Riding the Red Horse

by Christopher Nuttall

  "Yes it is the point, Toby, and you know it. Every one of those boys that goes back into combat chooses to redeploy. We have a mandatory full medical with psych before we let anyone go back. For combat arms, we even enforce a twelve-month lag before they can go back; your trucker was an exception since he's in transportation." Max caught and held Toby's gaze until Toby finally looked away. "You are too close, too stressed and too tired. You are saving lives, and can save even more, but not if you succumb to your own version of PTSD!"

  Toby dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the desk. He mumbled agreement and sighed again, but Max continued, "I can see that this isn't the time to press Phase Three. You clearly aren't tracking well and need a chance to get your headspace and timing back. We've got Phase Two rolling out on schedule and that will do for now." Max stood up, that leaned over the desk. "Toby, speaking as your friend, you need a break. Make up with your wife or find a new friend. Go fishing, go sailing, go camping… anything to get away. Now that I've seen this," he pointed to the screen, "I can take the time to have my team work up a revised scenario."

  Toby looked up into his friend's eyes. Max was the third person to now tell him virtually the same thing—get away from work—they even used nearly the same words. He looked… not defeated, but resigned. "I know, Max. You're right, I guess. I know it intellectually, but it's just so hard to convince myself." He tapped his computer screen again, sending the graphic report to Max, and then stood up to see him out the door.

  They stopped in the doorway, hands clasped, and then Max reached up to put his hand on Toby's shoulder. "Seriously, Toby. You need that break. It's going to be okay; and if this is about Billy, he's going to be okay, too. His unit's nowhere near the hot zone and is due to be rotated home in a few weeks."

  They said their goodbyes, and then Toby closed his office door, made a fresh cup of coffee and sat back down at his desk. There was a folder marked 'Action Items' that the department administrator updated every morning. In it was his leave request, authorized by John Geuiszlerr. Toby signed it, checked the contents of the folder for other critical items, and then dropped the signed form off with John's secretary on his way to the post-surgical floor to check on patients.

  The next week went by quickly as he made preparations for his leave. John had considered it critical enough to grant him up to one month at very short notice with 'orders' to take at least two weeks immediately. As a senior faculty member, Toby could go off of the 'on-call' roster and active surgical rotation at any time, although he was available to consult for critical cases any time he was at work.

  John had even dropped off the keys to the cabin, saying that he wouldn't be using it to enjoy the autumn colors this year, and told Toby to enjoy them for him. Whether that was actually true, or just removing any obstacles to his leave, Toby didn't know and was afraid to ask. Still, it was a wonderful place to get away, and he spent evenings packing and gathering provisions for a prolonged stay.

  The nightmares continued, but with no new patients, Toby could reduce his clinical load. He backed off more on the coffee and found that he was actually getting more sleep. A gradual transition was important or else the forced inactivity of his leave would be too much of a shock and might even be counterproductive.

  He ended work that Friday afternoon by finishing the case notes for the patient records he was leaving with colleagues. He checked on a the fabrication order for additional Phase Two nanobots as well as variant he would use if he decided to go forward with General Odle's Phase Three. Good. The order would be ready once he returned. These final tasks had to be completed before he left; there would be no way to check back except in an emergency. The cabin was only a few hours away, but it was in a mountain valley with limited cell phone and radio coverage. There was a TV, game system and movie player, but no internet, phone, satellite or cable. Toby would have a satellite-activated pager for emergencies, and John's son had installed a short-wave radio, but this was going to be a total break for the next few weeks.

  Toby finished the last of the paperwork, closed his office, and then stuck his head in the departmental admin's office to let her know he was leaving. His car was already packed, and he turned the opposite direction on exiting the parking lot—headed for the cabin and away from hospital and home. He hadn't paid much attention to the news, so was puzzled over the headline on the video billboard: "President Schedules Historic Meeting."

  In retrospect, Toby was surprised he'd lasted the first day, let alone nearly three weeks. He found himself immediately in a state of withdrawal from email and messaging, but the cabin needed a few minor repairs, and Toby decided to surprise the Geuiszlerrs by completing them himself. After the first few days exhausting himself with labor, he found it easier to fill his days with physical activity.

  The cabin had a small woodworking shop, and Toby spent a fair amount of time there, enjoying the feel of working with his hands without the burden of life-saving surgery. He hiked, fished a bit (although it was never his passion, the way it was with John), and gradually worked back into an exercise routine. After twenty days at the cabin with no nightmares in over a week, he checked the food stores and decided it would soon be time to head back to civilization.

  I'd probably better tidy things up, he thought. The new bench for the porch is finished, and I should winterize the place in case John doesn't get back here before the first freeze.

  The next day was spent cleaning up his workspace—sweeping out the shop and cabin, covering the outdoor items and tying down the covers. He wanted to sure everything was protected from the inevitable storms that could pop up suddenly this time of year. Throughout the past week, Toby had heard plenty of thunder, even though there had been no rain, so he'd better make sure everything was put under cover or lashed down.

  He also needed to check and service the generator before he left—he'd had to use it several times, including today. Toby turned off the lights, tools and workshop fan—he'd ignored the video games, movies and radio, preferring the silence instead—then disconnected the cut-out switch for the generator and powered it down. Power from the city was still out, so it was a good thing that John or his son had set up a mirror to reflect sunlight into the area housing the generator. He was able to drain the fuel and oil, clean, lubricate and refill the generator before the sun went down. He decided not to run it tonight; he could empty the refrigerator and make-do with the outdoor grill and lanterns for a single night.

  Toby was quite glad he had buttoned-up the cabin that night when a powerful storm struck the cabin. He'd heard thunder again during the day, but the lightning was rather odd—repeated blue-white flashes. There was plenty of wind, a bit of rain and a hint of smoke in the air, too. Probably from some trees hit by lightning, fortunately this air was usually pretty damp and not prone to wildfires at this time of year.

  The next morning Toby arose early to finish closing down the cabin. He still needed to check all of the property for storm damage and to make sure there was no chance of a fire from the lightning during last night's storm. He finished around mid-afternoon, packed his car, and started the five-hour drive back home.

  The closest town was about thirty miles from the cabin, and usually catered to the weekend influx of city tourists looking for flea-market bargains, hill-country art and fall foliage. The town was virtually empty. Granted, it would have been busier in the morning, but on a Saturday during peak autumn colors, it should have been filled with tourists and the small-town streets practically jammed with cars. Hmm, thought Toby, must be the County Fair.

  The rest of the trip down to the interstate and then on the highway home was uneventful. Traffic remained light, although there were an unusually large number of cars broken down on the side of the road. It was just getting dark as he pulled into his driveway. The garage door wouldn't open, but that might mean the batteries in the remote were dead. He'd check that tomorrow. Right now he needed to unpack the car or at least get the leftover food and dirty laun
dry out and into the house.

  Flicking on the light switch brought no response. The battery operated emergency lights were on in the hallway. A background hum told him that his backup generator was running, so he would have some power, just not on all of the circuits.

  He hadn't seen too many other signs of last night's storm until he'd neared his neighborhood. There was the occasional downed tree and debris lining the street. Although he hadn't seen any power lines down, it was a likely conclusion that the storm had knocked out the power. He checked the refrigerator and freezer, they were both still well-chilled, and the temperatures outside were cool but not cold, so the power outage was recent. The generator was fueled by natural gas—both from a city utility line and by a large pressurized reserve tank. Grabbing a flashlight from the kitchen, he checked the fuel—the tank was still full, so city gas must still be on. There was no point in wasting it, though. He'd used oil lamps in the cabin; he could save the fuel by continuing to use non-electric lighting.

  There was a distant 'boom' of thunder. No, not thunder, that sounded more like the explosive sound of a transformer failing. He should call the utility company, but the house phone was out and he'd neglected to charge his mobile. He'd just have to do that in the morning.

  As Toby thought about it, he had the growing feeling that something was not right, but couldn't quite place it. Since he hadn't wanted to deal with disconnecting the garage door from the powered opener, he'd left the car in the driveway. He paused from the unloading and stood watching as sunlight touching the trees and houses turned a deep red from the reflected sunset. The clear sky and sunset were at odds with the distant sounds of thunder. He listened for a while, and it was too quiet, there should have been machinery noises, children playing, and backyard barbecues. There was no-one else outside. He could hear a strange, distant buzzing sound, but otherwise the suburban neighborhood was even quieter than it had been at the cabin.

  With the light fading, he went inside, using house lights sparingly to unpack. When finished, he plugged in his phone into one of the generator-backed outlets to charge, turned out the lights and lit his grandfather's old hurricane lamp to save the generator's fuel. It had been a long day—a long three weeks, even—and he really didn't feel the need to do too much more tonight. He would deal with it tomorrow.

  He woke several times during the night. His dreams were uneasy, and he kept dreaming that he awoke to strange sounds outside. In the dream he knew that he was dreaming, and there was something urgent that he needed to do. He would try to wake up, only to realize that he was, in fact, still asleep. When Toby finally did awake, he felt drained of energy, as if he'd had to fight his way out of sleep. While it was not the full-blown nightmares he'd experienced before, it was still quite disturbing. Well, I guess it's too much to expect to reverse all of the stresses in just three weeks.

  He could hear the generator running, so he turned on a small bedroom lamp instead of the overhead lights. The bathroom was dim, but he could still see. Unfortunately, his shower was tepid—not exactly cold, but the generator did not operate the water heater and the residual heat had mostly drained away. He dressed in the dim light, and then went to the kitchen as the first morning light came in through the windows.

  He wanted a hot cup of coffee, but he didn't want to waste the generator fuel that implied. Tap water and instant had sufficed in pinch many times as a medical student and resident. It didn't taste very good, but it woke him up.

  This storm was bad news. This was now at least two days without power. He needed information, to contact the utility company, and he should check in at the hospital in case this was one of those emergencies requiring all available personnel. Without full power to the house, there was no way to check TV, radio or internet news, so Toby headed into his office. Since he really wasn't expected back for another week, showing up on a Sunday in casual dress would be acceptable.

  Driving out of his neighborhood and into the city, Toby saw more evidence that the storm had been quite severe. Traffic lights were out, and there were several automobile accidents or breakdowns. Traffic was quite light, but barricades had been set up at certain intersections—not to mention at the highway exit closest to the hospital. Toby drove on to the next exit, and then doubled back on surface streets. There was storm damage to several shops—broken windows, a collapsed roof—was that a car crashed through a front window? One store appeared to have actually been broken into. And looted. Even the big video billboard was blank—the first time Toby had ever seen it so.

  The gates in the hospital parking deck did not operate, but someone had broken one of the barrier arms. Toby drove around it and took a spot near on the lower level away from the main entrance. Even for a weekend, there were far fewer cars than there should have been—especially if the hospital was operating on an emergency basis. Toby exited the deck into a tunnel that bypassed the Emergency and Main hospital entrances and leading to the faculty and staff entrance of the clinical office building. The coded door locks were working, but much of the internal lighting was out or dimmed. The background roar of the hospital grade emergency generators was almost deafening outside, and still audible inside the building. He took the steps up to the Surgical Department offices on the sixth floor—fortunately the activity and exercise of the last three weeks had increased his wind and stamina. Even so, he was still winded by the climb.

  The offices were better lit, and there was a low hum of office electronics. Most of the power was on in here, even though there was no one else present. This was odd, since there should at the very least have been residents updating patient records and procedure notes. His office door was closed and locked, with a note stuck to it. Under the name plate on each door was a slot for a status marker: "In Surgery", "In Clinic", "On Call" and "Vacation" were typical. Someone, likely John Geuiszlerr, had inserted a plate which read "Sabbatical." That was certainly better than "Getting his shit together." The sticky note was unusual. The departmental admin had a master key, and always discretely placed notes, messages and call-backs in a folder on the surgeon's desk. A note stuck to the door was so unusual, that even if someone unfamiliar with the practice had left it, Sheila would have removed it almost at once.

  The note read simply "Call if seen—Security, 5-9999." Call if what is seen, or should that be who? Call if Security is seen? If Toby is seen? He crumpled the note, unlocked his door and entered his office.

  Sure enough, there was a blue folder on his desk from Sheila with his messages. The computer was showing the University Medical Center logo and login screen, so at least the internal network was up and running. Next to the desk were two wooden crates, each about two feet on a side. The top of the upper crate had been removed, revealing two aluminum cylinders in cushioning material—the crate was deep enough for there to be another two cylinders on the bottom.

  Before sitting down at the desk, Toby inspected the cylinders. Three were still sealed, including the lone cylinder with a red label reading 'Phase Three'. One of the blue-labeled 'Phase Two' cylinders had been opened. Another sticky note was attached. Geuiszlerr's characteristically messy handwriting read: 'SNx suppl critx, rmd 200k U 10/24—J.G.' The note meant that the supply of surgical nanobots was so low as to be critical. John had removed 200,000 units—about one one-percent of the total in that container on October Twenty-fourth—two days ago. While his colleague was perfectly authorized to retrieve and use the nanobots, there should not have been any need. The amount on hand in the OR should have been sufficient for the remainder of the year. The amount John had removed from the cylinder could suffice for several weeks' worth of surgeries.

  On the other hand, these were the Phase Two nanobots—suitable for field injection to stabilize a patient for transport and delays in getting to surgery. If John needed them for that reason, then the storm must have been much more severe than he thought. It was beginning to look like there was very wide-spread damage and casualties. He needed to find out what had happened.

&
nbsp; Toby tried to log in before he even sat down at the desk, but mis-keyed the login and had to try again. He succeeded on the second attempt—once fully seated - but was challenged by an additional screen which demanded confirmation of his credentials. He figured that the additional authorization was prompted by his missed login or by the fact that he hadn't been logged in for several weeks, and promptly forgot about it.

  Before checking the messages in the folder, he wanted to learn more about the storm. Unfortunately, the network appeared to only be partially active—with very few external sites active. The weather forecast application appeared current, but did not have any indications about the storm. The typical news sites were inaccessible and even the Current News block of the medical center page showed news from a week ago.

  Just then he heard the sound of footsteps running through the office cluster. He looked out the door of the office and saw two individuals hurrying through the office. One was a red-faced young man in a hospital security uniform; the other appeared to be in a military uniform. The guard stopped at Toby's door and tried to catch his breath, the soldier didn't appear to be winded. The guard waved a hand in Toby's direction and gasped, "Doctor (pant) Tobias (pant) Greene?"

  "Yes, I am Toby Greene."

  "Sir, (pant) can I confirm (pant) your ID?" Toby showed him his medical center badge and pulled out his driver's license. After checking the name and picture, the security officer nodded to the soldier, who keyed his radio headset, "Lt. Greene, he's here." There was a pause as the officer listened to a voice in his earpiece. "Yes, sir. I'll ask, sir." Looking at Toby, he continued, "Dr. Greene, my Lieutenant asks 'do you have nanobots'?"

  "Lieutenant… William C. Greene?" Toby asked. "My son?"