The Collapse: Time Bomb

by Penelope Wright

  “My name is Nancy, and I’ll be your nurse for” – she glances at her wrist – “about an hour. Fifty-three minutes to shift change. God, I wish you could have waited until after report to wake up.”

  “Want me to pretend to go back to sleep?” I ask.

  Nancy sighs and smiles distractedly, one eye on her clipboard and one on me. “No, I can’t do that. Hippocratic oath and all that.” She pulls something out of her pocket and drags it across my forehead. It beeps rapidly, ending in one long sustained bleat. “Ninety-nine point four. Much, much better.” She slips a cuff around my arm and flicks something to make it inflate until it’s squeezing almost hard enough to be unpleasant, then it deflates. “One thirty-five over eighty-five. Better than it was, but we should check your kidneys. I’ll have the doc write an order for an ultrasound. Let’s check your surgical site. Sir?” She angles her head at Carlos.

  He stands up. “I know the drill.” He pushes his chair back into the corner of the room. “I have to leave for this part,” he says. “I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up. Now that you’re awake, I’m gonna run down the hill and check on my tent. I won’t be gone long.” Carlos grabs his backpack from under the chair and leaves me alone with the nurse.

  “Let’s take a look then.” Nancy unties the front of my hospital gown and opens it, exposing me from the waist up. I have a large white square on my chest, held down with tape around all four edges. “Dressing looks good,” she murmurs. She peels a corner of the tape and lifts the bandage up. “Wow, well done,” she says.

  I stare at the spot in my chest where the port used to be. It’s gone. The red lines and swelling are gone as well. My skin has been pulled shut around where the hole was and sewn together with black thread. I move as though to touch the spot with my finger, but Nancy grabs my hand and guides it away.

  “Hey, no touching. You’re not going to derail your miraculous recovery on my watch. Save it for night shift.”

  I don’t know why, but I’m filled with a sense of loss, mixed with dread. “Where did it go?”

  “Straight into the incinerator, I hope. That thing just about killed you, sweetie.”

  I blink back tears.

  Nancy writes a few things on a sheet of paper on her clipboard, slides it into a plastic pocket on the wall, turns back to me, and notices my wet eyes. “I imagine your life isn’t easy,” she says, more gently than she’s spoken to me before.

  I shrug halfheartedly. I imagine it isn’t either.

  “Your friend seems nice. Barely left your side. Have you been with him long?”

  I know the answer to this one. “No. Not long.”

  “You could do worse, I’m sure.”

  I don’t know if she’s complimenting him or criticizing me, so I search around for a way to redirect the conversation. “His mom had cancer. He said she had a port thing like I did.”

  “Yeah, they’re really useful for people who are actually sick.” She heaves her heaviest sigh so far and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sweetie, I’m not a social worker, but I feel like I have to give you some advice. You’re still young. We ran a full STD panel. Somehow, you’ve dodged every bullet out there. You’re clean. Once this infection completely clears your system, you’re going to be quite healthy, if on the small side. So please, I’m begging you, please do not do this again. I don’t know what street MD you went to for that port, but it’s too dangerous. You have your whole life ahead of you, and if you make the right choices, it can be a good one. There are services and programs to help you.”

  I blink at her rapidly. I’ve understood almost none of what she’s said. “Um, okay?” I respond, but it comes out way more like a question than I meant it to.

  Nancy sighs. “Listen, I have to go give report. Your night nurse is Becky, and she has a real big issue with IV drug users taking up beds in the med/surg unit. I’d keep your finger off your call light, if you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t ask her for help,” I translate.

  “Remember how you told me when I came in that you could pretend to be asleep?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Do that for Becky. Just don’t tell her.”

  I spend the next hour watching the television in the upper corner of my room, delighted by the images that flicker across it. It seems to be the story of a family that lives in two rooms in a small tower. They get along much better than I’d expect them to, existing in such close quarters.

  I’m so drawn in, I don’t even notice the person standing in my doorway until she taps on the frame. “Housekeeping,” she announces.

  I straighten up sharply in bed. She pushes a cart into the room. Her hair is slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she moves rapidly, dumping the contents of a small square receptacle into a larger bin. She grabs the empty tray from where Carlos had been sitting and slides it into her cart, then turns to me with a smile. “If you’re still hungry, I can get you a yogurt or a cheese stick from the kitchen in the unit.”

  At the mention of food, my stomach gurgles a bit. I don’t tell her that I wasn’t the one who ate from the tray. I don’t know if it would get Carlos in trouble or not. “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”

  A different voice snaps from the doorway. “This isn’t the Hilton.”

  The housekeeper and I both shoot our gazes to the door, where a tall blonde woman stands with a distasteful expression on her face. I instantly dislike her, and I’m certain the feeling is mutual.

  The housekeeper smiles again, but it seems strained and apologetic rather than friendly this time, and she leaves without saying another word.

  “So, the sleeper awakes, huh?” the nurse says, flouncing into the room.

  “You must be Becky,” I answer.

  “Yes, and you’re Lita, last name unknown. Care to enlighten me, and I’ll update your chart?”

  My eyes flick to the screen in the corner where the short, dark-haired man is giving some sort of monologue. “Hofstadter,” I say firmly.

  The nurse’s eyes follow mine to the screen. “Lita Hofstadter. Right. I’ll let you think on that a little more.”

  “That’s my name,” I say stubbornly. “Take it or leave it.”

  I know I shouldn’t pick a fight with this person – she’s clearly in a position of power over me – but I can’t stand her, with her smooth skin and blonde hair and superciliously arched eyebrows. Another image flashes across my mind, a similar face, a sneer. I feel like the bed has been snatched from under me and I gasp at the falling sensation. My hands fly to my sides, pressing into the firm, very real mattress beneath me.

  “Your blood pressure spiked. We need to get that kidney ultrasound scheduled. And you probably need a tetanus booster.”

  My heart hammers. “I need a thousand of them,” I blurt.

  The nurse snorts. “Yeah, I bet you do.” She pulls the clipboard out of the wall pocket, jots something down on it, and replaces it with a clatter. “Listen, I’m going to take care of you because that’s my job, but I want you to know that you’re taking valuable bed space from someone who actually needs it. We should be able send you home as an outpatient with an IV drip, but we know you’d be slamming dope within the hour, so we keep you admitted where you’re waited on hand and foot and fed for free three times a day. How fair is that to the elderly woman with the UTI still waiting in the ER for a bed?” She scowls and answers her own question. “Not fair at all.”

  I can’t let this woman stand here hurling accusations at me. Being blamed unfairly like this is creepily familiar, but the memory is so slippery, I can’t grab on to the feelings roiling around inside me and follow their threads back to images that make any sense. I know she’s wrong about me, though. “I don’t think I’m who you say I am.”

  “Oh yeah? It’s been two days and your toxicology report still isn’t back from the lab. Your blood sample probably broke the centrifuge.” She leans over me, her eyes inches from mine. “When you’re discharged, I
fully expect it to be in handcuffs.”

  “And if you keep talking to her that way, I fully expect you to lose your license.” Carlos strides into the room, followed by Dez.

  Carlos positions himself by my bedside, his stance firm. “Her IV fluids should be discontinued, her antibiotics need to be re-hung, and her catheter should be removed as soon as possible. And yet you stand here berating her instead. And what about that kidney ultrasound? Are you going to get it ordered or not?” He and the nurse stare at each other without blinking.

  She breaks first. “I have other patients. This isn’t a homeless shelter. Keep your visit short.”

  Carlos nods but doesn’t speak. Dez sinks into the chair in the corner, not looking at all ready to go anywhere. The nurse spins on her heel and stalks out. She flings the door closed behind her, but it doesn’t slam; a cushion of air makes it close with a soft click.

  “How did you know what to say to her?” I ask.

  “I spent a lot of time in hospitals when my mom was sick. I wasn’t homeless back then; people treated me differently. I know the lingo.”

  “Thank you. She seemed to know more about me than I do. Or at least she thought she did.”

  “Yeah, believe me, I get it.”

  In the corner, Dez sighs heavily. “So, you going to tell her?”

  I blink and my gaze shifts between the two of them. “Tell me what?”

  Carlos grimaces, but it’s Dez who speaks. “The tent, our stuff… It’s all gone, man. While Carlos was up here watching you sleep, the cops came and tore down the tent. Wiped it all out.”

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Carlos says to me. “It would have still happened whether I’d been there with Dez or not.”

  “You don’t know that,” Dez says darkly. “You’re fast on your feet. Maybe you could have talked them out of it.”

  “And maybe we would have both gotten arrested,” Carlos shoots back. “That’s the thing. You never know what might have happened – you only know where you are. And yeah, it’s crap, but we’re alive and we’re free and we’ve gotta build from there.”

  “God, you’re such an optimist.” Dez moans. “I’m number nine thousand and one on the transitional housing list,” he chirps, tipping his head side to side. “Just gotta keep making those weekly phone calls and I’ll be in a house in no time.” He snorts. “I used to think the whole glass half-full thing was cool, but dude, it’s just too much right now.”

  I have no idea what Dez is talking about; he may as well be speaking a foreign language.

  Carlos opens his mouth to say something in response but reconsiders and presses his lips shut into a thin line.

  Dez sits for a few more moments in silence, then shakes his head and puts his hands on his knees, pushing himself to standing. “I don’t wanna do this anymore. It was a cool experiment, but we lost. I’m gonna move back to The Jungle. Safety in numbers. They won’t mess with us there.”

  Carlos’s face falls. “Dude, no. You know what it’s like in there. Come on, it’s not worth it. We can stay here until Lita gets better. Three meals a day, and a free shower down the hall. After that, it’s summer. We’ll get out of the city. Take the train north.”

  Dez shakes his head. “No way. You heard that nurse. ‘This isn’t a homeless shelter,’” he mimics. “We can’t stay here.”

  Carlos waves his hand toward the door. “That nurse’ll be gone at shift change. We cycle out often enough, hang in the cafeteria for an hour, whatever, no one will know we’re living here.”

  My eyes dart back and forth between Carlos and Dez. Dez locks eyes with me, then breaks our gaze. “If it was just us, I’d say yeah. But I don’t want to be a tripod.”

  Carlos’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Lita can pick any lock you throw in front of her. I’ve seen her do it. We’d never go hungry again. Plus, dude, she’s sick. She has no one.”

  Dez’s face twists. “She has Jimmy.”

  “Yeah, well, where is he? I don’t see him banging down the door to collect her.”

  “Fine, you stay here, and I’ll go to The Jungle and tell Jimmy where she’s at. That’ll get me in good for sure, and it’ll get her taken care of. After that, we can decide what to do long term. Win, win.”

  Carlos turns to stare at me, then jerks his head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s talk about it in the hall.”

  Dez walks out without saying goodbye, but from the look on his face, I’m certain he’s not coming back. I hear muffled voices as Carlos closes the door behind me, then nothing. I sit quietly for a long time. On the television, the people talk to each other, laugh, make faces, and stride in and out of each other’s quarters. I keep the sound muted. Finally, the door clicks and I sag with relief, but it’s just my nurse, Becky, again.

  She strides into the room and takes an aggressive stance with her left hip cocked. “Righthanded or left?” she asks without preamble.

  Is there any end to easy questions that I don’t have the answer to? I think back to picking the lock for Carlos. I spun the dial with my right hand. “Righthanded.”

  “Gimme your left arm.”

  I extend my arm toward her. She grabs it and twists, swipes my arm with something wet, then jabs me with a needle I didn’t realize she had in her hand.

  “Ow!” I try not to jerk away while the needle remains in my tricep. As soon as she withdraws it, I yank my arm back. “What did you do that for?” I ask, rubbing the sore spot.

  “Tetanus booster. If you’re going to be transferred into police custody, it’s easier to have this sort of thing taken care of before your arrest,” she says airily.

  I swallow a huge lump in my throat. “What do you mean?”

  She smiles. “Your toxicology report just came back.”

  I wait several moments for her to continue, but she just stands there grinning at me. “Well?” I finally ask. “What did it say?”

  Becky tosses her head and slips the needle she just poked me with into a container on the wall labeled ‘biohazard.’ “I haven’t read it yet.” She sneers. “The file’s a hundred and ten kilobytes, so I put a pot of coffee on.”

  There’s a tap on the door, and a man pokes his head in. “Radiology transport.”

  “That was fast,” Becky says.

  “Slow night,” the man says, entering the room. He has dark skin and kind eyes, and I instantly feel better with him in the room.

  “My name’s Bereket,” he says in a sonorous voice. “I’ll be taking you downstairs for your ultrasound.” He turns to Becky. “Is she ambulatory? Her record didn’t specify.”

  Becky shrugs. “We don’t know. She just woke up a couple hours ago.”

  Bereket raises his eyebrow, and I can tell he’s not thrilled with her answer. “Come,” he says to me with a smile. “You’re light. I’m sure you fly like a ballerina, but let’s see if you walk like a young lady.”

  Becky rolls her eyes, but Bereket ignores her and helps me off the bed. He makes sure I’m stable, then shows me how to hold the pole my IV is connected to and roll it with me as I take my first steps in days. I’m apparently a little too wobbly for his tastes because he makes me get into the wheelchair he has by the door. “We’ll do some more walking when we get back, I promise,” he says as he wheels me down the hallway.

  We stop at a pair of double metal doors set into a recess in the wall, and my heart pounds. A panicked whimpering sound worms its way out of my throat.

  “Don’t like elevators, huh?” Bereket says. “I understand. My wife doesn’t, either, while I dislike escalators. It makes it very difficult to shop in the mall.” Before I know it, the doors have opened and he’s whisked me inside. “I promise nothing bad will happen to you on my watch,” he says, and he keeps up a running stream of commentary, which keeps my panic at bay until finally the doors slide open again.

  “Thank you,” I choke out when he’s pushed me over the threshold and back into a tiled hallway. “I
don’t know why that scared me so much.”

  “Some fears cannot be explained,” Bereket says kindly.

  “I can’t explain a lot of things right now,” I mumble.

  He wheels me down a long hallway until we reach a door marked ‘Radiology,’ which he opens and pushes me through. “I’ll get you checked in,” Bereket says. He reaches to his hip, pulls a square off his belt, and holds it up to examine it. “Odd, your nurse just paged me. Perhaps they’re adding something to your order. I’ll be right back.”

  Before Bereket can take more than a step away, however, the double doors at the end of the room burst open and a herd of people in papery suits barge through. “We found them,” one of them barks into a cell phone. Then he turns laser focus to us. “The ultrasound is canceled. There’s nothing wrong with her kidneys,” he says.

  “That’s fine,” Bereket says slowly. “I can take her back to her room.”

  “No,” the man replies. “She’s being transferred to the decontamination suite. And Mr. Kidane? You’re going to need to come with us too.”

  Chapter Nine

  June 23, 2018

  Bereket and a small army of people race me through a maze of corridors, then into an elevator. Nobody says a word. Bereket’s eyes are as wide and confused as I’m sure mine must be. I want to jump from the wheelchair and take off running, but I know I can’t. I could barely toddle across my room just a few minutes earlier, and I’m still hooked to an IV, which one of the paper-suited minions drags rapidly alongside us as we charge through the hospital.

  Bereket and I are pushed into separate rooms. I’m stripped of my hospital gown, and it’s stuffed into a large container marked ‘biohazard’ like the one in my previous room, but bigger. A paper-suited person unceremoniously slides the IV out of my hand, then guides me into a shower stall and I don’t even have time to be embarrassed that they’re seeing me naked before water blasts me from all directions. I’m dizzy, and my legs feel weak. I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.