Page 52 of The Man I Hate

“Age?”

“Seventy-five.”

“Does he have a pulse?”

“Yes, it’s faint.”

“Any known health issues or concerns?”

“None.”

“Allergies?”

“None.”

“Has he been exposed to anyone who has tested positive for COVID-19?”

“He hasn’t been exposed to anyone. He’s been home, alone, for two weeks.”

“Your name?”

“Rourke. Romeo, Oscar, Uniform, Romeo, Kilo, Echo.”

“Hold please…”

A faint voice could still be heard. “This is SD County Sherriff dispatch, I have one en route, ETA 11:13, high fever, faint pulse, no known exposure to COVID-19.”

The voice became more prominent. “Rourke, Scripps is asking that you reroute to—”

“Reroute? I’m not rerouting to anywhere.” Luckily the freeway was nearly empty. Traveling at 120 miles an hour, I changed lanes to keep from hitting an Amazon delivery truck. “I’m goddamned near there, right now.”

“Sir, the hospital’s ICU is nearly at capacity with COVID-19 patients. If he hasn’t had exposure to anyone with COVID-19, they’re asking—”

I pressed the button on the steering wheel to hang up the call. “Go fuck yourself.”

I drifted from the fast lane to the exit lane, still traveling in excess of 120 miles an hour.

“Rourke, are you still with me?”

“I told you to go fuck yourself,” I snarled. I pressed the button again. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Mister Rourke, Mercy is asking that you redirect to—”

“I’m not going anywhere else, asshole.” The hospital was just off the Cabrillo Freeway, within eyesight. “I can see the hospital,” I declared. “Have them outside at the emergency room entrance.”

“Hold please…”

I heard mumbling, and then he returned. “They’ll be beneath the awning with a stretcher. You won’t be able to enter the facility, Mister Rourke. It’s on lockdown.”

I took the Washington Street exit at over 100 miles an hour, and then immediately took a right on 5th. The hospital was 300 yards away.

“He’s not a fucking dog,” I said, pointing the front of the vehicle toward the hospital’s entrance. I stomped the gas pedal. “I’m not dropping him off.”

“Sir, visitors are prohibited from—”

“I’m not a fucking visitor,” I snapped. “I’m the only family this man has.”

I careened over the curb and screeched to a stop beneath the emergency room awning, right beside where two men wearing hazmat suits and full Personal Protective Equipment stood.