Wake the Dawn (12 page)

“I’ll bring you coffee if you like,” Barbara offered. “No, wait. Why don’t you all follow me to the break room and make yourselves comfortable? Coffee and maybe some bagels left. You’re going to want to get information from witnesses anyway, right?”

“Thanks, ma’am. You have creamer?”

“Sure do. Real cream, too.”

They trooped off toward the break room, and Ben led the boy and his father to the one empty examination room. “I am so sorry. That’s the first time we’ve ever had an incident like that.”

“Not your fault,” the father answered. “Wish I’d a been able to help you.”

Ben cranked the head of the examination table as upright as he could. “Sir, sit up on the table here so I can see better, and just hold him, snuggle him; no need to try to lay him down. Poor little tyke, he’s been through a lot. What were you coming in for?”

The fellow stretched himself out and leaned back to half sitting. “So long ago, I hardly remember.”

“I know the feeling.”
Boy, do I.
Ben paused to count the child’s breaths. Normal. “So you’re Robbie.”

“Alstrup. Robert Mason Alstrup. I’m Joe. Joseph. His mother is Donna. He has a rash on his chest and belly and was running a temp. We were thinking impetigo at first, but that’s mostly on the face, right? I’ve not seen something like this before, so we tried to get here before the storm.”

“Mommy?” It was the first word Ben had heard from the child, since screaming doesn’t count. Robbie started to look frightened again.

“Your mommy’s getting coffee and she’ll be right back.” Ben gently touched the swollen face, earning a shriek as Robbie jerked away. “Easy, Robbie, I need to see what’s wrong so we can fix it. Let’s get X-rays here, just to make sure his facial bones aren’t damaged.” The swelling was already closing one tear-filled eye.

He lifted the boy’s little shirt. Sure enough, the rash his father mentioned. Ben checked the arms and legs. Clear. Only on the torso. And he’d seen it before. “Ever hear of Christmas tree rash?”

“No. Sounds seasonal.”

Ben smiled. “Because it sometimes forms a pattern on the torso like a sort of Christmas tree.
Pityriasis rosea
is the medical term. My cousin Tom got it and my aunt was sure he was going to die. It looks gross, but it’s harmless. It cures itself and almost never comes back. No good medication for it.”

“When? When does it disappear?”

“Usually about three weeks, a little more.”

Joe shifted a little. “His mother wants it to go away right now.”

“So did my aunt.” He checked for broken bones, and Robbie let him. He put on his ears—this stethoscope was coming in handy all kinds of ways today—and listened to the child’s chest. Sounded clear.

Barbara entered with two coffee cups in hand and set them on the counter. Donna Alstrup came in right behind her and Robbie instantly stretched out his arms toward her. The momma took her child, and it was obvious that Robbie’s world was back on its axis.

Barbara watched for a moment. “The staters are taking witness statements, then they’ll take ours. You need cold packs?”

Ben picked up his coffee. “Yes. Is Susan here?”

Joe Alstrup stared at him. “In
coffee
?”

Ben rather liked this guy. Despite watching his son get kidnapped at knifepoint, he was handling the moment really well. “To minimize the swelling on your son’s face. He may not like it, but we get better X-rays if there’s less swelling.” Digital imaging did just fine with swelling. This clunker equipment did not.

Barbara paused in the doorway. “Susan’s here. I gave the officers their coffee, too. Our odorific visitor is out in their squad car. Apparently it’s against protocols, but they have both front windows cranked clear open. Oh, and I apologized to everyone out front. We have two more patients out there, but they don’t seem critical.”

“Thanks. Help here, please, while I check on Esther.” He stepped out into the hall, blinked a few times, and blew out a breath before tipping his head back and sidewise.

He stood a moment at the door to the mini surgery before he stepped inside, surveying the mood of the place—more specifically, Esther’s mood. She seemed to be doing all right.

An older woman lay on the table, pale, sort of shaking, perhaps Parkinson’s.

Esther shook her head. “I could hear some of what was going on but I was busy here. I’m assuming no one was badly hurt. How’s the boy?”

Ben gave her a rundown. “Sure glad you didn’t try to come out.”

“I could tell Barbara meant business when she hollered. I had plenty to do here.”

“All by yourself. Sorry.” He studied her awhile. She wasn’t quite normal, not quite the firm, assured, efficient person he knew. She seemed distracted, hesitant, even frightened.

She tapped an inflatable splint, testing firmness. “She’s been unconscious since they brought her in. Her poor body; I’m afraid it’s going to give up on her. If only they had found her sooner, there might have been more hope.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“My head knows that but somehow there’s a break in communication between my head and my heart.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was reading too much into her odd behavior, her appearance of fearfulness and sorrow. It made her seem vulnerable. Maybe she was vulnerable. This had been a heavy burden for a physician’s assistant, and it wasn’t over yet. It startled him to realize that this uncertainty, this vulnerability made her very beautiful. She was a pretty girl anyway, but now she seemed quite stunning.

The deep sadness in her voice made Ben want to wrap his arms around her and get her to cry. Like his mother had always said, God gave us tears to wash away the sorrow. Had God answered the prayers he shot heavenward or…? He moved toward her.

Apparently without thinking what she was doing, she spontaneously moved away from him, keeping the distance. “Dennis keeps telling me this could have been so much worse.”

“Yeah, I know.” Not that that was any real help right now. “Get you anything?”

“No, but I can’t leave her on the table like this without restraints. She might roll off. And what if I need the table for someone else?” She turned her head slightly, frowning. A worried frown. “The ambulance again?”

“We’ll see.” He let himself out of the room and headed back the hall.

The officers in the break room had finished their coffee and were packing up their laptops. Larrimer said, “Border patrol, huh?”

“And the bad guys tremble in their boots. Where you two from?”

“South of St. Paul. We’re part of the emergency forces sent up here to help you folks out.”

“Thanks. From all of us. At least the Drop In Café is back in business, so you have a place to eat.” He made himself mental note to remind the Alstrups about the café. They must be starved by now.

“We’re good. Emergency services has taken over the school, so all us emergency people have food and a place to sleep. School cafeteria food and squeaky cots. What more could we ask for?”

“Lucky you.” The whole world could be falling down out there and he’d not have known. He hadn’t even called home since arriving at the clinic.
Please Lord, let them be safe.
While the house had withstood the first storm, it could have been damaged enough to…
Don’t even think that
, he ordered himself.
Get out to the waiting room and see who needs what.

“Thanks for your help here.” He watched them leave and turned to the next patient as the ambulance burped its arrival announcement.

The place was nearly full again. Where would they put the new patients?

Chapter Thirteen

F
licker.

Flicker.

Black.

Well, not black everywhere—it was only going on five in the afternoon—but black in Esther’s office.

More flickers, the generators coughed and kicked in, and the light came on again. Her computer was dark, of course; it had died with the first flicker. She pushed the
START
button and sat back, fidgeting impatiently. This desktop had to be at least ten years old, and it took forever to boot up. Clunky computer, clunky generators, clunky X-ray apparatus. She’d had a terrible time getting satisfactory images of little Robbie’s bruised head.

The only tiny bright spot, if you could call it that, was that she noticed Ben James repeatedly rubbing his left elbow. So when the Alstrups were taken care of, she made him stick his arm under the beam and get it X-rayed. Bruised, but nothing broken, same as Robbie’s skull. But of course, pain was another matter.

Someone thumped on her door and entered before she could say
Come in
. Chief flopped down in the chair beside her desk.

She nodded. “Chief Harden.”

“Esther.”

And then she found herself saying, “Paul, you look like death in a thunder mug.” She raised her hand to fend off objections and added, “I don’t want to check you out. I want real doctors in a real hospital to check you out. And quickly.”

“You gave me a physical a couple of weeks ago.”

“It was over two months ago, and you had elevated BP and irregular pulse then. It hasn’t improved; I can tell by your skin tone.”

“Hey, look. If I want to get badgered, I’ll go back to my office and let Jenny do it. She’s better at it than you.”

“So she wants you to get your health looked into, too.”

“And Ben James. And Barbara. I’m getting a little sick of it. More than a little. What I came over to ask was, your power just now failed, right, so you’re on generator? How’s your diesel supply?”

“Good.”

“Do you need anything else so far?”

“Not yet, but the night is young. What’s going down out there?”

“Usual. Wind, lotsa rain. Incidentally, before you hear it on the grapevine, one fatality so far: George Jacobson, age seventy-one, tree fell on him.”

She gasped. “He’s my patient! Was. Diabetic; I had him on insulin therapy and an exercise regimen and he was responding beautifully. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“We’re all sorry. He left behind a lot of friends. Lifelong resident, he and his wife owned Ace Cleaners.”

“The one on the mall?” Mall. Five stores and a snowmobile dealership.

“Yeah.” He stood up by leaning on her desk and lurching forward. His skin looked pasty.

“Paul, let me check you now. I mean right now. Things are going—”

“Esther, knock it off! I’m tired, understand? Two killer storms practically in tandem harness. Call us when you need something.” He left.

She heard Ben’s voice in the hall. The chief shouted, “Will you people cut it out!” so Ben must have remarked on his health, too.

And then Ben cried, “No! Not George!” The chief must have just told him. She got up and hurried out into the hall.

They were standing near the waiting room. The radio on the chief’s belt squawked. Esther had trouble understanding radio chatter even when the chatterers spoke plainly, and this radio talk sounded garbled to her. She could not even follow what was going on from the chief’s side of the conversation.

“No.” He was scowling, and Ben, standing close to the radio with his head cocked, was scowling as well. “No, tell her she mustn’t touch the car door. If she touches the metal car door it could fry her. Did you?” Gabble gabble. “No. Ask Jeff; I think he’s on. Where’s Harry?” Gabble gabble. “No.” Gabble. “I’ll be there as quick as I can. No, no one else around to take it. Thanks, Jenny.” Gabble gabble.

Ben pulled the stethoscope off from around his neck. “I’ll go.”

“I want you to stay here. I think we need a doctor on this one. Sick kid. Esther, get your traveling bag.”

Esther gasped. “I can’t leave here! Injured are going to start coming in, like the last time, and—”

“There’s no crises here right now and Ben can handle it until you get back. Come on.”

Ben spread both hands and took a step back. She interpreted that as “Not worth trying to argue.” Ben knew Chief better than she did.

She caved and got her kit. It was stocked. She always kept it stocked, basic medicines, inflatable splints, even a toothbrush, in case she got pinned down somewhere overnight. She followed Chief out to his squad car, the heavy overcast obscuring the border patrol insignia decal on the door. When she tossed her bag in back and slid into the passenger seat, she was wet already, and she hadn’t been out in it but for a few seconds. The wind was whistling above the building, thumping something in the rooftop air handler.

They left the lee of the building and the wind hit them full-force, actually moving the car sideways a couple of inches. The windshield wipers splacked frantically and couldn’t keep up with it. And the old, familiar horror boiled up inside her as if it were brand new. She was going to have another episode, she just knew it. This was not the time, not the place with a major law enforcement figure seated beside her.

She must focus. But on what? “What’s going on?”

“A woman and kid trapped in a car with power lines draped across it. Still sparks and dancing, so they haven’t been able to cut the power to it yet. She was told to stay in the car and not touch anything. Always a dicey situation.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket, brought out a fresh roll of antacid mints, opened the roll to extract one, and popped it. “She was headed for the clinic. Her kid is having some kind of sickness episode.”

I can relate to that.
“Did she give any of the child’s symptoms?”

“Don’t think anyone asked.” He turned off onto Sayre Street past a gorgeous little house that Esther always wished she could afford. It was a picture-perfect bungalow with a picket fence and a huge, stately oak tree in the front yard. So cozy, comfortable, inviting. She longed for such a safe retreat where she could withdraw from everything and everybody. But as they passed, she saw a ragged, torn-off oak limb sticking out of the front picture window. It struck her like a punch in the stomach. People injured and dying in these storms, but a tree branch in a window slammed her! How stupid was that?

The chief poked buttons on his radio and picked up the mike. “Hey, Jenny?”

But Esther’s mind was now flying in all directions like a flock of frightened birds. George Jacobson. Dead. A former couch potato, he was getting out and walking every day like she had suggested, saying he felt so much better. But what if he was out walking, according to her orders, when the tree fell on him and crushed him? What if she sent him to his death? What if…? Her heart was beating so hard it threatened to bounce out of her chest.

What if Robbie Alstrup’s bump on the head caused a brain injury she hadn’t caught on the X-ray? Tamponade, contrecoup fracture, all sorts of things go wrong; she could have missed it. What if the olecranon in Ben’s elbow was cracked? He could really mess up his arm, permanently mess it up, if it wasn’t taken care of. But then, he was able to flex the elbow. He couldn’t if it was broken. On the other hand he was one tough dude, maybe he’d just kiss off the pain because he had a job to do. She shouldn’t even be practicing when she was this tired, this addled, this terrified. And here she was, out in driving rain and howling wind that threatened to break right through the windshield and attack her, beat her to a pulp, drown her…

Chief roared, “I said, ‘Do you think so?’”

“What?” She swallowed. They were miles away from her damaged little dream bungalow, somewhere out along the river road, with trees slamming around overhead. “I—I’m sorry. I was thinking of other things. What?”

To their left, the river was rushing along up to its very brim, thundering and plunging. It threatened to overtop the banks any minute, to swirl out across the road to engulf their car.

“Why someone with Illinois license plates would be out here. It’s not even a numbered route. Any guesses?” He popped the last antacid in the roll and tossed the empty foil on the floor.

Something to focus on. “Uh…uh…”
Focus, Esther!
“The bridge on the main road has been out for hours; maybe they were looking for another crossing. Maybe they’re just lost.”

“Lost! Would you drive a remote, unpaved country road during a storm?”

“Uh…I guess, but only if I knew the area well. But you said Illinois tags. You said they were headed for our little clinic in town here? How would they know about that? Why not the other direction, toward the Cities?”

“Hm.” The chief lapsed into sudden, uncharacteristic silence. He swung the car wide of a tree limb on the road, crashed and crunched through its end branches, driving almost automatically.

The river. Look at it! Rushing, roaring, right here. She wanted to curl up in the foot well, to hide from this insanity. Make it quit happening! Make it end!
I can’t do this!

Ahead there, one headlight. A motorcycle? Lightning flashed. No, not lightning; it was a loose wire flailing and arcing. The tip end of it sparked again, out on the road surface this time.

From the radio speaker, “Chief? She says she sees headlights ahead of her. Could that be you?”

“I only see one headlight in front of me.”

“She says her right front wheel is in the ditch.”

“Then we’re there. Ask her about the kid. And call my cell. I’m hanging up the mike.” His eye on the wires along the road, he stopped and parked. His headlights illuminated a little gray car tilted off to the right with its whole right side buried in grass and brush. The hot wire, still flapping wildly about, thunked on its car roof and bounced away. Esther could hear it hit.

His cell phone rang; he already had it out and in his hand. “Jenny!” he barked.

Jenny’s voice on the cell was distant but audible and understandable. “She says the child is strapped in the backseat and unresponsive. She can’t see the boy and it’s dark, she says, except for lightning.”

He turned to Esther. “Sit with your heels up on the seat and wrap your arms around your legs. Don’t let your elbow touch the door and don’t touch the dashboard or anything.” He spoke to the phone. “Jenny? She’s under a live wire and it’s dancing all over. The power is down on our side; the live wire is being powered from the Cotter Crossing substation. Get someone out there now—and I mean
now
—to shut it down. Shut down the whole station!”

“That’s not in our county!”

“I don’t care if it’s in Iraq! Shut it down!” He was sweating and he looked just plain frantic. Suddenly he leaned forward and vomited; he got the steering wheel, his side of the dashboard, and the floor between his feet.

Esther was ready to lose her stomach, too. “What is it? What’s wrong!”

He wagged his head. Took deep breaths. Straightened back against the seat. If you didn’t notice the roar of the swollen river, or the howling wind, or the stage whisper of wind-thrashed trees, or the rain drumming on the roof, it was quiet. Peaceful, almost.

He took another breath. “My daughter, Amber. Amber Marie. Beautiful girl. Beautiful young woman. Graduated with honors, all set to go to college, be a doctor or something. Loved kids. Then she got tied in with a bunch of yay-hoos over in Duluth. Quit college in the middle of her first semester to run around with them. Here I am heading up an agency where interdiction is a priority, and my own daughter’s a drug addict. I told her, ‘You’re not going to live here until you clean up your act,’ trying to force her. Know what she said? ‘That’s for sure.’ Walked out.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could she say?

His voice was shaky, very unlike him. “I’m law enforcement. I have resources. Traced her car. She sold it in Duluth. Did a trace on her. Last known address is the house where I live.” He smirked. “That’s what comes of talking shop at dinner, Esther; your kid knows all your methods by the time she grows up. She knew how to disappear.”

Esther asked the question she really should not have. “Are you certain she’s still alive?”

“Almost got a finger on her in Chicago, but the lead dried up. That was a little over a year ago. No option. I have to assume she’s still alive.”

“Chica—” Two and two suddenly made four. Chicago. Illinois plates.

He sounded so plaintive, so vulnerable. “That could be her, right there.”

Jenny’s voice broke the unsilence. “She says she has to get out of the car and come to you. Her baby’s having trouble breathing.”

“Tell her not to!”

Esther squirmed around and pulled her bag out of the backseat. “Have you noticed that when that live wire jumps, it never comes down in the same place? I’m going to try to get there. Tell Jenny to make sure the woman’s doors are unlocked.”

He was going to refuse to let her; she could tell. Instead he said, “God be with you.”

She grabbed her door and propelled herself out quickly. Driving rain instantly struck her in the face, the drops coming so fast they stung. The wire beside their car lay still. She watched the other, the dancing one, the sparking tip end of it, approached the car in the ditch, still watching.