She only half-listened to the rest of the news snippet, dealing with the usual CDC caveat to get the annual flu shot. When the reporter began to talk about what to do to prevent the spread of illness as the peak flu season approached, she felt her heart rate quicken. Her hands gripped the faux-leather wrapped steering wheel in a white knuckled embrace. Memories of ten years ago flashed across her mind like lightning.
The sickness, the death—the senselessness of it all. Dad dying, her cousins, and her neighbors dying. Mom sick and then her brother sick, then getting sick herself. The pain—her shoulders twitched with the memory of that searing pain in her bones that left her bed-ridden for a week.
Months later, after she had fully recovered from the Blue Flu, she had joined the Army. She told her brother it was because she wanted to help the nation heal and as a Survivor, she felt she owed it to all those who had died to make something of her life. She never told anyone that the real reason she had joined was simply to get away from the death and emptiness her life had become thanks to the Blue Flu. Her entire family had been sentenced to death by the microscopic terrorist known as influenza—all save Derek, her brother, an Army Ranger fresh out of boot.
She had been sailing through her first year in medical school when she was struck down with so many, many others in The Pandemic. After her long, painful recovery from the point of death, she had chosen to finish medical school in the Army Reserves while she gained real-world experience and helped her country at the same time. She liked to think her father, an Army Colonel, would have been proud.
Brenda was processed, commissioned as a Lieutenant, and sent to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio to complete her expedited training. It was there she had learned that the intense pain caused by The Pandemic was actually a response of her own body to the viral assault on her immune system. Her body had been creating such a massive amount of ammunition to use against the virus that her bones—the body’s gunpowder mills—went into a production frenzy of T-cells. Just breathing had caused her to cry out in agony.
The fever she had survived relatively easy—but the delirious terror she had experienced as a result of the H5N1 virus coursing through her veins—that had been the absolute worst. She had seen demons in her room, salivating with anticipation at feasting on her corpse. They had been as real as Derek’s concerned face leaning over her from time to time. Ten years later, when she had nightmares, it was those viral demons that caused her to wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
Around the time she had enlisted, the Great Recovery had kicked-off—along with the small-scale wars which had flared up around the globe. Surviving leaders had blamed each other for starting hostilities as they jockeyed to take advantage of their potential rivals’ weaknesses. Chaos had erupted around the world, even as most countries were struggling for survival against The Pandemic. The Press aptly dubbed the anarchy The Aftermath. She grunted; the name fit.
By the time she pulled herself out of her waking nightmare, she realized that the DJ was back on the air, wrapping up his feelings about the flu and starting in on the next song. She saw her exit approaching and smoothly exited the freeway, heading down toward street level and her new job. Slowly her pulse began to return to normal.
The DJ cut in as the song ended, “And by the way, Angelenos, in case you haven’t heard, our fearless leader, President Denton, is coming to our fair state this afternoon to kick off a round of campaign rallies.” He let the music play a few more beats before interrupting again, “If anyone needs to go to San Diego today, take my advice…don’t!” Brenda tuned out the political garbage and switched the radio off as she descended down the freeway ramp and tried to get her bearings.
At last she found the hospital after navigating a warren of side streets and one-way alleys, and pulled into the visitor’s lot at All Saint’s Memorial Hospital. She added getting a lot pass to her mental list of first day chores. One deep breath and she was out of her old Mustang and into the pleasantly warm air she came to California to find. She closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed the kiss of the sun on her cheek before heading toward the walk-in entrance to the Emergency Department.
Remember, you’re in the Reserves now—you’re a civilian. Oh God, don’t let me salute my new boss… Sure are a lot of people out here today…
Brenda caught her reflection in the mirrored outer doors to the ED waiting area and quickly flipped an errand lock of auburn hair off her forehead. With a whoosh, the rotating doors cycled around and immersed her in the refreshingly cool air from inside the building. Brenda took a last, calming breath and with a smile to the guard, walked into chaos.
Her first sight was shocking. There were people everywhere. Not a single chair in the ED waiting area was empty. Children squalled, a few older ones ran by chasing each other, and parents and grandparents huddled together in little clumps. There must have been at least fifty people crowded into the room.
She worked her way through a line of people, most of whom were coughing and bundled up in coats and blankets. More than one started to try and stop her from cutting in line. She brushed them off, gently but firmly, in order to make her way toward the front desk.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you’ll have to get in line,” said the nurse in a tired voice, clipboard in hand. Brenda glanced at her watch idly. It wasn’t even 0800 yet, and the poor nurse looked frazzled already. She had bags under eyes and an expression that brooked no argument. Brenda recognized the look of someone who was about to go home after a long shift but was pressed into working a double.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brenda said, elbowing past the elderly Asian woman who looked to be on her deathbed at the head of the line. “I’m Brenda Alston, I’m supposed to start work here today—“
“You’re the new emergency medicine resident?” said the suddenly interested nurse.
“Well—” Brenda started, trying to look apologetic to the old woman who was muttering in between wet coughs. “Yes, I just—”
“Great—we need all the help we can get. Helluva day to start. Here, take this corridor down to the right, then go through the first double doors you see,” she pointed over her shoulder and started to write on her clipboard.
“But—”
“Here’s a visitor pass that will get you in as far as you need. You’ll have to find Nancy Goodson, she’s Charge Nurse this week.” The nurse, thus disposed of her receptionist duties, turned back to the frowning elderly woman. “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry about that…could you give me your name again, please?”
“Oh…okay,” said Brenda, looping the visitor pass lanyard over her head and starting off in the direction suggested. She turned and called out, “Thank you!” and got a nonchalant wave in return.
“Okay, down the hall, through the double doors,” Brenda mumbled to herself as she walked around a few people slumped against the walls in the corridor. It probably wasn’t an epidemic, but whatever was going around sure had plenty of people sick for a Friday morning. She remembered the DJ talking about the flu during the drive to work and angrily forced the thought from her mind.
Focus, Alston, you need to focus, she told herself.
A door to her right flew open, surprising her. She spun instinctively to the left, just like she had learned in the forward medical bases in Iran. When a door opened unexpectedly, it was either an attack or an incoming patient. Either way, the best and safest bet was to juke and get out of the way.
Unfortunately, as she was smiling at her battlefield nimbleness, she slammed into a white-smocked older doctor carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee, just as he turned into the corridor from an adjacent hallway. The clipboard flipped up onto his chest, flattening the paper cup that he had been holding to his lips. The hot coffee splashed his face and chest and he was dumped unceremoniously on his ass. The three younger doctors in light-blue scrubs and white coats behind him rushed to help the man on the floor.
The elderly man sat there in a puddle of steaming coffee, shaking
his hands to fling the hot liquid off. He glared at Brenda but said nothing.
She stood there dumbstruck, staring at the older olive-skinned man as he shrugged off assistance with a gruff voice and staggered to his feet spitting mad. He glared at her through bushy, gray eyebrows. His dark eyes bored straight through her burning face. She glanced down at the name stitched in blue cursive script onto the front of his coffee-soaked lab coat:
George L. Honeycutt, MD, Chief of Emergency Medicine.
Brenda closed her eyes. First days suck.
“What the hell are you doing back here?” barked a red-haired doctor with a narrow face as he helped the highest-ranked ED surgeon in the hospital to his feet.
“I—” said Brenda. She stammered a few nonsensical words, in total shock at body-checking her new boss on her very first day. At least I didn’t salute him…
“Look,” said the second doctor, as he waved a hand to cut her off. He stole a glance at her visitor pass and his eyes narrowed. “Visitors aren’t allowed back here—”
“Oh—“ she said, looking at his name tag. “But—I work here, Dr. Wu,” said Brenda. She drew herself up and stuck out her right hand, “I’m Brenda Alston, the new EM resident transfer.”
“Wait a minute,” the snippy, red-haired doctor said. A wicked smile spilled across his face and he looked at the other two. “You’re the new resident?”
“You’re late,” muttered the third doctor, a tall lanky black man with horn-rimmed glasses and an academic look about him. He managed to look stern and supremely amused at the same time.
“Oh this is perfect,” said the first doctor, a smile spreading like an oil-slick across his pinched face.
“Jesus, Stan, give it a rest,” said the older man. He ignored Brenda’s outstretched hand and flipped through the limp, wet sheets on his clipboard. “Anybody seen Nancy? Someone needs to inform her the new kid is here,” he said. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the mass of people in the receiving area over Brenda’s shoulder.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The pinched-face doctor cleared his throat and spoke up, ”George, this is what I was telling you about—”
“Don’t give me that ‘George’ bullshit, Stanley. You said there was ‘a handful’ of inbounds—that’s what you told me. A handful. I see more like fifty!”
Accident forgotten, the Chief of Emergency Medicine bulled past Brenda and marched down the hall, the three doctors on his heels. Brenda was about to go looking for Nurse Goodson when she heard her named called.
“Dr. Alston, with me, if you please.”
“Here we go…” Brenda muttered to herself. She straightened her shoulder bag and did an about face out of habit before marching to her fate. The long steps it took her to make it down the hall and catch up with Dr. Honeycutt gave her plenty of time to chastise herself for the great first impression she had just made. She grimaced at the trail of coffee on the floor.
The Chief and his court stood there at the edge of the group of people seeking help. The other doctors were also expressing their shock and amazement at the scene before them when Brenda caught up.
A raven-haired nurse in blue scrubs came around the corner, pulling off disposable gloves. She had a stethoscope around her neck and a clipboard under her left arm. She walked purposefully and without hesitation straight to the Chief of Emergency Medicine.
“There you are, Dr. Honeycutt. I’m going to need all the PAs we can spare. We’re getting swamped out here.”
Brenda read the name badge hanging around the nurse’s neck: Nancy Goodson, RN. The clear plastic sleeve holding her ID had a big red stripe at the bottom. Plastered over that stripe in bold, white letters were the words CHARGE NURSE.
“What is it?” asked Dr. Honeycutt. He motioned for Dr. Wu to handle the Charge Nurse’s request. Dr. Wu nodded and retreated from the group.
“It’s presenting with typical flu-like symptoms: aches, pains, fever, and nausea. But it’s only taking a few hours to bring people to their knees—and loved ones are bringing them here.” She shook her head and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her left hand. “They’re coming in faster than we can process them.”
A commotion by the main entrance to the emergency department caught Nurse Goodson’s eye. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, George,” Nurse Goodson said in a tired voice. “This is bringing back some awful bad memories.” She noticed Brenda for the first time. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Brenda Alston, the new EM resident—“
“All right, Dr. Alston, you’ve got some experience with situations like this, if I remember your file correctly. I know Colonel Seager from our residency years, and he gave you a glowing recommendation. If that ornery bastard likes you, I want to see what you can do.”
“Yes, sir,” Brenda said, voice neutral. Nurse Goodson raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, but the corner of her mouth curled up mischievously.
Brenda’s eyes swept over what looked like at least 50 to 75 people in various states of distress, standing, sitting, and laying down. Coughing, wheezing, crying, moaning—the sounds alone were sickening. And the smell! More than one person had vomited on the floor and several of the younger children appeared to be suffering from diarrhea. Brenda tried desperately to calm the nerves that had bound her up inside like coiled springs, quivering with unreleased energy.
“’Chief’ will do,” said the older man without a smile. He folded his arms across his damp chest. The man looked to be in his mid-50s but was built like a bear. “What are your recommendations?” He arched one of the gray caterpillars above his eyes and watched her intently. Nurse Goodson checked her watch.
Summoning all of her willpower, Brenda clamped down hard on her memories of The Pandemic as they nibbled away at the edge of her mind. She slowly eyed the area and ignored the three doctors behind her. She could feel the sneers directed at the back of her head.
She closed her eyes and was back in the forward medical base in Iran where she had spent so much time after med-school. The Reserves had been called up just as she was ready to start her second year of med school, when Iran had attacked Israel. When the United States invaded Iran, she too, went to war. As a result, Brenda had spent more time in field hospitals than classrooms. Her invaluable military training now took over as she assessed the situation. She opened her eyes and took in the entire scene.
“We’re going to need triage tents in the parking lot, to quickly examine and get the worst of them inside. Treat and release the walkers,” she said. “Right now everyone is mixed together—we could have cross-infections and just spread…whatever it is…even more. Plus it’s a real Charlie-Foxtrot in here. We need space to work.”
She glanced at the number of chairs in the large entryway and continued: “We need to scan for communicables and weed those out as well. Walkers that make it this far are the worst and need to be treated—like, yesterday. We need to be collecting names and info all the way up to here and here,” she said, pointing out workstations at strategic points in the waiting area. “I recommend we clear some space for visitors and well-patient walkers so they can get inside without contracting anything—better yet, until we get a handle on this, family and visitors need to stay outside.”
“What’s a Charlie-Foxtrot?” whispered someone behind her.
The Chief looked at Nurse Goodson and received a nod. He scanned the room. “Good ideas. What else?”
“What about—” started the red-haired doctor.
The Chief raised his hand and got silence. He nodded to Brenda, a look in his eye that looked vaguely familiar to her. She last saw that look from The Colonel back in Afghanistan when he was testing her. He had become sort of surrogate father to her and she desperately wished he were here now.
“I like what I’m hearing. Go on, Dr. Alston.”
“Well,” she said, and cleared her throat. Her old battlefield confidence returned as she continued, “I don’t know the day-to-da
y routines around here, but where I’m from, this would be considered a significant number of people you got here. There’s something going on. Is it just beginning? How long have they been coming in? Is it localized? Can we expect more? I heard on the radio the flu is making a comeback. Is that what we’re dealing with? For that matter, how is the Department set—did some event happen that will dump a lot of traumas on us, too—a big accident or train wreck or something?”
“I like her,” said Nurse Goodson with a smile. “I guess you can stay.”
“Nurse Goodson!” someone called out near the main entrance where a man was thrashing about on the floor. Two nurses struggled to hold him still.
“Duty calls,” she said and shook Brenda’s hand. “Welcome aboard, Dr. Alston. I look forward to working with you.”
“Excellent.” The Chief said as the Charge Nurse worked her way towards the disturbance. He turned to the two doctors behind him. “Dr. Alston is our newest 4th year resident. A resident, gentlemen. Yet, she thinks like one of us. Why? Because she has real-world experience—battlefield experience. Dr. Alston was with the Army in Iran during The Aftermath.”
“Hooah, sir,” she said smartly. “Iran for two years, then Active Reserves stateside for five at Walter Reed. Uncle Sam put me through med-school. I’m inactive, as of last week.”
“Very good. I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other soon. Right now, we have sick people that need our help.” He clapped his hands again. “All right, Lewis, I want you to put her suggestions in place. Nancy will be taking the lead on this, find out what she needs and coordinate with the nurses.” Dr. Fletcher nodded and scribbled some notes on his clipboard.
“And Stanley, make sure Henry gets those PAs. Pull ‘em off all non-critical cases.”
Before the pinched-face doctor could protest, he turned to Brenda. “Good thinking, Alston. I’m setting you up at a desk with a phone.” He raised his right hand. “I know, you want to help and jump in there with the rest of us. But you picked a hell of a day to start.” He frowned, as if disappointed with his own speech.
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 5