I’ve always told myself I’d do anything to protect.” Eric leaned forward, having finally found his strength. “Well, anything is here, and I’ll do what I need to do if I believe it helps keep my kids safe.”
“This doesn’t help your family,” Olivia weakly argued.
“You’re smart, young, and pretty. You won’t have a problem finding a new job if that’s what you want. This is what reality looks like now, Miss Idealism. Get on board with it, or pack your shit and go home.”
Chapter 29
From the middle of the road where he walked, cautiously keeping his distance from houses, cars, and the few people he saw, Austin suspected Ebola had beaten him to Sironko. He hadn’t yet seen a body lying with open eyes staring at an unforgiving sky. He hadn’t seen any people with bleeding ears or noses. However, the air did carry the putrid smell of bloody diarrhea. The mournful keen of dying children reached out from dark windows. The feeling of a town full of vibrant people withering into ghosts was unmistakable.
Like it had been in Chebonet two days prior, and like it had been in every hamlet and cluster of houses along the road, people who should have been at work, weren’t. Nobody was walking to the market, gossiping on a porch, or working in the fields. They were huddled in their homes, hiding from microbial monsters that stalked their streets. Anyone not afraid of catching Ebola was already sick or dead.
Sironko was a town on the plain in the western shadow of Mt. Elgon, four or five times larger than Kapchorwa. A month prior, the road Austin walked through Sironko would have been abuzz with cars heading north and south, with trucks hauling farm goods to market in Mbale or Kampala.
Now, the traffic was gone.
As the sight of another dying town dragged on Austin’s mood, he stopped walking and looked around. He was near the center of Sironko, in front of a closed grocery, just down the street from a modern gas station with brightly colored awnings. A man a few blocks down bounded over a wide puddle of stagnant brown water that had collected along the curb. He hefted a half-full bag of something, glanced suspiciously at Austin, and disappeared down a narrow alley.
Somewhere, a block or two distant, an unseen woman shouted angrily, and another woman argued back. A rickety generator chugged through a holed muffler. Several goats walked out of a side street and started lapping at the water by the curb.
Austin looked back up the road from whence he’d come, wondering for the hundredth time if he’d made a mistake in leaving Kapchorwa. He wondered how Dr. Littlefield was getting along. He wondered if Dr. Mills—Kristin—with her happy brown eyes, was going to die. He felt guilty for not making better time on his trek. Kristin had done her part, and was probably the reason he was alive. All he had to do was walk to Mbale to get her help and he was failing at that.
Austin breathed deeply as he looked up the road, coughed roughly several times before losing his balance and falling to his knees in the road. He realized—or more accurately, he accepted—what he’d suspected since he’d awoken that morning.
He was sick again.
His back ached. His throat was raw and painful when he swallowed. His nose was starting to run with mucus that grew thicker and more greenly opaque with each gob he snot-rocketed out. Some other tropical disease was making a cozy new home in his cells.
Austin laughed ironically as he looked at the dirty road between his hands. He laughed and watched his mucus darken the dust. It never even occurred to him back when he was in Denver that a fever and a sore throat could develop into something that could kill. Now he knew better. He also knew he couldn’t spend another night sleeping under the stars. He needed food. He needed to rest. He needed to get himself healthy before pushing on to Mbale.
Standing up and looking around again, Austin saw a woman in the shadows under an awning over
“This doesn’t help your family,” Olivia weakly argued.
“You’re smart, young, and pretty. You won’t have a problem finding a new job if that’s what you want. This is what reality looks like now, Miss Idealism. Get on board with it, or pack your shit and go home.”
Chapter 29
From the middle of the road where he walked, cautiously keeping his distance from houses, cars, and the few people he saw, Austin suspected Ebola had beaten him to Sironko. He hadn’t yet seen a body lying with open eyes staring at an unforgiving sky. He hadn’t seen any people with bleeding ears or noses. However, the air did carry the putrid smell of bloody diarrhea. The mournful keen of dying children reached out from dark windows. The feeling of a town full of vibrant people withering into ghosts was unmistakable.
Like it had been in Chebonet two days prior, and like it had been in every hamlet and cluster of houses along the road, people who should have been at work, weren’t. Nobody was walking to the market, gossiping on a porch, or working in the fields. They were huddled in their homes, hiding from microbial monsters that stalked their streets. Anyone not afraid of catching Ebola was already sick or dead.
Sironko was a town on the plain in the western shadow of Mt. Elgon, four or five times larger than Kapchorwa. A month prior, the road Austin walked through Sironko would have been abuzz with cars heading north and south, with trucks hauling farm goods to market in Mbale or Kampala.
Now, the traffic was gone.
As the sight of another dying town dragged on Austin’s mood, he stopped walking and looked around. He was near the center of Sironko, in front of a closed grocery, just down the street from a modern gas station with brightly colored awnings. A man a few blocks down bounded over a wide puddle of stagnant brown water that had collected along the curb. He hefted a half-full bag of something, glanced suspiciously at Austin, and disappeared down a narrow alley.
Somewhere, a block or two distant, an unseen woman shouted angrily, and another woman argued back. A rickety generator chugged through a holed muffler. Several goats walked out of a side street and started lapping at the water by the curb.
Austin looked back up the road from whence he’d come, wondering for the hundredth time if he’d made a mistake in leaving Kapchorwa. He wondered how Dr. Littlefield was getting along. He wondered if Dr. Mills—Kristin—with her happy brown eyes, was going to die. He felt guilty for not making better time on his trek. Kristin had done her part, and was probably the reason he was alive. All he had to do was walk to Mbale to get her help and he was failing at that.
Austin breathed deeply as he looked up the road, coughed roughly several times before losing his balance and falling to his knees in the road. He realized—or more accurately, he accepted—what he’d suspected since he’d awoken that morning.
He was sick again.
His back ached. His throat was raw and painful when he swallowed. His nose was starting to run with mucus that grew thicker and more greenly opaque with each gob he snot-rocketed out. Some other tropical disease was making a cozy new home in his cells.
Austin laughed ironically as he looked at the dirty road between his hands. He laughed and watched his mucus darken the dust. It never even occurred to him back when he was in Denver that a fever and a sore throat could develop into something that could kill. Now he knew better. He also knew he couldn’t spend another night sleeping under the stars. He needed food. He needed to rest. He needed to get himself healthy before pushing on to Mbale.
Standing up and looking around again, Austin saw a woman in the shadows under an awning over
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