The unrecovered, p.1
The Unrecovered, page 1
The Unrecovered
Smiling Flu, Volume 1
Len M. Ruth
Published by Ruthless Press, 2023.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE UNRECOVERED
First edition. May 1, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 Len M. Ruth.
ISBN: 979-8987657416
Written by Len M. Ruth.
Also by Len M. Ruth
Smiling Flu
The Unrecovered
Rachael's Apocalypse Diary Vol. 2
Rachael's Apocalypse Diary
Watch for more at Len M. Ruth’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Len M. Ruth
Dedication
The Unrecovered (Smiling Flu, #1)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
EPILOGUE
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Further Reading: Rachael's Apocalypse Diary
Also By Len M. Ruth
About the Author
For Em
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Slappy Jack, whose early encouragement gave me the fuel I needed to keep going. Without him, this book wouldn’t be here. Also, a big thank you to my sensitivity reader, Rob Peters, for ensuring I treated my Native American characters with the respect they deserve. A heap of thanks goes out to Devora Gray, my writing partner, friend, and confessor. Thanks for keeping me going Dev. And, of course, a giant truckload of thanks to my editor and life partner, Em Davis. Without them, this book wouldn’t be readable.
Author’s Note
If you’ve picked up this book, opened the cover, and read this far, you want to read horror. Good news! Horrible things happen on the following pages. I aim to scare you, not dig up the bones in your closet. The problem is, trigger warnings don’t work. A dozen scientific studies have shown that trigger warnings can actually increase the very feelings they are intended to prevent. So enjoy this book responsibly with my best wishes.
Len M. Ruth
Chapter 1
August 21, Destination, Idaho
Jamie strained for a glimpse of the approaching fires in the dusty orange sky to the west. The forest on the other side of the cornfields wasn’t visible through the kitchen window, but she could smell fire on the breeze that rustled the curtains.
Ed’s footsteps creaked down the stairs.
She swept aside a few of the coupons littering the kitchen table, set her coffee down, and sat gazing at them with a mix of disdain and resignation.
“Sky’s a funny color,” she said as Ed shuffled past her.
“Smoke from the fires,” he mumbled.
She watched him take the Laetanol bottle down from atop the fridge and tap one into his calloused hand. He filled a red jelly glass from the tap, swallowed the pill, then stared out the window just as Jamie had moments before.
“Do you think those are working?” She clipped a coupon for cornflakes from the circular and laid it on the growing pile.
“Do you?”
“I suppose,” she paused, looking at his muscular arms and back silhouetted against the orange sky. “You don’t seem as sad.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I don’t feel as sad.”
“So that’s it. You gonna do it?” she asked, changing the subject. His depression was a rabbit hole she’d rather not go down this morning.
“Yeah.” Ed turned from the window and rested the small of his back on the counter. “The harvester’s all fueled up.”
“It’s a lot of money to lose,” she said, returning her attention to her coupons.
“We talked about this.” Ed sighed. “I can still sell the early corn. We’ll lose about ten percent on that acreage. Better that than lose it all to the fire. Forest Service says it should create a good fire break. After I harvest, they’ll come in and burn the stalks. Ted is doing the same to his fields right now.”
“How long will you be?”
“Midnight, I figure.” He picked up the thermos and lunch bag she’d prepared for him.
Jamie got up and stopped him at the door. “I love you.” She put her arms around his sunburned neck and felt the hard muscle of his shoulders under her slender fingers. She did love him. Didn’t she? Or was it the idea of him? The ghost of Ed, the one she’d married, was bright and full of promise. A young college student on the rise like herself. And she’d been swept away by their love like a solar wind. Swept years later to his parent’s farm in Destination, Idaho, clipping coupons and putting up with his drinking.
“I love you too.” He put his arms around her.
The lunch bag and thermos pressed against her back.
“It’s going to be alright, Jamie.” He kissed her.
Jamie accepted the kiss, tasting the familiar tang of vodka. She wondered as she kissed him back if he meant the crops, the farm, the fire, their marriage? There were so many things that were not all right.
“Ew,” came a small playful voice, “can I go outside?”
Jamie turned to see Aella standing in the doorway to the dining room.
As Aella ran the back of her hand across her nose, her fingers brushed the tips of long brown ringlets that framed her face and set them jiggling.
“Go blow your nose. You’re twelve years old. You shouldn’t have to be told,” Jamie said. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“No,” Aella said over her shoulder as she went off in search of a tissue.
“Probably just all the smoke in the air,” Ed said.
“I hope that’s all. I don’t want her sick for the big trip tomorrow.” Jamie rested her head on Ed’s chest and slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I wish I could go with her.”
“She’ll be in good hands,” Ed said. “She’s got who? Cheryl Thompson, plus three other chaperones from her troop. She sold a lot of cookies to get there. Can’t keep her home now.”
“I know. I just wish I could share the wonder with her. I always wanted to see the Smithsonian and the Lincoln Memorial.”
“I wish I could earn enough money so you didn’t have to wait tables. Take us on a real vacation. Speaking of money, I’ve got to get that harvester rolling before we lose everything.”
“OK,” Jamie said. She kissed his cheek and watched him go down the steps and around the side of the house.
“Can I go out now?” Aella asked, tossing a tissue into the trash.
“You sure you feel OK?” Jamie asked, looking her over.
“I’m sure.” Aella gave her mother a sweet smile.
Jamie let out a breath. “OK, as long as you are all packed.”
“Yup, all packed.”
“Stay around the yard. I don’t want you wandering off into the fields with that fire so close.”
“It won’t come here. Dad said. Isn’t that where he went? To harvest the fields on the edge of the woods?”
“Yes, yes. OK, go on, and don’t get your new sneakers muddy before the trip.”
“OK.” Aella crossed the kitchen. The screen door made a “graaanngg” sound as she opened it.
“And don’t let the—” CLACK “—screen door slam.” Jamie shook her head and went back to her coupons.
“Mom, the eclipse is happening!” Aella’s voice floated in through the screen door a few minutes later.
Jamie went to the window. “I totally forgot about it. Don’t stare at it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll bring out those special glasses.”
Jamie fetched the cardboard-framed plastic lenses and joined Aella in the yard. After making sure Aella put them on, Jamie put on her own and stared up at the cosmic spectacle.
Smoke wafted low out of the cornfields and swirled around them. It barely registered through their dark glasses, just a faint gray shadow, but from the corner of her eye, Jamie could see its faint pink color. The swirling vapor vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a chemical taste on her tongue. Strange smoke. What the hell burned to make that shit? She shrugged it off and turned her attention back to the eclipse. The moon slid perfectly across the sun, creating the fiery halo of totality.
Chapter 2
August 21, Bethesda, Maryland, Beachwood Assisted Living Center
“Enjoying your dinner, Mister S?” Carl asked from the doorway.
Dr
“Really, Mister S.? I’ve been taking care of you for almost three years now. Two years ago, you told me it was OK for me to drop the ‘doctor’ Still, we go through this absurd verbal dance every time.”
“Oh, Doctor Parks, I didn’t see that it was you. Where are my glasses?”
“You could see the TV just fine.” As he entered the suite of rooms full of luminous wood furnishings, Carl wondered how much of his fortune Silva spent making these rooms look like the inside of an old English manor house.
“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to tell the administration of this facility how disrespectful you are, and they will fire you?”
“What? And miss the pleasure of collecting your stool samples? You’d be doing me a favor.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Silva looked over the tray in front of him. “Care to join me, Carl?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“You can have my meds.” Silva smiled.
“No deal. Those are just placebos; everyone knows you hide the meds in your cheek and spit them out when we’re not looking. We’ve been mixing them into your food for months.”
“I don’t believe you. This is the best facility on the East Coast. Senators reside here. It’s not some cut-rate nursing home for indigents. They’re not mixing meds into my foie gras.” Silva prodded his food suspiciously with a silver fork.
“Suit yourself, and that’s chicken, not foie gras,” Carl said, taking a seat on the bed. “Are you going to eat your brownie?”
“How on Earth do you stay fit eating all my desserts, and presumably the desserts of the other residents?” Silva held out the brownie.
Carl took it with a dark, delicate hand. “Well,” he began as he broke off a piece of brownie and popped it into his mouth, “it used to be that between this job and working at the clinic, I was always on the go, but since I quit the clinic, I guess it’s just vigorous sex with my boyfriend keeping the unwanted pounds at bay.” He swallowed and popped another chunk of brownie into his mouth.
“I’m trying to eat here, Carl, don’t be vulgar. Is that your modus operandi? Put the old man off his dinner so you can pilfer my food?” Silva cut his chicken into meticulous squares that were precisely the same size.
“Actually, Mister S., I have something to tell you.”
Silva stopped cutting and looked up at him. “Oh?”
Carl sighed. He had been dreading this conversation. Silva wasn’t like the other residents of Beachwood; he was sharp and a doctor, like Carl himself. “I put in my two weeks’ notice today,” he said. “I’m starting at A. L. Memorial, at the trauma center.”
Silva set his cutlery down on the tray. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “Good for you. That is an excellent facility, excellent staff. I have no doubt you will do well.”
“I’ll come back to see you when I can. I consider you a friend, Mister S.”
“Don’t lie to an old man, Carl. It isn’t nice. You will be working long shifts, and in your off time, you are going to be fighting to maintain any relationships you have outside of the hospital. It was a long time ago, but I remember how hard it was.”
“I’m still coming to see you.” Carl put the last of the brownie in his mouth.
“You are a good man, Carl, but your naiveté concerns me.” Silva ate his chicken in the awkward silence, occasionally flipping the channel on the muted TV.
When Carl sensed that the old man had nothing more to say, he rose to go. “I’ll still be around for you to torment for a couple more weeks.”
“It’s not very English, you know, talking about one’s feelings,” Silva said, “but I will miss you, Carl.” He paused, looking up at Carl. His eyes grew soft with emotion for a moment, then hardened. “Now get the hell out. I’m trying to watch the bloody tele.”
Carl smiled. He took a step toward the door, then turned back. “You know, for a stodgy old bastard, you really are very sweet.” He placed his brown hand over the older man’s white, liver-spotted one.
Silva looked up at him with an expression Carl had never seen on the old man’s face before. He looked sad and tired.
The sunlight waned a few degrees.
Silva set his fork down. “In your life as a doctor, you will, from time to time, find yourself in a situation where you have to choose between the rules and your heart. Between helping patients or helping yourself.” He held Carl’s eye. “In those moments, stay as close to the rules as you can, but follow your heart. Don’t wind up like me, old and too full of worry and regret to die.”
“Why are you talking like this?” Carl asked.
“Because I wish someone had said that to me.”
The light coming in through the window dimmed further.
“OK,” Carl said. He squeezed the old man’s hand and headed out the door. “I’ll be back after my rounds,” he said over his shoulder.
“See if you can’t lay hands on another one of those brownies. That looked good, and I regret letting you talk me out of it,” Silva called after him.
Minutes later, Carl was down the hall with another patient when he heard Silva’s voice.
“I don’t need a goddamn nurse; I need an outside line. Now!”
As Carl stepped into the hall, he saw Jody, one of the nurses, rush into Silva’s room.
“Jody, I’m not senile. I just need an outside line!” Silva shouted.
“Why are you yelling like that? You are disturbing the other residents.” Jody’s stern voice drifted down the hall.
“I need to place a call. It’s a matter of life and death! Am I not speaking the Queen’s English?”
“Don’t worry, Doctor. Silva, everything will be alright. You are here at home in Beachwood. I’m just going to give you a little something to help you relax,” Jody said.
“Don’t patronize me, Jody, and don’t you come near me with that needle! I’m not losing my mind. I’m just trying to make a call!”
“Of course,” Jody said. “Just lower your voice and have a seat, then we’ll make a call.” Jody’s voice was softer now.
“I said it’s a matter of life and death! Are you listening to me, Jody?”
Carl ran into the room. “What’s going on here?”
“Carl, will you tell this patronizing -HEY!” Silva jerked back too late. Jody used the distraction to jam the needle into Silva’s arm and push the plunger down.
“Carl, Carl, will you tell Jod... Jo... Judas that I need to speak to... to... someone at the... ”
Carl rushed in and caught Silva just as he crumpled and, with Jody’s help, eased him onto the bed.
The sunlight grew faint.
Silva wasn’t giving up consciousness without a fight. He grabbed Carl’s arm and looked at him, wide-eyed, “Carl, please, Carl... the call.” Then Silva slumped back, eyes closed, mumbling.
“Why did you dose him?” Carl asked, his face tight and drawn, his nostrils wide enough to vent steam from a locomotive.
“He was screaming, hysterical.”
“You didn’t even try to calm him down.”
“I did, actually, but he wasn’t lucid. He wasn’t rational.”
“Oh, bullshit.” Carl looked down at Silva. Even with his eyes closed, the man looked worried. Carl thought about what Silva had said only a few minutes ago about being ‘too worried to die.’ Silva’s hands were still clenched. Livid brown spots stood out against the pallid skin.
“Your friendship skews your judgment,” she said.
The room grew darker still.
“Yours is skewed because you have no compassion for these people. Why are you even working here?”
“Twenty bucks an hour plus an amazing benefits package,” she said, picked up the needle, and left. Carl uncurled the old man’s fists. He went to one of the cabinets, withdrew a soft blanket, and covered Silva. The sunlight coming in through the window all but vanished, leaving the once warm wood tones of the room’s furnishings cold and dark. “Anthony,” he whispered after he pulled the blanket up. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m going to help you.”
