Profession

Disaster 2.0

I reported to the command post and recited my license number. That credential had my status as a member of the disaster team on it, and the captain in charge nodded. A new wrinkle was that it also listed other times I'd participated on the team. "You were in the tunnel disaster?" he asked, and I nodded. "Ok, then, our basic model for something like this is now the same. We send in the medics with teams of whatever help we can scrounge so that you can treat the wounded, they'll take them out, new helpers will show up. You know how it worked in the tunnel." I nodded, and he turned me over to a couple of police cadets with an air gurney. There was too much traffic stalled on the street to be able to use the cheaper and more plentiful gurneys on wheels, too much debris.

"I've done this before, and I can tell you with certainty that if I tell you not to bother trying to get into a car, it's because nobody's alive," I instructed them. "Our focus first has to be on getting the wounded out, the wounded who can still be saved." I paused to let that sink in. When they nodded, we started up the street. I hit the bracelet and Uncle Tony's armor flowed over me. I put on the armband on that identified me as part of the crisis team.

"Hey, Lys, what's the problem? Do you need to talk to your uncle?" The Tony AI popped right up, but fortunately it was asking rather than automatically connecting.

"I'm doing work on the disaster team," I said, heading toward my first victim. "The armor's just a precaution right now. Don't bother him unless he's on his way here." The AI grunted.

"He's letting the new Iron Man take this one. It's not easy for him, though." I could just imagine, then I had to focus on my patient. This one wasn't too bad, couldn't put weight on her ankle. The cadets took her back and I moved on.

Unlike the tunnel, at least visibility was good and I wasn't overheating in my armor. It was cold outside, with a sharp wind, but the suit, designed to keep flyers from freezing to death, kept me comfortable. The AI let me know as heroes arrived on scene; apparently Uncle Tony was running coms for the Avenger team. I let that feed buzz in my ear on low, background noise. The AI would automatically turn up the volume if there was something I needed to hear.

As before, we had pods damaged that needed crews to pry them open. Changes to procedure had been made since the tunnel mess and this time, if there was anybody inside who was alive, we put a small light on the uppermost surface of the pod; it provided a visual cue for people skilled in getting into crashed pods and streamlined our whole process. Another nurse or EMT would be along with the crew. I moved on.

The filters on my suit were working great and I was able to concentrate on the work. Unfortunately, the masks my helpers wore were not as good; there was a thick, oily smoke and they said that there was the strong smell of an accelerant. The bombs had contained explosives sitting under about a gallon of whatever the accelerant was, and in the liquid were nails and screws. The CP had to rotate the helpers in and out; some were requiring treatments at the ambulances for their lungs. And some of the helpers, including seasoned cops and firefighters, couldn't handle the scene and had to be put on other duties. From the Avengers chatter--and it was the five younger members on the current roster--the bombed portion of the street was a little more than four blocks and had included a block that had been barricaded for a Christmas market, filled with tourists and families. Shit. Those bastard villains.

There were a lot of burns, broken bones and sprains from the forces of the explosions, but a lot more puncture wounds. They were savage and some of the bodies near detonation points were ripped to shreds. I was out of painkillers quickly, and the helpers, which now included determined citizens, brought me wallets of them at regular intervals. I had to turn down the external speakers because the crying, the screaming, the moaning, were really getting to me. To all of us, actually, and I was the only one at my end of the street who had filtering hearing protection. Sometimes I took the gurneys by myself. It was hard work to run them up and back, but at least I had the help of the suit. It was a dreadful scene, even worse than the tunnel in many respects, and we had fewer professionals doing the triage. There were times I wanted to quit, as when I'd seen one too many brutalized corpses and threw up my mocha in what was left of a trash can, but there was simply no one to take my place.