by David Sachs
The first porta-johns came down and were set up along the perimeter of the great room.
The medical staff worked their way through the ones and twos. No one died out of the patients Travis and Conrad had seen to, but now they were dealing with the threes. The first one they came to was already dead. The man next to him, holding up his three fingers, had been unable to look down at his father dying. He had never seen the old man slip away. He’d spent the whole day holding that arm up, supported by his other arm, three fingers held high.
The second number three had been shot in the chest. Travis called for a nurse to bring blood. As they prepared him for IV, Conrad cleaned and studied the hole in his chest. The man convulsed.
“Cardiac arrest,” Conrad said.
“Joel,” Travis said. He shook his head no.
He was trying to protect the doctor from the anguish, to give him permission to move on.
“No!” Conrad said sharply, then he smiled at Travis. “Are you ready for an adventure?”
Travis smiled in answer. If Conrad was ok to keep fighting, so was he.
“We’re going to do an emergency thoracotomy. I’ll need a Gigli saw, large clamp or forceps, a large scalpel and scissors, and sutures. We need to intubate, and we’ll need suction – the portable pump has a battery pack.”
Travis ran off. He retrieved the tools and portable oxygen supply and returned in less than three minutes.
“Here we go,” Conrad said. “You intubate, I’ll cut.”
Travis pressed tubes into the man’s nose, connecting them with the portable oxygen supply. Conrad doused the chest with antiseptic, and cut shallow incisions at each side of his chest. He cut deeper, connecting the two incisions in a smile-shape across the bottom of the chest. Travis watched, amazed, as the doctor inserted two fingers into one of the side incisions as he finished his deep cut.
“I’m keeping the lungs out of the way,” he said. “Now give me that Gigli saw and the forceps.”
The Gigli saw was a flexible wire saw with metal handles at each end. The skin was pulled back, revealing the sternum. Conrad used the forceps to pass the saw under the sternum. With smooth, long strokes, he cut the sternum through from the inside out.
“Now I need your help,” Doctor Conrad said. “Pull the skin open and hold it.”
Travis did as he was told. Doctor Conrad snapped the sternum open with his hands; the crowd which had begun to gather jumped back at the noise. Blood was spattered across Travis and Conrad’s arms and faces. They could see the heart now, clear and open. It was bathed in blood. Conrad used the suction, and they saw a small tear in the heart. The bullet itself had passed through the man’s back.
“First thing is to suture the heart,” Conrad said. “This is the only thing we’ve done today that I’m actually qualified to do.”
His fingers moved incredibly quickly. The heart though, was not moving at all.
“Now we need to massage the heart. Very gentle, this might work quickly.”
The doctor simply flicked the heart with his finger. After the briefest of pauses, it swelled and pulsed once.
“It’s not going,” Conrad said.
He began massaging the heart with both hands. One flat hand was applied to the front, one underneath. He milked the heart, moving his hands at a beat faster than once a second, yet so gently.
“Can you give me a free hand? Compress the aorta against the spine, this will maximize coronary perfusion.”
For almost a minute the two handled the heart in silence. Sweat was pouring off Conrad’s face. Then Conrad pulled away.
The heart kept beating.
“We’ve got it!”
Two women above them burst into tears, others cheered loudly.
Travis and Conrad leaned back for a moment.
“We just might save this man,” Conrad said. “Let’s close him up. We’d better anaesthetize him before he comes to.”
Thirty minutes later, the two men looked around and saw no hands in the air. They stumbled over to the food carts, throwing their gloves in a trash bin, then finding cold sandwiches.
“Doctors, come here.”
It was Hesse calling him from his new office. It was an art gallery, in the line of shops behind the wood columns. There was a desk near the front, where Hesse sat, calling through the open door. The door frame had been cracked around the bolt where Hesse had kicked it open. On the window, the name of the shop read, “Inspiration”.
They walked towards him, filling their mouths with the sandwiches.
“Look to the left,” Hesse said as they entered the room. “They brought down a few cases.”
On the floor was a tub of ice and beer bottles, below two modernist, jazz-inspired beach scene paintings. Conrad reached down and took two, passing one to Travis.
“I remember you,” Hesse said to Travis. “Your boy’s ok?”
“Yes,” Travis said.
“When you guys get cleaned up and rested come back and we’ll catch up,” Hesse said.
Travis was not ready to return to his family yet. He felt, as he walked along the wall of the Atrium with Conrad, like the two of them were separated somehow from the crowd that still filled the room, just as he’d always felt separated from the refugees he worked with in Sudan. They were the desperate, he was there to help. They found a quiet sitting area under a staircase and sat down on the couch.
“Good work,” Travis said.
“I can’t believe we saved that man,” Conrad said. “I’ve read about that technique, but I’ve never done it. I just… with all the death today, I wanted one man to live that fate wanted to take away.”
“You did it,” Travis said. “You saved him.”
“At least for now. If he can escape infection, or internal hemorrhaging or anything else that could go wrong with a cracked sternum.”
It was so sudden, the return of Conrad’s face to that horrible exhibition of pain.
“Are you alright?” Travis asked. “Are you… did you leave family behind in New York?”
Conrad couldn’t reply. He nodded his head and made a noise through his closed lips.
Travis waited.
“I left them all behind,” Conrad said. “I couldn’t find them. I… yesterday morning, when it all happened, I called and couldn’t find them. I called home and there was no answer. I called my wife’s cell and there was no answer. I have two kids and I don’t know what happened to them. I left them. I left them to die.”
“Joel, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. Look at me, Joel. It’s not your fault.”
Joel Conrad looked at him as he tried to hold back sobs. “I was with another woman.”
Travis could not hide his reaction. His eyes opened wide and his head jerked back under Conrad’s stare.
“I was with… I was with a woman. I’d worked until three a.m. and went to her apartment and we were together when we heard the noise all around us, and we looked out the windows. The sun was just coming up and people were pouring through the streets. That’s when we turned the news on. It was already too late to find my family. That’s how I left my family, Travis.”
“Jesus, Joel. I’m sorry. But you’ll find them again, Joel. You have to believe that.”
Conrad breathed deeply, and he allowed a softness to return to his face.
“Do you have a family?” he asked.
“Yes,” Travis said. “They’re here with me. My son and… my ex-wife and her husband.”
“Why were you and your wife divorced?” Conrad asked.
“I had an affair. She found out.”
They stopped looking at each other.
“I was in Africa,” Travis began. “I was volunteering with the Red Cross in Sudan. I was there for two months that time, but it felt like years. She was a doctor from Italy. We worked closely together and my wife was back in New York, and her husband was in Florence. We fell in love, we were… in another world there, surrounded by death, fighting against it. There was a
childish feeling of adventure. It wasn’t real love, that was what I had with my wife. It was the idea of falling in love there, in a faraway land, with a faraway woman who had come there for the same reasons as me. I don’t even know exactly how my wife found out. The woman had gone back to Italy before me, and when I came home my wife was gone, my son was gone. I realized the gap then between what I felt for that woman and how much I love my wife. I’ve been living in a kind of prison since then. Separated by just a few miles from the two people I love.”
“So now you’re here with her husband.”
“Yes.”
Conrad wiped a tear from his eye. He held up his bottle and the two men clinked them together.
“Life is horrible,” Conrad said.
“It’s what we made,” Travis replied.
19
“First things first,” Colonel Warrant said to his Chief Engineer. “Power the freezers. Next, we need some light in the galley and Atrium. Next, stoves and ovens. Then running water. I’ll come for an update tonight. I’ll bring sushi.”
The engineer, Brenda White, stood next to him in the main engine room. The room was cavernous, three decks high. There were banks of machinery, metals of silver, brass and gold curved into pipes, cabinets, and coils. There were glass gauges, and red control dials on wall-length desks. It was all in disarray. Equipment and electronics shelving were knocked over. Bullet holes riddled the huge metal cylinders. Somewhere, something was running. Most of the equipment here was dead.
Brenda White had spent hours already looking things over here and in the emergency power room, talking with crew and refugees she’d enlisted who knew one thing or another. The bodies had been cleared before Brenda got there, but there was a lot of blood, everywhere she looked. Which explained why there were so few remaining of the engineering staff.
The Colonel left and she looked at the twenty entirely male ship’s crew and volunteers waiting for her plan.
She wasn’t Chief Engineer at the start of the cruise. She was a passenger. But the Chief Engineer who started the trip was dead or gone overboard, and Brenda White was an elite electrical and mechanical engineer, used to designing systems for some of the biggest factories in the Americas. But she was more used to boardrooms than factories for some years now. Now Brenda White was Chief Engineer of the Festival.
It would have taken weeks of study for Brenda to understand the Festival, but they were fortunate that a few of the specialists were still alive and on board. Most importantly, the Chief Electrician.
There were also refugees on the ship who were good at fixing things: electricians, mechanics, engineers, technology technicians of all type, plumbers, welders and general repairmen. There was no one resource that could really help Brenda unravel the ship’s mysteries, but together they were able to do great things.
The biggest problem took little time to understand. The main generator room, which supplied power to the ship, was closed off in a flooded compartment. Without the generators to transfer power from the engines to the propellers, the boat would not move. The generator room lay forward of the engines and desalination area, in the section of the ship breached by the collision. The watertight doors had been sealed; there was no going in or out, not just the generator room, but all the cabins and halls directly above the generator room. The exterior walking deck at the Atrium level did not extend back past that closed section, so passing from the bow of the ship to stern required climbing to one of the top two enclosed levels, the Penthouse and Resort decks, or the open Sky Deck above that.
Below the waterline, even the areas they had access to, the engines, desalination plant and control room, were in disastrous condition from the collision and being shot up by the pirates. Most of the systems required the generators in any case.
But the pirates evidently had not gone to the emergency generators above.
The emergency generators were running. They powered the emergency lighting on some decks, where other damage had not knocked the systems out. Ventilation and other key systems should have been running off the emergency generators as well, but there seemed to be other breakdowns somewhere.
What member of the engineering department had switched the system to emergency power, or shut the watertight doors from the control room, no one ever knew. They were dead or gone. But the ship floated still, and the generators ran because someone had done what they were supposed to.
The emergency generators put out 1,200 kW. Enough for 20,000 light bulbs, Brenda imagined, but not enough to do much interesting on a ship this size. Certainly it wouldn’t move it. Still, it would last. Without the propulsion systems to power, there was an almost unlimited supply of fuel to power that generator.
There were these things to start with: power to the freezers and other galley circuits, power for some Atrium lighting, and running water to the main galley. The galley for the main restaurant was next to the ship’s main food storage area, which simplified things. Brenda was certain she could get the existing emergency power to the freezers with manpower and time.
In her mind, other than the water stuff, this was a straightforward, brute force effort. They were starting almost from scratch. The existing wiring for the ship was far too complex to rebuild, given the damage from the collision, gunfire, fires and the closed-off section. Brenda gave up on the original grid quickly. The Festival’s Chief Electrician was a good partner for her: smart and open-minded, he knew every inch of wiring on the ship, but was unafraid to re-imagine and re-purpose each piece for Brenda’s creative ideas. He also knew the skills of the other surviving crew.
The electricians under their direction wired directly, hundreds of yards of new wire spooled out, fished between floors through existing junction boxes and transformers until finally, well after dark, the freezers jumped back to life to a great cheer among the galley crew.
Brenda White waited anxiously for word after turning the switch, and when it came back with a runner, she gave someone a high-five and went to work on the Atrium lights.
20
There was no running water because of the loss of power, but jugs were left on the tables by the galley crew. After the beer, Travis and Conrad splashed the water on their faces and arms, wiping away some of the blood.
They saw Hesse through the gallery window as they passed. Hesse leaned on the counter next to the cash register and talked with the Colonel in the small shop.
There was an explosive sound of glass smashing.
“Candy! Chocolates! Assorted Bon-Bons!” came a booming voice.
With that scream, the crowd located the source of the explosion. There stood two bearded giants. One held a rifle over his head, and gestured to an open shop door, its glass smashed out.
“Parents, cheer up your kids!” the voice cheerfully filled the hall. “Let’s have some smiles back! Mind the glass there!”
Travis knew that voice. Most of the crowd knew that voice.
There was one of pro wrestling’s biggest stars, holding an assault rifle, inviting the terrorized crowd for candy. And that enormous man stood in the shadow of his shaggy haired companion.
There was a fog of unreality in the ship, and this appearance of a man from TV as part of their story thickened that fog. The strands connecting life as it had been known to life on this ship were further concealed.
Passing Travis and Conrad, the Mighty Lee Golding and his companion parted the crowd.
“Hey, how ya doing?” Lee nodded as he passed through. “Who’s in charge here?”
Hesse and Colonel Warrant met the two in the middle. They shook hands and made introductions. Hesse pulled them along into his office.
“I can’t believe you didn’t open the candy store,” the wrestler said loudly, “with all our troubles!”
Travis walked on to his family. At some point, Conrad was no longer next to him.
When Hesse’s office door shut behind them, the Colonel spoke first.
“How did you get the gun?” he asked Lee.
“I took it,” Lee said. “From the bad guys.”
“What happened to the bad guys?” the Colonel asked.
“We killed them,” he looked at the gun playfully. “I guess I’m just like any tourist collecting souvenirs. But I’m happy to be the one with the gun.”
They discussed numbers and logistics. Adam Melville told Hesse and Colonel Warrant that there were a few hundred in the Theater, far fewer than in the Atrium. They had far fewer injuries as well. Hesse had already sent a doctor over, which had led to Lee Golding and Adam Melville coming down here to see who this was taking charge.
“Have your people had any food?” Hesse asked.
“Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the stern, just a flight up from the Theater. Italian. But there’s no power for the stoves.”
“There’s a main galley down below the big restaurant,” Hesse said, pointing to the Atrium, forward and up. “We’ve arranged a team to do meals until we get picked up. Right now, cold, but soon we hope to have power.”
“And if we’re not picked up?” Adam Melville said.
“Haven’t thought about it,” Hesse answered. “Not yet.”
The grey-haired giant had a look of good humor on his face. It bothered Hesse.
“We’re having the food from the other restaurants brought to the main galley, where we’ve almost got power restored to one of the freezers,” Colonel Warrant said. “We’d better have your food brought over too so we can keep it from spoiling.”
“Why don’t you get us power instead?” Lee asked. “We don’t have as much natural light. It’s not a pleasant place, but if we had some light we could stay there. I like Italian.”
Colonel Warrant and Hesse considered their position, in respect to their own authority to challenge Lee Golding and Adam Melville, and in respect to the gun.
“Yeah,” Hesse said. “With the section closed between us, it’s not easy to get stuff back to you. We’d have to carry the food up the stairs to get over the sealed sections. That’s a lot of flights of stairs. We’ll try and get you power right away. We’ll ask our guys what they can do. We have an electrical engineer. She’s a bigwig with General Electric. I think she’s going to get a handle on this. But it might take time.”