North Concordia
Darius awoke with a start and a snort. His skin was pimpled from the chill of an early morning wind that lifted and curled the edges of his blanket. He straightened up in the creaky chair and yawned, examining the thin linen sheet. It was the kind used in the medical clinics, but Darius didn’t recall at first when he had procured the blanket. He was thankful for the small amount of protection it provided as he found himself sitting in the park, just a few feet from Foundation Street. The sun was on the eastern horizon, rising out of the ground like a brilliant, multi-hued marble.
In his groggy state, the mystery of the chair took a moment to decipher. He vaguely recalled entering the unstable Civic Hall in the dark of early morning to retrieve it from the lower floor. He remembered being so tired that his feet dragged, and he wanted so desperately to be comfortable when he finally sat down for some rest. He couldn’t figure out why he had decided to risk going into the building, though much of the hours leading up to his eventual collapse from exhaustion was a blur.
The last time Darius had looked at his watch, it was two in the morning. He had been digging through rubble for over ten hours straight, searching for survivors. What had started as a frantic dig through timbers and stones at the collapsed grain mill ended up as a methodical street by street search expanding outward from the river, finally ending well into the night as the last piles of rubble were turned upside down. Amazingly, only eighteen townspeople had been found in the rubble, including the four mill workers. Unfortunately, most of those who were trapped suffered significant injuries, and Darius knew that the tiny hospital was stressed beyond its capacity.
Worse was the staggering news that Darius was given as he arrived at the hospital with two of the wounded: there were three reported fatalities.
Dan Forrest. Luka Kedrov. Alexis McLaughlin.
The list weighed heavily on Darius. Each person who had passed was someone important to the colony, and one was a close friend. The loss of Luka’s reliability would certainly be missed once the mill was rebuilt, and Forrest had proven himself to be a talented tailor, learning the trade under the guidance of Sarah Kimura.
But the immediate shock of Alexis was something that would be a bitter pill for the entire community, and Darius felt it keenly. As he stared through the gaping hole in the upper story of Civic Hall, he recalled that the McLaughlins had invited him for dinner tomorrow evening. He imagined what tantalizing dish Alexis would have served, and what stories Cal would have told at the meal. He let the image slip away on the wind, knowing with a heart as heavy as lead that such dinners would never happen again.
Darius stretched once more before climbing to his feet. He draped the blanket over the chair and walked the short distance to the intersection of the two major streets of North Concordia. As he surveyed the scene in the early morning light, the damage to the town somehow didn’t seem as bad as the previous day. Perhaps it was the immediate panic in the wake of the temblor, or the search for survivors that ensued, but his perspective seemed to have changed with the all too brief night’s sleep.
A half a dozen or so buildings had lost a wall, and three others in the market square were leaning precariously. The grain mill had shown the most spectacular damage when it had caved in on itself, and the destruction of Darius’s office was probably visible anywhere on the north side of the Fairweather.
He grimaced. Well, we can rebuild, he thought as he turned toward the hospital.
The familiar walk along Foundation gave him time to scrutinize two structures more closely. Darius determined that both would need to be torn down and replaced. Four dwellings were destroyed in those buildings, with none to spare in town. He sighed heavily, realizing that a new problem had cropped up; where would the displaced sleep? He made a note to have the sleeper ships checked for structural damage, as their berths might once again become home to some of the people.
Darius arrived at the medical clinic several minutes later. Corporal Swift was slumped against the outside door frame, fast asleep. Darius imagined that he had been assigned to stand guard, but the fatigue must have taken its toll on the young volunteer. Swift was only twenty-two, hybrid age, which meant that he wasn’t old enough before leaving Earth to have joined any of the armed services. Darius stepped around him and opened the door as quietly as he could so as to let the young man rest.
Darius’s eyes took a brief moment to adjust to the lack of light inside. The entire north side of the city was powerless, and someone had extinguished the candles that rested on top of the various furniture scattered throughout the waiting room. He checked one; the wax had hardened and cooled completely. Every seating surface in the room was occupied by a relative or loved one of one of the injured. Even the floor was seeing more use than ever before, and Darius had to carefully navigate around a sleeping man and his young son on his way deeper into the hospital.
He made it just beyond the door that separated the waiting room from the medical facility itself. Six patient rooms, a common recovery area, two examination rooms, and a small operating room made up the entirety of the small community’s hospital. The common room, which Darius had just stepped into, was choked with portable cots. A patient occupied every one, save for a single cot butted against the wall to the OR. On this one slept Kayla Reid, one of the nurses. A lone chair sat next to her cot, and Captain Devereaux rose from this seat to greet Darius.
Though haggard and weary looking, the captain had kept his post dutifully. He snapped a smart salute at Darius before placing a firm hand on his shoulder and leaning in to whisper his report.
“Doctor Taylor is asleep. We didn’t lose anyone else overnight. Roger stopped by to report a few minutes ago.”
“Good. What did he find out?” Darius whispered. He wanted to hear about the situation on the south side of the city, but at the same time, he was gripped with a feeling of anxiety.
“One dead, nine injured. No collapsed buildings, just a lot of fallen debris. The River Islands bridge is still up, but Roger said that it needs a closer look before we clear it.”
“And the reactors?”
“Quinn and Hartley report no leaks. The reactors on both ships are online and within parameters. They have power on the south side, but the grid interface is jacked up on Michael. We won’t have power here until that’s repaired.”
Darius nodded. Hearing the source of the power failure gave him an odd sense of relief. He had helped build that power grid, and knew that he could repair it. He wanted very much to take his mind off of the tragedy and focus his attention on that instead, but the cleanup and search would require coordination. He rubbed at the short stubble on his scalp.
“Your orders, sir?” Devereaux whispered.
Darius looked at the ceiling and sighed as he thought for a moment. “I want the CVM to oversee distribution of emergency supplies to the town. Form a team of civilians to work on clearing the streets. We still have the horses, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Use them to help. Find Baker and have him get together some men to look at the damaged buildings. Anything that can be rebuilt, I want it done as soon as possible. Then set them to work on demolition and replacement of the other buildings. Mill first, got it?”
“Yes sir. What about the power?”
“Get me Novak and Barajas. We’ll get it up and running by tomorrow at the latest. Also get Roger to do another inspection on Michael. I want to know if it’s safe to sleep people in there for a little bit. If so, move anyone displaced into the mid pods for a bit. I also have a job for Josephson, if you can spare her.”
“I can. What do you need?”
“Send her to Rust Creek. See how badly they were hit, or if they need any help.”
“Yes sir. Though if I might give you an order myself, go get more shut eye. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Darius shook his head. “Got too much to do. I’ll get some rack time when I restore power or night falls, whichever is fir
st. I promise.”
Devereaux nodded, his stone expression never flinching once. He left the hospital to execute his orders, leaving Darius surrounded by almost a dozen wounded. He sighed and crept to the door of the third patient room, exercising every bit of control he had over his hand to twist the door knob in near utter silence. Darius swung the door open just a couple inches and peered inside.
Cal was fast asleep on the bed, curled up into a tight ball. Against the far wall, Hunter leaned back in his chair, his snoring barely perceptible. His arm was curled around a tiny swaddled bundle that squirmed every ten seconds or so. A single, soft coo from the wiggling and bundled baby gave rise to more mixed feelings.
I’m damn glad she’s here. I just wish she could have met her mother. Darius sighed as he closed the door quietly. At least she has her dad. And the rest of us, too.
Calvin McLaughlin
16 June, 6 yal, 14:11
North Concordia
Dr. Taylor passed Cal a tiny glass jar with a thin, screw-on lid. With one hand he opened it up to inspect the thick, white contents, cradling Andrea gingerly in his other arm. The pungent salve inside, a mixture made from native white milkweed stems and prairie mint roots, made his eyes water and his nose wrinkle.
“That’s nasty,” he complained as he tightened the threads on the cap.
She returned an indifferent shrug. “I don’t make the rules for how pleasant a medicine is. I just find the resolution to the problem. This cream will help keep your wounds from getting infected.” She rattled a tiny plastic pill bottle before handing it to him. His thumb rubbed over the label, still curled and moist from the glue that affixed it over a half dozen older labels. “This is for the pain. One pill, twice a day. You’ve got four pills in there. You can have plain old ibuprofen if you need it once those are gone. I only have a little left, so if you’re okay without it, I don’t want to waste it.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled as he stuffed the medication into his pants pocket. Dr. Taylor leaned forward and gave him a gentle hug. He knew the embrace was meant as a show of sympathy, but it just felt awkward to him.
“I’m sorry, Calvin. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Doc.” The words tumbled out from numb limps, a hollow echo that he had reflexively uttered dozens of times over the past two days.
The front door to Concordia’s hospital squeaked as Dr. Taylor swung it open. The bright evening sun poured in, and Cal instinctively threw a hand up to shield his eyes while they adjusted. The white and yellow wash changed and sharpened in detailed focus to reveal the packed dirt of Foundation Street, and the timber-and-stone apartment buildings on the opposite side. He cast a quick glance back at the empty waiting room, which was pristine, all of its furniture placed back in precise formation. A ghostly calm had settled over the hospital. There were still two others who were injured in the earthquake resting in rooms in back; all others had been discharged before Cal. But the front of the house was different. At some point, it would be full again, and the town’s doctors would be cast into another struggle against death. Like the one that suddenly took his wife.
He shuddered and walked through the door. Andrea squirmed and squealed softly. It was the first time he had taken his daughter outside, and she was clearly disturbed by the sunlight that had interrupted her fleeting rest. There was little Cal could do to shield her for the first portion of the journey; he would carry her for several blocks directly into the sun. Though Bravo kissed the very tops of the mountain ridges beyond, it would not be dark for over an hour still.
He trudged along, taking in the destruction wrought by the temblor. He had heard about the damage, but not seen it for himself. He passed by the gutted remnants of the apartment building that housed Traci Josephson and the Kuenz family. Their personal belongings were conspicuously absent, as was most of the debris that Cal expected to find. Someone had to have cleared the building, he figured. Pieces of earlier drug-hazed conversations with Hunter began to click, and he remembered something about Darius focusing the entire workforce of Concordia on cleanup and reconstruction.
Andrea’s whimpering gradually escalated until they rounded the corner onto Benedict, where the shadow cast by the tenements above the marketplace finally shielded her from the offensive sunlight. She squirmed and snuggled, unable to find a comfortable spot, until Cal hoisted her warm body against his shoulder. She settled down quickly. Cal swallowed a lump in his throat; the reality that this tiny baby was his child was still a fresh revelation. The shock, joy, and love that he felt were tempered by the deep gulf of loss that he felt with keen awareness when he looked into her eyes.
Hunter, Dr. Taylor, and Kayla had all agreed that Andrea had Cal’s baby blue eyes, but he always saw just a hint of green in them whenever he looked. A green that he had spent many nights gazing into. A green that had consoled him, admired him, and even at times seared his soul with their anger. And it was for that tiny imperfection, which Andrea could not help, that Cal hated her in that moment as much as he loved her. Because of who she reminded him of.
Every step he took toward home seemed to flow into a blur. He barely noticed the gaping hole where Kimura Clothiers once stood, and shuffled past the pile of rubble where the grain mill once graced River Way. A dozen men and three horses were hard at work clearing away the wrecked remnants of the building, but Cal continued on without acknowledging them. This was a departure from his routine; normally he would at least nod as he passed by other townsfolk if he didn’t stop to talk to them.
Cal knew that his home and shop still stood, though passing by the mill sent an image through his mind of his abode as a pile of stones and kindling. This was dispelled quickly when the two story building came into view from around the side of the warehouse that stood on the lot adjacent to his shop. There was a mild sense of relief when he saw no obvious damage to the exterior. The front door was wide open, however, and he paused for a moment to listen. From within he could faintly hear the unmistakable tinkle of broken glass.
He stepped inside, only to find that the outside of his shop was in far better condition than the inside. Hunter was busy sweeping the small shop floor; jagged shards of glass littered nearly the entire surface of the floor, mixed in murky, bubbly goo. One of the two display shelves lay in two pieces in front of the sales counter, one of the uprights fractured on impact as it toppled onto the stout counter. Hunter stopped his laborious task as he caught sight of Cal. He wiped glistening sweat from his brow, leaving a smear of soap in his arm’s wake.
“Welcome home, Cal,” he said, still short of breath. “I didn’t think Doc was going to let you go until later.”
Cal grimaced as he took in the damage. It looked like both shelves had tipped and spilled their contents onto the floor. Two small jars of hand soap sat on the counter, apparently salvaged by his friend’s cleanup efforts. Otherwise, every ounce of product in the displays had been destroyed, now smeared all over the floor and mixed with dangerous shards of glass. His stomach began to jitter; his business now looked as if it was in jeopardy.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Hunter continued. “I’ll get this cleaned up. You just take it easy and get settled in.”
No.
Cal carefully maneuvered over the slippery boards and toward the back room. He opened the door, dreading the mess he knew would be just inside the stock room. To his surprise, the floor was immaculately clean, and his remaining stock was still neatly crated and shelved. Only a couple crates were missing, both from the top shelf. The unmistakable tang of alcohol—albeit cut with floral scents—assaulted his nostrils, so he took a step back.
Hunter sidled up next to him, leaning gently on the handle of his broom. “It wasn’t that bad back there. A couple crates of soap, and maybe two bottles of vodka. I pushed everything that was loose back onto the shelves. You’ll probably want to go through and sort it all out again anyway when you’re ready.”
A relieved exhale rushed past
Cal’s lips. At least it’s not all gone.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Oh, that reminds me.” Hunter snapped his fingers and reached into his front pocket. He produced a small, crudely wrapped package, wrapped in coarse twine. In an instant, Cal recognized it, and his heart sank. “Doc said this fell out of your clothes when she put you on the table to patch you up. I kept forgetting to give it back to you when you were at the hospital.”
Hunter’s long arm stretched out, offering the gift that had been intended for Alexis. Cal stood for a moment, numbed. Within the folds of the paper was a mere trinket: a simple wooden cross on a leather cord, with six bone beads. One for each year that they had been married. When he had asked Saika to make it, Cal had envisioned years passing, anniversaries that would be marked by slipping another bead onto the cord, until he and Alexis had turned old and gray. Hunter seemed to recognize the importance of the package, and how much it meant to Cal, even if he didn’t know what exactly it contained.
“It was for Lexi, wasn’t it?”
“Yup. Didn’t get a chance to give it to her myself.” Cal sniffed. He was getting better at suppressing the emotion in his voice, and got the impression that he would become a master of this masquerade in just a few days.
His friend drew back the gift, clutching it gently under his chin with both hands. “Want me to hold onto it for a bit?”
Cal shrugged. “Maybe you should just toss it.” He didn’t actually want this, but couldn’t bring himself to take possession of it either.
The package crinkled as Hunter returned it to his pocket. “Maybe I’ll just hang on to it for you for a bit. I’d hate for you to change your mind later and for it to be gone.”
“Whatever.”
Hunter twisted the end of the broom in his hand. The bristles danced in a nearly perfect circle on the floor as it made two complete rotations before Hunter snatched it up. “Alright, well I’m going to finish cleaning the front room. I’ll be up in a minute to help clean your apartment.”
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 108
