Chapter 37

 

 

Ben never knew how they did it, but at ten o’clock, a mere four hours after finding the devastation that was the schoolhouse, a tent had been delivered and erected on the basketball court, all outside seating areas washed clean, tables sported white paper covering, broken glass vials were picked up, port-a-potties set upright and moved to be closer to where people would congregate … and they were ready for patients.

In addition, the schoolhouse was locked. The front and back porch and inside floors were swept clear of any tracks. Extra ice chests were outside in the shade along with individual bags of chips and nuts close to the seating areas. A case of brand-new vials for collecting samples along with gloves, gowns and masks were safely inside the voluminous white hospital tent that came with cubicles already marked off. Each was separated from the next by curtains on rigid aluminum rods attached to a track that made a loop just below the peak or highest point of the tent’s ceiling.

Chief Billie had provided six strong men, three of which now either directed traffic, checked paperwork, or were simply on call to step in and do whatever was needed. Success. No one would even guess that they had been the victim of Skinwalkers.

They agreed to shut down testing at four and spend the late afternoon and early evening putting the schoolhouse back in order. Cleaning equipment including the compressor for the disinfectant sprayer would be brought back and Chief Billie promised extra volunteers. By the morning the building and surrounding area would be in pristine, safe shape again. It would be great to let people wait either on the porch or in a partitioned room adjoining the main classroom. A portable air-conditioner made inside the schoolhouse a much more pleasant place to wait. And with an afternoon rain predicted, a much drier place to be.

Ben was in his truck just pulling out to return to camp for more test vials when he got the call from Dr. Black.

“It’s a go. Everything we’ve ordered will be delivered to Albuquerque this weekend. Easier to get military transport on a Saturday, I’m told. I want the two of us to be there—we need to take inventory and see that everything is stored properly. I don’t want any of the electrical equipment getting wet or dropped or in any way compromised. I’ll talk with Chief Billie about guards. Looks like if everything arrives on time, we’ll be ready to roll on Monday morning. I think it’s safe to go ahead and contact your convoy participants and give them a heads-up as to time and location for pick up. I guess that includes letting the Governor’s office know about where and when to have the Guards meet. I’m leaving it up to you to get Chief Billie to set up security for the warehouse at camp. I think we have all our bases covered. I’m excited. I think we have a plan of action that will work.”

Ben promised to be at the Albuquerque airport by ten on Saturday morning and thanked Dr. Randy Black once again for all his help. Winning was everything—especially when it meant saving lives. Skinwalkers 0/Chief Billie and Ben Pecos 1. And they were about to add to that score. It felt good.

 

* * *

 

Two hundred and ten people had been tested that first day the schoolhouse was operational. Most tested negative. Others weren’t so lucky. Depending on the severity of symptoms, individuals testing positive were either sent home to quarantine or taken to be admitted to the hospital nearest where they lived. Most hospitals were rapidly filling to capacity—both on the reservation and in nearby communities. The camp had gone from six hospital tents, to ten, then twelve, and finally fifteen. There was hope that with search and rescue teams identifying those that tested positive and then encouraging the healthy to distance themselves from them, the virus could eventually be controlled. Ben had heard that there would be a complete lockdown over the weekend—everyone quarantining in place for fifty-seven hours starting Friday afternoon. That would certainly reduce traffic when the convoy travelled across the reservation.

Having a trailer in the front row close to the office now seemed a luxury. Five new doctors had been added to the staff along with fifteen nurses and techs. The camp had become a tent city. There were also a half dozen strategically placed kiosks dotting the parking lot and living areas providing coffee, and several food choices from desserts to sandwiches. And its hospital tent complex was the center for a network of outlying medical service areas. There was steady traffic to and from the hospital tents. Dr. Black had his hands full.

At the end of the day, Ben and Julie checked in with Trini picking up any instructions for the following day and handing in their reports. Today, they waited while she paid the foreman of the temporary warehouse that was finally finished and waiting for Ben’s convoy of supplies.

“It’s great to see that done. It’s hard to believe it will be full in another two days.” Ben was breathing a sigh of relief.

“Did you ever find out who might have known the combination to the safe? I’m assuming you were able to get it changed?” Julie asked.

“A brand new set of numbers the very next morning. And it’s bolted to the floor. But no one remembers who might have known the combination. Dr. Henry said it was just too long ago. He hadn’t used the safe personally. His lab assistant at that time was a Shirley Running Elk. She had the combination and shared the safe, but she left Indian Health more than four years ago. He thought a couple techs also had access. He offered to give me their names and look up addresses but they have also moved on and now live out of state. I didn’t see any point in following up. So, a dead-end, I guess.”

“Seems odd though. The person or persons not only had the combination, but also knew your schedule—when you would have money here. Have you ever made a list of people who use this office or have spent time here?” Julie asked.

“Never thought it was necessary. I just know I’m being extra careful now. I won’t open the safe without the door to my office being closed.”

“A good idea. I’m going into Albuquerque Friday night so I’ll be able to help unload the supplies Saturday morning and do an inventory. I’ll come back with the convoy on Monday. Do you need anything? Anything from the Indian Hospital?”

“Could you ask Gloria if she has another external drive for my computer? I’m scared to death I’ll lose some information that we need. I know this one is close to capacity.”

“No problem.”

“If Ben is going to be gone over the weekend, how ‘bout dinner at the Two Sisters Saturday? A girl’s night out.”

“Sounds perfect.” And Julie meant it. She was already trying to come up with things to do when Ben was gone—other than work.

* * *

Saturday morning and Ben was loading up his pickup for the trip to Albuquerque. Chief Billie had gotten word that the transport wouldn’t be landing before one o’clock that afternoon so it gave Ben another evening at home. Julie walked Ben to his truck. She always hated their separations. But at least they had carved out time for a Friday date night, if walking across the parking lot to a restaurant in a tent and then a movie on the thirteen-inch screen of Ben’s laptop counted.

“Be safe.” She handed him an unopened box of six masks. “Share these so I won’t worry about you.” A hug and a long kiss and he started the pickup. “Let me know how things go.”

And then she was standing alone, waving as the truck disappeared. Maybe she should have gone with him, but she had too much to do at camp to take a weekend off. She owed the Herald an update on the news story that she’d sent them last month. She’d spotlighted the New Mexico/Arizona field hospital and the medical outreach program that supported it. It was time to readdress. The news department had contacted her twice about what changes might have taken place. National news was finally including stories of reservations struggling with the virus across the US.

The Navajo Nation was not atypical, just bigger. The Florida Seminole tribes were also struggling. This time she thought she’d build a story around the schoolhouse and its transformation into a clinical testing center. Of special interest might be the so-called identify and rescue mission. It wouldn’t dawn on readers that all aspects of meeting the crisis would have to be brought to the reservation—a captive audience totally dependent on care from the outside. Only those in urban settings would have access to community amenities and not have to wait for services to arrive.

This was a unique problem she hoped would have an automatic human-interest element. The story she was planning would rattle a readers’ ‘poor me’ attitude and reiterate the extreme challenges of the pandemic. It was important to point out inequities.

The clinic was open until noon both Saturday and Sunday. Already after being open for only two days, supplies needed to be replenished. She’d take gowns and gloves with her and disinfectant wipes and spray. Trini was going to try and get away to go with her, but her elderly mother had just been admitted to the hospital and Trini felt she needed to stay close. In fact, this new development had caused Trini to cancel their girl’s night out. So, Julie was on her own for the weekend.

Trini, knowing she would be at the hospital all afternoon, loaned Julie her car—a Jeep Wrangler from another era. Actually, that wasn’t nice, Julie upbraided herself. It was a sweet and helpful gesture. It wasn’t like she was taking off cross-country. And Trini said that all the dents and scrapes gave it character. In fact, Trini talked as if the Wrangler was family—she’d even named it, ‘Butch’. Naming a car wasn’t something that Julie had ever done. She’d felt real love for a little BMW convertible once, but she hadn’t named it. Julie knew that all that open-air character didn’t mask the fact that Butch also needed a new muffler. Not that she was planning on sneaking up on anyone, but the noise drowned out the radio. Still, wheels were wheels. She gassed it up at the tanker-station, and checked the tires hoping they stayed inflated.

So, here she was pulling into the parking lot in front of the schoolhouse. At least this time she had her best camera with her—two cameras, in fact, a choice of lens, and her laptop. The yard and porch in front of the building looked great. Not even a hint of the ghost dust and animal prints that had been there so recently. She wished she’d gotten photographs of those. Two techs were just finishing up, putting vials in cold storage and syringes in a disposable metal refuse container marked hazardous. Dressed in full hazmat gear, they consented to several photos involving their work. Then they changed clothes, and in blue jeans and t-shirts, they were out of there for the weekend.

Julie walked out on the porch, then to the end of the road taking photos of the sign announcing the clinic, the sign directing cars to approach single file if requesting to be tested without coming inside, and the sign directing anyone interested toward refreshments and outside tables—a place to wait their turn if the clinic’s foyer was full. Back inside, she grabbed a clipboard with a supply checklist and headed toward the barn or outside storage area. A pictorial inventory was just for her records, not something to be published. She’d attach the photos to the report she was working on for Trini. An hour passed before she knew it.

Back inside, she downloaded the photos to her laptop and started a cursory division of them into categories. She was thinking of the newspaper article as more of a feature in the Leisure Living, Sunday edition. She was in the kitchen getting a bottle of water out of the fridge when she first heard it—a scratching sound—not pleasant, more like fingernails on a chalk board. But probably an animal with claws hoping to open the back door. The smell of food was no doubt enticing. She’d check the dumpster on her way out later. She doubted it had been emptied.

And just to make sure the building was secure, she’d check the back door. She thought she’d locked it and engaged the deadbolt, but best to make sure. She pushed back from her computer and walked back into the kitchen. She didn’t remember what happened next. The sound of her screaming as the huge hairy paw burst through the glass in the top half of the back door, exploding in a burst of slivers that sprayed over her and littered the floor; or the head, enormous, tiny eyes fixed and staring, three-inch fangs yellowed and menacing as the bear tossed its head and growled, leaning inward.

She didn’t even realize she was still holding the bottle of water until she threw it. Dead aim, straight throw hitting right between its beady eyes—and the bear backed away, disappearing down the steps, and the growling gave way to silence. She reached out to steady herself grasping the edge of the kitchen counter and stood there until her breathing slowed and she stopped shaking. She had a half dozen scratches from the flying glass on her right arm but that was all. The bear was gone. She stood quietly and listened, but there was no sound.

And when she could think clearly, the question that was forming popped to the surface—what was a Grizzly bear doing in New Mexico? It could have simply been a brown bear but its size was too big, but not big enough. A Grizzly easily attained eight feet in height when standing on its hind legs. This animal barely reached six foot. Still, the huge head, tiny ears and pin-point eyes of this bear that threatened her would have been more at home in Alaska.

She’d lost all interest in staying at the schoolhouse any longer. But she needed to close up the broken window and clean up the broken glass. A deep breath and she reached for the broom leaning against the wall. This was a place to start.

With the broken glass in a pile, she found a dustpan under the sink, swept the shards up and emptied them into a wastebasket. Now, she needed to find something that would block the gaping hole where the door’s window had been. Ever so gingerly she unlocked the door, pulled it open and stepped out onto the porch. She looked in all directions. Nothing. Not a hint that there had been a very angry animal in that very spot some fifteen minutes before.

A part of her wished she could just whistle for Butch and he’d gallop around the corner and they would be off for home. But there were a few things the Wrangler couldn’t do. With a last look around, she walked down the steps and into the barn. She’d noticed plywood in a corner earlier and hoped there would also be a hammer and nails somewhere.

After admitting that carpentry just wasn’t her thing, she stood back and admired the somewhat crooked piece of plywood that now covered most of the back door. Not pretty, but it would work—discourage any hungry, meandering four-legged creatures. She walked back inside and pulled the door shut putting the deadbolt in place. Picking up her laptop and cameras, she walked out the front door, secured it, climbed into the Wrangler, and took her first deep, steady breath in over a half hour.