Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

attention of the Centers for Disease Control is—I believe—significant.”

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 had left her bedridden for a week.

Months later, after she’d fully recovered from the Blue Flu, she’d 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’d been sailing through her first year in medical school when she was struck down like so many, many others in The Pandemic. After her long, painful recovery from the point of death, she'd 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’ve 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’d 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’d 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 errant 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’ve 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.

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’d 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 held Honeycutt’s clipboard while the old man brushed off the last of the coffee.

“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 nametag. “But—I work here, Dr. Wu.” 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.