Project Armageddon

by Michael Stephens

  Chapter 3

  The morning sun speared through the window blinds and blanketed Abbie’s face. She slowly peeled open one eye. It adjusted to the bright sun. The other eye did the same a few minutes later.

  Abbie was exhausted. When not volunteering at the hospital, she would be in its basement doing cancer research under a grant. Her research had her working long hours with little sleep. Sometimes she would forget to eat. The little time that remained was set aside for her father, who also was the sponsor for her doctoral work. Dr. Talbot was proud of Abbie’s academic accomplishments, and her obtaining her Ph.D. was the natural progression.

  The thought of there being two Dr. Talbots on this earth certainly did not motivate Abbie. It was the research. Abbie made a promise to her mother as they lowered her casket into the wet, muddy pit on that gray, rainy Friday morning. She would never stop working on a cure until no other daughter in the world would ever need to bury their mother because of cancer. That was Abbie’s life for years.

  She peeled away the bed covers and threw her legs over the edge of the mattress. She yawned and stretched, her morning ritual to shake away the cobwebs from the night before. She looked at the clock, ten-thirty.

  “Five hours. That must be a record.”

  Abbie rummaged through her closet floor that served as her dresser where clothes were strategically piled. She found a pair of jeans that passed the sniff test, as well as a shirt. The hunt for a clean bath towel took her some time, but soon she was in the shower, washing her hair and planning out her day.

  Lunch with Emma at noon, she thought. Volunteer till five. Visit Dad at the school. Dad will insist on dinner. Back at the hospital for more research by seven. Done by three-ish maybe four. In bed by five. Just another typical day in the life of Abbie Talbot.

  Abbie finished showering, dressed, and was on the road in minutes. She powered her seven-year-old Honda Civic to her ritualistic first stop… Starbucks. She ordered, paid, and pulled to the window to get her grande four-pump vanilla mocha and her reduced-fat turkey bacon & egg white sandwich. The drive-through employee handed Abbie her food and drink. Abbie was on a first-name basis with every employee that worked there. The two exchanged pleasantries and a thirty-second summary of what their day looked like before Abbie was on the road, pointing her Honda towards the hospital.

  Abbie parked on the employee parking deck of the hospital. Traffic was a nightmare, and she was late. She rushed to the locker room, quickly changed into her scrubs, and promptly walked to the cafeteria where she found Emma waiting at their usual table.

  Emma Hoffman was a doctor of Internal Medicine at County Regional and was Abbie’s best friend. The pair met in their sophomore year of college and have been inseparable ever since.

  Abbie plopped hard into the booth. She paused to catch her breath from the marathon she fast-walked to the cafeteria.

  Emma took a spoonful of frozen yogurt as she looked at her watch. “Only ten minutes late. Not Bad.” She said with a mouthful.

  “Don’t start. There is a reason why I don’t have special powers. Every car on the highway… incinerated. Gone.”

  “What about the people?”

  “Them too.” She snarled.

  “Sounds like someone did not get any sleep last night.”

  “Au contraire, my dear. Five hours, thank you very much,” defended Abbie.

  “Wow. You go, Sleeping Beauty.” Emma noticed Abbie did not have any food. “Sleep deprivation isn’t enough, you’re starving yourself too?”

  “What?”

  “Where’s your food?”

  “I ate on the way.”

  Emma gazed at her with evil eyes. “You need to eat… properly.”

  Abbie took the spoon from Emma and dug a heaping spoonful of frozen yogurt from the bowl. She shoved the oversize bite into her mouth. “There,” said Abbie as she tried to catch the excess frozen yogurt that fell out of her mouth. “I’m eating.”

  Emma handed her a napkin and grinned.

  Abbie wiped frozen yogurt from her chin and the table. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “David and I going to Africa.”

  Abbie’s eyes opened. “What? When?”

  “A couple months. We’re working with Doctors Without Borders, providing medical services to some of the local villages.”

  Abbie’s eyes gleamed at Emma. “Wow, Em. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “What?” Emma asked as she finished the rest of her frozen yogurt before Abbie did.

  “Tops in your class at school. Published… many times over. Landed a great job here. Met a decent man and married him and now this. I officially envy you.”

  “If you took your nose out of that research every now and then, you might find a man.”

  “I’m pretending that I didn’t hear that,” said Abbie. That was her way of dodging topics that were brought up by friends or her father, which was usually about her social life. “How long are you guys staying?”

  “Six months.”

  “Wow. That’s a trip.”

  Emma immediately grabbed Abbie’s arm. “I have a great idea.”

  “I am not watering your plants for you.”

  “You should come with,” said Emma enthusiastically.

  Abbie paused to think about the preposterous idea she just heard from someone as intelligent as Emma. “To Africa?”

  “Yea.”

  “Are you on opiates? That’s crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “Need I remind you that my job is to make medicine, not administer it. That’s yours and David’s job.”

  “You’re silly. You know you’re more than qualified. You should go.”

  Abbie thought about Emma’s proposal. It sounded exciting and different. But then she thought of her dad, her research, her being in the middle of nowhere with Emma and David. She liked David. He was a nice guy. But she didn’t want to be the other person that was always hanging around married couples… especially in Africa.

  “I’ll pass. The last thing I want is to be is the third wheel.”

  “You know, David has a few friends I could introduce you to.”

  “No. Nope. No way. I’m good. No need. I’m taken.” She said reluctantly.

  Emma heard that tone before. She was critical of Abbie’s statement and called her bluff. “Since when?”

  “Yesterday…”

  Emma pressed further. “Who?”

  Abbie needed to think of a name really quick. Any name. “Joey.”

  Emma smiled. “Abs, he’s thirteen.”

  “I know,” agreed Abbie. “And more mature than half the men I’ve ever dated.”

  Emma could not argue Abbie’s point. She shook her head and laughed with Abbie.

  Chapter 4

  Abbie continued to enjoy the remainder of her lunch meeting. Abbie filled Emma in on how things were going with her father. Emma responded with how things were with David. They reminisced about stories from college. Emma was Abbie’s social life and loved her dearly. Abbie knew that Emma was the only way she made it through her mother’s death.

  Both of them laughed so hard that tears formed in their eyes. Then, Abbie’s cell phone rang. She nonchalantly turned over the phone to look at the caller ID—ready to dismiss it so she could continue to visit with Emma for her few remaining minutes.

  Abbie looked at the number. It was the oncology nurse’s station. It was rare for them to call her phone. She answered the call.

  “Abbie Talbot.” She listened for a few seconds. “I’ll be there, stat.”

  Abbie gave Emma a quick hug and peck on the cheek before she rushed out of the cafeteria.

  Oncology was in the west wing of the hospital. On a good day, and when Abbie was feeling up to it, she could get there from the cafeteria in fifteen minutes. Abbie was not feeling up to it, but it was an emergency. She walked fast in the populated hallways to avoid bumping and pushing others. Abbie jogged when there was no one around and took the stair
s rather than waiting for the elevators. She arrived on the seventh floor of the west wing in twelve minutes… out of breath.

  She reached the door to Oncology when the loud shrill of a woman wailing pierced her ears.

  Lu Lu? Abbie barged through the door. The hysterical cries grew louder. They were not from Abbie's friend, Lauren.

  Doctors and nurses surrounded the partition at the end of the hall. The curtain was pulled to, blocking the view from the hallway. That only meant one thing, and it was not good.

  Abbie approached the source of the hysterical wailing. She was familiar with that sound. She remembered when her father made that sound, and she as well. That was the sound of someone’s heart having all the loved squeezed out of it by an imaginary force that seemed to defy any other authority in nature, even gravity. It was the sound of anguish that one experiences when they lose someone close to them. Abbie approached the partition’s curtain and entered quietly and discreetly.

  Abbie pulled the curtain behind her as another loud sob came from the woman sitting with her face buried in the chest of a lifeless man in bed. Abbie assessed the situation even though she already had an idea of what was going on. The machines attached to the patient were off. The doctors and nurses circled the perimeter of the man’s partition. The hospital clergy stood on the other side of the bed and was giving Domingo Garcia his last rights. The woman who was suffering the most horrific case of mourning was his wife of forty-seven years, Rosa.

  Rosa Garcia lifted her face from her deceased husband’s chest. Her face was flush, and her cheeks were red as a cherry. The dark bangs of Rosa's black hair was plastered to her temples, damp and sticky from the ocean of tears that poured from her eyes. The lines in her forehead looked permanent from her brow being furrowed so hard and for so long.

  She let out another loud weep of emotional agony as she mumbled in Spanish. Rosa’s hand clenched her husband’s blanket tight and refused to let go. Her knuckles were white and gripped the blanket tighter as a nurse tried to persuade her to let go. It was not working.

  Rosa’s pain transported Abbie back to when she was in the same situation. She sat with her mother in her last few minutes. Weeping so hard she could not breathe. Her stomach muscles ached as if they were beaten with a brick. There was Rosa, enduring the same exhausting anguish.

  “Abbie,” a nurse whispered, “she’s disturbing the other patients. We understand her pain, but we need to move her.”

  Abbie forced herself to the present moment. She moved swiftly to the bed and Rosa. She forcefully inserted herself between Rosa and her deceased husband. Rosa fought not to let go, but Abbie had more leverage and the advantage. She knew that what she did had to look so insensitive, so inhumane. It was the only way. It was precisely what Emma did with her—just like a band-aide—rip away the source of the pain.

  Rosa continued to fight to hold on to her husband. Abbie was now between Rosa and the bed, but Rosa’s hands clutched the blanket like a vise. Abbie motioned to the nurses to loosen the blanket so it would move when she separated Rosa further from the bed. A nurse had a sheet ready to cover up Mr. Garcia as the blanket slowly pulled off him when the moved Rosa to a chair in the hallway.

  “Rosa,” yelled Abbie. She knelt before her and embraced her head in her hands. She looked eye to eye with Rosa. Abbie saw the pain emanating deep from within her red, puffy, and tearful eyes.

  “Llora, Rosa. Déjalo salir,” commanded Abbie.

  The words, “cry, Rosa, let it out” caught Rosa’s attention. Abbie’s eyes were full of tears. She could not hold them back. She starred into Rosa’s eyes. It was then that Abbie connected with Rosa.

  Rosa quieted but continued to cry. Her breathing was uncontrollably syncopated.

  Abbie took a deep breath. She took another and gestured Rosa to do the same. Rosa tried.

  “Let’s cry together,” Abbie told Rosa in Spanish. She nodded and waited for Rosa to acknowledge her. Rosa tried another deep breath. She nodded.

  Abbie helped Rosa to her feet. She was weak, and Abbie felt her trembling. She held her tight at the elbows as the two of them turned away from Mr. Garcia and headed down the hall. Rosa could not contain her heartache. She softly resumed her mourning that was periodically interrupted with a loud sob. Abbie clung to Rosa’s side as the two of them continued to the end of the hall.

  Chapter 5

  Abbie managed to get Rosa out of the Oncology ward and to the first-floor meditation room, which was next to the hospital’s counseling room that was used by local leaders of different religions to counsel those who lost loved ones.

  Rosa Garcia sat in the meditation room, wearing an oxygen mask to help her catch her breath. She had been uncontrollably distraught and crying for over an hour. Abbie sat with her holding her hands and occasionally exchanged a new tissue for her soggy one. She held Rosa’s hand, which was still trembling, but not as much as before. When Rosa was not looking, Abbie would sneak a tissue for herself as the current moment made a decade’s worth of memories of her mother passing fresh in her mind. She was barely holding it together.

  Hang on, Abbie. You can do this.

  The door to the counseling room opened, and Father Argossi, the local Catholic priest, entered. He rushed to the aid of Rosa as his entrance awoke the emotions that took Abbie an hour to settle.

  Rosa reached out to Father Argossi with both hands, freeing Abbie of hers.

  This is it. Go! Now! Leave Abigail, before you lose your shit.

  Abbie wasted no time. She rose and guided the Father into her chair. Rosa had his hands locked down. Abbie was free and barely made eye contact with the priest, nor did she ask for permission to leave. She launched toward the door, opened it, went through it, and was in the hallway. She never looked back.

  Abby kept a steady pace, hoping the faster she walked, the quicker she could separate herself and the memories of her mother’s death. It wasn’t helping. The hallway was getting crowded, and she was too far away to hide in a bathroom. Her palms were damp and clammy. Her heart pounded a beat in her chest that matched the pulse pounding in her ears. Her stomach turned, and the back of her throat bulged like it wanted to vomit. She found herself having a difficult time breathing, and her vision blurred in and out of focus. Abbie knew she was having a panic attack, just like the ones she had when her mother died. She needed to get out of the hallway.

  Abbie’s eyes frantically searched for somewhere… anywhere where she could duck out of view while she dealt with her anxiety. By this time, her hands and feet were tingling. Her eyes darted at the possibilities. She found it. Her walk turned to a run, and she slammed into the door of the janitor’s room as she turned the knob. Abbie threw her shoulder into the door, opening it to its maximum extension. She headed for the far wall letting the spring-loaded door close behind her seconds later.

  Abbie leaned herself against the cold concrete wall. She closed her eyes and let the coldness seep into the pores of her face. Her cheeks were slippery from the sweat that was beading on her face. She turned and braced her back against the wall. She held her body tight against the wall as if it holding her upright was a matter of life or death.

  Abby was dizzy. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor. She pulled her knees close to her chest and rested her head against them as she slowed her breathing. She could no longer hold back the puddles of tears. Abbie’s stomach muscles tightened as she squeezed the emotional pain out of her body and through her tear ducts. There she sat, in the janitor’s room, next to a shelf of toilet paper and cried by herself.

  Chapter 6

  It took Abbie over forty-five minutes before she could stand on her own and not have any anxiety. Her eyes were bloodshot, glassy, and puffy. Her face was flush and shiny from the dried tears that glued her hair to her red, puffy cheeks. Her nose dripped uncontrollably, and she continued to endure small episodes of hyperventilation.

  Abbie ignored everything, her cell phone, even the few people she came across in the hall on he
r way to the locker room. She did not stop to change out of her scrubs. She grabbed her keys from her locker. Abbie was on a mission to get to her car and get out of there.

  Minutes later, Abbie steered her Honda down the highway, pushing the speedometer past sixty. She squinted to see the road as her eyes throbbed and tears continued to puddle in her lower lids and then drain at the corners. But what most disturbed her vision was the downpour of rain pounding her windshield.

  The continuous pooling of tears in her eyes and the rapid swishing of windshield wipers challenged Abbie’s ability to keep her car moving in a straight line much less on the road. The wadded tissue in her hand no longer absorbed the pain that flowed from her eyes. She braced the steering wheel with one hand as she felt the inside of her console for a new tissue but found nothing there. She reached to the passenger seat and flipped through the clothes, cans, and other items that littered it. Still, no tissue. She leaned forward and stretched to the passenger floorboard to continue feeling for a fresh tissue… stretching… feeling… stretching… found one—the loud blare of a horn.

  Abbie’s eyes popped to the windshield and spread wider when the headlights of the oncoming car beamed brightly into her face. She yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. Abbie’s Honda swerved back to her side of the road.

  Another loud horn shot adrenaline throughout Abbie’s body. Both of her hands quickly returned to their natural position on the steering wheel. Abbie heard tires squeal all around her as they clawed against the asphalt to stop the forward momentum of the vehicles that owned them. She wrestled the steering wheel left and right and left again. The car swerved between the lanes before Abbie fought it under control in the far lane and pulled it to a stop on the side of the road.

  The several vehicles honked as they passed by. Some drivers expressed their dissatisfaction with her driving skills with some directed profanity.

  Abbie froze with her hands plastered at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel with the engine running. She stared blankly at the dash. Her chest rose with a deep breath. She threw the car in park, her hand shook uncontrollably as it rested on the shifter knob. Her puffy eyes stared back at her in the rearview mirror.