White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (29 page)

Epilogue

The water would not cease for the first few hours, but then it eased up. It had found the paths that it would find through gutters and rivers and streams and valleys and seeping into the ground. By the time night fell, it was mostly gone. Annie couldn’t be sure where it had gone off to—perhaps hell, right along with Edgar--but it was a blessing.

              They’d been spared, though their trouble was far from over.

             
The sun blazed all the way through the afternoon. Annie loved the feeling of it, sobbing at how wonderful it felt, basking her body and reminding her that all was not completely lost, not while there was a sun in the sky and air in her lungs.

Paulie slept against her chest as she kept a tight grip on the tree. It was the longest day of her life, but she couldn’t ever recall feeling such love, having her offspring so close, relatively unharmed and ready to fight a new day with her.

As they descended the tree, they sloshed through the water. The whole world was ruined, but it could be rebuilt. Annie had rebuilt herself already, to some extent. The world was always ready to move on, to try again, over and over, ad infinitum.

The people in their neighborhood wandered the streets, in a daze, counting and hiding the bodies that they found. Some had been taken by the madness that had pervaded their world, in the form of Edgars and Shiny Bald Ones and Yetis and Chuckle Machines and Midget Men. There were countless more to be found, victims of a frightened rage that came when hope seemed forever lost.

Annie thanked God for sparing her. For sparing Paulie.

But Christian.
What of Christian?

No matter what happened next, she would never live down the feelings that still surfaced when she pictured his face. He’d loved her so damn much, but she’d never reciprocated enough for his deserving. For this, she was certain that she’d feel a perpetual guilt that she would very well be buried with.

“We’re going to be okay,” she said to Paulie, but even still, it sounded like a lie.

They were okay, for the time being.

The freak storm was gone, but its effects would be felt for decades.

Paulie smiled at her. No matter what happened next, everything would be okay.

“You guys all right?” a man asked, looking very much like he’d just been hit by a Mack truck. “Everybody okay?”

“We’re fine, thank you.”

Darkness had overtaken the world once again, but the warm air of the daytime was reassuring. Annie thought that it might very well be the finest night of their lives, knowing that they had survived and would continue to survive. The temperature had dropped considerably, as was to be expected with the overnight hours, but knowing that the morning would bring back fresh sunrays was all that Annie needed to know.

A neighbor from down the road, a man who called himself Jack, offered them a spot around a campfire he had constructed. Even with all the wetness, he had kept a stash of firewood in the upper levels of his barn. The idea of standing by a fire, hoping to dry off a bit by the time the sun came up, was more than delightful
, so Annie accepted his offer without hesitation.

“Mammah?”
Paulie asked, as they made their way down their street, one sloshy step at a time.

“Yes?”

“My daddah is gone,” he said.

Annie’s heart nearly collapsed in on itself. She only nodded
absently, stopping and leaning down next to her son, enveloping him in her arms, wishing that nothing bad would ever happen to him again, wishing that she could take away all the terrible thoughts that were running rampant inside of his brain. Her baby was too sensitive for this. He was brave, yes, but still he didn’t deserve this madness. Nobody did.

“Your Daddy loved you so much, Paulie. He would have done anything for you.”

Paulie broke into a fit of wrenching sobs. Annie hugged him harder.

An icy wind caught the back of Annie’s neck and her eyes popped open. The tears that were coming down her cheeks slowed their descent, sticking to her face.
An inexplicable chill overtook her body and she was no longer paying attention to the broken boy that stood before her. Something evil torqued at the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite identify. She knew that it was naughty--that it was full of nastiness and hatred--though she had no weapon to fight it off. “I love you, baby,” she said, clenching her eyes again, crying harder now along with her son.

A snowflake landed on her nose. It was chilly, crystallized, and mean.

Another snowflake.

And another.
And another. And another.

THE END

Read on for a free sample of Santuary: A post-apocalyptic thriller.

Chapter 1

“You look tired,” Janelle said, smelling the coffee in the center divider.

“I am,” Deeta answered.

“What’s going on?”

“Patient in the unit, septic.”

“Ooooh, tell me.”  Janelle was intrigued; she loved going over complex patients with Deeta.  Even though she wasn’t in the medical field, when the doctor went over difficult cases, it was as good as a documentary.

“A guy came in, older guy, with a hot abdomen.  Surgery was consulted but he didn’t show up for more than twenty-four hours. He needed surgery but the “CT didn’t show a definitive source of the ailment” was his excuse.  Now, he’s getting sicker: fevers, positive blood cultures, LFT’s and renal function getting worse.  So we repeat the CT. We can’t use contrast now with his renal failure, and that one doesn’t show an abscess or stranding, so he holds off surgery again.  So last night, he tanks and I put him on norepinephrine, he’s got an anaerobe growing in his blood on top of the gram negative that was already there.  I was up all night stabilizing this guy and talking to the surgeon and anesthesia.”

“He’s going to surgery?”  Janelle asked.

“Yeah, surgeon said he’d take him this morning.” 

“That’s good.” 

Deeta took a sip of coffee as she drove through the winter landscape.  It was a bright day and not too cold.  Janelle was glad she wouldn’t be getting off the plane in Florida in a lot of heavy clothes, hot and uncomfortable.  Traffic was starting to pick up and she watched the cars around her, wondering when she would be able to upgrade her car for a newer one.  After a while, she grew bored looking out the window and turned on the radio.

“So, did you hear about this bank executive,” the voice on the radio said, “This CEO of a large bank goes missing.  There’s this huge search for him.”

“Looking for a girlfriend,” the cohost says.

“Right, skipped out of town with some young hottie and gonna mail the wife divorce papers.  They track this guy down to a Manhattan apartment, which is some sort of sex club.  He’s been there for like, three weeks.  I guess you pay a fee and can stay there as long as you want.  The DA is looking into bringing charges, but everyone there pays a fee and goes in, but it’s voluntary for everyone there, so it’s not really prostitution.”

“Is it a monthly charge or like a buffet, one price and all you can eat,” both hosts laugh.

“It doesn’t say, but it sounds like the buffet.  But get this, there’s a mother of four that was there for six weeks.”

“So the women have to pay too.  Do they at least get a discount?”

“Yeah, by the pound,” the host laughs. “Let’s see, you’re one twenty-five, that’s five bucks.  Two fifty, twenty grand.”  Both laugh. “Yeah, so they got like four missing persons cases solved with this one bust.  People had…uh… been in there from 3 days to six weeks.  Can you believe that?”

“How’d they get busted, did the pizza delivery guy report strange smells?” The cohost asked.

“Oh, that’s just nasty.  Yeah, who’s doing the laundry in that place, Augh?”

“Can I change this?”  Janelle asked.

“Please,” Deeta answered.

“What you listening to?”  Janelle picked up the doctor’s phone and plugged it into the auxiliary jack.  Distorted guitar blasted out of the speakers.  It sounded somewhat familiar to her. When she heard the lyrics, she remembered.  “It’s just one of those days when you don’t wanna wake up, everything is fucked, everybody sucks.” 

“Agh, how can you listen to this early in the morning?”

“I wasn’t, you turned it on,” Deeta answered. “I was listening to it last night.  Remember, you were gonna meet me at the gym?”

“I wish I did.  I’m sorry; the interview ran late. 
Shoulda worked out. It was a waste of time.”

Deeta patted her leg.

The second verse started, and Janelle found herself singing along, “First one to complain leaves with a blood stain!” 

“Can I change?”  She asked.

“You turned it on!” 

Janelle scrolled through her selections. “Don’t you listen to anything new?”

“Sorry, Beyoncé just doesn’t cut it for me when I’m working out.”

“The Goo Goo Dolls?”
  Janelle questioned.

“Yeah,” Deeta said, “play that.”

“Which one?”

“Any, they’re all good.” 

Janelle listened to the sweet guitar and mandolin, and listened to the first verse of the song Iris.  “White people can be so romantic,” she mused.  Deeta rolled her eyes. 

The traffic became heavier as more people poured onto the highway.  “Did you hear that?”  Janelle asked.

“No, what?”  Deeta answered, as a series of loud pops sounded off behind them.

“That!”  Janelle turned around. “That sounds like a gun.”

The doctor looked in her rearview mirror, “Yeah, it is.”

The volume of the music dropped, and as the phone rang over the speakers, Deeta answered.

“Dr. Nakshband?  This is the answering service.  I have a Doctor Slagle on the line from the ICU.  Can I put him through?”

“Yes, please,” Deeta said.  Janelle squirmed in anticipation.

“Doctor Nakshband, Dr. Slagle would like to speak with you.”

“Okay, put him on,” Deeta said.
“God, what now?” She thought, as she heard Slagle come to the phone.

“This patient is unstable. How am I supposed to take him to the OR?” He shouted.

“Pardon?” She said somewhat confused and taken aback.

“This patient is septic. He’s too unstable,” he said curtly.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she answered,“Yes he’s septic and unstable. The abscess must be located and drained or he will continue to deteriorate,” she answered calmly.

“You need to stabilize him before I can take him!”  He was shouting again. 

She hoped she could keep the contempt out of her voice. “He has been on Imipenem and Vanc since he’s been in. I added metronidazole last night.  I cannot expand coverage any more than that. I can’t put him on an antifungal without evidence with his kidneys and liver failing. He has Kleb growing in the blood and they called me last night with an anaerobe that turned up in his blood.  That is two bugs in the bloodstream.  That is evidence of a communication between the gut and the vascular system.  I cannot help him with antibiotics, so you need to open him up, find the abscess and drain it.”

“Is it KPC?” He was accusatory again.

“No.”

“How do you know?” Now he was mocking her.

“The C&S is in the chart,” Dr. Nakshband answered, “it’s pan-sensitive.”

“So you’re telling me that now I have to worry about this guy bleeding on the table with an entero-vascular fistula?  If I drain that abscess and there’s an artery in there, he’s gonna spew.” Slagle was getting angrier. 

“It looks that way,” she said. 

“I don’t need this guy dying on the table!  I don’t need an inquiry!”  Now he was screaming.  “He’s too unstable!  Anesthesia won’t do it!”

“I spoke with Heidelberg, he’ll do it,” Nakshband answered calmly.

She could tell the surgeon was furious.  “Oh, I see you covered your bases, leaving me with MY balls on the table.  You need to stabilize him!”  Slagle ordered.

“I can’t,” she responded calmly, “the source of infection has to be removed.”

“Thought you were some Ivy League whiz kid?” Slagle taunted.

Deeta really had the mind just to lay into him. It was Slagle’s hesitance that caused the patient to deteriorate.  His insistence they find the abscess before he went to surgery, and that delay in surgery is what is killing this patient.  “If he doesn’t go to surgery,” she thought, “this guy will die, and you, Slagle, are the largest liability on this case.  And when we get sued, I will paint a huge fucking target on your forehead.  This guy needed to go to surgery the day he was admitted. I said so, the pulmonologist said so, the cardiologist said so, and the nephrologist said so.  Even the fucking ER physician said so.  Three days of notes, saying this guy needs surgery before he tanks, and you’re holding out because you wanted him more stable.  That’s five against one, all with better minds than you, and you’ll not find any credible expert witnesses that will justify your temporization.  Oh, yeah, open up your checkbook, motherfucker, this one is going to cost you.  Your balls on the table? What balls? You don’t have any balls to put on the table.”

However, Nakshband knew she couldn’t say it.  Countless other physicians had pissed him off before, and he would sign off the case and she could not risk that now.  No other surgeon would accept a patient in an emergency like this, not with a greater than 50% risk of mortality in the OR.  Administration would have to assign another surgeon or force Slagle to stay on.
More than likely the latter.  If Slagle remained on the case, he’d hold his ground, and delay surgery until the patient died.  If they forced another surgeon to take this case, the patient would die before one was assigned. 

“Look,” she said in her best understanding voice, “we tried stabilizing before surgery, this was the risk. We cannot delay it further.  Without this surgery, he dies TODAY.  Is the wife there?”  Deeta asked.

“Yes,” he answered. 

“If I explain to her that he will more than likely die in surgery, and she accepts this risk, will you take him to surgery?”

“What about my numbers?” he asked.

“I can’t do anything about that,” Nakshband replied.

“No you can’t, can you?” He paused. “Get the wife,” he said to the nurse.

She half expected him to hang up the phone.  A female voice came on the phone.  “Mrs. Callenetti, this is Dr. Nakshband.” 

“Who?”  The woman answered. 

“Deeta,” Dr. Nakshband clarified. 

“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry. I only know you as Dr. Deeta. I have a bad problem with foreign names, I’m so sorry, I know it’s improper,” Mrs. Callenetti said trailing off. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Deeta replied, “everyone calls me that.  Listen, your husband is very sick.  He has an infection in his abdomen and we need to get it out.  We tried to get him healthier before the surgery with antibiotics, but the infection was too far advanced when we started.  If he doesn’t have surgery, he will die.”

“Dr. Slagle says he’s too sick to take to surgery,” Mrs. Callenetti answered. 

“Well, he is,” Deeta answered.  “Usually, someone this sick, we wouldn’t take to surgery. We would try to get him more stable.  However, we are already doing all that we can and he is getting worse.  I can’t give him any more drugs and turn him around.  What I need you to understand is that there is a very good chance he will die in surgery, but it is our only chance to save him.  He WILL die if he doesn’t have surgery.” 

“Oh, I see,” after a long pause, “I need to call my daughter.” 

“Mrs. Callenetti,” Deeta started, “what are you going to tell her?  I need to know you fully understand what is happening with your husband.  Tell me exactly what you are going to say to her.” 

Mrs. Callenetti paused, “Daddy is really sick.” Then she began to cry. Through the sobs, she continued, “He will die if he doesn’t have surgery, and he might die during the surgery, but it’s the only chance we have to save him.”

Deeta was tearing. “Yeah, that’s it,” she whispered. It was as strong as her voice could get, “you got it.” 

“Okay, I’ll call her,” Mrs. Callenetti said. 

The next voice she heard was Slagle.  “We should just put this guy on comfort measures.”  There wasn’t enough time for his wife to be out of earshot when he said it.

Deeta came unglued. “He’s 56 years old!  Younger than you!  His youngest kid is in High School!  Do your fucking JOB! You should have done it three fucking days ago, you stupid, prickless son of a BITCH!” 

“HEY...”  The doctor shouted as she turned off the cell phone. 

“That was probably a mistake,” she thought. 

Janelle sat quietly, listening. 

“Fucking asshole,” Deeta responded. 

“You know it’s conversations like that, which have
all those cell phone/driving laws in place,” Janelle chirped.