When we got home, I was relieved to see Mom perfectly okay. Matt and Jon and I didn't say anything about it, but we'd all worked harder on our skiing than we had before.
And Mom didn't say anything about how we'd stayed out too long.
January 7
It snowed last night. Our skylights are covered again and the sunroom is back to total darkness.
Matt says it wasn't snowing when he and Jon went out last night for their bathroom break. I guess it must have started right after that because by this morning there were already 4 or 5 inches of fresh (well, gray fresh) snow on the ground.
It was still snowing after lunch and Mom said we should stay in. Instead of skiing, we did our going-to-the-front-door-and-looking-to-see-what-it-looks-like-outside routine.
The snow stopped sometime this evening, so it was nothing like the blizzard last month. Matt figures we got 8 to 10 inches, not enough to bother cleaning the roof.
"The heat from the woodstove will melt the snow off the skylights," he said. "We should expect snow in January. Fresh snow means more water and that'll come in handy later on."
All of which sounds perfectly fine, but the more snow on the ground, the harder it is to get out of here. I'm not that good at cross-country skiing, especially since Dad's boots are way too big for my feet.
There's nothing I can do about it so there's no point complaining. But I miss the extra light in the sunroom.
January 8
Skiing was a lot harder on the extra 8 inches of snow. We all fell over and over. Of course Jonny and Matt were extra tired from having to shovel the walkways and a path to the road.
I did their laundry for them.
January 9
We're all on edge. I guess it's the snow. There were flurries again today, maybe an inch more.
I know it didn't snow for almost a month and Matt's right. It snows in January. But if it snows 8 inches every couple of weeks in January and February and it doesn't melt for months, then how much snow are we going to end up with?
We still have tons of firewood, but what if they can't cut any more?
What if our food supply runs out?
I know I'm doing this to myself. We've made it through so far. There's no reason to think we won't survive some more snow. But I have that scared feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It's dumb. I know it's dumb. But I wish Peter would walk through the door, or Dad and Lisa and baby Rachel. I wish Dan was here. I wish I had a postcard from Sammi making fun of me for being stuck in boring Pennsylvania.
I wish the snow was off the skylights.
I wish it was still Christmas.
NINETEEN
January 10
They're sick.
It started with Mom. She tried to get off her mattress this morning and couldn't. "Something's the matter," she said. "Don't let anyone come near me."
Matt and I went over to the side of the room and whispered so Mom wouldn't hear us. "We can't move her out," he said. "She'd freeze in the kitchen. We'll just have to take our chances."
But then Jonny screamed. It was the most horrifying sound I've ever heard. We ran over to him and saw he was delirious, crazed with fever.
"Aspirin," I said, and I ran to the pantry to get the bottle. Matt put a pot of water on the stove to make tea.
Mom was close to unconscious when the tea was ready, but we lifted her head up and forced the tea and aspirin down her throat. I was afraid she would choke on it, but after we saw her swallow, we put her head back down. She was shivering terribly, so I took one of the blankets off my mattress and draped it around her.
Jon was harder. His arms were swinging around so wildly that he hit me in the jaw and knocked me over. Matt got behind him and held his arms down while I pushed the aspirin into his mouth and poured the tea down his throat. Then I ran to the bathroom and got the rubbing alcohol. Matt turned him over and pinned him down while I gave him a back rub. He was burning with fever and kept tossing off his blankets.
"We need help," I said. "I don't know if I'm doing this right."
Matt nodded. "I'll go," he said. "You stay here and look after them." But as he got up he began to sway. For one awful moment I thought he was going to grab onto the woodstove to keep from falling, but he came to his senses and sank onto Jon's mattress instead.
"I can do it," he said and he crawled from Jon's mattress to his own. "Don't worry."
I didn't know if he meant he could make it to his own mattress or to get help, but it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere. I handed him a couple of aspirin and poured another mug of tea.
"I need you to stay here," I said when he gestured that he could get up. "Mom and Jon are helpless. You have to make sure the fire doesn't go out and Jon stays covered. Can you do that? I don't know how long I'll be gone."
"I'll be okay," he said. "Go. Peter will know what to do."
I kissed his forehead. He was hot, but nowhere near as bad as Mom or Jon. I put a couple of pieces of wood in the stove, and put on my coat, boots, scarf, and gloves. The skis were in the front hallway, so I got them, then closed the front door behind me.
The weather wasn't bad, but I'd forgotten to put on the extra socks I need for Dad's boots to fit, and I fell a dozen times as I made my way to the hospital. I fell into snow on top of snow, so I never bruised myself, but of course I got soaking wet. It didn't matter. Each time I fell I got back up and started again. No one else was going to rescue us. It was all up to me.
I don't know how long it took me to reach the hospital. I remember thinking I should have eaten something before I'd left, so it was probably close to noon when I got there. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting help.
Unlike the last time I'd gone there, the outside of the hospital was completely deserted. No guards to prevent me from entering. I had a moment of pure terror that I'd find no one inside, but I pushed the front door open and could hear sounds in the distance.
The lobby was empty so I followed the voices. I'd never heard a hospital so quiet before. There weren't any lights on, and I wondered if their generator had finally stopped working.
If the hospital wasn't functional, what chance did any of us have?
Eventually I found the source of the noise. It was two women—nurses, I assumed—sitting in an empty room. I charged in there, relieved to see them, terrified of what they were going to say.
"I need Dr. Elliott," I said. "Peter Elliott. Where is he?"
"Elliott," one of the women said, and she scratched the back of her neck. "He died on Saturday, didn't he, Maggie?"
"No, I think it was Friday," Maggie replied. "Remember, Friday we lost ten people and we thought that was the worst of it. Then Saturday we lost seventeen. But I think he was on Friday."
"I'm pretty sure it was Saturday," the first woman said. "Doesn't matter, does it? He's dead. Just about everyone is."
It took me a moment to realize they were saying Peter was dead. Peter who had done all he could to protect us and care for us had died.
"Peter Elliott," I said. "Dr. Elliott. That Peter Elliott."
"Dead just like everyone else," Maggie said, and she kind of laughed. "I guess we'll be next."
"Nah," the first woman said. "If we're not dead yet, nothing's going to kill us."
"Flu," Maggie said. "Past couple of weeks. It's flying through town. People kept coming here, like we could do something, and all the staff came down with it, except for Linda here and me and a couple of others. We'd go home except we're scared of what we'd find and besides we'd just make our families sick. Funny, isn't it? We've survived so much and it's the flu that's going to kill us all off."
"My family has it," I said. "Don't you have any kind of medicine? There must be something."
Linda shook her head. "It's the flu, hon," she said. "It just runs its course. Only thing is no one has any strength left to fight it off."
"It's a bad strain," Maggie said. "Like in 1918. The kind that would kill you anyway."
"But my family," I said. "What should I do for them?"
"Make them comfortable," Maggie said. "And don't bring them here when they die. We're not taking any more bodies."
"I gave them aspirin," I said. "And an alcohol rub. Was that the right thing to do?"
"Honey, listen to us," Maggie said. "It doesn't matter. Maybe you'll be lucky. Maybe your family's stronger. Aspirin won't hurt. Alcohol rubs won't hurt. Pray if it'll make you feel better. But whatever's going to happen is going to happen. And it'll happen fast."
"You can try fluids," Linda said. "If you have any food, try to make them eat. They'll need all the strength they can get."
Maggie shook her head. "Save the food for yourself, hon," she said. "You look healthy enough. Maybe you're like us and you're resistant to this strain. Your folks would want you to live. Take care of yourself. Your family's going to live or die no matter what you do."
"No!" I said. "No. I don't believe you. There has to be something."
"There were how many people here last week?" Maggie asked. "A hundred, maybe more. We lost half of them the first day. Go home and be with your folks. Give them whatever comfort you can."
"Sorry," Linda said. "I know it's a tough break. Sorry to tell you about Dr. Elliott. He was a nice man. He worked until the end, then he just collapsed and died. We've lost a lot of staff that way, working until their last breath. But maybe your family will make it through. Some people do."
There was no point staying. I thanked them and started the journey home.
The wind had picked up and was blowing against me for much of the walk. I stumbled as much as I skied, and it was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears. Peter was dead. For all I knew Mom and Jon were, also. Matt might die, too.
I remembered how Jon had asked me what he would do if he were the only one of us to survive and how flippant I'd been. And now I was facing the same thing.
Yesterday everything was fine. By tonight I could be completely alone.
I told myself over and over again that I wouldn't let that happen. We were strong. We ate, we had heat, and shelter. We'd been lucky so far. We'd stay lucky. We'd stay alive.
The sky was darkening when I finally made it home, but it looked like a snow sky, and I was sure it was still daytime. It took all the courage I had to open the door. But when I got to the sunroom I saw things were pretty much as I'd left them. Mom was so quiet I had to kneel by her side to make sure she was still breathing, but she was. Jonny was delirious, but he was covered and not flailing around so much. Matt was lying on his mattress, but his eyes were open, and he turned around when he saw I'd come in.
"Peter," he said.
I shook my head. "We're on our own," I said. "It's just the flu. We'll be fine."
"Okay," he said, and closed his eyes. For the most horrible moment of my life, I thought he'd died, that he had stayed alive until I got back and then felt he could die. But he'd just fallen asleep. His breathing was shallow, but he was definitely alive.
I put some wood in the stove and collapsed onto my mattress. That's where I am now. I don't even know why I'm writing this down, except that I feel fine and maybe tomorrow I'll be dead. And if that happens, and someone should find my journal, I want them to know what happened.
We are a family. We love each other. We've been scared together and brave together. If this is how it ends, so be it.
Only, please, don't let me be the last one to die.
January 11
We've made it through the night.
Mom and Jonny don't seem any better. It was harder getting the aspirin down Mom's throat. She coughed a lot and threw the pills back up, so I dissolved them in tea.
Jonny alternates between delirium and stupor. I don't know which is scarier.
Matt is the least sick of the three, and I really think he'll survive. He sleeps most of the day, but when he's awake he's Matt.
I gave all of them aspirin and cold remedies every 4 hours and sponge bathed them and gave them alcohol rubs. It's hard keeping the blankets on Jonny.
I heated beef broth and spoon-fed all of them. I had to hold up Mom's and Jonny's heads when I did. Matt was able to stay awake long enough to take a few swallows on his own.
That's got to be a good sign.
When I went out this morning to clean the bedpan, I discovered it was snowing again. It probably started right after I got in yesterday. It was obviously dying down by this morning, but we probably got another 6 inches. Not that it matters.
I don't have a fever. I'm tired from staying up and it's hard to remember to eat, but I'm definitely not sick. Maybe I'm crazy, but I keep thinking if Mom and Jonny and Matt have made it this long, they're not going to die. Linda and Maggie made it sound like everyone at the hospital died the day they got sick.
Mom's moaning. I think I'd better check on her.
January 12
No change.
Matt's a little weaker. Jon's a little quieter. It's getting harder for Mom to swallow.
There was an ice storm last night. The tree branches are all covered in gray-tinged ice.
January 13
Horton woke me up. He was yowling. I didn't even realize I was asleep. I remember putting logs in the woodstove and lying down for a few minutes, and I must have fallen asleep.
Horton was yowling and I was coughing. Gut-wrenching coughing.
Then I realized the room was filled with smoke and we were all coughing.
I thought, The house can't be on fire because that would just be too funny. I managed to turn my flashlight on, like I needed it to see if the house was on fire, but I didn't see any flames.
I moved the flashlight around and saw the smoke was pouring out of the woodstove. It had backfired and was filling the room with smoke.
Smoke inhalation can kill you.
My first thought was to get the hell out of there, run outside, and breathe some real air. But everyone else was coughing, which meant they were all still alive and I had to get them out of there.
Mom and Jonny were far too weak to get up on their own. I didn't dare take them outside. The kitchen floor was going to have to do.
I took my blankets and grabbed one off of Matt's bed, waking him up in the process. I was half blind from the smoke, but I managed to get the blankets onto the kitchen floor. It took every ounce of courage I had to go back into the sunroom, but I did. Thank goodness Matt had enough strength left to help me pull Jonny first and then Mom into the kitchen. I told Matt to stay there, and I ran back in and got everyone's pillows and blankets. Matt helped get them in place. He was gasping so badly I was afraid he'd have a heart attack, but he waved me off.
Next I went to the thermostat to turn on the furnace, but I didn't hear anything go on. I remembered that Dad and Matt had jerry-rigged a battery cell to the furnace, and I would have to go to the cellar to turn it on. I went back to the kitchen where Mom, Matt, and Jonny were all still racked with coughing, and I opened the cellar door. At least the air was clear down there, but the temperature was probably close to zero and I regretted not having put my shoes on. I held on to the flashlight, and with it I raced to the furnace, took a moment to figure out what to do, and pulled the right switch. The furnace turned on almost immediately. We still had oil. I went back upstairs as fast as I could and put the thermostat at 65 degrees.
Horton had followed everyone into the kitchen so I didn't have to worry about him. I went to the bathroom and found the cough medicine with codeine that we'd taken from Mrs. Nesbitt's medicine cabinet. I gave Matt his first and his cough subsided enough that he was able to help me give the medicine to Jonny and Mom. I was afraid to take it myself in case the codeine put me to sleep. Instead I grabbed a washcloth and threw it into a water pot. Once it was thoroughly wet, I covered my mouth with it and went back into the sunroom.
Panic overwhelmed me. The room was filled with smoke and breathing was close to impossible. I couldn't think what to do next. We were all going to die and it would be all my
fault.
I got really mad then and that pushed me into action. The first thing I did was open the back door to air the room out. There was one piece of good luck: The wind was blowing in the right direction.
I stayed outside long enough to get some air back into my lungs. Good thing I've been sleeping with my coat on, but even so I couldn't manage more than a minute since I didn't have any shoes on. Still that was enough air to get me back into the sunroom.
I tried opening the skylights but there was too much snow on top of them. I cursed myself for not having gotten on the ladder to clear them off when the snow had started, but it was too late now. I pulled the plywood off one of the windows opposite the door and opened the window. The crosswind worked and I started to see the smoke lessening.
I knew what I had to do next and that was get rid of the piece of wood that had caused the backfire. I went to the door, took a few deep breaths, then came back in and opened the woodstove.
The smoke was overwhelming. I raced back outside and grabbed a handful of snow to rub against my burning eyes. I swallowed some of the snow. Mom'll kill me, I thought, drinking unboiled snow.
The thought made me laugh, and that got me coughing again. I laughed and cried and coughed and choked. But in spite of it all, I was damned if I was going to die and I was double damned if I was going to leave Matt and Jon and Mom like that.
So I went back into the sunroom. The smoke was still incredibly thick and I thought I'd cough my lungs up. I crawled over to the stove and put on the mitts. I reached in and pulled out the smoking log.
Even through the mitt, I could tell the log was wet. Hot and wet and steaming and smoking. I juggled it between the mitts, crawled to the door, and threw it out.
The log shouldn't have been wet. We hadn't had that problem with any of the wood Matt and Jonny have cut up until now. I realized the stove had to be wet. Snow or ice must have fallen through the chimney and made the entire stove damp.