force just after two patrols had returned following ambushes they’d been badly shot up in. That had been bad, with explosions and bullets hammering everything amid the screams of the wounded and dying.
At least there, those involved had been military. Even if some of them had lost morale temporarily, there had still been a base of training and experience they could use as a floor. It had given the officers and NCOs something to seize upon as they organized the response and got control of the situation.
Here and now, Peter saw nothing but confused shouting that often worked at odds, a complete lack of any sort of order or procedure, and very little in the way of anyone attempting to improve upon the situation. A part of him wondered why the police that were present, or even the medical staff who surely had similar training in crisis management, didn’t try to organize things.
The parking lot outside was full of emergency vehicles. More continued to arrive. Ambulances, police cruisers, even fire trucks were being left on the landscaped grass that bordered the lot. He saw more, along with a fair number of civilian cars, lining up as far down the little ‘road’ that circled the hospital’s campus as far as he could see in either direction. And beyond that, the sidewalk separating the hospital’s property from the actual street was starting to fill too.
There was a lot of blood evident, though a lot of these injuries didn’t seem to be terribly life threatening. There were a few people that were sporting wounds on torsos, necks or faces that he assumed were pretty serious; but the majority seemed to be on arms and legs. Some folks were having trouble walking and leaned on friends or makeshift crutches. A good amount of the noise was coming from these, as they cried or cursed about the pain they were in.
But worse still were the ones who seemed to be like Amy. Some were arriving strapped down to gurneys, but only a few. Many were being frog marched, or more often dragged, in by police and firefighters. He saw handcuffs, zip ties, rope, even tightly wrapped blankets being employed as restraining devices. Without fail each one fought against those holding them; struggled constantly to try and go after anyone they laid eyes upon.
The best thing about the sick ones was their silence. Or maybe that was worse. Peter wondered absently which it might be. They weren’t adding to the verbal confusion, true; but it was eerie and more than a little creepy to see them being manhandled, often showing signs of rough handling in the form of bruises or visible injury, and not raising even the slightest grunt or gasp of response.
Regardless of their audibility, the worst part was definitely their eyes. Every time he looked at one of them, even when they weren’t looking at him, all he saw in their dead gaze was Amy. She looked back at him from every slack expression, reflected in each face he saw no matter how different they actually were, physically, from Amy. Young or old or neither, black or white or whatever, man, woman, adult, child; each one looked like his wife. His wife who apparently was neither dead nor alive.
In and around the fuss and noise being raised by the wounded, and those occupied with trying to restrain the sick ones who were like Amy, was the real source of the confusion. The emergency responders and the ER’s medical staff all seemed to be yelling at each other, and when they weren’t yelling at other uniforms they often turned to yelling at patients.
The arguments seemed to almost exclusively center around who was going to be treated and when. Wounded civilians and emergency responders alike were demanding immediate attention from doctors and nurses, who fended them off as they shouted at each other and tried to get at specific patients they seemed to select almost at random. Surely they had some reason, but whatever criteria they were using, Peter
At least there, those involved had been military. Even if some of them had lost morale temporarily, there had still been a base of training and experience they could use as a floor. It had given the officers and NCOs something to seize upon as they organized the response and got control of the situation.
Here and now, Peter saw nothing but confused shouting that often worked at odds, a complete lack of any sort of order or procedure, and very little in the way of anyone attempting to improve upon the situation. A part of him wondered why the police that were present, or even the medical staff who surely had similar training in crisis management, didn’t try to organize things.
The parking lot outside was full of emergency vehicles. More continued to arrive. Ambulances, police cruisers, even fire trucks were being left on the landscaped grass that bordered the lot. He saw more, along with a fair number of civilian cars, lining up as far down the little ‘road’ that circled the hospital’s campus as far as he could see in either direction. And beyond that, the sidewalk separating the hospital’s property from the actual street was starting to fill too.
There was a lot of blood evident, though a lot of these injuries didn’t seem to be terribly life threatening. There were a few people that were sporting wounds on torsos, necks or faces that he assumed were pretty serious; but the majority seemed to be on arms and legs. Some folks were having trouble walking and leaned on friends or makeshift crutches. A good amount of the noise was coming from these, as they cried or cursed about the pain they were in.
But worse still were the ones who seemed to be like Amy. Some were arriving strapped down to gurneys, but only a few. Many were being frog marched, or more often dragged, in by police and firefighters. He saw handcuffs, zip ties, rope, even tightly wrapped blankets being employed as restraining devices. Without fail each one fought against those holding them; struggled constantly to try and go after anyone they laid eyes upon.
The best thing about the sick ones was their silence. Or maybe that was worse. Peter wondered absently which it might be. They weren’t adding to the verbal confusion, true; but it was eerie and more than a little creepy to see them being manhandled, often showing signs of rough handling in the form of bruises or visible injury, and not raising even the slightest grunt or gasp of response.
Regardless of their audibility, the worst part was definitely their eyes. Every time he looked at one of them, even when they weren’t looking at him, all he saw in their dead gaze was Amy. She looked back at him from every slack expression, reflected in each face he saw no matter how different they actually were, physically, from Amy. Young or old or neither, black or white or whatever, man, woman, adult, child; each one looked like his wife. His wife who apparently was neither dead nor alive.
In and around the fuss and noise being raised by the wounded, and those occupied with trying to restrain the sick ones who were like Amy, was the real source of the confusion. The emergency responders and the ER’s medical staff all seemed to be yelling at each other, and when they weren’t yelling at other uniforms they often turned to yelling at patients.
The arguments seemed to almost exclusively center around who was going to be treated and when. Wounded civilians and emergency responders alike were demanding immediate attention from doctors and nurses, who fended them off as they shouted at each other and tried to get at specific patients they seemed to select almost at random. Surely they had some reason, but whatever criteria they were using, Peter
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