Forty minutes of invigorating fresh air has somewhat cleared my head. The skies have grown increasingly sombre as I've plodded along toward the hospital. The dirty cotton-batten fluffs overhead are borne northeast with some urgency and I hope that doesn't indicate that I am in for a drenching. I think that I am now legitimately hungry, or I still have the munchies, either way I need food. All the walking has also caused me to work up a bit of a sweat, I unzip my coat to allow more airflow in an effort to cool down.

Approaching the hospital I immediately notice quite a lot has changed since my last visit. The parking lots are still full of makeshift living quarters for the remnants of the reservists battle group. Smoke meanders skyward from the stovepipes that poke up through the tent ceilings. Two piles of shredded Elephant Grass, as high as houses--fuel for the biomass boiler--now accommodate a large portion of one of the parking lots. But more noticeable is the six foot high chain link fence, topped with barbed wire that encompasses the entire area. They have also added checkpoints with pairs of armed guards occupying the little sandbag and plywood fortifications. I make my way to the nearest one.

"What can I do for you, sir?" one guard asks politely as I approach.

"I need to see my wife."

"Does she work here?"

"She's a patient."

"I'm sorry sir, the hospital is on lockdown, full quarantine."

"I need to see my wife," I say, robotically repeating my previous assertion. "She's been stuck in there for months, I just need to see her."

"I understand sir, but we cannot let you in, sir. Strict orders, no exceptions."

"Where's Hartt?"

"Pardon, sir?"

"Corporal Hartt, he's here isn't he? Get me Corporal Hartt." The guards exchange glances and then look back at me. "Please," I beg. "Please, just give him a call, if I can just talk to him for a minute."

"No sir, I can't do that."

"Sir, just go home," the other guard chimes in. "Once they lift the quarantine they will be notifying people and visits will be allowed at that time."

"I haven't seen her in months, do you get that? Months! I'm not fucking going home until one of you gets me Corporal Hartt," I yell, losing my composure. I throw my hands up in exasperation and in the process expose the large .45 calibre handgun on my hip. It's not a good move on my part.

"Gun!" one of them yells and their demeanor changes instantly as their guns come up to bear. Whatever sympathy they might have had for my situation has instantly evaporated and I am reduced to little more than an irrationally irate loser and a threat. I leave both my hands high over my head. Fucking idiot.

"Get the fuck on the ground, now!" one yells while the other moves cautiously to flank me. I do exactly as I'm told, which in the end leaves me face down on the sopping wet ground with a pair of understandably angry soldiers pointing guns at me. It's turned out to be an inordinately shitty day.

* * * * *

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Hartt asks snipping the plastic zip ties that bind my wrists. "And why do you smell like a fucking drug den?"

"I got high at the dentist," I reply. Hartt just stares back at me like I'm speaking gibberish. "And drunk," I add and smile so I can point out the new dental work.

"So you get drunk and stoned and come here to yell at some soldiers?"

"You make it sound so much worse, putting it like that. My sole intent was to see Kate. I gotta see her Hartt, it's killing me knowing she's here and I can't see her. The last time I saw her, I mean really saw her and spoke to her was before NorthWynd."

"I know, I know. But there's a quarantine--you know that--and you will jeopardize not only her health, but other patients. The hospital is really struggling with this outbreak right now, they just don't have the resources. The quarantine is the best they can do." Hartt pauses and I can tell he's thinking something over. "Look, what if I can get you a meeting with Dr. Hu--"

"Dr. Who?" I interrupt.

"Yeah, Dr. Hu, H - U -- Dr. Hu. He's probably the best guy to talk to about Kate."

"You can do that?"

"I can try. But if I can't make it happen, you go home and no more harassing the guards. Do we have a deal?" he asks, passing me a steaming mug of very black coffee.

"Yes, we have a deal."

"Okay, but first you need to sober up a bit."

I gaze out the frost-glazed window at the hospital. We are in a cosy little Wartime house directly across the street, one of several that the boys in camouflage took over as part of their impromptu relocation. A wood stove burns steadily in the corner of the front room chasing away the damp chill. Hartt produces what seems to be suspiciously similar to fresh bread along with a small but hearty bowl of chili. Hartt tops up my coffee mug three times while I eat.

"How do you come to have fresh bread?" I ask.

"It's not what you know Connor, it's who you know," he answers cryptically.

"I think I liked you a lot better when you called me sir all the time."

"Those days are gone I'm afraid. I could call you Mister Killoren if you prefer, you are quite a bit older."

"Shut up."

"Oh, and you can have your gun back, I cleared it," he says placing the large blue-steel framed automatic on the table along with the extra magazines.

"I appreciate that," I say before I insert a magazine, chamber a round and engage the safety catch. "Feel a bit naked without it," I add as I holster the weapon.

"I know exactly what you mean. Now if you can hang out here and stay out of trouble for a bit, I have to go talk to a few people to see if I can get you your meeting. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, all good Hartt, I'll find something to do."

"I shouldn't be too long."

"Okay."

Hartt leaves and jogs across the street toward the hospital. I immediately start rummaging through the front room before turning up a thick hardcover non-fiction novel about the War of 1812, looks like someone, I assume Hartt, is halfway through it. I start to read it myself to pass the time.

* * * * *

After slogging through three intensely mundane chapters, Hartt returns.

"Good news," he says. "I got you your audience, but we have to be quick and keep things under the radar. Strictly speaking this is a huge no-no."

We dash across to the hospital and through a side door.

"We have to wear these," Hartt says grabbing papery yellow smocks from a cupboard. "And masks."

I don't have much time to comment on how ridiculous we look as Hartt walks briskly to a stairwell and then taking steps two at a time, we head up flight after flight. Chemical glowsticks dangle from doors and railings only some of them glow still.

"Still no power?" I ask.

"They are still working on it. We run a diesel generator after dark for a while. The biomass boiler is producing heat though, so it's no longer frigid in here. Next trick is to get power out of it as well."

"That's a step in the right direction I suppose."

We exit the stairwell on the fifth floor and continue our brisk pace down the hall. Further down a person exits a ward and heads up the hall toward us, as we approach I notice it's a young nurse. Hartt stops when the nurse intercepts us and the speak in whispers.

"He's still in his office," I overhear the nurse say to Hartt. She looks over at me for a brief moment. She has large Persian eyes but most of her face is concealed behind a mask like ours. I catch a hint of a scent, something like citrus. "But he won't have much time to talk. If the anyone from admin catches you in here..."

"I know, I know," Hartt says and turns to me. "Let's go. This way, quickly."

"Trevor?" the nurse says as we turn to leave.

"Yes?"

"Did you like the bread?"

"It was awesome," he tells her. "See you later." Even with the mask on, I can tell she is smiling.

We hustle down the hallway but I can't maintain silence.

"Uh, what was that?" I ask.

"What?" Hartt says, playing dumb.

"Are you dating a nurse?"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. Ask me later."

"You are dating a nurse, you're dating THAT nurse."

"So what." he says, defensively.

"So nothing, she's cute. Well, she's got cute eyes at least. You should invite her over when the weather is nicer. You can pick her up in the TAPV."

"Oh her dad would love that." Hartt makes an abrupt turn down another hallway and I follow. We reach the far end and come to a stop in front of a partially closed wood door. The placard reads "Dr. Hu, Neurology", with a bunch of alphabet after his name which I take to mean he's reasonably educated. Hartt knocks lightly on the door.

"Come in!" a voice bellows, a voice belonging to someone who clearly is not as worried about making noise as we are.

"Hello Dr. Hu," Hartt says extending his hand. "Sabine said you might be able to speak with my friend Connor for a moment about his wife."

Dr. Hu hesitates for a moment then shakes hands with Hartt and then myself, "Nice to meet you both," he says. Then he grabs a bottle of hand sanitizer pumps a glob of gel into the palm of his hand and proceeds to thoroughly clean his hands. He then hands the bottle to Hartt. "We have to take extra precautions with the outbreak," he adds.

Hartt and I follow suit and soon the entire room smells like alcohol fumes with a hint of citrus.

"I was expecting you," the doctor says retrieving a file off his desk which he opens and leafs through. "Kate Killoren, correct?"

"Yes." I answer. Just hearing someone else say her name, a doctor especially, seens chills down my spine. "Anything you can tell me about her condition, I know I can't see her, but she's been here so long and all I keep hearing is that her condition is poor and due to the quarantine I cannot see her and I can't bring my son to see his mom. It's really very difficult."

"You're wife was getting excellent care, I want you to know this, from the moment she arrived here. She's a young women and a strong women, clearly a fighter. She came to us with a significant injury however, subdural hematoma, bleeding in the brain. We were able to relieve the pressure and despite the poor prognosis at the time, she surprised all of us. She had another setback in January, when a clot formed, but we were able to take care of that too." he pauses and flips the page before looking up at me.

"Please sit, both of you."

The knot in my stomach tightens as I find my way to a chair.

"Things got a bit complicated after that," he continues. "We had her in an induced coma initially, but our ability to maintain that was hampered by depletion of our pharmaceutical supplies and our inability to restock. We expected her to wake up shortly after, but she did not. She was stable, but remained comatose and has remained so since."

"But she's okay? Is she in pain? Is she aware of what is going on?" I blurt out in rapid succession.

"She was stable and I do not believe she is in pain. I cannot say what her level of consciousness is, or whether she is aware of anything around her. Her plantar reflex is good, but we can't do much in the way of testing to see if she has suffered any irreparable damage. The biggest issue now is that she has an mild case of pneumonia, it's bacterial and she needs antibiotics which we are desperately low on. Her state exacerbates the pneumonia because she can't get up and move around."

"Without antibiotics, what will happen?"

"Well, the body can fight of infection, when healthy, but she has a lot of other challenges. It would be very beneficial to her to have a full course of amoxicillin or doxycycline, but we just don't have enough of it."

"Enough? So you have some?" I say.

"Yes, but I can't give it to her," he says, grimacing.

"Why not?"

"Triage. There is a new triage system in place."

"What does that mean, exactly?" I say, sliding forward on my chair. Anger is slowly seeping into my bloodstream replacing my anxiety.

"Without Kate's other conditions, she would qualify for the treatment, but because the antibiotic has no bearing on the likelihood of her recovering from her other injuries she does not qualify."

"Does not qualify?" My voice is no longer subdued, I am standing above the doctor now and Hartt has a firm grip on my left bicep.

"Easy Connor," Hartt says.

"I am sorry Mr. Killoren, this is not my policy," Dr. Hu explains. "I have fought for your wife every step of the way, but the new administration is making changes."

"What new administration?" I ask, my eyes narrowing and I turn toward Hartt. We have had previous discussions over the winter months about a certain local entity who has appeared to be taking advantage of the current situation.

"Denton Frost." Dr. Hu answers. The name rings out like the starting bell at the Kentucky derby.

"Jesus Christ!" I slam my fist down on Dr. Hu's desk and storm out the door with Hartt giving chase. Denton fucking Frost, why didn't I see this coming?

Denton is kind of a big deal, just ask him. I went to school with the prick. He drove a souped-up Mustang his daddy bought him: I took the bus. I'm not bitter, well, maybe I am, but it's well earned. I once got into a shoving match in the hall with him when he referred to a friend of mine as a whore. Teachers broke it up before any blood was shed, well, any of mine that is. I still feel like hitting the guy, I'm much better at it now. I'm not very good at letting bygones be bygones. I hoard my past slights, let them fester. What can I say? I'm full of faults.

Money begets money, and Denton has done well with the family fortune. He's into agriculture, real estate, land development, and there are plenty of rumours about his shadier business enterprises. The rumours are likely accurate, but nobody seems to care. He is also a major stakeholder in Pelex. It's safe to say most people view him as a wealthy benefactor, a pillar of the community and a great guy. I'm not most people.

He didn't really work for his fortune, but he's grown it for certain. That much I will give him. Same as his father, who was also born into money. I think it was his great‑grandfather that first came to this town as destitute Irish immigrant without two pennies to rub together and worked his fingers to the bone. It was him who had the wherewithal to buy up land with every cent he could spare. By the time he passed away, Earl Frost was one of the wealthiest men in the region, and the family has remained that way ever since.

"Hold up Connor!" Hartt calls after me as I shoulder my way through the stairwell door. I rip the mask from my face, followed by the smock tossing them carelessly to the floor as I descend the steps. Hartt catches me on the landing between the second and third floor. "Just wait a minute before you do something stupid."

"You knew, didn't you?" I shout, my voice echoing in the stairwell. "Why didn't you tell me Frost was digging his greedy little fingers into the hospital? Jesus Hartt, you don't think you could have mentioned this?"

"Connor, this is exactly why I didn't mention it. Every time his name has come up over the past three months, you completely lose your shit. You knew perfectly well that Frost Enterprises was working on the biomass boiler. Like it or not, Frost Enterprises has kept this hospital running."

"At what expense, for control of the hospital, so it can serve them? What about Kate? What about what she needs? They'll just let her fucking die up there, alone in that god forsaken room. She'll die up there Hartt, without ever seeing her son again."

"Frost was already a big part of the hospital long before the shit hit the fan, he was on the board and a major benefactor of the hospital foundation. When things started falling apart, he came in with a team and started managing the place. He's not the villain here. They are doing the best they can. The triage system is a necessary evil, there just isn't enough to go around, they are running out of everything."

"This is bullshit!" I shout, pushing Hartt away. "You fucking knew!"

I leave Hartt behind on the landing and take another flight down and in my moment of high emotion I forget what floor I am on and I exit the stairwell early bursting through the door and straight into a woman nearly knocking her to the ground. Several folders full of paper go airborn, briefly soaring before descending like falling leaves and scattering across the floor in all directions. The screaming tirade of rage on the verge of erupting from my mouth stops cold as a glimmer of recognition sparks in my mind.

"Connor? Connor Killoren?" she asks in a calm, soft voice.

Momentarily stunned, I just glare back at her.

"Are you okay, you look upset. Was that you shouting?" she asks, her concern genuine.

"I'm sorry Dana." I apologize and begin picking up the papers that are strewn all over the hall.

"Connor, what are you doing here? You still live in Grey Harbour?"

"What's left of it." I reply.

"Yeah," she says, nodding slowly. "I know what you mean."

I doubt she really knows what I mean. Dana is tall and slender, and despite the years that have past she appears to have that swimmer's body I remember from high school. There are a couple things about Dana Lennox, first, she was my best friend in high school. Secretly, I had a raging crush on her, but we kept things platonic, much to my chagrin. Eventually we parted ways, drifted apart and carried on with our lives. There was always a small dark corner of my heart that remained reserved for Dana, but though that dim torch burned it was overshadowed by the anger and betrayal that I've never been able to get past. Ever since the day she became Mrs. Dana Frost.

"How many years has it been?" she asks.

"Honestly I have no idea." I reply, but I am in no mood for small talk, especially with Dana.

"I can't believe we have never bumped into each other, Grey Harbour just isn't that big. You've been here the entire time?"

"Look Dana, I don't mean to be rude, this day has just kind of unraveled on me and I really just want to get home."

"Oh, okay, I won't hold you up. Are you sure you're okay?"

Despite my intent to leave, I'm held in place by some unseen force. Despite my desire to isolate myself and brood, I feel compelled to answer Dana's question.

"No, I'm not okay Dana. My wife is here and she needs medicine, medicine that this new fucking triage policy is preventing her from getting. A policy that apparently your fucking husband helped institute. So I'm not okay, I'm a million fucking miles from okay and getting farther every second."

Dana is no stranger to my rages, as my main confidant during the tumultuous teen years she got many earfuls likely far worse. I should feel bad about cursing her husband and shouting in her face, but it has had the same pressure-release-valve effect it did many years ago and I instantly feel better. And just like she always, her reaction is compassionate and calming.

"Connor," she starts, taking my hand in hers. "The triage policy isn't set in stone. Denton is here right now for a meeting, come with me, we'll wait in his office for him, then we'll see what we can do for your wife."