by M. S. Parker
The rest of the burns ran down his left cheek, jaw, neck, across his shoulder, back and chest, down his side to his hip, tapering off about mid-thigh. He also had pieces of wood and metal embedded in him, adding to the risk of infection.
I took out each one, disinfecting as best I could. The burns were debrided and cleaned. His clothes cut off, the process of removing the fabric from the burnt skin nauseating. Dressing the wounds took extra skill and care since we had to set the bones too. Otherwise, he'd need them to be re-broken so they could heal properly.
I tried talking to him softly the whole time, encouraging him to hang on, telling him that he was getting the best care possible. I didn't know anything about him, but I told him to think of his family, of the people he loved, how they would want him to fight. I wasn't sure if he heard me, but I hoped he did. His eyes flickered open a few times, revealing a shade of blue that was beautiful despite being bloodshot. I didn't know if he saw me, but I tried to smile, to tell him that we would take care of him.
When we finally finished, I was exhausted, completely wrung out emotionally and physically. I leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to sit down. A glance at Dr. Fellner told me she felt it too.
She broke the silence first. “Was he from your brother's unit?”
I shook my head. “I don't think so.” I took a slow breath before adding, “I know he's not the only military patient I've ever seen, and my brother wasn't...burned, but...” I wasn't sure how to explain.
“Sometimes, one of these men or women come in, and it doesn't matter what the injury or the age or even the gender. Sometimes it just hits you out of nowhere.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I just saw him and it was like looking at Logan even though there's nothing about this that's similar. They don't even look alike.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Why don't you take a break? I'm sure you left some things downstairs. Why don't you go down, get them, ask if anyone's found his family yet?”
I nodded again. “Thank you.”
She was partway out the door when she stopped and looked at me again. “And if they haven't, why don't you go ahead and give it a try. Go out to the base if you need to.”
“I don't want you to get in trouble,” I protested.
She gave me a quirk of a smile. “My husband's family donated a lot of money to the hospital over the years. I doubt they'll fire me over letting a nurse do some slightly unorthodox things.”
I managed a partial smile in return. “Thank you.”
As the door shut behind her, I took a moment to close my eyes. I'd never asked for special treatment because of Logan. After all, I was far from the only person in the hospital to have military connections. But at the moment, I was glad that Dr. Fellner had granted me the extra privilege. I needed some time to clear my head.
I started to head down to the ER, trying to remember what I might've left down there. The last few hours or so were a blur. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the windows and realized that I needed to change into clean scrubs if there was even a chance I'd be going out in public.
I ducked into the changing room and pulled off the shirt and pants that were both covered with more bodily fluids than I wanted to consider. I found scrubs in my size and pulled them on, then headed to a sink to wash my face and smooth out my hair.
Feeling slightly more refreshed, I headed down to the ER. I remembered that I'd left my purse down there. I'd tossed it without a second thought, but now realized that hadn't been a smart thing to do. I was usually smarter than that, better than that, but something about that soldier, seeing him there, threw me. I didn't know why or what it was about him, but I knew he’d be one of those patients I'd be personally invested in until he left. And one I knew I'd wonder about even after he was gone.
“Hey, Malachi,” I greeted the ER desk clerk. “I was down here earlier.”
“I heard,” he said with a grin, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Also heard you jumped right in.”
I cringed. “Dr. Furia isn't getting in trouble for letting me, is she?”
“Naw.” His Texas drawl was thicker than mine and it always made me smile. “Since the patient headed up to you guys anyway, no one's saying boo about it.”
“That's good.”
“He gonna make it?” Malachi's smile disappeared.
A lump formed in my throat, surprising me as much as the burning in my eyes. “It's hard to say. I've seen people with worse injuries pull through, but I can't say it for certain. It's going to come down to how hard he fights.”
“From what I hear, fighting's not gonna be an issue,” Malachi said. He leaned against the counter. “Story going around is, soldier boy came running up to a warehouse on fire, hears a kid inside screaming. He goes in, even though flames are coming through the roof, comes out a couple minutes later with this boy. Then he starts talking about how there's someone else in the building. Everyone tells him he's nuts, that it's suicide. He goes in anyway. Then, boom. The whole place explodes. And GI Joe's still alive.”
“Wow.” I leaned against the counter. “How the hell did he manage that?”
Malachi shrugged. “Beats me. Way I heard it, half a wall came down on the guy. Blew right over the man he'd gone in to rescue. That guy didn't have a scratch on him. Just some smoke damage.”
“What about the kid?” I asked. “I didn't hear anything about him being sent up to us.”
Malachi shook his head. “Don't think he was. From what I heard, he wasn't burnt. You know how it is. More people hush-hush about a kid. The hero's the one everyone's talking about.”
“So everyone's talking about him,” I said. “Anyone able to get hold of his family?”
“Don't know.” Malachi ducked down behind the counter for a moment and then came up with my purse. He handed it to me. “Honestly, I think things got a bit lost with all the crazy down here. After you took the soldier up, we had a gunshot wound, three dog bites and a bout of alcohol poisoning at a college pre-spring break party.”
“Holy hell,” I said. “I'm surprised you guys got anything done.”
Malachi shrugged. “We'd have to call the army anyway. Those boys will call the family.”
I wasn't sure if Dr. Fellner had been serious about me going to Fort Sam Houston or not, but I planned to take the opportunity for a bit of time outside. It was still nice out, and while seeing Malachi had helped me a bit, I needed some time before I could go back upstairs. Some time to get my head back together.
“I'll do it personally,” I said. Malachi gave me a strange look, but didn't press. “Dr. Fellner gave me the okay. I'll be back in a bit.”
“Here.” Malachi reached under the counter again and pulled out a plastic bag. “I had his effects ready for when we got hold of someone. It's basically just his wallet, and that's a bit crispy.”
I nodded and took it. “Thanks.”
I went through the front doors and flagged down a cab, not wanting the stress of driving. After telling him my destination, I gave in to my curiosity and opened his wallet. The face on his ID was a handsome one. Sergeant Xavier Hammond. Dark blond hair. A Pennsylvania driver's license that listed his home as Philadelphia.
I found myself staring at his picture, trying to figure out what sort of man he was, what had compelled him to go back into that building. He was a soldier, sure, but he wasn't a firefighter.
When the cab pulled up in front of the base, I paid and walked up to the gate. I squinted into the setting sun and smiled at the guard who stepped out to meet me.
“My name is Nori Prinz,” I said as I held up my hospital badge. “I'm a nurse over at the medical center. We admitted a Sergeant Xavier Hammond with severe injuries. I need to know who to speak to about contacting his family.”
Chapter Ten
Xavier
I knew pain.
I'd gotten the shit beaten out of me as a kid probably hundreds of times. Had broken bones more than once. I'd nearly been ki
lled more times than I could count, and only some of them had been after I'd joined the army.
I'd been pushed to the brink. Baked in the desert. Frozen at night. I'd had sunburn and frostbite. Bitten by bugs I couldn't name. Ran until my legs gave out.
This was worse.
So much worse.
I was burning. The entire left side of my body was on fire. Skin, muscles, nerves. All of them were screaming. My brain was screaming. I couldn't think of anything else but that I wanted to die.
I had to die.
Because there was no way anyone could survive something like this.
I felt darkness coming and welcomed it, prayed that it would be permanent bliss.
Except the darkness brought its own kind of terror.
“Xavier! You come back here, you little bastard!” His voice boomed in the hallway. “I'm gonna beat your ass! You broke that lamp and I damn well know it!”
The leather of his belt cracked down on me, bursts of white pain as it came in contact with my cheek, my jaw. Then it came down on my arm, my back, my hip.
“What're you doing, Xavy?” Madison danced in front of me, her blonde pigtails bobbing. “Daddy just wants you to be good. Why can't you be good?”
“I tried, Maddie,” I groaned, unsure if I was actually talking or just thinking.
I was floating in liquid fire.
Lava.
Flowing over my body, burning, eating, destroying.
I wanted it to melt me, make me disappear.
I could hear beeping, but it wasn't steady. It was all over the place. Fast one moment, slow the next.
There were voices.
Pressure on my chest.
Something on my face. Pressing, hurting.
I tried to brush it off, but my hand didn't want to move.
“You've been injured.”
A man was talking and since I hurt, I assumed he was talking to me.
“Don't try to move.”
Where the fuck did he think I was going to go?
Oh, right, the dark...
This time, without pain.
I drifted, content with the bliss unconsciousness offered. Or maybe I was dead already. I hoped that was it. I was tired. So tired.
“Xavy!”
She barreled into my knees and I reached down to pick her up.
“You got tall.” She gave me a serious look.
“I did?” I looked down and saw that she was right. I was tall.
I held her with one arm and rubbed my hand over my jaw. The bristles there were rough against my palm. I needed to shave.
Why would I need to shave?
I was still a kid, wasn't I?
I looked at Madison. She was just the way I remembered her. But I wasn't. I was a grown-up. How was I an adult and she still just a kid?
“You think too much, Xavy.” Madison patted my face. “Now come on, let's play.”
I tried to tell her that I couldn't play. I had things I needed to do. Didn't I? There had to be something I was missing. Something I was supposed to be doing. A place I was supposed to be.
A bright light pierced my eyes, and I jerked my head. Lightning shot up my side, and I tried to make a sound but I couldn't. There was something in my mouth. In my throat.
I wanted to reach up and grab it, but my arms didn't want to work. They felt too heavy. My whole body felt too heavy.
Something was wrong.
All of this was wrong.
Movement at the edge of my vision fluttered. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman, her dark hair pulled back to reveal a drawn face. She looked sad, and I wanted to tell her that it would be okay, but the darkness came again and took me.
I could see the bright spots of muzzle flash in the distance and knew that we'd walked into a trap.
“Fall back! Fall back!” I screamed at my men, but it was too late.
They fell around me, shot through the hearts, the heads. They lay all around me, screaming as blood poured from their wounds. Blown-off legs and arms littered the ground. Hundreds of bodies. And I'd killed them all.
Their deaths were my fault.
Always my fault.
I promised them that I'd look after them. It was my job to protect them.
But I'd failed.
Failed them like I'd failed everyone I'd ever cared about.
I didn't know why I'd survived. I shouldn't have. I should've died instead of them.
Mea culpa.
Mea culpa.
“Don't give up, Soldier. Please, hang on. Fight.”
I didn't know that voice, but it was a woman and I wondered if she was the one I'd seen before.
Then the pain was back and I couldn't think. Couldn't think of anything but how much I wanted to die.
But she'd told me to fight.
Asked me not to go.
How could I deny her?
But the pain was too much. I couldn't bear it.
But I had to bear it. It was my punishment after all. My punishment for all the wrong I'd done. I deserved this. Deserved no peace in the half-wakefulness that claimed me.
I could smell my body burning, smell the charred flesh. Feel them digging and prodding. Tearing, ripping.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.
I wanted to die, but I couldn't.
All I could do was remind myself that I deserved every agonizing second. I could see their faces. All of them. Every person I'd failed. It was because of them that I was burning but not dying.
This was my penance.
This was my purgatory.
Mea culpa.
Mea culpa.
Chapter Eleven
Nori
I shifted in the chair, now more sympathetic to visitors who sat for more than a couple hours in these things. I'd always known they were uncomfortable, but there was a big difference between knowing it and experiencing it. And for the past two days, I'd been experiencing it.
I hadn't exactly been sleeping here, but I had come in early and stayed late after my shifts...and I might have accidentally fallen asleep last night. Dr. Fellner had okayed it, as long as I wasn't putting in for overtime, and I didn't do anything medical when I was technically off. I was fine with that. I kept an eye on his vitals, but mostly I just watched him.
When I was working yesterday, I'd seen a tall, good-looking guy in the room. I hadn't had a chance to speak with him, but based on the haircut and the way he held himself, I felt safe in assuming he was a soldier. The man I'd spoken to at the base on Monday said he'd try to get in contact with one of Xavier's friends. I supposed that had been him.
X, I silently corrected myself. Not Xavier. The staff sergeant had called him X. Just one of the things I'd learned about the soldier I'd been caring for.
Like the fact that X didn't have any family. There wasn't a lot the staff sergeant had been able to tell me, but I'd gotten the impression that had been more because he hadn't known rather than any sort of privacy issues. X's mother was deceased, his father unknown. No siblings, grandparents or other relatives. He had someone listed as his emergency contact, but that was it. The staff sergeant had said he'd make the call, but that had been Monday evening and it was Wednesday morning now, and with the exception of the one soldier, no one else had been in to see X.
He shifted slightly and I sat up, tensing as I leaned forward. Aside from the couple times I'd seen his eyes opening that first day, he'd been unconscious. He was on a lot of pain meds, which didn't make waking up any easier, but if he didn't wake up soon, even if only for a few minutes, I'd be even more concerned than I was now.
When it came to traumatic injuries, only part of the battle was physical. Emotional and mental health came into play more than a lot of people realized. While there were, sadly, plenty of people who fought to stay alive and lost, there were also plenty of people who should've survived their injuries but didn't, simply because they gave up.
If X had no family, no one to support him, no one to live for, I w
ondered just how high his chances of survival were. Yes, there were those with families and loved ones who gave up, but that support system at least gave them a fighting chance.
I didn't know X, or what happened to him besides what I’d heard downstairs or in the news. I'd never laid eyes on him before Monday. We'd never spoken or even exchanged a real look. There was absolutely no logical reason for the sense of duty and compassion I felt toward him. It was beyond what I felt as a nurse toward all of my patients, even the ones I liked. I'd occasionally checked in on some patients more than others simply because they were a joy to be around, but I didn't think about them off-duty. I didn't stay over or come in early, and I certainly didn't sit by their beds and wait for them to wake up.
I leaned back in my chair when it became clear that he wasn't waking up, just responding to a dream. I hoped he was having pleasant dreams. Something that soothed his subconscious. Something beautiful. Because when he did wake up, his life would be a nightmare. He would be in a great deal of pain, despite the medication. And that would be just the beginning.
Once he could get off the ventilator, we could get a better idea of any sort of permanent lung or brain damage, then figure out where to go from there. He had months of rehab ahead of him at the very least, maybe years, depending on the need for skin grafts. His arm being both broken and burned would cause the most problems, even without the risks that came with his condition. Broken bones needed to stay immobile, but the arm would need to move so that the scar tissue could stretch and he could keep mobility in his arm.
He was in for a long and painful recovery. A recovery that, no matter how well he did – barring an all-out miracle – meant he couldn't return to active duty. One of the few personal things the staff sergeant told me about X was that he'd been in the army for nearly a decade, joining up at nineteen. And that X had intended to make a career out of it.
He could do desk duty, I supposed. Recruiting or any of the other jobs that wounded career military men did. But he'd never go back in the field. His eyesight and hearing wouldn't be affected, but his lungs could have permanent damage. Even if those were fine and his other burns healed well, his left arm would never be able to handle the sort of conditions he'd be subjected to during active duty.
