Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga by Marcus Richardson Page A
Authors: Marcus Richardson
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everywhere . Not a single chair in the ED waiting area was empty. Children squalled, a few older ones ran by chasing each other, and parents and grandparents huddled together in little clumps. There must have been at least fifty people crowded into the room.
She worked her way through a line of people, most of whom were coughing and bundled up in coats and blankets. More than one started to try and stop her from cutting in line. She brushed them off, gently but firmly, in order to make her way toward the front desk.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you’ll have to get in line,” said the nurse in a tired voice, clipboard in hand. Brenda glanced at her watch idly. It wasn’t even 0800 yet, and the poor nurse looked frazzled already. She had bags under eyes and an expression that brooked no argument. Brenda recognized the look of someone who was about to go home after a long shift but was pressed into working a double.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brenda said, elbowing past the elderly Asian woman who looked to be on her deathbed at the head of the line. “I’m Brenda Alston, I’m supposed to start work here today—“
“You’re the new emergency medicine resident?” said the suddenly interested nurse.
“Well—” Brenda started, trying to look apologetic to the old woman who was muttering in between wet coughs. “Yes, I just—”
“ Great —we need all the help we can get. Helluva day to start. Here, take this corridor down to the right, then go through the first double doors you see,” she pointed over her shoulder and started to write on her clipboard.
“But—”
“Here’s a visitor pass that will get you in as far as you need. You’ll have to find Nancy Goodson, she’s Charge Nurse this week.” The nurse, thus disposed of her receptionist duties, turned back to the frowning elderly woman. “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry about that…could you give me your name again, please?”
“Oh…okay,” said Brenda, looping the visitor pass lanyard over her head and starting off in the direction suggested. She turned and called out, “Thank you!” and got a nonchalant wave in return.
“Okay, down the hall, through the double doors,” Brenda mumbled to herself as she walked around a few people slumped against the walls in the corridor. It probably wasn’t an epidemic, but whatever was going around sure had plenty of people sick for a Friday morning. She remembered the DJ talking about the flu during the drive to work and angrily forced the thought from her mind.
Focus, Alston, you need to focus , she told herself.
A door to her right flew open, surprising her. She spun instinctively to the left, just like she had learned in the forward medical bases in Iran. When a door opened unexpectedly, it was either an attack or an incoming patient. Either way, the best and safest bet was to juke and get out of the way.
Unfortunately, as she was smiling at her battlefield nimbleness, she slammed into a white-smocked older doctor carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee, just as he turned into the corridor from an adjacent hallway. The clipboard flipped up onto his chest, flattening the paper cup that he had been holding to his lips. The hot coffee splashed his face and chest and he was dumped unceremoniously on his ass. The three younger doctors in light-blue scrubs and white coats behind him rushed to help the man on the floor.
The elderly man sat there in a puddle of steaming coffee, shaking his hands to fling the hot liquid off. He glared at Brenda but said nothing.
She stood there dumbstruck, staring at the older olive-skinned man as he shrugged off assistance with a gruff voice and staggered to his feet spitting mad. He glared at her through bushy, gray eyebrows. His dark eyes bored straight through her burning face. She glanced down at the name stitched in blue cursive script onto the front of his coffee-soaked lab coat:
She worked her way through a line of people, most of whom were coughing and bundled up in coats and blankets. More than one started to try and stop her from cutting in line. She brushed them off, gently but firmly, in order to make her way toward the front desk.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you’ll have to get in line,” said the nurse in a tired voice, clipboard in hand. Brenda glanced at her watch idly. It wasn’t even 0800 yet, and the poor nurse looked frazzled already. She had bags under eyes and an expression that brooked no argument. Brenda recognized the look of someone who was about to go home after a long shift but was pressed into working a double.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brenda said, elbowing past the elderly Asian woman who looked to be on her deathbed at the head of the line. “I’m Brenda Alston, I’m supposed to start work here today—“
“You’re the new emergency medicine resident?” said the suddenly interested nurse.
“Well—” Brenda started, trying to look apologetic to the old woman who was muttering in between wet coughs. “Yes, I just—”
“ Great —we need all the help we can get. Helluva day to start. Here, take this corridor down to the right, then go through the first double doors you see,” she pointed over her shoulder and started to write on her clipboard.
“But—”
“Here’s a visitor pass that will get you in as far as you need. You’ll have to find Nancy Goodson, she’s Charge Nurse this week.” The nurse, thus disposed of her receptionist duties, turned back to the frowning elderly woman. “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry about that…could you give me your name again, please?”
“Oh…okay,” said Brenda, looping the visitor pass lanyard over her head and starting off in the direction suggested. She turned and called out, “Thank you!” and got a nonchalant wave in return.
“Okay, down the hall, through the double doors,” Brenda mumbled to herself as she walked around a few people slumped against the walls in the corridor. It probably wasn’t an epidemic, but whatever was going around sure had plenty of people sick for a Friday morning. She remembered the DJ talking about the flu during the drive to work and angrily forced the thought from her mind.
Focus, Alston, you need to focus , she told herself.
A door to her right flew open, surprising her. She spun instinctively to the left, just like she had learned in the forward medical bases in Iran. When a door opened unexpectedly, it was either an attack or an incoming patient. Either way, the best and safest bet was to juke and get out of the way.
Unfortunately, as she was smiling at her battlefield nimbleness, she slammed into a white-smocked older doctor carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee, just as he turned into the corridor from an adjacent hallway. The clipboard flipped up onto his chest, flattening the paper cup that he had been holding to his lips. The hot coffee splashed his face and chest and he was dumped unceremoniously on his ass. The three younger doctors in light-blue scrubs and white coats behind him rushed to help the man on the floor.
The elderly man sat there in a puddle of steaming coffee, shaking his hands to fling the hot liquid off. He glared at Brenda but said nothing.
She stood there dumbstruck, staring at the older olive-skinned man as he shrugged off assistance with a gruff voice and staggered to his feet spitting mad. He glared at her through bushy, gray eyebrows. His dark eyes bored straight through her burning face. She glanced down at the name stitched in blue cursive script onto the front of his coffee-soaked lab coat:
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