LENA

 

I eased Mr. Reynolds gently back into the wheelchair and turned to look for my partner. Someone screamed in the distant. I could only hope Chuck was already headed in that direction. To block out the sound, I concentrated on moving the wheels along the dusty road, on the sun beating down upon my back.

"Never thought I'd start to miss those IVs." Reynolds chuckled. "I'd carry one of those poles around with me any day."

Grunting, I navigated the chair around a pothole. "And you'd get mugged for your trouble." The image came all too readily. A body in an alley, skull cracked open like an egg.

Reynolds laughed, deep and gravelly. "Suppose you're right. No water for the weary. We'll be the first to go, you know. The old folk and the children." He coughed, clearing his lungs of dust. "Just look at history. In times of plague and famine, the weak and the frail always die first."

I could think of at least one instance where that wasn't true. The Dust Bowl of the 1930's had taken the lives of thousands of men, women, and children alike.

I forced a smile. "Not if I can help it."

I wasn't sure what I had expected from an old man forced to leave his home. A shred of gratitude would have been nice, but these were rough people. Tough. They lived off the land as surely as their ancestors had, making do with what they had.

"If you don't mind my asking, why'd you wait so long? The desert's no place for a rancher, even an experienced one."

Reynolds leaned to spit onto the dry, cracked earth. "Wasn't always a desert, girl. When the lake dried up, we thought it was a drought. The worst we'd had in years, but a drought all the same."

"You thought you'd wait it out?"

The man squinted, his weather-lined face assessing me. "You live here, you get used to seasons with little water."

The wheelchair bumped over a rock in our path.

"But when we couldn't drink no more—when there was no water to be found—that's when we realized. It weren't going to get better anytime soon."

"I see."

"Nah." Reynolds grinned at the sky as he shook his head. "You don't see, girl. You don't know what it used to be like, this land. It was my mama's and before that my granddaddy owned the place. The Reynolds' been here at least a century. It's home."

He'd expected to die on this land, same as his mother. It made sense in a desperate sort of way. That was why he and so many others had ignored the warnings and refused to evacuate. He was lucky we'd come for him. At the same time, he was unlucky. With no home and no strength to start over, he'd likely live out his days in the medical center.

"How much further?" Reynolds grumbled. "Do you intend to bake me alive?"

"We're nearly there," I assured him.

 

The medical center was a bustle of activity in the middle of an otherwise silent desert.

But Reynolds was right.

Southern California used to be quite pleasant, home to lemon groves and orange trees, cafes and warm sea breezes. Now it was as barren as New Mexico, half its cities burnt to ash, or worse, full of struggling natives who refused to live elsewhere.

The automatic doors slid open with a hiss, ushering us into an air-conditioned oasis. The clean tile floor and straight angle of the hallway contrasted with the dusty, rutted road outside. The doors slid shut and I inhaled deeply, grateful for the cool, clean air. The wheelchair rolled forward with minimal effort and I steered it toward the nearest elevator.

We passed the emergency care facility where the shouts of doctors rang out above the commotion. The urgent beeping of machines faded with a whoosh and Reynolds was silent as I jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

The elevator groaned and jolted upward.

"I ain't dying," he mumbled.

"No," I conceded. Not yet anyway. "But you're dehydrated."

Upstairs, a group of nurses stood clustered under the TV, gawking like a bunch of school children as a reporter gestured to an object in the sky. I tightened my grip on the wheelchair and steered my newest patient toward the west wing.

"What're they watching?" Reynolds eyed them suspiciously. "Don't they know there's people dying out there?"

I continued to stride purposefully down the hall. "It's nothing," I told him placidly. "Probably just a hoax. Besides, they say the government's dealing with it."

Reynolds craned his neck. "What?"

"Alien spacecraft apparently. Been there for weeks."

"Huh." He looked as if he was trying to decide whether I was playing with him or not. Satisfied with what he saw, he threw one last glance toward the nurses. He shook his head and shrugged, as if in defeat. "This planet's going to hell. Don't matter much if some alien buggers want it."

Quickly, I rounded the corner. The others could stand around gaping all day as long as no patient lives were at risk, but I would do what I had come here to do.

"Here we are, Mr. Reynolds." I pulled him into a private room. He wouldn't have to share for now, but there would be more.

As I wheeled him toward the bed, Reynolds uttered his first protest.

"Hold on, now. I'm just fine. Don't you trouble yourself." He eyed the standard hospital cot as if it was some sort of death sentence.

"There's no need to wait for a nurse, Mr. Reynolds. I lift patients all the time." I kicked down the brakes on the chair.

"I'd rather sit for now."

"Suit yourself." I sighed internally and left him where he was.

The cabinet with the IV fluids had double security measures in place to ensure restricted access. I was surprisingly used to it by now, flicking my card past the infrared light before pressing my thumb to the fingerprint scanner.

"You get the fancy stuff today," I joked. "This thing's got more water than the whole county combined."

The old man smiled half-heartedly. He didn't resist as I fixed up the IV and inserted the tube in the back of his hand.

"I bet you feel five years younger in a few days. We'll even feed you here. How's that sound?"

Reynolds nodded.

This wasn't the end for him as much as he expected it was. The world wasn't so lost as to resort to killing innocents in order to preserve humanity. Not in this country, at least. There was still enough water to go around as long as we were careful. Five years from now, though...I couldn't say.

As my patient relaxed in his chair, I stepped out of the room. In one smooth motion, I detached the phone from my belt and pressed on the smooth glass surface.

"Miranda," I said. "Please come to room two-forty. I've got an elderly patient here with severe malnutrition and dehydration. Room two-forty."

Much to my surprise, Miranda came at once. No more than a few minutes had passed when my intern showed up, hair askew and blood splattered across her blue scrubs.

"We've got five in the ER in critical condition."

"Thanks, but if you could keep it down, that'd be much appreciated." I nodded toward Reynolds. "He's had to face enough bad news for one day."

Miranda's eyes widened. "Sorry, Dr. Cordell."

I sighed. "Listen, I know you want to help downstairs, but you're assigned to me for the week. That means attending my patients."

"Of course, Dr. Cordell." The girl frowned. "I was planning on it, but you weren't back yet."

"And by attending, I mean watch over him. These people need fluids, but there's enough staff to go around. No one's going to die if you sit by his side for a while."

Miranda nodded, but her displeasure was clear. She was a smart girl. Smart enough to realize how valuable her skills could be in this wasteland. But she was young and committed only to efficiency.

While getting everyone their daily fluids was important, I preferred to get to know them as well. The only way to truly create trust was to understand the person first.

At least, that was how I got myself through the long, blazing hot days as we searched empty towns for stragglers. Getting to know my patients wasn't a luxury, it was necessary. Unfortunately, Miranda had little talent when it came to bedside manner and I had little time to teach her.

"Right, that should be all for now. I need you to monitor him regularly."

The girl nodded. "I'll get him something to eat."

"Thank you."

"Oh and Dr. Cordell."

I paused in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, I almost forgot." The girl ran a hand through her hair. "Dr. Noran needs to speak with you. He was looking for you this morning."

I digested this slowly. It didn't make much sense, but if the head of the hospital wanted to speak with me, it was nothing good.