by J Gurley
Thirty minutes passed since Anderson left in search of the sleds he had spoken of. Grey Eagle was growing impatient. At the sound of a low whine from down the corridor, he motioned his men to prepare for an attack. Then, as he recognized Anderson, White Elk, and Small Sheep’s Horn each operating one of the sleds, he sighed with relief.
“We got lucky,” Anderson said. “We located a small garage with several sleds in much better condition that the ones I found earlier near the lake.”
Though the Star Man seemed pleased with his find, Grey Eagle eyed the strange conveyances with suspicion. Each wheel-less sled hovered a few centimeters above the floor by some means of which he could not even venture a guess. He had seen many wonders in his long life, but none could match the wondrous vehicles. Each was large enough to carry four riders. He had no time to marvel at them or examine them. He quickly directed the others to place the woman on Small Sheep’s Horn’s sled with Kena and Hramack. The others mounted White Elk’s sled. He chose to ride with Anderson to keep an eye on him. The Star People had aided them in the battle, but he still did not trust them fully. Their goals, whatever they were, were not the same as his. Their loyalty could prove as capricious as the winds.
He held on as the sled sped away. It was smoother than he had expected, but he was concerned about the loud whine they made. The sound reverberating down the corridor revealed their position to any nearby Marauders. However, they needed the sleds. His men were exhausted. The sleds relieved them of the additional burden of carrying the woman. Riding also reduced the stress on his injured calf.
He solved the problem of ambush by directing White Elk’s sled with three armed men slightly ahead of the others as an advanced guard. In the event of an attack, either group could quickly aid the other. They did not have time to check each of the rooms and side corridors they passed, any one of which could have hidden a large force of Marauders. They would have to trust to luck.
The journey to the control room took less than thirty minutes, much quicker than their outward walking journey in search of Hramack. Grey Eagle set his men about the task of erecting a barricade at the junction of the two main corridors adjacent to the control room by dragging heavy pieces of machinery to block the corridors. They removed steel doors from doorways and placed them on their sides against crates, desks, chairs – anything they could find. A few well-armed men could hold the barricade for days without exposing themselves to enemy fire, while the enemy would come under a withering fire in any foolhardy attempt to dismantle it.
Since they already knew how to operate one, he sent White Elk and Small Sheep’s Horn on one of the sleds to the lake to obtain as much water and as much fish and game as they could catch. If the enemy besieged them, they might have to hold out for days, and he did not intend to starve. The Marauders knew the facility better than they did and would use the knowledge to their advantage. The question that plagued Grey Eagle’s mind was why they had not attacked already.
Grey Eagle kept an eye on Anderson while Anderson examined the panels and gauges in the control room with great interest. He could barely keep his excitement from his stoic face. Kena and Hramack were both intent on the woman. He smiled. It was obvious Kena was enamored of her. It was a good thing to see. Kena had told him of his wife’s death during their long journey to the mountain. A man should not be alone. He hoped, for Kena’s sake, his efforts on her behalf proved effective.
He was alone, but he had enjoyed many good years with his wife, Anora. Her death had been hard at the time, almost unbearable, but his need to protect his village from Marauders had taken all his time since, leaving little time to brood about his loss. Many others had lost loved ones to disease or the Marauders. His sorrow was no different from theirs. He was an old man, even if he protested the fact. He could feel his age each morning and after each battle. His bones ached from sleeping on the hard ground. His wounds healed more slowly. His leg wound troubled him even now, though he tried not to let his pain show.
If he survived, this would be his last battle. Upon his return to Pueblo Nuevo, he would turn command over to one of the younger men and settle down in his small pueblo facing the setting sun. He would sit quietly in his favorite chair each evening and smoke his tobacco, while watching the sun drop behind the mountains west of the village. He never grew tired of watching the sky turn first a ruddy pink, and then darker purple as the shadow of the mountains raced across the great, flat plain towards him. The first stars that burst forth in the night sky reminded him of the twinkle in Anora’s eyes when he had first met her at her father’s house, peeking from behind a door. She had chosen him as her mate a few moons later. She had never lost that twinkle in all her fifty-five years.
The soft thud of the machinery below his feet vibrated the floor, reminding him where he was. An occasional beep as some piece of equipment switched on or off was the only other sound in the room. Though two were injured, he set all five remaining men to guard the barricades. If no attack came soon, he would allow the two injured men as much time as he could for their wounds to heal. If attacked, they, too, would have to fight. He hoped the two men he had sent to fetch food and water would not run into trouble and return soon with food. The Marauders could attack at any time, and he would need all his men. He could not count on Kena or Hramack until they had properly tended to the woman. Anderson would be of no use with a bow, and they had destroyed their explosive weapon to purchase their escape. He looked too weak to be of much use at hand-to-hand combat.
It had been forty-eight hours since he had slept. Grey Eagle could hear its sweet call each time he moved. His muscles ached and his joints were sore. The wound in his thigh ached bitterly, but he could not afford to give in to sleep’s siren call until they were safely out of the mountain and well on their way back to Pueblo Nuevo, their purpose here achieved. The lives of the others were his responsibility. Already he would have to listen to the Grieving Songs of three widows. He could stand no more.
*
Hramack roused from a nap and saw his father slumped against a bank of machinery. “Father, wake up.” He shook his father, but Kena could not raise his head. He opened his eyes, but he was groggy and weak.
“Father, wake up,” he repeated. “You passed out.”
“Help me up,” Kena whispered weakly.
Hramack wrestled Kena to a sitting position on the floor. Kena looked over at Cathi. Her condition had not changed appreciatively. “You were right, son,” he confessed. “I feel very tired.”
“You should rest.”
“No. I need to walk and clear my head.”
Hramack lent his father his shoulder for support as Kena walked around the room. He was unsteady on his feet, stumbling often. Anderson stood over a console scanning drawings that flashed across the screen almost too fast to follow.
“How is she?” he asked without looking up.
“She’s stable but still very weak,” Kena replied. “I will have to remove the arrow soon.”
“She’s my friend and my commanding officer; therefore, I am naturally concerned for her welfare, but why are you so concerned with her well being?” He looked into Kena’s eyes as if trying to judge the truth in Kena’s response.
“She is in need. All life is sacred to us.” In a quieter voice, Kena added, “And I must confess that I am more than a little in awe of her.”
Anderson nodded, satisfied with Kena’s answer. He turned his attention back to the screen. He slid his finger across the screen to change the perspective of diagrams he was viewing.
“What are you doing?” Hramack asked.
“I found schematics of this complex on the computer. I wish I had found them earlier. It would have saved a lot of walking. See, here we are.”
He showed Hramack a blueprint of the control room and the adjoining corridors. He drew back on the view until the screen displayed the entire facility in three dimensions. He rotated the view to show the many levels and kilometers of corridors, each indicated by v
arious colors. Absorbing the facility’s true size made Hramack dizzy.
“And that doesn’t include kilometers of service tunnels and water passages beneath the facility.” He reduced the image and zeroed in on their location. “A complex this size must have a first aid station, if not a complete medical facility. If I can locate it, and if it is still functional, then we can take the lieutenant there.” He continued to scroll through schematics while Hramack watched over his shoulder.
“Wait!” Hramack shouted after a few minutes. “Go back.”
Anderson slowly reversed the images.
“There.” Hramack pointed to the symbol he had recognized earlier, a winged staff with intertwined serpents. “A caduceus,” he yelled, “a medical symbol, the sign of a Healer.”
Anderson touched the symbol, and a schematic of the room appeared. “It’s an infirmary.” He repeatedly touched a second symbol, frowning, as he mumbled, “Huh.”
“What is it?” Hramack questioned.
“The cameras aren’t functioning in that area. Power is off in many of the corridors – no lights.” Seeing Hramack’s look of concern, he added, “That doesn’t mean the equipment isn’t working. As an emergency treatment center, it might have a dedicated power source.”
Hramack remembered the many empty rooms he had seen, looted long ago. “If it is still there.”
Kena joined them, staring at the screen. “Is it far?”
Anderson pinpointed the location relative to their present position. “It’s not too far from here. Maybe a kilometer.”
Grey Eagle came over, drawn by the commotion and the excitement in Hramack’s voice. “What have you found?”
“Anderson has located a medical facility, an infirmary, nearby. With it, we may be able to save Cathi Lorst’s life and help Strong Arm and Two Clouds.”
Grey Eagle stared at the screen. He traced his finger along the corridors to the infirmary. He grunted and turned away. “This room is back toward the lake, off a small side corridor, but deeper within the mountain. There is no good place to mount a defense. If we leave this position, we could be easily overrun by the Marauders.”
“But we must go,” Kena said.
Hramack watched Grey Eagle closely, as he paced the room in deep thought, weighing the life of one woman against those of his men. After several minutes, the old man said, “You, Hramack, and Anderson will take the woman. Two Clouds will accompany you. He, too, needs treatment. The rest of us will remain here guarding this corridor. We must wait for the others to return from the lake.”
Hramack shared his father’s impatience, urging the men to return from their foraging expedition. He filled the time by redressing Two Clouds and Strong Arm’s wounds. Strong Arm’s arm was sore, but even at half strength he was still more powerful than most men. He squeezed Hramack’s hand so hard he thought it would break. The bleeding had stopped from Two Clouds’ wound, but when Hramack had him draw his bow to test his strength, he broke out in sweat and his arm trembled.
Finally, the foragers returned bearing full canteens of water and stringers of small silvery fish. Hramack wanted to take time to examine the fish, the first he had seen except in books, but Kena urged him to hurry. They carefully placed Cathi on the crowded sled, and he, Anderson, Two Clouds, and his father set off down the corridor to locate the infirmary. Following Anderson’s directions, they took many smaller corridors, some dusty and filled of debris. Hramack was disappointed to see that some areas of the enormous facility had fallen into such decay. It was as if someone had defaced a monument.
Many of the overhead lights were not functioning, forcing them to rely on the lights on the sled to guide them through the darkness. Each turn carried them deeper and deeper into the twisting maze of corridors. To Hramack’s bitter disappointment, the corridor ended at a collapse of the ceiling. Machinery and metal furniture from the floor had crashed through the floor above and now blocked their path. The sled could carry them no farther.
“It will take hours to clear this,” he moaned.
“There is room enough to pass through on foot.” Kena pointed out a narrow gap between the wall and the debris. “We can make a litter to carry Cathi from that piece of wood and walk the rest of the way.” He pointed to a broken piece of wood half-embedded in the wall. When Hramack pulled the wood from the wall, he discovered that though it looked like wood, it was much lighter and harder, some kind of resin.
He and his father carried her on the makeshift stretcher, picking their way through the debris. To his relief, the door bearing the caduceus symbol and a red cross in a circle was free of rubble. A sign on the door read – ROOM MZ 1437 D – MEDICAL (PRIMARY)
“This is it,” Kena called out.
Hramack looked down the dark, dilapidated corridor. Several wall panels had peeled away and hung over the corridor like tree branches in an arbor. Cobwebs draped the ceiling and dust lay deep on the floor.
“I hope everything is still working,” he said.
“We’ll find out in a minute.” Anderson tried to force open the door, but it would not budge. Hramack and his father set down the stretcher. He and Anderson threw their combined weight into the door. The door suddenly slid back into a recess in the wall, throwing them off balance. Hramack tumbled into the room and rolled across the floor amid a cloud of dust. He waved his hand in the air to dispel the cloud of fine particles floating around his face, coughing at the musty smell the dust raised.
The room was a small office filled with rotting chairs, a desk, and cabinets full of decayed files. A second door, frozen half-open, opened into a larger room filled with rows of machinery covered with plastic tarps. A thick coating of dust covered the desks and the equipment in here as well. Disappointed in the condition of the room, Anderson strode to the wall and pressed his hand against a panel. Slowly, the overhead lights flickered to life.
“At least we have light,” he said, smiling.
Hramack wrinkled his nose. “It smells of the tomb in here.” He examined a bulky, plastic-draped item. “Perhaps the plastic coverings have protected the equipment.”
Anderson nodded. “It looks like they neatly packed everything before they left.”
Hramack noticed a panel marked Housekeeping and touched it. Small doors opened in the wall, and several types of small whirling and sucking machines raced into the room, dancing menacingly around their feet. Two Clouds leaped back with his bow ready to fire an arrow into the strange creatures. Ignoring them, the automated robots began attacking the years of accumulated dirt and debris. Dust filled the air in their wake, forcing all of them back into the corridor.
“What did you do?” Kena asked, holding his hand over his mouth and coughing from the stirred up dust.
Hramack shrugged and smiled. “It’s faster than sweeping.”
After several minutes, the noise subsided, and they entered a much cleaner and more sanitary room. The odor of musty air had disappeared, replaced by the stringent scent of disinfectants.
“Amazing,” Hramack whispered. Two Clouds continued to look frightened and kept his bow ready.
Anderson and Kena began stripping the plastic covers off the various pieces of equipment. Most of the names emblazoned on the machines meant nothing to Hramack, although Anderson whistled appreciatively.
“Here,” he said to Kena, pointing to one particular device, “a soft tissue scanner.” He activated a panel and, to their delight, the screens lit up. He pointed to another device, “A computer-operated surgical table. It can remove the arrow and seal the wound unassisted.”
Hramack was almost in tears with appreciation of the accumulated medical knowledge and techniques available to his ancestors.
Anderson yanked open the doors of a cold storage cabinet. “Whole blood and plasma! Frozen for centuries.” He looked at the labels. “It is artificial blood – antibody and antigen free. No risk of agglutination. Remarkable. Even my people can’t do that.”
Kena had held up on the journey to the infirmary,
but now his loss of blood took its toll on him. He turned to Hramack. “You must treat Two Clouds’ wound first. I am dizzy.
Hramack’s face blanched. “I cannot,” he protested. “I know nothing of this strange equipment.”
“Nor I, “Kena said, “but Anderson does. He will help. I must rest or I will not be fit to operate on Cathi Lorst.”
Hramack knew his father would not have suggested it if he did not think Hramack capable, but Hramack was not as certain of his abilities. Half guessing at the surgical machine’s operation, Hramack keyed a display listing a menu of surgical choices and chose the one he thought most appropriate. Two Clouds lay nervously on the metal surgical table, his usual ready joke or quip forgotten in face of the strange machines. The machine came alive, produced a hypodermic from a cavity within, and jabbed him in the arm, almost frightening him to death at the hiss of air injection. Next, a light shone on the wound, changing through the full spectrum of colors as it scanned the knife wound in his belly. Then, the machine directed a bright blue beam of light into the open wound. A wisp of smoke drifted from the wound along with the odor of seared flesh. Two Clouds’ face paled, and he tried to rise from the table. Hramack gently pressed him back down.
“Do you feel pain?” he asked.
“No, only a tickling, but it is burning my flesh.”
“It is cutting away damaged tissue and sealing broken blood vessels to aid healing much more efficiently and less invasively than I could hope to.”
The light changed color, becoming dark crimson. It exited the wound and began sealing the flesh around the wound as it moved along the opening. Next, a second hypodermic jabbed the skin next to the wound, hissing as a burst of air injected its milky contents. Finally, the machine applied a small bandage.Two Clouds, who had closed his eyes at first sight of the moving beam of light, opened them when the noise subsided. He looked at the bandage on his stomach and flexed his abdominal muscles. “I feel nothing. Thank you, Hramack.”
Hramack laughed. “Don’t thank me. I did nothing. Thank the builders of this device.” However, Hramack felt a sense of joy at his small part in the procedure. He might not have Kena’s innate sense of empathy with his patients, but he now knew he was a capable Healer. With the help of my ancestor’s machines, he reminded himself.