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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Rodrigo Istalindir" data-source="post: 3359037" data-attributes="member: 2810">I once made a mental list of the best ways to be awakened in the morning.  Number three was the sound and smell of bacon sizzling in the pan.  Number two was to slowly drift from blissful darkness through that hazy twilight of semi-consciousness and finally to fully awake.  Number one required, shall we say, outside assistance.    Feeling a tug on your foot and opening your eyes to see a priest and a zombie doctor staring down at you was not going to make the list. (Picture 2)  Excuse me, an ‘undead-American doctor’.  Wouldn’t want to get HR’s knickers in a twist.    “Whtmst?”  I asked.  They looked at each other and then back at me.    “What time is it?” I repeated.  This time they looked like they understood.    “A little after 10,’ Father Murphy answered.  “In the evening,” he added helpfully.    “Oh, good,” I replied, attempting to sound bitter and cheerful at the same time.  “Two hours of sleep every two days is plenty.”    I swung my feet off the gurney and sat up.  Dr. Singh grabbed my arm to steady me when I wobbled.  The sharp smell of disinfectant crawled up my sinus and poked me behind the eyes.    Groggy, clumsy, and in the presence of a priest.  A sudden spike of fear ripped through my guts.     “Oh my god, I died, didn’t I?” I gasped.    “Sorry, Sean.  We did everything we could,” said the doctor, eyes downcast.    I looked at him, then at Father Murphy.  The priest’s mouth twitched, and then the two of them burst out laughing.        “Not funny,” I groused.  I staggered to my feet and headed for the door.  My sense of humor needed coffee, stat.    “Dr. Benson, please, wait.  There is a situation,” called Dr. Singh.  There was no humor in his voice.    I’d served as a corpsman under Captain Stark in the Demon Wars.  I’d done my residency in Chicago, when the creatures of legend and cinema first rose to walk among us.   The fact that they used government-speak instead of telling me straight up meant it was something weird, even by modern standards.    *    When we entered the corridor, the first thing that struck me was the eerie silence.  Hospital emergency rooms are many things – smelly, bright, sticky.  Never quiet.    The second thing I noticed was that the ER was populated by plastery-white statues.  Yes, I said I noticed that second.  Sue me  -- I still hadn’t had my caffeine.    “Someone called the parish and asked them to send a priest to perform Last Rites,” Murphy whispered.  “It was like this when I got here.”    “I’ve been in radiology all night,” Singh continued.  “I assumed when no one bothered me that it was a slow night.  Then the Father found me.”    I walked down the hall towards Admitting.  The waiting room looked like a Rodin competition at a first-rate art school.      I grabbed the clipboard with the admitting sheet from the receptionist’s counter.  Columns listed the names of patients, doctors and examination rooms.    “You two take the left side, I’ll take the right.  See if there’s any room missing a patient.”    I hit pay-dirt in exam room three.  Dr. Jamis crouched immobile over an examination table.   Frozen behind him, looking over his shoulder, stood the statuesque Nurse Rawlins.  (Picture 1) There was no sign of a patient.      There was, however, a chart.  The blessings of modern day medicine and malpractice suits:  nothing happens without being written down.    I scanned the sheets of paper.  Magaera Gordon, 22, female, 7 months pregnant.  Complaining of sores on her scalp and hair loss.  Jamis had sent blood samples off to Toxicology, had requested a consult from Nuclear Medicine thinking maybe there’d been exposure to radioactives, and had taken a skull X-ray.  He’d also called Psych; compulsive hair-pulling wasn’t that uncommon among young women in stressful situations.  Based on his position, it looked like he was doing a pelvic.    It seemed like an awful lot, but then I saw the last page.  Ah – fully insured.    I called out to the others.  They came quickly.  I wondered if they’d even left the lobby.    “Go check the waiting room and see if any of the stiffs look like a pregnant woman.  We may be missing a patient.”    A heart-stopping scream rendered that unnecessary.  Work in a hospital long enough and you learn the sounds of pain.  A junkie going through withdrawal curses and moans.  A stabbing victim gasps and whimpers.  Terminal cancer patients sob quietly.    This cry was a textbook example of a woman in labor.    We rushed from the room like the Three Stooges.  Our training urged us to be the first out the door; our fear urged us to let another go first.  Somehow I ended up in the lead.    The cry had come from the direction of Pharmacology, so we edged our way down the hall.  There were no more marble mannequins; this part of the hospital was essentially closed at night save for a single pharmacist.    An unlucky pharmacist.  He stood frozen behind the waist high divider that was supposed to keep the desperate from nicking the good stuff.   You could hear the sounds of deep breathing from the back of the room, but the floor-to-ceiling cabinets containing the meds hid the patient from our view.  Her Lamaze coach would be proud.    I started to clamber over the counter, but Dr. Singh grabbed my arm and held me back.    “Let me go.  Maybe whatever is going on won’t affect the unliving,” he offered.    I hesitated.  My combat training was kicking in, and the ‘ooh-rahs’ were echoing in my head, urging me to vault the divider and charge in.  Singh had a good point, though.  Zombies were resistant to every known disease and toxin.  He might have a better shot at getting through this.    I backed off and let him go.    He had a hard time climbing up, and finally the Father and I had to give him a boost.  He slid his legs around and stepped to the floor.   The patient cried out again.  The contractions were getting closer together.      “She’s lying on the ground.  I think her…oh.  Oh my!”    “What?  Doctor Singh, what is it?” I called out.    The only answer was more huffing and groaning.  And hissing?    I looked at Father Murphy.  He shrugged and gave me an ‘I don’t know’ look.  He  brought his crucifix to his lips and kissed it gently, then hopped up on the counter.    “Wait!  I have an idea.”*Minutes later, we stood in the Imaging department.  I plunked myself down in front of the imaging computer and pulled up Ms. Gordon’s records.  I whistled softly.    “What is it?”  Murphy asked.  “What are those lines in the skull?”    I gave him a sardonic grin.    “Snakes,” I said.  “Why’d it have to be snakes?”    I jumped to my feet and started rummaging through the cabinets that lined the far wall.    “Get to Security, Father, and see if you can figure out how to work the camera controls.  I have an idea.”    It took longer than I liked,  but I found what I was looking for.  I ran to meet up with Murphy.    I found perched in a comfy chair in front of a bank of closed-circuit monitors.  We’d gotten lucky – there were cameras throughout the hospital, but there probably wasn’t a square inch of the pharmacy that wasn’t covered.  The Schedule II meds were a big temptation.    I traced the video cables back to the PC that controlled the system.  A stuffed penguin stood by its side.    (Picture 5)  Must be a Linux server, I thought, same as the stuff in the Imaging lab.  I ripped open the case and inserted the circuit board I’d pilfered.    I used a Y-cable to split the signal running to the monitors, and ran the second cable to the input on the newly-installed card.*    “Are you sure this will work?” Murphy’s voice whispered in my ear.    “Louder,” I replied, “I can barely hear you.  And no, I’m not sure.  But I can’t hold a metal shield and deliver a baby at the same time.”    “Is this better?”  Louder, this time.    “Good.  Ok, patch me into the camera over the admitting desk.”    The image in the VR goggles I’d looted from the Medical Imaging department blinked out for a moment, and then was replaced by a birds-eye view of the rock garden in Emergency.  I looked up at the camera and felt a ripple of vertigo as I looked at myself looking at myself.  (Picture 3)    “Ok, good.  Switch to the cameras in the Pharmacy.  I’ll pop the goggles back on before I go in.”    I raised the goggles, taking care not to dislodge the earpiece and lapel mike.      “You’re clear,” Murphy reported.  “She hasn’t moved.”    I scooted down the hall and stopped just beyond the counter.  I dropped the goggles back into place and tried to get my bearings.      It was surreal, dream-like.  The camera was opposite me, so I had to do everything in reverse.  As I moved between shelves, the priest switched cameras.  I worked my way to the very back of the stockroom.    Magaera lay on the floor, legs slightly spread.  She looked like she’d been through the wringer.   The floor appeared wet, but I couldn’t tell from the black-and-white video feed if it was blood or just amniotic fluid.    I steeled myself, then looked at her head.  Serpents writhed and hissed and snapped at the air.  She must have heard me, or maybe she saw what the snakes saw, because she opened her eyes and stared right at me.    Nothing.  No tingling, so sudden stiffness.  I relaxed slightly.    “What…what’s wrong with me?” she whimpered.    “It’s ok, it’s gonna be ok,” I answered.  “I’m a doctor.”    I slowly removed my lab coat, taking care to re-attach the mike to my scrubs.      “Ok, now, I’m going to have to cover your head.  Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”    I tossed the coat over her head.  The snakes went wild, the coat rippling as they struggled to extricate themselves.  So far, so good.    I hesitantly raised the goggles and knelt before the distressed woman.  I pushed the hospital gown back and set to work.    The baby was tiny, fitting comfortably in the palm of my  hand. (Picture 4) The head was oversized and oddly-shaped, and I wondered what she would grow up to be.  Kids could be mean, although I guessed being able to turn your tormentors into lawn ornaments would cut down on the teasing.    “It’s a girl.”    Magaera was spent, her breathing slow but regular.  I was holding the child with one hand and rummaging through my pockets with the other looking for something to tie off the cord.    “Sean!  We’ve got company,” Father Murphy hissed in my ear.  “The cavalry is here.”    I started to call out to the cops, to warn them to stay back, when I saw a red dot appear centered on the lab coat covering Magaera’s head.        “Back away, doc, and get out of the way.  We’ll take it from here,” a no-nonsense voice barked.      I slow interposed myself between the police and my patient.     “It’s under control.  Go get a gurney and leave it in the hall,” I called back.  “No shooting – there’s a baby here,” I added.    The red dot wavered and disappeared.  Over my shoulder, I could hear the officer withdraw.  *    Everything turned out ok for the flexibility-challenged in the hospital.  The petrifaction turned out to be temporary; within twenty-four hours all the victims had returned to normal.  Dr. Singh was the last to recover, but his impromptu time-out didn’t even faze him.  He was already planning his next research paper.    Magaera and her baby were doing fine as well.  I’d offered to continue her care, and the pediatric doctors offered no objection.  We’d move the neo-natal care equipment into the mother’s room out of caution.  We didn’t think the baby could hurt anyone but the house attorney had damn near died on the spot when we suggested leaving the daughter in the same room with other babies.    The techs had refined the goggle setup, adding a camera to a head strap that made the image almost normal.  I was reading over the results of the last blood work when Magaera stirred.  The serpents on her head started waving about and hissing.    She looked confused, and I started to put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her when an asp snapped at me.  I jerked my hand back.    “Just relax.  Everything is fine.  Your little girl is going to be ok,”  I assured her.    I wheeled the incubator closer to the bed.  Magaera’s gaze fell on her baby, and I realized that no matter how weird things got around here, some things were universal.  Her eyes lit up like every other new mother I’d ever seen.            The snakes stilled, and god help me, their hisses turned to coos.  I didn’t think snakes could coo.</blockquote>

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