(Chapter 11: War Stories)
Braiwood General Hospital was not a big one by any means, but it was well supplied and competently staffed, although traffic was typically slow. A few homeless people looking for someplace warm and a bath as well as the odd drunk driver who drove into a lamppost was all they usually got on a daily basis. In the last two days they had been busier than normal, a relief to some who feared them closing down and a shock to the otherwise slow medical facility. Three dead bodies and three injured in a related series of car accidents. The numbers were higher than normal, but no one was willing to complain.
Mike had his forehead thoroughly wrapped in bandages and was on serious painkillers, having suffered a good head injury when the can shot around and hit him in the head. Clinton was bruised and cut in a few places, from his motorcycle turning over, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape. Sarah had hit her head when she lost consciousness. Due to the fact that the hospital wasn't very busy, each had their own room, and each would have to stay overnight for monitoring over their head injuries.
Mike couldn't sit still, he needed to get up and make sure everyone was all right. The least he wanted to do was make a phone call, to tell Mr. Christy to watch out and stay safe. That wouldn't work of course, Mr. Christy had the logical, scientific mind, but it was worth a shot. Then again there were the others, Rudy, Katie, Lori, they would all need to be convinced. Clinton was so damned scared out of his mind due to the accident, that the few moments that Mike had to talk to them as they were being treated gave him time to tell the story. Most of the hospital staff stared on and laughed silently about Mike and his story, while Clinton all but took it as the gospel.
Mike was musing about Clinton's quick turnaround from jerk to believer when he heard the door open. Turning around, he could see one of the many well-meaning if not overly sweet candy-stripers came in. She was nice enough, but she was forcing the kindness more than it needed to be.
"Hello Mr. Hooper," she said, "how are we feeling?"
"Got one hell of a headache, but other than that I'm up and willing to go," he said.
"Sorry, but we're going to need to keep you overnight for observation. Are you sure there isn't anyone you want us to call?" she asked, feigning concern.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Dad's out of town and I have no clue where he is. Is that all?"
Her smile faltered a bit and Mike caught the beginnings of a scowl, something he smiled inside about.
"You have a visitor, claims to be a friend of the family, would you like to see him in?"
After considering the option, and figuring he didn't have anything to lose, Mike said, "Sure, let 'em in."
The candy-striper exited the doorway, letting a new one enter. It was a big man, older, and from what Mike could tell most certainly balding. There was no mistaking who it was.
"Hello Mike," the man said.
"Hello Mr. Christy," Mike said, "what brings you here?"
"I heard about the accident and wanted to see if you were all right," Mr. Christy lied.
Seeing apprehension in Mr. Christy's face, Mike thought he had the perfect chance and spoke, "Look Mr. Christy, I have something to tell you."
"Have you figured out the order yet?" Mr. Christy asked out of nowhere.
Taken completely aback, Mike looked on curiously and asked, "What?"
"The order we're supposed to die in. You had a vision, you got us all to get off the boat, it blew up, and now the survivors are starting to die in the order that they should have died on the boat, am I on the right path?"
"Yes," Mike replied.
"I heard along the grapevine about Rhonda, and I know you were in a car accident, has anyone else been killed yet?"
"Yeah," Mike said, reaching to the table beside his bed and picking up the picture. He pointed to the people as he spoke, showing along the design.
"Rhonda died at the game last night, Darwin at his apartment this morning, I was supposed to be next but Sarah intervened, so it went and got Tina. How do you know all this?"
Sitting down in a nearby chair, Mr. Christy exhaled unhappily. The story had been building up in him for the longest time, one he never wanted to tell and one he had always kept a secret. Since it was happening again, he sighed and figured now was as good a time as any to tell the story.
"It started back in Vietnam. There were eight of us in the chopper, Deveaux and Padilla the pilots, then there was 'Sarge' Brigman, Private Masters the radio operator, and Skinner, Roque and Hernandez. I was the corpsman, the 'Doc' the medic. It was my job to patch guys up when they got hit and if I must say I was damned good at it too. Anyhow, one day we were on an assault mission, landing in a field and we were supposed to take an outpost south of Denang. It was simple. Then the Sarge all of a sudden has this conniption fit, straightens up with a cold sweat and a scared look on his face," Mr. Christy recollected. Mike listened patiently, then realizing what had happened to the man. He had a premonition.
"Anyway, then Sarge tells the pilots to turn around, that there was going to be an ambush in the field. Now, Sarge was an honest man and I wasn't one to disbelieve him, but recon said the field was clear and we would have been good to go, but Sarge persisted. He said that he saw some guys at the edges with guns, but no one believed him. Still, he got Deveaux to hold up the chopper for a few seconds more as we watched the others land. Sure enough, there was an ambush, all four choppers that landed had been shot to shit, all guys dead. Someone set off an RPG right where we would have landed, it would've hit the cockpit and blown back through us, it was hell," Mr. Christy continued, pausing to take a breath. Mike could tell that the story was hard for his teacher to tell, but Mr. Christy continued on and kept going.
"One RPG clipped the cab, blew Deveaux to shit and Padilla couldn't control it for very long. We crash landed, all of us got hurt pretty bad, but we were alive. Padilla was the only casualty, as our tail rotor broke off and shot through the chopper, sliced his head clean off. Another chopper behind us got us out, so we didn't have to worry about capture, but we all spent some time at the hospital," Mr. Christy said.
"Your sergeant had a premonition," Mike butted in, "he had a premonition and saved you from the ambush in the field."
"Yes, he saved the eight of us, but Deveaux and Padilla didn't make it out. We just chalked it up to coincidence, bad luck, hell, guys die in war. Still, things got stranger. Sarge kept having dreams, seeing all of us die, one at a time, they just thought it was shell shock, that he was nuts. Then the rest of us started dying. Masters succumbed to an infection where they amputated his leg. Hernandez went into a seizure and kicked out his IV line, they calmed him down and injected him with a sedative, though they didn't notice there was some air in the syringe. The bubble went to his heart, giving him an air embolism. A day later, Roque was preparing to go back to combat when he got hit by a jeep and dragged for a hundred yards. At first we thought it was bad luck, but it did look kind of odd. Sarge knew each of the deaths before they happened, but we didn't believe him. It wasn't until Skinner fell down those stairs that I believed. Sarge and I, we went AWOL, we knew something was going to happen to me next. Ya see, they all died in the order Sarge said they would. He knew I was next and he figured if he could keep me out of harms way, the both of us would survive this thing. Wasn't more than twenty minutes before he had another vision, I was going to be killed by a stray mortar. Sure enough, we heard one coming, and it was going right for us. My foot was stuck in a sewer grate, and I would have been killed had Sarge not broken my foot and thrown me to the side, catching the mortar himself and being blown apart by it. He intervened, sacrificed his life for mine, and I lived," Mr. Christy finished, sitting heavily into the chair.
"So you know about all this, you've lived this before, and now it's happening again? Isn't it?" Mike asked.
"This is my third time, and I am positive that it is. Right now, you guys have got to figure out a way to get around this and hide away," Mr. Christy said.
"Wait," Mike said, "this is your third time? What was the second."
"The second one was more dodging a bullet than anything else. You know the story of Flight 180?"
"Yeah," Mike said, "Sarah gave me a book about it and other events."
'Well, I used to work at Mount Abraham High School, I taught biology there, Larry Murnau and Val Lewton were good friends of mine, Clear Rivers, Terry Chaney and Billy Hitchcock were some of my better students. Anyway, when it came down to the time of the field trip, Valerie and I both wanted to go, so it went down to the flip of a coin to see who would go. She won, they died, I lived."
"Jesus Christ," Mike said as he realized the severity of the situation.
"Yes, I moved out after all the survivors had been killed, when Alex and Clear went into hiding," Mr. Christy added.
"So, do you know how to beat this thing? You've done it before, can you help us beat the design and get back to normal?" Mike asked.
"No," Mr. Christy said, "I don't know how. But I might know some people who do."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, things he never left home without. Mike watched as he scrawled some words on the small piece of paper, then handing it over.
"These people operate a safe house that can keep you alive. They're all survivors in their own right, all of them had visions or premonitions, they've all beaten the order. You gather up everyone, you get to them ASAP and you might all live to tell your story for another book."
With that, Valentine Christy stood up and walked to the door. Trying to get up, Mike sat back as his head hurt madly.
"What about you Mr. Christy?"
Mr. Christy turned around to face Mike, though he couldn't meet eyes with one of his favorite students.
"I'm tired of running. I ran before, I'm just going to sit back and let whatever happens happen. I lost my wife to cancer four years back, I lost my job, my kids are all grown up and parents in their own right. Thanks much for the offer Mike, I know if there's anyone out there who can save me it's you, but I've run enough. It's up to you now to keep them alive."
As he turned to the door, Mike spoke up, "Hey Mr. Christy?"
"Yes?" Mr. Christy said, turning around.
"Please be safe."
"I'll do my best."
Like that, he left the room. Mike sat back in his bed in disbelief, not quite understanding what had been said. Mr. Christy had told his entire story, and said their might be salvation yet. Just go to these people, he had said. Looking to the paper, Mike saw an address in Nevada. With big letters at the top, Mr. Christy had written:
THE WATCHERS
Braiwood General Hospital was not a big one by any means, but it was well supplied and competently staffed, although traffic was typically slow. A few homeless people looking for someplace warm and a bath as well as the odd drunk driver who drove into a lamppost was all they usually got on a daily basis. In the last two days they had been busier than normal, a relief to some who feared them closing down and a shock to the otherwise slow medical facility. Three dead bodies and three injured in a related series of car accidents. The numbers were higher than normal, but no one was willing to complain.
Mike had his forehead thoroughly wrapped in bandages and was on serious painkillers, having suffered a good head injury when the can shot around and hit him in the head. Clinton was bruised and cut in a few places, from his motorcycle turning over, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape. Sarah had hit her head when she lost consciousness. Due to the fact that the hospital wasn't very busy, each had their own room, and each would have to stay overnight for monitoring over their head injuries.
Mike couldn't sit still, he needed to get up and make sure everyone was all right. The least he wanted to do was make a phone call, to tell Mr. Christy to watch out and stay safe. That wouldn't work of course, Mr. Christy had the logical, scientific mind, but it was worth a shot. Then again there were the others, Rudy, Katie, Lori, they would all need to be convinced. Clinton was so damned scared out of his mind due to the accident, that the few moments that Mike had to talk to them as they were being treated gave him time to tell the story. Most of the hospital staff stared on and laughed silently about Mike and his story, while Clinton all but took it as the gospel.
Mike was musing about Clinton's quick turnaround from jerk to believer when he heard the door open. Turning around, he could see one of the many well-meaning if not overly sweet candy-stripers came in. She was nice enough, but she was forcing the kindness more than it needed to be.
"Hello Mr. Hooper," she said, "how are we feeling?"
"Got one hell of a headache, but other than that I'm up and willing to go," he said.
"Sorry, but we're going to need to keep you overnight for observation. Are you sure there isn't anyone you want us to call?" she asked, feigning concern.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Dad's out of town and I have no clue where he is. Is that all?"
Her smile faltered a bit and Mike caught the beginnings of a scowl, something he smiled inside about.
"You have a visitor, claims to be a friend of the family, would you like to see him in?"
After considering the option, and figuring he didn't have anything to lose, Mike said, "Sure, let 'em in."
The candy-striper exited the doorway, letting a new one enter. It was a big man, older, and from what Mike could tell most certainly balding. There was no mistaking who it was.
"Hello Mike," the man said.
"Hello Mr. Christy," Mike said, "what brings you here?"
"I heard about the accident and wanted to see if you were all right," Mr. Christy lied.
Seeing apprehension in Mr. Christy's face, Mike thought he had the perfect chance and spoke, "Look Mr. Christy, I have something to tell you."
"Have you figured out the order yet?" Mr. Christy asked out of nowhere.
Taken completely aback, Mike looked on curiously and asked, "What?"
"The order we're supposed to die in. You had a vision, you got us all to get off the boat, it blew up, and now the survivors are starting to die in the order that they should have died on the boat, am I on the right path?"
"Yes," Mike replied.
"I heard along the grapevine about Rhonda, and I know you were in a car accident, has anyone else been killed yet?"
"Yeah," Mike said, reaching to the table beside his bed and picking up the picture. He pointed to the people as he spoke, showing along the design.
"Rhonda died at the game last night, Darwin at his apartment this morning, I was supposed to be next but Sarah intervened, so it went and got Tina. How do you know all this?"
Sitting down in a nearby chair, Mr. Christy exhaled unhappily. The story had been building up in him for the longest time, one he never wanted to tell and one he had always kept a secret. Since it was happening again, he sighed and figured now was as good a time as any to tell the story.
"It started back in Vietnam. There were eight of us in the chopper, Deveaux and Padilla the pilots, then there was 'Sarge' Brigman, Private Masters the radio operator, and Skinner, Roque and Hernandez. I was the corpsman, the 'Doc' the medic. It was my job to patch guys up when they got hit and if I must say I was damned good at it too. Anyhow, one day we were on an assault mission, landing in a field and we were supposed to take an outpost south of Denang. It was simple. Then the Sarge all of a sudden has this conniption fit, straightens up with a cold sweat and a scared look on his face," Mr. Christy recollected. Mike listened patiently, then realizing what had happened to the man. He had a premonition.
"Anyway, then Sarge tells the pilots to turn around, that there was going to be an ambush in the field. Now, Sarge was an honest man and I wasn't one to disbelieve him, but recon said the field was clear and we would have been good to go, but Sarge persisted. He said that he saw some guys at the edges with guns, but no one believed him. Still, he got Deveaux to hold up the chopper for a few seconds more as we watched the others land. Sure enough, there was an ambush, all four choppers that landed had been shot to shit, all guys dead. Someone set off an RPG right where we would have landed, it would've hit the cockpit and blown back through us, it was hell," Mr. Christy continued, pausing to take a breath. Mike could tell that the story was hard for his teacher to tell, but Mr. Christy continued on and kept going.
"One RPG clipped the cab, blew Deveaux to shit and Padilla couldn't control it for very long. We crash landed, all of us got hurt pretty bad, but we were alive. Padilla was the only casualty, as our tail rotor broke off and shot through the chopper, sliced his head clean off. Another chopper behind us got us out, so we didn't have to worry about capture, but we all spent some time at the hospital," Mr. Christy said.
"Your sergeant had a premonition," Mike butted in, "he had a premonition and saved you from the ambush in the field."
"Yes, he saved the eight of us, but Deveaux and Padilla didn't make it out. We just chalked it up to coincidence, bad luck, hell, guys die in war. Still, things got stranger. Sarge kept having dreams, seeing all of us die, one at a time, they just thought it was shell shock, that he was nuts. Then the rest of us started dying. Masters succumbed to an infection where they amputated his leg. Hernandez went into a seizure and kicked out his IV line, they calmed him down and injected him with a sedative, though they didn't notice there was some air in the syringe. The bubble went to his heart, giving him an air embolism. A day later, Roque was preparing to go back to combat when he got hit by a jeep and dragged for a hundred yards. At first we thought it was bad luck, but it did look kind of odd. Sarge knew each of the deaths before they happened, but we didn't believe him. It wasn't until Skinner fell down those stairs that I believed. Sarge and I, we went AWOL, we knew something was going to happen to me next. Ya see, they all died in the order Sarge said they would. He knew I was next and he figured if he could keep me out of harms way, the both of us would survive this thing. Wasn't more than twenty minutes before he had another vision, I was going to be killed by a stray mortar. Sure enough, we heard one coming, and it was going right for us. My foot was stuck in a sewer grate, and I would have been killed had Sarge not broken my foot and thrown me to the side, catching the mortar himself and being blown apart by it. He intervened, sacrificed his life for mine, and I lived," Mr. Christy finished, sitting heavily into the chair.
"So you know about all this, you've lived this before, and now it's happening again? Isn't it?" Mike asked.
"This is my third time, and I am positive that it is. Right now, you guys have got to figure out a way to get around this and hide away," Mr. Christy said.
"Wait," Mike said, "this is your third time? What was the second."
"The second one was more dodging a bullet than anything else. You know the story of Flight 180?"
"Yeah," Mike said, "Sarah gave me a book about it and other events."
'Well, I used to work at Mount Abraham High School, I taught biology there, Larry Murnau and Val Lewton were good friends of mine, Clear Rivers, Terry Chaney and Billy Hitchcock were some of my better students. Anyway, when it came down to the time of the field trip, Valerie and I both wanted to go, so it went down to the flip of a coin to see who would go. She won, they died, I lived."
"Jesus Christ," Mike said as he realized the severity of the situation.
"Yes, I moved out after all the survivors had been killed, when Alex and Clear went into hiding," Mr. Christy added.
"So, do you know how to beat this thing? You've done it before, can you help us beat the design and get back to normal?" Mike asked.
"No," Mr. Christy said, "I don't know how. But I might know some people who do."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, things he never left home without. Mike watched as he scrawled some words on the small piece of paper, then handing it over.
"These people operate a safe house that can keep you alive. They're all survivors in their own right, all of them had visions or premonitions, they've all beaten the order. You gather up everyone, you get to them ASAP and you might all live to tell your story for another book."
With that, Valentine Christy stood up and walked to the door. Trying to get up, Mike sat back as his head hurt madly.
"What about you Mr. Christy?"
Mr. Christy turned around to face Mike, though he couldn't meet eyes with one of his favorite students.
"I'm tired of running. I ran before, I'm just going to sit back and let whatever happens happen. I lost my wife to cancer four years back, I lost my job, my kids are all grown up and parents in their own right. Thanks much for the offer Mike, I know if there's anyone out there who can save me it's you, but I've run enough. It's up to you now to keep them alive."
As he turned to the door, Mike spoke up, "Hey Mr. Christy?"
"Yes?" Mr. Christy said, turning around.
"Please be safe."
"I'll do my best."
Like that, he left the room. Mike sat back in his bed in disbelief, not quite understanding what had been said. Mr. Christy had told his entire story, and said their might be salvation yet. Just go to these people, he had said. Looking to the paper, Mike saw an address in Nevada. With big letters at the top, Mr. Christy had written:
THE WATCHERS