Nobody

Symptoms

I heaved again as the old man unspooled the hose and turned it on. He started misting me with the water.

"Doc's on the way," he told me.

I tried to grab the hose, desperate for a drink, but he held it out of my reach and went back to spraying me down. I started coughing, deep wracking coughs that made my chest hurt.

I suddenly wanted Pru.

When I remembered she was dead I started crying again.

The water moved off of my and I felt the old man's rough callused hand on the back of my neck. He started misting me with water again.

"Still burning up, boy," He told me.

I coughed, curling over, and when I was done he grabbed my arm, pulling me into a sitting position, and kept taking the hose off of me for a minute or two and then spraying me.

"Seems like a Texas boy would know how to avoid heatstroke," he mused.

I tried to answer, but ended up coughing.

"Course, a man who lost his wife, he might not care if he got heat stroke and died on his front lawn," he said to nobody in particular.

After a little bit lights washed over us and I heard a car door slam.

"He ain't Aquaman, Pete, you can ease up off the water," A rough phlegmy voice groused. "When did Mary-Beth fix this shit pile up?"

"She didn't. Texas here did," Pete said.

The doctor knelt down, putting his fingers on my wrist and checking his watch. "Heart's racing like a hammer, son." He was older, sixties or seventies, with a goatee and his iron colored hair in a mullet. "You're burning up. Let's get you inside."

My muscles were rubber as the two men helped me inside. It smelled of paint, new carpet, and was spotless.

"Where's your bedroom?" The doctor asked.

"Been sleeping in the back of my truck," I told him.

"Which room has a bed in it?" He asked me.

I coughed and he waited for me to finish.

"I don't like the sound of that cough," He told me. "Pete, give us some light. We'll put the boy on the couch."

I remembered the couch. I'd gone to a couple thrift stores in nearby Irving and went shopping, buying furniture for the house. I remembered the workers bringing it in and setting it where I said while the guys from the gravel company leveled and steamrolled the road.

When the light came on the doctor jerked back, staring at my chest.

"Good God Almighty, son, what happened to you?" He asked.

"Huh?" I looked down, expecting to see a bleeding wound or a piece of metal sticking out of me. "What?"

He picked up the dogtags, looking at them.

"What did you say your name was again, son?" Doc Rutheford asked me.

"Sam. Sam English," I told him. My head was still swimming.

"Huh," he said, dropping the dogtags. "What's your blood type, Sam?"

"O-Negative," I said.

"Last four?" He snapped.

I answered out of reflex. "Three one two two," the last was said in a mumble, my head hanging down.

"Huh," was all the doctor said. He looked at Old Pete. "I got this now, Pete. Why don't you go on home to your wife," he looked at me. "Breathe deep, son."