I walk back to the window and look towards downtown. There is a sliver of smoke snaking its way towards the sky. On the highway overpass I see a cluster of men walking together, their skin is dark and contrasting against their white shirts. They all wear the same thing; black jeans and white T-shirts. They walk up to a man sitting on the hood of his car on the highway. The man jumps up and starts walking backwards, he’s taking something off his wrist and out of his pockets. I see him toss them on the ground in front of him. One of the men in the white T-shirts raises his arm, he is holding something black in his hand and I realize it is a gun. Suddenly, the man walking backwards drops to the ground in a crumpled heap.
“Oh shit,” I whisper to myself.
The deep rumble of propellers redirects my eyes to the sky. Overhead, dark green army helicopters are flying, but none of them stop to land in the city. They continue to the North, following the highway-the same route I drive on my way home. At the city limits I see something fall out of the last helicopter, a small white parachute erupting from it when it hits the tree line. I look back down to the highway and see the gang of men run along the main street that heads downtown. The last place I want to be stranded is in a large city without power, where rioting and looting is already taking place. All the army helicopters flying north give me a bad feeling. My stomach fills with nausea. I’m not sure if it’s from fear or guilt or a combination of them both, but I have to get out of here and find my family.
I turn to Lauren. “Are the cell phones still down?”
She nods as she pulls her phone out of the bag next to her. “I’ve been checking mine every few minutes but nothing-it's dead,” she tells me.
“I’m going to lie down in the conference room,” I tell Lauren and the other nurses in the room, hoping that they don’t come looking for me any time soon.
I walk out of the room and towards the hallway. Looking over my shoulder I see that no one is watching me. I take a sharp turn for the stairwell.
--
Running down twelve flights of stairs is no easy feat in rubber clogs. Since the elevators are working again, I was hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone and luckily I make it to the basement before anyone else decides to use the stairs.
The door to the basement is propped open. I walk up to the glass window to my left. There is an employee sitting at a desk looking bored, tapping his pen on a notebook. Above him is a sign that says Central Receiving.
“Can I help you?” He asks without looking up.
“Yeah, we are out of baby formula in the NICU.” I smile at him as he looks up with a hint of skepticism in his eyes.
“I will have someone bring some up in a few minutes,” he looks back down at his papers.
“Um, could I have a package now? I have a patient that needs to eat now.” He gets up and stalks through the door behind him, returning a moment later with a box of baby formula. He sets it in front of me. “Thanks so much,” I tell him, doing my best to smile sweetly at him before I turn to walk away and stand in front of the elevator.
The man behind the desk puts his head back down and starts writing. I back up slowly and start walking down the long gray hallway behind me, following the signs that point towards the security offices. I walk swiftly and silently, passing the security office door, continuing a few more feet to the row of vending machines. I stand on the far side of the last one and I wait, leaning up against the cold stone wall, taking a few shallow breaths. I hear the click of the security office door as it opens and I hear talking.
“What do you suggest we tell these people, Colonel?” asks the flustered voice of a man.
“I would suggest you tell them nothing. Minimal information is the safest right now,” responds a man with a deep southern accent and impeccable speech.
“You don’t think we should tell them about the bomb? We have people who live in that area. Who have families, children. They are going to want to know what is going on.” He’s talking fast, afraid someone will interrupt him. “And what about the radiation? Are we even safe here?”
“What I would suggest is that you do not speak of this information to anyone outside of this office.” It must be the Colonel speaking now. His voice is demanding and full of authority, someone who is used to giving orders. “I wouldn’t worry about radiation, we are safe from that. Most of the people living up there seem to be fine. But there is another situation we are dealing with. Just keep these people calm and under control. Once the situation is contained in the northern county we will be setting up a command station here. Everything will be in place by this evening.”
I hear a pair of shoes echo down the hall and the door clicks closed to the security office. I search my pocket for some change then walk around the vending machine and feed quarters into it. The security door opens again.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay on your assigned unit?” I turn to see a security guard eyeing me suspiciously. The hallway light shines off the badge clipped to this right shoulder.
“We needed formula and I needed a drink.” I shake the box of baby formula in front of me.
“I suggest you get back to your unit,” he replies sternly. He waits for me to move.
I wait for the bottle of soda to drop and retrieve it from the bottom of the vending machine. I smile at him and turn to walk down the hall towards the elevators, his eyes burning holes in my back.
That was close. But it was worth the risk because now I know a few facts: there was a bomb, but no radiation. It was strong enough to knock out power, ruin electrical circuits and cause the earth to shake over forty miles away. I ponder these details as I walk back to the stairwell. I try to think back to my advanced physical chemistry class, to think of what kind of a bomb they could be talking about.
--
The employee locker room is empty except for me, and the guilt that hangs on my shoulders for what I am about to do. I set the formula and soda on a bench near my employee locker. I grab a towel and soap bottle from a nearby cupboard. I undress in the shower stall and take a quick shower. When I am done I wrap myself in the towel, my hands shake nervously as I twist in the combination to my lock. I pull out the spare uniform I keep in my locker. I keep it here for those unfortunate situations which occur in the NICU, like getting vomited or pooped on. The uniform is similar to the one I was already wearing. I scrub my hair with the towel, trying to squeeze as much water out of it as I can and run a comb through it. There is no time to dry it so I twist it up with a spare hair clip from the locker. I stare at the black sneakers on the floor of the locker and then at my work clogs. After a moment I decide that the sneakers will be a better choice for a forty mile walk.
Pulling my work bag out of the locker, I roll up my used uniform and tuck it in the bottom of the bag then place the small box of formula and soda in next. Before I go I look in the small rectangular mirror attached to the inside of the locker door. My face is pale with guilt and anxiety and the uneasy feeling that I am about to make one of the hardest decisions of my entire life.
--
The good thing about hospitals; there is an abundance of supplies, until they run out.
My next stop is the clean utility room where the hospital keeps all the medical supplies. There is another badge swipe. This room smells sterile and cold. It is filled floor to ceiling with cupboards. I’m not sure what I need or what I could use, so I take random supplies, a roll of sterile gauze, medical tape, a few long needles with red caps, some syringes filled with normal saline, a handful of paper towels. I place the supplies in a small plastic biohazard bag and shove it deep into my work bag. If I get injured I can use the supplies. And since I have no weapons to defend myself, the long needles might come in handy.
The door opens behind me. It is Lauren. She looks at me, her eyes wide with shock.
“I have to go,” I tell her. I don’t give her a chance to say anything. I just turn and walk out the door.
--
The hallway is filled with the salty sm
ell of cured meat and the sweet smell of fruit. The door to the employee lounge is open, and inside a cafeteria worker is setting out food on the long lunch table. I walk up to her cart and take a bottle of water, two apples, a banana and a bag of pretzels. She turns and looks at me as I am placing the food into my bag.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she scowls at me.
She doesn’t need to tell me this, I am already ashamed of what I’m about to do.
I head to the stairwell, running down to the first level where I came into work over sixteen hours ago. The same security guard sits at the desk. His gray uniform is wrinkled and he looks tired. He turns to me. My hands throb, sending a tingle up each of my arms. This is adrenaline. This is fight or flight. For a moment we just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something. We say nothing. Instead, he nods silently, crossing his arms over his chest. This must be my ticket to pass. I wonder if maybe I’m not the first person to sneak out of here. I walk past him, quickly turning my pace into a sprint. The security cameras bore holes into my back, my moment of defiance getting recorded. I am almost afraid the hospital will come to life and pull me back, that it will make me pay for all I’ve done in the past hour; the lies, stealing, breaking the nurse’s code of conduct.
I reach the parking garage at the end of the hallway. It is dark. There are no lights here. I turn right and head towards the stairway. The tingling in my arms has reached my shoulders and has started creeping towards my neck. It feels like someone is following me, chasing me. I get the same feeling when I go into our basement at night to change over the laundry. It propels me forward and I run up the five flights of musty cement steps towards where I parked my old Jeep.
When I reach the top of the stairs, my lungs and back of my throat are burning. My chest is tingling. My leather bag feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. I push open the metal door; the heavy humid air of early afternoon envelopes me. Between the heat, the adrenaline, the fear, the guilt, I can’t take it anymore. I turn to the wall of the garage and vomit.
There is a pinching in the back of my nose. I take a deep breath and sit on the curb. I have to see Ian and Lina. I have to get back to them. I know this is not a time to break down. I have to try and be strong. I take a deep breath and collect myself. I walk to the jeep and open the driver’s side door with the key. I sit in the driver’s seat, placing the key in the ignition. I turn it. Sadly nothing happens.
“It was worth a try.” I say aloud to myself.
I look around the cabin of the jeep. I take my sunglasses. I get out and open the back door, searching the middle passenger bench. Lina’s booster seat is secured behind my driver’s seat with a small stuffed owl sitting in the cup holder. I take the owl and slam the door. I make my way to the cargo area and open the hatch, my eyes scanning the items that are strewn about. I grab my dark green gardening hat. It is flexible and light and will protect me from the bright sun that glares in between the levels of the garage. There is a heavy wool blanket that Stevie lays on when she rides in the car with us. I would like to take the blanket but it’s too heavy. However it gives me an idea. I lift the bottom of the cargo deck. Underneath is a compartment with a snow brush, jumper cables and an emergency kit. I open the emergency kit and take out the light reflective blanket. The side of my bag is starting to bulge. I know that this is all I can bring with me. I hope it is enough to get me home.
chapter six
I have to make it the four blocks from the parking garage to the highway on-ramp. I'm hoping since this is hospital and university property that I can get out safely, without experiencing the crime mentioned by the unit supervisor. Already I can hear the commotion of the city. I walk so fast I'm nearly running. I make it a block, then two, before I see more thick smoke rising into the sky from downtown. Hopefully all the crime will stay there, where the shops and restaurants are. I’m sure they are being looted right now. There are voices off in the distance, some laughing, some shouting. I've made it three blocks. I pick up the pace, eager to get out of here. Just as I'm nearing the highway exit I hear gunshots in the distance. It sends me into a full sprint up the on-ramp. I weave between the stalled cars until I get high above the city and onto the overpass. I stop and look behind me. The windows of the hospital glare at me. Even from this far away I can still see the line of people trying to get into the hospital, and another line has formed at the emergency room doors. I hope that no one is watching out the windows. I hope that they can’t see me fleeing the city, abandoning the hospital’s most helpless patients.
I follow the two lane highway as it snakes over the city, winding to the left, the right, then back again, around treetops and tall buildings. I was hoping that no one would be up here, that people would have abandoned their vehicles. Instead I see a few people sitting in their cars and on top of them. I walk by quickly trying not to make eye contact. I don't want to be delayed. I want to get home as fast as possible, before dark. I definitely don’t want to be out walking in this during the night. None of them try to stop me. They just watch me pass by, crinkling their faces up in response to the bright afternoon light.
The sun is hot on my back and I stop to remove my uniform top, leaving me with just a thin sweat soaked undershirt. I take the hat and sunglasses out of my bag and put them on then tuck the uniform top inside.
There is an exit for the airport to my right, a sign that I am almost to the suburbs. I can see ahead of me that the highway starts to slant down to the ground level. I head for the steep decline, nervous that soon I will no longer have the protection of the elevated highway. The sides of the road ahead are lined with fences and trees from the nearby housing developments and suburbs.
To my dismay, I notice a group of people on the highway ahead of me. As I get closer, I can see that it is a group of black men, all of them wearing white T-shirts. Oh no, the gang. They stand in a circle looking at something on the ground. Some of them yell at whatever is-I’m going to assume it’s a person. I’m too far away to hear what they are saying and the stalled cars on the road are making it impossible for me to see what it is. I’m sure they are armed. I need to hide.
I walk towards the far side of the road, trying to create as much distance between us as possible. This area of the highway is open with two lanes and cement embankments on each side. I look over the side of the overpass. It’s too far to jump off-if I jump from here I risk breaking a leg. I think of hiding in one of the stalled cars until they leave, but most of them have their doors open. The gang will certainly hear me or find me when they are done with what they are doing. I’m sure they will be searching the cars on their way back through. I crouch behind a small compact car, walking slowly, doing my best to be quiet while shielding myself from their view. Once I get to the back end of the car, I run as quickly and quietly as I can to an SUV parked a few feet away. I’m hoping that I’m silent enough that they won’t notice me. As I reach the back end of this vehicle I wait for a moment, trying to get my timing right. I take a few silent steps towards a sedan that is parked closely behind the SUV. Now the gang is directly behind me. I squat down, my back resting against the hot metal of the sedan; I peer around the back. I have a direct view of the situation and I can see that there is a man on the ground in front of the gang, shielding his face with his arms. I can see pistols tucked into the gang members’ pants, bulging out from under their shirts. One is holding a gun in his hand, pointing it at the man on the ground. I feel like I should do something to help him, but I don’t want to get involved. And all I have for a weapon are the long needles in my bag which would do nothing to defend me against a gun. I just want to get home. I just want to get away from this city. So, here I am, a coward once again-twice in one day-prepped and ready to flee, to abandon someone else in need.
I look to the next car that’s about four feet away, getting ready to run for it. I take a deep breath before I turn, taking one last look at the situation behind me, and then it’s too late. The man on the ground sees me
and one of the gang members turns, following his gaze. Crap. Before I know it he’s walking towards me, and he’s tall, taller than anyone I’ve ever met. Sweat marks stain the neck and underarms of his shirt. It only takes a few steps for his long legs to get to me. I stand, my heart beating in my throat, panicking. I back up until the cement embankment of the overpass hits me in the back. I should at least try to run or jump-I’d rather have a broken leg than get into this mess-but I don’t. I know this large man will reach me before I could get far. That is, if he doesn’t shoot me first. He grabs my shoulder, his fingers pinching into my skin as he pulls me towards the group of gang members.
“What do you think you doin’ out here girl?” He asks as he pulls me beside him.
“Check her bag, maybe she got somethin’ we be needin’!” Another gang member shouts, smiling, showing his row of gold teeth.
A third gang member reaches for the bag slung over my shoulder. If I make it out of this situation alive I need everything in that bag. I can’t let them have it. I hold my breath, waiting for them to rip the bag off my shoulder, but his hand hovers above me. When I turn my head to look at him, I instantly know why he stopped.
“Ricardo?” I ask in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, is that actually you? What do you think you’re doing?” For a moment, I’m afraid of what they might do to me for actually speaking.
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 4
