second floor. Jamie had made contact with them the day after the fight in the stairwell, but even the welcome relief of hearing other human voices had been tempered by the realization that this new group was worse off than they were and could provide no help.
The second-floor housed the women’s care unit, and the survivors were split between a medication storage room and the delivery room. Revs were everywhere, supplies were even less available than they were on the fourth floor, and no one wanted to discuss what had become of the nursery.
Jamie darted out to the nurses’ station desk. “Who can that be?” she shouted over her shoulder. “It’s too early for Dr. Westrick to call!”
Nowen watched her leave and then turned back to the window. She had listened in on the first few regularly scheduled calls but had found the doctor wearying. His voice was that of an older man and rich in timbre, but underneath ran a constant stream of self-pity. By the fourth or fifth repetition of “I’m a cardiologist, I was supposed to be in Aspen, I shouldn’t even be here!” Nowen decided she’d had enough and skipped the rest of the calls. Jamie always told her the important stuff, anyway.
The murmur of Jamie’s voice receded into the background as Nowen looked out the window. Am I cold? Is that something bad? She replayed the conversation over in her head. I thought I was being logical. Maybe...Jamie was just venting? Did she need something from me? Nowen sighed and stared at the horizon. Humans are so confusing.
The view from the window faced east, and she watched as lazy plumes of smoke rose from here and there in the city. Fires had raged through most of the first couple of days of this insanity. A heavy thunderstorm on the second night had quenched the fires and saved the majority of Ft. Collins, although the smoke trails spoke of smoldering embers waiting to spring to life.
To the west the jagged edge of the Rocky Mountains split the high summer sky. To the southeast Denver still burned. The rain that had saved Ft. Collins had only brushed the edges of the bigger city, and towering pillars of black smoke wrapped around the tall buildings. She and Jamie had watched the dragonfly shapes of helicopters darting in and out of the inky fog for the first couple of days of the outbreak, but the choppers had disappeared around the same time that the airplanes had stopped fleeing the white-peaked airport.
Nowen raised her hand and blocked Denver from view. Now the dark smoke seemed to rise up from her fingertips. There was a sudden blurring of her vision, and just before she blinked her eyes to clear them it looked as though her fingers were turning as black as the smudges marring the blue sky.
Jamie was calling her, and she turned from the window to see the other woman standing in the doorway. The nurse looked even more tired than she had before, if that was possible, and again her eyes swam with tears.
Jamie leaned against the doorframe, wearily brushing tendrils of blonde hair from her face. “That was Dr. Westrick. Adam’s dead.”
Adam Lee, one of the second-floor survivors. His twin brother Albert had killed himself two days before.
“How?”
“Revs. Revs got him. He was making another water run to the bathroom and dropped a bucket. The noise drew the Revs and...” Jamie’s voice faltered. “Do you think he did that on purpose? To join his brother?”
Nowen shrugged. “That’s not important, quite frankly. Where does that leave the rest of them?”
Jamie narrowed her eyes at Nowen’s less-than-sympathetic tone. Damn. I must have said the wrong thing again. “Not in good shape. Last night they finally got everyone together in the delivery room, but the water is only gonna last another couple of days. The med room group had some food but in the rush to move those people to the delivery room the food bag was lost. So, that’s another problem.” Jamie was kneading the hem of her scrub top in her hands.
The second-floor housed the women’s care unit, and the survivors were split between a medication storage room and the delivery room. Revs were everywhere, supplies were even less available than they were on the fourth floor, and no one wanted to discuss what had become of the nursery.
Jamie darted out to the nurses’ station desk. “Who can that be?” she shouted over her shoulder. “It’s too early for Dr. Westrick to call!”
Nowen watched her leave and then turned back to the window. She had listened in on the first few regularly scheduled calls but had found the doctor wearying. His voice was that of an older man and rich in timbre, but underneath ran a constant stream of self-pity. By the fourth or fifth repetition of “I’m a cardiologist, I was supposed to be in Aspen, I shouldn’t even be here!” Nowen decided she’d had enough and skipped the rest of the calls. Jamie always told her the important stuff, anyway.
The murmur of Jamie’s voice receded into the background as Nowen looked out the window. Am I cold? Is that something bad? She replayed the conversation over in her head. I thought I was being logical. Maybe...Jamie was just venting? Did she need something from me? Nowen sighed and stared at the horizon. Humans are so confusing.
The view from the window faced east, and she watched as lazy plumes of smoke rose from here and there in the city. Fires had raged through most of the first couple of days of this insanity. A heavy thunderstorm on the second night had quenched the fires and saved the majority of Ft. Collins, although the smoke trails spoke of smoldering embers waiting to spring to life.
To the west the jagged edge of the Rocky Mountains split the high summer sky. To the southeast Denver still burned. The rain that had saved Ft. Collins had only brushed the edges of the bigger city, and towering pillars of black smoke wrapped around the tall buildings. She and Jamie had watched the dragonfly shapes of helicopters darting in and out of the inky fog for the first couple of days of the outbreak, but the choppers had disappeared around the same time that the airplanes had stopped fleeing the white-peaked airport.
Nowen raised her hand and blocked Denver from view. Now the dark smoke seemed to rise up from her fingertips. There was a sudden blurring of her vision, and just before she blinked her eyes to clear them it looked as though her fingers were turning as black as the smudges marring the blue sky.
Jamie was calling her, and she turned from the window to see the other woman standing in the doorway. The nurse looked even more tired than she had before, if that was possible, and again her eyes swam with tears.
Jamie leaned against the doorframe, wearily brushing tendrils of blonde hair from her face. “That was Dr. Westrick. Adam’s dead.”
Adam Lee, one of the second-floor survivors. His twin brother Albert had killed himself two days before.
“How?”
“Revs. Revs got him. He was making another water run to the bathroom and dropped a bucket. The noise drew the Revs and...” Jamie’s voice faltered. “Do you think he did that on purpose? To join his brother?”
Nowen shrugged. “That’s not important, quite frankly. Where does that leave the rest of them?”
Jamie narrowed her eyes at Nowen’s less-than-sympathetic tone. Damn. I must have said the wrong thing again. “Not in good shape. Last night they finally got everyone together in the delivery room, but the water is only gonna last another couple of days. The med room group had some food but in the rush to move those people to the delivery room the food bag was lost. So, that’s another problem.” Jamie was kneading the hem of her scrub top in her hands.
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