Chapter 7: Cataclysm, Pt 7
It doesn't take long until the three of you make it to the urgent care clinic. And as your father had mentioned, it's only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. Thankfully so.
By the time you get there, your Dad has become paler, and stumbles around a bit as he walks. It's clear that he's lost too much blood.
You go to support him, but he raises his palm at you, as though to tell you, "I can handle it."
The clinic itself is part of a strip mall, half of which has been broken apart by a cluster of crystals protruding through it. Some of the shops have been reduced to nothing more than a pile of rubble, unsold goods, and dead shoppers.
Thankfully, the clinic appears to mostly still be in one piece, though its front door frames have been wrenched wide open and most of its glass front has been smashed to pieces. The lights are certainly on, but you don't see any activity happening inside. Of course, all you can see right now is the front waiting room.
Who knows what's happening in the back rooms… Your heart thumps lightly at the thought.
"Let's get in there," says Kaja. "We oughta check if there's a doctor who can help us. And if not, we can at least grab some medical supplies."
"Wait, what if there's someone or something in there already?" you say. "Like one of those insect things?"
Your Dad draws his Beretta from his holster and flips the safety off, but keeps it at the low ready.
"Good thing I got this," he says.
"It's not gonna help," you retort. "Bullet's too small to punch through its armor."
"How'd you know? Did'ja try it already?"
"It might, but let's not test it," says Kaja. "Besides, just having this thing around keeps those things away from us. I think it's emitting some kind of repellant? Something like that anyway. So probably just having it here will keep 'em away."
She maneuvers the massive blade ahead of her, then embeds it into the parking area just outside the clinic. It makes an incredibly satisfying sound as it pierces into the asphalt. Not only that, but you can practically hear its infinite edge slicing apart the gravel and substrate beneath.
It soothes you.
"Hey, try picking up some broken glass," you suggest. "Could use those as mini-blades, maybe?"
"Alright, yeah. Good idea."
Kaja reaches out with a hand, then telekinetically picks up a few shards of glass. You can see her face strain and her fingers twitch as she attempts to control multiple pieces. Clearly, maneuvering multiple things at once is harder than a single one, size be damned.
But after a few moments of practice, she's able to move them around with some proficiency. She's able to swish them around in the air quickly and relatively accurately.
"I could spend all day practicing this," she says. "But we've gotta get that wound patched up asap. Let's hope we don't run into anything at all, though. You two stay behind me, alright?"
Kaja's boots make crunching noises as she enters the clinic, stepping on the broken glass shards along the way. You enter a few steps behind her, and your Dad a few steps behind you.
You can feel the tenseness in the air, shared between the three of you. Although to be fair, you're the most tense of everyone. You can barely feel Kaja's anxiety as she slowly and carefully plods forward, while your Dad seems to place all his faith in his sidearm.
Then again, what's new, right? Your default state is to be a ball of anxiety, and not even the end of the world can change that about you. Or, perhaps, it has made you even worse.
You're betting on worse.
The interior of the clinic's front room is pretty basic and standard, as far as clinic front rooms go. It's a relatively spacious area with a few rows of chairs in the waiting area. Most of them have toppled over, or broken, or even stolen.
Magazines, paper cups, and all manner of detritus is scattered on the floor.
At the far end of the room is a secure counter built into the wall, which is usually where a nurse receptionist would welcome incoming patients. Of course, it's empty at the moment.
Behind the counter is a massive shelving unit that contains what looks like patient records. It's filled to the brim, and practically spilling over.
What strikes you as odd is there's no dead people in here, which is a distinct contrast from the rest of the city. Everywhere you've been has had corpses. At least until now. You do see a few streaks of mostly-dried blood that lead outside.
Whether that means someone was wounded in here and left of their own volition, or dragged out, you have no clue. But at least they don't lead inward.
Kaja heads to one of the doors flanking the nurse receptionist's counter - a sign on its face reads "No Entry" - and tries the handle with a jiggle.
"Locked," she whispers.
She then goes to the other door and attempts the same thing. But it's clear that it too is locked.
"I can break 'em, or try to pick 'em," your Dad offers, but Kaja shakes her head in response.
"I'll just hop the counter," she replies. "Rather not make a lotta noise in here. Don't wanna attract attention to us. Besides, we don't want you to strain yourself even more."
Kaja leans over the counter and looks around for a moment, just in case. Then she sits on it, spins in place, then hops off on the other side. She beckons for the both of you to follow before she heads towards the end of the large shelving unit and turns towards the rear section of the front office.
Just as you fumble over the counter, you hear the words, "Stop right there!"
You're immediately consumed by the need to run over to Kaja, but she urges you to stop with a mere gesture. She's looking further into the front office, which you can't see thanks to the large shelving unit.
Even though you can't see, you still get a sense for what's back there. Besides the person telling Kaja to stop, you can hear faint breathing behind him. At least two more people. Maybe three or four. You can't tell exactly - maybe there's even more stuff between them and this guy up front.
And judging from how the voice of the guy up front is echoing around, he's likely behind something - a desk maybe. Or more shelves.
More than that, you can smell a faint trace of blood - you can almost taste its copperyness on your tongue. Then again, you're in a clinic - they should smell like this.
"Sorry to barge in," Kaja says. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We just have someone who is hurt that needs help, alright? So please put the gun down."
"Gun ain't coming down," demands the voice. "But tell me: hurt how?"
"Knocked his head, split it a bit, bleeding a lot."
"Is it just you two?"
"Three."
"Alright. Show yourselves! Quick! Hands where I can see."
Kaja gestures for you to join her, so you step out from behind the shelving unit. Your Dad joins you moments later, after a few grunts and groans from climbing the counter.
And the back room is as you visualized earlier, to some degree. Most of the furniture and equipment in the room has been moved to one side of the room and piled together to make a kind of barrier. Peeking through one of a few open sections of the barrier is what appears to be an orderly, still wearing his scrubs.
In his hands looks to be a mean-looking shotgun. Of course, the business end of it is pointed at the three of you.
"Can you help us?" you say. "'Coz if not, then we'll just be going."
The orderly grimaces as he looks your Dad up and down, particularly at the bandage around his head.
"Who did the wrap?" he asks. "It's kinda sloppy. Blood's already blotting the gauze."
"I did," Kaja replies. "I barely know first aid, kinda why we're here in the first place. So can you help? If you can't then we need to go find a place where we can get him fixed up."
The orderly exhales loudly, then pulls his shotgun aside, which immediately alleviates much of your anxiety. You can practically feel it diffusing into the air around you.
"Alright, fine, come around here," he says with a gesture.
The three of you walk towards him, or rather around the makeshift barrier to where he's standing. At the same time, he continues speaking to you.
"We don't got a doctor anymore, but we do got a couple nurse practitioners who can help," he continues. "At least, for something like lacerations like what your pops got. Yeah, 'course we'll help. It's what we do. But if you do anything sketch at all - I'm gonna come at you with a vengeance. And I ain't the only one, alright?"
It seems to you that he has said that phrase a few times now. It's not that it seems practiced, more like he's in the process of practicing it.
"Thank you," Kaja replies.
You smile inwardly as you realize that she always knows what to say. She always has. If that was you, you would have been extra defensive, maybe even frantically so.
Good thing you didn't say anything, or you might have ruined the tentative truce.
He ushers you three through the secure door next to him, which he opens with a few keypresses on the codelock pad.
Behind there is an open clinic floor where a number of exam beds line three of the four walls. They're separated by privacy curtains, though all are drawn back so everything is visible. Along the fourth wall is a series of cabinets and counters and drawers, each of which holds all sorts of medical supplies, from gauze to meds to tools.
A door in the middle of that wall leads out to the rest of the clinic.
But most importantly, there are a number of people here, about five of whom are regular people just like you. Well, maybe not you - you've never thought of yourself as regular. More like irregular. All of them have bumps and scratches in varying degrees, some to the point of bleeding. One has a very clearly broken arm.
He's being looked over by an orderly, who's doing her best to keep him as calm as possible. One of the nurses joins her moments later and administers what appears to be local painkillers.
The other nurse comes up to your Dad soon after and leads him towards one of the beds.
"That's not looking so great," she says. "Let's get you over here so we can get a better look. Sam. Sam! Can you give Ms. Janelle over there 250 milligrams of ibuprofen and 50 milligrams of tramadol? Thanks."
While she gives one of her orderlies instructions, she carefully lays your father down on the bed and unwraps his bandages. You watch with interest as she opens it up and examines the wound. She then gets to work cleaning and redressing it as quickly as she can.
"Hey, you two," says an orderly. "We gotta keep this space clear so we can work. So come follow me."
You and Kaja quickly follow after one of the other orderlies, who leads you out to what seems to be a hallway. Opposite the clinic floor is an open double door that leads straight into the staff's break room. There, one other orderly is seated at a table with his head back and eyes closed, clearly taking a nap. Or at the very least, doing his best to try to.
Also seated at the table are a couple of other people - civilians just like you. They seem to be having an incredibly quiet conversation between the two of them. You can just barely hear them talk. A third is up by the coffee machine, pouring himself another cup.
"Feel free to sit tight in here for a while," says your orderly escort. "We got some food and drink, but try not to empty us out, alright?"
You and Kaja greet everyone in the room in a general sense as the orderly who escorted you there heads back to work on the clinic floor. Everyone else acknowledges the both of you through grunts and nods.
And something strikes you as incredibly odd about the pair seated at the table. At first you believe they're having a hushed conversation. But it dawns on you that their mouths aren't moving at all. No sounds are actually coming from them.
No, what you're hearing is the conversation they're having through their minds.
Chapter 8: Cataclysm, Pt 8
Your eyes go wide as you realize that the two of them are doing exactly what you're doing now - they're reading each others' minds! Or rather, they're picking up what they're transmitting! You're utterly stunned at experiencing what Telepathy looks like.
So stunned that you don't notice the two of them staring back at you. Well, not for a few moments, anyway. It occurs to you that you're projecting your own thoughts, and that's allowed them to read your mind.
You redden at the realization that you literally butted into their conversation.
It's fine, you read from one of their thoughts.
We've been practicing how to control what we think, projects the other. I guess now we gotta practice how to keep them private, too, haha! Wanna join us?
You do your best to project specific thoughts in response, but find it difficult to do. It's mixed in with your anxieties and self-edits and everything. It occurs to you that you tend to think the same thought three times in a row, each time reinforcing certain things, tweaking other things, as though in search of the perfect thing to say.
All the while, all other sorts of thoughts flit in and out of your mind.
So as always, it comes out all wrong anyway.
All you want to say is something like, 'Hell yeah, let's do this!' But nothing of the sort actually happens. Your thoughts seem like a tangled, jumbled mess, which is perhaps an appropriate mirror of how your mind actually seems to operate.
Yet somehow the words surface through the muck regardless. Certainly not unscathed, and very likely in need of heavy translation.
The two of them grin on 'hearing' what you have to say.
That looks familiar, thinks one. His thoughts come with a sense of joviality. And of recollection. They feel so palpable that it's almost as though you feel them coming from you.
Don't worry, thinks the other. Takes a bit of practice to get your thoughts straight. Took us two, what, an hour to get to this point?
You nod, but before you take a seat with the two of them, you turn towards Kaja.
"Hey, I gotta do something for a bit," you tell her. "And it might take a bit of time. Also it might look a bit weird."
"Oh, you mean weird like the three of you staring at each other wordlessly for the past minute?" she jokes. "But yeah, I get it. I was gonna go see if I could help out on the clinic floor anyway. So knock yourself out."
She stops herself just as she's about to step away.
"Actually, don't knock yourself out. And also, I'll go see about getting you some headache meds," she continues.
"Oh, good call," you reply.
You turn back to your two new friends as Kaja steps out to go be an actual help.
It doesn't come to you often that you feel excited to do something, to learn more. Maybe it's because you feel like you're never good at anything, except for a few things. Maybe it's because once you zero in on something, you can't help but really dig into it.
At least, until you get bored.
Maybe it's because you've now got pretty cool powers, and can actually make them even better. Anything that will help you become more useful yourself.
How could you not want to know more?
OK, let's do this, you blurt out somewhat chaotically and clumsily.
~
It takes the better part of an hour - maybe two - before you finally take a breather. Practicing how to shape your own thoughts is so much more exhausting than you first believed, to the point where you feel utterly drained mentally and physically.
But it has been well worth it.
You can better sift your mind and present what you want to present with so much more clarity. Sure, your mind's still chaotic as anything, and all that still comes through when you try to project your surface thoughts, but certainly nowhere as loudly anarchic as before.
More importantly, you're able to shield your surface thoughts with much better ease. In fact, this is made even easier because of how your brain operates in the first place. It's a bit like hearing a constant white noise in the background, enough to distract from whatever else passes through.
Of course, the more you practice it, the better you'll get at it.
Since your body's feeling incredibly drained, you instinctively go to one of the vending machines out in the hallway. You eye each of its offerings in search of what could best satisfy a deep craving. When you spot it, you pull out a few crumpled bills from your pocket.
From behind you Kaja says, "This one's on me."
She puts her hand on yours, the one that's holding your cash, and lowers it. Then she reaches out with her other hand towards the vending machine, and with a quick flick tugs one of the snacks out of its coil tray.
It falls into the dispenser below, and ultimately fish it out moments later. But you frown at the package in your hands.
"I was going for the ChoccoBar," you say. "Not this…"
You glance back down at the package to read what's printed on the front.
"This… All-natural, Organic, Made with Love cookie thing."
"I know, I know," she replies with a smile. "But you need real food, not a brick of flavored sugar."
You grumble slightly as you break the package open and nibble on your snack. It's not bad, but you definitely had your heart set on that chocco.
"Hey, did that naproxen from earlier help?" Kaja asks, her eyes on you as you eat.
"Dunno honestly," you reply. "Still kinda feel that throbbing pain whenever I try anything. Even while I was practicing Telepathy with those two… It definitely distracted me from fully concentrating. But to answer… it mighta helped. Maybe just didn't hurt as much. Can't really tell. Uh, thanks for the meds anyway."
Kaja grimaces as you speak, seemingly frustrated at being unable to help you.
"How's Dad, by the way?" you say.
"He's doing good," she replies. "Got a few staples in his head now, and all bandaged up the proper way. But they've hooked up a saline IV into him since he lost too much blood. So he's resting up for now, probably best overnight.
"Said we shouldn't have moved him that much, in case he passed out along the way. Good thing your Dad's a tough old man or he might not have made it at all."
You exhale at length at hearing that he's alright. It occurs to you that you probably haven't been as worried about him as you should have been. Because the nurse, or whoever it was that said it, is right - he shouldn't have been walking around.
Another bite of your cookie seems to energize you a bit. Or perhaps it's the good news about Dad. Or maybe you just needed a cookie, who knows? In any case, you feel a bit better.
"Hey, Kaja?" says a voice from behind both of you.
You turn to find one of the nurse practitioners. Her scrubs are a bit messy with dirt and dried blood, and she herself looks tired to the bone. Perhaps even more than you. How she's still standing is beyond you.
"Thanks for helping out back there," she continues. "We really appreciate it. So please, take this."
She hands Kaja a relatively robust, rectangular bag. Inside it appears to be three smaller bags, all exactly like the other.
"Individual first aid kits," she says. "IFAK for short. Should be one for each of you."
"Thanks," you reply. "And thanks for looking after Dad. I know you didn't need to. None of you do, I guess."
"World's gone berserk, and the only thing that still makes sense is to do what we've always done. Could say we're doing this for ourselves, too. Keeps us alive."
"Speaking of which, what's next?" asks Kaja. "I mean, none of us can possibly stay here forever."
"Yeah, I think your break room's almost outta food," you add. "Though at least you've got this vendo to help out a bit."
The nurse nods, then leans on the wall opposite. A sigh escapes from her lips, and you think that perhaps it's the first break she's taken all day, and has decided to make the most of it. Then you realize that's what you seem to be reading from her surface thoughts.
Because she's not purposefully projecting it, you absorb them as though they're your own.
You quickly shut it off, not wanting to pry into her thoughts and emotions further.
"That's definitely a problem. And we could probably get more if we need to," she says after a moment. "Real problem is we're gonna run outta meds, eventually anyway. Plus this place isn't exactly safe. If someone decides to attack us, say for those same meds, then we're kinda ass out, aren't we?"
"Two tired orderlies with shotguns isn't much of a security system," you say.
"Exactly. Which is why we're thinking of moving shop. Taking everything we can and finding a more secure place to hold out for a while."
"Where would you go, though?" Kaja asks. "Towards the city center? Closer to the general hospital?"
"No no, nothing like that," the nurse replies. "Ben, one of my orderlies, he's been listening to AM/FM all this time. Most signals are emergency recordings, others just songs looping over and over. Some are people calling out for help.
"But there's one - official military. Says they're gathering everyone up at the stadium, along with supplies, and keeping everyone safe. Or as safe as they can, from whatever these bugs and animals and whatnot that's out there."
"So you're all headed there, then?" you ask. "Maybe we oughta go with."
"The more the merrier," the nurse says. "And safer too."
"Not a bad idea," Kaja says. "We'll think about it."
You turn your head at Kaja, unsure why she wouldn't jump at the chance to be with other people. If anything, you're the one who would shy away from them. You've never been a people person. But her? Why?
"You oughta head up to the roof then," the nurse says. "When I need to do some of my own thinking, I like to go up there."
She then leads you two down the hallway and opens up one of the janitor closets. Inside is a bunch of cleaning supplies, along with a couple of rickety lockers.
Set into the far wall is a metal ladder that leads up past the drop ceiling, and further to what is presumably the hatch to the outside. The two of you shrug and head on up - why not, right?
You swing open the hatch and climb the rest of the way out onto the strip mall's roof above the clinic. Although you were expecting sticky black tar up there, instead you find gravel spread out evenly everywhere. It crunches nicely under your feet.
All manner of pipes and AC units and whatnot are laid out all over the top in order rows. Close to the clinic's large AC unit is a couple of lawn chairs flanking a rickety wooden crate.
Neither of you are very interested in what's up there though. What takes your breath away is the sky itself.
The sky has darkened considerably and is, you assume, reaching twilight. Regardless what time it actually is, a deep red color has completely overtaken the blue atmosphere, which sends an ominous chill down your spine.
More than that, you don't recognize a single star cluster that's up in the sky.
Kaja whistles low as she also scans the skies above you.
"Shit's changed, hasn't it?" she says.
"We've both changed too," you add. "Probably everyone down below."
"Like with these crazy powers, yeah?"
"Powers, yeah," you say with some hesitation. "Been thinking about grading them, scaling them. To help me make sense of it all and that sorta thing. Like I mean, you've got Telekinesis, right? And so did that shadow creature thing."
"You've got that Telepathy thing too, right?" Kaja adds. "Like those other two downstairs."
"Yep, and they're both better at it than me, which is why I kinda wanna grade it… You think it's stupid, don't you?"
Kaja laughs, not realizing that you can feel her surface thoughts fly out at you.
"Maybe, a bit," she confesses. "I don't think it's helpful to think I'm, like, a Grade Five Telekineticist or something like that. But I mean, you should still do it. What do I know, right? Maybe it would be helpful."
You purse your lips in frustration. Of course, it's just Kaja being Kaja, as always.
This is exactly what you mean when you say she's overbearing. Even when she disagrees with you, she can't help but support you. And it's frustrating for you.
Of course, you know this is supposed to be a good thing. People everywhere say that being supportive is the best kind of person to be for everyone else.
But for you, all it does is highlight just how much you're not good enough. Because you're constantly reminded of how much support you actually need, and you hate that. You hate feeling like some kind of baby, who needs coddling and caring for time and time again.
Although yeah, Kaja's being as helpful as she can, and she means really well, all you can feel is how truly inferior you are.
You know deep down that this is an issue about you and not her. But that's a fact and a feeling that you push from yourself as hard as you can. You just don't want to admit that you need that kind of help, and you crave to be a version of you that could be more like Kaja herself. To be the person who gives help all the time.
Instead, you're stuck as you.
And you hate that she's everything you could never be.
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