We drove for hours. Stopping only to eat and for potty breaks. I still felt sick, getting worse but I didn’t say anything to either of them. I forced myself to eat when I really didn’t want anything in my stomach. I was afraid that if I said anything, Matt would want to take me back to a hospital.
I didn’t look out the windows at the passing scenery nor make any conversation with either man. That behavior wasn’t enough to alarm them‒I wasn’t much of a talker anyway. Still, both knew that something was wrong with me. The next time an exit came up on the interstate‒ somewhere in Ohio‒ Matt pulled off into one of those state-run gas plazas and parked in the lot with the passenger cars but nearer to the big rigs.
Both turned around to study me as I lay pressed against the back seat with my eyes closed. I didn’t notice them until the car had stopped and he’d shut off the engine.
“You got to pee?” I asked confused because they had stopped only twenty miles back on the highway and it was too soon to eat.
Neither exited the car but sat there in silence. Matt leaned over the seat and touched my forehead with the back of his palm. “You’re warm,” he stated, frowning. Jake dug out my pills without him asking. Tylenol and antibiotics. He gave me two of each along with a bottle of water.
“How do you feel, Cris? And don’t lie to me. I can see that you’re flushed, your temp is up, and you haven’t been eating worth a damn.”
“I’m tired. And I’ve been sitting on a heated seat right next to the heat vent,” I complained. “If I had a fever, wouldn’t I be shivering?” As if on cue, I started to shake, and my teeth chattered even though I gritted them trying to stop.
“Cell phone, Jake?” Matt asked, and he dug it out of the center console. It was a stripped-down version of a smart phone; one of those pre-paid burner phones. Matt looked up clinics and first-aid centers.
“There’s a walk-in clinic down the next exit and fifteen miles down the road in the town of Jesse’s Corner. Twenty miles from here. The nearest hospital is 75 miles away. A rural clinic will be easier to access,” he said.
“We’ll be more memorable than in a busy hospital,” I returned. “Besides, all I need are Tylenol and antibiotics.”
“Which you are on and they’re not working,” Matt pointed out. “You think that you can survive another bout of high fever and convulsions. I’d rather go to prison than see you suffer through that again.”
“And I’d rather die than go back there!” I snapped. “You can buy Penicillin at the feed store. Needles and syringes, too. Penn VK is strong enough to knock out any infection. Tylenol will bring down my fever in large doses.”
“It’ll burn out your liver,” Matt said.
I shrugged. Opened the door and slid out before they could react. Ignoring their frantic cries, I stomped up the concrete sidewalks and entered the little shopping plaza. Tourists and truckers were everywhere. I wouldn’t have thought that…Ohio was a tourist mecca. As far as I knew, it didn’t have a Statue of Liberty, a San Diego Zoo, or a Mt. Rushmore. Not even a Hershey, Pennsylvania. All it had was Cleveland and I was pretty sure that no one wanted to visit there. We weren’t that far from the city.
I made it all the way to the cooler and pulled out several bottles of ice-cold Gatorade, snatched up a bottle of children’s Tylenol and put it back for the extra strength version. It said not to give it to kids under 12. By the time I had carried those to the counter and added a bag of ice, Matt and Jake had joined me. Their faces were dark and pissed off but neither said anything. I threw a bag of ranch corn nuts atop the pile. Matt paid the outrageous sum with cash, wincing at the price. Twelve bucks for a five-dollar box of pills.
“Restroom while we’re here?” he asked as he picked up the plastic bag. Which promptly broke and scattered the three drinks on the floor.
“Double bag them, please.” I rolled my eyes at the clerk while the pair went after the rolling colored drinks.
The big flat screen TV over our heads was on the news channel, decrying yet another school shooting. Then, there was a short blurb about me - how I had disappeared from the FBI safe-house. Along with my two friends or accomplices. Foul play was suspected, another chapter in the saga of John Doe, the Trust millionaire boy. There was even a picture of me, but I didn’t look that way anymore. Not that young, battered or naive. My hair was longer now, darker and my eyes had lightened to a crystal blue. More like Crispin’s.
“You kinda look like him,” the clerk commented. “If your hair was blonde and your eyes bluer.”
“If I was taller, I’d look like Tom Cruise,” I snorted and headed for the bathrooms as the clerk laughed. He went on to the next customer and forgot me.
The bathroom was full, and we had to wait for a stall. Even the urinals had men lined up and waiting. I wondered why there were so many people at the truck stop; I asked one of the truckers wearing a United Van Lines cap and jeans about it. He told me in a Texas drawl that there was a big concert scheduled for the weekend – to aid the shooting victims of the latest high school to get hit. There had been over a hundred kids killed and more injured. Some really big names in the music world were on the venue and the former President was going to open the festivities. He said the Secret Service was going crazy over the logistics of protecting him from the crowds for miles outside the city. We were less than a hundred from the area where the concert was going to take place, a small town out in the country.
Matt pushed me towards an open stall and stood outside the door as I sat. I didn’t go. Didn’t need to but my stomach chose that moment to erupt. I didn’t have enough time to stand, pivot and aim for the bowl, I just heaved between my feet. What came up wasn’t much, I hadn’t eaten much in the last day. It was mostly liquids and yellow froth, enough to make Matt pound on the door and yell for me. I remained bent over because the minute I tried to sit up, my head got all funny. Dark. I couldn’t hear anything but a strange buzz.
People were staring at me. Lots of them. All hanging around me. I tried to sit up and realized that I was lying flat on a booth. In a truck stop restaurant. A man in a dark blue, black uniform was leaning over me with an O2mask. He looked like a really old Justin Bieber. A paramedic.
“How ya feeling, little dude?” he asked.
I said, “you look like an old Justin Bieber.”
He grinned. “Hey. I’ve been told that before. What’s up?”
“You tell me. You’re the one with the medical degree.”
“Well, your blood pressure is pretty low, 90/55, your temperature is 103.2° and your SAT levels are 92%. Given your history that your Dad told me, you need to go to the hospital and get looked at.” He looked over his shoulder at the approaching Emergency workers.
“No.” I tried to sit up and nearly passed out. The chills started again, and I couldn’t stop shaking. “I’m cold,” I mumbled, leaning back against the padded cushion of the booth. “Dad?”
“We’re here, Cris,” Matt said. He moved out of the way so that the medics could get to me. One of them wrapped me in a soft blanket but it didn’t help. I was still freezing.
“We’re on the way to New Mexico,” Matt said. “On a deadline. Any chance he can wait until we get to a hospital there?”
“In cases of kids and fevers, the sooner they get seen the better. Especially since you told me he’s already had issues with high temps. I wouldn’t wait and in fact, I insist. If you don’t let us take him, I’m calling Children’s Services and the cops,” old Justin said. Matt looked at me and then, Jake. He nodded his acceptance.
“I don’t wanna go, Dad!” I cried. “Please! Don’t make me go back!” They ignored me, slid me out of the booth and placed me on the stretcher, tying me in with Velcroed straps. Matt came with me, not letting go of my hand. He told old Justin that he was riding with us in the ambulance and that Jake would follow in the SUV.
They slid me into the back and stuck needles in me. After that, everything got all shapeless and funny. The buzzing grew louder but I felt warm. All over. A warm rush of dark that started at my toes and crept up towards my face. When that got warm, I couldn’t see anymore. Couldn’t hear and didn’t care.