“Bertha, we can’t find her. She didn’t show up to work and she’s not in her apartment,” Jim replied. “I followed her usual path, nothing. We’re going get a larger search started.” Surely she didn’t know about Jessie, or George, or his new gut feelings, and he didn’t want to panic her further. Bertha quickly became alarmed, more so as the number of citizens grew.
Most of the town arrived. Security spread information to the front of the crowd and word filtered back. They did their best to organize and control the forming congregation.
“Anything Jim?” the very tall Mr. Rob Price said having just exited the main double doors. He was thin and angular, much like a new-world Abe Lincoln except his beard was thinner. He wore a grey and white plaid shirt, dark slacks and a large white tie. “Rico already let us in on everything. I was about to organize the search but he said to wait for you. Most of the town is here, word spreads fast. We can do a full sweep both directions if that’s fine with you. She has to be somewhere within the wall.” Rob was one of the few individuals as informed as Rico. He knew about the lender facility and its importance. His knowledge was mostly from books, but extremely extensive. His articulate ability to communicate and correlate facts made his position in the town an easy one to attain.
“Yes I think that will be best,” Jim replied. “It’s more likely she’s somewhere within the eastern half so we’ll start there. And we should keep someone here in case we hear back. At the JCDC their likely finishing up the security scan now—hopefully they’ve already found her, but we can’t wait.”
Rob briefly pulled him to the side speaking in a hushed tone, “Jim, why such urgency here? They’re only late for work? We’re still in the green over there right?”
“I wish I could explain it but there’s no time. Let’s find her, and fast.”
Bertha was listening in and took to heart his deeply concerned expression. “Oh, God,” she blasted loudly. “We have to find her!” Her voice, like a trumpet, incited the crowd causing an elevation in its clamor.
Jim assured Bertha closely, “We will. She is going to be okay. She likely went for a nature walk as she always does; maybe just lost track of time.” Although this didn’t fit the unnerving feeling tugging at his stomach, he wanted to keep everyone levelheaded and calm.
“Not on Monday morning!” Bertha exploded. “She’d be the first one to work.” Jim couldn’t find any other words of comfort for her; she wasn’t having them anyway. He waited a few more moments until the rest of the town had finished gathering then Rob made the announcement.
His alternative name was simply The Mayor, and everyone hushed acknowledging him as so. “Everyone please gather around. Closer please. Thank you for coming. Young Amy is missing. She didn’t show up for work today. Also missing are George Jones and Jessie Starr. Now, we need everyone’s help. Please form a line along Main Street in both directions, we need to begin a search. We’ll spread east through this side of the town and let the wall merge us together at the end. Once everyone gets lined up we’ll begin. Youngsters, and all of you fast runners, head toward the outside, seniors start here in the middle. About ten feet apart people. Okay folks let’s spread out and get started.”
Another member of the board, Kim Mills, the town’s leading botanist, was standing next to Rob and noticed the Docs. The town had two principal doctors, both wise and talented. Because they had the same name most simply referred to them as Young Doc and Old Doc. Young Doc was in his late thirties and had been taught well by Old Doc—also his grandfather; he was in his seventies. Old Doc had been a general surgeon before the war but like many, lost his job to automation. Both were named John Fisher—Senior, and the third. John Fisher II had died early on in the war. They were a rare pair, unlike most, related by blood.
“Docs!” Kim yelled as she saw them walking together at the right. “We need one of you on each side. Please, in case—”
“Understood,” Young Doc said and he gestured to his grandfather. “I’ll take left Gramps. You take right center closer to Park Ave.”
“You got it son,” Old Doc said in his naturally gravel voice. They both carried a medical bag and joined the readying line of volunteers.
Enough to divide the community in half, the townspeople organized, hastily lining Main Street, reaching the wall on each side. As instructed the youngest and most fit sprinted toward the ends. As a leader Jim commanded the middle, with Bertha near him. Ted arrived, shrugging his head and flashing a hand signal to Jim. Sadly he knew the gesture well; the cameras had turned up no evidence. Humbly, Ted joined the line.
“Everybody spread out!” Bertha roared. “Aimeeee!” Her voice exploded unto the town, thunderously reverberating from wall to wall. Every single person heard her. Needless for anyone to say, with that capacity, everyone accepted: Bertha was nominated to be the search party spokesperson.
The formation made a V-shape as the center treaded forward first. The ends soon caught on leaving no spot uninvestigated. They trudged diligently looking about in every direction, launching many screams: Amy! Nobody had yet to yell George or Jessie. The formation’s center made it through the park first and continued on past the mountainous scrap yard: piles of scrap metal, junk vehicles, concrete pylons, and garbage. The left end was still making its way through the thick brush and trees which made up the north side of the park around and near the pond. Except for the gardens it was the thickest area of vegetation. Even further north the end of the search wing lagged, following Rim Road, inspecting the grassy edges of the canal. Rim Road was of dirt and meandered, rounding the inner edge of the great wall.
Youngsters on both ends screamed Amy’s name. Many of them knew her from school, many her age or close to it. The south side of the line combed the parks right edge and the most urban part of town following Park Avenue east. Its three branches, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Street contained the majority of general housing so searching was slower. Behind the homes Rim Road paralleled the wall, dead-ending into the bulge of the lender facility and its secured perimeter.
Jim, Bertha, and the point-most group of the search party dead-ended at the wall first.
“Maybe the other side, west in the gardens?” Bertha asked huffing.
Kim Mills made her way over, overhearing Bertha, and said, “Not likely. They’re sealed off quite well.” Being in charge of the gardens, she knew its layout like the back of her hand. It was her territory and she ensured its security resolutely. It was tightly sealed off from the general public. “But perhaps, Back Street?” Back Street edged the garden territory, between the back of Jim’s apartment building (lender housing) and the gardens, running parallel to Main, dead-ending into the wall likewise.
Rob began, “Okay, We’ll head back and—” A scream sliced his words.
“It came from the woods!” Jim snapped. “Let’s go!” He bolted into a full sprint.
“Oh my—” Bertha covered her mouth.
The yelling maintained, “Help! Over here!” Rob and the others listened carefully.
“The woods and grassy area by the canal and Rim Road,” Rob exclaimed. “Let’s move! Bertha, call it out and let everyone know.” She caught a huge breath and did exactly that. Her outburst delivered the message to even the southernmost stragglers of the search line. Jim was already far ahead; Rob, Kim, and Young Doc followed with a sizable gap.
The search party trampled toward the screams, nonstop along Rim Road making a dust trail as if a vehicle once again roamed. Big Bertha was giving it all she had but couldn’t keep up and fell behind. Speed wasn’t her thing, but her determination kept pushing her large body and she powered on. Jim passed everyone heading that way pushing his muscles to the limit and beyond. Prone to cramping, the exertion tightened his body but he powered through it. He passed the pond which ended the canal and kept going. Fifty feet before the bridge he saw the crowd.
Some were crying and down on their knees, many were standing away from the scene gasping, and some were puking and covering their mouth
s in dismay. Jim forced his way through the surrounding crowd—and then he saw her. Face down at the water’s edge in bloody mud two men were gently trying to roll her onto her back. A group of at least twenty stood around her. They made a hole as they saw Jim coming.
“Oh God no, no, no—no!” Jim cried. He made his way through the tall grass and down the bank to her body dismissing George who lay on his back with his legs half floating in the murky water. His throat had been torn from his neck leaving a gaping fleshy hole which looked more capacious than his neck could allow. Now lackluster and turbid, his expired eyes mirrored surprise, but mostly defeat.
They’d gotten her turned over; had to, her face was partially underwater. A man checked her wrist for a pulse then yelled, “She’s alive!” The crowd gasped. Cheers were synchronized breaths of hope.
Jim joined huddling in. Quickly he checked her breathing. Nothing. Young Doc scrambled in with his med bag pushing aside the man that had checked her pulse. He pulled out a breathing apparatus and promptly instructed a man across from him how to pump it steadily. Her chest rose and lowered three times then she vomited murky water. Gasps of cheering fluttered through the crowd.
She wasn’t conscious however, her regurgitation was an involuntary spasm reacting to the air and movement of her lungs. But at least, it was something; her body had some fight in it. Continuing his frantic examination Young Doc discovered her pulse was very weak, and fading. And he saw the totality of her condition. “We can’t wait any longer. Tell Old Doc to get the ER ready stat.” He wanted to wait for a stretcher but they were mere seconds from losing her. “Hold her head please. Steady, keep it very steady. You, back over here.” He instructed the man he’d pushed aside, then three others. “Under her like this. Jim ready?” His gaze caught Jim, both, all, were dead serious. “Okay everyone, one, two, lift.” They carefully ascended the slippery bank to the road carrying her as steady as possible.
“On the count of three we need to rotate her this way. I need to see where all this blood is coming from. Carefully, slowly.” Her shirt was jagged and torn and completely soaked but he located the wound. “She’s been stabbed in back. Oh, no, we have to get her to the hospital now. You, hold pressure here and do not let go.” He placed fat bundle of gauze and pressed it to the wound. “Someone track down Old Doc and make sure he’s at the ER and ready!”
“Doc, her leg,” said one of the men helping. She had so much blood and mud packed onto her it was hard to be clear of anything.
Jim looked below—his minded raced, but his physical self, everything, was in slow motion—and noticed that it was the back of her leg that was bleeding the most, six inches above the knee toward the inside of her leg. He tore her ripped clothing to see a large puncture wound pouring out bright red blood, pulsing slightly in response to her faint heartbeat. He ripped off his shirt and wrapped it above the cut tying it tightly causing the blood to spurt one last time.
Amy made a noise in reply to the squeeze. All looked. A sliver of hope stabbed Jim’s spine like a hot ice-pick. She’s regaining consciousness! He got closer and she uttered a few words, “I—I saw, him.” Her eyes fell into her head. She went limp.
“She’s in shock. We need to raise her legs, she’s lost too much blood, and keep her arms above her body,” Young Doc commanded.
“They’re binging a stretcher, almost here,” a man yelled relaying the notice. “Hang in there Amy,” a woman yelled through the sobbing crowd.
Big Bertha arrived soaked in sweat, looking about rapidly. She burst through the crowd like a bowling ball, unbiased, flinging others aside like dolls. And then she saw. She paused for a second taking in the surreality. Her eyes about came out of their sockets and she plowed her way forward knocking Rob and another two onto the ground heedlessly. “Aim!”
“Bertha please let them work,” Rob yelled.
Abell—the only person larger and more powerful than Bertha—stepped forward like a wall. She was explosively hysterical, something that wouldn't help the dire situation. She was forced to halt by the giant, and blubbering uncontrollably, “How, how can this happen? We’re supposed to be in this together. All of us! Not Amy!” She managed to get enough of a grip on herself, just enough to see clearly through her tear-filled eyes. She noticed George. She returned her look to Amy. She saw her robotic hand. It had a large chunk of flesh in it, long and dangling like a bloody vacuum hose. It was George’s throat, his entire fucking neck.
“YOU! You did this!” roared Bertha. Her rage inflamed exponentially then she exploded. She ran toward George’s lifeless body ready to tear it limb from limb, and she well could have. Abell attempted to hold her again but she had become a juggernaut. It took him and all of four other very powerful men from the crowd to restrain her. Tears and sweat had her drenched and she was slippery, clawing and snarling. They finally managed to stop her just short of George’s body. She had a look on her face that could end a war, or start one. And she rose up to deliver the smash…
“Bertha stop!” Rob commanded. “Don’t, we need the evidence to find out what happened. Control yourself—Amy is alive.”
“She’s—” With that Bertha settled, lamenting still, but now with a glimmer of hope. “She’s—” She couldn’t talk and fell to her knees in front of Ted who’d arrived exhausted shortly after she did.
Everyone watched as they lifted Amy to the stretcher. Ted stood surveying the gruesome scene, wondering, about Jessie.
“We need some strong men to carry her into town, quickly but smoothly,” Young Doc said. There was no lack of volunteers and Jim stood up to lead taking fierce charge.
“Abell, you, and you—quick, “ Jim said. “Easy, easy. Bring her up. Okay let’s go!”
They began the long run toward the hospital as fast and steady possible. Doc sprinted ahead, seconds mattered and he knew he had to help ready the surgery room. Jim carried the stretcher on the front left edge, running with more determination and passion than he’d ever had. His every muscle was tensed and he looked to her while running and said, “You’re gonna make it Amy. You hold on, and don’t give up. Don’t ever. We love you.”
36. Jessie
They rushed her into the surgery room. Her heart stopped. Without delay Young Doc immediately began CPR and three nurses assisted. The doors were wide open letting everyone see.
“We’ll do our best, now everyone must wait outside,” the head nurse said shutting and locking the door.
Jim stood gazing through the small glass window into the cob-webbed emergency room. It hadn’t been used in such long time but they’d gotten it prepped quickly. Old and Young Doc hectically and professionally gave Amy their best.
Jim’s thoughts raced but his body was defeated. He turned from the door weakened, exhausted. Many of the town were crammed into the waiting room or stood outside. Plenty knew Jim had partnered with Amy in defense at the JCDC (Jewel City Defense Center). They made way, and he passed slowly heading out. His face sagged with anguish, which led to deep sadness, which led to confusion—then questions.
Ted stepped forward and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder but there was really nothing he could say. For so long he’d been obsessed with science and critical calculations, endless data-crunching for 18-20 hours per day. Perhaps he had lost touch and lacked the ability to assemble the right words. But the truth was, there weren’t any. Likewise everyone was in shock; it was surreal—especially after years, decades without a such a horrendous crime.
Jim lent Ted an eye, slowly, then turned one last time. He could hear words through the door, but couldn’t bear it.
Clear!
Hearing, Bertha cried loudly.
Clear!
The frantic orders and shuffling continued but there was nothing she or anyone could do but wait. She turned from the window after the nurse blocked the window.
Clear!
The yelling stopped. But the shuffling continued, meaning there’s a chance, right? Bertha slid down to the floor, glossy with tears and
sweat. Jim pulled away from wordless Ted, not really knowing where to go. And, his pessimism returned with a vengeance, and, his hate. Bad thoughts twisted in his mind. She’s just too skinny to lose that much blood. The stab wounds were too deep. The middle of her back. Will she ever… She, might not make it. But, why did this happen? Someone must of snuck up behind her. That fucking George, but why? Wait… Jessie!
And then he knew where to go and what to do; the purpose revived him sending reserves to his exhausted muscles. Jessie, George’s longtime partner and lover, was also missing. A visual scenario played out in his head.
She never wanted to, wasn’t going to let it happen. Amy was lured by Jessie who was to log in with her today. They took a different path to work. George lay in wait with the knife. Amy was back-stabbed! But she managed to, yes, grab him in the struggle. And she gave it to him good. Oh, she sure did. His thoughts turned to anger thinking of George and his pretty face. Evil sadistic glee fermented, he sure got his. If I could off been there to see your face when she ripped your fucking throat out. Hate plastered Jim’s thoughts like a black sludge. Then he redirected everything onto Jessie. Yeah, she got scared and ran after seeing what Amy had done. We're gonna find you. You superficial whore. You fucking bitch! From a slow and depressed slumber his pace accelerated as his thoughts pounded, harder and harder, more focused. His feet hit the floor, determined and angry. But he was a new man, and was aware of it, and saw himself objectively. He used the old disgruntled feelings, the malcontent and his hateful old self he’d once so easily hidden, and focused everything not unto the world, not this time. He focused it onto one person. His slumbering walk had gradually turned into an all-out sprint. Renewed to one hundred percent power he exploded through the glass doors—cracking one—and out of the hospital. He stopped in the middle street, like a wild beast, having had blasted a hole through the crowd. He turned right, huffing. Do this right—think. Shredding pavement he bolted toward town hall. People made way, his resolve was a bullet.
Lenders Page 31