Without moving a muscle, Eric bored his eyes straight at Doc Collins. “Tell me about my uncle first.”
Doc nodded as he replied, “I will, but while I’m doing that were going to need to soak your ankle so I can clean it out, and in order for me to soak it, we need to cut off your duct tape and gauze bandage.” He patted the seat of the chair again.
Eric held his position momentarily, considering. He was naturally stubborn and resistant when it came to being pushed in a direction that wasn’t his choosing. This seemed like one of those times. Max was picking up on his tension as well, and Eric felt, or rather sensed his annoyance with the crowd beginning to surface.
Biting down the frustration and impatience he felt, Eric forced a few deep, steady breaths out as he raised his leg to the chair. With his left hand, he leaned slightly over and rubbed Max on the muscular, padded area at the front of his chest.
“Easy Max, it’s OK.”
For his part, Max seemed to settle down to a watchful, if not quite wary observation of the procedure.
In less than two minutes, his homemade band aid had been removed with the help of flat-tipped scissors that came out of Doc’s medical bag. Some poking and prodding of the wound, accompanied by several “mmmm’s” and “hmmm’s” preceded a pair of injections.
“I’ve given you something to numb the area, just a local, for when we clean and re-stitch it. The second shot was some antibiotics, although I’m going to want you to take some more orally for a while.”
Doc looked over at the new girl and Eric followed his gaze. She was tall, dark haired and athletically built. Probably college age or just out, he guessed. She was wearing khakis and a faded tan Hard Rock Café sweatshirt. Medium sized golden hoop earrings dangled and bounced against her cheekbones as she brought the almost full bucket over. The chair was removed and replaced with the bucket, and the girl knelt down and carefully supported Eric’s leg as his foot was lowered into the warm, frothy liquid.
Her eyes were large and friendly, and she shifted them between Eric and the container as she submerged his wound. “It’s going to sting a bit, but we need to leave it in there for at least ten minutes.” Her voice was both firm and comforting at the same time.
She stood, checked a small walkie-talkie clipped at her waist, and then addressed Doc. “I’m on channel seven. Just call me when you’re ready and I’ll come back.” A minor shift of her head directed her attention at Rebecca. “Ms. Rebecca, you really need to get some sleep. I can handle things here and in the sickroom, and Amy is getting another girl for backup, OK?”
Rebecca dipped her nose slightly. “I’ll go in a minute.”
The dark haired lady shook her head slightly, and with a low, musical giggle, she replied, “I hope so.” A moment later the door clicked behind her.
“Who was that?” Eric asked.
“A lucky find.” Rebecca yawned her answer. “Her name is Callie. She’s a physical therapy assistant. She was also an EMT for a few years. So I guess that makes her my backup nurse.”
“What about Sally?” Eric asked as he looked back at Doc.
His peripheral vision caught the quick turn down of Walter and Rebecca’s faces. Doc gave a barely perceptible shake of his head before mumbling, “She’s gone.” A long, silent gap filled the space between them before he added, “At least we think she’s gone.”
The tepid water in the bucket released a briny aroma as he digested Doc’s words.
Doc Collins exchanged glances with Walter before continuing. “But that’s a topic for later . . .” he looked again at Walter, “but not too much later.”
Turning back to Eric he said, “Andy is alive, and although it’s too early to tell, he might be one of the luckiest SOB’s in the world.”
Eric waited. There was more, there was always more. In his experience, first came the give—immediately followed by the take.
“Your wife and child made it through the seventeen hour surgery Mr. Jones.”
“That’s great.”
“However, both of them passed on immediately afterwards due to unforeseen and unrelated complications.”
“Tell me . . . everything.”
Doc nodded his head and began. “The good news, well, great news is that the bullet did not penetrate Andy’s skull.” Using his index finger and his own head as a visual aid, Doc traced a line that started above his right ear and traveled slightly upwards as it progressed forward.
“The bullet struck the parietal bone at a complementing angle, as opposed to a conflicting one. It would be very similar to shooting a bullet in a close, angular plane to the surface of a lake.”
“Like skimming rocks,” Walter chimed.
“Yes,” Doc replied, “very similar. Because of the angle of impact, the bullet followed the contour of the resisting surface, which in this case was your uncle’s skull. It exited the skin approximately four inches later, about two inches above the temporal line.” His index finger indicated the position of the exit. “The bony structure was not visibly damaged anywhere that I could tell along the wound channel. Blood loss was substantial, although we often see that in similar injuries. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. Our impromptu transfusion, although maybe not necessary, definitely helped.”
Eric waited, slowly counting to five . . . uneasiness evident on his face with the approach of the take.
“When a traumatic event happens to a body, it is often the unseen damage that determines the outcome.” Doc pointed his finger casually at Eric’s face.
“That shiner you got started off as, relatively speaking, a slow moving blunt force trauma. Although I doubt it felt slow moving at the time.”
Eric forced down the memory of his fight with the cowboy. He could tell that it wouldn’t be alone, but traveling with an incredible number of footnotes, to do lists, and responsibilities that were even now assembling and brawling to be number one.
Doc continued. “Immediately after the impact, your face probably hurt quite a bit. However the damage was not just on the surface. Cellular walls, skin tissue, capillaries and other parts of the localized anatomy surrounding the point of impact were also damaged. Even hard tissue like the zygomatic bone below your eye absorbed some of the impact. The combined results of which are going to be swelling, tenderness, and the discoloration evident with the hematoma.”
“Yeah, I got it. I have a black eye.”
“Yes,” Doc answered, “it’s fairly easy to visually inspect your injury and draw a conclusion as to what happened, and what realistic prognosis for recovery can be expected. Your uncle’s injury, because of its location and the complexities involved therein, present another matter. I gather you’ve field dressed enough deer to know that the typically small entry wound often doesn’t correspond to what you find inside the body cavity.”
“Doc, I haven’t had years of medical school, but I do work in a profession that requires a fairly in-depth understanding of ballistics.”
“Then you understand what I mean when I say ‘temporal cavity’?”
“Yeah, it’s a shock wave effect that displaces tissue, organs—and whatever else is in the way—very rapidly. It can cause anything from minor complications to serious damage, and even complete liquefaction of vital areas.”
“Mmmm-hmm,” Doc nodded, “but the problem is that without highly advanced medical imaging—and to be honest, a lot of times even with it—we have no way to really tell what, if any, additional damage Andy has sustained. He could wake up in an hour with nothing more than a bad headache.”
Eric shook his head, already chasing the worst case scenario down the wide path he seemed to travel frequently. “Or, he could never wake up. Or he could wake up and be brain dead. Or he could . . .”
Walter cut in abruptly. “Eric, there’s only one thing we can do right now, and that’s keep on praying. Your uncle is a tough old bird, and I don’t think the Lord is done with him just yet. Or rather, I don’t think the Man upstairs is done tormenting me with Andy�
��s continued presence.”
Eric gave a weak smile at Walter’s comment. “So it’s basically a ‘hurry up and wait’ situation?”
“And keep praying,” Rebecca added.
“Yes,” Doc answered, “to both of you.”
“How’s Emily?”
“Very lucky to be alive. I’d really like to know what happened. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s alive, but her injuries came very close to being fatal. Not precisely how I envisioned you bringing her back to me.”
A split second flash of memories surfaced in Eric’s mind. The helplessness he had felt, along with his indignant rage during Michelle’s captivity. The stunned incomprehension at the personal sacrifice Emily had been willing to risk. The aftermath.
“Your granddaughter risked her life to save Michelle.” The words, spoken as he held Doc’s eyes, somehow didn’t seem enough.
A soft, double knock on the door perked Max’s ears up. Without waiting for a reply, Michelle quietly slid into the room. She was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, with a light blue, long sleeve hooded sweatshirt folded across one shoulder. Her duty belt was clearly visible, and judging from the number of magazine pouches Eric could see, she was loaded for bear. A brief moment’s eye contact brought a smile to her face, and much to Eric’s surprise, a quick wink. She stood silent as Walter spoke.
“Listen, I know there are a lot of things that we need to go over . . . to figure out. I’ve been able to hear some of the stories of what happened, but there’s a lot more we need to find out about, and a lot of decisions that need to be made. Quickly. For right now, Andy and Emily are alive and hopefully healing. Other lives, ours included, are still at risk.”
“How about the other girl we brought back?” Eric asked cautiously.
“Her name was Samantha,” Michelle interjected softly, “and she didn’t make it.”
Doc shook his head. “There was way too much trauma and blood loss. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry. Who was she?”
“Someone who should have stayed at the campground.” Michelle leaned against the wall and bowed her head as she spoke quietly. “Andy and I are responsible for her being at the cabin. And for everything that happened to her there. She should’ve stayed at the campground, she would have been safer.”
Doc immediately shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t have . . . those things . . . they came out of nowhere—everywhere. . .”
Walter cleared his throat. “Listen, we need to hear about this, and a lot more as well. But not right here, and not right now. I’ve already got Amy working on a guest list, so to speak, for our meeting. She’s coordinating with Sam on that, and some other stuff as well. Rebecca, go get some sleep, Callie’s got it covered.” Walter continued barking orders. “Doc, stitch the boy up, change his oil and get him running like new, or at least walking.” Standing up and turning to face Michelle, he finished with, “And you get the pleasure of being with me.”
Five minutes later, his foot was once again resting on the towel covered folding chair. Doc had used the radio to summon Callie, and the two of them began to poke and prod at the gash on Eric’s ankle. The numbness from the anesthetic brought an uncomfortable reminder of his dream.
Chapter 3
Rapidly approaching boot steps distracted Estes from the bursts of distant gunfire. He leaned over the scarred and chipped rectangular conference table in the teachers’ lounge, and took another look at the map of the school. It wasn’t good. They had too few capable bodies to adequately guard too many points of ingress. With no centralized command structure in place, the situation had swiftly devolved into the semi-organized chaos of its current state. Colonel Jordan’s timely removal at the hands of, well, whoever they were, had at least allowed Estes to temporarily get a grip on the downward spiral of their circumstances here at the school. But night was also approaching as fast as the boot steps that he hoped were bringing good news. A sharp rap on the open door signaled the entry of Sergeant Alex Keene.
“Captain.”
The internal smile at his new pseudo-rank had quickly worn off with the exponential increase in the demands and responsibilities required of him. And it had been less than thirty hours since his “promotion.”
Keene was a career NCO; a short, wiry Arizona to New York transplant with a prematurely leathery face adorned by the standard issue TBUG’s—thick, black, ugly glasses that the military saw fit to provide at no cost. Well, no cost besides your pride.
“Sergeant, what did you find out?”
Keene shook his head as he withdrew from his pocket a partially crumpled, but as of yet untouched by flame cigar. “You mind?”
Estes grinned. “I think most schools have some kind of no smoking policy, don’t they?”
“When you hear my news, I think you’ll agree that it ain’t going to be cancer that either of us is going to die from.”
His grin slowly modifying to a sigh, Estes replied, “in that case, I hope you brought two.”
A broad smile was accompanied by a second trip to the pocket, and a few moments later a wispy, translucent haze began to rise towards the ceiling panels. An upward glance from Estes revealed the presence of a smoke detector above the door frame. Sergeant Keene followed his glance, and then slightly shook his head. “Smoke alarms are all cut off. It was one of the first things I had my guys do.”
Estes understood, and acknowledged with a nod. Most smoke alarm systems are tied together, and when one went off, they all did. That was unacceptable in their current situation, especially considering the extreme likelihood that they may have to fire their weapons inside the school buildings. And weapon fire creates a lot of smoke. The last thing they needed was an additional source of noise like an insanely loud fire alarm to draw in the . . . things.
Turning back to the map, Estes took another drag from the surprisingly mellow stogie before asking, “What have you got for me?”
“The school’s main generator is down. It ain’t likely going to come back up either. It took a couple hits in the control panel from some screwball who wasn’t watching his field of fire this afternoon. Some of the guys have managed to scrounge a few portable generators from somewhere, and right now they’re running cords into the end of the northwest wing by medical.” Keene tapped the end of a hallway displayed on the map they were looking at.
“How much power is that going to give us?”
The sergeant shook his head in a wide, slow arc as he replied, “Not near enough. Even with the big diesel generator running, we still had to cut a lot of nonessential systems out of the loop. What’s really going to suck is that we’re not going to be able to power the athletic field lights. You’re going to have a lot of kids shooting in the dark, Captain.”
The portable radio clipped to Estes’s belt chatted in stereo with the one coiling across the sergeant’s shoulder.
Three different squads were reporting in as all clear after the last incursion. No casualties to friendly forces.
“Well at least there’s some good news today,” Estes noted. Turning back to the map, he pointed to the northwest hallway and said, “Sergeant, check my logic on this. Here’s what I’m thinking. This school,” he indicated with a sweep of his hand over the map, “is basically in the shape of a giant letter ‘H.’ You’ve got two hallways heading north off the main building, and two hallways heading south. The northwest side is also where the athletic fields are, and coincidentally, most of our vehicles and supplies. I think we need to get all of the civilians, hell, everybody that we can, into the northwest wing. There are fire doors that connect each wing to the main building, and we can secure those somehow. That is going to greatly reduce the area we’ll have to cover, as well as giving us quick access to medical and resupply. I also want every transport vehicle we have gassed up and ready to go in case we have to bug out. We can put a squad up on the roof at the end of every wing, and that should give us full circle coverage. How many pairs of night vision goggles do we have?�
�
“We had seven, but four of them went down—mechanical issues, accidents, or just bad luck—I don’t know. Anyhow, that leaves us three.”
“Double check them for function, make sure they’ve got extra batteries, and then give them to the squads on the roof of every wing except where we’ll be.”
Keene squinted slightly as he replied, “You don’t want any for the fire team on the roof of the northwest wing?”
“No,” Estes replied, “one of the Hummers out there has a thermal imaging camera that we can use.”
“It doesn’t work, sir.”
“Specialist Perkins, one of the guys in my squad, is a whiz with all of that tech stuff. As of about twenty minutes ago, he had it operational, at least when the Hummer is running. For some reason it’s not working on battery power. And, there seems to be an issue with it continuing to function for longer than a few minutes before it shuts off again.”
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 3