Jacqueline Druga - The Flu

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. Why, wanna pack up everyone and go? Got the keys and the map at the house.”

“I might. Something to think about. But right now you…” Mick swatted Patrick’s leg as he stood up, “need to rest. I just wanted to stop by and torment you some.”

“And you did.” Patrick slightly shook his head and chuckled. “Immune.” He coughed and cringed.

“What can I say?” Mick lifted his hands with an arrogant look. He saw Patrick start to drift. “Patrick… one more thing. You said you should have never come to Lodi. I just wanna let you know, criminal or not,” Mick winked, “you’re a good guy. I’m really glad you ended up here. I made a friend in you I’d like to keep.”

“Thanks, Mick, that means a lot. More than you realize.”

Mick smiled gently. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

With a soft “goodnight” Patrick closed his eyes.

October 2 nd

Dylan made a mental reminder to have Mick check the water heater, because the hot water felt just a little cool. But even less than hot, the shower still felt refreshing. Of course, not as much as the four hours of sleep she had. It was the first time in days she had that much sleep at one time. Mick never woke her. He only left a note that he had checked the boys. Then again, that was a while ago and it was time to check them once more.

As she finished brushing her teeth, fully dressed and ready to start the day, Dylan opened the bathroom door and jumped, startled to see Dustin standing there. “I’m sorry, honey, all yours,” she told him.

“Mom?” Dustin cleared his throat. “I’m not sure, but I think I feel a little stuffy.”

With a sinking heart, Dylan lifted her hand to Dustin’s face. “You’re not warm.”

“So what do we do?”

“Oh, we take you down and get you tested.”

“Mom,” Dustin whined. “I get tested all the time.”

“And it doesn’t hurt to be safe.” Dylan saw that he was going to complain. “No arguments. Get dressed, I’ll check Tigger and then we’ll head down. Okay?”

Dustin nodded.

“Good. Get ready, I’ll be back.” Dylan kissed Dustin on the cheek and walked down the hall. Though she could have waited a little longer to check, previous false test or not, she wasn’t taking a chance. To Dylan, being uncertain meant any symptoms were mild, and mild symptoms told her that, if it was the flu, it was early enough to stop it.

Bodies lined up outside of the school were covered and waiting to be placed on the truck that would take them to the old Tool and Die building. The sight made Mick stop. A few hours earlier there wasn’t a line of deceased. He knew there were deaths. He had heard that from Haddock, who was doing pretty good at thwarting the flu.

Mick watched the few men that had volunteered lift the bodies. After saying a short prayer, he fell back on the thought that put him in a semi-good mood. Word from Lars was that the second wave was slowing down. Four more days and Lars was confident that all those in Lodi who would catch it would have caught it. The countdown was underway in Mick’s mind.

In the mood to harass Patrick, possibly torment him about slacking on his food stockpiling responsibilities, Mick entered the gym.

He could see Patrick lying on the cot sleeping and that added fuel to Mick’s playful fire. “Hey,” Mick called to him. “Man, sick or not, you are lazy.” He gave a light smack to Patrick as he walked around to face him. “You gonna get…” Mick froze. His heart dropped when he stared at Patrick’s wide open eyes “Oh my God.” Laying his hands on Patrick’s shoulder, Mick felt the coolness of his body. As he rolled Patrick onto his back, he saw the entire left side of Patrick’s body was black from the settled blood. “Lars,” Mick called out. “Lars!” Nearly hyperventilating, Mick shook his head. “Not you… not…”

“What hap…” Lars didn’t need to ask when his eyes fell upon Patrick’s body.

“Lars?” Mick questioned. “You said he beat this. You said he beat the septicemia.”

Lars swallowed with difficulty. “There are other things that are just as threatening. I keep… I keep telling people this, yet everyone remains so confident.” His final word dropped with an abundance of sadness. He lifted the blanket whispering, “I’m sorry, Patrick, my friend.”

Watching the interaction sent Mick into a flurry of confusion. He didn’t understand it; he had assumed all was fine. Patrick, not a few hours earlier, was fine. Mick had tried to keep a mental distance from all that was happening; that was how he stayed so strong. Yet here he was, unable to distance himself. Patrick was his friend. He didn’t know how to feel, or how to act. All he knew was that he had to get out of there. Hurrying through the narrow aisle of cots filled Mick with even more sadness as he rushed to leave the gym.

He flung the doors open in his haste to get outside, and the fresh air brought the vision of death again. Wanting badly to catch his bearings, Mick started to turn to walk away, but as he did, he saw Dylan and Dustin approach the gym.

“No,” he ground out. He knew they would only be approaching for one reason. “Dylan.” He raced over.

“Mick,” Dylan’s voice quivered a little.

“What’s wrong?” Mick asked.

“Dustin has the flu.”

Mick reached out laying his hands on Dustin’s face. “I’ll get him in there. Where’s Tigger?” he asked, almost panicked.

“Mick, calm down,” Dylan said, sensing his anxiety. “Tigger’s home. He’s fine. And Dustin…” She smiled. “He’ll be fine. We got it early.”

“Yeah.” Dustin smiled. “I don’t even feel sick. Just a little stuffy. Mom? Go on home with Tigger.”

Dylan nodded and embraced him. “I love you. I’ll be back when they hit you with that second dose.”

“Ok,” Dustin said. “Go on, though. Mick’s here.”

Sliding her hand down his face, Dylan backed up. “Take care of him, Mick.”

“I will.” Mick put his arm around Dustin. “Let’s get you inside.” He started to walk with him.

“You all right, Mick?” Dustin asked.

“Um, yeah.” Mick pulled Dustin closer and kissed him on the cheek as he did.

“You seem worried. Don’t be getting worried on me, Mick. I mean, I barely have a sniffle, I haven’t even sneezed yet. We got it early so there’s nothing to worry about. We beat it, right?”

Mick slowed down his pace as he walked into the gym. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Kurt and Henry were removing Patrick’s body from the cot. A hard lump formed in Mick’s throat.

“Mick? I’ll beat it, right?”

“Yeah.” Mick gave a soft smile to Dustin. “You’ll beat it, Dustin. You’ll beat it.”

Hands folded as in prayer, Mick kept his eyes steady on a sleeping Dustin. Like with Chris, he never left his side. He didn’t understand the feelings in his gut. He tried to decipher them and reason them through, but he was scared for Dustin and a sick feeling hit him every time Dustin took one of those breaths that grew increasingly labored. A few hours earlier he’d spoken with Kurt; Kurt told Mick how impressively early Dustin checked into the station. How ‘on top’ of it the mature young man was. Mick fed on that, trying to derive some comfort from those words, but they weren’t relieving him. They didn’t help ease the worry. Perhaps Patrick was too much on his mind for Mick to think clearly or feel confident, maybe because he had been confident that Patrick would be fine and that belief had slapped him in the face. To Mick, Patrick was the epitome of proof that nothing should be assumed and nothing should be taken for granted.