“Did the doctor tell you anything else?”
“No, not yet, over.”
“Okay, can I send everyone to their quarters once I let them know what’s happened?”
“Yeah, I think that would be okay, over”
“Oh, and I need another walkie-talkie,” Scott said. “I’m going to let the media team run regular updates to keep people informed.”
“Alright, give them yours when you’re through, then get down here, over.”
“Sure,” Scott said.
***
It took almost an hour to get everyone into the Blue Room. The people in the Hay-Adams had been oblivious to the attack on their new president. By the time Scott had everyone assembled and had given them a report about the gunman, many were crying, others were shouting and ready to lynch someone. It took Scott and several members of the security squad to convince them to go back to their rooms and monitor their televisions for more updates. When Scott finally made it to the hospital below the main level of the bunker, Jason was pacing furiously. He had just questioned the man named Patrick and the rest of the group that had come in with the gunman, whose name was Dennis MacIntyre. The others claimed that they had noticed he was more agitated than normal, but they had no idea that he was dangerous or planning any sort of assassination attempt. They had, for their own safety and that of everyone else, submitted to staying in one of the small hospital wards. There were several beds there, a toilet, and a television.
“Any word from the doctor?” Scott asked.
“Not a thing,” Jason muttered. “It’s been almost two hours.”
Scott preferred sitting to pacing. He sat in a metal frame chair with a plastic back and seat. He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose where his glasses were pressing in on it.
“What are we going to do if he doesn’t make it?” Jason asked. “I mean, damn, this sort of thing shouldn’t still be happening. No one was making that guy stay here, why would he want to kill Daniel?”
“Who knows? I think the plague made some people go crazy.”
“Yeah, well, I should have stayed on my feet and taken that bullet.”
“That’s crazy, and you know better than that. Besides, from where I was standing, that bullet wouldn’t have hit you anyway.”
“At least the wood could have hit me instead of him.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean that you should have done it. Daniel’s in good hands now, let’s just hope for the best. Besides, if you hadn’t been there with us, that guy would have killed Daniel and probably me and the girl, too.”
Jason didn’t say anything. He knew Scott was right, but if it had been anyone else, or even if Daniel hadn’t been elected president, he knew he would feel bad, but not guilty. But Daniel now represented all that they were working so hard to establish. Both Scott and Jason feared that if Daniel didn’t pull through, or wasn’t able to serve as head of the new governing council, that their fragile world would dissolve into anarchy.
So Jason paced, back and forth, in the small waiting room, his shoes making solid thumping sounds on the polished concrete floor. Scott sat, his body both tense and slumped at the same time. He couldn’t keep the lists of things to do from running through his mind like film reels that have run through to the end and were now just spinning, the film flapping against the machine.
They were still there, still anxiously waiting, when the woman who had stayed with the doctor throughout the trauma appeared. She was now wearing blue, paper scrubs and a mask, though the mask was pulled down so that it hung from her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and she looked tired.
“We got all of the wood out of his eye,” she said in a formal tone. “There was seepage. We won’t know if he’ll be able to see normally for several days. We’ve got at least a few more hours of work getting the splinters out of his shoulder, neck, and scalp. But it looks like he’s going to be okay.”
Both men breathed a sigh of relief. They looked at each other and smiled as the woman walked back toward the operating room.
“Wait,” said Scott, “we don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Amy,”
“Are you a nurse?” Jason asked.
“No, I’m a doctor.”
“Really?” Scott said, he was totally surprised. “I had no idea. Are you a surgeon?”
“Not exactly.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“A podiatrist.”
Jason began laugh, but Scott only looked puzzled.
“You’re a baby doctor?” Scott asked.
“No, that’s a pediatrician,” Jason said, laughing even harder.
“I’m a foot doctor,” Amy said. “A podiatrist specializes in the human foot.” She turned and walked back into the operating room, while Jason howled with laughter.
Chapter 23
That night regular reports went out over the modified television station. The nightly talk show comedian now took on the roll of reporter/commentator. The next day, Daniel was heavily bandaged and high on pain medicine, but able to talk. His wounds were minor, with the exception of his right eye. The doctors kept a close watch on their prestigious patient, but only because they had so little else to do.
Two days later, Daniel was himself enough to call for a council meeting in his hospital room. He wanted to meet his cabinet and get caught up on what had happened after the incident in the master bedroom. The maintenance chief informed him that repairs to the ruined doorframe were well underway. Everyone else was getting their people busy again, work was underway; people were still coming into Washington, almost faster than the area could be cleared of plague victim bodies and looter destruction. Several buildings in the downtown area were being condemned and taped off. The group doing research at the Pentagon had found nothing new.
Daniel thanked them all for coming and assured them that he would be well soon, although the truth was his eye had begun to ache terribly during the meeting and his strength was seeping away. There was only one item of business he wanted to discuss before he took a long nap.
“What are we doing with the people that came in with the gunman?” he asked once everyone had left except Jason and Scott.
“I’ve questioned them thoroughly, but I’m no detective,” Jason said. “They’re sticking to their story that they knew nothing about the incident.”
“Well, then let them go, we’ve got no evidence that they did anything wrong.”
“I know you’re right,” Scott said, “but I don’t like it. I just can’t shake this uneasy feeling that something bad is going to happen.”
“But we can’t create a police state. If we do, we’re no better than the militant groups that attacked you. Now, I’m going to get some rest, you guys go run the country.”
“I think the power is going to his head,” Jason said.
“I knew he was a politician at heart,” Scott agreed.
“Get out you—”
Before Daniel could finish his sentence, he felt a jagged, hot pain shoot through his bad eye. He cried out and went rigid on the bed.
“Doctor!” Scott shouted.
Jason bent over Daniel. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Daniel couldn’t speak, he was gritting his teeth against the pain, his unbandaged eye squeezed shut.
The doctors ran in and began checking his vitals. Amy the podiatrist injected pain medication into Daniel’s IV. The other doctor shouted for Jason and Scott to leave as he cut away the bandage on Daniel’s head. In the hallway outside their friend’s room, Jason paced and Scott sat in a nearby chair, his left leg bouncing incessantly. After half an hour, Amy came out and told them what had happened.
“The surgical glue we used didn’t hold the eye pressure,” she explained. “He’ll probably never see out of that eye again. It probably wouldn’t hurt to see if you can find a prosthetic somewhere.”
“A what?” Scott asked.
“A fake eye,” Jason said. “There’s rea
lly nothing you can do?”
“I’m sorry, we did everything we could, but there was just too much damage. I’ve fit a lot of people with prosthetic limbs. You’d be surprised how quickly people adapt, and the prosthetics available are incredibly lifelike.”
“I don’t think they make fake eyes you can see out of,” Jason said sarcastically.
“Don’t mind him,” Scott said as he drew nearer to the foot doctor. “He’s just upset.”
“I understand. I better get back in there and see if I can help.”
Scott nodded, smiling, and Amy smiled back, then she turned and walked back into Daniel’s room.
“Well,” Jason said, “it looks like somebody’s got a crush on the good doctor.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Jason taunted.
“You’re wrong,” Scott said quietly, his head down, eyes on the floor.
“Sure,” Jason teased. “She’s cute, I guess, if you can get past the smell.”
“Smell?” Scott said, his voice rising. “What smell?”
“I don’t know, I thought I smelled feet or something.”
“Why you,” the older businessman took a clumsy swing at the soldier, who backed quickly away, laughing.
“That’s not funny,” Scott said, trying not to laugh. “Why don’t you go find Daniel a new eye or something?”
“I’m going,” Jason said, still laughing. “I’m going.”
***
Later that evening, Jason returned with a small box with several prosthetic eyes. He found Scott in Daniel’s room, eating from small tray with Amy. They were deep in conversation when Jason walked in.
“Am I disturbing?” he asked politely.
“Not at all,” Scott said, he was nervous and a little jittery now that Jason had returned.
“I think he’s got the hots for my doctor,” came a weak voice from Daniel’s bandaged head.
“You’re awake?” Amy said. “I better get Doctor Franks.”
Scott watched her go then turned to the bed were Jason was already standing.
“How long have you been awake?” Scott asked.
“I don’t know,” Daniel replied weakly.
“Probably shouldn’t talk,” Jason said.
Daniel managed to nod his head.
The door opened and Doctor Franks hurried in. He checked the machines around Daniel’s bed then stooped over his patient.
“How are you feeling, Mr. President?” the doctor asked.
“Weird when you call me that,” Daniel said.
“Sense of humor, that’s good.” The doctor put his hands on Daniel’s head and a probed lightly around the injured eye. “Are you feeling any pressure here?”
“No.”
“Good.” The doctor turned to Amy. “Let’s keep him where he is for the night and reassess the eye in the morning. Did you find any prosthetics, Lieutenant McPherson?”
Jason cleared his throat and stepped away from the bed. “Does he know?” he whispered, nodding his head in Daniel’s direction.
“No,” said the doctor in a more restrained voice. “And I’m not certain that he will need one. There’s still a chance that his eye could heal. But I like to be prepared, so what did you find?”
Jason held out the plastic box, it was closed with shiny, metal latches.
“There are six of them in there, but they’re all blank. I couldn’t find any with pupils on them.”
“No,” Amy said, “those are painted to match the other eye. And they come in different sizes.”
“Is there someone who could paint the eye?” Jason asked.
“Scott will know,” Amy said, a little too quickly Jason thought.
Jason left soon after Daniel fell back asleep, and Scott stayed with him. Jason wasn’t sure if it was to be with Daniel or Amy, but he returned to the room he was now sharing with Dakota. She had seemed young when he first met her, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that there weren’t very many fish left in the sea. And she was mature for her age, incredibly smart, and, unlike most of the woman Jason had known, she seemed to care about him, not just what he could do or how much money he made. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t searched for the right kind of girl in his life before the plague. He was a soldier, constantly being deployed on a moment’s notice, focused on his career. Family just wasn’t on his radar. He’d always felt that a family could come later, but now he realized that he didn’t have forever. Time was short and anything could happen, the plague proved that. They still didn’t know what had happened. The thought that the spheres were from another world somewhere in the cosmos was just too jagged a pill to swallow. So, he had grabbed on to Dakota; she was real, tangible, something he could identify with and invest himself in.
When he reached the small room they shared, she immediately began to fuss over him. She had washed his clothes and saved dinner for him. She hurried off to warm it up and Jason thought to himself: why did the world have to fall apart before he could find something so good?
***
The next week, Doctor Franks checked Daniel’s eye daily. After seven days of recovery time, he removed the bandages and gave Daniel a plastic paddle, about the size of a plum, with a long, contoured handle. He instructed the president to hold the paddle over his good eye to test his vision. Although the eye wasn’t totally ruined, the vision was so weak it was considered blind.
“We could keep the eye,” the doctor had explained, “but no glasses or contacts could be used to give you sight. You’d have to wear a patch and keep it covered. It’ll probably start seeping fluids and need a lot of hygiene. The other option is to remove the eye and replace it with a prosthetic.”
Scott had wanted Daniel to keep his eye, but couldn’t argue that a president with a disgusting eyeball that had to be kept covered probably wouldn’t be able to inspire his followers. The recovery time was relatively short for the prosthetic, and Scott had found a very capable artist now living in the Hay-Adams who felt she could paint the new eye. So Daniel agreed to have the surgery. His other wounds were healing quickly, and the surgery only took an hour, removing the ruined eyeball and installing an orbital implant that the prosthetic eye would cover. Three days later, the swelling was sufficiently down to allow Amy to fit him with the thin, acrylic shell. There were two good fits, and Sheila, the artist Scott had found, spent three hours working with Daniel and three tiny brushes, preparing the two eyes.
The next day, after a lunch of grilled chicken and creamed potatoes, Daniel put in his new eye and was given a mirror. The person looking back at him was almost unrecognizable to the newly elected president. His skin seemed gaunt and pasty, his jaw covered with wiry whiskers, and there were yellowed remains of bruises all along the right side of his face and neck. His hair had been cut short to allow the doctors to find and remove the wooden shards that had lodged in his scalp. There were still bandages covering the stitches in his throat, and the skin of his face was pitted and marked.
The prosthetic eye seemed similar to his other; it was painted well, but was totally lifeless. It glared straight ahead and the sight of it sent a stomach churning shock of revulsion through him. Jason, Scott, and both doctors were standing by the foot of his bed, and he felt that he had to say something positive.
“It looks great,” he managed, but his voice was shaking and wholly unconvincing.
“You’ll get used to it,” Amy said. “It actually looks quite good.”
“And your face will heal,” Doctor Franks added. “Things will look much better in time.”
Daniel lowered the mirror. He didn’t believe what the doctors told him and had no desire to look at himself.
“Thank you for your hard work,” he managed to say.
“It was our pleasure,” Doctor Franks said. He turned and left the room. Amy, the podiatrist, followed his example.
Daniel’s breathing became ragged. He felt a tear streak down his good cheek, but not the other; his ruin
ed eye was filled with a cold, hard implant, a piece of permanent foreign matter where his eye had once been. He wanted to scream, wanted to close his eyelids and go to sleep and never wake up. His friends stood silently by his side, neither touching nor rushing him to feel anything but bitter resentment over the fact that his concern for the safety and well being of others in the most desperate era of the history of mankind had robbed him of so much.
After several minutes he said, “I’m sick of this hospital, get me out of here.”
“I’m not sure we can,” Scott said, looking at Jason for support.
“He’s the president,” Jason said firmly, “he can do whatever he wants.”
They helped him out of the bed, removing the sticky wires that were adhered to his chest. The monitors on the wall began to beep, then wail. Jason stooped down and pulled the electrical cord from the socket.
“I’ve always wanted to pull the plug,” he joked.
Daniel’s legs were bare. “Can you find my pants?” he asked Scott.
Scott did and then held them while Daniel stepped into them. He was shaky, but not too weak to stand on his own. He let them support him while he pulled the pants up under the hospital gown and worked the button and zipper.
The two doctors hurried in with worried expressions, but Daniel stopped them with an upraised hand.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice strengthened from his anger. “I’m going back up to my room. You can check on me there, but I’m leaving this hospital.”
“I understand,” said Doctor Franks.
“We’ll need to stay close,” said Amy, looking at Scott.
“Oh, you can stay in the Queen and Lincoln bedrooms right down the hall,” Scott said, smiling broadly. “Both rooms are ready, and that way you’ll be close if he needs anything.”
Amy smiled and Doctor Franks nodded. They followed as Jason and Scott walked beside Daniel toward the stairwell that led up to the bunker mall. They passed a wheel chair, but Daniel refused it. The stairs were difficult and slow, but they made it with very little support. As they passed people in the bunker, they were met by wishes of good luck and speedy recovery and even applause, as if Daniel were an athlete, injured on the playing field but bravely walking to the sidelines.
The New World Page 20
