April 18, 2010.
A/N: Hey, guys.
So, once again, sakuuya has raised an interesting point. In her review of the last chapter, she asked me why the internet and such are still working. I mean, according to the story, it's been a mass-scale invasion, which means routine life should pretty much be stagnant, what with there being no-one around to maintain it... right? Right?
Well, to my way of thinking, at this stage of the invasion, there would still be enough people around (bear in mind we're only about five or six days in) for the internet to still be up and running. In fact, I think it would continue to run, unless it got to the point where humanity's existence was being severely minimalised. Basically, I think it's still early enough in the invasion for life to be still sort of normal-ish, whilst being thrown upside down. Does anyone get what I mean?
Anyway! Onwards with the chapter. Enjoy :)
Searching for Solace
- EIGHT -
March 12 – 14:21
Clock Corner Medical Centre was closed. Morgan stared in disbelief at the dark interior behind the glass door, at the stark 'CLOSED' sign against the window. How could it be closed? Medical centres were always open! Just because she felt like it, she rattled the handle angrily, though she knew absolutely nothing good would come of it.
She grabbed her mobile out of her pocket. Damn, the battery was almost dead. She'd charge it when she got back to Jess'. Oh, wait. The little screen read:
Telstra
Balwyn Nth
Sunday, March 12
2:23 PM
Well, that explained why the clinic was closed. Nothing was open on a Sunday, except for McDonalds. And hospitals, she realised, which should be open 24/7. Morgan hurried back to the car and slammed the door. Max was sleeping in the passenger seat, her head lolling droopily. She chewed her lip worriedly for a moment, then reversed quickly out of the empty car park.
Hospital it was.
Fifteen minutes later, the commodore was pulling up out the front of Box Hill Hospital. The drive should have been much quicker, but Morgan had had to look the place up in the Melways. She eased Max out of the car and half-dragged her through the main entrance. From there, it was easy. She struggled to call for help, and the receptionist looked up, calling immediately for a stretcher. Max was led off to the ED, and Morgan was left to sit on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the cold, clinical waiting room, with nothing to entertain herself with but a few tattered, old magazines and a flickering TV in the corner broadcasting Coxy's Big Break.
March 12 – 15:06
"Get Dr. Ambrose, please."
Footsteps walking quickly away, fading. The faint sounds of machines beeping, and something hissing quietly every few seconds.
Paper rustling. Something plastic was put down.
More footsteps; more people this time.
"Mark?"
"Hi, Glen. Would you mind taking a look at the wound on her back for a moment?"
Someone hissing in shock.
"Jesus – how'd she manage that?"
"No idea. The girl who brought her in claims she was attacked by a spider."
"A spider?" A male voice laughs incredulously. "Bullshit."
"Victoria, would you mind setting up the suture kits? We need to try and close this wound. Clear theatre four – she needs open surgery, asap."
"How on earth are you going to clean that?"
"I have no idea. Standard procedures first, but I don't think this is a normal case. We might have to call Roger. The skin around the wound looks abnormal for a regular laceration."
A female voice. "Should I call?"
"I'll let you know. Just get the theatre ready for now."
Footsteps walking quickly away; light, feminine.
"What symptoms is she showing?"
"Hot and cold sweats, shivers… she's running a high fever – thirty nine point six. She's clearly dehydrated… She could possibly be malnourished – she's suffering extreme fatigue. All the signs are there – it all points to–"
"Fighting infection," the other man finishes. "But it's just a wound."
"Well, it's obviously gotten infected at some point. Badly. Discharge from the laceration itself is green. Actually, it's very similar to some of the other cases we've had recently, don't you think?"
Footsteps returning. "Theatre four's ready."
"Thanks, Victoria. Are you free for the next half hour, Glen?"
"Yeah, I should be. I've got surgery at four, but otherwise…"
"Mind helping me move her to IC?"
Their words become hazy. Her hearing is fuzzy. She stops listening.
March 12 – 17:43
"Miss Reid?"
Morgan started, quickly dragged out of her bored stupor, and looked around. The doctor who had wheeled Max away had finally returned. She glanced at the clock. No wonder she was hungry; it was almost six.
"Mackenzie's procedure went well," Dr. Chen, tall and intelligent-looking behind the ridiculous blue jumpsuit and booties, informed her. "We're keeping her in intensive care, just in case she needs immediate further care, but otherwise, she should make a slow but full recovery."
Morgan sighed audibly with relief. A smile cracked on her face for the first time that day. "When can I see her?"
"Well, you're welcome to sit with her if you'd like. She probably won't wake up for a while, but she's in a private room for now," Dr. Chen said. "It's probably a bit friendlier than the waiting room."
"Thanks." Morgan rose and followed him down the white linoleum corridor. The lights above their heads were long and bland, yet astonishingly bright. Quiet voices behind closed doors shared conversations in undertones. Monitoring beeps and sharp footsteps echoed in the silence. The whole place smelled of disinfectant and rubber gloves. Morgan didn't like it.
Max's room was small and square, with tasteless algae-green curtains to decorate the grimy window, a plain grey cupboard in the corner, and a stretcher-bed in the middle, with metal railings and headrest. Beside it was a simple maroon-cushioned chair. Dr. Chen nodded respectfully to her, and walked out. Morgan moved quietly bedside, her mouth pressed firmly into a line.
Max was hooked up to a ventilator, which was taped to her nose. It gurgled quietly every now and then next to the bed. A machine monitored her heart rate, beeping softly with each breath. Around one wrist was a patient identification tag; tacked to the end of the index finger of the other, a clamp-like thing Morgan didn't recognise. But it was the ghastly white of Max's face and the heavy shadowing beneath her eyes that pushed her over the edge.
Trying to fight the tears she knew would fall anyway, Morgan dragged the maroon chair closer to the bed and sat down, resting her elbows against the white blankets and gazing forlornly at her best friend. There is nothing scarier, she quickly decided, than seeing someone you love so much in such a state. The tears dripped down her cheeks, running haywire when she lay her head down.
"Fuck, Max," she whispered shakily. She sniffled audibly. "I'm sorry." She didn't know why those were the next words out of her mouth, only that she felt right saying them. She reached up with one hand to wipe at her face and thought about why she might have felt the impulse to apologise. Being the clever girl she was, it didn't take long.
"I'm sorry I've been such a shit friend. I should have taken you straight to hospital when you got that scratch – I knew that wasn't an ordinary cut. Now you're in surgery because of me… And–" she sucked in a shaky breath "–I'm sorry I've been so unreliable. I should have listened to you more. I know it's too late for apologies, and that you can't even hear me right now… but I'm apologising anyway."
The blanket under her head was getting warm; she could feel it against her damp cheek. A single tear wobbled on the tip of her nose and dripped off. She blinked slowly; her eyelids were getting heavy. She didn't even realise how tired she was. Now that she was comfortable, it was hitting hard. She hadn't slept properly in days, and it was catching up with her.
The consistent quiet beeping of Max's heart monitor eased her to sleep.
March 12 – 20:11
Morgan jolted awake to the sound of movement in the room. Her gaze swam groggily into focus; she blinked a few times to clear it. A nurse shuffled quietly on the other side of Max, checking the ventilator and heart monitor. She glanced over and smiled upon seeing Morgan conscious.
"Hi."
"Hi," Morgan croaked, her voice still thick with sleep. She cleared it and sat up, stifling a yawn. What time was it?
"Are you her sister?" the nurse asked. Morgan caught herself just before responding instinctively, wondering what the smartest answer would be. Would she be kicked out if they knew she wasn't immediate family?
"Practically," she said, smiling.
The nurse smiled back and consulted a clipboard of notes sitting on the grey mobile table at the foot of the bed. "Does she have any family members we can contact? There weren't many details listed on her admittance sheet."
"She does," Morgan said carefully, "we think. We're not entirely sure right now… I think I'm her family at the moment; we haven't heard from anyone for days."
The nurse nodded soberly in understanding. "We've had a few cases like that lately." She flipped through the pages on the clipboard and put it back down, smiling by way of farewell as she moved to the door.
"Oh, um," Morgan said, suddenly thinking of something. The nurse paused. "Is there any way we could turn the TV on?" She nodded to the small black box mounted in the top corner.
"Of course," the nurse replied. She crossed to the cupboard, taking out a dusty remote. "Here. I'll leave you to play with it." Smiling, she left. Morgan examined the remote for a moment, wondering if the TV set was so old that it wouldn't even turn on, and located what she hoped was the 'on' button. The screen faded slowly to life, displaying a fuzzy picture. She flicked around until it landed on the channel with the best reception (the colour was slightly off, but it was the clearest), and found that she'd caught the second half of a Nine News update. Glancing at Max, who was sleeping very soundly, she raised the volume.
"… holding more than sixty schools hostage Victoria-wide. Thousands of students are currently in confinement, their only means of contact with the outside world through text message. Desperate parents wait anxiously for their kids to be released. Until officials can storm the schools, there is no way of knowing the number of casualties."
Morgan stared wordlessly at the TV, imagining that her own expression must have mirrored that of the grave reporter. The report was being conducted in front of a public school somewhere – Morgan guessed one that was either safe, or deserted. She couldn't imagine the media would endanger themselves by going anywhere near one of the schools under siege. The TV flicked back to the newsroom.
"And continuing with our coverage of the Monster Crisis, the casualty count continues to climb as the reported number of creatures prowling our streets steadily rises. The Australian death toll hit six hundred and forty-nine this afternoon when a bus of students was attacked in the western suburbs of Sydney. Of the forty-eight passengers there were only four survivors. Three escaped with minor injuries; the fourth is currently in intensive care, in a critical condition.
"To international news now: the casualty count is increasing at an alarming rate, with some of the world's largest nations contributing the highest fatality counts. At the top of the list is the United States with almost two thousand deaths in six days. American President George W. Bush has urged that people remain calm, reassuring at a press conference this morning that the situation is, in fact, under control."
Morgan zoned out when the president's face appeared on the screen. As he talked in the background, she fought the nausea swelling in her stomach. Two thousand dead in America alone? In only six days? How could he possibly consider that 'under control'? She shot a glare at his fuzzy face. It was all good and well for him to try and calm everyone down from his plush leather armchair; he probably hadn't even left the Whitehouse yet. It wasn't like he was out on the streets with the rest of his country. Politicians, Morgan scowled. Useless, no matter which country you were in.
The newsreader's face reappeared. "Other nations contributing high death tolls include India, China–" Morgan smashed her finger down aggressively on the power button, and the screen flashed to nothingness. The quiet static crackling as it cooled was the only sound to break the heavy silence of the room. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, her breathing coming heavily.
She couldn't watch any more.
CULTURE NOTE
Centre - Yeah, we spell it 're', not 'er'. Get used to our different spelling XD
Melways - Street directory/maps, like a big book. There's a 'Sydways' for Sydney and a 'Melways' for Melbourne. Don't know about any other Aussie places.
Coxy's Big Break - A travel show hosted by Coxy, an old Aussie semi-celebrity. He usually focuses on more local sights and hotels, like Victorian bed'n'breakfasts, etc.
Colour - Same deal as with 'centre'. Our English is English English, not American English.
NOTES
Note! Clock Corner Medical Centre is a real medical practice in Melbourne. I looked it up :) Box Hill Hospital is also real. There will be lots of actual places mentioned in this fic. It's really weird and different mixing fiction with reality O_O
Note! I'm terrible with American history and politics. George W. Bush, John F. Kennedy, Franklin Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan, Bill/Hillary Clinton, and Barack Obama are about the only big names I can remember. There are a couple of others, but they have little significance to me, 'cause I'm not an American :/ So, by my records, George W. Bush was still president in 2007 XD Well, he is in this fic, at least :P
Note! Did anyone notice that I slipped from past to present tense there? I love doing that. So sneaky XD
A/N: There you go. Some worldly updates on the Monster Crisis. Haha, yup, I named it. And poor Morgan. Coming to terms at last, eh? It's not all rainbows and butterflies out there, sweetheart. What happens next? You'll find out in approximately three days, since it seems that's the habit I've got myself into :D
Review? :)
Until the next update.
Love,
Cherrie xx