Chapter 4

Jett

“Get the lead out!” I yell as my players lackadaisically run their laps. “I’ve seen senior citizens in wheelchairs make better time than you guys are right now!”

“Christ, Blake, they’re all acting like they just got up from the Thanksgiving dinner table or something,” my defensive coordinator mutters.

“Right? Something must be going on. Call them in, we need to get to the bottom of this shit.”

I stand there waiting as Collins gets the team over to me, crouching down while taking a knee to wait on me, and anxiously waiting to hear what I’m going to say. This isn’t the same group of kids who slaughtered Penn Holley last week, and if they don’t put some pep in their step, they’re going to get dragged through the mud and lose their hard-earned ranking. Not to mention, if their attention doesn’t shift back onto the plays, they’ll end up injured or worse

“The easiest way for a player to get hurt is to be unprepared and lax in their plays,” I state. “During our summer camps, you boys gave it your all during two-a-days and three-a-days. You learned new plays, and worked hard to ensure the existing plays were committed to memory. Last week, you led the region in rushing and passing yards, touchdowns, and possession. Yet today, you all look as though someone killed your dog. So, tell me, what the hell is going on?”

Junior, who is the only sophomore on the varsity squad, raises his hand. “Go ahead, Junior.”

“Well, Coach Blake, none of us are feeling all that well.”

“What do you mean you’re not feeling well?” I inquire. I’m unaware of any stomach bugs going around, and while I know teenage boys will push the envelope with drinking, most of the team has chosen not to go that route. I have a few who will occasionally indulge from what I’ve heard, but only after a game, and for sure none of them do drugs.

His shoulders drop and I notice he’s got sweat beading on his forehead that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Gazing at the rest of the team, I see most of them look the same.

“Coach, we all ate the school lunch today,” Timmers states when Junior fails to speak further. “Not gonna lie, I’m not sure if I’m going to puke my guts up or shit my pants.”

Fuck. Sounds like good old fashioned food poisoning. “Any of you go to the nurse?” I ask.

“Jameson did because he threw up in sixth period,” Cordell calls out.

I look at the team again and realize Jameson is absent from practice, one day before our game. “Did he check out and go home?” I question.

“Yeah, Coach, he did,” Timmers replies.

I mutter under my breath, cursing the fact that if the rest of the team ends up as sick as it sounds like Jameson is, we’re going to end up forfeiting the game. But my boys come first because at the end of the day, this is just a game.

“Okay, boys, I suspect you all have food poisoning and it’s only going to get worse from here on out. Let’s head over to the clinic so we can get the rest of you checked out, so I know how we need to proceed.”

“What do you mean, Coach?” Junior asks, wiping at his mouth. I note he and several others have moved spots from where he was originally, and realize I need to move this fiasco along, or the staff that keeps the field in pristine condition is going to be cursing all of us.

“Thinking tomorrow’s game needs to be called off, Junior,” I reply. “Let’s move it, boys.”

“Coach, they’re our biggest rival,” Timmers ghastly states with a forlorn look crossing his face. “We can’t forfeit!” he protests.

“We can, and we will. None of you boys are in any condition to play football, and the nausea and cramping is only going to get worse,” I inform them, preparing them what they”re facing while remembering my own bout with food poisoning several years ago. I thought I was dying, and at one point, was positive I had thrown up food I consumed in my earlier childhood years. I even swore I was seeing my stomach lining at one point, but my mom told me it was hallucinations from the fever.

“While you’re getting checked over, I’ll see if I can snag a bus to take you guys home. No way are any of you who drive getting behind the wheel in your condition. Your folks can come back later this evening and grab your vehicles for you.”

* * *

“Sorry, Coach,” Timmers mumbles as I drop him off.

“Not yours or anyone else’s fault, buddy,” I reply.

I only ended up taking a handful of the kids home because several ended up being transported to the hospital from the school’s clinic, and a few of the boys called their parents who came and picked them up from the resource office. Once I get done taking the bus back, I’ll be heading to the hospital to check on my boys.

Tonight’s gonna be a long night; I’ve already called the coach from the rival school, as well as the division officials. At the end of the day, I’m not worried about one loss because to date, we’re undefeated, so our team should still make the county playoffs at the end of the season.

Apparently, not only my team was impacted; it seems that anyone who ate the school lunch has taken ill. The last I heard, the principal was in communication with the superintendent to see about closing school tomorrow, and possibly Monday, to allow the kids to get better while the kitchen is completely cleaned and disinfected.

“See you Monday, Coach,” Timmers says before walking up his driveway, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Hopefully so, man,” I whisper before heading back to the bus depot.

Time to head to the hospital. Right now, I’m glad Dusty is spending the night at my sister’s house. We do that a lot during the season since practices run so late; that way he’s able to keep to a schedule. I’ve found with his ADHD that those are a must, otherwise, he devolves, and things get ugly fast. Other than that, he’s a good kid and I’m grateful he’s mostly easy going.

Once back at the school, I turn the bus keys into the bus barn, then head to my office to grab my duffel bag before driving up to the hospital. Morris, the school janitor, is carefully mopping the floor outside the locker room.

“Coach, heard about your boys so I’ve already cleaned and disinfected the locker room and showers, and have pulled all the towels from the shelves. The ladies got them running through the wash now. Can’t be too careful.”

I’m blown away by his initiative. Hell, I never even really thought about it being transmitted further, but it’s better to be safe than sorry in case it’s a stomach bug and not food poisoning.

“Morris, appreciate that a lot because it never crossed my mind.”

“Wouldn’t have mine either, Coach, then I remembered when this happened while I was in school. No one thought to sanitize, and we kept getting reinfected because boys will be boys and share every last thing, you know? Water bottles, snacks, so it kept transferring back and forth.”

“Need any help, Morris?” I question, ready to assist the older janitor with this thankless task.

“Naw, Coach, but I appreciate the offer. Just about finished, this was the last little bit, unless you want me to hit your office too.”

“It might not be a bad idea for the simple fact I think Jameson stopped by earlier. I don’t claim to understand how any of this stuff gets transmitted, you know what I mean?”

He chuckles while nodding his head. “Definitely. I know folks probably think I’m just a lowly janitor and don’t know shit, but if they knew I’ve been able to raise a family of five kids on my salary, they’d think again. Sometimes, the thankless jobs like this are the ones where money can be made. But with that being said, none of them have ever thought to ask me if I had a higher education or a degree, and I’m not one to share that information with others unless I’m asked.”

“I knew there was more to you than just a mop and broom,” I jest, pointing to two of his tools of trade.

“Was on track to go into medical school, Coach,” he confesses. “Fell in love with my Millie, we got hitched, then she started popping out our babies.”

“Surely, you were familiar with how that happens,” I state, grinning.

“Well, yeah, of course, but those babies needed food and residency is hard enough without having a family in tow, which is where I was at in the program, but after you add in a wife, two little ones, and all the bills they come with, left us financially spiraling, and suddenly, I had to find something else. I don’t regret it either,” he emphatically announces. “Best parts of me are now grown and living their best lives, while me and Millie reap the rewards with spoiling the grandbabies.”

“Why don’t you retire?” I question.

“And do what? Sit on my ass all day watching daytime television? No thanks, Coach. My granny always said you don’t start dying until you stop living. I never understood what she meant by that until my last baby got married, and it was just Millie and I again, rattling around in our big old empty house. Millie found a little part-time job down at the hospital in their gift shop, and I kept on working. We take vacations during the school breaks, visit our kids who’ve moved hours away, and we are both involved in several different charities in town. We’re still living, Coach, and I don’t see that changing for me until I draw my last breath.”

“I’m the same way. When I got injured and couldn’t play anymore, my manager couldn’t understand why I applied for the job here. He said I had enough money at my disposal that I could rest on my laurels for the rest of my life. Only, what would that teach my boy? Nothing I wanted him to know. I don’t mind being busy, and he’s learning to work for what he wants.”

“Seen your boy around, Coach. He’s a good kid.”

“He is and so are the boys on the team. Gonna let you get back to it, Morris, so I can head up to the hospital and see how they’re all doing. Thanks again for thinking of doing this.”

“Any time, Coach. You let them boys know me and my Millie will be praying for them, and if any of them need anything, they can get a message forwarded to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Will do, Morris. Have a great night.”

He shoots me a wave while heading into my office as I jog out to my truck. Time to check on my boys and make sure it’s not worse than I predicted. Once I arrive at the hospital and am brought back to the treatment area after I explain who I am, and why I’m there, I find that all of the affected kids on the team are now signed in, and have been admitted to the emergency room. My pulse accelerates tenfold when I see Sunday bustling around, as parents ask questions while waiting to see the doctors.

“Mrs. Timmers, what have you heard?” I probe, going over to where she’s standing next to a gurney holding her son, an IV already in place while two different bags of fluids rehydrate him, and drips into his veins. Controlled chaos reigns as my boys are in what appears to be an open area, spread out on multiple gurneys, with several nurses moving around tending to all of them.

“From what the nurse has been able to determine, they’re going to be admitting the team,” she states, her tear-filled eyes looking at me. “They’re running bloodwork on all of them right now, and have got all the boys hooked up to anti-nausea medication and saline fluids while they wait to find out what strain of food poisoning they’re dealing with.”

“I know there are some pretty bad strands out there, so hopefully, it’s one of the more easily treated ones where the boys will all be miserable for a few days, but will bounce back quicker,” I reply, trying to sound as encouraging as possible while I mentally think about our upcoming game schedule.

Not trying to be a dick about the situation, but if I have to appeal to the state and ask for them to adjust things so my team has a chance to recover their strength, I need to know all the facts around what I’m facing. The priority, of course, is them and their welfare. Always has been, and always will be.

“Most of the kids at school have either been here, and are either already admitted, or had to go to the next town’s hospital, because they’ve run out of rooms,” she admits. “We’re fortunate that you sent the kids home when you realized what was happening, Coach, so we could get them seen.”

“Haven’t heard the final word yet, but Principal Waystein is checking to see about closing the school for a few days to give the kids a chance to get better, while also thoroughly bleaching and sanitizing the kitchen. The lunchroom manager has also been in contact with the school’s vendor. She’s been hounding them to find out if the food they delivered has any product codes they can trace, and is searching to see if they’ve had any type of recalls for the meals on the market, which will help the medical professionals better diagnose and treat everyone that’s been impacted,” I reply, passing on the little information I know.

“I think he’s going to be packing his lunch from now on,” she professes, laughing slightly before breaking into a small sob when Timmers moans in pain.

“I’ll leave you to him, I’m going to check with the other parents and their boys,” I tell her, nearly bumping into Sunday. “You or any of the others need anything, send me a message and I’ll take care of it,” I state.

“What! Oh, I’m sorry, Jett,” Sunday sputters, barely managing to keep hold of the fluid bags she’s holding.

“The fault is mine, Sunday, I’m in the way,” I reply. “Just wanted to check in on the boys.”

“It’s bad, Jett,” she whispers, leaning in close enough that I catch a whiff of the light, clean scent she’s wearing. “I can’t say anything more than that, of course, due to HIPAA, but I’m sure your own eyes can tell you that much.”

Glancing at the overflowing triage areas where most of my team, and quite a few of the other students from school are moaning in agony, I nod. Taking a moment, I send up a silent prayer that the kids recover quickly, and their suffering lessens soon, before looking at her once more.

“You look run off your feet, I thought you worked a later shift?” I question. I don’t really want to delay her, but curiosity wins out right now.

“I got an ‘all hands on deck’ phone call, and when I heard what was going on, I couldn’t not come in, Jett. The principal has to be freaking out,” she replies.

“He might be, but he’s educated and trained for these scenarios. It’s why he’s earned the position and title he has, so I’m sure he’ll be just fine.” Seeing her glance over her shoulder, I say, “Go ahead, Sunday, I won’t keep you. Thanks for taking good care of my boys.”

“Always, Jett.”