Free Dust by Jacqueline Druga-marchetti

back. In fact, there was a sense of ‘boasting’ when it came to Tammy being hurt. She treated her injuries like war wounds, spewing forth great tales about them. Even at times—depending on how she acquired them—she’d brag of them like trophies.
    Except this time.
    For an odd reason, we couldn’t get from Tammy exact details of what happened. We knew she was near ground zero, but obviously far enough away that she wasn’t vaporized. We also got that she was driving and her truck over turned from the blast. Other than that, she said she took cover, waited until she couldn’t wait anymore then headed our way. Though her long-term goals were with our little group, her short-term goals weren’t; her objectives were a warm bowl of soup, cup of water and a place to rest for a few hours. Then she was heading off to find her teenage son, stopping first at the high school two miles away, then home.
    Sam prepared food for Tammy, stating her injuries made him sick. I think Sam was sick and he used Tammy as an excuse. There was, however, a slight odor, sour smelling, that came from the thick gash on her left bicep. Without placing my nose directly to her, I wasn’t able to determine if it was the gash, or the burnt skin around it. Either way, her arm was swollen, and the areas not infected on the limb were deep and red. Burke tended to the arm, I cleaned the abrasions on the side of her face, and Matty applied a band-aid to Tammy’s skinned knee. All while Tammy griped that she wasn’t a baby and for us to quit fussing over her.
    Simon must have found the entire scenario very interesting. He made his way over, sneaking in between the three of us playing doctor. Little index finger extended, he’d point awfully close to the wounds while saying, “Does your boo-boo hurt?”
    Davy finally pulled Simon away; I know it was for fear that Burke would step on him. He took Simon aside, and colorfully narrated our attempts as if he were reading Simon a book, and we were the words on the page.
    “OK, enough.” Tammy aimed her complaint toward Burke. “I told you it doesn’t hurt.”
    “Then why are you jumping when I touch it?” Burke asked.
    “Because you keep pouring whiskey on it, of course it’s gonna sting. What do you think?” she argued.
    I know what I was thinking. I was thinking, ‘please don’t fight with Burke, he’ll stop working on that arm, and I’ll be stuck with it.’
    “This is ridiculous.” Burke tossed down the rag. “She needs medical attention.”
    Tammy was defiant, “Oh, I do not. Besides, Burke, where? Huh? Where?”
    “Out there, somewhere,” Burke said. “They have to be setting something up.”
    “Who?” Tammy questioned. “Who would do it? The government. They aren’t doing anything right now. Trust me. Nothing but a bunch of confused people wandering around. There’s no military. No nothing.”
    “Fuck,” Burke said with disgust. “I don’t believe this shit. All the planning, Jo. I’m surprised you didn’t plan on some medical person joining us.”
    “I did.” I replied. “She moved out of town.”
    “Then we’re gonna have to figure something out,” Burke explained. “This arm is bad. I don’t know what’s happening with it, infection, whatever it is, it’s fuckin foul.”
    Tammy breathed out. “Thank you for that.”
    “And him ... ” Burke indicated to Sam. “He’s hacking up a lung every five seconds.”
    Sam spoke up, “It’s the dust I took in. That’s all.” He coughed.
    “Yeah.” Burked nodded sarcastically. “My point is, Jo, none of us have any medical knowledge.”
    “I resent that,” I said. “I went to school to be a medical assistant.”
    Burke laughed.
    “What?” I asked.
    “A medical assistant?” Burke was snide. “Please. A medical assistant is something a welfare mother decides to be because it’s schooling the state pays for while she keeps getting monthly checks.”
    “Oh, my God!” I gasped out. “Can you be any more