by C A Bird
They stared at him as though he were crazy. “Yeah, right… whatever! Let's get out of here.” One directed this at the other students and they hurried around the corner glancing back at him with quizzical expressions, certain he was deranged.
Aaron ran to his room, entered and closed the door, leaning back against it and shutting his eyes. “Maybe I am crazy,” he muttered. The phone rang and he crossed the room, grabbing the receiver.
“Brown? This is Dr. Garand . . .” the caller began. Without thinking Aaron slammed the phone down hard. Dr. Garand was the Chief of Surgery and was the last person Aaron wanted to talk with at this time. Dr. Marvin Garand had mentored him all through his residency and he was genuinely sorry he couldn’t explain his actions.
The phone rang again but Aaron ignored it. Taking off his green scrubs he slipped on the Levis as the phone continued ringing. Exasperated, he steeled himself and reached over and picked it up.
“Aaron Brown,” he answered.
“Aaron, don’t hang up! What’s going on? I got a call from Ewing and he’s really pissed. Says you walked out in the middle of surgery. Are you sick? Is there something wrong?”
Aaron didn’t answer right away trying to decide what to say. “The surgery was essentially finished, Dr. Garand, he just needed to close. I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but we’re about to have a nuclear war and I’m evacuating. I received an advance warning and I believe it. Check out the news.”
The other man sounded incredulous, “Aaron, you’re right, this is crazy. I know there’s a lot of international tension but I’m sure there’s no real danger. Walking out on surgery is a serious matter and we need to discuss it to see what action should be taken. Please come to my office before you ruin your career.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Garand. You’ve been very kind to me and I hope you survive. Good luck, sir.” He hung up the phone before Garand could answer. He dialed his home in Atlanta but no one answered. “Damn, where is everyone?”
He threw on a t-shirt, pulled on his hiking boots and grabbed his bag. He wanted desperately to talk to his folks but he didn’t have their work numbers, and his little brother and sisters would be at daycare. Hoping to get another chance, Aaron would have to try them later. He looked quickly around the room but couldn’t think of anything else to take. While he was locking the door he heard footsteps running in the hospital corridor and he quickly headed the other direction to the stairwell leading to the basement. As he passed through the door he looked back to see two security guards approach the door of his erstwhile room, Doctor Guerrero, a psychiatric resident, accompanying them. He heard them banging on the door as he bolted down the staircase.
Dr. Garand obviously thought he’d flipped under the pressure and was trying to rescue him from himself. Emerging into the basement corridor, he quickly checked each direction for signs of security guards, believing that Garand undoubtedly would have alerted them to detain him. Aaron knew Dr. Garand had his best interests in mind and that he truly thought Aaron had a serious problem. Well, he did, they all did, but not what Dr. Garand imagined.
Aaron heard a door slam at the top of the stairwell and hurried toward the exit just beyond the kitchen, when another pair of guards came around that corner, effectively barring his advance. Worried, he ducked into the Pathology Department door midway between the stairwell and the kitchen. The secretary looked up from her transcribing. “Oh, Dr. Brown, I almost didn’t recognize you in those clothes. May I help you?”
He walked past her desk. “I need to see Dr. Pathmarajah.”
“He’s doing a post in the autopsy room.”
“Thanks, I’ll find him.” He passed through the Histology lab then heard voices behind him.
“Yes, he went to autopsy room.”
They were too close! He panicked and hit the door at full speed. The diener and Dr. Path had just wheeled the body lift into position next to the autopsy table. They’d completed the post-mortem exam and were putting the straps around the cadaver to return it to the vault. Aaron smashed into the tech, who in turn crashed into the lift. The corpse was jerked off the table by the one strap they had secured and fell heavily to the floor. Blood was everywhere. Except for the body itself, the tech hadn’t cleaned up yet, and in spite of the vented table, the room was filled with the overwhelming stench of death, layered over with formaldehyde. Aaron bashed his arm on the table and pain shot all the way to his shoulder. He caught his balance and continued across the room. The tech, slipping on body fluids, tripped over the corpse and sprawled on the tiled floor, covered with gore.
Two security guards came through the door, one of them skidding to a halt, staring at the body on the floor. He turned away and began to wretch while the other continued chasing after Aaron. Aaron sprinted past the morgue boxes and out onto the loading dock running past a hearse parked at the dock, up the drive to the street level, and into the alley that ran behind the hospital.
He rounded the corner into the street and immediately slowed to a walk. He didn’t think they would follow him out of the hospital since they had no criminal case against him and only wanted to stop him for his own good.
It would be foolish, though, to attempt to get his car from the garage. He looked at his watch - 12:55 p.m. He could have sworn he had spent hours trying to get away. The map showed the shelter’s location in the mountains of northern New Mexico. He went into a diner, called a cab and had the cab drop him off at the bus depot. It was now 1:30. He checked the schedule on the monitors. One bus was leaving for Denver at 1:50 but it went through Santa Fe and then up highway twenty-five. That was out of the way. Another went to Taos, which was the right direction but not far enough. He began to wish he’d taken a chance on getting his car but decided he should at least get as far as Taos by bus. It was leaving at 1:40 so he bought his ticket, went to the lunch counter and got a plastic wrapped sandwich. He had never gotten to eat lunch. When was that? About a week ago? In a matter of two and a half hours his life had completely changed. What would his folks say?
One thing a resident learns is fast eating. Aaron gulped down the sandwich followed by a bottle of Snapple iced tea. He bought the afternoon paper to validate his reasons for ruining his career, to see if there was even the faintest hint of war.
Same headlines, same stories. The underlying tone of the paper, though, hinted the situation was becoming serious. The Secretary of State called off his trip to Moscow and the President and members of his cabinet had left Washington for places unknown.
“Now why would they do that if there’s such a crisis?” Aaron wondered. “Shouldn't they be making some phone calls?”
After settling down on the bus he started thinking about the enormity of his actions, suddenly becoming anxious, worried this was an elaborate hoax and he’d destroyed his career for nothing.
But then, he wished he knew where the president had gone.
It was sixty miles to Santa Fe and another seventy to Taos. His arm ached where he’d smashed it on the autopsy table, but he finally relaxed somewhere between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, and drifted off to sleep.
August 21, 2:57 p.m.
Durango, CO
Jonathan Peters drove like a madman trying to get home to Mary and his children. “A matter of minutes… “ the radio said. He sped through the streets of Durango remembering the warning that came with the box; “You are advised to keep it on your person at all times.” He hadn’t, and now it was too late. Tears streamed down his face as he swung into his driveway and climbed out to see Mary mowing the front yard, such a domestic scene, as if they weren’t about to be incinerated or radiated. She couldn’t hear the car but smiled broadly and waved when she turned and saw him approaching. The kids, their twin toddlers, played at her feet.
“Why Jonathan, what’s wrong?” She signed, frowning and suddenly frightened when she saw his tears. He could hear the siren’s wail coming faintly from somewhere inside. He signed that everything was fine, to come in the house and he would e
xplain, as he scooped the boys up, one under each arm. It was 3:02 p.m.
He turned on the television but the cable was out and the static suddenly ceased as the power went out as well. He signed to her, asking where the portable radio was. After she located it he tuned it to the emergency broadcast station.
“… hit the west coast. We will try to keep you informed. If you are not in a major city it is extremely important that you get under cover and stay there as long as you can. Even if no missiles hit nearby, the radiation from fallout will be very dangerous for an extended period of time.”
Jonathan explained to Mary what was happening. As she hugged her little boys and held her husband she was sorry for the first time in her life that she was hearing impaired. She started to cry quietly while signing to him for instructions.
The radio, filled with static, continued, “We are receiving reports from the west coast that several huge explosions have been spotted all over Southern California. The observers are located many miles from the blasts in smaller communities spared from direct hits. Communications are difficult with the radio signals disrupted by the nuclear energy. We repeat, if you are away from targeted sites you must get under cover.”
Even the powerful emergency channel was faint and was being disrupted by EMP, electromagnetic pulse. An effect of atmospheric nuclear explosions, it is caused by an electrical charge collecting on wires, cables, antennas, etc, and produces very high voltage for a fraction of a second. This pulse can knock out all electrical devices, even those that are turned off as the pulse jumps across open circuits. Jonathan was surprised the radio was working at all but unless the nuclear explosions are at the proper altitude the EMP might not completely knock out everything.
Jonathan and Mary gathered all the provisions they had in the house and relocated them to the basement. She went below with the children while he walked outside to see if there was any evidence of the war. There wasn’t. They lived in a quiet neighborhood where people minded their own business. Nobody was trying to evacuate since Durango wasn’t likely to be a target, and the nearest city he could think of that might be was hundreds of miles away. Some of his neighbors stood on their lawns looking northeast toward Denver or South toward Albuquerque and Phoenix. Nothing unusual was visible from this beautiful, Rocky Mountain community in the southwest corner of Colorado.
He went back into the house and flicked the light switch.
Nothing.
Obviously the bombs, or EMP, had taken out the power grid. He wondered if anyone would be alive to get it working again, or was this the beginning of the end of all civilization? The air-conditioner was off and he realized with no electricity they would have no heating, lighting or air-conditioning. There was no bathroom in the basement and he doubted they would have water for long. Didn’t that require pumps and power? It became painfully obvious how little he knew about these things, how dependent they were on others for the basic utilities and how totally unprepared he was for this kind of an emergency.
Even in the basement, how long before the radiation assaulted them? Would they become chronically sick, or die quickly? He didn’t know the answers to these questions but, as he joined his family, he knew he had a loaded pistol and he wouldn’t let his loved ones suffer.
August 21, 9:30 p.m.
Sangre de Cristo Mountains, NM
It was thirty minutes later than the last time he’d regained consciousness, and still soaking in the muddy puddle, Aaron could feel the temperature beginning to drop. Although summer, the weather at this high altitude was cold at night and lying still as he was, he could feel the chill seeping into his bones. A strong breeze blowing from the north to the south exacerbated the chill. Gathering his strength, he tried to shift position but cried out in pain when he dragged his injured arm through the mud. He almost blacked out, but the sharp pain helped to clear his head and he became slightly more alert. His skull rested against a jagged rock and he was concerned that he may have sustained a concussion. He vaguely remembered cracking his head against the rock when he catapulted over the handlebars of the ATV. ATV? What ATV? With a tremendous effort he dragged himself out of the small stream and rolled onto his back. Staring up through towering pines he struggled to recall more of the events that had brought him to this place and remembered having fallen asleep in the bus.
He’d been jolted awake by a blaring horn and by the bus driver who, cursing loudly, had slammed on his brakes, throwing Aaron forward in the seat. He sat up groggily, trying to see what was happening and noticed the road was choked with traffic. A glance at his watch, it was 2:20 p.m., indicated they must be getting close to Santa Fe. They shared the road with speeding cars, their drivers recklessly cutting in and out, seemingly without regard to safety. The bus driver continued to brake until the bus stopped completely as the surrounding traffic slowed to a crawl and then ground to a halt. Aaron grabbed his backpack and headed toward the front of the bus.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked the driver.
“Don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if it’s a big accident, the way those idiots are driving out there.” Opening the door, he and Aaron descended to the roadway, other passengers following behind them. The majority of the other cars had stopped, their drivers climbing out as well, although some attempted to proceed along the shoulder. Aaron could see cars stopped ahead for a half mile until they disappeared around a curve. There was no traffic on the other side of the freeway and cars were beginning to cross the median and were starting up the wrong side of the road. People whose cars were hemmed in started walking or running in the direction the traffic had been traveling, as others leaned on their horns. With sudden apprehension Aaron drew the driver back to the side of the bus. “Do you have a radio in this thing?” he asked.
“Yeah, but it’s too soon to pick up news of this roadblock.”
“Just turn the damn thing on. I have a feeling there’s more to it than a traffic jam.” Aaron shoved the driver up the stairs against the flow of passengers descending. The driver turned on the radio but received only loud static. He grunted and turned the dial until he finally picked up a faint, crackling signal that suddenly became loud enough to be heard in the first few rows of the bus.
“…the city. Don’t panic. Take only what you need and try to stay away from major . . . ties. Drive carefully as . . . will make it difficult for anyone to evacuate. We repeat. Missiles have been detected en route for China apparently launched . . . Russia. The government expects China to retaliate, with a very real possibility they will launch missiles at the United States. It is believed Moscow has already been . . . nuclear devices from unknown sources. All major cities are now in the process of evacuation. This… gency radio network. Stay tuned for further details.”
“Good God Almighty” the driver muttered. Someone behind Aaron, having caught the announcement, pushed him aside, and he stumbled into the terrified driver.
“Let me out, we can’t get anywhere in this thing. We’re trapped.”
Aaron moved to let more passengers squeeze by. He could see panic in their eyes. Fortunately, he had received advanced warning, but these people were taken completely by surprise.
One passenger remaining on the bus shouted to the driver, “It’s gotta be a joke, like War of the Worlds. Do your job and get us moving.”
“You drive it, buddy. I’m outta here!” The driver jumped down the steps and joined the mass of people moving toward the front of the traffic jam.
Aaron decided he wouldn’t get far in that direction and started back against the flow, jogging slowly to make better time, and eventually, after swinging around a wide curve, reached a point where the traffic thinned out. He tried unsuccessfully to flag down passing motorists who continued to speed along until they too, were mired in the traffic jam. Continuing back along the highway, he reached an intersecting road, and breathing hard from exertion stepped behind a row of bushes to try and catch his breath. He realized the traffic would soon be
backed up to this intersection so he pushed through the bushes to a point where he could see cars coming down the side road, hoping to catch a ride. He heard a car approaching from the left and peered through the hedge to see a Toyota 4X4 containing three men as it sped by him and, never slowing down, pulled around the corner onto the main road, directly into the line of traffic. The surprised drivers of other vehicles slammed on their brakes and skidded sideways, as the Toyota sped away to the north. Traffic was starting to build up around the curve ahead and he knew he was almost out of time. When the jam reached the intersection, cars coming from the side road would be blocked.
He heard another car coming and moved forward through the bushes determined to get a ride. As the gray Chevy Cavalier slowed at the intersection Aaron leaped out of the bushes, grabbing for the door.
It was locked! The window was lowered about six inches and he tried to jam his arm through the window to unlock it. The single woman occupant screamed at him and started to move forward into traffic but instinctively slammed the brakes when on-coming cars honked and swerved around her. Aaron held his bag in his left hand, which also grasped the window’s top edge, and in a last ditch effort, shoved his right arm farther into the window, taking a chance on serious injury as the woman slammed the car into reverse. His fingers slipped on the lock mechanism but he was strong enough to grasp it tightly and pull it up. He had to run alongside of the car until she swerved slightly and went off the side of the pavement. She slowed, corrected her direction and started to accelerate. He pulled his arm free and throwing open the door, jumped in just as the car picked up speed in reverse. He threw his bag over the seat and grabbed the woman’s wrist. She was crying and screaming at him to get out.
“Shut up lady! Please. I’m not going to hurt you. We’ve got to get out of here, you’re going the wrong way!”
