by G. Benson
Sneakily, she went right and walked through to the Orthopaedic Ward and not the Vascular Ward. Grinning to herself, she zipped down the corridor, no one bugging her for consults or the need to fill out paperwork like they would on her home ward. Successfully avoiding responsibility, Joy pushed through the double doors and at the end of the badly lit hallway, the door she was searching for came into sight. Joy breathed a sigh of relief.
Peeking into the staff room, she saw it was empty and shuffled in. An old buzzing fridge, a sink in the corner, a beat-up couch, and some dubious, squishy chairs. But empty.
Not up to conversation today, she flicked the kettle on to make a tea. After a quick search in the empty cupboards, she realised it was fruitless. Not a single box of teabags. Could this day get any worse? Sighing, she took in the seating arrangements as the kettle bubbled loudly then finally clicked itself off, leaving behind a blessed silence that had been absent since she’d got to the hospital so many hours ago.
That couch was dirty and old and not at all comfortable, but she collapsed on it with a groan anyway. Head back, she rubbed her eyes. She had so much to do. Including the need to check blood levels and work ups.
She wouldn’t fall asleep.
Joy knew she wouldn’t do that.
Ro
Somewhere between breakfast and lunch
Being in hospital was incredibly boring.
Ro slumped back against the pillows.
The TV had nothing on and lunch was forever away. Breakfast hadn’t been the worst, but it hadn’t exactly been the best and Ro was hungry. A grumbling stomach attested to that fact. Worse, their arm was aching. Like, throbbing.
Thankfully, someone walked in. Not so thankfully, he was a new one.
“Hello, Ro! I’m Rami, your nurse this morning. I’m here to check how your arm is going.”
“Hi—” Ro sucked in a breath, ready to do this. Again. As they’d done four times since they’d been admitted last night. “Just so you, you know, know. My pronouns are they/them.”
The old dude on Ro’s left snorted, and Ro was glad he’d pulled his curtain around himself in his old-man sulk already.
Rami smiled at Ro from over the chart in his hands. “No worries. Your last nurse let me know that. I also heard there was an issue about that in A&E.” He gave them a soft smile. “I’m really sorry about that. They must need to have their sensitivity training down there.”
Ro swallowed past a sudden lump in their throat and pressed their lips together into a smile to hide the itch in their eye that hinted they may be about to well up. The nurse that Ro had had overnight, once out of A&E, had been lovely, and it must have been her that told this one. But in A&E, it had been a complete misgendering shitfest that had left Ro anxious and feeling like all they wanted was to get up and leave, probable infection from a bite be damned.
“Thanks,” they said. A vast understatement to what they felt.
“No thanks needed for decency,” Rami said. The skin around his dark brown eyes crinkled as he smiled again and Ro let out a long breath, suddenly feeling much safer than they had since they’d arrived. “So, we’re just going to do a dressing change, give you another dose of IV antibiotics, and then lunch will be around soon. How old are you?”
“Just gone seventeen. Everyone thinks I’m older.” It had served Ro well, as a teen.
“Ah, they must not have had any beds in Paediatrics, sorry for that. But seventeen—bet you’re starving, then?”
“You have no idea.”
Rami laughed and started on changing the dressing. Ro had been given some pain meds at breakfast that took the edge off, but they still couldn’t really look at the mangled bitten mess under the bandage. The sight of the stitches made them go lightheaded.
Rami must have noticed Ro staring steadfastly at the wall. “Not a fan of the gross stuff?”
“Usually, yeah, I am. I love gross medical shows and everything. But I can’t look at this.” Ro gave a weak laugh, gaze roving up and down the water stain spread down the wall like they had done a hundred times this morning. They had the number of lines in the wallpaper memorised, but would count them again.
“Yeah, I get that. It’s fine when it’s not your own body. As soon as it is though? Freak out.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, you can look again.”
Ro let out a breath and glanced down to stark white, neat bandages. “Much better.”
“How’s the pain?”
“Fine, now.”
Rami squinted at them as he grabbed a syringe with some liquid and attached it to the cannula in their hand after wiping it with an alcohol wipe. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah, whatever they gave me at breakfast helps.”
“This might burn a bit.”
Rami was fast becoming their favourite person. “It doesn’t.”
“Champion.”
Somewhere, an alarm started going off.
Rami glanced over his shoulder.
“You gotta run and save lives?” Ro asked.
Rami turned back to Ro’s arm, attaching another syringe, and doing what the night nurse had called ‘flushing’ the cannula. “To be honest, I’ve not heard that sound before. I’ll be right back.”
There was a yell from the corridor.
Before Rami could do more than straighten, two police officers were in the room. With guns. That were out. And big. Not handguns in their holsters. They both wore masks over their faces.
“This the kid?” one asked the other.
Ro blinked at them. Guns? What was this, America?
“What’s your name?” The tallest one barked.
“Uh—Ro?”
He eyed Rami. “This the kid with the bite?”
Rami stepped forward, putting himself between Ro and the police officers. “I need to ask you what this is about. Patients have a right to confidentiality.”
The shorter one who’d first spoken peered around Rami, eyes on Ro’s arm. “This is the kid.”
“With a bite!” The grumpy old man called out from behind his curtain.
Ro bit back a nasty retort.
“That’s it.” The tall one gestured. “Get up. You have to move.”
“What?” Ro asked. They were in pyjama pants and a hoody, plus a pair of ridiculous fluffy socks the night nurse had procured because they’d been cold. They hadn’t brushed their teeth. That alarm was still blaring, and Ro’s heart was pounding in their chest. “Why? What did I do?”
“You need to come with us.”
The tall one glanced down at Rami’s hands, still gloved. “You have them on the entire time?”
“Of course, but what does—”
“Move out of the way.” The short one stepped forward, around Rami, at the exact moment someone in a nurse’s uniform appeared in Ro’s doorway.
“Rami, let them do their job,” she said.
Rami looked helplessly from the cops to Ro.
“Take the one who’s been sharing the room, too.”
The indignant squawk from the old man should have been satisfying, but instead terror was working its way up Ro’s spine.
“What’s going on?” Apparently, Ro was taking too long to get out of bed. Before they knew it, the taller one was gripping their upper arm and yanking.
Ro wasn’t a tiny person. They were solid. ‘Sturdy’, their mum had called them when they’d been a kid. Her way of saying chubby, which Ro still was, and was fine with using. They liked being able to plant themself and resist things.
There was no resisting this.
The last thing Ro saw of Rami as they were manhandled out the door was Rami stepping forward, dark eyes concerned, and the other nurse putting a hand on his shoulder. Even while being half-dragged down the corridor, past staring patients and hospital staff, whispers and calls, Ro kept their eyes on Rami, his eyes wide as the nurse whispered in his ear, his gaze trained on Ro’s, fea
r filling it up.
Then Ro was tugged through a doorway, dragged upstairs, and marched down a long walkway.
Last night, Ro had been wheeled this way from A&E. This long corridor led back there. Block A, someone had said.
The old man was protesting as he was hustled along, frail arm caught up in a strong grip. Loudly. His angry words about rights were blatantly ignored.
Another patient was being dragged ahead, bandages over their head and leg, two officers either side. Both with masks and gloves.
“Is this about this flu?” Ro asked, looking up at the very tall guard whose arm was like a vice on their arm. “That virus thing? I can’t have it. I don’t have a fever. They’ve been monitoring me already, worried about the dog bite.”
The officer stared ahead.
“Cool, thanks.” Ro tried to shake his hand off. It was like trying to remove a splinter from a woolly jumper.
There were six others in the canteen—all patients. All appearing to be anything from simply confused to rightly pissed off. All ages. All with some kind of bandage.
One woman was trying to step forward as Ro and their roommate were pushed in. The officers that had walked them up stopped at the entrance with an intimidating line of ten others.
“My cat bit me, that’s all.” The woman stepped forward again. “Just a cat.”
Ro span on the spot, walking back towards the line of officers. They could hear more down the corridor, their radios on their shoulders hissing and rattling. The sounds of their boots thudding.
Ro had to try again. “Is this about the bites? I only got bit by a dog, dudes.”
A gun was up, suddenly. There was a scream from behind Ro. Then a line of guns, all pointed at them, and Ro felt like they’d left their body. As if they’d floated up and were observing this scene from above, the police at the entrance of the canteen, the eight patients all desperately confused. The guns pointed at them.
For that moment, Ro was sure they were about to be mowed down in a spray of bullets.
Then Ro was back in their body, and guns were pointing right at them and sweat was trickling down their spine.
“If you all take one more step, you will be shot. If you leave this room, you will be shot. You are all under quarantine. Stay here until further notice.”
They left as fast as they’d come. Ro counted to ten before they moved forward to the entrance, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the wall to peer around it.
“I only shared a room with that little shit,” Ro heard from behind them.
The police were leaving through the giant double doors that led back to the walkway.
There were heavy sounds. Scraping of metal.
“They’re barricading it,” they muttered.
Someone was beside them, and Ro turned to see the woman whose cat had bitten her.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked.
Taren
Time for caffeine
“Coffee!”
Not even caring that she had said that out loud to no one in particular, Taren launched herself at the percolator. She happily watched the lukewarm liquid pour into her cup, then added milk and three spoons of sugar. It wouldn’t hold a candle to the barista-made coffee from this morning, but it would do.
It was eleven o’clock, well past coffee break time and nearing lunch time, but she’d had no chance to escape all morning. Five minutes would be all the break time permitted, but it was enough for caffeine.
“You’re going to have a sugar high.”
Taren choked on her coffee at the sound of that voice. Eyes closed again, and this time unfortunately not in pleasure, she relaxed her face into a neutral expression as she turned around, shoulders stiff.
“Hey, Owen.”
The man smiled happily at her, hands deep in his lab coat. His salt-and-pepper stubble was longer than usual, giving him a roguishly dishevelled appearance. “I see you still like some coffee with your sugar.” The laugh was too loud, an edge of awkward.
Taren tried to laugh in response, but probably sounded like she was being strangled.
“Yeah, you know—helps us get through a shift.”
Owen was standing in front of the door that led from the A&E staff room back out to freedom, and it made Taren uneasy. Nothing had happened in months, but she still didn’t trust the man as far as she could throw him. Which really wasn’t far; Taren was not that strong.
“I heard it’s intense in A&E today.”
“Yeah.” Taren was glad there was a table separating them. “Completely all over the place—your area of expertise, though. Any calls in for Psych?”
“A few, but I think the people that genuinely need attention are stuck in the waiting room while the weird virus suspects are fast tracked.”
Owen smiled benignly at her. Taren liked to think that he had moved on from scary guy who didn’t take no for an answer to a co-worker and nothing more. There hadn’t been any hand-delivered packages in months, and he’d kept his distance at work. She could only hope that Owen had finally realised that when she’d said that she was a lesbian, and not interested, that she’d meant it. Even if he’d still tried to kiss her once when they’d all been out after work. The knee in his groin had seemed to stop him, and he’d kept some space since then.
At least her boss had listened to her and Owen had been issued with some kind of warning.
“Yeah, we’re mostly sending people home with a common cold.” Taren shrugged, discomfort crawling up her spine. “We don’t really have much information to go on, anyway.”
“Hyped up like the swine flu?”
Owen had started to walk around the table, so Taren shadowed his movements until she was near the door and Owen was now near the coffee.
“Looks like.”
Grimacing, Owen almost seemed as if he were holding a normal conversation. “I pity you all. Still, I remain on call, as always.”
“Good to know.”
His blue eyes too intense, Taren finally broke eye contact. “Okay, so, got to get back to it.”
“Be seeing you!”
Was that tone too breezy? Too friendly?
Hand behind her back as she grasped for the handle, she threw Owen a half-frown, half-smile, and fled. Hopefully he had meant it as a friendly goodbye and not laced with a threat. Even having to wonder that sucked. She gave a full body shiver. It helped.
As she walked down the hall taking big sips of her coffee, Taren shook her head at herself. She had no idea how she had fallen for Owen’s charm, thinking she’d found a good mate. He had appeared so chill at first. Slowly, it had all unravelled into an incredibly uncomfortable mess. Cup drained, Taren dumped it in the bin and pushed the door open to A&E. Sounds assaulted her as someone kicked off in a corner bed, staff darting from the central nurses’ station to bedsides, into treatment rooms and out again. A&E was always hectic, but this was something else.
Allowing herself one last moment to reflect, she couldn’t help but find it ironic that she would prefer this to being alone in a room with that creep.
Into the fire, then.
She danced around someone wheeling a dressing trolley and ducked over to the corner bed, gloves and mask tugged in place as she made her way there. The patient, a middle-aged balding white man, was shouting things she couldn’t make sense of. His hands flailed out as he tried to rip his arm out of Xin’s grip, legs kicking up and the whole bed moving with the force of it. Taren slipped in next to the bed opposite Xin to help restrain him, hands closing over his shoulder and bicep.
“Xin, your eye?”
Xin met Taren’s gaze over the bed, one eye swollen and red. “It’s fine.”
Not quite believing her, Taren and Xin worked the hold that would help keep the patient still.
Patient restrained, Taren took in the harassed-looking doctor at the end of the bed who was doing a poor job of restraining the struggling man’s legs. Taren gru
nted as the patient resisted, hands slipping momentarily before she regained her grip.
“God, he’s strong,” she bit out. “What’s the story?”
“I don’t know.” The doctor’s eyes were wide, darting from the patient’s red face to the chart in his own hand and back.
She looked closer, finally recognising him.
Intern. First year.
Taren made eye contact with him. She wished they didn’t have their masks in place so she could give him a reassuring smile. “Okay, what happened that led to this?”
“I was asking standard questions and then he convulsed. The nurse went to call a code but before she could, he stopped and sat up and punched her in the eye.” Taren looked to Xin, who nodded.
“Has someone called Psych and Security? We can’t use actual restraints until they clear it.”
“They’re coming,” Xin said. “They’re overwhelmed in the waiting room.”
Taren was impressed. Xin’s voice was calm while the intern unravelled at the end of the bed. She’d been such a quick study.
Eyes back on the intern, Taren kept him talking. “What’s the patient’s story?”
“He couldn’t tell us properly. He said he’d been working in a lab but left early because he felt unwell. He woke up in his car, which he’d run off the side of the road, and came straight here.”
Taren’s ears perked up at the word ‘lab’. “No one saw and called an ambulance?”
He shook his head. “He’s been really vague, something about being ‘out bush’ where his work was? I’m not sure, nothing was clear.”
“Symptoms?”
“Headache, fever, vomiting, loss of appetite, sensitivity to light. And, uh—” The intern was nervous.
“And what?”
“He said he felt really angry.”
Taren regarded the patient properly for the first time. His eyes were completely bloodshot, the blue irises like frost. The flesh around his lips was an off-white colour, his throat emitting a growl-like sound. The skin under her hands was burning hot.
“Jesus, he’s one of them.”
“What?” The intern’s voice was shrill.
