“Nurse.” It was the doctor again. “You’re needed in room eight. We have a situation unfolding and it doesn’t look good. Prepare yourself accordingly.”
Angelique nodded her reply; words weren’t necessary. A doctor saying prepare meant the definition of worst was about to change and not for the better. Eyelids closed, this time, when they opened, her heart had an extra layer of protection around it. She exhaled, the mask catching her breath.
Children. She’d wanted her own before the virus reared its ugly head. Now, bringing life into a sickness-ravaged world had become a question of morality. Waiting to see if things improved in a year or two had been her answer.
The doctor huffed by her side, breaking her from being swallowed by her own thoughts. “There are no more isolation chambers, especially not for a group this size,” he mentioned nonchalantly, tugging off a pair of gloves to apply a double dose of hand sanitizer, without even being fazed by the fact his hands were already chapped and red from its overuse. “This room will have to do for now.”
He was distant—a man who had severed all connections to his patients—taking lack of emotion to a degree further than she was capable of. “Should I order tests?” She already knew the answer. The children were all positive. It was the virus. She felt their pain, heard their muffled pleas for relief.
“No.” The doctor didn’t so much as flinch. “They were each administered a field test the moment the class showed signs of being infected.” Pen scratched on paper as he signed away their lives. “We’ll need added security in the waiting room. Parents will be rushing in. There can be no contact. It’s a wait and see situation from here in out.”
That was a lie. He and everyone else already had already written the toddlers off as doomed. The death rate for children under ten was eighty-five percent from onset of symptoms. It would take a miracle for any to survive.
“What about the teacher?” Angelique asked, eyes still fixated on the ward completely filled with beds. “Where is she?”
“In another room,” the doctor answered, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There is still a chance she may recover, albeit a slim one. I see no sense in putting her through the torture of hearing the children’s cries.” An answer held no consequence in his mind. His thoughts were already busied with the next case. She was alone, left to her own devices. The door shut behind her.
If she’d chosen to have a child, he or she would have been about the same age, perhaps even in that very class. They were young, too young to suffer such an atrocious fate. They’d done no wrong—none were old enough to knowingly sin. Stepping in as their saviour, however, meant giving up on all others for the rest of the day, maybe even longer. There were so many tiny bodies. The task would push her to the limit, perhaps even well past it. Healing them would render her special abilities useless.
A bed rattled, its patient shaking. The seizures had begun. The fever was reaching critical levels. No medicine would break it. No treatments were known to stop its progression. It was now or never—save them or damn them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not to the children but to those who came after, the ones she wouldn’t be able to save. Her hands glowed, light purging darkness from each tiny body. For better or worse, the choice was made. There was no going back.
“Are you okay?” Janet, another nurse, rushed to her side just outside the room. “You look paler than a ghost.”
One hand reached out, using the wall as a means to steady the rest of her body. “I’ll be all right,” Angelique answered. “I just need a bit of air.” It was the truth. She was breathing, but oxygen wasn’t reaching her lungs. That was why she was dizzy. That was why her knees were weak. A punch straight to the chest would have been easier to deal with. “I’ll take my break now.” The exit was already in sight, the doors opening on approach in anticipation of her needing to flee.
Air: even through the mask it was obvious there was nothing fresh about what she was inhaling. She glanced to the right, smoke rising to form clouds overhead. The odours from the neighbouring crematorium were the strongest by the emergency doors. It was a blemish for the healthy, yet a most convenient spot to place such a business. Deceased bodies were shipped there daily and dealt with immediately. There were no funerals, no ceremonies. Loved ones were lucky if they were notified. No news was bad news. Ashes of the dead were buried in large pits—faces and names of the fallen unspoken and forgotten.
Flashing lights, a siren, an ambulance was coming in at a terrifying speed. Eyes widened, watching the patient transport take the final corner, the precious cargo inside no doubt in need of the best medical assistance available. Even without a special gift, she was a nurse—part of the hospital staff. She had the training. As long as one of them held on to hope, lives would still be saved.
“What’s incoming?” Angelique asked, rushing to the sanitizing station. The mask and gloves ripped off, hands already under a stream of hot water. A splash of water hit her face, before replacing the protective layers.
“It’s not the virus,” Janet replied. “These are stabbing cases, probably muggings since none of them have any identification. They are all listed as Jane and John Does.” She rolled her eyes. “As if we didn’t have enough problems today.”
The hammer hit the nail on the head with that statement. “Which one is first?” Angelique asked, letting out a sigh.
“Room thirteen,” Janet replied. “He’s the hero of the bunch... tried to save them all, I hear. As a result, he’s in the worst condition of the lot.” Her head shook as she spoke. “It doesn’t pay to play God when it comes to life and death.”
“I’ll head there,” Angelique said, already partway down the hall, ignoring her co-worker’s final statement.
Room thirteen was normally only assigned as a last resort. For the most part, it had been a storage room used for any overflow of supplies. Growing need was responsible for its recent remodelling.
“He’s losing blood!” the doctor yelled. “We don’t have time for samples.”
“Starting it now,” a nurse answered.
“Blood pressure’s falling!”
Angelique froze at the door, watching the lines on various monitors go flat. Alarms sounded. Someone knocked her aside, a crash cart racing in.
“Code blue, room thirteen. Code blue, room thirteen.”
There was nothing to do but watch and pray. Her gift was spent for the children’s sake. Outside the heavens wept. Beneath the ground demons rejoiced. This time the curse brought with it a devilish twist they were proud of.
“Mark time of death,” the doctor sighed. “Put him down as another John Doe.”
Angelique’s armour shattered, tears streaking down her cheeks. “That won’t be necessary.” Shaking knees gave out, sending her plummeting to the ground. “His name was Chris. He was my husband.”
About C.A. King
USA Today Bestselling Author, C.A. King, is the recipient of several awards, including: The Hamilton Spectator Readers' Choice Award for 2017, 2018 & 2019 in the Best Local Author category; The Brant News Readers' Choice Award for 2017 Best Local Author; Readers' Favorite award in the short story/novella category; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best New Adult; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best Novella; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction—Supernatural genre; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Bronze Medal in the Fiction—New Adult genre; 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction—Supernatural genre; and 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Young Adult—Fantasy—Urban Genre.