Martial Law

by Bobby Akart

  J.J. nodded with approval.

  As a combat field surgeon specializing in traumatic wounds, he understood the importance of time. Hemorrhage was responsible for half of combat deaths. In combat, it often took hours to transport casualties off the battlefield to a mobile surgical unit. Also, the hazardous nature of the forward combat zones made it dangerous for medical personnel to provide the requisite attention to the wounded. A standard known as the platinum five minutes was adopted by emergency medical personnel. The theory was that a time-critical patient, such as Sabs, should only spend five minutes in the combat zone until she was seen by the trauma surgeon. Gibson’s use of CELOX, a highly respected hemostatic agent, along with assigning one of his men to maintain pressure on the wound, greatly enhanced the possibilities for her survival.

  Sabs was now in the golden hour—that critical time needed by the surgeon to stabilize the patient and begin life-saving treatment. The clock was ticking for J.J.

  “Let’s get her inside,” said J.J. The men carried the gurney into the entrance and quickly got her settled on the surgeon’s table prepared by an awaiting Susan. Donald followed to lend assistance.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” said Donald as he dismissed the two soldiers and closed the door behind them. He pulled together two curtains and applied the Velcro closures. He tried to give J.J. a sterile environment in which to work. Susan was scrubbed in and wore a surgical gown and hat. She had no training other than what she’d studied online and what she’d learned from J.J.

  After J.J. had washed up, he approached Sabs and touched her cheek. She began to stir awake and moaned.

  “I’m going to take care of you, my brave girl. Please be strong.”

  Sabs’s eyes started to flicker in and out of consciousness. She raised her hand and motioned for J.J. to come closer. She began to cough, and a trickle of blood came out of the side of her mouth before she spoke. “Please save us.”

  Susan looked at Donald over her mask, and he shook his head side to side. A tear ran down Susan’s cheek.

  “Stay with me, soldier. I’ll fix you up. Stay strong, Sabs. I love you.”

  Sabs passed out as J.J. brushed the hair out of her face. J.J. was back to being all business.

  “Okay, Susan, are you ready?”

  Susan nodded.

  “Donald, just in case, I need you to scrub in. We may need an extra set of hands.”

  Donald rushed to the sink and got ready without responding. He was still wrestling with telling J.J. about her pregnancy.

  “Susan, help me cut these clothes off her. Donald, grab those mylar blankets and the hospital warming blankets from the cabinet over the sink. We have to keep her warm to prevent her from going into shock. Gibson did an excellent job in stopping the bleeding.”

  Donald returned to the table and assisted J.J. in packing both sides of Sabs with blankets.

  “You can’t necessarily rely on visual entry and exit wounds. Sometimes the bullet can hit a bone, fragment, and then ricochet throughout the body. We don’t have the benefits of an x-ray machine, so we have to look for other indicators of difficult breathing or abdominal pain.” As they gently rolled her over, J.J. inspected her body for other entry or exit wounds. There were none.

  “Okay, let’s keep her covered up. The gunshot wound is severe enough. Death from hypothermia would be tragic.” J.J. retrieved the electronic blood pressure unit from the shelf and handed it to Susan. “Monitor this, Susan. Check her pulse and let me know what you find.”

  Donald watched J.J. work. He admired his friend for what he’d been through in his life. Now J.J. was trying to save the woman he loved. J.J. turned his attention to the wound. He removed the CELOX gauze.

  “With a chest wound, two of my biggest concerns are spinal damage and damage to the lungs,” started J.J. He put his ear to her chest and listened intently. “If you hear a sucking sound coming from the wound, there’s damage to the lung. The concern is allowing too much air in, or out, leading to a collapsed lung.” J.J. nodded and smiled. Apparently, he was satisfied.

  “J.J., her pulse is sixty, and her blood pressure is one hundred four over sixty-one.”

  “Thanks, Susan. Her lung seems to be intact, and the fact that she raised her arm is a plus. Her body temperature is stable. Let me finish cleaning the wound, and then I’ll need to make a decision.”

  “What about the bullet?” asked Donald.

  “Unlike what you see on television where the characters risk everything to remove the bullet, it’s not necessary for most circumstances. Without advanced x-ray capability, the bullet will be almost impossible to find. There are a lot of soldiers out there who still carry shrapnel in their bodies. We’ll monitor her for signs of sepsis by watching her heart rate and fever. To ward off any problems, I’ll set up an IV of antibiotics and—”

  Suddenly, Sabs’s body shook violently. Her jugular veins in her neck became distended. Her breathing became rapid as if she was gasping for air.

  “Susan, what’s her pulse?” shouted J.J.

  “It’s around a hundred. But her blood pressure has dropped. It’s down to ninety over sixty.”

  “She’s going into shock.” J.J. held his fingers to her neck. He shook his head. “Please, Sabs. Please hold on.”

  Her head arched back, and her chest heaved.

  “Blood pressure is eighty-two over fifty.”

  “Dammit, she’s going into cardiogenic shock. The bullet, or a fragment, must have hit a ventricle. It must have found her heart. Please, Sabs! Hold on!”

  Donald caught Susan’s attention. He felt helpless. Sabs was dying, and J.J. didn’t have what he needed to save her. Although they had incredible resources at their disposal, a bullet to the heart was not within their limited capabilities. Donald watched as she stopped breathing.

  “J.J., no pulse!” exclaimed Susan.

  “Please!” he shouted as he began CPR. He furiously began rapid, deep presses on the middle of her chest. His goal was one hundred uninterrupted chest presses per minute.

  “Donald! Grab the defib out of the closet.” As J.J. continued the chest presses, Donald retrieved the Philips HeartStart portable defibrillator and plugged it in.

  “Donald, continue compressions while I prepare the machine. Hurry!” Donald traded places with J.J. and continued pumping her heart.

  He handed J.J. the defib unit, and J.J. made a few minor adjustments to the simple interface. He pulled the handles to activate the unit. He removed the white adhesive pads and placed one under her left breast across the rib cage and the other on her chest above her right breast.

  “Stand clear, everyone,” ordered J.J., who then took a deep breath. He pressed the flashing orange button. A shock was delivered to Sabs’s body, and it heaved slightly off the table. J.J. looked at Susan with hopeful eyes.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  J.J. immediately began hand compressions again. This time, his goal was thirty consecutive compressions, followed by forced breathing. Although mouth-to-mouth breathing was no longer considered necessary during the cardiopulmonary resuscitation process, J.J. was trying all available CPR methods. He tried thirty more compressions and breathing again.

  Susan shook her head as she continued to monitor Sabs’s pulse. She looked at Donald and shook her head.

  “Stand clear. We have to try again!” J.J. reset the machine to its maximum two hundred joules and tried again. Again, her body was given a jolt. He followed up with thirty compressions and mouth-to-mouth breathing. It wasn’t working. He repeated the process.

  Finally, J.J. stopped. He looked defeated. He removed his surgical clothing and dropped them to the floor. He began to cry and lifted Sabs into his arms.

  “You’re the only love I have ever known. I’m so sorry I failed you.” As he cried uncontrollably, Donald patted his friend on the back and Susan hugged them both. The death of Sabina del Toro was tragic. She was one of the good guys.

  Chapter 59

  Wednesday, Septe
mber 7, 2016

  4:13 p.m.

  Triple Q Ranch, Prescott Peninsula

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  “The convoy is headed your way,” announced First Lieutenant Chin over the two-way radio. Sabs died four hours ago, but it seemed like an eternity. Donald sat on the front porch of 1PP with a glass of Glengoyne. He and Susan hadn’t said a word in about an hour. J.J. sat with his back to them at the edge of the woods. He alternated between sitting there and walking around the helicopter.

  “Should we talk with him?” asked Donald. The loss of Sabs was a shock to all of them, but the situation at 1PP was fluid. Not only were the Boston Brahmin arriving, but Brad was increasing the number of soldiers on Prescott Peninsula to nearly four dozen. The Triple Q Ranch was rapidly developing into a community with a full platoon of United States Marines as its security force. First, J.J. needed time to grieve. But then there was the issue of Sabs’s burial. A proper ceremony should be conducted. In the meantime, the disposition of a dead body was an important medical and hygienic matter. Unlike the pre-TEOTWAWKI world where a morgue was at one’s disposal, a rapidly decomposing body could cause significant health risks to all of those who came in contact with it.

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Susan. “I was closest to Sabs, but I can’t tell him about the baby. It would send him over the edge.”

  “Agreed. Listen, her body is a real health risk. We need to place her in a body bag at the very least. A burial tonight would be ideal, but I suppose we can wait ’til morning. Will you bring it up to him, or do you want me to?”

  “I’ll do it,” she replied. “I’m gonna take him for a walk in the woods. He seems bitter as well. The trucks are coming, and we don’t need a scene.” Susan walked to J.J. and carried a drink for him. Donald threw back the last of his Scotch and prepared to greet the new residents.

  “Mr. Quinn,” said Morgan as he approached. He gestured towards J.J. “Is he doing any better?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” replied Donald. “He hasn’t been willing to talk with me about it. Susan is going to console him now.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. The rest of my friends and associates are coming in now. I will make sure they understand the situation. Shall I speak with him?” Not a good idea.

  “Perhaps a woman’s shoulder is best for now, sir. But, thank you. You and I will have our hands full with our new arrivals. They’ll experience quite a shock to their lifestyle.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Quinn. At first, they might look at this as an interesting adventure and an opportunity to socialize with each other. If this collapsed-grid situation persists, life outside Prescott Peninsula will get ugly. I hope they realize they’re better off here than in Boston.”

  The first of several Humvees entered the clearing together with two troop carriers. Gunny Falcone approached Donald and Morgan first.

  “Gentlemen,” greeted Gunny Falcone. He turned as if to present a new car to a happy buyer. “Special delivery. Two truckloads of slightly grumpy Bostonians, who are no worse for wear.”

  “My name is John Morgan.”

  Gunny Falcone shook his hand. “Gunnery Sergeant Frank Falcone, sir. It’s a pleasure.”

  “Chief Warrant Officer Kyle Shore, sir,” said Shore, who joined the group. Morgan shook Shore’s hand and then smiled as he saw familiar faces descend from the military transports.

  “Gentlemen, sincerely, thank you for keeping my friends safe. Were there any difficulties?”

  “Mr. Morgan, the city of Boston is under assault from within. Because of the detours and delays, it took us eight hours to make a two-hour trip.” The delays caught Donald’s attention. They monitored radio communications and the Internet round-the-clock, searching for updates. There was little information coming out of Boston. Sarge reported gunfire and looting, but nothing near 100 Beacon thus far.

  “What did you see?” asked Donald.

  “We sent one of the Humvees as an advance team to make sure the roads were clear. The Mass Turnpike was very busy in the morning. We elected to take the route to the north through Concord. Getting out of town was the most difficult part. There were several intersections blocked with stalled and burning vehicles. Most retail stores have been broken into. The city is becoming deserted.”

  “This is happening already?” asked Morgan.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can add that reports from across the country are similar,” added Donald. “Major cities are experiencing mayhem. There’s a mass exodus for the perceived safety of rural towns. But the chatter we’re receiving from ham radio operators is that these small towns are setting up roadblocks to deny access to the refugees.”

  “I’m astonished that this is happening already,” said Morgan. “The power has only been out for a few days.”

  “True,” said Donald. “But people are learning that the power isn’t coming back anytime soon. Panic is setting in.”

  Chapter 60

  Wednesday, September 7, 2016

  7:13 p.m.

  Triple Q Ranch, Prescott Peninsula

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  Susan finished up cleaning the kitchen with Millicent Winthrop and Estelle Peabody—Julia’s aunt Stella. The evening went very well as the new arrivals got settled in their bungalows. The Winthrops graciously allowed Susan’s children the opportunity to play with their French bulldog. It was a welcome distraction for the girls, who were unaware of the death of Sabs.

  “Are you ladies sure you don’t mind watching the girls while we view the presidential address this evening?”

  “Not at all, Susan. Millie and I loathe that man. Don’t we?”

  “He’s so full of crap,” said eighty-year-old Mrs. Winthrop. “Whatever he says won’t be the truth. I miss Ronald Reagan.”

  The three women made their way down the lighted path towards the Quinns’ bungalow. Susan thought she heard voices near the edge of the woods, but she continued on her way. It was another beautiful night, and it was undoubtedly some of the soldiers talking about the day’s events.

  “Here we go,” said Susan as she opened up the bungalow door. Inside, Abbie was on the floor with Rebecca and Penny, who were gleefully being entertained by Winnie the Frenchie. Abbie looked up at Susan, but there was a look of sadness on her face. She was doing her best to hide it for the benefit of the children. Abbie had experienced death twice in a short period. She was clearly troubled.

  “Girls, Aunt Stella and Mrs. Winthrop are going to stay with you guys for a little while. I’ll be in the main house if you need me, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom,” said Penny without looking up. Susan helped Abbie off the floor. “You two be good girls for them, please.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Susan stood with her hands on her hips as the girls continued to roll on the floor while Winnie gave them kisses. “They couldn’t care less about me,” Susan observed. She laughed. “Ladies, are you sure about this?”

  “Don’t you worry about them, dear,” replied Aunt Stella. “They’ll tucker out soon enough.”

  Susan and Abbie left the bungalow and started back towards 1PP. Susan heard the voices again. Her curiosity got the best of her.

  “Oh shoot, Abbie, I forgot something. You go ahead without me. I’ll catch up in a moment.”

  “Okay, but I need to talk with you,” said Abbie. Susan paused, but then decided to investigate.

  “I’ll meet you on the front porch.” Susan made her way towards her bungalow and then confirmed that Abbie was headed to 1PP. She removed her flip-flops and quickly moved toward the sounds of the voices. She quietly passed the empty bungalows. Everyone was gathering in the living area for the presidential address. She inched her way forward until she was around the edge of the bungalow where the men were speaking.

  “John, what do you expect the President to say tonight?”

  “I haven’t spoken with him directly, Lawrence, but I have been in contact with David McDill, his form
er Chief of Staff.”

  “Former?”

  “Yes, Walter. He’s circling the wagons. He has replaced McDill with Valerie Jarrett as his Chief of Staff.”

  “His consigliere,” interjected Lawrence Lowell.

  “I saw this coming,” said Morgan. “They are very close. We have to be prepared for moves like this.”

  “Is our man in place?” asked Walter Cabot.

  “He is,” replied Morgan. “I suspect tonight’s address will be a shock to the nation, but it should go according to plan.”

  “Is there any chance of a double-cross, John?” asked Lowell.

  “With this President, there is always that possibility.”

  Susan heard enough and quickly crossed the clearing toward 1PP. Donald walked out onto the front steps, looking for her. She ran up the steps to him, out of breath.

  “Hey. Hey. Is everything okay? The girls?” asked Donald.

  Susan was trying to catch her breath. She shook her head and held up her hands to quiet Donald. He helped her get steady on her feet. Her heart was racing. This is incredible.

  “The girls are fine. I have to tell you something.” Susan pulled Donald aside and whispered the content of the overheard conversation.

  “Susan, are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  Abbie walked onto the porch. “Susan, can we talk, please?”

  “Yes, honey, of course. Donald, would you excuse—”

  Abbie held her hands up, indicating that Donald could stay. “It’s okay, Susan. He can hear this.” Before she could speak, her father ascended the stairs with Lowell and Cabot.

  “Good evening all,” said Morgan. “Has he started yet?”

  “No, sir,” replied Donald.

  “Late as usual, I see,” said Lowell.

  “So typical.” Cabot chuckled, shaking his head. The three men made their way through the double entry doors, leaving the Quinns alone with Abbie once again. Susan grabbed Abbie by the hands.

  “Abbie, what is it?”

  Abbie turned around to make sure they were alone. “Susan, I figured it out. I remember now.”