by Mark Harritt
Weitz shook his head, “I don’t want to touch the thing.”
Mickey looked at Bobby, who grinned, “No problem. I’ll make sure it’s secured.”
Mickey looked at Tom, “We need to get Joel or Joan in here.”
Tom looked over at Daijj, who shook his head. He looked back at Mickey, “You’ll have to convince him.”
A puzzled look settled onto Mickey’s face, “Why?”
Tom shook his head, “I’m not really sure. I asked him to lower the ramp, and he wouldn’t do it.”
Mickey stood up and walked over to the pilot’s seat. Smarij and Zenj, the two mechs, looked uncomfortable as the giant strode toward them. Mickey smiled to put them at ease, but Mickey’s smile wasn’t one that usually comforted someone unless they knew him well. A smile from Mickey usually meant that he was about to start something. The discomfort displayed on their faces increased. The pouches on their necks started moving quicker. Their discomfort made Mickey frown, which, of course, made the situation worse. The way their neck bladders puffed in and out, Mickey thought they were going to hyperventilate.
He held up his hand, “Don’t worry, it’s okay.” The two mechanics looked at each other. Their breathing slowed. In the recess of his mind, Mickey wondered if they played poker. If not, he was going to have to teach them. That was one hell of a tell they had there.
Mickey’s attention switched to Daijj, “What’s up? How come you won’t lower the ramp?”
Daijj had a concerned look on his face. He pointed out the window. Mickey looked out. Now he was concerned, “What the hell?”
Daijj touched Mickey’s arm, drawing his attention away from the window. He pointed at one of the gauges on the instrument panel.
Mickey didn’t know what the hell the gauge was supposed to measure, and he couldn’t tell from the writing on the panel since he couldn’t read the trade lingo. He could speak it decently, interspersed with the pidgin he used with Caul and his men, but that was about it.
“What is it?” Mickey asked.
“Outside air pressure.”
Mickey looked at the gauge. Now that he knew what it was, it was easily readable. It had two red bands with a green band in between. Right now, it was in the low red. If Daijj opened the outer door, they were all dead. Death by hypoxia wasn’t the way that Mickey wanted to go.
As Mickey watched, the air pressure slowly increased. Still, even if the air pressure increased to earth normal, it didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted to open the ramp.
“Do you have a way to measure oxygen content?” he asked Daijj.
Daijj pointed at a second gauge, “That will tell me if it’s safe to breathe.”
He turned to smile at Mickey, “This shuttle makes trips to low Earth orbit to pick up passengers. Or, it used to. With many thregari from different planets, you can never be too careful. It will check for poisons and allergens in the air as well.”
Mickey watched Daijj’s pouch expand and collapse as he breathed in and out, “Do you have it set for us?”
Daijj nodded, “I did that as soon as I started shuttling your men. We are well within the same tolerances.”
Mickey patted Daijj on the shoulder, “Good. Thanks for looking out for us.”
Daijj grinned, “One team, one fight.”
Mickey’s eyebrow went up, “Where did you hear that?”
Daijj waved a hand nonchalantly, “I’m not sure. One of your men, probably. You have a lot of interesting ideas.”
“You don’t have a similar idea?” Mickey asked.
Daijj snorted with laughter, “Oh, no, not at all. You seem to be much more,” He paused, mentally searching for the correct term, “egalitarian than I am used to.”
Mickey chuckled, “You have no idea.”
Daijj nodded, “No, I don’t, but I am taking notes.” He held up a leather-bound notebook.
Mickey squeezed Daijj’s shoulder, and turned around to walk back over to Bobby and Weitz, “We have a problem.”
Bobby looked up at Mickey, “What’s the problem?”
Mickey hooked his thumb back over his shoulder, “You need to take a look out the front window.”
Bobby studied Mickey for a clue. He didn’t find any, and a puzzled look settled onto his face. Mickey looked over at Weitz, who was busy studying something on the laptop. Mickey leaned over and slowly pushed the back of the laptop down until it closed. Weitz was about to say something, until he saw the look that Mickey was giving him.
“You too, Weitz. You both need to go look out the window.”
Weitz had a puzzled look on his face also, wondering what was going on. He sat the laptop on the seat beside him, and he got up to follow Bobby to the front of the aircraft.
Tom stepped up to Mickey, “What’s going on?”
Mickey shrugged and then pointed at Bobby and Weitz, “Dunno. Something isn’t quite right. Hopefully they can tell us what the hell’s happening.”
Tom studied Mickey, “Should I be worried?”
Mickey shook his head, and smiled, “Nobody’s shooting at us. I wouldn’t worry just yet.”
Tom looked at Mickey, unconvinced, but his attention was diverted as they heard cursing from the front of the aircraft. Tom glanced at the front of the shuttle, but Mickey patted Tom on the shoulder and waved for Tom to follow him. Mickey turned toward Ed, and they walked over to him. Mickey knelt next to Ed and started to check his vitals again.
“You need me to help you?” Tom asked.
Mickey frowned, “I don’t know yet, maybe.”
Tom kept standing in place in case Mickey need him, ready to move to the floor or to get out of the way.
Mickey looked at Bob and Mike, “How’s he doing?”
Bob looked down at Ed, “He seems to be doing much better now. I think he’s resting.”
“Okay, just keep an eye on him. Hopefully it was just an epileptic seizure and not something worse. It he has any problems breathing, let me know. If you see anything that gives you concern, you let me know, no matter what the problem or how inconsequential you think it might be. Anything, anything at all, I want you to tell me, okay?”
They both nodded.
John pointed at Bobby and Weitz, who were arguing with each other, “Is that something we should be worried about?”
Mickey looked over at the two men. They were returning to their seats, arguing about what they’d seen through the window. They sat down, picking up their respective laptops, arguing like an old married couple. Fingers flew as they pulled up programs and schematics. Whatever they were doing, they were animated about it, arguing about lines of computer coding. Bobby was jabbing at the computer screen, while Weitz seemed to be defensive about what they were looking at.
Mickey looked at them, and then turned back to John and shook his head.
“Are you sure?” Tom asked.
Mickey looked at him, “What?”
Tom tilted his head at Bobby and Weitz, “Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on with those two?”
“Well, I thought I’d let them figure out what’s going on, and then, hopefully, tell us.”
“Mickey, I’m the quiet one, remember? You aren’t. You seem bent on confusing the hell out of me without actually saying anything. Tell us what?”
Mickey looked at Tom and sighed, “I don’t know how the hell they did it, but we aren’t in the right place. I have no idea where we are. We could be anywhere.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” Joan asked. She been staring at Weitz and Bobby, trying to figure out what they were arguing about, but hadn’t been able to follow the conversation. Now she was staring at Mickey.
Mickey looked over at Joan, “Well, Joan, it looks like, somehow, they managed to transport us to the wrong place.”
With the cat out of the bag, people started talking all at once. Mickey’s head turned from side to side, looking at different people that were asking questions. Since he never got a chance to answer anything, people started
standing, moving so that they could look out the window. Tom was already up, so he got there ahead of the others. He shook his head as he looked out. To Caul and his men’s credit, they were the only ones that didn’t get up to look outside. Mickey didn’t know if they didn’t understand what was going on, or if they just didn’t care.
Once everyone got a look, they straggled back to sit down again. They stared at Bobby and Weitz, who, while trying to look innocent, managed to look guilty as sin. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Mickey would have laughed. He was too concerned to laugh right now, though. Right now, he was worried about Tracy and the others they’d left behind, transported back above the old compound.
Once every one sat back down, Mickey stood up and walked over to Tom, who was still looking out the window. Mickey stared outside. The shuttle was sitting in what seemed to be a large bay, big enough to hold many shuttles its size. The floor was black, and the walls were grey, adding to the oppressive darkness around them.
“What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?” Mickey thought as he stared out the window.
----------------------------------------------------
The elderly, the wounded, the sick, the dying lay across the field. Joan wiped her forehead as she treated an elderly woman who was dehydrated. Some of her patients would live, and others wouldn’t see the dawning of another day. She was overwhelmed, and tears ran down her face as she realized that she couldn’t save everybody.
She’d never felt this helpless. She was a neurologist. She’d done her surgical residency in Atlanta, where she’d seen many shootings and multi car pileups, but she’d never seen anything like this, not even when she worked in Ramstein, Germany during the war in 2008. She looked over at Joel, and he looked like he was about to pass out. The only thing that helped were the new drugs that Willow and her team had printed over the past several months. The narcotics eased the pain of the dying and the antibiotics helped to stave off secondary infections in the wounded.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Tracy standing behind her. Tracy had a look of concern on her face.
“You need to rest.”
Joan shook her head, and motioned around them, “I can’t, I have too many patients.”
Tracy didn’t back off, and instead pressed her harder, “I’m not asking, Joan. I’m telling. You’re eight, maybe nine months pregnant. You shouldn’t be working this hard.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I don’t have a choice,” Joan snapped.
She stood up and turned to Tracy, “Some damn aliens tried to kill us. They tried to kill all of us. And now, because of that, I have to attempt to keep shattered bodies from falling apart.”
Tracy held her hands up, “Woah, Joan. I’m not the enemy. I’m just concerned about you. You’ve been working nonstop. You need to rest, otherwise you’re going to join your patients on the ground. We’ve got this. We can call you if we need you.”
Joan’s shoulder’s sagged. She was so tired, emotionally and physically, constantly worried about Everett. She was tired of it all, the monsters, the aliens, the giant robots, their new reality. She just wished it could be like it was before; before they’d arrived in this new, dangerous world.
“When does it end, Tracy?”
Tracy shook her head, and reached forward to put her hand on Joan’s arm, “I don’t know that it ever will.”
“Oh God,” Joan put her hands on her face, and started crying.
Tracy moved in closer and ran her hands up and down Joan’s arms, “See, this is what I’m talking about. This isn’t like you. You need to rest. Go check on Everett, and see how he’s doing.”
Joan wiped her tears off her face with the back of her hand.
She looked over at Joel, “Okay, I’ll go, but he needs some rest as well. You need to make sure that he gets some sleep.”
Tracy smiled at her, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m not kidding, Tracy. He’s stubborn. He older, and doesn’t realize when he needs to rest.”
Tracy smiled at her. Joan smiled back, “Yes, okay. I’m stubborn too. I’m not kidding, though. Joel needs to get some rest.”
“I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Promise?”
Tracy nodded, “I promise.”
Joan took in a ragged breath, “Okay, I’ll go check on Everett, and then I’ll get some sleep.”
Joan walked away from the moans of the wounded and dying. She walked to the tree line, where she’d left Everett. She felt another tear roll down her face. Every time she left him, she felt like she wasn’t going to see him alive again.
Beyond the wounded, in the tree line, the ones that were able, mostly women and older children, were pitching tents and setting up cooking fires before the sun went down. They had to get the more vulnerable and the wounded under tents before the light disappeared, and they only had a few hours to get that done.
After dark, the fires would be banked so that only the coals were visible. With aliens hunting them, it wasn’t a good idea to have open flames at night. That would draw too much attention. There was food for everyone for a few days, but that wouldn’t last long, so the hunters were out, trying to find food.
She looked up at the sky. The sun was setting across the valley. Soon, it would start to get colder as night took over from day. She knew that some of her patients wouldn’t make it through the night, but at this point, there wasn’t much she could do to affect the outcome.
She approached the small ring of trees where she’d left Everett. As she walked up, Olmla and Desci came out to meet her.
“How is he?” Joan asked.
Olmla spoke in quiet tones, “He is okay. His breathing is steady, but shallow.
Joan put her hand on Olmla’s shoulder and received a smile in return. Desci didn’t say anything. Instead, he stayed close to his sister.
Joan leaned over, “How are you?”
Desci leaned into his sister, unwilling to talk. That was unusual for him. He was usually the leader of the pack, the one that the other boys followed. He was also the one that tended to get the others into trouble. That had changed, though. He’d seen too much violence in a very short time. He’d lost too many friends too quickly.
A sad smile drifted across Joan’s lips, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer.”
She looked back at Olmla, “Where’s everybody else.”
“Mother and Jendi are helping with the shelters, and father is out hunting.”
Jean pointed at the circle of trees, “Do you want to stay with Everett and me? I’d like the company.”
Olmla turned and started walking back to Everett, “Yes, we can stay. Mother said that we were to watch over Everett and help you with anything you needed.”
Joan followed the two into the small glade. Her eyes watered as she saw Everett lying under his blankets. He seemed so frail, her strong husband replaced by a shadow. Tears ran down her face, but she brushed them away. Tears wouldn’t help Everett. She checked the bag of lactated ringer solution and made sure that the drip was constant.
She looked over at Olmla, “Could you help me please?” She held out her hand, and Olmla came over and grabbed it.
Joan started to squat down, carefully lowering herself. Olmla’s eyes opened wide as she realized what Joan needed. Olmla quickly put her arms around Joan to help her down. Joan went down on her knees next to Everett, thanked Olmla, and started checking his vital signs.
His heartbeat was faster than she liked, and his blood pressure was low, but nothing indicated any problems. She listened to the lub-dub of his heart and the flow of air in and out of his lungs. He was still ashen in color, but that was due to the loss of blood, and it would take a few days, if not weeks for him to regenerate it. She took out a syringe of antibiotics and gave him a shot.
Next, she had to check the wound. She looked up at Olmla and Desci, “I have to remove the bandage and make sure his wound is okay. I don’t know if you want to watc
h this. It might be messy.”
Olmla looked at Desci, “Are you okay?”
He looked at Everett, looked at the truncated leg, and then nodded his head.
Ordinarily, Joan wouldn’t even consider allowing two young children to watch her check Everett’s wound, but these weren’t ordinary children. She’d watched both clean animal carcasses, and she knew that they’d seen the wounded and dying on more than one occasion. The world was what it was. If they said they could handle it, then they could handle it.
She pushed aside the blanket that covered Everett’s stump and grimaced when she saw the bandages. Putting aside her feelings for Everett and his loss, she checked the bandages dispassionately. It didn’t seem too bad. There wasn’t much discharge from the clotting of the wound. The area over the sutures showed some blood, but not much. Overall, she was pleased with what she saw. She was afraid that moving him so soon after the amputation might have caused the wound to open again, but she didn’t see anything that indicated that it had happened.
She looked at the skin above the bandages. She didn’t see any redness or streaking that indicated that there might be an infection. She carefully felt around the leg to make sure that nothing felt hotter than skin temperature. Once she was satisfied that Everett was okay, she thanked God that Mickey had been able to do the surgery.
As a trauma surgeon, he was just as good as any she’d seen in the emergency room in Atlanta or Ramstein. As doctors, Joel and she could both do surgery, but they were neurologists, and not as familiar with emergency procedures. Mickey had done an amazing job with the stump, folding over skin to cover the amputation. She’d been amazed as she watched him stitch, his large hands capable of doing such delicate work.
She decided she wasn’t going to change the bandages tonight in the waning light. The bandages were still pretty clean, and she was worried that she might do more damage than good, possibly pulling the clotting away. So, she would leave it on and monitor it to make sure there was no discolored discharge. She wished she could do more, but it was in God’s hands. She fought the emotions that she felt, knowing that crying would do no good. She covered the amputated leg with the blanket.
