Participants:
| Scene Title | I May Never Stop Crying Again |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Abby is cleaning up the clean room and Megan's taking a break. |
| Date | February 22, 2011 |
Pollepel Island - Clean room
With the arrival of Abigail from the mainland on the last boat, with it came some things that might come in handy down in the infirmary, also known as quarantine central.
Scrubs
Not the expensive kind, but more the stopped in at a walmart while in Long Island City and picked up a whole bunch of them. Drab in color, they had one purpose. That those who worked in the quarantine wouldn't have to wear their own clothes and thereby increase the exposure of the virus to others in the castle. They would leave their clothes in one side of the room and scrubs on the other. It ate into a bit of what she had hoarded money wise, but every little bit helps when it comes to keeping the cirus from spreading further.
And the clean room was where Abigail was, sorting through the three various sizes into piles. Small, medium and large, and if anyone didn't fit into them, then… well. There was nothing she could do.
She wasn't careless either while helping handle the contaminated clothes. She had long sleeves on, gloves, the face masks that she would use in the ambulance with Peter, and her own hair tucked back with clips. Things that needed incinerating, she's take care of later with help from someone. "We can dig… a hole. Get some stones and build up around it, contaminated stuff that we can't clean or don't trust to get clean, I can burn it" She tells the other woman in the room with her. "I know that I burn hot enough to deal with bodies as well" A sad fact that she didn't wish she needed to bring up, but burying the bodies might not be the wisest thing given the nature of the bug.
"Oh God," Megan replies quietly. "Now there's something I didn't want to have to consider." The redhead is leaning back against the edge of the table, her hands on the edge of it. Her copper hair has, of late, begun to develop a dramatic pure silver streak above her left eye. She makes efforts to hide it a bit among the other strands, braided tightly and woven in, but … well, it's not like she has time to color it or anything like that. If it weren't for the fact that it's easier to keep OUT of the way pinned up, she'd have already cut the mass short.
And she wants a cigarette in the worst possible way.
"We lost Eric Jenkins today," Meg says quietly. "Mala… against all odds she's still holding her own. But two other children and Gillian are starting to suffer hallucinations. This early in the game…." She shakes her head a little. It's not good.
"I know" Abigail's voice is quiet and hushed as she stuffs clothes into the bags, to be taken and dealt with by the hospital grade laundry detergent. "Someone told me" Megan's not the only one working in there and thank god there's Francois as well. A handful of others who make the rounds, mopping brows, trying to get them to eat and drink. "It's not what we saw last year, it's…" More fatal. Far more fatal. Abigail inwardly hopes that somehow, some way, Robert has managed to get himself innoculated. Her heart skips a beat at the thought of her husband catching it again.
She drops the bag, stripping off the gloves and pulling down the mash to let it sit under her chin before coming to stand beside the nurse. Her hand landing gently on Megan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "The lord will take, those who's time it is to take and while they may suffer down here, and we suffer their loss, they shall sit at his right hand and enjoy everlasting life and happiness in the lords arms" Hollow sounding a comfort it may be to others or cruel and mean, to Abigail, it's a small comfort.
Perhaps to Megan too. Her hand comes up to grip Abby's. She turns her head to rest her cheek on their twined hands, struggling — like everyone — to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. She remains silent, clenching her jaw against the lump in her throat.
Sucking in a deep breath, Meg looks at the paramedic. "How're you holding up? I worry about letting you guys in there… but I can't afford not to," she admits softly. There are not enough hands to help if the Evo in the Ferry aren't helping with the flu victims.
"I'm fine. I was around people who got it last year, never caught even a drop of it. It's made from the shanti Virus and I was inoculated against that a couple years ago" It's the only reason that she can think that she didn't get it last year when everywhere she turned, after she'd been injected with the formula, there it was. Caliban, Teo, Kozlow and countless other.
"You saw me, we were both working on Hannah, stripping the others, if I was going to get it, I would have." But she had no fever, no cough, none of the symptoms. Abigail squeezes Megan's hand, taking up a seat so that she can offer Megan her shoulder and her arms, hold the older woman in an embrace. Sometimes, one needs to just surge past their barriers, past their comfort levels and be there. "If you need me in there, just say. I can't get it" It's the only thing that makes sense, expecially when everyone else evolved who's come in contact with the bodies seems to have succumbed.
It does make sense. Megan's not exactly sure she trusts that immunity — after all, the virus has mutated now. But she can't afford to turn down experienced help either. She rests her head on Abby's shoulder taking what small comfort she can in the hug, well aware of what a gift it truly is. "I need you in there. The adults are going to start coming down with it, and I can't keep running 20-hour days. I've got to catch sleep somewhere or I won't be able to help anyone."
Moving to lift her head, Megan offers a small smile at Abby. "Thank you," she says as she pats the other woman's arm. "I can't seem to keep it arm's length right now."
"megan, if you manage to keep it arms length, then something is wrong because those are babies in there, little kids who have been infected by people who don't give a care about them. I am spit steaming mad and I want to go find this person responsible and give him a firy hug" She regards the other woman, lips forming a terse pink line. Not for Megan and her determination to keep her emotions locked tight and in a neutral state. who wouldn't. It's the situation that they've been placed in.
"Yeah, well…. if I fall into the pit of abject horror that lives at the edge of my conscious mind, I might never stop crying again." Megan's lived through a lot — epidemics even. But this is different. These kids are too close. This is why she works trauma and never pediatrics. It's…. cleaner. She sighs. "If you cook them to a shish kabob, I'd be much obliged," she admits. "The scrubs are going to be a huge help, though. Less exposure. Thank you for doing it."
"I can, I'll take them out to my spot and take care of it." Heat, high heat kills it, and Abigail can easily hit the temperature that's required to destroy it. She surpasses it too, by a lot. "Go eat, rest Megan. The infirmary is covered, it's okay." Nudging the woman towards the door.
Megan smiles slightly. "I know." She's just afraid she'll go to sleep and wake to find another one gone now. "Okay. Give me four hours now and I'll take a short shift." Tag-team sleeping is probably going to be the order of the week. She shoves herself upright and walks for the door, her usual brisk stride slowed by fatigue. "I'll see you in a bit."
