Aftermath of the Reckoning

Chapter 20

A headache, sore throat and mild nausea greeted Patch after he awoke the following morning. Even without reaching for his throat, he could sense the swelling and knew he’d been poisoned. Carefully listening to his own body, he detected the elevated radiation levels. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered radiation in human tissue.

His eyes adjusted and he observed Zoey sleeping soundly on a small couch in the corner. A half eaten plate of food lay on the floor beside her. The morning rays had crept up to her chin, brilliantly reflecting off the golden hair that fell below her ear. A spectacular blend of exhaustion and peace, her face emulated the likeness of an angel, who had just finished a long battle for the lives of humanity.

On the nightstand at the head of the bed, a glass of water rested on top of a piece of yellow paper. Beside it, a BIC pen lay adjacent to a legal pad with several sheets removed from it.

A metallic taste lingered in his dry mouth, as if he’d spent the previous night bingeing on handfuls of pennies or cups of iron rich blood. The cool water quenched his thirst and helped eliminate some of the taste. As he picked up the note, a yellow tablet fell to the table, something he hadn’t noticed before since it blended in with the paper. The note read:

Patch,

You have been poisoned with radioactive iodine. You may feel some nausea. The radiation will pass from your body in a few days, however your thyroid gland has been destroyed permanently. You must take thyroxine once a day to prevent symptoms which may include fatigue and headaches. Prolonged absence of the hormone in your body will result in a myxedema coma, leading to death. Your first dose of thyroxine has been provided here. You will receive another tomorrow. On that day, Zoey will leave on her assignment. If she succeeds and returns successfully, you’ll receive access to the full supply of thyroxine we have here at the tribe.

- Dr. Lockwood

Patch crumpled the note and tossed it under the bed. The yellow capsule-shaped pill, engraved with the letter M on the front and L8 on the back, did not have a taste as Patch gulped it down with a swig of water.

On a good note, his shoulder felt better, much better. Running his fingers over the stitches, he could feel the edges of his skin mending together. On top of that, the fact that he could see so much more detail in his surroundings — the trees through the window, the blue and white herringbone pattern of the couch, Zoey’s beautiful face — meant that his eyes must be fully healed, or at least very close.

Patch relaxed his shoulders and leaned his head from side to side, resulting in an audible pop. He winced, hoping the sound did not awaken Zoey. Thankfully, her breathing continued undisturbed.

He stood, wearing only his boxers, and stretched. Zoey had been thoughtful enough to leave him a wrapped plate of food on the far table. Unfortunately, his stomach protested the very idea of nourishment. After scribbling a quick note on the legal pad and retrieving a pile of clothing and boots from the floor, he stepped lightly and exited the room.

Patch arrived at the clinic lobby and sat down on a comfortable leather couch. He donned his gray T-shirt and blue jeans fairly easily. While buttoning his jeans mildly tested the dexterity of his single hand, his socks — turned inside out — required true effort before they covered his feet. Finally, after stuffing his feet into his hiking boots — making no attempt to tie the laces — he departed the clinic and wandered north into the town of Piedmont.

Grasses and plants grew out of the cracks that zigzagged across Main Street. Patch stepped around massive potholes that threatened to swallow the tires of automobiles, had any dared to navigate the terrain.