Hi! I got the idea for this one from Drama class, where we watched a Multi-Injury Drill video. This instantly popped into my head, so I began to write it out in Study Hall and didn't pay attention in class all day. So, ENJOY!
Note-- Ash and Misty are sophomores at Cerulean High School.
Multi-Injury Drill
--
"Boy, you're certainly up early, Ash!" Delia Ketchum chimed as she plodded into the kitchen one morning. "Considering how late you were getting home from studying at Misty's last night."
"Gotta be to school early today," Ash voiced through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.
"Oh? What's the occasion?"
"Uhm.. Last-minute studying with Myst. This test is… a big percentage of our grade.." Ash had experience with lying like this; the improvisations he did in Drama 3 were close enough. Although, it TECHNICALLY wasn't lying… It was a test.
"Well then, I expect a good grade from you for once, young man!"
"Promise!" Ash set down his plate and looked at the clock over the window. "Oh crud! I'm late!" Grabbing his bag, he gave his mother a quick peck to the cheek before hurrying out into the pouring rain. "Bye!"
Delia smiled and waved to her son before shutting the door.
--
"Ash Ketchum?"
Silence.
"Ash?"
Silence……
"Last call, Ash!!"
Misty grumbled, crossing her arms. She knew he'd chicken out; he always did with this stuff. She knew first hand what he'd been through in his 'younger years' and he made it quite clear he didn't want to experience it again; Although, her best friend was famous for being late all the time. Oh, if he didn't get here soon he wouldn't have enough time to—
"I'M HERE! I'M HERE!" Ash burst through the door of room 208, panting heavily and dripping large drops of rain water onto the linoleum.
"I called you 3 times, Ash," Mr. Crissey, the teacher, said sternly, marking something off on his paper. "You need to see Baker backstage."
"…What?" Ash asked, taking a towel from the back of the room and drying his hair.
"Baker. Now."
"Oh… OH!! Yeah, right, sorry."
--
Delia hummed along with a tune in her head as she trotted down the soaked streets of Cerulean, an umbrella keeping the sheets of rain from her frame. She was headed for the market, hoping to be able to pick up some eggs, since her son had polished them off earlier that morning. She was lost in silent thought, flipping in and out of thought cycles involving that night's dinner, Ash's 'test', and other varied ideas. She smiled and paused in her walking as she approached Cerulean High, giving it a long, almost cheery look.
Her little boy was in there……
The ground beneath her feet began to shake, stirring puddles of ever-falling rain nearby. She glanced around quickly, the soft rumbling of the earth filling her ears and drowning out the yell of the rain on her umbrella. Her legs began to wobble, and the woman found it very hard to keep her footing. It stopped seconds later.
Delia Ketchum's content, but slightly confused expression rapidly morphed into complete and utter terror as she heard what sounded like a small bomb go off somewhere in the school. She watched as smoke slowly began to billow from what looked to be 200 wing on the other side of the school. Her mind began to zoom in wild circles, stumbling over thoughts to reconcile that her Ashy was ok. Then it dawned on her. Ash had Drama first period. The drama room was in the 200 wing.
Her little boy was in there.
Throwing her umbrella swiftly to the curb, Delia darted as fast as her legs and skirt would allow. A disgustingly dropping feeling of foreboding filled the heavy, wet air of the high school. Campus supervisors and staff members seemed to be racing the mother as they sped through the Quad at an impossibly faster pace, armed with walkie-talkies and what looked to be flashlights. She could hear one of the men screaming over another explosion into his walkie-talkie; probably to the principal.
Once the group entered the enclosed hallway that was the 200 wing, Delia could clearly hear what the man was saying.
"There's smoke coming from room 208," he said calmly, holding down the button on the side.
The woman stopped, watching the staff continue their trek across the slippery floor with an expression of sheer, unadulterated terror on her soft features.
Room 208 was Ash's class.
She shook her head wildly, beginning to sob quietly.
"ASH!!!" She screamed, taking off down the hallway towards the room puffing a thick, light grey smoke from its open door. She pushed through the staff members yelling about her 'little boy' and how she needed to see him that instant to make sure he was ok. Despite the men and woman attempting to keep the anxious mother from the room, Mrs. Ketchum pushed through into the room.
It was horrifying, like something you'd see in a disaster movie.
There were bodies everywhere. Chairs and set pieces were upturned and on their sides, a couple crushing select few students. Some ceiling tiles were lying on the floor and desks, small waterfalls trickling through the holes. In the middle of the room was a charred podium baring an exploded, burnt mess of an unidentifiable object, as well as the charred remains of some matches and paper. Some of teens were moaning and whimpering painfully as they lay on the linoleum and small, low, make-shift stage. Some students looked to have been thrown back into the walls, painful burns attempting to ooze thick blood and the occasional piece of glass adorning their mistreated skin. The teacher was pressed against the row of cabinets on the right side of the room, a bleeding bump the size of a tennis ball popping from his forehead as he remained motionless. A few teens with minor injuries were huddled in one-person groups and scattered about the floor and stage, whimpering in terror and pain from the event that had just taken place.
But the thing that caught Delia Ketchum's eye was not the unconscious teacher, or the boy pinned under a white and blue-painted panel, or the girl with a piece of glass stuck into her left eyelid and blood dripping down her face, but the raven-haired boy sprawled out behind a heavy panel near the back of the stage and the orange-haired girl sitting upright against a row of cabinets with the pile of metal file holders in her lap.
"ASH!! OH, MY BOY!" She screaked (1), her voice cracking from anguish.
"Ma'am! I'm sorry, but you need to leave!" a plump woman instructed, grabbing onto Delia's arm just as she began towards her son.
"NO! I NEED TO SEE MY ASH!" Delia argued, attempting to pull her thin arm from the woman's firm grasp.
"No Ma'am, I'm afraid you can't! Please, I need you to leave!"
"Ash! Answer me! Tell me you're alright!"
"You're son can't hear you! Please, just step outside!"
Completely defeated, Delia allowed herself to be dragged from the smoky room. She leaned against the wall, tears pouring from her eyes as heavily as the rain from the clouds. Covering her face, she shook her head in disbelief.
Her one and only son…….
She tore her hands from her face when the tile beneath her feet began to twitch and growl. She sniffed, grasping the wall for support as the entire hallway shook.
--
"Can you get up?"
"Mr. Ryan…. I can barely move, much less stand up…." Misty Waterflower sobbed from her seat against the cabinets. She was tilting dangerous to the left, the handle that had caught her shirt keeping her upright. The entire left side of her face and neck was severely burned from whatever had exploded. A huge piece of glass was stuck into her hairline, sending blood cascading down her face to mix with tears. Her cheerleading outfit was torn in various places and splotched with blood, and her right knee was covered by a harsh burn and a large, formerly bleeding abrasion. Her left sock had turned red from what looked to be a broken ankle so bad the bone ripped open the skin.
"Alright, stay calm, the paramedics are on their way," Mr. Ryan said, attempting a nice smile. Misty merely responded with a whimper of agony.
"Mr. Ryan?" a deep, African-American voice crackled over the walkie-talkie on the vice-principal's hip.
"Yes, Dr. Miller?" Mr. Ryan asked, pulling the device from his belt.
"Do you have Ash Ketchum with you in 208?"
The vice-principal stood up slowly, glancing carefully around the room bustling with staff members and walking students. He knew Ash like the back of his hand, and maybe even better. Ash had always visited him in the office for one reason or another, whether it be causing trouble or bringing his Pikachu to school. But he'd always managed to come back once a week at the latest.
Ducking under a low-hanging light, he made his way over to the small stage. He walked the perimeter, only finding a battered young man with sandy blonde hair and a lot of rubble. He could've sworn he'd seen the boy there when he had walked in, and the hysterical woman he had forced out the door was certainly his mother. Mr. Ryan circled the stage once more, lifting up fallen panels and props that might be obstructing Ash from view. Upon finding the same results, he held his walkie-talkie to his mouth and started for the bodies.
"He's not here, sir," Mr. Ryan announced into the microphone of the device. "But the teacher and some students are unconscious."
--
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S NOT THERE?! I SAW HIM MOMENTS AGO! I NEED MY SON, NOW!" Delia screamed, seizing the principal by the front of his vest.
"Mrs. Ketchum, please," Dr. Miller pleaded calmly, pushing the woman's grip form his shirt. "We are just as worried as you are; the staff and I are trying our best to tend to other students as well. We will find your son."
"I NEED TO SEE MY ASHY, NOW! Even if it means searching for him myself!!!" She was about to stomp out infuriated, but the sound of Mr. Ryan's voice over the walkie-talkie forced her to freeze mid-step.
"Dr Miller! I've found him!"
--
Behind the stage were two rooms; the prop/costume closet, and a small office. The doors were blocked from view by three large, leaning, wooden panels, and both seemed to be pinned shut. Off to the right of the Office were some fallen props, and a thin hallway leading to an unused, locked door that opened into a cellar-like storage. Halfway down the small hall was a three-step staircase normally covered in thick dust. At the moment, however, the disturbed dust was piled to the sides from something being dragged through. Farther down the hallway was a four-step staircase, and where the trail of pushed dust ended.
A teen lay sprawled on his back down the steps. His knees and feet marked the top step, and his shoulder blades, head, and arms marked the landing. Upon closer inspection, one would find a harsh burn blanketing the left side of his face. Drying blood dripped from a deep abrasion on his right cheek and ran down his neck into his shirt. The severe burns that covered his usually gloved palms were desperately trying to bleed, and his entire body was sprinkled with dust. His light jeans were torn and stained in various places, and small pieces of glass were stuck in his dark shirt. Blood dripped through his raven hair and his left arm was crushed by a fallen ceiling tile.
Mr. Ryan was crouched next to him, his arm resting on his knee. He leaned over the boy, looking over the wounds covering his body. Making a quiet 'hhm' sound, he put his walkie-talkie to his mouth.
"He's in pretty bad shape; it looks like he dragged himself back towards the cellar just before the second earthquake hit. He's completely unconscious."
He set the handheld onto the dust-ridden floor and lifted the tile from Ash's arm. A large chunk of the now white and red plaster stuck into the young man's bleeding arm. After inspecting it, he grabbed the chunk and ripped it out, allowing more blood to cascade down Ash's skin.
Mr. Ryan could hear the clack of heels behind him.
"Ash!! Ash, oh my son!" a nearly hysterical Delia Ketchum cried, dropping to her knees beside her offspring. She gathered the boy up in her arms and lifted his head. "Please, please wake up! Please, I can't lose you!"
As if right on cue, Ash's eyes opened just wide enough to be able to see his mother's crying face. "Mom…."
"Oh Ash!! Oh thank goodness you're conscious!"
"Ma'am, you're going to need to let the boy go, we need to get him out of here," Mr. Ryan interjected, motioning to a group of 2 or 3 ambulance medics coming towards them.
"NO!" Delia screamed, protectively clutching to her son. "No!! You can't take him away from me!"
"Mom…. Let the men take me…." Ash croaked in a voice that was just barely audible. His words were shaky and pleading, but Mrs. Ketchum refused to give in.
"No, no no no! I just found you they aren't taking you away!"
"Mom…….. please….." Ash's eyes began to overflow with tears. "I need to go….."
Delia Ketchum could swear she could here her heart rip into fourths as the medics lifted him onto a stretcher. They put a tag around his neck with a red square on it, showing he was in critical condition.
--
Students of little injury wandered the gloomy and wet campus front, watching as firemen and medics rolled bawling, unconscious, and groaning victims out to their vehicles on stretchers. Parents were scuttling about, angry and mourning as they harassed supervisors and teachers to pick up their students.
But Delia Ketchum; she had been watching the ambulance her son had been put into for at least 2 hours.
And it never moved.
Suddenly, all heads turned as the principal bellowed over the loud speaker, "Well done! The Multi-Injury drill was a complete success! All-clear!"
Formerly injured students began cheering and clapping, while others with more serious injuries hopped out of fire trucks and ambulances all over. The students were covered in nearly fatal injuries stood up and walked away, as if nothing were wrong at all. Delia felt something was…. Amiss.
Only a few moments later, Delia's son stepped down from the ambulance, stretching his arms towards the sky. He twisted a bit before hurrying over towards a fire truck. He opened the door and helped Misty down, and gleefully jumped down to the cement without pain. Delia couldn't hear them speaking, but she knew they were talking about something that made them both laugh.
--
Delia Ketchum will never know why she walked away without congratulating her son on his exam.
But she did know that despite her young's acting skills, hers had greatly exceeded his.