“Steph?” Before Scott could fully turn toward his wife he screamed – not the muffled startle that he had earlier when he glimpsed her silhouette – every bit of air out of his lungs. A pain unlike anything he had ever felt had burned its way through his Achilles tendon and broke the strength from his left leg. Even before he collapsed to one knee the anguishing pain ripped from his forearm and then above the Achilles tendon to his hamstring. Rapidly the pain began to eat away at his body as he succumbed to the weight of his wife pushing him to the floor with her blood-stained teeth clenched into his bicep.
The moment before the small fingers reached his eyeballs and pulled them from his face, Scott saw the twisted and bloody face of his youngest son clawing up his body with a mouthful of his father’s flesh and then his fingers were pushing into the bulbs of tissue. Scott didn’t have to watch the rest.
5
Sighing, the doctor pulled the mask from his face while a nurse removed his gloves. “Time of death,” he rubbed his tired eyes and glared up at the cold wall where the large clock continued to tick on undisturbed, “Twelve-oh-seven am.” The doctor stormed out of the intensive care room and down the hall, kicking the soda machine as hard as he could before he would have to deliver the news to the parents who waited in that uncomfortable area where little good news seemed to come. Tonight was no exception.
An attending nurse stood over the bed of little Bentley. His body hooked up to so many machines. She began to remove them until there was only a little boy in bed that looked more like he was asleep after a bad bicycle crash than lesions and bites from a squirrel. No one had ever seen anything like what had happened. The doctors unable to find a reason for his rapid decline and eventual death. None of it made sense. He was treated for the lesions, stitched where needed and given the best antibiotics.
There was no reason to treat for rabies –there being no rabies protocol for squirrel bites as they do not carry the virus – and the hospital was also in possession of the dead squirrel which appeared to be suffering more from a form of mange than anything else. Every test had been ordered and some had come back with negative results. The rest would come back too late. It was always hard to lose a patient, the nurse thought as she gently brushed Bentley’s hair away from his brow, but always harder to lose a child. The nurse pulled a sheet up to Bentley’s chest tucked it neatly under his arms so that he truly did appear to be a child sleeping and then dragged the final sheet over his head. She had one more call to make to the janitor’s office to have them clean the room before the parents would be allowed in. They didn’t need to see what looked like a scene out of a horror flick. Better to remember him the way he was.
Bentley had passed away a little less than an hour and forty-seven minutes before Miss Stephani and two hours and eleven minutes before Trevor Hamilton.
***
Down the hall on the other side of the hospital’s first floor, Kelley Morris swiped her security badge at the maternity ward where she’d been a nurse for the last ten years. At the moment, as she scanned over the documents left for her, there were three mothers on floor for the night and one scheduled for an induction at six am. Slow night, she thought.
Kelley made her rounds, introduced herself to the two families that had walked this line before and were relatively calm – as calm as any woman could be when she was about to push a child from her body – and one single mother with no family and no friends that were able to make it tonight. Kelley, being the senior nurse on duty, assigned one of the younger nurses to Miss Emily Bowen a twenty-year-old waitress. They would take good care of her. Keep her calm and relaxed and everything would go as normal. Kelley made a call into the OB on duty and filled her in on the situation before her rounds. None of the mothers appeared as though they would be popping anytime soon.
There was nothing better than coming onto the floor without any emergencies or mothers in full on labor. Kelley always felt like she needed to amp herself up beforehand. Get her game face on. That was sometimes difficult when you came onto a floor already in crisis mode. Not tonight though. She went to the coffee machine and brewed herself a cup of French Roast. A nice strong caffeinated drink. And went and plopped down in a seat behind the desk to go over her paperwork.
It was going to be a good night; she could feel the vibe in the air.
***
Dr. Patel stood just around the corner of the waiting lobby trying to catch his breath and form the conversation as best he could in his mind before stepping into that room and having to tell the Kings that their youngest son had passed away. He could hear the television playing the news in the background but other than that there was no noise coming from the room. He had quickly peered around the corner, where he knew they would not have been able to see him, to make sure that they were there. They were. Somber and quiet. Holding onto one another as though they knew already what he was about to tell them.
A very deep breath and he stepped around the corner.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kings, I’m Dr. Patel,” he began. Before he had even finished that brief sentence, Mrs. Kings had already broken down into wailing sobs and was gripping her husband’s shirt sleeve. Mr. Kings looked up at the doctor with eyes that pleaded to know anything other than what he was going to be told. “I’m so sorry for your loss. We did everything we could. We had the best medical staff at Bentley’s disposal. I’m so sorry.”
The parents held each other. Mrs. Kings screams muffled into her husband’s chest while he gagged on his own despair. Dr. Patel would stand there for as long as it took for them to calm down, to be able to reason again. And then he would grant them their one and only request.
Surprisingly, it came from Mrs. Kings, “I want to see him. I want to see my baby.”
“Of course,” Dr. Patel answered and waved for one of the nurses to come over.
“Cindy is one of our nurses – ”
“No,” Mrs. Kings sneered, “I want you to take us to see our baby.”
Dr. Patel nodded. This was not an unusual request but one that took a little more forethought. Cindy was waved off and immediately sleuthed behind the desk and punched in the number for security. Dr. Patel would take his time to the ICU where security would casually be waiting. Majority of the time they were never needed, but it was always safest for everyone if they were a presence. Grief can turn the finest people dark.
For these ‘grief codes’ the security used a covert approach. Usually two or three men, dressed in scrubs and acting as though they were going about their usual business. The security teams did not carry weapons so that was never a concern. The boys were big and could restrain the best of them.
Returning south to the ICU, Dr. Patel spotted the first of the guards. A tall muscular young man making flirtatious talk with the married mother behind the desk, whose son was probably older than the security guard.
“Right through here, please.” Patel guided them into the room. Both parents stopped in unison at the foot of the bed and held each other. Their cries of anguish momentarily silenced as they looked upon the sheet that draped their little boy.
“Take as much time as you need,” Patel told them as he closed the door and he and the security guards waited just outside.
Lisbeth Kings sank into her husband, Roger’s, chest. Her eyes were red and bloated as were his. They said nothing as they held each other, both of them looking at the child size mold on the bed with the sheet drawn up over its head. It was like something out of a bad movie. Only it was real. And happening to them.
“I need to see him,” Lisbeth told Roger.
He only nodded as though unable to form words.
Lisbeth nodded back and let him go. She walked to the side of the bed. Her shaking hand reaching out to touch the sheet and violently retreating as though she had touched a stove’s burner. As she took a deep breath and exhaled her hand came out again to touch the sheet, trembling fingers touched the white cloth and her bottom lip trembled as fresh tears began to flow over her cheeks
. When her hand found that of Bentley’s she squeezed it through the fabric barrier. Roger began to sob loudly now. His arms clenched in front of his chest while snot lines ran down his lips. Lisbeth closed her eyes and prayed while holding her little perfect boys’ hand.
Cough –
Lisbeth jerked away from her son. Her eyes darting to that of her husband. Had she just imagined it? Was it Roger? It couldn’t have been because it came from the top of the bed not the bottom.
“Was – ” Lisbeth began but couldn’t believe, wouldn’t let herself believe, that what she had just heard was real until:
Cough –
There it was again.
Unmistakable.
The fabric mold of the little boy began to move.
Slow.
Jerking tremors.
Then the head began to rise. The sheet still draped over the body. Both parents stood in shocked stun while they watched. Bentley sat straight up and beneath that sheet a head turned like a costumed ghost toward Lisbeth Kings.
“Bentley!” Lisbeth screamed in jubilation as she fingers tore at the sheet.
Roger had stepped back. His body taking control of what his mind could not fathom. There was something very wrong in the room. The way his son’s body jerked under the sheet looked wrong. When Bentley sat up it was with no effort. So straight and direct. Like a folding chair opening.
Dr. Patel swung open the door and came inside.
“It’s a miracle!” Lisbeth screamed, and she pulled the sheet away from her son.
Bentley looked at his mother with dark yellow eyes and wide pupils. His face was more grey than white, with large bruises around his ears. The lesions caused by the squirrel were stitched and open to view. Tiny black crisscrosses covered his small body from where he was attacked. Lisbeth lunged forward and hugged her son, weeping into the crook of his neck as she gripped hold of him. Over and over again she said his name as if she would forget it if she were ever to stop saying it. Bentley seemed to study her, confused.
Dr. Patel rushed over to Bentley and Mrs. Kings. He tried to pull her off but she would not let go. He pulled his stethoscope on and placed it against Bentley’s chest. He held it there for more than a few seconds and then moved it.
Then moved it again.
Roger made the sign of the cross.
Dr. Patel held the stethoscope directly over Bentley’s heart.
Cough –
The doctor’s hand began to tremble.
Cough –
Bentley’s dark yellow eyes moved from his mother to the doctor.
Cough –
Bentley opened his mouth wide to a belch that spat putrid blood.
6
“OH, GOD!”
Too soon.
That was what Kelly Morris thought when she heard the scream exclaiming from the corner room on the maternity ward. Too soon. The room belonged to Emily Bowen, the last of the three expectant mothers to join Kelly, Sarah, and Kat for the graveyard shift. Too soon. The thought immediately invoking worst case scenarios through her mind. She was already on her feet and moving in the direction of the corner room as well as the other two nurses on hand. Another scream breached the long hallways of the maternity ward and Kelly could only hope that the other two mothers, both who had already given birth to other children, would not become worried and frightened, leading both of their blood pressures to rise. One crisis at a time.
“It hurts!” Emily Bowen was screaming when the three nurses pushed into the birthing room. She was on her side, cradled in the fetal position with both hands heavily gripped on her
nine-month swollen belly. Her face was raw with sweat and tears, her hair matted to her cheeks and brow. The IV bag swung back and forth on its hook like a pendulum with each violent cry Emily produced and further stretched the IV that was caught under her body and pulling at the seam of her vein.
All three women were well trained, the best in Kelly’s opinion, on the graveyard shift. Sarah went straight to the monitors while Kat tried to calm Emily and get her to move so she could free the trapped IV tube. It was Kelly’s job as senior nurse to analyze the situation and make the best decision. It only took her a single glance at Emily Bowen for her to come to a decision.
“Everything’s going to be alright, Emily. Just hold in there.” Kelly walked out of the room as slowly and confidently as she could muster, so that she did not give away the urgency she felt. Once she passed the threshold of the room and turned the corner, she sprinted down the hall and half slid across the waxed linoleum floor as she reached for the phone and pushed the button that called the NICU.
“Regina, get Dr. Hubley now.” The phone only rang once before it was picked up on the other end and Kelly was ordering the nurse to get the doctor. She had seen the spreading blood that was accumulating on the mattress beneath Emily Bowen. She needed to get the NICU down to the maternity ward ASAP.
Thud –
Kelly waited on the line for the doctor. Her eyes never leaving the empty doorway of the corner room. She could hear the murmur of voices from the other rooms as the expectant mothers guessed at the reasons for Emily Bowen’s cry for help.
Thud –
What seemed like a lifetime was only a matter of seconds. Dr. Derek Hubley had actually been standing at the desk in the NICU speaking to Andrea Cane about a patient when Regina turned and held the phone out to him. On the other end of the line Kelly distantly heard the loud echo of what sounded like a basketball thrown at the maternity entrance door.
Thud –
“Kelly, what’s the situation?” Dr. Hubley asked over the phone on the other side of the hospital.
Kelly started to say, “Emily Bowen, twenty years old came in at – ” when she was interrupted by a louder – THUD – that sound of a basketball slamming against the door. Only now it sounded like something much harder, more like one of those heavy medicine balls they have down in the physical therapy room.
“Kelly?” the urgent voice of Dr. Hubley asked.
Kelly replied, “Sorry, Emily Bowen – ”
THUD
THUD
THUD
Kelly’s eyes were fixed on the door.
Over the hospital loudspeaker: THIS IS A DRILL.
The hospital emergency lights pulsed, and all the EXIT lights blared red.
The loudspeaker again:
CODE ORANGE…THIS IS A DRILL…CODE ORANGE…THIS IS A DRILL…CODE ORANGE…THIS IS A DRILL…CODE ORANGE…
The phone dropped out of Kelly’s hand. Kat came rushing out of the Bowen room and almost knocked Kelly flat on her ass. Sarah was still inside trying to keep Emily calm but the other mothers and families would start to fear the unknown as well. One of the father’s poked his head out of a room, further down the hall a grandmother stepped out of the room looking up at the loudspeaker as if it would answer her questions.
CODE ORANGE
THIS IS A DRILL
CODE ORANGE
THIS IS A DRILL
CODE ORANGE
Code orange was anything but a drill. In fact, it was the code for a lockdown. Kelly rushed past Kat and into Emily Bowen’s room.
“We need to move her,” Kelly told Sarah.
“Oh, God, please what is happening to me?” Emily screamed.
“Kelly, we can’t move her,” Sarah said, and her eyes were wide and pointing as if to say “look at all that fucking blood.” Kelly saw it. She also heard the loudspeaker. And she had also heard the one thing that no one else had. Someone was at the door.
7
Sarah and Kat were pushing Emily down the hallway. She was still writhing in pain and the blood on the mattress was growing by each passing heartbeat. Kelly had gone to her purse and rummaged through it. An ex-boyfriend of hers had bought her this cute little pink stun gun. He had been a police officer who dragged a criminal into the ER and tossed him onto the floor like a sack of dirty laundry. Kelly had been working the ER then and she had hit it off with the hot cop. It hadn’t
lasted. The stun gun had. Now her shaking hand was clutching the pink stun gun and it didn’t seem so cute anymore. Her finger was wrapped around the trigger as she pushed her body against the cold brick wall and began to move down the hallway toward the door and the noise.
Thud
Thud
Thud –
She was pushing against the wall so hard she thought she might push through it. Her heart was racing faster than she had ever imagined and her legs were unsteady and trembling as the adrenaline coursed through her body. By now Sarah and Kat would have gotten all three of the mothers and their families into one room. The furthest room from the door. They were instructed to keep everyone quiet, as quiet as they could with Emily screaming into a pillow to muffle the noise. The loudspeaker was still humming with the chant, THIS IS A DRILL, CODE ORANGE.
Would someone come?
Of course they would, they would have to. The police and firefighters they would all be here in only a moment’s notice. This was Nashua and they were right down the street. And there were security guards, unarmed, but most of them were Vets or ex-cops. People that knew what to do in intense situations. Whatever was happening on the other side of that locked door, there would be someone along to deal with it. She just needed to remember that the door was securely locked and that no one could get in without an ID badge.
Unless someone took one.
Maybe off the body of a dead security guard.
Stop thinking like that, Kelly told herself and clutched the stun gun tighter with both hands. It didn’t steady the pink stun gun. In fact, it made it shake all that much more.
Now only feet away from the door, the banging still coming in a steady rhythm with the chanting over the loudspeaker. Kelly braced herself to peek through the rectangle of glass in the door. It didn’t matter who was there or what they had; the door was impenetrable. That was what she had always been told. The maternity ward was on lockdown and no one was getting in. The only door in or out was sealed shut. The windows were virtually unbreakable. All of this to protect the newborns from ever being taken out of the maternity ward. There were even electronic tracking bracelets immediately put on their ankle after birth. This room was like a castle.
Beyond Dead | Book 1 | The Cough Page 2
