“Don please. I mean, look at him..”
The angry man finally did glance down and take notice of the oversized child in Aaron’s arms. His expression softened just a bit, and his glare fell to his own shoes as he stepped back, chided and ashamed that he had tried to restrict such a helpless individual. Aaron didn’t wait for his embarrassed apology or to revel in the man’s discomfort. After all, he was just a guy in bad spot trying to help his kid.
No time.
Aaron walked past the somber group of potential patients and directly to the security door that would swing open as the next gurney was hustled into the madhouse of the actual ER. Through the safety glass portholes in the automatic double doors, Aaron could see nurses, doctors, and orderlies rushing back and forth, shedding layers of gauze and sanitary gowns as they hurried from one lifesaving effort to the next.
Given the amount of chaos on the roads, Dayne guessed there were a lot of crash injuries to go along with whatever the mysterious illness that had felled his two friends was.
Still, there was a measure of beehive efficiency to the insanity that lay beyond the doors. The movements of the medical staff were at once frantic and measured, calculated and rushed.
Like a ballet danced in fast forward.
Aaron needed someone to dance with Bluejean.
Pounding on the doors would be useless. Acting like a fool would only ensure that they remained closed, and would likely hamper the efforts of the medical team in some way. He knew that his best bet to get Bluejean help was to sneak him in to where the actual doctors were. Nobody would turn them away if they got that far, but the severe-looking nurse manning the admittance station had clearly turned away several people who looked in worse shape than the small, pitiful-looking man in his arms.
Aaron stepped to one side of the doors, leaning against the wall and bracing Bluejean on his knee in order to give his burning biceps a momentary reprieve.
The pair waited there for a space of time Aaron could only measure in breaths.
Each one he sucked into his own lungs he wished he could trade away for the sake of his small friend.
After what seemed an eternity of these worried inhalations, the red light above the security doors flashed on and an industrial buzz raked through the already-congested air to clear the opening doorway.
Aaron hoisted Bluejean back onto his cradled arms and tensed.
A trio of nurses rocketed out into the hallway, sidestepping and backpedaling as they skillfully steered an unconscious teenager on a gurney toward the elevator. Trailing in their wake came a rolling rack of monitors and drips and who-knew-what-else pushed by a young doctor.
Aaron recognized the doctor’s voice as he shouted orders back over the shoulder of his white frock but couldn’t place the name. He didn’t have time to dwell anyway.
As soon as the group cleared the space the mechanized doors began to slide shut again. Aaron took two long strides through the gap, holding Bluejean awkwardly out in front of him so that they would clear the shrinking space. The doors chunked behind them and that was it.
They were in.
The sneak had not gone unnoticed, and a shortish orderly with glasses approached him in a flurry.
“No, no, no! You can’t just barge in here! Sir, you have to be admitted like everyone else! Patients are given priority based on seriousness of condition. You will get in when you need to get in.”
“I know, I know. But he can’t wait.” Aaron offered Bluejean up for her consideration. He was visibly shrunken now, all color drained out of his face and ears. Even his hair looked dull. The skin on his hands and arms was blotchy.
“I’ve been carrying him so I can’t tell how strong his pulse is or how well he is breathing, but he is completely limp.” He tried to keep the tremble out of his voice.
The stocky woman raised her middle and index fingers to Bluejean’s neck to take a pulse. Her face wore the same concerned frown that had likely been plastered there all day.
“Pulse is weak, and a bit irregular…” Her conflicted eyes ticked back and forth between the helpless patient in front of her and the hundreds waiting outside.
Finally, she conceded.
“Put him over there.”
She nodded to an empty bed, but it was still covered in a bloody sterile sheet. Aaron hesitated to lay his friend on top of the mess. The orderly, whose nametag read Carol, noticed his pause and rolled her eyes, she shut the drawer she’d been digging in and rushed to the bed, snatching the gory sheet off in one swift movement while pulling a new one off the roll at the same time. Clearly, Bluejean was being transferred into very capable hands.
“Lay him down, and then you need to turn right back around and head out the way you came in, you’ll only get in the way if you stay here. And as you can tell we’re in over our heads as it is. If you can, make yourself useful out there.”
Her chin jutted toward the window in front of the admin desk, where a hundred hurt and scared people demanded treatment immediately. Beyond the desperate faces, the automatic entrance doors remained open as a nearly continuous stream of people poured in, all searching for the same thing.
“I’ll do what I can to help if you promise to update me as soon as you know what is wrong with him.”
Her head nodded up and down, as she half listened. Her real focus, gladly, was on her new patient.
“Sorry, one more question.”
Carol glared at him. He was wearing out his welcome, fast.
“Where can I find my wife?”
Her glare did not change, but he could almost hear her sarcastic response before it came out. Luckily, his answer came from elsewhere.
“I’m right here.”
The voice was like water. Like painkillers, like air for a drowning man.
Aaron turned around, and there she was.
Her scrubs were sweaty and there was a bit of blood near the hip. Hair pulled back tightly in a frazzled and utilitarian ponytail, she looked more beautiful than ever. The grim and horrific scenarios that had played out in reality and in his own mind over the past half hour were momentarily whisked away by the smell of her shampoo and deodorant as he rushed over and squeezed her.
“Are you alright?”
“Are you alright?”
The question came from both of their mouths at once, his hands and her hands gently searching the other’s face and neck and shoulders for any small injury.
“I’m fine honey, I promise, but you have to go.” Allie then hesitated, a bit confused through her relief at seeing her husband.
“How… Why are you here, Aaron?”
He swallowed hard and fought misty eyes as he spewed the whole story to her in a rush of confused words. With the telling came the realization that it was probably worse than he had allowed himself to think about.
“Allie, it’s Scott and Bluejean, and all these people. What is happening?”
“Nobody knows. Some sort of outbreak maybe, whatever it is, it’s bad, and at this point there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of commonality in symptoms or potential causes. These things take time to figure out. We are told the CDC is on it… Right now we‘re having more issues dealing with traumatic injuries caused as a result of these seizures.”
Aaron recognized the tone in her voice. She used it when she talked about things she had no control over. It was her resignation voice, her put-your-head-down-and-get-through-it voice.
“You have to help them Allie. Bluejean… You have to help them.”
All of the hardness and military precision drained out of his voice as he choked back a sob. Here, with his wife, his real feelings threatened to escape and drown him. She reached for him, scratched his stubbled cheek in a tic that they both knew well.
“They are both in good hands, you know that. I’ll keep you posted, but you can’t stay here.”
Already, she and Carol had turned over Bluejean’s small form and stripped him of his shirt. Their small, efficient hands checked him over fo
r any injuries in a lightning patter of hand on flesh.
“I’ll have my phone. I’ll be waiting out here.”
“No, Aaron. I mean it, you can’t stay here.”
His puzzled expression told her he wasn’t following.
“You have to find Danny. We are getting calls that this is not just local. The hospital in Laramie asked us for standby staff. They thought it was a chemical spill or something.”
Not just local?
Aaron frowned in confusion. This news made an already quizzical situation almost impossible to figure out. But she was right. If whatever was happening was widespread…
Danny,
My son.
On the road..
Shit.
He blew his wife a kiss, letting his eyes linger on her for just an extra second.
Her brow was a little damp. Her hair looked like a carefully planned mess. She really was beautiful.
“I love you. Be careful.”
With that, he spun and blew out the one-way exit door.
He rushed past the line of suburban refugees still growing in the foyer. Some part of him wished he was able to help them, to give them comfort, but that was never really the role he played.
Aaron Dayne was a man of action, and right now he needed to find his son.
His well-trained brain shut off the disastrous contingencies that plagued most people in such high-stress situations. Instead, he cycled through the most efficient and effective way of accomplishing his goal.
Emergency services are already overloaded.
He hurtled out again into the sunshine, dodging between vacant-faced zombies as they hurried to get in a line before the next bloody or battered person. The rental truck was still waiting where he had left it, the roundabout getting more and more congested by the minute.
Traffic. Traffic is going to be bad. Where is Andrea?
The girl had disappeared, but Aaron had no time to wait around and make sure she got home safe.
As he climbed behind the wheel of the pickup and started it up, a smallish man with glasses rushed toward him.
“Get that truck out of here! You’re blocking traffic! This is the emergencyroomforgodsake!!!”
Whatever else he had to say was drowned out as Aaron pulled away. Funny that the man had decided to tell him what he needed to do even as he was doing it.
That’s another thing. Panic.
People would act strangely today. Whatever was going on was unfamiliar to everyone. That led to fear and panic, which in turn led to desperate action. Normally nobody bothered him. He was fairly large and intimidating. But he had already been tested once today, by the father in the waiting room. Time might be important in finding Danny, and any confrontation would slow him down. A sharp command or a hard glare might not be enough to keep him moving, and his need to keep moving -to get to his son- was absolute.
He needed insurance.
The thought was a grim and unfortunate one. The weight of it drew the corners of his mouth downward. Today was turning out to be much different than he had hoped or anticipated, but he would do what had to be done.
Burning rubber added its acrid stench to the spring air as he peeled out of the hospital roundabout.
Back down Foothill Drive the way they had come moments before. He decided the truck might slow him down. There was no way of knowing the state of the roads -especially the freeways- if drivers were spontaneously passing out and crashing. Aaron was already plowing headlong through emergency lanes and up onto sidewalks just to get back to the zoo where his motorcycle waited.
The bike would be a much more streamlined and efficient way to travel crowded roads, and he had no idea how far he needed to go.
Danny could be anywhere between here and Vegas, so a stop for hydro-fuel in the truck could prove to be disastrous. An afterthought let him wonder where the zookeeper and the two girls who had helped them were. He was too focused on his own situation to be genuinely concerned, but in the back of his mind he hoped they were safe.
His mind also turned to Collie. She was likely somewhere nearby, but he didn’t want to face her until he had found his son and been updated on Bluejean’s condition.
Reaching his destination, Aaron screeched to a halt, killed the truck engine and dismounted, remote starting the motor at the same time. Two strides took him to the idling bike. Two more practiced movements and he was roaring out of the parking lot again. Spring air reverberated with his departure, his sonic signature inciting a riot of sound from inside the zoo as panicked animals voiced their disapproval.
Aaron Dayne rode with clenched teeth. The world flashed through his peripheral vision in a blur as he ratcheted up into sixth gear and jerked the throttle back. Stationary traffic, emergency vehicles, and a confusion of pedestrians all threatened to slow him down. The satisfying growl of the engine between his knees was lost for this ride. Underneath the stench of oily smoke and burnt rubber from the car accidents; the air was fresh, a relic of what the morning had promised. His hurtling descent took him down the hill and through the cloud from an engine fire. Well past the 100 mile-per-hour mark, Aaron could only squint his eyes against the stinging smoke and hope that he missed whatever obstacle might be on the other side.
Finally a little luck.
A pileup at the intersection behind him proved to be a blessing in disguise. The road ahead opened up, empty. He twisted his right wrist a bit more and milked the final few horse power out of the shovelhead motor. Wind created by his passage dried the sweat and blood on his skin and clothes. Reddish stains turned brown. Colors and shapes and the lines of curb, gutter and sidewalk all blurred into streaks of varied light.
He rode fast, faster than he ever had before. East High School and its gray brick facade told him he was almost home.
As he slowed, the details of his neighborhood came back into focus.
Six fire trucks were parked at the school, lights flashing. An entire row of adolescents laid out, genocide style, on the commons courtyard. Aaron’s heart went out to them, and to the EMTs scrambling to and fro no doubt trying to assess the severity of each separate case. Ideally he could have stopped to help.
These were not ideal circumstances.
He blasted through a red light, swerving violently to avoid the tail end of a jeep crossing the intersection. Another driver rushing to their own private tragedy.
Turning right, he swung onto the street where he and Allie had not long ago moved into their perfect dream cottage. He thundered up the small rise of a hill and chirped to a stop in front of the little three-bedroom slice of heaven.
From the outside, the brick bungalow looked like something from a Thomas Kincade painting. The front lawn was soft and green. Healthy lilac bushes abutted the cozy porch. His two dogs, Xerxes, and Pig, peaked through the iron gate, wagging their tails furiously and whining. Xerxes barked. He almost never barked.
They can tell something is wrong.
Aaron wasn’t surprised. Animals could sense certain things. Today’s events certainly seemed likely to set off alarm bells.
He whistled at them as he vaulted the gate, not bothering to take the time to open it. Xerxes, his exceedingly stupid and loveable Great Dane, fell over his own huge paws trying to get out of the way. His brother Pig, the Shar Pei that Allie had bought for Aaron a short time after they began dating, simply waited for his owner to clear the gap over his own head and then fell into step beside him. Aaron landed in stride on the packed dirt path that led to the separate garage in the rear of the house. Fat bumblebees worked through the ivy that crawled up the brick and twined in and out of the blue shutters on the side windows. Behind and to the side, he heard the loose-change jingle of his dogs’ tags. He would love to stop and play with them, scratch their loyal heads and reassure them that everything was alright, but he wasn’t so sure of that himself.
Besides, his dogs could always tell when he was lying.
Instead he ran straight to the detached garage and plowed in th
e side door. Jerking a step ladder off of its wall hook, he kicked it open. Aaron scrambled into the low rafters, the two dogs standing guard at the bottom of the ladder, looking intently up into the darkness. Hurried rummaging sounds echoed on the bare brick walls and concrete.
Not bothering with the ladder for descent, Aaron thudded down onto the dusty garage floor between the two. In one hand was a heavy black case, about two-and-a-half-feet square, with a chunky combination lock built into the latch. The other hand held the worn strap of an old Jordan High School wrestling bag that made metallic sounds when he moved it.
He set the case down on the concrete floor, crouching over it, pausing for the first time since he had left the hospital.
One deep breath passed in and out. Then another.
Pig whined softly, but stayed where he was, Xerxes sniffed at the back of Aaron’s dirty clothes, no doubt curious about the mingled scents of so many people that he knew. Aaron thumbed the combination into the lock, numbers he would have rather forgotten.
18- months he had been away during the Carneguerra.
9- comrades he had personally witnessed drawing their last breath.
57- last breaths he himself was responsible for. At least that he knew of. Though he was sure that on his day of judgment that would be a lowball figure.
4- promises he had broken because of Argentina.
The combination he had chosen as a reminder, but it was not needed. No veteran of his type of service could ever really forget.
Another deep breath, and he cracked the case open for the first time in years.
Musty air puffed out to sting his nostrils and dry his eyes. He let the top fall all the way open, where it cracked on the garage floor and startled Xerxes.
Packed into the black foam inside were tools Aaron had used to ply a trade far different than the wrenching he did now.
There was no time for him to get into a moral wrestling match with himself.
When he had last locked this box and packed it away, he had a hard time justifying even storing it, rather than simply disposing of the contents.
He knew now why he hadn’t done so.
To Light Us, To Guard Us (The Angel War Book 1) Page 12