The War In His Mind

Chapter 17

Natasha had thought about all that had happened and found herself overwhelmed by the scope of the war. She had studied the history of Earth in small segments, mainly through books that Thomas O'Neil brought into Wonder City from the world above. In them she found a hurting world. A place full of war and death. A reality of disease and disfigurement. In her heart she felt a longing to fix it. To hug all of those who were hurting. To bring peace to those in agony. To deliver restoration from agony and despair.

When she looked into Wonder City she saw a mirror from the real world above. The hurt of World War II's holocaust was visible in the way that O'Neil waged war against those who weren't like himself. The pain of disease was felt as those who were created with physical impairments, such as those born without limbs or other body parts, stung as if she suffered from them herself.

She wanted more than anything to fix the pain of the world. But what would that look like?

She sat inside one of the small houses that the community had created to lodge the new citizens of the city. It was a one room brick house with a bed, oven, and toilet. She had personalized it by placing bookshelves on the walls complete with books on philosophy, medicine, and history. She reached for a book titled "An Abridged History Of The World" written in 2047 by a notable professor at some prestigious college. She wondered how far Abraham was into it. They had made a pact to read it together to better understand the world that was before them. If they understood the past, they could better prepare for the future.

She read for an hour and examined the history of the early eighteen to nineteen hundreds. She learned about the rise of modern medicine, and found herself inspired by the rise of female doctors who had done great things. Women like Clara Barton, who founded the red cross during the American Civil War, were particularly captivating.

Natasha realized that like Clara, she wanted more than anything to see those fighting for a good cause to find healing. She thought of all of the soldiers who already died and felt grief strike her. For those who survived, and were wounded, she wanted more than anything to help them.

Was that her purpose? Was she to be a healer much like Clara? She had never been so certain in her short life.

The room was quiet and the view of Uptown from her window was peaceful. Between all of the battles and skirmishes there was the occasional peace. When it came, everything was perfect. It was a sample of the world that was to come. A world where O'Neil and his forces are silenced for good. She wished it would stay that way but knew that the nature of the world was prone to violence. Even when O'Neil is gone there will always be some sort of fighting.

At that moment a figure, dressed in the rebellion's uniform, was carried out into the central park by many citizens with worried looks on their faces. The man was limping and had blood dripping down his leg.

Natasha wasted little time putting on her shoes and rushing to meet him.

He was laying in the grass in the middle of a small circle of citizens, many of which were calling for a doctor. They were all busy tending to other patients and none were able to help them. A small skirmish near the Downtown train station lead to many of Uptown's soldiers being injured. Without asking or saying anything, Natasha knelled next to the man and examined his leg. A bullet was lodged in his left leg.

She knew there was little time to waste. Though she wasn't sure of what to do, she had watched the doctors perform emergency techniques like what she was about to do in the past. There were specialized kits designed to minimize blood loss from bullet wounds.

She ordered a citizen to bring one of them to her.

While waiting, she grabbed the hand of the soldier and whispered gently into his ear. "Everything will be alright...you'll be awake soon with your family around you."

She took off her jacket and propped it underneath his head to provide comfort. Her arms trembled and panic ran through fingers. Would she get the resources needed to save this man? She asked herself what Clara would do. She imagined that she was this great icon. There was no fear allowed in this place.

A bald, middle-aged man dashed from the field hospital in the distance and moved his short legs as fast as he could towards her. She held out her hands in advanced, waiting for the exact moment to grab it. He delivered it to her and she gripped her fingers around it.

Inside was a pair of surgical scissors with grippers at the end for removing the bullet, gauze pads, bandages, and a syringe full of a liquid foam substance. She took hold of the scissors with one hand and the wounded man's leg with her other.

The stream of blood pouring from the wound made the leg slippery and prone to the scissors stabbing him in the fibers of his muscles instead of gripping the bullet. She forced herself to be steady, but it wasn't working. Thoughts of her injuring him further terrified her. One wrong move and she would have her first dead patient.

The scissors entered the wound and the patient screamed in agony. Natasha resisted the urge to close her eyes and weep at his pain- she had to keep moving forward at all costs. The blood covered the scissors and made the operation that much harder. It was hard to tell the difference between broken muscle fibers, fragments of bone marrow, and where the actual bullet was lodged. She prodded the leg throughly to find where the bullet landed.

Her guilt at the patient's pain grew with each scream. It was easy to wonder if it would be better for him if she were to end his misery and allow him to bleed out.

She thought again about what Clara Barton would do. How many times did she do this? Sure, it was different technology and instruments back then, but it wasn't that different emotionally and physically. She was a strong woman full of courage and endurance. Natasha knew she had to be that way too. She must be a spiritual guide pulling her patients from the brink of death back to reality- whatever that was.

"Hang on..." She said as the twisted the scissors to get a grip on the bullet. She found a sense of wonder and surprise as she claimed a solid grip on the foreign object. She pulled gently, but failed to nudge it. It would take a lot more than just a gentle tug, she thought. It didn't matter how much it hurt him. She had to save his life.

With a heave of her upper body she ripped the bullet from the leg as if she was ripping out a leech deep inside a muscle. It flew out of the leg and her scissors, sending a stream of blood into the air with it. It landed on the grass next to Natasha. It didn't matter, the job wasn't done. She plunged the syringe deep into the leg and injected the liquid. It filled the hole in the leg and turned into a solid substance that acted as a wall.

The crowd erupted into harmonious clappter. It was the first time she had ever done something like this. She felt like a God determining life and death. Though she didn't want the power, she couldn't deny that it felt good to use.