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Ted stood quietly while Ruth’s glare ranged from James, to Stinker and back to him. Stinker had shown up earlier that morning with an ugly rash on his mouth and hands. Ted had immediately walked the boy over to the clinic. After one look, Ruth had gone to get James.
“Did you swallow it?” James asked after looking in the boy’s swollen mouth. He went to the sink to wash his hands.
“Uh, I dunno.” Stinker sat on the edge of the exam table sullenly swinging one foot.
Ted knew Stinker was lying. He had been terribly resistant to coming to the clinic in the first place, but Ted had insisted. Some of the older kids were drifting away from Nixie and him. He had less control over them every day. Or maybe they just needed him less. “Was it a dare?” Ted asked.
“Um, no...I dunno,” Stinker said, his eyes sliding away from Ted’s.
“You aren’t in trouble,” Ted said reassuringly. “We just need to know what happened, so that we can figure out how to help you.” He had heard through the grapevine that some of the older boys had met up with some young men who were known troublemakers. Ted didn’t like where that might lead.
Stinker shrugged, head hanging.
“Let me guess,” Ruth said sharply. “Somebody told you something about a plant that might get you high.”
Stinker shook his head. “Not really.”
“Oh, Stinker,” Ted said sadly. “We talked about this before. If somebody tells you to do something you don’t want to do, you can come to me.”
A shoulder twitch and glum head wobble was his only response.
“Will you tell me what happened?” Ted asked. “You don’t have to say who it was.”
After a sniff and a wince, he finally gave in. “He said it was goo’ stuff.” Stinker’s words were muddled by the swelling in his mouth. “Didn’t taste goo’.”
“It was poison ivy!” Ruth made a sound between a snort and a huff. Ted was afraid that she was going to hit Stinker.
“Did you swallow it?” James asked again.
“Spit it out. Di’n’t taste goo’.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “We’ve got real patients to deal with,” she said angrily before stomping out of the room.
“What can we do?” Ted asked. “It looks very sore.”
James took a small ceramic pot off the shelf. “This is the burn ointment that we got from Bea during the Great Fire. It should help a little for the external rash. We can’t do much for the internal. The irritation should go away on its own in about two weeks.”
That finally got a reaction from Stinker. “Two wee’s? But it hur’s and ith’es.” He held out his blistered hands.
Ted took the pot. “Thank you, James. I’ll send a letter down to the Kin and see if they have anything for poison ivy.” He tried to help Stinker off the table, but the teen pushed past him slouching out the door without a backward look.
“Better keep an eye on him,” James said softly.
“I try,” Ted said, releasing the weary sigh that had been building all morning. “I try very hard, but there are too many of them going out on their own and experimenting.”
“Purple Pickle,” James said with a sad nod.
“I told them it would kill them, but it’s flu season and that particular threat doesn’t hold much weight right now.”
James glanced at the doorway. “Got our first case,” he whispered.
Ted frowned. That wasn’t a secret. “There was an announcement in the paper.”
“It’s Tillie.”
Ted saw the flicker of fear in the back of his brother’s eyes. A million questions slammed into his brain at once. All of the biobots knew that they were only accepted by the local people because of the example set by Angus and Tillie. If they were gone, who would take over? How would the Survivor’s Alliance change? What would happen to him and his brothers? “Is she going to die?” he whispered back.
“It’s different every time, so it’s hard to say. But she’s only got a slight fever and fatigue. I’m hopeful.”
Despite his words, Ted didn’t think James was hopeful. “Can I see her?”
His brother gave him a thoughtful look. “No one said you couldn’t.”
James took him to a back corridor that led to a large ward. The rows of empty beds waiting for patients gave Ted a chill. They wouldn’t know how many they’d need until people started staggering in. The number of prepared places was a harsh reminder. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Flu season was a fearful time.
For today, only one of the beds was occupied. Tillie made a very small lump under a multicolored, hand-crocheted blanket that was obviously the work of Old Agnes.
“Tillie?” Ted said softly. She looked a lot older in her sleep. White hair askew on the pillow and the lines on her face seemed deeper. Without those lively gray eyes drilling a hole through him, she seemed too quiescent.
“Hmm?” An eyelid trembled but didn’t open fully.
Ted took her hand. “Can I get you anything?”
She pulled free from his grasp rolling onto her side. “Sleeping,” she murmured.
He turned to see James looking puzzled. “Is that a good thing?” Ted asked as they walked back past the rows of waiting beds.
“She’s been asleep since she got here this morning. We managed to wake her long enough to get some food in her, but she goes right back to sleep,” James reported.
“Sleep is healing, isn’t it?”
“Usually.”
“But you’re worried.”
“I don’t know if this is the final outcome,” James said softly. “If it isn’t fatal this year, is it merely incapacitating?”
Ted glanced back to the only occupied bed. Math wasn’t his forte, but even he could see the issue. “What percentage this year?”
“Exactly,” James said. “If merely ten percent of the population become debilitated enough that they need constant care, we’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“But if they’re just sleeping,” Ted said knowing that it was more than that.
“They need to be fed and washed, their bedding changed.” James shrugged. “And, of course, it means they aren’t contributing anything either. So an increased need in care at the same time as a decrease in manpower.”
“But surely...” Ted gestured toward the one occupied bed unsure of what he wanted to say.
“ No one would deprive Tillie of care,” James paused to catch Ted’s eye, “For the first year at least.”