|
2031 CE
I always hate this
part. Not the travel, it isn't bad — especially since I got
that blacksmith up in Carnation to put a suspension on the
wagon. He said the springs came from an old Buick and that
I was lucky to get them, what with all the scavengers.
Normally, I'm a Ford man, but since the apocalypse you can't
really be choosy. Bruno doesn't care what he's pulling, and
as long as my ass isn't sore at the end of the day, I
suppose I can't really complain either. But I digress.
The part I hate is
arriving. You know, when you get up to the gates of a town,
and the guards look you up and down, trying to figure out
just what you're trying to pull, and how many bullets
they're going to waste when you pull it. Funny how all the
conveniences of life vanished when things turned south, but
people still manage to find bullets.
Anyway, once you get
inside the people start to notice. That's when it gets
really bad, because you see hope in their eyes. Sure,
there's the jaded looks from those who've seen it all and
been screwed by most of it. But underneath, they're really
hoping that you're the one who's going to make everything
better.
And that's just a damn
shame.
By now, a crowd has
gathered; must be the whole town. Since this place is
bigger than most, that means there’s about twelve brave
souls in the audience. Oh well, at least I can give them a
show. Bruno always draws some admirers; not many folks
could get their hands on a horse early on, and fewer have
managed to keep them. I've heard of some ranchers breeding
horses over on the east side and people are always saying
that there are plenty of them up in Alaska, but they're
always saying that everything's better in Alaska. The
streets are paved in fucking gold in Anchorage. I bet in
San Francisco (or what's left of it) they think we grow
apples made of rubies and the salmon have to be fended off
with harpoons. Turns out, most people are dumb.
Happy face for everyone.
Gotta show them how confident and professional we are. Set
up the little stage that also serves as the wagon's back
door, walk on out, and then it’s showtime!
"Ladies and gentlemen,"
I shout in my best carnie barker voice, "I'm here today
because you need my help! That's right folks; I'm here
today to provide you with only the finest pharmaceuticals
known to mankind. (And that's mankind back before all the
difficulties, sonny). I've traveled here, to you, straight
from the last surviving biotechs in Lake Union.
“I've braved the packs
of hungry street gangs that prowl around the base of the
Cancer Care Alliance building. I've negotiated my way
through the fierce wilderness controlled by the Warlord Yang
to buy from the legendary drug companies of Bothell. All
this to bring you nothing but the finest pharmaceuticals the
surviving world has to offer.
"You there, the grubby
fellow with the skin condition — wouldn't you like a salve
that will clear that up and leave your skin as smooth as a
baby's bottom? Of course you would! And you, young lady
with the cough, one bottle of this anti-biotic will set you
right ..." And so on, and so forth.
After all these years, I
barely even listen to myself anymore. Of course, we've now
gotten to the fun part. That's the part where the local
gendarmes show up and try and give me a hard time. Oh, how
far commerce has fallen. Er, medicine, I mean. I really
should try to keep that straight.
Right on cue, the local
cops show up. Here we go. "Now I know that there've been
all sorts of snake oil salesmen wandering up and down this
beautiful coast of ours telling you the same things that I'm
telling you now. I see it in your eyes, the hurt, the
heartache when those bastards took your goods and gave you
sugar pills in return."
The crowd grumbles its
assent, not really catching on. The guards hold back,
waiting to see what I'm up to. "I've seen that kind of
thing myself, and it makes me sick. It gives the few of us
actual doctors a bad name. That's why I keep this around."
Now's when we find out
what kind of guards these are; they come bustling up to the
front to see what I'm waving about. The plastic cover is
filthy, and clouded with age, but you can still see through
it. The thick black letters underneath are readable and
that's what counts. As the older and more portly cop grabs
it out of my hand, I give the crowd a big smile. They are a
little confused, so I fill them in on the joke.
"What your beloved
constables have just taken is my genuine license, issued by
the State of Washington for yours truly to practice
medicine. Yes, my friends, after years of study I am the
veritable real deal, an honest to goodness doctor. Like
Santa on Christmas day, I've come to your beautiful town
with a bag of goodies for all the sick boys and girls."
The guards glance at
each other and the older one shrugs. "Looks legit," he
says.
"And so it is, my good
man, so it is! So, with your leave, I'll just be setting up
my—"
"Not so fast. The mayor
wants to speak with you."
Unless these people have
developed an unheard of gene that has given them the
incredible power of telepathy, or they've all got ultra fast
wireless transceivers grafted into their posteriors, this
does not bode well. All right, the first two would be bad
too, but in more of a weird-bad way.
It seems that my name
has spread, and these days that's not necessarily a good
thing. Wait, wait, no, it could just be an A.P.B. on all
doctors and medicine men headed through town. Maybe. Yeah,
that's probably it.
Since my mind is going
at something approaching the speed of light, there's no
break in my smile and barely a pause before I say, "But of
course, officer. I'd be delighted." Adrenaline is a
wonderful thing, and one ampoule will only cost you a few
chickens and a bed for the night.
The mayor's house is a
little ways up the road, so I take a minute to lock up the
wagon and make sure Bruno is happily tethered to a tree
before following the guards. If the folks in town really
want to take my stuff, they could. And they'd likely kill
themselves if they tried to use any of it. Like I said,
people are dumb and Darwin isn't picky.
The town itself is one
of those little rural townships that would have been called
‘quaint’ back in the day. Of course, that's back before the
walls went up, the garbage stopped being collected, and
everyone started dying. These places are about all that’s
left these days.
Well, there's one other.
I've never been there,
but I keep running across a rumor that there’s some sort of
enclave in Grants Pass. Apparently, everyone who's anyone
is headed down there. Well, everyone but folks like these
people and me.
Folks in towns like this
think they're being independent; strong. No one's going to
drive them off their land, and they'll be damned if any
bandit is going to take them down. It’s completely stupid,
of course. Plague doesn't care about walls and guns, and
you'll run out of bullets eventually. Me, well, let's just
say I like the open road. Of course, this whole Grants Pass
business is probably all a bunch of crap anyway — things
like it usually are.
Finally we get to the
mayor's house. I’m guessing it was a courthouse at one
point, but boxers and t-shirts drying on the windowsill say
that it’s now a residence. Not a bad looking building, of
course — and with only a dozen or so people left, they had
probably picked whatever place they wanted. My escort gives
the place an envious look. Either he’s a big fan of 1950’s
architecture or somebody came in second when running for
mayor.
The mayor, I assume, is
the guy sitting on the steps. He's lanky and grizzled, with
deeply tanned skin. There are wrinkles etched deeply into
his face and he is wearing what might have been a nice,
brown wool suit once upon a time.
In short, he seems like
the sort of fellow who, were he in an old spaghetti western,
might wander into town, not say much, shoot people in a
blindingly efficient manner, and then walk away again, all
without bothering to introduce himself. You know, the kind
of guy who could keep a town together in times likes these.
He's whittling a thick stick with an old pocketknife, and
doesn't bother to look up.
The guard shuffles his
feet a bit and coughs. The mayor keeps whittling.
"Uh, Mr. Mayor? Jake?
You wanted to have any doctor or priest who came to town
brought to you."
Heh, I knew it.
The mayor keeps carving,
but says, "Thank you kindly, Bob." He has the kind of voice
that fits how he looks. It sounds like old leather — hard,
strong, yet softer than expected. "Why don't you get back
to the gate and the stranger and I'll have a little chat."
Bob looks over at me,
shrugs, and wanders off. If you’ve gotten to be the mayor in
one of these towns, odds are you don’t need protection from
a lone stranger. Besides, I’m thinking that Bob fancies his
chances as the new mayor should something happen to ol’
Jake.
Eventually, Mayor Jake
sets down the stick and folds up his pocketknife. He looks
me over. In spite of myself, I feel guilty. I have no idea
what for, but I feel guilty nonetheless. He's good, but I
suppose you'd have to be to keep a town together now.
"You a doctor or a
priest?"
"Doctor," I blurt. I'm
usually faster on my feet than this. He doesn't say
anything in response, so I take a breath and start in. "You
see, your honor, I am one of the few remaining fully
licensed physicians on this side of the mountain — as you
would see if I still possessed the document taken from me by
your constable. This being the case, I have taken it upon
myself to gather together what meager supplies I can find
and travel from village to village ministering to those who
need help. Fortunately, I have made it to your lovely
hamlet and can now make sure that your town is given the
finest medical care."
This is more like it.
My face is all beatific innocence, and the words are more or
less true. Sure, he smells something fishy, that's the
great part of a patter like that: people expect it to be a
line of bullshit. So when they realize that parts of it are
true, they start thinking, well, maybe I'm just a cynical
bastard and he was telling the truth all along. At least
that's the theory. I generally try to leave town before I
have to put it to the test.
Except that he isn't
giving me the, "Yeah, yeah, this is all crap, just get it
over with" expression. He's giving me that same look he did
when he first glanced up from his whittling, like his eyes
are weighing the balance of my soul and are trying to figure
out if the good outstrips the evil.
He unfolds himself from
the steps and stretches his back out. "Well then, you best
follow me."
He turns and walks into
the old courthouse, never turning to see if I did as told.
My first thought is that, he's testing me, seeing if I'd try
and bolt, even though he hadn't done anything. After a
moment's reflection, I realize that he wasn’t being sly — he
just assumed I would follow him.
Inside, he takes me by a
reception room, and through a few dank hallways before
stopping outside a door. It isn't until we arrive here that
he finally looks at me again. Not that judging stare he'd
used before. No, his eyes are just empty, like he couldn't
trust himself to feel anything right now — or maybe like he
doesn't have anything left to feel.
He opens the door
wordlessly. Inside is a makeshift bedroom with a girl lying
in the four-poster bed. She couldn't be more than 16, clad
in a white flannel nightgown, propped up against a wall of
pillows. She's so still that I figure she is asleep; but
then I see her eyes. She has the same ice blue eyes as the
mayor and they are frozen wide open.
"This is Sarah, my
daughter," the mayor says, as though speaking from rote, not
really seeing either me or the girl. "About eight months
after the worst of the troubles, she got sick. It just got
harder and harder for her to move around and her muscles and
limbs would just stop working for a time. There were days
where she couldn't speak, some days where she couldn't move
at all. By the time the world was completely gone, so was
she. She didn't move, didn't talk; we all thought she'd
finally died at first, but she kept breathing. And you know
what the damnedest thing is? Through it all, her mind was
good. She could think as good as any all the way along. So
now, all she can do is lie there, trapped inside her own
body."
He finally looks at me
again and unclenches his hands. The anger that had been
building was gone, replaced with nothing. "I know you're a
charlatan. I know that your cart is filled with equal parts
sugar pills and things you don't understand. I know that
there's absolutely nothing you can do for my daughter, and I
know that you'll want to take everything valuable we have
for pretending to try." His eyes remain emotionless
throughout all of this.
"I know this, because
this is what each and every so called doctor has done when
they've come to our town. See, news of a town leader's
family being sick spreads. I'm not sure I can even be mad
at folk for trying to turn a situation to their advantage,
what with things being how they are."
He stops, not because
it's a natural place to stop, but because he seems to have
run out of words to say. It takes me a while to find my own
voice.
When I do, it isn't the
brash showman's voice I use. "I see. I ... I don't blame
you for thinking what you do. There aren't many doctors
left. Most of us ..." I pause to gauge how much to say
next. I’m a bit out of practice with being honest. "See,
most of us died working with the plague victims. Those that
didn't, died trying to protect the hospitals from looters,
or generally just died because the world broke down.
"The few of us that are
left learned pretty quickly that an actual doctor is a
pretty valuable thing for a town, a gang, or a bandit camp
to have. They don’t tend to let us leave after we've done
our work. So, there are even fewer left wandering around.
That's why we put on the whole snake oil salesman act. If
people think we're charlatans, they won't bother trying to
keep us prisoner, but those who really need our help, those
desperate enough to try anything, will still get it."
I look at him, almost
apologetically. He turns to me and nods, as if he knows how
much I'm risking by telling him the truth.
"Look, I'm going to be
honest with you, there still probably isn't anything I can
do. If what you say is true, and I have no reason to
believe it isn't, it's going to take a lot of work to even
figure out what's wrong with her. After that, I'll have to
hope I have the right drugs to actually treat her, and even
then..."
He regards me
impassively.
I sigh. "I'll do what I
can." Maybe this will smooth out the karmic imbalance of my
being a complete prick most of the time.
After getting what
little equipment I have from the cart, it doesn't take very
long to figure out that the old man was right. There's a
technical term for what is wrong with her, but it doesn’t
mean much now, so let's just say that some disease had
gotten into her brain and done bad, bad things. The result
is that she has no control over her body, but her mind — the
"her" in her — was still there. Trapped, unable to move.
It must be hell.
Maybe, twenty years ago,
if she had been in the best hospital, with a team of
neurosurgeons, and a fair wind, there might have been hope
for recovery. These days ... I'm figuring I should stay
with her for another couple of hours to try and convince the
mayor that I've really done everything I can; even though
that was done five minutes after he left. The door opens.
An older woman bustles in before she sees me and then
stifles an, "oh!" of surprise when she does. She's got a
book in her hand, probably here to read for the girl. Thank
God someone has some kindness for the poor thing.
"I'm really sorry," she
burbles, "I didn't expect to find anyone in here except
Sarah. I'm June Sanders."
I take the proffered
hand and rally enough thought process to make a flourish as
I go into camouflage mode. "A pleasure to meet you, young
lady. I am but a humble servant of the medical arts, and of
course, now, your humble servant as well."
Her matronly face
grimaces involuntarily at the patter, so I know it's doing
its job and keep it up for a few more minutes. Frankly I
hadn't expected anyone to come in here, or I wouldn't have
set up all the equipment at once. Generally charlatans
don't have equipment this good, or if they do, they don't
set it up right. Hopefully she won't know the difference.
"It's odd," she says
after my oily verbal assault has ended. "Jake's never let
any of you 'doctors' spend time alone with Sarah before. He
must think you're pretty good."
Despite the quotes
around doctor that hang in the air, I'm starting to get
nervous. The sooner I explain things to the mayor and get
out of this place, the better.
"Of course, my dear
lady. Why I believe you were in the audience as I arrived
and have already heard of my adventures to bring your fair
town the finest ..." and so on. Her eyes are starting to
glaze over, so maybe she won't think anything other than
that the mayor is finally getting desperate.
"So, of course, I really
must be getting on with my work! Don't worry; I'll be sure
to be around to see you and yours before leaving this
absolutely delightful town. Farewell!" I wheel her around
and give her a healthy shove out the door, shutting it
quickly behind her. Did I lay it on too thick? Oh well, no
time to think about that now.
I pack up the equipment
as quickly as I can, prattling on a bit to the girl. No
sense in being unfriendly. In the back of my mind, though,
I'm thinking of exactly how I'm going to break the news to
her father. I mean, since the apocalypse I've told hundreds
of people that their loved ones were dead. There were far
fewer cases where I've had to tell them that their loved
ones were better off dead.
On the way out I notice
June talking with some other women. They all turn away when
I catch their eye. Oh, this can't be good.
I skedaddle out of there
as quickly as I can. Fortunately, Mayor Jake was alone in
the courthouse's old kitchen. He looks at me, and I'll be
damned if he doesn't have hope in his eyes for about half a
second. Shit. Of course, it's all gone once he gets a look
at my face.
"It's that bad then?"
He puts the kettle on the stove and turns the burner on.
"I'm afraid so."
"Can you do anything for
her?"
I think about that for a
moment. "Nothing. You've made her as comfortable as you
can, but ... Look, what I need to say is..." He cut me off
with a wave of his hand.
"I know what you're
going to say." His voice was even. "You aren't the first
one to tell me. Hell, I've thought about it myself once or
twice. You've got to understand, I just can't do it."
"I see, but, maybe if
there were ... It could be done painlessly." Lame, I know.
He looks me dead in the
eyes. "Thank you for that, but no. Not while there's still
hope."
"That’s what I'm trying
to tell you, there isn't any. Now, I may or may not be the
best doctor that's still around, but I know enough to tell
you that no care she's going to get will ever cure her."
"No care she's going to
get here, that I'll give you."
Oh God, he's going to
bring up some legend that everyone ‘knows’ is true, but
isn't. "You ever heard of a place called Grants Pass? They
say they've got a real hospital set up there."
"They say a lot of
things, Jake. Most of them aren't true."
His eyes never blink.
"But what if they are? It may not be a lot of hope, but
hope's a valuable commodity these days. I don't know about
you, but I'm not squandering a drop."
"Look, even if they have
a hospital, which they probably don't, there's nothing
they'd be able to do for her. Even if it was before
everything happened, they still probably wouldn't be able to
do anything for her."
"Well then, let's make a
deal. You take her there, and if there isn't anything they
can do, or no hospital at all, you can do what you need to
do."
"I'm telling you ...
wait, what?"
"I want you to take
Sarah to Grants Pass."
"But, why? No, let me
be more specific, why me?"
"Because you have a
horse and a cart, and seem like a decent enough man."
"You've known me for
fifteen minutes!"
He turns those deep eyes
on me and says, "I'm a good judge of character."
And I'm stunned. I
stammer for a few moments, not quite figuring out what to
say. I mean, he's right; I'd take good care of the girl and
probably have a better idea of what she’s going through than
anyone else. I have a good wagon and could probably get
there ok, but how does he know? Is he really that desperate
that he'd trust his daughter to a stranger?
Suddenly it hits me; he
never even asked if I'd take her. He’d just known I would.
Hell, even I hadn’t known I’d do it. "Look, I'm not even
heading that way. Why would I even take her?"
"Because you're a
doctor."
Bastard. He's right,
though. He's absolutely fucking right. I take a minute
before I say, "How soon can she be ready to go?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Fine. Mind if I sleep
here tonight?"
Around seven o'clock,
the townsfolk knock on the courthouse door. I'm lounging
nearby in a converted parlor with Jake, drinking tea and
trying to figure out exactly what the hell had happened
today. He opens the door and I see a handful of townies
including June.
Yeah, this is going to
be bad.
I have confidence in
Jake though. He's held this town together with the force of
his will alone, and now he has the last chance for his
daughter before him. He won’t be backing down now.
Jake puts down his cup
and he and the townies go out into the hall and shut the
door. There's some muffled conversation before the door
opens. Jake walks in with the crowd at his back. I
recognize a couple other faces, including the two guards
from this morning. My old friend Bob has a shotgun. With
any luck he hasn’t decided that now’s the time for a new
mayor.
Jake says, "So, these
folk have a proposition for you, if you want to listen to
it."
Right, time to seize the
reins of the conversation. I lean forward and smile
benevolently, saying, "But of course! I'm always interested
in hearing any fair and reasonable proposition from sound
minded people."
Jake cocks an eyebrow at
me and the rest of the crowd looks confused. This is not the
cowering panic they were expecting.
"Well," says one of the
townsfolk — by the way June is hanging on to him, I'd guess
he's Mr. Sanders — "the thing is, a town needs a doctor if
it wants to survive these days. And you're the first doctor
that's come through these parts. I mean, real doctor, one
that even Jake here would trust."
"And so you would like
me to stay here in your town and tend to your ills, is that,
in essence, what you are trying to get at?"
"More or less." Mr.
Sanders says, seeming to smell something rat-like, but
unable to figure out which hole it's about to crawl out of.
"You wouldn't want for anything. You'd have a nice house,
all the food we can provide. A man has to settle down
eventually, right?"
"You make a compelling
case, you really do, and perhaps someday I will return to
take you up on this kind and generous offer. Unfortunately,
I have places to be and I must be on my way tomorrow
morning. I'm really terribly sorry about this."
Mr. Sanders looks a bit
apologetic; he doesn’t seem comfortable being the voice of
the people. Points for him. "Well, see, it isn't really so
much a request." He motions at the guard with the gun.
My smile widens, this is
the fun bit — the bit where I get to explain how the world
really works. "Oh! I see. Well, perhaps you'd care to
elaborate? No, wait, let me see if I get it." I pick up my
cup of tea. "You will keep me here in your town, under
threat of force, and expect me to do all I can to care for
your sick and wounded. Is that the gist of it?"
"Um, well, yes. More or
less."
"And how long do you
think anyone I treated would survive? Minutes? You seem to
forget that it was doctors and scientists who created the
plagues that wiped out most of the world." Hell, it’s
probably true. "You can't keep a doctor by force. It just
doesn't work."
Bob pulls the gun up and
cocks it. "You so sure about that?" he growled.
"Sure enough. Pull the
trigger and what do you have? A mess on the floor and a
town no doctor will ever set foot in again. News travels,
son."
June pushes the gun
down. Smart woman. "It's just that we need you here so
badly ..."
"I know you do, ma'am.
The problem is that everyone else does too. Every little
pocket of humanity too proud to give up their land, every
lone homesteader who doesn't know what else to do but keep
doing what he's always done, they all need a doctor. That's
why I can't stay. You aren't the first people to try this;
you won't be the last. I understand why you did it, and no
hard feelings. All I can say is that I'll do what I can
tomorrow and I'll be back by this way again some day."
A few of them look like
they want to say something. June stares imploringly at her
husband, but he shrugs at her. Then, one by one, they file
out into the night. Jake gives me a grin — one of those, ‘I
was right’ smiles — and I consider flipping him off, but
that doesn't seem right. I do it anyway. Fuck 'em.
I left the town this
morning. Sarah is tucked in a makeshift hammock in the
cart. I've propped her up so she can see out the window.
All she knows right now is that we're headed to Grants Pass,
to see if they have a hospital for her. Hell, when you get
right down to it, that's all I know, too.
END |
