The Attack

The Surgery: Chapter Seven

12:56 CST August 16th

Casey Jones, Patient at UAB

Sheldon grasped my hand firmly, softly running his fingers across my tender skin. "It'll be alright, Casey."

I shook my head and let out a little whine, a sick, pig-like whine.

"It'll never be alright." I said, rocking back and forth against the cold waiting room seat.

Sheldon and I found out when arriving at the surgery center that Martin had suffered severe head injury. I remember the woman at the desk telling me she was very sorry. She said that he had already gone into surgery because the damage was too severe to wait for family to arrive and visit.

So, Sheldon went out and got some Greek food, which only made my stomach hurt worse, and we tried to ignore the fact my husband was in there by talking and playing games.

Finally, a woman in scrubs came out, looking side to side, looking... worried.

"Are you?" She looked at me, paused, and continued. "Are you Casey Jones?"

"How did you get my name?" I said.

"He... keeps repeating it."

"Martin?"

"Yes."

I bounded out of my chair. He was alive! He was calling my name. "Can I see him?"

"Mrs. Jones," the woman said, her face, which was quite flawless, soured into a mess of wrinkled anger. "He is still in the ICU. He had shrapnel removed from his cerebral cortex just one hour ago. We expect him to sleep for the next few days. And I see," she cast a disgusted glance at Sheldon, "you need to have care, rest, and therapy for the next few days."

"She's fine," Sheldon said, defending me.

"Can I speak with you?" The woman said to Sheldon. He took his hand off mine, brushed gyro crumbs off his scrub pants, and followed the woman into a waiting area.

I turned on the television. It was only more news on the bombing. I tuned out...

"Warning," a voice on the TV monotonously said, "if you are in the West Birmingham area, please go inside. Find a safe place. The police are currently looking for three men who committed a shooting at a Children's Hospital clinic that left eight dead. These men are also suspected for setting off the explosives-"

Could it really be them? I thought.

"-at the clinic after the shooting. This bombing left an estimated fifty people dead."

Another bombing?

There were gasps all around me, but all I could focus on was the searing pain that overcame me. It felt like my ribs were being ripped from the inside. I couldn't breathe; I was drowning in my own blood. Panic attack.

"Help!" I said, my eyelids fluttering under the intense gravity that plopped itself on me in a state of drowsiness. It felt like I was being sucked into the floor, down into Inferno.

The woman and Sheldon came rushing to my rescue when they heard my cries. I thought I heard church bells ringing, and tears filled my eyes. "Martin!" I shouted.

_________

In ICU bed 12, Martin Jones was wallowing around in a pool of spit and blood. He couldn't speak. Lights flashed on and off inside his head.

He tried shake off his pain with a list. He would do this in times of stress: list off the simplest things he knew about his life to the most complex.

 I am Martin Jones. I am in pain. I do not know where I am.

It was too painful to think. Too painful to go on.

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his brain, and it was searing.

A doctor pulled back the curtain to find her patient with blood dripping from his mouth, repeating some random gibberish over and over.

"OH MY GOD!" She screamed. "Emergency team 6, page Dr. Shepard, (yes, I did make that reference.)  and someone prep OR three! Stat!"

She had a man help her pull his bed through the hallway. Nurses were prepping for the injured coming in from the clinic bombing; The doctor that was pushing me through the halls knocked several over.

They passed the doors that led to the waiting room, and Martin saw Casey. She was having a complete panic attack, her eyes full of dread, searching through him in the crowd of people surrounding her. Two people in scrubs were trying to calm her down when she locked eyes with him. He thought she looked ten years older: the ware of surviving a terrorist attack eating away at the very color of her eyes. A tear fell from his right eye and rolled onto the buttercream-colored sheets he was covered in.

The doctor, who the man helping push called Rebecca, screamed at an idle worker. "PAGE SHEPARD AGAIN!"

Martin thought she was always in scream mode.

He thought he could reach out to her. "Please," he whimpered, "save me."

She looked around like she had heard a ghost until she finally locked eyes on him. She just stared, contempt, until blood starting spewing out of Martin's mouth.

As they turned a sharp corner, Martin went limp. He thought these were going to be his last moments, when the doctor Rebecca looked at him. "I will make sure your wish you gave me isn't your last wish."

They arrived at the OR and Rebecca wheeled him, thanked the man that helped, and started directing people to stations.

"Now where the hell is Shepard?" She said.

(A/N If you like this book, please check out my short story Sunday Morning. If you like more teen romance type stuff, check out That One Summer. If this book can get 10 votes, I will publish a secret chapter from the Maniac's point of view. Thanks for all the love.)