Wyatt Sicks Quotes

Aren’t gods normally off in some god space doing important things?”
 All of her [Vorgaine’s] eyes blink at once and it is revolting and oh my Her I’m going to be sick. “I breathed this world into life, Wyatt. What could be more important than living within it?

The red color infesting Wyatt's lure spread like licks of flame until the entire stretch of rattling glass was full of bloody-colored pinwheels throbbing like sick, misshapen hearts.

hope you know how much he appreciates your care,” Alex told the Earps. “For I was sick, and you came to me,” Wyatt said. “Nah,” Morgan said. “It was selfishness.” Wyatt and Alex were both surprised, but Morgan just shrugged. “Doc doesn’t have any brothers,” he told Alex. “So we took him for our own.

You’re not sick. You’re in love with Sally.

Even at a distance, he recognized Emma sprawled headlong in the street, and he broke into a run. The road was empty, so was the boardwalk. He knelt beside her and helped her sit up. “Emma . . . honey, are you okay?” Tears streaked her dusty cheeks. “I-I lost my Aunt Kenny, and”—she hiccupped a sob—“m-my mommy’s gone.” Her face crumpled. “Oh, little one . . . come here.” He gathered her to him, and she came without hesitation. He stood and wiped her tears, and checked for injuries. No broken bones. Nothing but a skinned knee that a little soapy water—and maybe a sugar stick—would fix right up. “Shh . . . it’s okay.” He smoothed the hair on the back of her head, and her little arms came around his neck. A lump rose in his throat. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Her sobs came harder. “Clara fell down too, Mr. Wyatt.” She drew back and held up the doll. “She’s all dirty. And she stinks.” Wyatt tried his best not to smile. Clara was indeed filthy. And wet. Apparently she’d gone for a swim in the same mud puddle Emma had fallen in. Only it wasn’t just mud, judging from the smell. “Here . . .” He gently chucked her beneath the chin. “Let’s see if we can find your Aunt Kenny. You want to?” The little girl nodded with a hint of uncertainty. “But I got my dress all dirty. She’s gonna be mad.” Knowing there might be some truth to that, he also knew Miss Ashford would be worried sick. “Do you remember where you were with Aunt Kenny before you got lost?” Emma shook her head. “I was talkin’ to my friend, and I looked up . . .” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And Aunt Kenny was gone.” Wyatt knew better than to think it was McKenna Ashford who had wandered away. “We’ll find her, don’t you worry.” “Clara’s dress is dirty like mine, huh?” She held the doll right in front of his face. Wyatt paused, unable to see it clearly. Easily supporting Emma’s weight, he took Clara and did his best to wipe the dirt and mud from the doll’s dress and its once-yellow strands of hair. His efforts only made a bigger mess, but Emma’s smile said she was grateful. “She likes you.” Emma put a hand to his cheek, then frowned. “Your face is itchy.” Knowing what she meant, he laughed and rubbed his stubbled jaw. He’d bathed and shaved last night in preparation for church this morning, half hoping he might see McKenna and Emma there. But they hadn’t attended. “My face is itchy, huh?” She squeezed his cheek in response, and he made a chomping noise, pretending he was trying to bite her. She pulled her hand back, giggling. Instinctively, he hugged her close and she laid her head on his shoulder. Something deep inside gave way. This is what it would have been like if his precious little Bethany had lived. He rubbed Emma’s back, taking on fresh pain as he glimpsed a fragment of what he’d been denied by the deaths of his wife and infant daughter so many years ago. “Here, you can carry her.” Emma tried to stuff Clara into his outer vest pocket, but the doll wouldn’t fit. Wyatt tucked her inside his vest instead and positioned its scraggly yarn head to poke out over the edge, hoping it would draw a smile. Which it did.

A male staff member living with us…? I mean, for all we know, he’s some sick pervert or sex predator. No offense, Elliot.” “None taken…” I gave her a forced smile. “Well I think it’s cool,” said Wyatt, dribbling a basketball on the hardwood floor. I would have to knife that in the middle of the night. “I see enough of the team at practice and games. It’ll be fun living with you guys. Did you request this, Elliot?” “I most certainly did not…” I muttered under my breath.

But maybe his father was right. Maybe what had happened in 1918 could never happen again. "U.S. Reveals Detailed Flu Disaster Plans." Cole decided to make this the topic for his research report. Plans for manufacturing and distributing vaccines and other medications. Plans to quarantine the sick and to call up extra doctors and nurses and to replace absent workers with retired workers so that businesses wouldn't have to shut down. Plans to keep public transportation and electricity and telecommunications and other vital services operating and food and water and other necessities from running out. Plans to mobilize troops (for Cole this was the only exciting part) in the event of mass panic or violence. One day he would ask Pastor Wyatt why, despite all these plans, everything had gone so wrong. "Son, that is just the thing. That is what people did not--and still do not--get. There is no way you can count on the government, even if it's a very good government. The government isn't going to save you, it isn't going to save anyone. There's no way you can count on other people in a situation like we had. People afraid of losing their lives--or, Lord knows, even just their toys--they'll panic. Even fine, decent Christian folk--you can never know for sure what they'll do next. So I say, love your neighbor, help your fellow man all you can, but don't ever count on any other human being. Count on God." What Cole didn't know was that most of the plans he read about that night would have been sufficient only for an emergency lasting a few weeks.

Do you remember old Harry Hopwood, Inspector?” “Of course. He was one of the first major arrests I made.” “Right. Nabbed him after that break-in on Greek Street you did. But there was a good deal of swag that was never recovered. Lot of old coins, for instance.” “Yes. There was a goodish reward offered for their return.” “Right. Well, old Harry’s dead, died about two months ago. We was pals in the clink, and knowing he was mortal sick and not likely to make it out the gate, he told me where he’d hid the stuff, and I thought I’d like to tell you.” “Oh? To collect the reward?” “No. I don’t want the reward. They can give it to Mr. Norwood here for that society of his. I’m just trying to prove to everyone that, from now on, I’m really going straight.” “Nifty, I won’t say I’m surprised,” said Wyatt, “because I’m not. I’m dumbfounded, dumb-foozled, and just plain bowled-over!