, he woke up and was glad to be in that large room with six other people, instead of the closet size medical room. He was elated to know that Spokane was still safe and his child, more than likely, was alive and well.

If there was one thing he was sure of it was that his ex-wife would keep little Mark safe. She was smart and knew things. She was one of those people who always had two weeks supply of food. A part of him felt guilty for not being overly worried, he attributed that to his gut instinct telling him his son was fine.

Then Mark started feeling sick again, and suddenly he doubted that gut instinct and attributed the positive attitude to the fact he was safe so was everyone else.

Zeke was fine and healthy, he looked it and Mark was glad about that. Regis on the other hand was sick, too. He appeared sick, moved like he was sick and started getting purple splotches. The only difference between them was Regis didn’t act sick. Then again, he just sat in that control room listening and watching.

As the day winded down, the less Mark talked. His throat felt swollen and he coughed a lot. He couldn’t even finish the broth he had for evening meal, it came right back up.

By night, he was out of the large room and back in the medical area again. An intravenous in his arm, but it kept failing. They said his veins were weak.

When did it happen? How did he turn so fast in a snap of a finger? The nurse explained to him that they suspected he had radiation poisoning, but there was no way to be sure without watching his DNA. It was a wait and see and now… they saw.

He had been in what was called the latent stage, and while he felt fine, it was like a viral hacker entered his body and snuck in damage without notice.

“How bad is it?” Mark asked.

“We don’t know. It’s hard to tell,” the nurse said. “We don’t know how much exposure you had.”

“I was out there the same amount of time as my brother.”

“Each person is different. Some people recover, some don’t. The next few days will tell.”

At least he would live a few days, if the nurse was right. Mark doubted that because he felt like death.

Soon his every thought was consumed with his son and he grew angry with himself. How selfish he was. How unbelievably selfish. He didn’t even think about his actions or how they would affect his son. He said goodbye, believing he would be back.

Now he pictured his son crying and alone. A seven year old boy lost in a devastated world. If something happened to his mother, would little Mark find food? Would he know not to drink water?

It was those thoughts that prompted him to start that letter. Somehow, someway, he would get the note to his son.

While sitting there trying to think of his next line, the door opened and Regis walked in.

“Hey, Little Brother.” He shut the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Regis sat on the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Regis smiled.

“I have an IV if you wanna share?”

“No, I’m good. I came to check on you and to see if you want some updates and know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I would.”

“They haven’t confirmed whether or not we surrendered and are occupied. I would hope and think we aren’t, that the other countries have just as much to clean up.”

“That would suck if they didn’t.”

“Tell me about it,” Regis said. “Zeke, despite my protesting, is moving out tomorrow. He volunteered to help with aid stations and move people to smaller, less populated areas for help.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Rege.”

“I know. I’m just scared for him. He thinks he will be able to find Kit that way.”

“Well, we know she’s in one of two towns.”

“I’m sure we’ll find her because our father is arriving tomorrow.”

Mark sat up some. “He is?”

“He is coming up and they are locating all those people who were supposed to be in New Mexico, they’re moving them and us down there. Here. There. I don’t get why it matters?” Regis leaned forward as if he noticed the notebook on Mark’s lap. “What are you doing?”