We Hunt Crazy
Posted on Thu Feb 1st, 2024 @ 6:44pm by Hale Stratton
2,137 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Bangor or Bust
Location: Field Hospital, Bangor Safe Zone, Bangor, Maine
Timeline: 29 August 2010 - 09:00 p.m.
The safe zone hospital was crowded, set up into three zones in the primary tent and then a completely closed off walkway connected it to another tent that served as a M.A.S.H. style operating room.
The hospital staff consisted of a small group of actual nurses and medics and a smaller yet group of fully trained doctors; those who had served as EMTs prior to the outbreak continued to serve those roles, working in the field and treating or retrieving those who were ill or injured there to the best of their abilities while transporting them back.
The first zone of the hospital itself was Triage, where willing civilians were put to work to categorize the patients and treat the most minor of ailments and injuries so that the Doctors and Nurses could focus on the more severe; patients that were deemed to need further attention were allowed into the second zone which was designated simply as Treatment beyond that zone was the combination of the Laboratory as well as a couple of cots for medical personnel to try and catch a few z’s in between patients as they are able or for the on-call Doctor to rest as much as possible.
They brought her in, a guard on each side of her, holding her by the forearms. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was rough-cut, as though someone without skill or patience had it off, dirty, and matted on the one side with blood from a laceration at the hairline. Her deep blue eyes were haunted, not quite focusing on anything in particular, as she struggled against their grip.
"Hey doc," the older of the pair said, "found this one at the gate. Need you to do an inspection."
"Careful," the younger of the two said. "She's not exactly cooperative."
Victoire had only just started her shift and she cursed softly as she bemoaned the still half-full cup of coffee that she set down upon a nearby trolley style tray-table and rushed to give a quick visual inspection. "Right to treatment, third bed on the right.... I don't like ordering it but go ahead and use the restraints if she's been giving you trouble already. We can't risk the safety of everyone; I will be there momentarily."
Fingers digging into her arms, propelling her towards a bed. No voice left to scream. Struggling against their intentions. Imprisoned. Shackled. Strength ebbing. Two words struggled to the surface of her chaotic thoughts, part hope, part prayer. Not again.
As she had promised Vic was there at the girls side moments after they got her to the bed and was in time to hear those words and a chill went through her that caused her to signal the two men to stop and back away and she stepped in, peering down into the girls face. "Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can. Save your voice" Her voice was tender as she spoke and she placed her palm comfortingly on the girls chest, applying no pressure.
Her hands move restlessly, seeking freedom, her gaze locked on the guards hovering near the bed. The woman's voice slid through the fog and for a moment, the fear receded. She blinked twice, her gaze returning to the guards.
She motioned to one of the privates and had him undo one of the restraints. “Introduce yourself, Private. We mean her no harm and something tells me that this one has seen plenty… and not by the jowls or claws of the dead.”
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he approached the bed. "I'm Danny. Danny Weiss." He kept his movements slow and, because his 6'4" frame was generally considered threatening, knelt beside her. "Lived in the city all my life." He shook his head gently as he undid the restraint. "The guys were always trying to get me to play basketball but I can't figure out why." Her gaze followed him, track his movements, as he undid the restraints one by one. "There," he said, "all done."
“There; see? We’ll get you checked out and back to rights and then we’ll see about learning your story…. For now though just relax. You are in excellent hands no miss…” she gently knelt back in, motioning for the private to give some room as she lifted one of the girls sleeves to examine wounds and introduced herself. “I am Doctor Olaffson; born in Norway and been US Navy since a ship docked in my home port on diplomatic mission when I was 16… gave me an opportunity to explore and learn medicine at the same time. Real Win/Win.”
It tugged at her consciousness, the combination of pain and fear, exhaustion and dehydration. It pulled on her, trying to drag her into a darker embrace. She fought, her strength failing, as a dark blanket fell across her waking mind and for a time, she knew nothing.
At the door, Danny coughed. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said politely, "but if you could check her? If she's alright, we have to get back out on patrol."
Victoire nodded; giving the men a quick glance over. “Both of you be safe out there. I’ve got this one.” She smiled and called for an IV tray and set to work examining the girl and assessing injuries and overall condition; being thorough to document everything that she found as she did so.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Danny said as he gestured toward his partner and both left the room to head back out into what seemed, at least to them, the easier part of the fight.
Vic closed the curtain around the exam bed and carefully and gently stripped the girl down; folding her clothes and setting them aside after checking sizes and making a mental note to check and see if anyone could spare an extra set for her and then set to work cleaning out wounds and stitching the worst of them closed while taking extensive notes and compiling them into a folder on the folly tray that she had brought with her alongside several biological samples that she took with deft hands.
[Two and a half hours later ]
Victoire emerged from the closed curtain and left the girl, now dressed in a hospital gown and covered in several warm blankets and she breathed a heavy sigh before heading off and set the samples to several different tests and half collapsing into a chair while there was a slight lull. Her mind was full of questions as to what the girl had been through and answers were far from forthcoming.
A patient, moving past her curtained enclosure whistled, and the sound echoed through a landscape of troubling dreams. She returned to consciousness suddenly and rapidly, breathing heavily. She froze in place, listening, but the sound faded. Not him, she thought and heaved a sigh of relief. Not him.
Having heard the awakening Vic stood from where she was running the girls labs and she finishing dictating the notes that she had been recording before returning and she knocked on the metal pole before peeking her head in. "Just checking in on you; see if you need anything and more properly introduce myself now that you are a little bit more calm... I am Victoire Olafsson, Doctor and Medic here."
She nodded in response, a cautious tilt of the head, and then finger-spelled her first name. E-M-M-A. Shifting with ease into sign. ~My name is Emma. Where am I?~
Vic made mental note that she could hear and understand but picked up sign herself to help with comfort while she spoke. “Military Field Hospital; you were brought in late last night. It is barely into the morning now but I tended to and documented your wounds and condition and I would like to help with however it happened.”
~Thanks. Nothing you can do..~ She turned her head away, gaze dropping to the blanket, studying its surface, following the waffle pattern, fighting the panicked flight response hovering near the edge of her mind.
Vic watched for a moment, recognizing the same signs of abuse that she herself had once shown in her own life and then she knelt slowly and place her hand on Emma’s knee, well within her vision and she spoke softly. “I may not necessarily be able to fight your battles for you… but I think I might have a small inkling of how you came into some of your wounds. At the very least… I can help you heal and then help you become better equipped to fight them for yourself. Outside of that…. I can ensure you have a safe harbor where you’ll find allies to come to if you do need help.”
She dragged her gaze up to meet Victoire's, hope warred with fear, even as she shook her head. She could almost hear the sound of his dogging her flight. ~Dangerous. Crazy.~.
Vic paused and pulled a photo of the SEALs that she worked with most closely and pointed to their Tridents and their other symbols before signing back. ~We live for danger. Hunt Crazy~.
For the first in what seemed like forever, Emma felt the faint stirring of hope. ~He's called Whistler. Wears face black and white face paint.~
Vic nodded, and looked around offering her a pen after a moment as well as the backside of an empty folder. ~can you draw?~ She felt a small bit of pride in having made a breakthrough and though it was quickly growing later into the morning there was just a touch of adrenaline that accompanied it that Vic was riding.
It took her some time. She had been studying art in school, spent hours in the cheap sketchbooks she bought with money she earned in after school jobs, so doing the face wasn't hard. It was the act of remembering him. That was hard.
I can do this, she thought. She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember him, to think about his appearance, to will her hands to not shake. A few calming breaths and then she started.
Focus on the details. Not on the man himself. He's just another object. Triangular shape maybe? Thin certainly. She drew a lean face with dark stringy hair that came down to his shoulders. A thick band of black around his eyes with a line training slightly down each cheek and dots angled slightly upward where the eyebrows should have been. Nose painted in black with a line trailing up slightly along the ridge.
She closed her eyes again, willing herself to fill in the details, to remember him. Face him.
His lips were all white with lines drawn in as though they had been sewn shut. Upside hearts, one in the cleft on his chin and another on his forehead between the eyes. Larger dots above the point on the upside down heart lead up toward the hairline, gradually decreasing in size.
Not quite, she thought. Close though.
There was gray shading just below the cheekbones trailing downward along either side of where his teeth would be toward the jawline and picked up again beneath his chin and along the other edges of his forehead. Along the side, she wrote:
The best she could do. She passed the image back to Vic and pulled the blankets up tighter.
Vic studied it for a minute, committing it to memory and then squeezed Emma’s hand comfortingly and reassuringly. ~this is excellent; I will ensure it is spread so we know; if you are comfortable with it you can come stay with me and Jasper, my dog. I have already cleared you medically ~
She clipped the drawing to her clipboard and signaled for one of the guards that was stationed at the hospital.
~I'd like that~, Emma signed. ~Let me know when you're ready. I'll be here.`
She nodded to Emma and then stepped out of the curtain, going back to the testing machines and the copier that was there and copying the sketch before meeting the Corporal that had come and handing that copy to him. “Corporal; this is eyes only but I need you to take this to the command tent immediately and inform them that we need to broadcast an alert to all forces and outposts that the individual matching that sketch is highly dangerous and hunts people for sport. Understood?”
"Yes, Ma'am," the corporal said. "I'll get it over there right away."
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