Ten Days. John Sheppard

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      The gallows humor wasn’t lost on Dr. Spencer and he responded with some of his own. “It’s not like you’ve got major travel plans.”

      4:18 PM

      What this place was and could have been, thought Dr. Carl Whitman as he headed to his office on the fifth floor of the Northeast wing of Hartman-State Hospital. The hospital had been state of the art for this region when it opened seventeen years before. Its floor plan was Y-shaped. The three wings, South, Northeast, and Northwest, connected by a mostly glass atrium in the center. The hospital was located in the far southeastern section of the city.

      Carl’s brief time of reflection was interrupted by Head Nurse Janet La Forrest. “Dr. Whitman, may we talk and walk?” While he and Jan were close friends, she always addressed him as Doctor in public, and Carl returned the professional respect.

      “Certainly, Nurse La Forrest. What’s on your mind?”

      “During the staff briefing this morning, you discussed the proposed timetable for reassigning patients. I was a little outspoken in my skepticism, and I’m sorry.”

      “No problem.”

      “I now think we can have it completed by sometime on Wednesday, Doctor.”

      “Just so I’m clear,” inquired Carl, “the military will all be moved to the South wing, and they will assume control of that wing.”

      “That’s correct, Doctor.”

      “Those patients who have signed release waivers to use the Option will be in the Northeast wing, and those who haven’t will be in the Northwest wing.”

      “Also correct.”

      “You’re finding this very difficult, aren’t you?” asked Carl, his eyes locking on Jan’s. He continued, “I know I am.”

      They had reached his office door. Jan stood for a moment. Her voice went very soft.

      “Yes, I never thought I’d practice medicine like this. I got into it to help heal, but give out pills to help people die?”

      “We are at least giving a choice, Jan.”

      “I know,” said Jan in a very despondent tone.

      “Do we know how the general population in the capital is responding to the Option?”

      “It’s hard to say. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say 75% to 90% have requested and gotten the Option.”

      “Whoa, what’s with the huge differences in percentages?” inquired Carl.

      “We’re not sure what the population of the capital is right now. One guess is that the population is about a third of what it was when the war started. We know a couple of hundred thousand got out in time. Yet some have moved in from outlying areas. There hasn’t been any form of a census in years. Add to that the significant increase in people taking their own lives, and we just don’t know.”

      “Okay, that makes sense. I know I’d find it difficult to tell you how many families still live in my neighborhood. At least half the homes are empty.”

      With that, they both went their own ways. Carl entered his office and let out a sigh. He knew he couldn’t agree more with Jan: this was terrible. It wasn’t how he had ever imagined his life.

      Carl moved to the window in his office, just in time to catch sight of a helicopter just after it lifted off from the Northwest wing. In all the terrible news of the last three months, choppers coming in from and leaving for the port city was one of the few pieces of good news. The UN had managed to secure safe passage for medical-evacuation flights to the port city. Carl had gotten some expectant women and sometimes their families on those flights. In addition, some of the seriously wounded military and civilians were able to leave with family members. Once in a while one of the medical team members would stay behind for one flight, giving their uniform for someone to wear in order to get them out of the capital. These efforts weren’t enough, but they were something. In one of his more selfish moments, Carl thought, I need to get my family on one of those flights.

      He could see another chopper from his window. A couple of blocks to the north of the hospital was “embassy row.” Most of the foreign governments that had an embassy in the country had them within a few blocks of each other. They often were housed in what had at one time been mansions of the well-to-do, when most of wealthy lived near the city center. Only a few embassies were still open. Those which remained were getting their expatriates out by using the chopper provided by the US government. That aircraft was just leaving the American embassy. Carl was a little concerned as he watched both choppers—their flight paths appeared to be very close to one another.

      He turned away from the window and began assessing his office. It was large and the furnishings were meant to let visitors know the occupant of the office was important. There was a time when Carl would have climbed over anyone to be named the head of the hospital. Those days were gone; he had changed. He wasn’t willing to trade having power within the hospital for his relationship with his wife and kids. The war had taught him that material things, position, and power could be swept away very quickly, as could loved ones. He would hold tight to his family. Everything else just didn’t matter.

      He was now in a place he had not chosen for himself. While Carl was considered by most, if not all, the head of Hartman-State Hospital, he wasn’t in the traditional sense. About eight to twelve months earlier, the exodus from the capital had begun in earnest. As the staff dwindled, Carl’s leadership skills became apparent. He became the de facto head of the hospital. When his own family failed to escape, he went to work consolidating the four major hospitals into one, due to the staffing shortage. The other three hospitals maintained an ER, but not other services.

      5:55 PM

      Captain Jeremy Trent snapped to attention and gave Stephen a crisp salute as Stephen opened the door to his townhouse. Captain Trent’s uniform was spotless, the seams as precisely ironed and as crisp as his salute. Lean and tanned, the captain looked the part of a recruiting poster.

      “Captain Trent, sir! I am to be your driver and escort for the next few days.”

      Stephen returned the salute and judged the captain to be in his early thirties. If he had guessed the captain’s age correctly, it would have made him a recent graduate of Stonecrest when the war started. Stephen noticed a wedding ring on the captain’s left hand.

      “The salute wasn’t required, Captain, but thank you for the courtesy. Please come in,” said Stephen, smiling. “Have you had dinner, Captain?” asked Stephen as the captain entered the foyer.

      “No, sir, but.…”

      Before the captain could finish, he was ushered into the dining room and to a seat. Within moments, the extra place setting was on the table, followed with a hot, home-cooked meal. While the fare was simple, grilled marinated chicken breast and wild rice with steamed mixed vegetables, it was as good as the company which followed.

      Captain Trent and Stephen quickly became friends. They spent the evening having a couple of beers and talking about shared interests, including history and American football. Stephen offered Jeremy СКАЧАТЬ