The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (35 page)

“
Oh, I like being a wife, but can
’
t I also be other things? Someday Daddy
’
s estate will be ours... .if you want a part of it. Then, I
’
d like to be able to have an active role in the business, make some decisions. Use my brain. Is that such a crime?
”
she asked.

“
But look where we are, Paula! You want this and I want something a hundred and eighty degrees opposite it. Obviously we can
’
t both be satisfied,
”
he argued,
“
when we
’
re so far apart. So one of us has to give in.
”

“
Compromise, Frank, not give in,
”
she said.

“
No! Either you or I will have to forfeit, Paula.
”

“
That
’
s a strange word—forfeit. It means one of us has to be penalized. Is that it, Frank? Will one of us have to be penalized in order that our relationship can survive?
”

Dejectedly, he asked,
“
Put like that it doesn
’
t sound very pleasant, does it?
”

She sadly shook the hair from her face.
“
No....it doesn
’
t.
”

             
Chapter Thirteen

There are certain background noises that are taken for granted; the whir of tires against warm concrete, the low buzz of human activities intermingling with bits of conversation, a door softly clicking shut. At Beckman General Hospital, staff and patients alike were cognizant of the abrupt cessation of the motors and the purring of ventilation systems. Death of the electric buttons connecting the nurse
’
s stations with various departments and rooms was observed with the sudden loss of all the hospital
’
s lights. For minutes, talk stopped as each person evaluated the unusual quiet.

It hadn
’
t been unexpected. The hospital
’
s stand-by power system could continue only so long as the fuel held out. The staff knew they worked on borrowed time. Once the auxiliary system was switched on, the personnel had been diligent in cutting power usage as low as possible, and they had fervently hoped that public power would be reinstated before the emergency system used all its fuel. Now there was simply no more oil to burn. Time had run out.

In the isolation unit, Dr. Parsons was suturing a twelve-inch gash extending from the upper chest to the right ear of his patient. The cut had been clean, having occurred as the boy, a radiation victim, fell through a window in the rear of a neighboring house. The type of accident seen in the past couple days had distinctly differed from those normally admitted. No longer were people driving their cars into each other; they were spending more time breaking and entering.

“
What the hell!
”
Parsons yelled as the lights went out.

“
That
’
s it! The generators are dead!
”
said Max through the darkness.

“
Goddamit, I can
’
t see a damned thing! Somebody get me some light!
”
Parsons felt the last four inches of gaping wound under his fingers.
“
Some light, damn it! Sharon, isn
’
t there something around? A flashlight?
”
he bellowed.

“
We didn
’
t get flashlights in our inventory, Doctor,
”
answered the nurse as she fumbled toward him in the darkness.

“
Oh hell, who
’
d have thought of flashlights in a hospital? Well, I
’
ve got to close this boy, and I sure as the devil can
’
t do it in the dark.
”

“
Here, Doctor.
”
Sharon Henry snapped on the butane lighter that she carried in her pocket.

Parsons peered through the weak beam at her.
“
You
’
re a smoker, huh?
”

“
I was when I had time,
”
answered Sharon.

“
Humph....cigarettes are bad for you, girl, but I
’
m damned happy to see that little torch of yours right now.
”
He bent in closer to his work. The faint illumination was sufficient to allow him to complete a slightly crooked row of stitches in the skin. After he dressed the wound, he turned to the nurse and gave her an appreciative smile.
“
My kid sister could have done a prettier job of stitching than that,
”
he said.

“
In the dark, Doctor?
”

He released a long tired breath.
“
I wish I had a sense of humor right now—then I
’
d tell you what I excel at in the darkness, nurse.
”

Sharon showed the same bone-weary exhaustion that she had heard in his voice. During the last seventy-two hours, days had merged into nights with hardly an awareness of the change. Sleep and rest were luxuries snatched in small amounts by the personnel within the isolation unit. Arrival of daylight was always announced by increasing numbers of patients waiting on the outside.

Those admitted never really recuperated before their release from the special ward, but massive overflowing of the facility compelled the staff to administer treatment and send them away. All but the most extreme cases were handled in this manner. Admitted, examined, treated, and sent away. Unfortunately, the vast majority suffered from forms of radiation sickness, conditions for which the medical staff had no cure. The grotesque pile of loosely-wrapped bodies was growing larger by the day, as those whose lives had terminated were placed beyond the outer walls of the hospital, and closely draped with canvas.

Parsons moved over and pushed the door to the outside open, admitting weak moonlight to the interior. The aged, the infirm, the very young—every conceivable cross section of people—were grouped at the outer door.
“
Good grief,
”
said the surgeon as he peered through the night at the masses on the parking lot,
“
why don
’
t they just stay in their homes. They
’
d be much better off in their houses than straggling through the streets, trying to find a hospital.
’’

“
They
’
re scared and they
’
re sick. It
’
s natural that they
’
d want help,
”
said Dr. Feldman, groping his way forward.

“
Yeah, but if they only knew how little we can do for them, then they would lock themselves in and concentrate on trying to stay alive until this is over.
”

“
When will that be, Bernie?
”
asked Max.

Dr. Parsons
’
broad shoulders seemed to have narrowed over the past couple days, pulled together as they had been by his ever-busy hands. Lack of proper food and rest, coupled with a steady, grinding pace that never let up, were leaving their mark on him, despite his natural physical stamina. But he never slacked his pace willingly, always driving himself to see the next patient, to ease as much suffering as he could.
“
Lord, how I wish I knew, Max. When I have time to think of it, I tell myself that we have to get relief soon, that the radiation can
’
t hang there over us forever. But I don
’
t know. With the loss of electricity we
’
ve really had it.
”
Feeling his way back to the examining table, his mind raced with ideas of how to put together sufficient lighting to continue through the night. Lighting, the one thing they must have.
“
Well, we can
’
t do anything in the dark... and there
’
s no use in bringing in another patient until we can get some light to work by.
”

“
How about alcohol, Bernie? We can throw together some makeshift alcohol lamps,
”
suggested Max.

“
With what? Jars?
”
asked Parsons, interested at once.

“
Sure, why not? Punch a hole in the lid and feed some sheeting strips down into the alcohol. It
’
ll burn.
”

“
Yeah....that
’
s not a bad idea....but we
’
ll have a holocaust if that fire gets away from the wick and into the liquid,
”
he said, as he began to search for the vessels.

“
We
’
ll make the wicks a tight fit,
”
said Max as he joined him.
“
They
’
ll sure be better than no light at all.
”

The two physicians quickly began the chore, collecting jars and sheeting. Max gouged the holes in the lids and twisted the cloth into wicks; Bernie stuffed the thick cords through the lids. Sharon poured the alcohol. They worked as a well-organized team.

“
Dr. Parsons, you
’
re awfully nervous,
”
said the nurse.
“
Are you all right?
”

He paused, annoyed that the stubborn cord wouldn
’
t enter the perforation.
“
I
’
m running a touch of fever, but nothing more serious.
”

“
It
’
s the radiation, isn
’
t it?
”
asked the nurse.

“
Well, we couldn
’
t hope to avoid it, Sharon. I
’
d be surprised if others of us don
’
t have some symptoms. You, maybe?
”
asked Parsons, intent on threading the wick.

“
Headaches and nausea, Doctor.
”

Max asked quietly,
“
I wonder how long we can go on at this rate?
”

No one bothered to answer him as they set the cigarette lighter to the first lamp and a weak flame flared up.
“
All right,
”
said Parsons,
“
let
’
s bring in the next patients.
”
 

A big man stepped forward, working his way through the gloom to the table. A woman walked frantically to keep pace with him, trying to hold on to the boy he carried in his arms. Parsons took one look at the lad, checked the angle of his jaw for a pulse, and said to the man.
“
I
’
m sorry....your son is dead.
”

Harry stood immobile, transfixed to the spot. Suddenly his lips began to quiver.  Moving up from behind, Max took the boy from Harry and started toward the outside with the body.

“
Harry. Harry,
”
said Flo,
“
come on. There
’
s nothing we can do for Rickey now.
”

Parsons understood their helplessness. Every death was now becoming a personal loss to him. But children....they were the hardest to give up.
“
Wait,
”
he said.
“
Since you
’
re here I ought to check you.
”

Flo had Harry by the arm, steering him in the direction of the exterior.
“
It doesn
’
t matter, Doctor...not now.
”

“
Yes, but...
”
the couple had walked out into the darkness.

For a long, solitary moment the surgeon could only stare after the departing couple. Their pain reached out to him. If they
’
d brought the boy here sooner; if he
’
d had more time with the youngster....Parsons shook himself. There were too many, too many. Fifty physicians were needed here....a truckload of supplies. Death came so easily....he turned to the next patient just as a commotion caught his attention.