Survivor Song(58)

The truck is finally moving. Dan is driving, Natalie in the passenger seat, and Ramola, Josh, Luis, the Tree, and the bikes and gear arranged in the cargo bed like puzzle pieces. It’s a matter of minutes before they will arrive at Five Corners and the clinic.

Using a disinfectant wipe, Ramola finishes cleaning Josh’s facial wounds, a constellation of small red holes leaking a watery red. She doesn’t tell him what she said to Natalie only hours ago, that a quick and thorough cleaning post-exposure is sometimes enough to destroy the virus. The Tree, sitting with his back against the rear gate, his arms around his knees, refuses her help when she offers. Ramola only asks once.

Luis is in Josh’s ear, keeping up a manic one-person banter about the clinic and vaccines and rides to hospitals and help, getting him help.

Josh holds his bandanna against his cheek and says, “Hey, um, Doctor Ramola, that, um, person you know who got bit in the arm.” He pauses, leaving space to signal and honor that he’s talking about Natalie in code.

“Yes, Josh.”

“How long before, um, that person became infected and, like, showed signs?”

Ramola tells him the truth as she now knows it. “Less than an hour.”

“And the closer the bite is to the brain, then, it’ll take even less time.”

“Yes.”

Luis looks at Ramola and blows out a long sigh, puffing out his cheeks, then sends his watery eyes down to the truck bed.

Josh says, “Yeah. Okay.” His expression freezes, and Ramola wonders again about a possible concussion, or if he’s gone inside himself to check for symptoms. He turns to Luis, who will not look at him, and says, “Guy. This isn’t our movie. This isn’t our story. It’s theirs.”

Luis shakes his head, wipes his eyes.

Josh continues, “We should’ve seen it before. I mean, it’s fucking obvious now. You and me aren’t the heroes. We’re the randos, yeah?”

Luis looks up, then flips the helmet off his head and over the side of the moving truck.

Ramola cannot help herself. “This is not a movie. And you are both heroes helping Natalie get to the clinic.”

Josh says, “We tried. This time we tried. That counts for something, right?”

Ramola doesn’t hear Luis’s response as the truck emerges from the wooded residential area to the end of Bay Road and the commercially developed, strip-malled intersection of streets called Five Corners. To their left and across Route 123, sandwiched between a CVS and Shaw’s supermarket is the Ames Clinic; one building, two floors, not appreciably bigger than a Colonial-style home. A fleet of police cars, blue lights flashing, fill the clinic’s lot and choke Route 123 down to one passable lane. Parked along the building’s front entrance are two coach buses. Gowned clinic staff lead pregnant women and women carrying newborns onto the buses.

Ramola says, “Oh fucking hell, where are they going?” She hops out of the truck the moment Dan pulls to a stop in front of a police officer holding up an outstretched hand. She opens Natalie’s door, and tells her they have to hurry. Natalie unbuckles herself but is moving in slow motion. Ramola says, “Sorry,” then forcibly tugs the seat buckle out of Natalie’s hand and pulls the belt from under her belly because the auto-recoil is too slow.

The officer is at the driver’s window, recognizes Dan, and tells them they can’t stay, can’t get help here. By the time Dan is asking, begging really, where they can go, Ramola has Natalie out of the truck and walking away.

Josh calls out as he runs in front of the women, holding out Natalie’s bag and his backpack. “Take mine, please. I don’t need it. You might.”

Knowing refusing his pack might result in an argument that slows them down further, Ramola accepts and says, “Thank you.” She says it twice because she can’t bear to say, Good luck, and she leads Natalie away from the truck, toward the clinic.

Police attempt to stop her, but she does not stop. She shouts her name, medical ID badge held out like a shield. Eventually, one officer leads her and Natalie toward the buses.

Briefly stopped at a bottleneck, Ramola throws a look behind her. The truck is gone. Luis and Josh are on their bikes and pedaling back down Bay Road.

Interlude

You Will Not Feel Me Between Your Teeth

This is not the end of a fairy tale, nor is it the end of a movie. This is a song.

*

Natalie’s face is almost blank. There’s only a little bit left of her. Luis doesn’t know the real her, of course, and he realizes this, and within that realization, a horror: there’s only a little bit left of the Natalie he met less than an hour ago. He wonders how much of that Natalie was already a compromised, diminished version. Luis thinks the dimming or leaking away of who you are is the worst thing that can happen to anyone. He is right, but there are many worst things that can happen to anyone.

Josh gives Ramola his backpack and she thanks him and she leads Natalie away.

Josh says, “Let’s just go.”

Luis says, “You first.” He shoulders his pack, swapping out his baseball bat for Josh’s wooden staff.

They go back the way they came, retracing their paths down Bay Road, back under the canopy of trees where it’s darker and more foreboding. You are not supposed to go back, you can’t go back, and if you attempt a return you will be forever lost. Luis knows this, but they’re doing it anyway.