Aftermath - 5/17

Animals.

How could people be so selfish? To steal from a medical ward after an incident of such a scale. Sure, the world may be ending in a year, but the lack of morality was still hard to wrap my head around.

Thinking about my head causes me to flash back to earlier, when someone stole the neck brace straight off me as I lay watching.

What could you need that for?

Their savage eyes were focused only on the task at hand, oblivious to the world burning around them. They were the eyes of someone skinning an animal, not interacting with a human. They must have been so desperate for anything they could get their hands on that it blinded them to the fact that a neck brace really wasn't that helpful. However, without the neck brace, I could finally turn my head more and observe the comings and goings of the tent.

All the medical supplies had been looted, food taken, and personal belongings ransacked. Only those who had been unable to move were left in the tent.

Sometime during the chaos, a helicopter had flown over, broadcasting an order from the military, further confirming the validity of the President’s speech and providing some direction to those who were able to move on their own.

“Evacuate west to checkpoint alpha. Personnel will assist you upon reaching the Memorial Bridge. Violence will not be tolerated.”

While not necessarily calming the crowd down, it had at least given them direction, and the ruckus began to fade as the crowd moved in accordance with the announcement. Only a small group was left outside arguing. Those remaining were either too shocked to move or had simply given up.

Marcos, Samantha, and Jasper had remained after failing to fight off the crowd, all three sustaining some minor injuries during the fighting. To the other staff's credit, a few more had stayed behind to try and help, but had gotten crushed, barely escaping with their lives. They had stepped back outside after helping people into the beds, which apparently were too bulky to deem stealable in the chaos.

Their discussion was hushed, with only the odd detail being audible to me as they discussed our odds of survival.

“Ten left, five of which are critical.”

They listed the bed numbers, but I hadn’t made out the labeling system inside to know who they were talking about specifically.

“Anything we can do for them?”

“No. Not anymore.”

Their voices were solemn but calm. Compared to the riot earlier, their lack of emotion was exceptionally chilling. People were going to die, and they felt nothing. They couldn’t afford to.

From what I could gather, the other four non-critical survivors inside the tent were in states similar to mine in one way or another. Two couldn’t walk well, but were otherwise doing as well as you could in this situation. One appeared to be in a coma, and the final one had not moved much, with the added struggle of him not understanding English.

Not a group of survivors one would necessarily bet on, but our three caretakers were going to try despite that.

They concluded their discussion, talking briefly to the other stragglers, and then came into the tent again.

“What did you find?” one of the bedridden men asked. Just the fact that he was sitting up and talking meant he was likely one they thought would survive the night.

“Not much,” Jasper responds. His black hair was dripping with sweat, laced with a tinge of blood. The relatively clean outfit he had been wearing prior to the President’s speech had been reduced to a ragged mess, stretched and torn in a way that barely kept it on his body.

Samantha comes in next, carrying what appeared to be a single MRE and a handful of assorted medical tools. She has red hair that she keeps tied back in a ponytail, her outfit faring slightly better than Jasper's, other than her now missing glasses. She bore the marks of someone who got punched across the face, glasses tearing off, slashing open her nose in the process. The glasses are missing entirely.

Marcos is the last to enter the tent. Blood was still wet on his legs, soaking through his very ripped jeans. His shirt is missing, replaced by a battered bare torso accentuated by what look to be ligature marks around his neck and shoulders. His right fist is dripping blood, and his hair is a disheveled mess. Most notably, he is holding a gun he had not previously had.

We are for sure going to die.

All three of them sat down on one of the remaining vacant beds as a couple more random people filed in, none of whom seemed to have fared much better in the scramble.

“Uh, yeah, everyone who can, listen up,” Jasper starts. “In case you didn’t hear before all that, we got designated a black zone.”

Black zones are the highly criticized triage concept that the previous administration came up with after a series of military escalations along the border. Wildly unpopular, it had never been implemented in a disaster, but almost everyone had heard about it through the news. Even a shut-in like me. Like normal triage, it signified that you were as good as dead if you found yourself in one of them.

Apparently, the helicopter had announced this as well earlier, even though I didn’t hear it. The haunted look on Jasper’s face told me that he wasn’t lying.

“So we got to get to the bridge, right?” the same bedridden man from before asks the small group standing closest to him.

No one immediately answers him.

“Yeah, west is our best bet, but obviously some of you can’t walk,” Jasper said, his hollow eyes meeting my eyes once as he scanned the room.

“Can you bring us in cars or something?” the patient continues his inquiry.

“Um. No. We looked around a bit. Cars aren’t an option. Really, nothing is,” Jasper said while looking down at his feet.

Maybe just ask for a private jet next time.

The man started to protest to the crowd until Marcos cut in, pausing his attempt at an improvised bandage made out of a dirty bed sheet he was wrapping around his still bleeding leg.

“Just… calm down a second. We’re not just abandoning you. Let him explain,” Marcos voices. The man huffs a little in response before quieting.

“Right. To be straight with you all, it’s bad out there. Even those who can walk are going to struggle to get all the way to Memorial Bridge without a plan,” Jasper says, seeming to gain more confidence now that Marcos has spoken up a little.

“So, we came up with a quick plan outside with everyone. Those who can walk currently are going to leave what they have and start going west. Buildings are in terrible shape, but we should still be able to find some food that the others haven’t looted yet. They are capable people, so don’t feel bad about them leaving things behind for us to use.”

As if I were worried about them.

“Finally, a few of us are staying behind to help those who can’t walk,” he finishes. I expect him to have more of a plan for the second group, but he didn’t voice one.

We’re screwed.

“That’s it?” one of the bedridden women asks.

“That’s it. They are going to help us with some stuff outside before going to bed, then leave in the morning. We’ll keep an eye on you all tonight and then talk more tomorrow,” Marcos responds.

The silent group began to leave the tent, with only one straggler remaining. His familiar blue eyes locked onto mine as he walked over to me.

“I’ll keep it brief, hard to look at you knowing we are leaving you behind after everything,” he utters. “Haven’t found Julie yet, that girl from the photo I showed you.”

And you won’t.

“I’m not one to call in favors and all, but I reckon you all here can least do me a solid, you especially,” he continues, holding out the photo once more and showing me the back.

Julie - Call Dad when able.

Meet at GZ

“I plan to meet her at the green zone. Know she’ll be headed there, but in case she shows up here after I leave, you remember that picture and make sure she knows. It’s all I ask for saving ya. G’luck to us both.”

He placed the photo on my chest and left the tent without another word.

Outside the tent was significantly quieter tonight, devoid of the signature wailing that had emanated from the massive crowd that had gathered since the first quake hit.

My nightmares of Julie more than made up for their absence. It would be another restless night.