As darkness fell, the steering wheel felt heavy in my hands, and my gritty eyes scanned for our next stop. The babies had slept soundly all the way to Duluth, and I was now heading toward Des Moines. Although this route would take longer, an accident on my original route, with an unknown clearance time, forced my decision.
There was some slight fussing from the babies, but nothing too bad yet. Still, I scouted for suitable stopping points – roadside diners or small cities where I could stop, change diapers, and potentially find more medicine. I had already stopped in Duluth to get the medication the doctor prescribed, so I might need to use it soon if the medicinal jelly ran out.
Of course, during the drive, I questioned my choices, wondering if I should have gone to a hospital. However, I considered the possibility that they might not have a place for sick supernatural babies. Chicago, at least, had five wards for supernatural pediatric illnesses and infections. The road seemed endless, and even though it was still light, the hours of driving took their toll on my sick body.
I was still keeping my hive under wraps, but I allowed my symptoms to flare more now that no one was watching. This would save some of my strength, which was, scarily, running out. This was a truly nasty bug, and the aches and pains had blossomed into hot agony in my gut.
No matter how hard I tried to isolate the sensations, they changed, hitting me in cruel waves of agony. My breath hitched, and I cursed under my breath, not caring if my babies picked up a few bad words. After all, they were my babies, and some form of potty mouth was to be expected.
Having spotted a diner in the distance, I began to drive towards it. The babies, now more awake, were screaming as they had filled their diapers. I could clearly smell it. I sighed and parked my car a little further away, but still within the illuminated area.
Stepping out, I stretched, feeling my vertebrae pop and my joints crunch. A pain hit my gut as I overdid it, but I bit my lip and walked to the back of the car to prepare the baby changing station. With my supplies ready, including a triple trashbag, I went to get my first client, Sadie.
I spoke to her in a calm voice, trying to soothe her, but she cried weakly, kicking and writhing in distress, which made the task harder.
"Shit, please, Sadie, try to be still; mommy needs to change you. No, do not roll over, shush, for god's sake, fucking damn infection!" I didn't care what my mouth said.
Once I finally had her ready, I measured out a dose of fever medicine and a painkiller, hoping it would ease her. Salvatore had come up with anti-nausea medication, and while I wasn't sure if it was still working, I had to try to give it to her. The amount wasn't large, and maybe she could keep it down.
I was using hand sanitizer gel like crazy, trying to prevent the spread of germs. I had special "bombs" made by Salvatore: little tablets containing a spell. All I had to do was drop one into the trash bag once I was done, mutter a word, and they would activate, almost completely killing the germs and containing further spread.
I finally finished with Sadie, and to my surprise, she hadn't yet vomited. She seemed sweaty, so the drugs must be kicking in. It might drain their energy and make them all sweaty and limp, but it was better than being cooked alive with that brutal fever. Any rest they got would be a bonus.
Next, it was Dash's turn, and he was furious. He tried to crawl away and move, and I figured he was experiencing the same fever-induced restlessness I was. I gave him the fever medication right away, but he promptly puked it up. Fine. I couldn't give a second dose, unsure how much he'd absorbed, although the bottle had clear instructions.
I patiently, while cursing under my breath, managed to change him. Oh my god, I should have brought someone with me, but it was too late. I just had to bear through this. My nerves felt like they were fraying and about to snap as I turned my attention from Dash to Sabrina, who was also very angry.
She didn't puke, and the drug took effect pretty quickly. While I was changing her, sweat literally poured from her tiny body, dehydrating her even more. Fuck, not good, but fine. Let's see if I can get some fluids into them at some point. I hadn't considered they'd be so sweaty and have such bloody, runny diarrhea. They were losing fluids much faster than I could replenish them.
I ran my hand through my messy curls as I finally finished changing all five of them; they were sleeping. Fine. No time for me to get something to eat when I needed to get them to the hospital as soon as possible. I just had to keep going, no matter what I was feeling or how damn worried I was. Oh, I hoped, wished from the bottom of my heart, that once we reached Chicago, the doctors would tell me it was just a normal stomach bug, but somehow I knew that was a daydream that was never going to happen.
Not for me, anyway. Maybe for Mr. Dickweed and his perfect trio, but not for me, never. I was always the one who got the biggest hit, and my babies, my poor five little ones, had been victims here, too.
I didn't wonder where this germ had even come from; it was never a question that crossed my mind. Maybe because I was rarely the one to try and find blame or a reason, but I was usually the one just going with the flow, dealing with things, and moving on. Blaming or finding causality helped no one at this moment, and besides, I wasn't like that.
The road seemed endless, and the lights were fading. It was already dark as I approached the Illinois border, but I still had three to four hours of driving ahead, not including the inevitable slow-down in Chicago. The hospital was in the middle of the city, meaning traffic would likely be heavy. Sadie was wailing again, and now Sabrina and Seraphina were starting to cry too.
I had been driving for over nine hours and had already made seven stops. Sometimes, I had to stop after only 45 minutes to get gasoline and coffee. I was starting to look for the next stop; I was exhausted. My eyes were blurry and gritty, and this car seemed difficult to maneuver. The babies' crying pierced my mind. Finally, my navigator showed a decent-sized, 24/7 diner nearby.
It was still in Iowa, not Illinois, but at least I could fill the gas tank, maybe give the car a bit of power, get some coffee, and perhaps some buns or pie. I also needed to change the babies again. I was hesitant to give them fever medication, as they sweated so much and couldn't keep anything down. I wasn't going to poke them; they were too restless, and their tiny veins were hard to find. I would just have to hurry.
I could call the hospital when I was about an hour away, already in Illinois. As I finally reached the diner, I saw its lights and sighed. Now all five babies were fussing and screaming; the stench of bloody diarrhea was thick in the air. I parked the car a little further away, no need to park right in front of the diner, and tried to find a suitable space for my little clean-up operation. I was so damn tired.
I got out and walked back to the car, not paying attention to the cars parked in front of the diner. I opened the trunk, or backdoor, letting it rise fully, and reached for my care station, putting it ready. I reached for the next set of bags, readying a sanitizing bomb, cream, wipes, diapers, and ointments.
I had my medkit nearby, just in case someone calmed down enough for me to find a vein, but I was realistic and knew that wasn't likely. The screaming intensified. Gloves and my disposable apron were ready; it was time to do this again. At least the fresh night air dispersed the stench somewhat.
A group of policemen was at a diner, consisting of three patrols. This was generally a calm area, but state law required them to patrol it. Senior officer George Tolliver, though not old, was in charge. He often joked that his job was the easiest, as he mostly drove around, ready for action if needed.
He and many others considered it a waste of state money, but the state adhered to its laws, which dictated the required police presence everywhere. Since the area was quiet, with few residents or businesses, unusual events were rare.
It was also considered a waste of state or city money to have a fully stocked ambulance and doctor ready, as the Illinois border was nearby, and they usually handled most incidents since they were on the Illinois side. Regardless, the city had an allocation, state-funded, so there was nothing to be done.
Having finished their meal, Tolliver, and his men prepared to resume their patrol. They paid their bills, got up, and chatted among themselves. Just as Tolliver stood, he noticed a car swerving towards the diner's yard; despite its remote location, a highway was nearby, and customers sometimes stopped by. His group was nearing the door, still chatting.
They were accompanied by a newcomer, Matthew Harrington, who had graduated from the academy just two weeks prior and was shy and easily flustered, unfamiliar with local customs. Harrington went to the door first and tried to open it. It wouldn't budge.
He tried pulling, then pushing, but it remained closed, causing him to fumble and blush with frustration as one of the others joked, "Oh, is the door too much for you? Well, let me. There's a trick to it; it sometimes gets stuck."
As the police finally forced the door open, it was as if some divine force had orchestrated the timing, or perhaps it was a mere coincidence. A senior officer emerged and was immediately met with the piercing cries of children. His sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for a cranky toddler, but instead, he noticed a large SUV, or perhaps a minivan, parked a short distance away, its lights illuminated and the crying emanating from within.
As a father himself, he furrowed his brow; this was not normal crying. He began walking towards the car, assuming someone inside might need assistance. The sound suggested multiple babies, yet he had only seen one person, whose profile was illuminated by the car's headlights. She was petite and slender, and he could clearly see several babies in the car.
Though the car was not cheap, the sight of a woman like her driving around in the middle of the night with a car full of wailing babies prompted him to offer help. The car's lights illuminated her tired face and blood-red hair, and a flicker in her expression revealed that she was not human.
Nevertheless, he didn't hesitate to approach. He wasn't prejudiced against the supernatural; several supernaturals were in his family, and in some ways, they were superior to humans.
A polite cough nearly startled me as I was attending to Sadie.
A calm voice then asked, "Excuse me, ma'am, it seems you need some assistance. Is there anyone with you? My name is George Tolliver, Senior Officer."
I looked at the police officer, whose face was a mix of worry and calm.
"No," I replied, "I'm alone with my five babies. They're sick, and I'm on my way to Chicago. I've been driving from Warroad, Minnesota. They have a nasty stomach bug, and it's not normal. I contacted a hospital earlier, and they told me to come."
He furrowed his brow and looked me over. "Well, I don't mean to intrude or doubt your abilities, but I'm a father, too, and those babies seem very sick. It's quite a ride to Chicago, and I know how quickly babies can get worse. My daughter had pneumonia once; she was fine one minute and, fifteen minutes later, limp as spaghetti and burning up. She spent a month in the hospital. So, I have a suggestion."
I nodded. "I'm open. What are you suggesting?"
He said, "We have a fire station about fifteen minutes from here with a fully stocked ambulance and a doctor on board. I suggest I call them, let them check the little ones over, maybe give them some fluids, contact Chicago, and then we'll go from there. And you need some coffee and food; you look sick, too."
I nodded; it felt like a godsend. "Oh, please, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate the doctor checking them. It's not infectious to humans, but it might be for supernaturals."
He nodded and spoke into his mic, requesting an ambulance with a doctor, informing them of the five sick infants and me. While I wasn't eager to be poked and prodded, my babies needed all the help they could get.
After calling for the ambulance, the man gestured to other officers and began issuing rapid-fire orders. "Harry and John, take those bags, mark them as biohazards, and put them in the ambulance. Let the ambulance crew take care of them. Bill and Joe, go get some coffee and buns for this lady."
I gave them a list of my dietary restrictions and requests.
Bill, a tall, stocky officer, responded, "Miranda is amazing; she can surely whip something up for you in no time, and we'll have coffee soon." He then headed back into the diner.
Several police officers helped me change the babies, even holding them and shushing them to comfort them.
I told Officer Tolliver, "Thank you. I have some fever medication, but some of them throw it up, and then it makes them sweat so heavily, and I can't get fluids in them, so I'm hesitant to give it to them."
He nodded and said, "The ambulance is coming. I'm sure our doctor can help you. Don't worry, it's our pleasure."
As I ate pie and drank coffee, Officer Tolliver told me how quiet the area usually was and that they were almost useless there. He mentioned that my situation had been the highlight of the year, more or less, for the ambulance crew as well.
I hoped the medical professionals could help my babies, who were now cranky, overtired, and in pain, with bloody diapers. I worried about how much blood they had lost and how much more they could take. However, at least I had some support. Finally, as the ambulance drove into the diner's yard, I sighed, feeling a mix of relief and hope; I was no longer alone.