Plague Read Free

Lincoln’s brakes.
    He opened the
car window and leaned out. The driver of the truck, a heavy-looking redneck in
a greasy trucker’s cap, was lighting himself a cigar prior to maneuvering his
vehicle into a side entrance.
    ‘Out of the goddamn way I’ yelled Dr. Petrie. ‘Get that
truck out of the goddamn way!’
    The truck
driver tossed away a spent match and searched for another.
    ‘What’s the
hurry, mac?’ he called back. ‘Don’t get so worked up – you’ll give yourself an
ulcer.’
    ‘I’m a doctor!
I have a sick kid in this car! I have to get him to hospital!’
    The driver
shrugged. ‘When they open the gates, I’ll move out of your way. But I ain’t
shifting till I’m good and ready.’
    ‘For God’s
sake!’ shouted Dr. Petrie. ‘I mean it. This kid is seriously ill!’
    The truck
driver blew smoke. ‘I don’t see no kid,’ he remarked.
He looked around to see if the gates were open yet, so that he could back the
truck up.
    Dr. Petrie had
to close his eyes to control his fury. Then he spun the Lincoln on to the
sidewalk, bouncing over the kerb, and drove around the truck’s front fender. A
hydrant scraped a long dent all the way down the Lincoln’s wing, and Dr. Petrie
felt the underside of the car jar against the concrete as he drove back on to
the street on the other side of the truck.
    Three more
precious minutes passed before he pulled the car to a halt in front of the
hospital’s emergency unit. The orderlies were waiting for him with a trolley.
He lifted David out of the back of the car like a loose-jointed marionette, and
laid him gently down. The orderlies wheeled him off straight away.
    Mr. Kelly
leaned against the car. His face was drawn and sweaty. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered.
‘I thought we’d never make it. Is he going to be all right?’
    Dr.Petrie
rested a hand on Mr. Kelly’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you doubt it, Mr. Kelly. He’s a very sick boy, but they know what they’re doing
in this place. They’ll look after him.’
    Mr. Kelly
nodded. He was too exhausted to argue. ‘If you want to wait
in the waiting-room, Mr. Kelly – just go into the main entrance there and ask
the receptionist. She’ll tell you where it is. When I’ve talked to
David’s doctors, I’ll come and let you know what’s happening.’
    Mr. Kelly
nodded again. ‘Thanks, doctor,’ he said. ‘You’ll – make sure they look after
Davey, won’t you?’
    ‘Of course.’
    Dr. Petrie left
Mr. Kelly to find his way to the waiting-room. He pushed through the swing
doors outside the emergency unit, and walked down the long, cream-colored
corridor until he reached the room he was looking for.
    Through the
windows, he could see his old friend Dr. Selmer talking to a group of doctors
and nurses, and holding up various blood samples. Dr. Petrie rapped on the
door.
    ‘How’s it
going?’ he asked, when Dr. Selmer came out. Anton Selmer was a short,
gingery-haired man with a broad nose and plentiful freckles. He always put Dr.
Petrie in mind of Mickey Rooney. He had a slight astigmatism, and wore heavy
hornrimmed eyeglasses.
    Dr. Selmer, in
his green surgical robes, pulled a face. ‘Well, I don’t know about this one,
Leonard. I really can’t say. We’re making some blood and urine and sputum
analyses right now. But I’m sure glad you brought him in.’
    ‘Have you any
clues at all?’
    Dr. Selmer
shrugged. ‘What can I say? You were right when you said it looked a little like
cholera, but it obviously isn’t just cholera. The throat and the lungs are
seriously infected, and there’s swelling around the limbs and the joints. It
may be some really rare kind of allergy, but it looks more like a contagious
disease. A very virulent disease, too.’
    Dr. Petrie
rubbed his bristly chin.
    ‘Say,’ grinned
Dr. Selmer. ‘You look as though you’ve been celebrating something.’
    Dr. Petrie gave
him half a smile. ‘Every divorced man is entitled to celebrate his good fortune
once in a while,’ he