Chapter Seven
Aboard The Canadian
Lightness.
That was the first sensation he felt when he woke up.
Gone was the pain that ran through every bone in his body and that awful feeling of sweating and freezing all at once and of being unable to make sense of half the things he saw and heard.
His mind was clear now and he finally felt as though he might be able to sit up without having his small world spin around him. Even his headache was all but gone.
It felt like his body had tossed off whatever beast had possessed it and he was inexplicably lighter for it.
He was also starving.
Cal Lightman pushed himself off the uncomfortable bed and took in his surroundings. Wrinkled bed sheets, empty bottles of water on the shelf next to him, a small white bottle of aspirin and two discarded black t-shirts at the foot of his bed. Battle remnants.
There were other things too, that reminded him that he was in her cabin. Women's toiletries on one small shelf. A romance novel on another. A bag of candies.
He looked at the alarm clock next to him. Four numbers lit up. 13:17. Not that there was much point in knowing the time. He'd lost all sense of it by now. He had no idea how long he'd been out for. But surely, they wouldn't have let the train sit here for days? It couldn't have been that long.
Cal stood up and tested his legs, noticing then that the train still wasn't moving. Apparently that was one thing that hadn't been a figment of his feverish imagination.
He felt weak and lightheaded but better. Indescribably better than only a few hours ago.
His small, carry-on suitcase sat in the corner of the cabin and Cal reached into it, pulling out a clean black t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans.
He was dressed by the time the door of the cabin opened and Gillian stumbled in.
"Hey..." he greeted her.
"Cal?" Surprise widened her eyes. "What are you doing up?"
"I decided I was done with napping."
She didn't look like she was in the mood for jokes. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Much better," he told her. "I also feel like I could eat a horse. Or two."
While he spotted relief on her face, there still wasn't the slightest hint of amusement. Usually his bad jokes elicited at least the hint of a smile. He took a closer look at her and aside from the obvious weariness, he read something else in her face. Something more ominous.
And now that she sat on the edge of the bed, he noticed the stains on her clothing. Stains that he hadn't spotted right away because the blouse she wore was dark. Small, dark, reddish-brown stains that not only dotted her clothing but he also caught a couple on her arms.
"Are you okay?" he asked, serious now. "What's going on out there?"
She paused, her eyes moist as they met his. "We lost Sarah..."
"Who?"
"The nurse who sat in the same car as you." Gillian wiped away a tear with the back of her hand before it had the chance to tumble down her cheek. "We tried everything...but she was haemorrhaging. It was horrible...her body...there was so much blood...it reminded me of..." She stopped mid-sentence, making an effort to compose herself. "How is it possible this thing can do this much damage in such a short time?"
Cal put an arm around her shoulder, as he tried to piece together what she was telling him. "The stains on your clothing, is that what those are...the nurse's blood?"
Gillian nodded, unable to stop another tear from falling. "Yeah..."
Other thoughts entered his mind then too. "Did you wear any protective gear while you were trying to save her life?"
"What?" she looked at him blankly, processing the question.
"Gloves? Masks?"
"Yeah..." she finally answered. "Doctor Bennett, Karl...he had latex gloves and surgical masks. VIA Rail has some in their First Aid kits too. We used those. But there aren't many. It's not as though they stockpile these things for a train ride across Canada."
"So this nurse gets sick and what, twenty-four hours or so later, haemorrhages and dies? I don't get it, Gill. Didn't you say people were recovering from this? That it hits fast and hard but that it's over just as fast? Look at me...I'm much better."
"We don't know," Gillian answered, her voice a barely intelligible mumble. "It seems like there are two different versions of this thing. The only difference is some added symptoms...vomiting, abdominal pain and skin rashes."
"So those that have those symptoms are getting sicker?"
"Yeah..."
"How many have those symptoms?"
"How many have what?"
Cal exhaled. Gillian was a mess. Getting her to focus, after she'd watched someone bleed to death in front of her, was going to take some prodding and he didn't have the heart to push too hard. Even if he desperately wanted to know more facts before heading out to see that doctor again.
"How many have those additional symptoms?" he repeated.
"Two," she told him. "A tourist from Norway and a travelling musician in his sixties. He's not doing very well." She paused and looked him in the eye again. "I'm scared we could lose him too...I don't understand what's taking them so long to get help..."
Cal tried to understand what she was telling him. "So the others, the ones like me. They're all getting better?"
"Not all," she told him. "There's some elderly passengers that are still ill. But they don't have any additional symptoms, if anything the severity of their symptoms has lessened."
"So we can probably attribute the longer recovery time to their age then. Tell me, how many passengers had what I had?"
"Lots," she answered.
"Any idea how many?"
"More than three quarters of everyone on the train."
"Bloody hell!" Her answer took him aback. "How is that even possible?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea."
"I assume that's why the train is not moving."
"VIA Rail has contacted the authorities. Health Canada is bringing in a team at the next station. Infectious disease experts."
Cal had a vision of men and woman in bio-hazard suits entering the train. If people hadn't hit the panic button by now, that would do it.
"Good idea," he told her. "But why aren't they parking this train at the next station? Why leave us sitting here in the middle of nowhere?"
"The engineer told us that's where the government instructed them to wait. Apparently we're not that far from the next station, Sioux Lookout. Once the team is assembled and brought up here, that's where they'll board the train. I assume they didn't think it was a good idea for the train to wait there...for all the obvious reasons."
Cal realized what she was saying. If any passengers found out that someone had died of this, there would be panic. They'd do whatever it took to get off the train. Unless, the train was stopped in the middle of nowhere and they had nowhere to go. Aside from the desolation of their holding spot it was also freezing outside. Cal guessed it was the kind of cold that most people on this train weren't the least bit used to.
Cal looked at Gillian. She was staring into space now.
"You should get out of those clothes, luv," he nudged her. Gently. "Take a shower and maybe get some sleep."
"Are you kidding?" She turned to him. "It's too crazy out there. Now that Eleanor is sick too, it's mostly just the three of us taking care of everyone. Karl, Brandon, the VIA attendant, and me. There's some that aren't ill but they're old and scared..."
"Four," he corrected her. "It's going to be four of us now."
"Are you sure you're up for this?" she asked him. "Shouldn't you...take some time to fully recover? The others who are recovering are still quite weak."
"Who's Eleanor?" he asked ignoring her suggestion when he realized he didn't recognize the name.
"The doctor's wife and the only other doctor on the train."
Cal took a moment to digest that morsel of information. "The doctor's wife is a doctor? And she's sick?"
"Kind of dispels your conspiracy theories, doesn't it?"
"We'll see." He shrugged and then nudged her. "Change out of those disease-laden clothes, would you, luv? For my peace of mind."
She stood up with a sigh. "Trust me, if I was going to get this, I would have it by now."
"How long ago did Eleanor get sick?"
"A few hours ago maybe?"
He gave her a push towards the shower. "I rest my case."
She raised her hands in defeat. "Shower and a change of clothes. You win."
He chuckled and held up a bag of candies. "I don't suppose you have anything else to eat here? Something not in the shape of a gummy bear?"
"There's a muffin-shaped muffin in my purse. You're welcome to it."
"Let me guess, chocolate chip?"
"What else?" A half-hearted smile finally lit up her face. "With sprinkles on top."
Cal cringed. "Of course." How she was able to consume this much sugar and not bounce off walls or weigh three-hundred pounds had always been a mystery to him.
"Cal," she said, turning around, serious again. "I'm really glad you're better."
He nodded. "Me too." It felt good to not be lost to all that was going on around him. Gillian might be better than he was at analysing a situation, but he was better at pushing the buttons that needed to be pushed in order to get at the truth.
Sometimes being an abrasive pain-in-the-ass had its advantages.
He might have been out of it for a good part of the last 24 hours but he was still convinced that Doctor Karl Bennett knew more than he was letting on. Even more so now.
