Fault

Part 9

Fallon Connelly 12:01 p.m.

The mass of people up ahead is almost frightening. Are all of them looking for a doctor?

I glance at Price and see him wince. The people we pass don't look seriously injured and several step aside as we pass. Maybe it's the way Price shuffles that makes them part. In the crowd there is a range of people. Some are in suits and dresses with panic stricken faces, probably fresh from escaping their shaking cubicles, while others look to be everything from tourists to garbage men.

The emergency care center is clearly overwhelmed. The building itself looks like it survived the quake, but I'm guessing it was never designed to have a mob of scared and injured people bum rush it. There are two men in dark uniforms that appear to be guarding the automatic doors leading into the facility. Cal and Brett use their height to guide us through the masses and closer to the doors. The chatter is loud as people in clusters recount their experiences. I catch snippets as we walk by.

"I was on the twelfth floor when it started, in the copy room..."

"I had just parked in the lot and the shaking started before I got out of the car. I thought the damn thing had turned itself back on somehow!"

"The books fell off my shelf and hit me in the back. You can see the red mark."

Kim sticks close to Brett, matching his steps. I stay with Price, who seems to be moving slower with each step. Marc is behind me, walking with his head down.

Brett's bulk manages to muscle us all the way up so that we are just to the left of the doors. The two security guards have holstered guns but their faces don't read as hostile. I look at Price and take a step forward.

"Excuse me, our teacher is really hurt. Could he please see a doctor?" Actual honey drips from my words and I make sure to gesture with my bleeding hands. The guard closest to us takes a good long look at Price with his thick arms crossed.

"Can't go inside. The docs will be out in a minute."

"You said that ten minutes ago!" shouts a man to the right of us.

"Sir, I'm not gonna ask you again to keep calm," threatens the other guard.

"My arm is broken!" the man says.

The guard shakes his head and puts a hand to his chin. He seems torn, and I can't imagine standing in front of wounded and terrified people and telling them to wait and stay calm. I also realize that we're in a terrible position if the crowd decides to force their way inside. It will be like the high school hallway all over again, and I'm not sure Price would survive a second round.

From the inside the automatic doors are pried open and while a happy roar erupts from the crowd, I realize then that they also don't have any power. Is the whole city down? The guards help two men in green tops prop equipment against the sides so that the doors stay open. A woman who looks to be a nurse, in pink scrubs, steps in front of one of the men.

"Where do you want the trauma cases?" she asks.

The man in dark khakis and a light green scrub top cranes his neck past the petite nurse and across the street. I follow his gaze.

"There," he points, indicating the plaza of the office complex across the street. The gray brick square is lined with wooden benches and despite a few uprooted trees and broken glass, the wide space is clear. "Keep them away from the buildings as much as possible." As the nurse starts to turn he grips her elbow. "And Jenny, get someone to sweep the glass."

He moves on from her then, pushing past us in the growing crowd and while people shout their injuries at him he uses a light pole to give him the leverage to climb an electrical box just to our right. His hands leave smudges of sweat on the metal. Strands of his blonde hair stick to the moisture on his forehead. Price is breathing slowly beside me.