by Glen Tate
Bennington led Rich and Cindy toward the guards. Bennington pointed to Rich’s arm band and the guards nodded. People nodded a lot during the Collapse. It was like they didn’t have things to say, just to verify that they understood things like “this guy will be coming toward you, so don’t shoot him.”
Cindy was getting physically ill as she looked at what used to be the beautiful hospital. Trash was everywhere. It looked like people had been camped out in the parking lot and just left their garbage. She saw some baby diapers on the ground. That really hurt her. People must have been camping out with their kids waiting for care. Did they get care? Were they turned away? Did they get killed?
Oh God. Cindy kept saying that. Oh God. She put her hand up to her mouth because she thought she might throw up.
The next shock to Cindy was the entrance. Some bullet holes crumbled the cement walls. It looked like a scene from the Middle East. There were only about five bullet holes, but it was still something she never thought she’d see at a hospital. Or anywhere else. There were shell casings on the ground. Not too many. It didn’t look like there was a big gun fight there, just some shots.
Then she saw it. A huge red stain on the pavement at the entrance to the hospital. It must have been gallons of blood. Someone had tried to clean it up as well as they could. There were splotches in different places. It looked like there had been lots of people, bleeding in lots of different places. The red stains were various colors. Some of it must have been from weeks ago and other stains from days ago. It reminded Cindy of the slaughterhouse she visited as a kid. Only this was human slaughtering.
Then the smell hit her. It smelled like that distinctive hospital smell, but with the added overpowering smells of strong cleaning agents, vomit, body odor, and…death. It smelled like death.
Cindy didn’t want to keep walking. She wanted to run back to the truck and go home. She actually stopped walking and thought about going back to the truck. Then she got a hold of herself and kept walking.
She was a nurse; a professional who helped people. She had a job to do; a very important job, and she would do it. She would not let people down. There were other little Tonys out there who needed help. She couldn’t help him now, but she could help others. She started to cry. Rich and Bennington tried to ignore it, although it was hard. A crying woman is always something hard to ignore.
They walked through the dimly lit entrance. The lights were on, just not many of them. Cindy listened for the hum of the generators that went on during the drills before the Collapse. She didn’t hear them. They weren’t on generator power, but still only had partial lighting. Cindy wondered why.
Then she saw the reception area and knew why. It was empty. They didn’t have many lights on because there were almost no staff or patients there. With all the need for medical care out there, Cindy could not understand why the place wasn’t crowded.
“Where are all the patients?” she asked Bennington.
He shrugged. “There was a big rush here after about May Day,” he said. “Way too many people. It overwhelmed the hospital, so they had to put up security.” Bennington looked down at the ground again, a sure sign that he was ashamed of something. He paused, “It got a little violent, but all the people were scattered. Just not enough doctors or supplies for them.”
Rich, who was curious by nature, asked, “If there weren’t enough supplies, why are we getting some today?” Once again, Rich regretted asking such a question.
Bennington got red in the face. He tried to get his composure. He realized that getting mad wouldn’t change anything. But he was so tired. He hadn’t a good night’s sleep since May Day, and he felt himself starting to get pissed.
“Why are you getting some today?” Bennington angrily asked. “Because you paid for them, dumbass.” Bennington just stared at Rich. “Don’t ask stupid questions any more. Seriously, Rich. Shut the fuck up. OK?”
Bennington realized he was yelling at a potential ally, so he tried to smooth it over with Rich. He used a calm tone and said, “Sorry. After the rush here, and when everyone got turned away, word went out that the hospital was closed. It pretty much was. They were out of supplies. A truckload came in about a week ago. It was a small truckload. We didn’t tell people it was here because we’d just have to beat them back again,” Bennington said, once again looking down toward the ground. “There’s maybe five doctors and a dozen nurses on duty now. We let emergency personnel come in here. That’s it. Oh,” he added, and once again he looked at the ground, “and private-pay customers.”
So this was government-run health care, Rich thought. A smashing success. It sucked before the Collapse, but now was non-functioning. Except for government people and “private-pay” customers. “Private-pay,” as in people who brought in AR-15s and a case of ammo.
As they continued to walk down the hall toward the back of the hospital, they saw a few people. Some visitors of patients. One woman and a little girl had flowers. As they walked past them, Cindy heard the woman say to the girl, “Daddy is going to get better.” Maybe he was a cop or politician or something.
As they turned down the next hall toward the medical supply storage area and pharmacy, there were four guards. Two were Blue Ribbon Boys and the other two were FC. All of them had military rifles. Rich thought this must be where the good stuff is.
The guards had a radio and apparently were told that Bennington and his guests would be coming. Rich prominently showed his armband and Bennington nodded. They stopped several yards in front of the guards.
“Lt. Bennington, we’ve been expecting you,” one of the FC said. It sounded so weird to Rich to hear Sgt. Bennington being called “Lieutenant.”
Bennington motioned for Cindy to hand the clipboard to the FC guard. She did. He looked it over and told the others to open the door.
“Only she goes in,” the FC guard said.
“OK,” Rich said. He looked at Cindy and she indicated that this was OK. She wondered if this was some kind of trap, but she realized that Rich had to stay if that’s what the guards said.
One of the FC guards went into the room with Cindy. He handed her a shopping cart, which looked so odd there in the hospital. He just stood at the entrance watching her, which creeped her out. But she had a job to do and it was almost over.
When Cindy was in the medical supply storage area, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had never seen it so bare. There was almost nothing there. It was surreal. It was like seeing the always-full shelves at the grocery store empty for the first time. Cindy had seen those empty grocery store shelves a week ago, so this shouldn’t look too odd, but it did.
The magnitude of this tragedy was unfolding in her mind. If this is all the medical supplies the biggest hospital in the county had…
Cindy knew where most things were, so she assumed it would go quickly. She pushed the shopping cart down the aisles like she was shopping. They had about two thirds of what she needed. They had some things she didn’t have on her list. She started to put them in her cart, but paused. Was this OK? Would she get shot? She thought she better ask.
Cindy went back to the entrance where the FC was standing and asked, “You don’t have some of these things, but do have some other things. Can I make substitutions?”
“As long as you aren’t trying to get things from the pharmacy, then it’s fine,” he said. He didn’t give a crap about these medical supplies. It was the painkillers and anesthesia that was worth the big bucks.
Cindy nodded and started making snap substitution decisions. She hoped she got it right. She didn’t want to be trying to save a patient’s life and think, “I could have got some of what I need back when I was getting supplies but didn’t think we’d need this.” Her mind was racing. She had to get it right.
Finally, Cindy had what she needed, or at least her best guess of what was needed. She brought her cart up to the guard. He looked over the items, asked for her clipboard, and attempted to compare the items to the
clipboard. He really didn’t have any idea what he was doing, he was just told that he needed to do it. He said, “OK, now to the pharmacy.”
Cindy followed him. They went out the door to the door across the hall. The FC guard had a separate key for the pharmacy.
They went in and, once again, Cindy was struck by how abandoned the place seemed. Most of the pharmacy was empty. There was a big bloodstain near the door in the reception area. It looked like someone had come to the reception desk, gotten shot, and ran out the door. Probably a drug seeker. It must have been horrible to be a pharmacist during all this.
The FC guard took her clipboard again. Politely, but firmly. He looked it over. “I will get these for you,” he said. There was no way they would let someone from the outside just walk through the pharmacy with all those valuable drugs; tiny pills could easily be slipped into pockets.
He came back with very few pill bottles. “We’re a little low on painkillers, but we have extra liquid anesthesia for you.” Apparently there was less of a street market for liquid anesthesia.
“That’s fine,” Cindy said. “We need the liquid more, anyway.”
The guard went back and returned with various vials and bottles. He showed her what he had and they checked things off the list. Apparently, this guard had some pharmacy knowledge.
He put it all in the shopping cart, which was full by now, and said, “I think you’re done.”
“OK,” Cindy said, realizing that she had no power to say otherwise.
Cindy and the guard left. As he was locking the door to the pharmacy, she looked back. The place looked so empty and abandoned. So dead, and so cold.
They walked out. Rich, Bennington, and the other guards were there.
“That was quick,” Bennington said. He was glad this was going smoothly. He had other business to do for Commissioner Winters before lunch.
Rich asked, “Did you get everything you need?” Rich realized that while he didn’t have a lot of leverage here, a deal was a deal. Bennington had promised the items on the clipboard and Rich wasn’t going to leave without them, unless they pulled a gun on him. Then he’d have to.
“Pretty much,” Cindy said. “They didn’t have some things, but let me substitute for others. It’ll be fine.” She hoped that she had thought of everything they’d need on her one and only shopping trip to the hospital for supplies.
Rich, ever the gentlemen, offered to push the cart for Cindy. They walked back through the halls and saw a few nurses and one doctor. They saw two patients. It was about 5% of the activity Cindy was used to at the hospital. It seemed so empty. But, it was even weirder that there was a little activity than if the hospital had been entirely closed. Cindy had never conceived of a hospital operating at 5% capacity. She couldn’t fit what she was seeing into any mental template.
They walked outside and there were Pow and Ryan sitting in the back of the truck. Bennington motioned to the parking lot guards that everything was OK.
As Rich and Cindy got to the truck, Pow asked, “Everything go OK?”
Cindy started bawling. Pow and Ryan were startled. They wondered what had happened.
“Yeah, we got what we need,” Rich said. Bennington was silent. He was tired of having days like this. Tired of women crying. Tired of all this. Tired of Winters and all this corruption.
Everyone was quiet on the drive back. The shock of seeing all the destruction in Frederickson had worn off. Cindy had stopped crying by now. She was trying her best to stop so she didn’t alarm the others.
“Hey, I need some gas,” Rich said to Bennington. He had a full tank, but brought a few five-gallon gas cans. “Where is the best place to get some?” By “best place” Rich meant the approved gang gas station.
Bennington pointed toward the Mexican sector. He wasn’t in a talkative mood. Once they got close to the Mexican gas station, Bennington asked, “What you got to pay for this?”
Rich said, “I have some cash.” Drew had volunteered more of his stash, which Rich greatly appreciated.
“How much?” Bennington asked.
“How much a gallon?” Rich responded.
“For cash? Probably $100 a gallon. I’ll go see.” Bennington got out of the truck and talked to the Mexican man running the station. Bennington came back.
“Yep. $100 a gallon,” Bennington said.
Rich got out Drew’s envelope of cash. He pulled out $1,000. He counted it out to Bennington.
“Ten gallons for this gentlemen,” Bennington said to the Mexican man.
Rich started to get out of the truck to get the gas cans and pump the gas. Bennington stopped him and said, “Nope. No self-service. We’d hate for people to ‘accidently’ put in more gas than they paid for. Not worth dying just because you put in an extra gallon, know what I mean?”
It wasn’t like Bennington to talk like that, Rich thought. It didn’t seem natural for a decent guy like Bennington to say such a thing.
The Mexican man put in ten gallons. Both gas cans were full. Bennington smiled at Rich. That was the Bennington he knew. Not the “you’ll die if you put in an extra gallon” side of Bennington that Rich just witnessed.
Rich liked Bennington and also knew that he needed to get along with him for the sake of the people at Pierce Point, so he decided to keep talking to him, even though Bennington didn’t seem very chatty today.
“We’ll be back soon with the FCard forms and start shopping in town,” Rich said to Bennington.
“Yep,” Bennington said. “We’ll take you back to the city limits and get you the forms.”
The trip back to the city limits was uneventful. When they got back to the city-limits roadblock, Bennington returned to his car. He checked the trunk. The ARs, magazines, and case of ammunition were still in the back. Bennington was never concerned that his truck would get robbed while he went into town with Rich. All the Blue Ribbon Boys and even the FC knew that stealing from Bennington—and ultimately from Commissioner Winters—would be a very bad idea.
One of the FC handed Rich a stack of FCard forms to take back and fill out.
“How many are there?” Rich asked.
The FC shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Enough. Fill these out, and if you need more, come back.” The government had no idea whatsoever who had FCards and didn’t really care.
After all the horror of the trip into town, Rich was exhausted and didn’t feel like talking, but he thought he needed to say something to Bennington as they departed.
“Hey, man, thanks for everything,” he said.
Bennington nodded. He didn’t say anything. He was deep in thought about the biggest decision of his life. One that very likely would cost him his life. Bennington had decided to go through with his plan. And hopefully Rich would be part of it.
Chapter 136
It’s Not Just Guns and Gardening
(May 14)
Rich was still exhausted, mentally and emotionally, from the trip into town. So was Cindy; she just looked out the window. She had stopped crying and she just felt cold and dark.
On the way back, Rich kept thinking about the graffiti that said, “I miss America.” He couldn’t stop thinking about how that summed up everything. Everything.
Ryan was also deep in thought. After a while, he couldn’t take the silence and had to say something. “Did you catch all that?” he asked Pow in the back of the truck.
“All of what?” Pow asked.
“The guards, the layout, the locations. All of that,” Ryan said.
Pow was relieved that Ryan had been thinking the same thing he had. Pow didn’t want to admit that he had been thinking for some time now that surviving in Pierce Point was great, but they should be ready to hit back at anyone hitting them. Pow had gone from thinking purely defensively to offensively. The two were related in this situation.
“Roger that, brother,” Pow said. “Roger that.”
Ryan smiled. These UCG—“untrained civilian goofballs” as the Team called themselves—wer
e pretty good at this, despite a lack of formal training.
Ryan fished out two small notepads and pens from his kit. He handed one to Pow.
“Here,” Ryan said. “Write things down now, while they’re fresh. Draw maps. Put it all down.” It was a little too bumpy in the back of the truck to write, but Pow started jotting down the important points he’d follow up on later, when the truck stopped.
“Thanks,” Pow said. This was a lot more than shooting on the range with his buddies. This was sketching out maps of enemy facilities. This was getting bigger.
When they were a half mile from the Pierce Point gate, Heidi Copeland, the “comm chick,” heard a crackle on the CB set to channel 11.
It was followed by a whispered voice on her CB. “Company. Rich truck. No one following,” said the voice. It was Sniper Mike somewhere out there in the woods.
Heidi replied, “Copy,” meaning she understood the message. She didn’t talk much to Sniper Mike, just acknowledged receipt of his messages. Mike had his volume turned down all the way, but still there was no need to send out lots of sound from Mike’s radio. She would hate for him to get caught because of her.
Heidi radioed Dan on the daily use channel, which was 27 that day. They rotated it each day. “Fred One return,” she said into the CB.
“Roger,” said Dan. “Fred One” was Rich’s radio call sign. They just made up “Fred One” for Rich. Dan consciously didn’t want to get “too military” with call signs like “Eagle One” or “Alpha One.” It seemed overly dramatic for what they were doing out there, which was just surviving. Dan knew that the guards and Team would be taken a lot more seriously by the residents if they kept it simple and low-key instead of “playing Army.”
That being said, there was plenty of military structure out for the guards, the Team, and beach patrol. There had to be. They had to maintain discipline and be effective. But it would be easy to overdo it if they weren’t careful. Remember, Dan kept telling himself and the others, we’re just here to get through this. We are not a military unit and we’re not trying to be. Guarding your neighborhood is just temporary until things return to normal. “Winning” at this means there is no longer a need for guards. Or radio code names.
