Elizabeth

Holding a clipboard with the patient’s vitals, I smile at the woman sitting on the exam table. Playing doctor is challenging for an introvert like me, but if I don’t cover for doctors Avital and Nani, both out on maternity, North Fork will be left with no medical care. “Hi, Mrs. Sproat. Melody tells me your temperature and blood pressure are normal. What can I help you with today?”

The woman’s eyes are dark and empty, her clothing unkempt, and her hair greasy and snarled. A child of ten or so, her daughter, answers. “I’m Cassie. Mom isn’t feeling well. She doesn’t want to get out of bed or eat.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “I see. Let me check your heart and lungs.” I put the stethoscope on the woman’s thin breast and lean in to listen. Mrs. Sproat smells of musty body odor edged with the sour tang of hopelessness.

I don’t need to be a doctor to know what’s wrong with the woman: deep, grief-induced depression. Some survivors don’t want to live after all they’ve lost, even when they have reasons like this sweet little girl, anxiously rubbing her mother’s arm.

I long to return to my quiet lab, deep in the Haven, where a new vaccine made from my sister-in-law Jolene’s blood is only a few weeks away from completion. Nani, one of my other sisters-in-law, is a virology expert with an MD and she’s been supervising my work. She can’t physically help me due to her pregnancy—any risk of exposure is too high with Scorch Flu—but we are in the home stretch. I press the woman’s tongue down and peer into her throat, lighting up the back of it with a penlight. “Say ahh.”

“Ahh,” the woman breathes. The stink of unbrushed teeth blows over my face and my stomach muscles clench as I fight a draft of anger.

This woman has a child who needs her. So many good people are gone, and she is wallowing in her depression, using the girl as her caregiver.

I smile at the child. “Cassie, can you go out into the lobby and visit with Melody for a few minutes?”

Cassie strokes her mother’s arm again. “I’ll be right outside, Mom.”

The woman stares straight ahead, unresponsive. Anger flares again as Cassie presses a kiss to her mother’s cheek and leaves.

My mother played a role as a Senator’s wife, but she fought for me as best she could, especially the last time we saw each other, when Dad wanted me to stay in Washington in a secure bunker.

Mom understood that I’d fallen in love and needed to be with JT—that he was my future. She gave me her blessing to go, knowing she might never see me again.

Susanna Johnson would never have expected her daughter to be a caregiver.

“Hey.” I lift the patient’s chin, forcing those dull eyes to look up. “June Sproat. What’s going on? Are you thinking of suicide?”

The woman blinks once, long and slow. A yes.

I let go of the woman’s chin and step back. Anger is followed by a crush of sympathy. It’s impossible to guess all the horrors this woman has passed through since Scorch Flu first broke out. She’s not the first suicidal patient we’ve seen, and she won’t be the last.

But this woman can’t give up, not when so many have died and she has someone who needs her.

“Uh. We all struggle with negative thoughts and feelings since the Scorching. Do you want to talk about it?”

A single shake of her head, no.

What can I do? I’m no counselor. Melody will know what to say. She’s so good with people. “Just a minute.”

Melody is kneeling at the coffee table doing a puzzle with Cassie in the waiting room. “Melody, can you come here a minute?”

My best friend rises with a reassuring smile to Cassie. “Be right back, hon.” She is totally gorgeous, even with no makeup on, wearing a set of purple scrubs. I’m so glad Melody is in my life again, no matter how shitty a day we’re having.

A wave of gratitude wipes out the simmering anger and despair that Mrs. Sproat triggered in me. I’m so lucky compared to most left alive.

“What’s wrong?”

I usher my friend into the exam room and shut the door. “Mrs. Sproat is suicidal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Melody shows nothing but kind concern as she fetches a rolling stool and scoots over to Mrs. Sproat. She clasps the woman’s hands in hers. “I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. I met your daughter, Cassie, and she is lovely.”

The woman nods.

At the sink, I wash my hands and tidy up supplies, listening.

“Tell me about Cassie,” Melody says.

“She’s ten.” Mrs. Sproat’s voice sounds like the rattle of corn in the bottom of a metal bucket. “She’s a good girl.”

“I can see that. She’s worried about you.” Mrs. Sproat hangs her head, shame infusing her posture. “Tell me why you want to die.”

I twitch at the starkness of the question, but Mrs. Sproat replies. “Everyone is gone. My parents. My husband. My brothers and sisters. My son, Cassie’s brother. He was only two.” Her voice trembles. “We have a small farm outside of North Fork.” She twists her fingers. “I can’t keep it up alone.”

“I understand why you feel overwhelmed. Lots of people do. You’re not alone. We can help you. Do you two need food?”

Mrs. Sproat nods.

“Good. We have a communal meal at the rec hall every night. My mother-in-law makes an amazing lasagna.” Mrs. Sprout doesn’t respond. “We’ll have someone bring some over to your place if you like. How does that sound?”

“Cassie would appreciate it.” Mrs. Sproat is still looking down.

Melody stands up and moves behind her. “Do you mind if I massage your shoulders a bit? Very therapeutic if you’ve been tense.”

“I don’t know what good it will do.” But the woman allows Melody to rub her shoulders.

Melody goes on. “We are working hard to grow food at the Haven to help the whole town. JT and the Sheriff have organized some work teams. Would you like us to send some guys out to help, check out what you need done on the farm? In return, you’d share some of your food when harvest time comes.”

“I’d like that. Yes.”

“And I’ll come too. Maybe help you in the house if you need it,” Melody says. “I bet a little spring cleaning is in order.”

“Probably.” The woman sighs, and her hands fall open on her lap. Tears slip down her cheeks. “Thank you.” Her shoulders sag under Melody’s skillful touch.

“I’ll go keep Cassie company,” I say.

Out in the waiting room, Cassie has made a little progress on the huge puzzle. “You seem to have a knack for that.”

“I like putting things together,” Cassie says. When she looks up I see pain in her eyes, the same pain that is pulling her mother down toward death.

“We have a lot to put back together, but you are good at it.” I kneel beside the child. “Hopefully your mom will feel better soon.”

Hunting for the brightly colored pieces beside the girl is soothing. Gradually I relax, knowing Melody is the best medicine for whatever ails Mrs. Sproat. “I’m hunting for a missing piece, too. In my science lab. I’m trying to make a vaccine for the Scorch Flu.”

“And I’ve no doubt you will succeed.” A familiar voice, roughened and scratchy, speaks from the doorway. There is a guard at the entrance, so this must be a patient.

I look up into the face of a tall, thin man with a thick silver beard and unkempt gray hair. He wears tattered clothes that were once good quality, and he has the same piercing blue eyes I see every day when I look in the mirror.

“Dad?” My lips are numb with shock.