Nine Minutes

by Jacqueline Druga

“Looks like it, yeah.” He shut the lid. “Is that it?”

  “No,” I replied. “She wants us to grab a lead blanket to cover the items.”

  Mark nodded. “From one of the x-ray rooms.”

  “Maybe we can get a base reading there.”

  “Yeah.” Mark lifted his light and shined it around. “I’m not seeing one in here.”

  Adina had asked us to get a base reading.

  “Every room has one on the wall, she said, ‘it measures radiation in case of accident. Get the reading. They are in MSV’s. Or Millisieverts, don’t be alarmed if the number is high. One roentgen is ten millisieverts”

  We placed the case of personal meters in the bin and went into the next room on our way down the hall.

  It was a basic x-ray machine and the door was extremely heavy. So much so, the bin would not hold it propped open.

  “Jesus,” I jumped when it slammed.

  The flashlights barely illuminated the room.

  “Search the walls,” Mark said.

  “I don’t even know what it looks like.”

  “Maybe like a thermostat,” Mark guessed. “Here’s one of those blankets.”

  “Why are you not a cop anymore?” I asked, slowly moving my light left to right.

  Mark chuckled. “That is really out of the blue. And strange because you don’t make small talk."

  “I was curious. You don’t act like a cop.”

  “I’m not anymore.”

  “Did you hate it?”

  “No, I loved it. I just couldn’t do it anymore. My head wasn’t in the game, so I moved to another level.”

  “I get that,” I said. “What happened? Was it a divorce?”

  “No, my um, my son died.”

  Hearing that caused a reaction in me and I dropped the flashlight to the floor. “Oh my God, Mark, I am so sorry.”

  “It was five years ago. He was nineteen. Overdose. I was on duty when we got the call of a possible overdose and … it ended up being my kid.”

  My hands shook as I felt the floor for the light. “I’m sorry. I really am.” I lifted the light and cringed. “I suck at small talk.”

  “How were you to know?”

  “Maybe if I asked about your life. After all, we are all in this life changing event to…” I stopped speaking when I saw a square white unit in the back on the wall by the base of the machine. “I think I see it.”

  I walked over and looked. There was a radiation symbol and next to the digital displays were the letters MSV, “Yeah this is it,” I said, looking at the reading. “And … its’ broke.”

  “What do you mean it’s broke?”

  I tapped it. “It’s broke. It says, point zero, zero, nine. Like nothing.”

  “Really?” Mark walked over to where I was. “I see that.” Like me he tapped it. “Maybe we should try another … oh.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, oh. It makes sense. It’s not broke. This room is built to spec. Meaning it has to have lead in the walls and doors to prevent radiation from seeping out in case of emergency. Makes sense it would stop it from seeping in.”

  “That can’t be right.”

  Mark shrugged. “That’s the only explanation. I mean, the door was closed, there are no windows, it’s center of a brick building. The digital display is still on, so the unit works.”

  “That’s amazing.” I said in awe. “Every room should have a similar reading.”

  “The ones that are sealed with machinery, I guess.”

  I nodded. “We should go.” I reached for the lead blanket in Mark’s hand., I wasn’t ready for the weight of it and I nearly dropped it. “Heavy.”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s lead.”

  Hearing that made me pause and I swung my light around.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking.” I moved about the room following the beam from my flashlight. “Let me get this straight. We’re staying in a basement that smells foul, is dirty, a death cave, full of germs all because being there, underground, is safer when it comes to radiation.”

  “Yes. And what are you looking …”

  “Found one.” I lifted another lead blanket and took it to the bin.

  “Henny, we only need one.”

  “No, I need two.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For my daughter. To cover her. Protect her. Once we get the stuff back there, I’m packing up supplies. According to that meter, we are in no more danger here, in this room from radiation than we are in that basement. And it doesn’t smell. People aren’t dying all around us.”

  “I get that. But what about the others?”

  “It sounds cold, but I don’t care what the others do. My first priority is to my daughter, to keep her safe and alive. This room, this place right here, can do that. And when we get back,” I said. “I getting my daughter out of there.”

  TWENTY-THREE – LESS ONE

  The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Or so I had been told. By that definition, Mark was insane.

  He told me at least four times what I planned to do was wrong. That being in the basement was more than likely safer and I’d see once we got there and pulled the personal dosimeters from the lead case. His words were not going to make me change my mind, nor was him telling me I wasn’t thinking it through.

  So, I settled for passive nodding.

  “Okay, Okay, I’ll see what the gadgets say.”

  He kept saying the monitor in the back room could have been wrong.

  I doubted that.

  Even though I went into three different imaging rooms, read the meter on the wall and all of them were only a few tenths of a points difference, he still insisted.

  We made our way back down to the meeting place in what I thought was impressive time. We were only gone fifteen minutes at most, but Joan and Ted had not returned.

  I tried not to worry, considering they had to go to the third floor, and finding the medication wasn’t as cut and dry as it was for the things we were to get on our search.

  We waited a few more minutes then sought out the emergency room. Halfway there, Joan and Ted emerged from the stairwell. It sounded so loud when they burst through, I worried something was wrong.

  Mark and I stopped and spun around.

  “Where are you going?” Joan asked, her arms were full.

  “We were headed to the ER,” I replied.

  “No need. We got everything upstairs,” she said. “Saline bags and everything.”

  “Bandages, too,” Ted added.

  I walked closer to them. Ted looked pale, he was breathing heavily. “Are you alright?’

  “Yes, just a little out of breath.”

  “From coming down the stairs?” I asked.

  He shook his head and coughed. “No, we went up.”

  Mark stepped forward. “Up where? Higher than the third floor.”

  Joan nodded. “As high as we could go.”

  “Why?” Mark asked.

  “We needed to see or try,” Joan answered. “You know, see the city.”

  “And did you?” I asked.

  Joan drew in a slow breath. “Yeah. It was very shrouded by a cloud, but the outline was there. What was left of it.”

  “It looked more like a shadow,” Ted said.

  I closed my eyes for a moment.

  “See,” Joan said. “I took a picture.”

  My eyes popped open. She took a picture? Did she seriously say she took a picture?

  “You took a picture?” Mark asked, shocked.

  Joan held her phone, her fingers maneuvered on the screen as Mark leaned in. “You have to zoom, but if you look close you can see.”

  “Oh, wow. Holy shit.”

  “Heartbreaking.” Joan showed me the phone. “Henny, do you want to see?”

  “Maybe later. Right now, we should get back,” I said, tugging the bin, I moved forward by the others.

  “By t
he way,” Mark said. “Henny wants to leave.”

  “We know,” Ted replied. “We’re following her.”

  “No,” Mark repeated. “She wants to leave the basement.”

  I stopped and turned around, facing Mark. “Why do you sound so much like a tattletale right now? I have no plans on keeping it a secret.”

  “I’m not tattling. Whether you believe it or not,” Mark said. “We’re in this together. All of us. We got off that bus together.”

  I kept walking, stepping out of the hospital.

  “I’m a little lost,” Ted commented. “She wants to leave the basement. Where’s the issue? We all have to leave the basement and the area. We can’t stay. I was actually thinking a little further out we may be able to find a car or something. Head north. Maybe Lower Burrell, they took in evacuees.”

  “I’m not talking about her leaving the basement in a week or so,” Mark said. “She wants to leave the basement ... today.”

  “And go where?” Joan asked.

  I didn’t say anything I kept walking.

  “Here,” Mark said. “The hospital.”

  “I’m confused,” Joan said. “Henny, you’re level headed. You obviously have a good reason. Can I ask what it is?”

  “Yes. But not now.” I said. “We shouldn’t be talking at all out here. The more we talk the more we breathe in.”

  “Can we talk about it later?” Joan questioned. “When we get back and get settled?”

  “Yes. And I have a good reason.”

  “Make it quick,” Mark said. “She doesn’t sound like she’ll be down there that long.”

  I stopped walking. “Why are you making this so personal?” I turned around. I just wanted him to stop the conversation. At least right then. I just wanted to get back to my daughter. Ready to blast him again, I paused when I looked beyond him. Trailing behind was Ted.

  Ted was coughing and while his coughing had become common place over the last day, this was different. He stopped moving, his back bounced heavily in the coughing fit and he whipped the cloth from his face.

  “Ted? You okay?” I stepped his way, looking at Joan and Mark. “Something’s wrong with Ted.”

  After letting go of the bin, I hurried my way to him, but before any of us could react or reach Ted, he dropped to his knees, then like a tree, fell forward, face first to the ground.

  <><><><><>

  “I’m not getting a pulse,” Joan said.

  “I found one,” Mark replied.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  There wasn’t time to do CPR or administer any care. We were still two blocks from the basement and the only medical person around.

  Had it not seemed so serious, I would have opted to take him back to the hospital.

  Ted was out of it. His eyes were open, yet slightly rolled back. His face had taken on a greenish gray appearance. His lips and fingers were blue.

  He wasn’t a big man, so we sat him on the bin back against the handle and hoped for the best as we all worked together and moved the bin.

  We moved it as fast as we could.

  Once we got to the restaurant, barely through the open doorway, Mark grabbed hold of Ted and placed him on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Mark leaned over Ted. “He’s not breathing.”

  “Oh my God,” Joan gasped.

  Immediately, Mark started administering breaths.

  “Mark, stop,” I said.

  “Do you need my help?” Joan asked.

  Mark shook his head.

  “Mark, he’s dead,” I told him.

  “He’s not dead,” Mark said in between breaths. “Why can’t I get …” he spoke frustrated. “Air into his airways.”

  ‘Are they blocked?” Joan asked.

  Mark kept trying.

  “Are you even doing it right?” I asked. “I mean, you’re not doing the chest things.”

  “Compressions,” Joan corrected. “And he has a pulse, he's just not breathing.”

  I watched how diligently Mark tried to revive Ted. It was a mission to him, one he didn’t want to fail. One, I felt was impossible.

  I stepped closer. “Mark, listen to me. Let him go. He’s already gone and …”

  It was the oddest thing, like a snapping sound. I watched Ted’s chest rise as it filled with air. A second later, Ted wheezed loudly and burst into a coughing fit.

  I stood there shocked.

  “What were you saying?” Mark looked at me and helped Ted to his feet. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you inside.” He slung Ted’s arm over his shoulder, then braced Ted under his arms. As he led him toward the kitchen, Mark turned his head and glared at me. I would have sworn he added, ‘fuck you’, but he didn’t, he only glared.

  Watching him drag a semi-conscious Ted toward the kitchen I wanted to yell at him that the poor guy was barely alive again, and to give him a chance, but Mark looked as if he had no patience for me.

  Joan and I lugged the bin down the stairs, it was heavy, and we were pummeled with that smell the second we were mid way down the stairs.

  We set it down, Mark helped Ted into the cooler.

  “What’s going on?” Adina asked. “What happened to Ted?”

  “He died,” I said.

  “He what?” Adina asked in shock.

  Joan explained. “He went down, Mark had to do breaths on him.”

  Adina brushed by us and went to the cooler.

  I decided to follow to see if Ted was alright.

  Seated outside the door was Van.

  “Why are you out here?” I asked.

  Van exhaled heavily. “Sick. Guess I didn’t dodge the bullet after all. Not as bad as …” he pointed to Tim. Feeling a little puckish.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Hey, we got that medicine though. Let me check on Ted and I’ll be back.”

  When I walked into the cooler, they had about four lanterns lit, and Adina was standing over Ted. He sat on a crate propped against the wall.

  “I just … I just couldn’t breathe,” Ted said,

  “Dude.” Kevin blurted out. “I told you not to go out there, didn’t I?” He shook his head and walked over to a book bag, he unzipped it. “Just as I thought, you didn’t even take it.” He held an inhaler and gave it to Ted.

  “You have asthma?” Adina asked Ted.

  Ted nodded and took two puffs of his inhaler. “Been pretty bad the last day, But … I’m almost out of this and I am conserving. This was more than my asthma though. I felt like I coughed and whatever I coughed up was stuck in my airway, I feel better now. A little weak.”

  “You need oxygen,” Adina told him. “And another inhaler.”

  Ted looked up at Mark. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “I wasn’t giving up on you,” Mark replied then stared at me, which in turn made everyone look at me.

  “Okay, okay,” I held up my hands. “I wrote you off. I admit it. That was my bad.”

  While they gathered around Ted, I checked on my daughter, then left the cooler for the bin full of stuff.

  Beth was coughing nearly as much as Ted had been. Tim thrashed a bit.

  Jeff the window guy kept calling out, “Who’s there? Who is it?”

  I wondered if it was the sickness or the basement that was giving them a level of delusion.

  Trying not to respond to them, I opened the bin.

  I knew exactly what I needed to get out of there.

  I opened up the lead case and pulled out one of the small boxes inside. The box was marked personal dosimeter, I pulled it up from the box and removed the warning label that said once the seal was broken it was not to be reused.

  I pulled the seal tab on the back and even though the words were tiny and unreadable, I could make out the picture instructions and held down the little green button.

  After a few seconds it beeped, the digital display flashed twice then went solid on a zero, decimal point, zero.

  It
worked, I hoped.

  I took it with me to the back of the basement near the Pittsburgh Toilet so I could change into my uncontaminated clothes that I had waiting there.

  Joan was already one step ahead, changing hers.

  It felt like a high school gym class for me, changing clothes quietly.

  “Here,” Joan taped me on the shoulder.

  I looked over.

  “Before you dress.” She handed me a pack of baby wipes. “I found these in a drawer at the hospital. Can’t be any more exposed than what we’re using down here.”

  “Thank you.” I took one and the first thing I did was wash my face and neck. It felt so good and cool. I swear it blocked out any smells for a second. “This is wonderful.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Ted has asthma, you know,” I said as I washed.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Only Kevin did.”

  “I know a lot about people down here, I’m surprised I didn’t know that.”

  “Do you know about me?” I asked.

  “Your daughter talks a lot.” Joan smiled.

  “I know very little.”

  “Habits are hard to break,” she said. “You’re a guarded person. I get that. That’s fine. That’s who you are.”

  “I never was one for a group mentality.”

  “I figured as much,” Joan said. “So, do you want to tell me why you want to go back to the hospital?”

  “I want to protect my daughter. I need to keep her as healthy as possible.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I want to pack a bin with some supplies, enough for however long we have to keep hiding out.”

  “And some,” Joan said.

  “And some. Maybe once I am there, I can actually start thinking about what will be next. Like Ted said, maybe I’ll head to Lower Burrell.”

  “You still didn’t tell me why you want to go back to the hospital. We have Adina here, how is taking Macy away from a nurse keeping her healthy?”

  “Radiation,” I replied.

  “It’s everywhere.”

  “Not there.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Joan said.

  “I could be. I could be wrong. But they had meters on each wall of the radiology department. Each room. Like a mini thermostat. They measure radiation in case it escapes.”

  “Okay.” Joan nodded.