The drive so far was fairly uneventful.
It was a beautiful day; the sky was blue without a cloud, the sun shone through the windshield warming my face and down reflecting off the Yellow Brick Road making it appear to glow. The scene would have been enjoyable if not for the nagging fact that the Wicked Witch of the West; the most feared creature in all of Oz was in the back of the car and so far hadn't made a sound. If I concentrated, I could pretend she didn't exist and that we were on a leisurely drive across the country side – not transporting a half dead Witch.
It was silent in the car. Dorothy was cringing slightly, hugging her mutt close to her like a comfort object while Scarecrow and I stared straight ahead. I could feel my heart beating, sending vibrations up my throat as if it were attempting to beat its way through my chest cavity. It was strange considering I had been sitting for over an hour. The tension in the atmosphere was becoming unbearable.
We drove on back through the apple orchard and the cornfield until we had officially reached the outskirts of Munchkin land where the population consisted entirely (it seemed) of three foot tall Munchkins with pale, almost literally white skin. They were dressed casually unlike downtown Munchkin land where they dressed like they were invited to some fancy dinner party. These people were dressed in polo shirts, baggy shorts like the equivalent of khaki pants and lace up shoes made with rubber soles and cloth that came up to their ankles like…converse? The women too were casual. Some – adolescents it seemed, wore white blouses and blue skirts with a logo on it. They were chatting amongst each other in large groups and were clutching books to their chests. Some of the others (not a lot of them) surprisingly also wore pants and plain, tighter fitting T – shirts.
This surprised me for a moment. I had gotten the impression of a 1900s kind of place but these people were actually pretty modern.
The buildings were also different. It was residential all around and consisted of plain, identical looking houses of white plaster and triangular, red roof tops in line perfectly with each other so they formed rows. The Yellow Brick Road cut a wide path through them, creating another section of rows. There were parks sometimes breaking up the rows and once I passed what looked to be a day care centre where scrawny, muddy children aged 3 to 6 chased each other in the dirt.
Actually, this area looked a bit like the suburbs.
"Becky" said Dorothy, wrinkling her nose "It smells like rust back here."
"Huh, rust?" I said, at the same time noticing it. It did smell like rust, kind of coppery. I suddenly froze in realization. We didn't stop the Witch from bleeding. "Hey Dorothy? How's the…the Witch doing?" I never thought I'd say that in my life 'how's the Witch doing?' I sounded like some one out of a story book.
I saw from the rear view mirror Dorothy turn around in her seat to look at the Witch.
"Dear Lord…" she whispered."Becky she…she's bled quite a bit"
Well that explains it the rust smell.
"Aw dammit – we forgot to stop the bleeding!" I couldn't believe this! I forget about spinal injuries, I forget to check her breathing and now I forgot to stop the bleeding! I really should have taken a first aid course. Man, I'm hopeless.
Scarecrow seemed fairly unconcerned about this but then again this is the Wicked Witch.
"All this time folks thought she couldn't bleed…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head at either his own ignorance or the ignorance of his 'folks'. Then he spoke up "What do you reckon we do?"
"Somebody stop it!" Dorothy wouldn't be able to do that. She's just an innocent, little girl. She wouldn't manage and I was driving. "Scarecrow could you do it?"
He seemed neutral on the matter and shrugged.
"Sure" he replied as if he was agreeing to fetch me a soda. He looked around for a moment "What do I use?" he asked
"Ummm." there should be something. This car is always filled with stuff like cushions, blankets… "There's a blanket on the back seat"
He got up and went toward the back as I adjusted the rear view mirror for a glance. I saw him pick up a navy blanket off the seat and he made his way back toward the Witch. I couldn't help for my eyes to follow him and lead to the sight of the broken Witch. I inhaled sharply, almost gagging as the rusty smell of blood suddenly became profound.
Dark stains seeped into the floor and spread from the Witch's head in circular patterns, shaped like grim, inky hills painted into the carpeting, her ankle had swollen into an ugly tennis ball and the tire burns covering her lower body had become inflamed and sort of puffy looking.
She'll be feeling that when she wakes up…if she wakes up.
I continued to watch as he kneeled down by her head, folding the blanket into a neat rectangle as he did. For a moment I wondered what material that blanket was made from - cotton, fleece, or nylon. Does it even matter?
He pressed the folded blanket onto the gash in her head, crossing one hand over the other, his elbows locked and leaning from the waist.
He froze as the Witch's body flinched painfully and she moaned softly, barely audible. For a moment he stalled, unsure whether of not to continue and possibly wake her up or to stop and let her bleed. He continued to press, gradually increasing the pressure…
"Becky, the Road!" said Dorothy sharply who probably hadn't heard it.
"Right, right" I muttered sheepish. I had to resist the urge to look up again. All it took was a flick of my head and I could see what was happening. For a while it was silent, the car's atmosphere had become anticipant, my head swirling with speculation. What is Scarecrow doing with the Witch? I thought. Is he making progress? I so wanted to look up, just the twitch of the eye balls -
Suddenly, there was another moan from the back – louder this time. I could hear the shuffling of cloth and Scarecrow's voice, barley audible.
"Keep still." he whispered and the Witch moaned again. I suddenly wondered how we were going to explain this to the receptionist at the hospital. I could imagine the exchange already
'Hello, how may I help you?" the receptionist says in her polite, slightly curt way
"Uhhhh…we need a stretcher. We got a person in the car"
She looks at us suspiciously "Who is it?" she says
"Um…would you believe…the Witch of the West?" That would have totally failed.
There was another moan sounding from the back – louder than before like a wail. Then came Scarecrow's voice, quite and level like he was reading a memo.
"Hush now. Don't move" he said and she wailed again, louder. I heard Dorothy whimper in the back. There was more rustling and a crackling sound like straw being shifted. Then there was something ripping like fabric, followed by a pained yell and ragged breathing and a gagging sound like she was choking. There was silence for a moment. I could feel my heart pounding into my throat as I waited for something to happen.
Shit, if she wakes up in the car -
A sudden scream that sounded horrific in the enclosed space of the car.
I visibly jumped and Dorothy joined the Witch in screaming and bolted to the front seat clutching her dog. I drove faster, not daring look into the mirror and see as the blood curdling screams continued. I could hear Scarecrow again, speaking in a series of mantras.
"Shhh stay still. Relax." his voice was rising to be heard over the screams but still maintained that same, robotic, level tone. Suddenly, there was a woman speaking
"Wha…What …d - did you do?" she said still managing to sound assertive even though her voice was strained and ragged.
Scarecrow continued with mantras "It's alright. Try to relax. Hush now." she screamed again becoming more and more desperate as her level of consciousness increased.
"You…you fiend I…I can't breathe!" panted the woman followed by a fit of uncontrolled coughing and a gurgling noise.
I pressed down on the accelerator, watching the needle on the speed metre creep up to 120 km an hour. I quickly turned my eyes to the Road, squinting as yellowish afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windshield, casting a pleasant light into the car's chaotic interior. We were already driving along the edge of District 3. The hospital should be coming up any moment. I heard Scarecrow again.
"Breathe with me." he said calmly, soothingly. He breathed, slow and steadily, emphasizing each inhale. She tried to follow him, her breath becoming more ragged, more painful the slower she breathed. She screamed urgently as she could no longer bear it, sending chills up my spine. I wished she would stop. The sound was like mourning.
I wonder what the speed limit in Oz is.
"Becky is that it down yonder?" asked Dorothy anxiously, pointing toward a large, square building in the midst of houses.
"Yeah" it was the only large building I saw in this place so far. Must be it. I drove to it and stopped directly in front of the doors. It was a surprisingly simple but modern looking building. It was shaped literally like a giant, white plaster rectangle that had fallen on its side, making it longer than it was tall. Above a canopy in the centre of the building were the words NEST HARDINGS GENERAL HOSPITAL in large red, capital letters.
So this place has a name. Nest Hardings. Why is it called Nest Hardings anyway?
Another desperate scream like a reminder to hurry up.
Dorothy and I hopped out of the car, leaving Scarecrow with the Witch. I averted my eyes when I passed the back windows.
We ran hurriedly to the heavy, glass doors and decided to slow our pace, walking briskly up to the receptionist. She was on a phone – a phone like one of those old ones with a dial where you spin to select the digits. To my surprise, I saw a computer on the other side of the desk, facing toward us. It wasn't anything like modern computers but like those old ones where you have a black screen and a keyboard capable of typing green, blocky text. But the screen was small – about the size of a portable DVD player while the actual computer took up almost that entire section of the desk, wires sticking up all over the place. I wasn't expecting Oz to have electronics – perhaps they've even launched a satellite recently!
The receptionist looked up when we approached the desk.
"Hello, how may I help you girls?" she said pleasantly, reminding me somewhat of Glinda
"Um…Uh well" I still hadn't figured out how to explain this. "We actually um –"
"We have a patient outside" said Dorothy beating me to it "She's mighty injured you see" Good she didn't mention the Witch part. We would most likely get told off…but happens when the paramedics arrive? How are they going to react?
The receptionist nodded, taken aback. She peered at Dorothy's traumatized face for a moment before reaching into her desk and pulling out…a pager? It was a black pager with a keyboard and green screen. It was attached to a wire that led to the ground.
"What's their – her condition?"
"She…" Dorothy gulped "She was …she was hit by a vehicle miss" I could tell she was trying to speak in hushed tones but the few patients in the room raised their heads and began murmuring to one another like a flock of gossipy school girls
"What kind?"
"Err…an automobile of sorts"
"Do you know if she's insured?" the receptionist stopped typing for a moment
The question surprised me for a moment. I had never thought of that - I was too busy over the Witch's physical condition; I had completely forgotten to take into account her finances. Can Witches even get jobs? I tried to imagine what that would look like. A Witch like the Witch in…in Hansel and Gretel working at a convenience store behind the cash register or as a waitress. May I take your order sir? That would have looked hilarious…and so not like a Witch or is being a Witch also classified as a job? Self employed and paid by…... how do they get paid? How do they make a living?
But I really hoped she had insurance. People go bankrupt over this sort of thing…but doesn't the government pay for criminals? No wait that's for Canada but what about Oz? I hope she has insurance. If she doesn't, it'll be my fault if she goes bankrupt – and she was pissed off at me already! And on so many liable levels!
I am a dead man.
Dorothy stopped to think "I...I think…I'd assume…"
"We got no clue." I said and Dorothy sent me a pointed look.
The receptionist resumed typing for a moment, her thumbs moving rapidly across the keyboard like an experienced texter. Then she looked up.
"A crew has been sent to the front of the hospital. May I have your names?"
"Dorothy Gale – and this is Toto." she was still had that dog with her. To my great surprise the receptionist actually stood up to look over the counter, scowling. She saw the dog that yipped in response then sat back down.
"And your name?" she asked me.
"Um I'm Becky Johnson" she went to the computer thing and recorded our names, the keyboard making loud clicking noises as she typed.
"You may take a seat" she motioned to a couple of chairs spread out along the wall. Dorothy and I exchanged glances. I could imagine just sitting around in the quietness then all of a sudden have a stretcher burst through the doors, the Witch laying on it with millions of wires all over the place, a mask on her face, people shouting instructions at each other like in the movies, Scarecrow trailing behind them. That would be a bit too shocking. I'd rather see it happen gradually…or maybe I could leave…no that wouldn't be right, this was all my fault to begin with.
Why did I insist on driving in the first place? I wondered, suddenly furious at myself. I only have a learners permit – not even an actual licence! And look what happened!
"You know, I think we'll just wait outside." I said "We have a friend there."
"You want to wait for the stretcher?" she said slowly, her eyebrows raised
"Yeah, that alright?" I wonder if that might have sounded too demanding.
"Well" she seemed unable to come to a decision. "Well as long as you don't interfere" she said before returning her attention back to the computer monitor.
Dorothy and I walked back out. Even from this distance I could see Scarecrow had opened the trunk – perhaps to let some air in? I glanced at Dorothy whose face was filled with dread. I began walking forward and she was forced to follow.
We got to the car.
Before we were even there long enough to get a close look, Dorothy squealed loudly, startling me and averted her eyes before calmly walking to the front of the vehicle.
Scarecrow was kneeling over the Witch, watching her at a loss, his weird eyes displaying a surprising display of concern mixed with mild curiosity like this whole situation both alarmed him and at the same time fascinated him.
The Witch had quieted down quite a bit, her screams reduced to ragged moans and uneven, measured breaths so her ribcage expanded just enough to let air in but no so much as to cause her further pain. She was clutching at her stomach where I could see between flaps of torn shirt had gone bruised but not in blotches as is the standard patterning of bruises. Hers spread in branches or tentacles slipping, slithering between the tight space between her fleshy insides and her skin, wrapping themselves around her waist. Strange. There was also some kind of honeycomb pattern imprinted onto her lower abdomen…is that the car radiator?
The pretty, evening sunlight shone into the car, highlighting the differing shades of red that leaked from the Witch. There was the brown, dried up stains permanently set into the carpeting, the fresher but darker shades that oozed from open sores, her demolished, swollen ankle and still from her head that gathered into inky, dark – black blotches, the texture of thin syrup or boiled milk. Then there was the blood that gurgled from her mouth as she pressed harder on her abdomen that spewed pretty, bright reds.
Does that mean anything? Differing shades of blood? Where's the ambulance?
"There they are!" said a voice nearby. I turned and saw the ambulance crew had arrived at last. They were pushing a stretcher – a surprisingly modern stretcher. It made of a series of metal poles that attached to one another with hinges so it was flexible and resting on the metal frame was a steel platform carrying an orange, foam mat whose material had the shiny look of waterproof. Strapped on either sides of the stretcher were blue, bulky bags of medical equipment and strips of leather with buckles most likely used for restraining or keeping the patient still or something like that.
For some reason I imagined the crew members to be dressed in white shirts and pants with a white cap on their heads bearing a red cross - a stereotype basically. They had on realistic, light blue, baggy hospital scrubs and were wearing latex gloves that covered their hands like a second layer of white, powdery skin.
They stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the Witch. I could have laughed at their shocked expressions. Kind of unprofessional but then again, this is their number one public enemy; the Wicked Witch of the West…that got hit by a car. That still sounded weird to say.
Then finally, one of them spoke.
"You" he was a young man with sandy hair cropped short and worried, icy eyes that were fixated on the Witch. He cleared his throat either to assert himself or out of trepidation - I couldn't tell. "You expect us to treat the Wicked Witch of the West?"
Yes, that is why we brought her here.
"By law you are required to treat her then turn her in." said Scarecrow. This coming from a guy without a brain!
The nurse eyed the Witch carefully. "But….but this is the Witch! She does not deserve our treatment!"
"But you care for criminals yes?"
"Well….yeah."
"How is this different?"
The nurse opened his mouth to retort but then closed it.
"But….she's awake?" he asked instead and stared at Scarecrow like he tamed a rabid lion…or maybe it was because he was conversing with a talking scarecrow but then again, the nurse probably thought he was just a guy in a costume…which is still weird.
Scarecrow nodded. "More or less" he said and the Witch made a whining noise like a wounded dog, squirming slightly in an attempt to escape the pain consuming her, veins beginning to show like bluish spider webs splayed across her face. Even when lying helpless in the back my car, she was still a chilling figure.
The nurse looked around at his companions. They seemed to lack any opinion maybe because like Scarecrow they were neutral on the matter and were indifferent as to what happened to the Witch or because their facial muscles were so stunned, they failed to show expression. He looked back at the Witch, unsure and hesitant.
"Look, we're not leaving her in the…the automobile" stated Scarecrow firmly. He seemed to be growing irritated as was I. Were they going to just stand there all day? Unprofessional.
Finally, the nurse moved forward with the stretcher and the others were forced to follow. I watched in fascination as they unlocked the hinges on the stretcher and lowered to the height of the car floor where the Witch lay. The crew members moved to hold the Witch still as others came forward with splints and bandages. They probably planned to immobilize her.
But as soon the nurses laid their hands on the Witch, her eyes snapped open and instead of backing off like I expected, the nurses quickly closed in as the Witch began to kick and flail about, yelling. There struggle as the nurses insisted to hold their ground, two hands on each limb, a nurse – the one that spoke to us holding her shoulders, shouting at the Witch to calm down as she tossed her head side to side…well at least she doesn't have a neck injury. One of the nurses ran off back to the hospital.
The nurse that spoke to us – most likely the leader of the group was shouting at the others. I couldn't exactly distinguish what he was saying although I could catch snippets the instructions. Something a trauma room, code orange, anti histones and internal bleeding, general anthesia…
The nurse that fled from the scene had returned with a device in his hand. A syringe.
He jogged over to the Witch who despite her injuries still struggled against her aids, kicking, snapping at them, blood spraying from her mouth and all over the nurses' hospital scrubs. Strong willed woman.
The nurse managed to get a hold of one of the Witch's arms and roll the sleeve up to the elbow. With his thumb on the plunger and his other hand holding down the Witch's arm, he slipped the needle into her wrist, the needle disappearing into her flesh as smooth as if he were stabbing a block of gelatine. He seemed inexperienced with this task, for the needle lingered and the Witch's eyes widened at the sudden, unfamiliar sting. The nurse pressed his thumb down on the plunger and the Witch suddenly stopped struggling, her muscles releasing as she suddenly grew quiescent, her body sinking down into the floor of the car.
The rest of the procedure was simple and quick. They wrapped her limbs in splints and bandaged them in place then wrapped a belt tightly around her hips. To avoid moving her around, they placed foam like cushions in the gaps between her arms and her torso and between her legs so she was fully immobilized. The Witched watched this process through half closed eyes, her eyes darting back and forth.
They finally got her on the stretcher, blood running off the waterproof surface. A mask was placed over the Witch's nose and mouth with an inflated, transparent bag attached to the mask that deflated whenever she breathed in and inflated when she exhaled. Her eyes closed as if she were falling asleep and her head lolled to the side.
They wheeled her away, half jogging to the side of the hospital. One of them stayed behind though with a clipboard in her hands.
"Could you state the exact events leading to this ordeal?" she asked in the polite, slightly curt tone of an inexperienced recruit "I need it on record see."
Dorothy, Scarecrow and I exchanged glances, barley concealing our shame and reluctance to speak up. I did not want to explain how I ran over the Witch because I wasn't looking at the road, then forgot to check her vitals and brought her here conscious and screaming. That just wouldn't work – I mean, I could be arrested for this!
Wow I suddenly thought. Her sister's dead, I shot her eye out then ran her over…fuck I messed her up and who would have thought? I've done more damage to her than she's managed to do to me and I didn't even want to and she did! How ironic is that? That poor, unlucky, homicidal woman.
"Well um…" I was useless at this sort of thing…hah that's funny. This sort of thing. "What …what happened was…um…"
Reviews make me write faster…..can you guess what this is leading to?