"Your land is desolate," Brian remarked. "Why do you live here?"
Kerry grinned humorlessly. "There are only a few places left that are less desolate, and if everybody moved there, they would soon uninhabitable. We've been working real hard to retrain ourselves to think in terms of sustainable use of our resourses. Of course, some stuff we can't make any more. This town will die when it runs out of gasoline. This used to be a big Mobil headquarters, so we have a good stash, but when its gone, thats it."
She pushed the wheelchair around a hole in the road. The chair got stuck on a crack and she had to pull it over backwards.
"Over here we have..."
"Dr. Kay!" A man was running down a side street toward them. "His fever shot up again! Its up to 104, and climbing!"
"Wait here," Kerry told Brian and followed the man. Brian grumbled something under his breath adn, grasping the wheels of the chair, followed slowly after the doctor.
The boy's breath came in ragged gasps. His face was flushed and Kerry washed his forehead and neck with a wet cloth to keep the fever down. She looked up at the man.
"There's nothing I can do," she said. "We can only hope that the fever will subside before it kills him." Her voice was muffled from the cloth she had wrapped around her mouth and nose.
"Can't you give him more penecillin?"
"There isn't any."
There was a bump at the step, a cleared throat. They didn't notice. The boy began coughing. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were glazed and unseeing.
"I'm sure he can hold on until you get some."
"No." Kerry looked grim. "I gave him the last dose yesterday. There isn't any. Not for him. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anybody. Ever."
The boys breathing was coming faster and shallower. Kerry didn't take his temperature. There was another bump, then a grunt of pain, coming from the doorway.
"KAOT!" shouted Brian (author's note: pronounced kay'oat), "That hurts." He limped into the room toward the sofa where the boy lay.
"Jesus Christ, Brian," said Kerry, "you're insane." She pulled out another rag from her bag. "Cover your mouth, at least."
"I will NOT gag myself." Brian fell to his knees in front of the wheezing child. "Ah, that's better." Blood was beginning to soak through his bandages again. "Now, I must have silence."
"Look..."
"SILENCE!!!!!"
Brian waved his left hand over the boy. He muttered a bit. Frowned. Muttered some more. He waved his right hand. He sprinkled a little bit of bright red powder on the boy's chest.
With a rattling sigh, the boy stopped breathing.
"IDIOT!" Brian shouted at the top of his lungs, and pounded, once, on the boy's chest with both fists.
The boy coughed and spat up a bit of blood. He opened his eyes and gargled "Praise Cheom." Then his eyes closed and his breathing became quieter, more relaxed. His face slowly lost the mottled red color that it had acquired.
"His rib will mend," Brian said. He sat down heavily on the floor.
"Um, how..." Kerry started, then "never mind." Brian was clearly lost in his own thoughts. Kerry reached over and scooped up a little of the red powder. She smelled it, then tasted it.
"What is it?" asked the man.
"Paprika."