TWENTY-THREE – Breaking
Deana had been fine. She kept her strength, her wits, and moved in almost an automatic mode with each patient. Visually examine, wound care, bandage, repeat. She built a wall of strength and believed she would make it through. In less than twelve hours it would be one week since the attack. They lost over two hundred patients in three days. Most from severe wounds, a lot from radiation poisoning. Deana kept trudging through and would as long as those she treated remained nameless, faceless strangers. She was mentally prepared for the next wave… until she saw Terrence. He wasn’t a nameless, faceless stranger. He was a man she had known for years. She heard his name first as the man who made this unusual wing sauce. Her father took a liking to him and before Deana knew it, her father had taken the long sitting college fund Mark never used and gave it to Terrence.
Though she didn’t think he ever saw it that way, Terrence was inducted into their family as the fifth sibling. There wasn’t an event he wasn’t invited to, nor did he have an event that he didn’t invite Deana to. She looked at him like a younger brother. Her siblings were out west, Terrence was there.
She had just spoken to him a week earlier, congratulating him on getting the White House job. He, of course, credited her father. Deana had no doubt he got that job on his own. Not only was he an amazing chef, he was a good caring man, dedicated father and husband… and now, that man, her adopted brother, was dying. Deana didn’t need to examine him, or run blood tests to know. The sores on his face, the darkness under his eyes were a tell all. Yet, Terrence refused to show how badly he felt.
And Kira… poor little Kira. Deana had taken the weekend off to care for Mylena and Kira while Terrence moved into their new home and out of their old apartment.
Deana wanted to cry, scream, and beat her fist against the wall. When she uncovered Kira from the blanket she felt that wall of strength crumble. The emotional attachment to the girl made her want to run, but instead she examined her. There wasn’t a doctor available and Deana trusted no one else to do what was needed.
It wasn’t good.
Kira had multiple fractures of her skull and cerebral fluid leaked from her nose and ears. She bled internally and she labored in her breathing because one lung was completely deflated. All vital signs were low and without an x-ray, Deana didn’t know for sure, but she was certain her back was broken.
Medication was scarce, but Deana gave Kira pain medication and oxygen.
It was comfort care, not a cure. She had the little girl moved to a private corner with a drapery for privacy. Deana didn’t think Kira would make it through the night. Then again, things could change, she could be surprised, after all Baby Mary was still alive and Deana had written her off.
She had to break the news to Terrence. When she stepped from the triage area to find him, she was shocked at the number of people waiting to be seen. They lined up at the garage waiting for a doctor. So many people, Deana should have expected that when they opened their doors to the injured and ill. Although, she had no idea how they were going to medicate them.
She ignored their pleas for help, and pushed her way through the people. Finally, she spotted Terrence. She whimpered in pain at the sight of him, then inhaled a bit of bravery and walked to him.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“She died, didn’t she?” Terrence asked.
“No. No she didn’t. I have her in a private area. It… it doesn’t look good, Terrence.” Deana touched his arm. “I have her comfortable. It’s a wait and see right now.”
Terrence brought his hand up and squeezed the corner of his eyes.
“I know you are ill.”
“I’m fine.”
“Terrence, I have medication that can give you some relief. Take it and sit with the baby, okay?”
“Yeah.” Terrence emotional once again, only nodded.
“Macy, Mylena, your mom?”
“They’re… they’re fine. A little weak, but fine. We managed to get out of the city and below. I just did some stupid shit in the name of my family. That’s how I got this way.”
“I would be surprised if you didn’t.”
“I told them to stay put for now.”
“Good. I need you to rest. Stay with the baby and rest. What happened? You said she was hit by a car? I didn’t think cars were running.”
“This one was,” Terrence said. “It was off when the bombs hit. The guy stole our food and was driving out of the garage when he hit her. He just kept going.”
“Oh my God.”
“I had the chance, you know, to kill him early on when he was trouble.”
“That’s not you,” Deana said.
“If I had, my daughter would not…” Terrence paused.
“What is it?” Deana asked.
“Him. He’s here. There.” Terrence brushed by her.
“Terrence!” she called out, but he ignored her. She watched him rage across the crowded room to a man seated on the floor, holding on to a woman. It was as if he wasn’t even sick, Terrence grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him, and like a locomotive with a driving force, carried him ten feet and slammed him into a wall.
Deana ran over as Terrence held the man there by his throat.
“You son of a bitch!” Terrence blasted. “You did this to my daughter.”
“I didn’t…” The man choked. “I didn’t see her. I swear. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Terrence tightened his chokehold on the man and Deana did nothing to stop him. She reached out to Terrence, but retracted her hand.
“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Terrence graveled, “My child is dying now because of you.” He squeezed tighter and the man’s face turned red.
Deana didn’t know how Terrence had the strength. He held the man to the wall with one choking grip and revved back his fist.
The man repeated, “I’m sorry. Please don’t. My wife needs me. Please…”
Terrence stopped. “More than anything I want to hurt you. I won’t. You have to live with this. I won’t let my last act be me taking another man’s life.” Terrence said passionately. “May God have…”
Deana raced forward because she saw it happening. She was too late. Terrence completely released his grip of the man, swayed some, staggered backwards, then toppled to the ground.
TWENTY-FOUR – The Move
‘I don’t know where to begin, or to explain why I did what I did,” Mark’s letter read. ‘I was an idiot and I hope you will forgive me. I know it might be too late. I pray this world is kind to you and that you rise above all that we let bring us down….’
Then he had to stop writing. His head was pounding. It was the kind of headache that spread from temple to temple, making his cheek bones feel as if they were broken. Mark couldn’t even move his jaw without pain shooting up into his skull.
The headache was the mildest of all that ailed him.
Eight hours earlier, he woke up and was glad to be in that large room with six other people, instead of the closet size medical room. He was elated to know that Spokane was still safe and his child, more than likely, was alive and well.
If there was one thing he was sure of it was that his ex-wife would keep little Mark safe. She was smart and knew things. She was one of those people who always had two weeks supply of food. A part of him felt guilty for not being overly worried, he attributed that to his gut instinct telling him his son was fine.
Then Mark started feeling sick again, and suddenly he doubted that gut instinct and attributed the positive attitude to the fact he was safe so was everyone else.
Zeke was fine and healthy, he looked it and Mark was glad about that. Regis on the other hand was sick, too. He appeared sick, moved like he was sick and started getting purple splotches. The only difference between them was Regis didn’t act sick. Then again, he just sat in that control room listening and watching.