Focused on my laptop screen, I reviewed my options. Chicago seemed like the best choice; it had been voted the best children's hospital for many years. I hummed to myself as I thought of the girls tending to the babies. I had shared my plan with them, though not everything. I'd simply told them, tersely, that Damon had refused to help and blamed my "hysteria." Therefore, I would take the babies to the ER, the best possible one.
May was overly concerned, while Lily worried about my state, even questioning if I was fit to drive. I briefly recounted a past experience in Monaco, where I'd driven in a much worse state, after a "world-saving gig" with the pack waiting. But that was ancient history. I told them to stop worrying, explaining that I would need a few hours to check things out, chat with the hospital, and see what needed to be done.
I had already taken a picture of another blood-filled diaper, measured at over 400 grams, indicating at least 300 ml of blood or liquid. I sent the picture to my initial contact and waited for a nurse or someone to come online in the chat. I embraced my hurt and let the pain fuel me, as did Damon's betrayal. It worked.
I sipped more coffee, managed to eat three loaded sandwiches, and drank a liter of Coca-Cola; my rage was a powerful motivator. I took a deep breath, controlling myself, when the indicator flashed green, signaling that someone was checking my message. I hoped they would tell me it wasn't a big deal.
The Salvatores had been giving the babies subcutaneous fluids regularly, but I still felt they were dehydrated. Number three would be coming home soon; he could give them another fluid bolus, and I could update him. Well, let's see what this chat brings.
"Hello, thank you for contacting us. I saw the picture you sent. Could you wait a few minutes? I will ask the on-call doctor for their opinion. I must say, this looks quite severe, and I need to ensure I give you the correct instructions. I see your husband is a doctor working in the ER; has he said anything?" the nurse typed.
I sighed and replied, "He's busy and doesn't want to get his other children sick, so he's not caring for mine. I have 14 husbands, all medically trained – not actual doctors, but as old, ancient vampires, 10 of them have skills. However, they are giving the babies some subcutaneous fluids, but they are also working. I can wait while you consult the doctor."
The nurse replied, "Oh, I see. Thank you for waiting; I will be right back."
I leaned back in my chair, my pulse racing. This brief contact had worsened my anxiety. If the nurse thought the diaper was concerning, then it must be. All of this brought back an old memory: my first dog.
Well, he wasn't actually our first dog, as there was one before him, but I barely recall that one. This one, small, black, looking like some terrier mix, once had a really nasty infection and ended up shitting several meters of almost pure blood in our home, in the hallway. We were living in an apartment building back then, and I could still recall that huge volume of blood. But he got a course of antibiotics and was his sassy self in a few days, but it was a close call.
I was hoping this would be the same – that the doctor might prescribe antibiotics or something, and there was no reason for actual concern here. I was startled when my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but I answered it anyway. It was Dr. Derek Bellington from the hospital, the Chief of Pediatrics. He wanted to ask a few questions first.
I told him, "Sure, I can drive there; it's a little over 8 hours if traffic is fine, and I'm willing. I must admit, my husband, the doctor one, is stressed and thinks I'm overreacting, so I'm not sure if he informed other facilities nearby since he's the chief of emergency here."
The doctor's voice was calm and reassuring as he said, "Good, drive here, but first, let me ask a few questions, and then I'll give you my number so you can call me when you're on the road. This sounds like E. coli or something, and it can be contagious to other supernaturals, not humans. I will give you advice on the trip too."
"Thank you," I said. "I haven't slept well, and I was just thinking maybe I overreacted. But the blood in their diaper and in their vomit scares me. They seem more listless. My husbands have been giving them subcutaneous fluids, under their skin, in their backs. As wizards and energy creatures, they numb the area so the babies don't feel anything. I could do it too, but I won't; I need to be their security, not someone who pokes them."
The doctor hummed and said, "Fine, here's what we'll do. Take their vitals and send them to me. I'll give you the formula and tell you how much fluid to administer just before you leave. Your husbands can surely help with this. I'll also give you a prescription for fever medication for sensitive supernaturals at the nearest pharmacy. Now, I guess you're not feeling well either. I think we're looking at some days in isolation, so pack your bag. We have hospital clothes, but reserve something when this is all over, for you and the children, as it might be that if there are certain strains, we have to incinerate your clothes."
Despite the doctor's calm voice, my worry bloomed. There was a note in his voice, a note I knew all too well, a note that said something truly serious was happening. But I kept my cool and listened to the doctor, gripping my phone until my knuckles blanched.
May watched me worriedly; she had heard the doctor, too. Emmylee was already informing a few Salvatores, and I guessed they were packing my bags and prepping for my trip, making sure I had supplies. After the doctor gave me instructions, including the formula to use and how to calculate the fluid amount, given their supernatural status, I told him about our bump's centrifugal liquid. He said to use it as 100ml per kilo for the first ten kilos and then 50ml per kilo, given subcutaneously. But if possible, an IV bolus would help more.
So, I said to Number Five, "My love, could you give the babies IV boluses before I leave, and then load them up with subcutaneous fluids as well? My trip will probably take ten hours, and it would help if they were as hydrated as possible."
He answered telepathically, "Fine, baby, we'll get right on it. Let's see if we can get cannulas in so you can dose them up too, if needed. But no guarantees; they are restless and cranky and might just yank it out. We'll see as we put them in IV for now, while packing your car and bags."
"Good," I replied, "every drop is needed. I hope I'm overreacting, but when the doctor called, he confirmed my fears. This isn't a random stomach bug; he suspects E. coli, and it's particularly dangerous for young children, especially for supernaturals. Pack clothes you wouldn't mind burning if the germ is particularly nasty."
He grunted, and I could feel him starting to act. We shared a hivemind within our pack, which was useful, but after modifying it, we, and others, became hypersensitive to each other's emotions. I focused on keeping my anxiety from bleeding into the hive, trying to prevent everyone from feeling how worried I truly was.
My car was one of our larger ones, and I had extra car seats from surplus inventory, just in case they couldn't fully sanitize the ones already in use. My trunk, or the back of my car, was pretty full. The men had placed sheets over the car seats, but there was still a risk of contamination, and even the car itself might not be salvageable.
However, I had a buffer. I was also planning that after this crisis was over, we wouldn't return home immediately. Instead, I would take my babies on a road trip to give them something nice and fun. I reserved plenty of clothes for them, packed their stroller, and took several debit cards with me, as I had buffer money. I could spend it on my babies.
God knows Dickweed had spent a fortune on Mariella and her three brats. I was grimly satisfied that they weren't Dickweed's, but other Salvatores. He wasn't their biological father, and I knew Damon well enough to know that it irked him, but he couldn't do anything about it.
Now, with this next lot, him being all cold and distant, the odds were that Mariella's brood had again multiple daddies. It would be perfect to make her give birth to Adam's or Charles's baby. I wasn't being kind to Damon; I was pissed off as fuck.
This time, there was no reasonable excuse for his behavior. There was no chance of him just saying sorry. I was a dick. He had truly crossed the line, and big time. My trust in him was utterly decimated, and he was my husband, well, one of 14, but he no longer had my trust, not a drop.
Knowing I trusted the other Salvatores, I wanted them to be certain of it. Once they had brought almost everything inside, the girls were caring for the babies who were still connected to IVs. Cannulas posed too great a risk to leave in, so they would have to be removed, but they would load up with extra fluids under their skin.
Actually, it was a jelly. Number three had come up with the idea of a nutritional jelly with a febrifuge, so they might tolerate the long drive a bit better. Number four had been on the phone with the others and had given instructions on making me a medkit, meaning a few injectables just in case.
Of course, I could give them to the hospital staff to use, as all the Salvatores were registered as dental vampires – a funny thing, but it was noted on them, meaning their substances would be approved, mostly. Number seven was collecting something on his teeth, as he was draining something for me. I rolled my eyes; I wasn't going to let them hook me up to an IV anytime soon, but if the hospital saw fit, again, reserves.
I had collected my papers and documents, as well as my charger, phone, and all the necessary things for the trip afterward.
As the Salvatores who were around sat in our lounge, anxious and worried, I said to them, "Here's the thing: Mariella is pregnant, as you know, and she's once again being hormonal. She's been feeding bullshit to number one that I steal you from her. Now, this is your choice; no one is stealing anyone, but I'm not going to give her ammo. Besides, this germ is nasty, and it's too draining for one of you to keep a constant energy shield and not get infected. Remember, you are my other half. These five are mine and Damon's, and they are sick. I have symptoms, meaning it would be more likely you'd get hit, too. So, I am not risking it. I need you to cook, keep this place up and running, and I have no idea if this germ is a certain type. There might be mandatory disinfectant protocols by the authorities, so just you to know."
Number seven nodded, not happy. "You are once again right, baby, but damn it, you need support. I hate to let you go alone."
I smiled at him and said, "I know you do, but pack comes first. Let's teach Dickweed and Miss Pussy that again, shall we?"
He shook his head, trying unhappily to come up with some reason not to let me do this alone, but there was none.
Money and food were needed, and there were still girls and others around, including Mariella and her brood, Dickweed, Adam, Charles, and the boys. I needed someone to keep my shop open or take orders and make them when I was on holiday or in the hospital.
Even though it was spring and summer was coming, and there wouldn't be as much need for heating, there was still a lot to do. We needed wood for winter; we had used almost everything last winter, and now they needed to chop more and put it out to dry. It was an ongoing task. There was also meat cutting and meal planning, and everything would still be around even if I and the toddlers were gone.
Charles was still the pack leader and was not going to let Damon try to take leadership. Using this as an excuse, we had our plan ready; it was just a question of making it happen and being done with it.
Number three was near me, and he said, "Baby, I know you, and I know for sure that this will bloom into some version of MNDS, so we will be ready once you get back home, and you are taken care of. Just prepare for that. I am not going to let you tell me once this is all over that you are fine when you are not. You have issues with all things medical; you are on your way to the hospital; you are sick, so medical treatment is in your future, and tolerating it only makes it worse as you feel you have to be the strongest. But baby, my love, Mimi, we will be here to catch you, and just take that attitude; there's no need to try to convince us of anything else."
His voice was tight, and his normally gentle expression was now somewhere between fiercely protective, loving, and deeply worried, all at the same time, and he let me feel it all.
After I kissed him for about a minute, I said, "My love, thank you, and we'll see where we are once this is over. I need you and the others to do one big thing; it's partially for me but also a lesson and warning to Mariella, a reminder of sorts."
Number seven asked, "Tell us what you need; if it's teaching Mariella, I'm all for it."
I smiled; it was funny that the so-called "fucking machines" were the most emotional ones, meaning they had some deep, traumatic shit buried somewhere. Maybe in time it would all come out, but first, my little insurance.
"I keep my part of the hive quite closed. Still, I want you to let her feel everything you feel: your worry over me, over the babies, your anxiety about this. And what I am about to give you will make you pissed off as shit, so let her feel that too, and make sure Mariella knows what happened."
Taking a calming breath, I allowed them to witness the events that unfolded when I requested Damon's assistance. I could feel the palpable anger radiating from many of the Salvatores, including those on duty.
Number Two's voice echoed in my mind as he drove, "Nicely done, Mimi; I nearly drove into the ditch! Oh my god, when I get that damn dickweed, I'm going to make him eat his balls."
Number Four remained silent, but his burning rage was undeniably clear. Wulfe, on the other hand, felt like a vast, empty black hole. The emotions emanating from his soul were indescribable, and I knew he was furious, to say the least.
However, this presented an opportunity to teach Mr. Dickweed some harsh lessons, perhaps forcing him out of his funk and confronting the ugly truth. Oh my god, I might send a few medical facts as soon as I get to the hospital.
The future held a promise of brightness, but at that moment, worry and genuine dread consumed me, burning like a wildfire. I desperately tried to maintain my composure, suppressing my symptoms and concealing the severity of the situation from everyone. It was time to act and get moving.
The car was loaded, and the sleepy toddlers were safely strapped in. The fever medicine and painkiller, administered via a nutrient jelly injection under their skin, were beginning to ease their discomfort, and I berated myself for not considering this sooner.
For now, though, it was time to head to Chicago, to Lurie Children's Hospital. According to my GPS, the journey would take approximately twelve hours, and it was already 3 pm. We'd be driving through the night, but it was spring, and the nights were getting lighter. I hoped for a pleasant drive with minimal complications.
My first stop would be Duluth, followed by Eau Claire in Wisconsin, then Madison, Wisconsin, before finally reaching Chicago. If the babies became more demanding, I might need to make extra stops, but this was my current plan. The drives between each point ranged from two to four hours, with the longest leg being the initial one. The babies were asleep, so I hoped to drive as far as possible.
I walked toward my packed car, the horde of Salvatores still stationed at the door, a faint shimmer of their energy field hovering in the air around them.