Read Online Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga by Marcus Richardson - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Richardson
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by the main entrance to the emergency department caught Nurse Goodson’s eye. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, George,” Nurse Goodson said in a tired voice. “This is bringing back some awful bad memories.” She noticed Brenda for the first time. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Brenda Alston, the new EM resident—“
“All right, Dr. Alston, you’ve got some experience with situations like this, if I remember your file correctly. I know Colonel Seager from our residency years, and he gave you a glowing recommendation. If that ornery bastard likes you, I want to see what you can do.”
“Yes, sir,” Brenda said, voice neutral. Nurse Goodson raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, but the corner of her mouth curled up mischievously.
Brenda’s eyes swept over what looked like at least 50 to 75 people in various states of distress, standing, sitting, and laying down. Coughing, wheezing, crying, moaning—the sounds alone were sickening. And the smell! More than one person had vomited on the floor and several of the younger children appeared to be suffering from diarrhea. Brenda tried desperately to calm the nerves that had bound her up inside like coiled springs, quivering with unreleased energy.
“’Chief’ will do,” said the older man without a smile. He folded his arms across his damp chest. The man looked to be in his mid-50s but was built like a bear. “What are your recommendations?” He arched one of the gray caterpillars above his eyes and watched her intently. Nurse Goodson checked her watch.
Summoning all of her willpower, Brenda clamped down hard on her memories of The Pandemic as they nibbled away at the edge of her mind. She slowly eyed the area and ignored the three doctors behind her. She could feel the sneers directed at the back of her head.
She closed her eyes and was back in the forward medical base in Iran where she had spent so much time after med-school. The Reserves had been called up just as she was ready to start her second year of med school, when Iran had attacked Israel. When the United States invaded Iran, she too, went to war. As a result, Brenda had spent more time in field hospitals than classrooms. Her invaluable military training now took over as she assessed the situation. She opened her eyes and took in the entire scene.
“We’re going to need triage tents in the parking lot, to quickly examine and get the worst of them inside. Treat and release the walkers,” she said. “Right now everyone is mixed together—we could have cross-infections and just spread… whatever it is…even more. Plus it’s a real Charlie-Foxtrot in here. We need space to work.”
She glanced at the number of chairs in the large entryway and continued: “We need to scan for communicables and weed those out as well. Walkers that make it this far are the worst and need to be treated—like, yesterday . We need to be collecting names and info all the way up to here and here ,” she said, pointing out workstations at strategic points in the waiting area. “I recommend we clear some space for visitors and well-patient walkers so they can get inside without contracting anything—better yet, until we get a handle on this, family and visitors need to stay outside.”
“What’s a Charlie-Foxtrot ?” whispered someone behind her.
The Chief looked at Nurse Goodson and received a nod. He scanned the room. “Good ideas. What else?”
“What about—” started the red-haired doctor.
The Chief raised his hand and got silence. He nodded to Brenda, a look in his eye that looked vaguely familiar to her. She last saw that look from The Colonel back in Afghanistan when he was testing her. He had become sort of surrogate father to her and she desperately wished he were here now.
“I like what I’m hearing. Go on, Dr. Alston.”
“Well,” she said, and cleared her
“I’m Brenda Alston, the new EM resident—“
“All right, Dr. Alston, you’ve got some experience with situations like this, if I remember your file correctly. I know Colonel Seager from our residency years, and he gave you a glowing recommendation. If that ornery bastard likes you, I want to see what you can do.”
“Yes, sir,” Brenda said, voice neutral. Nurse Goodson raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, but the corner of her mouth curled up mischievously.
Brenda’s eyes swept over what looked like at least 50 to 75 people in various states of distress, standing, sitting, and laying down. Coughing, wheezing, crying, moaning—the sounds alone were sickening. And the smell! More than one person had vomited on the floor and several of the younger children appeared to be suffering from diarrhea. Brenda tried desperately to calm the nerves that had bound her up inside like coiled springs, quivering with unreleased energy.
“’Chief’ will do,” said the older man without a smile. He folded his arms across his damp chest. The man looked to be in his mid-50s but was built like a bear. “What are your recommendations?” He arched one of the gray caterpillars above his eyes and watched her intently. Nurse Goodson checked her watch.
Summoning all of her willpower, Brenda clamped down hard on her memories of The Pandemic as they nibbled away at the edge of her mind. She slowly eyed the area and ignored the three doctors behind her. She could feel the sneers directed at the back of her head.
She closed her eyes and was back in the forward medical base in Iran where she had spent so much time after med-school. The Reserves had been called up just as she was ready to start her second year of med school, when Iran had attacked Israel. When the United States invaded Iran, she too, went to war. As a result, Brenda had spent more time in field hospitals than classrooms. Her invaluable military training now took over as she assessed the situation. She opened her eyes and took in the entire scene.
“We’re going to need triage tents in the parking lot, to quickly examine and get the worst of them inside. Treat and release the walkers,” she said. “Right now everyone is mixed together—we could have cross-infections and just spread… whatever it is…even more. Plus it’s a real Charlie-Foxtrot in here. We need space to work.”
She glanced at the number of chairs in the large entryway and continued: “We need to scan for communicables and weed those out as well. Walkers that make it this far are the worst and need to be treated—like, yesterday . We need to be collecting names and info all the way up to here and here ,” she said, pointing out workstations at strategic points in the waiting area. “I recommend we clear some space for visitors and well-patient walkers so they can get inside without contracting anything—better yet, until we get a handle on this, family and visitors need to stay outside.”
“What’s a Charlie-Foxtrot ?” whispered someone behind her.
The Chief looked at Nurse Goodson and received a nod. He scanned the room. “Good ideas. What else?”
“What about—” started the red-haired doctor.
The Chief raised his hand and got silence. He nodded to Brenda, a look in his eye that looked vaguely familiar to her. She last saw that look from The Colonel back in Afghanistan when he was testing her. He had become sort of surrogate father to her and she desperately wished he were here now.
“I like what I’m hearing. Go on, Dr. Alston.”
“Well,” she said, and cleared her
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