“You don’t seem to have any flu-like symptoms.” Seve said.

“What? No, of course not. I’m fine.”

“Were you or your wife around anyone with flu?”

John thought for only a second. “No, I don’t know anyone with the flu. Well, I’m not with Rose all the time. I don’t know, maybe she bumped into someone at a store or something. How would I know? She was fine until we flew down here.”

Seve knew that it wasn’t flu season and he already suspected it wasn’t the flu anyway. He wished it were the flu. “She doesn’t seem to be congested. Did she have a runny nose at all?”

“No, I don’t think so. No.”

“Did she complain of dizziness?”

“Dizziness? She hasn’t been up since I got back yesterday. She felt confused when I asked her questions last night. Couldn’t concentrate, but I don’t know if she was dizzy.”

“How do you know she couldn’t concentrate?”

John felt himself becoming infuriated, his face feeling as if it was baking in the sun. What the hell is wrong with her! That’s all he wanted to know. Enough with all the questions! “Because–” John hesitated, “she–she couldn’t remember the names of our daughters last night. She kept asking me their names and when I told her she–she forgot them instantly. Kept shaking her head and saying that wasn’t right, then she’d ask me again.” The lights flickered off and cast the room into utter darkness. John gasped loudly as he swore he saw a black, bird-like figure fly around the ceiling, circling over Rose. The lights flickered back on and remained on.

“Jesus...did you see that?” John asked. “Did you see something on the ceiling?”

“Yeah, we’ll probably lose power anytime,” Seve said, unaware of what John thought he had seen. Seve picked up Rose’s left arm and placed two fingers just below her wrist. As he feared, he detected no radial pulse. He had begun to suspect that Rose may already be losing blood pressure, which is why he had asked about dizziness. Lack of concentration would be another symptom associated with low blood pressure.

“What did you do on Saturday before you flew down here?”

“Nothing. Just packed and went to a dinner Saturday night. Then straight back home. Why all the questions? Don’t you just have something you can give her besides this stuff she’s been taking?”

“What has she been taking?”

John showed Seve the two tincture bottles he had found in Rose’s purse. One read “Echinacea Tincture: take daily in water for immune system health” and the other read “Yarrow Tincture: spray in nostrils for flu, in throat for cold.”

Seve examined the bottles and placed them back on the table. “Did you do anything with these tinctures?” Seve asked.

“That’s all we have here. Everything last night was closed. EVERYTHING! Like the whole island shut down. It took me forever to reach you, the ONLY doctor on the whole island. No hospital, no nothing!” John began pacing, his breathing labored. Outside the outer band of winds from a Category 3 hurricane slammed the house, but John heard or felt none of it. He was beside himself, furious that he had left the day before to catch a fish. A stupid fish! He left Rose to catch a stupid fish.

“It’s okay, John. Back in my country people swear by those tinctures. You did fine, John.”

“I–” John began and hesitated, “I sprayed the yarrow in her nose and in her mouth. I know it’s stupid, I know. But that’s what the label said and I didn’t know what to do. I just needed to be able to do something for her. Her twin sister is really into that holistic kind of therapy stuff.”

“John, you need to try and calm down,” Seve said. “Let’s focus on Rose. Now I have to ask you a few questions and I need you to answer them to help me. I can’t treat her until I have a good idea of what I’m treating. All right?” Once again the lights flickered off and then on. John stopped pacing and looked at Seve. His eyes dropped to Rose, lying semi-conscious on the bed and breathing heavily.

“Okay,” John replied.

“Good,” Seve said. “First off, I don’t believe she has the flu, John. She has no sign of congestion; you don’t have any symptoms; there’s no productive cough: I hear rhonchi in her lungs; you haven’t been around people with the flu and it’s the wrong time of year. That doesn’t add up to the flu.”

John paced and listened to Seve as blowing sand pelted the side of the house, sounding like hard rice hitting the sidewalk.

“Now, I have a theory about what this could be John, but we have no way to do any tests. The closest hospital is 200 miles from here and the only way to get her there would be a medevac. The U.S. Coast Guard would have to do that but they’re not available just now due to the hurricane. They’ve been helping boaters in Haiti and elsewhere, so–we’re on our own.”

John stopped as he realized what Seve was saying. The gravity of the situation enveloped him. “Okay,” John repeated.

“Before you came here, did Rose or you visit a farm at all? Do you live on a farm?”

“No. We don’t live on a farm and haven’t been to one.”

“So there’s no way she could have been around livestock, is that right John?”

“Livestock? What the hell does that have to do with–”

“John, I said I need you to stay with me.”

John exhaled deeply. “No, she hasn’t been around any farm animals. Jesus!” John thought to himself what a stupid island doctor he was dealing with. Back home they would have whisked Rose into a sanitized room, treated her with one of a thousand drugs, and she’d be up and fine now. Here it was as if he had gone back in time to be asked insightful questions from the tribe’s medicine man. Questions like whether or not she had petted a donkey.

“Could she have been to a drumming event?”

“What kind of event?” John asked.

“Some place where they were playing drums. Or perhaps a craft fair where they were making rugs, shearing animals–anything at all like that?”

“NO! Nothing like that.” John said.

Seve paused and looked back at Rose. He had seen these symptoms before in Spain. Too many times in fact, one of the many reasons he opted to sign up for a two-year sabbatical and become the lone physician on this island. Still, something didn’t add up. What John was telling him didn’t support his theory, but Rose’s symptoms, without question, did. He hoped he was wrong, prayed he was wrong. He knew that if he were right then there was a high probability that Rose would be dead within twenty-four hours anyway.

“Does your wife happen to work for the postal service?”

John rolled his eyes and turned his head. “NO!”

“Any government agency at all?”

John bowed his head and shook it violently, placing his hands on each side of his head. The questions were too much for him and he was nearing the end of his rope.

So was Rose.

Chapter 26

Clint walked out of the conference room just after noon. He had hoped the meeting wouldn’t eat up so much of his Tuesday morning, certainly not over three hours. But for the second consecutive year, Congress had approved the President’s budgetary request for reduced FSIS funding, budget cuts that seemed ludicrous to Clint. Politicians wouldn’t admit it, he thought, but they seemed to love it when that happened. Armed with a mandate for more oversight and a bigger budget, they’d outline huge spending programs and label them with grand names like the Food Safety Modernization Act, as if food safety measures prior to that had been operating in the dark ages. Congress would sign off and funds would flow for a couple of years until everyone forgot about the salmonella, the e.coli. That’s where we are now, Clint thought. No foodborne illnesses of any magnitude for the past few years, no more Jack-in-the-Box scares, no more spinach coated in e.coli so might as well lay off inspectors. Then when there’s another scare hire some rookies, train them for a few years and lay them off just when they learn what they’re doing.