A Painful Escape

Just standing up off the edge of the bed was a challenge. Once she got on her feet, Cara wavered for a moment.

Stairs, left, second left, door.

The directions out were the most important and new. She repeated them like a mantra in her head. Lucy’s sense of urgency was palpable. Cara needed to get moving and get out of the building – without being seen. The regular clothes would help her a little, at least she wasn’t in a hospital gown anymore. But the HOSPITAL was military based, full of men and women who were trained to notice things out of the norm. And she her arm was in the sling, which would slow her down and make her more recognizable.

Cara edged over to the curtain and peered out. The hall was empty and the stairwell door was only a few yards away.

You are just normally walking. If you look like you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll draw more attention.

Steeling herself and stabilizing her posture, she strolled through the curtain and toward the door. Every step rattled her shoulder followed by shooting pain. As she got to the door, a new problem presented. She attempted to reach for the handle only to send another wave of nearly crippling pain through her body when her arm strained against the sling.

She’d been shot in the right shoulder blade. She was going to have to use her non-dominant hand for everything.

Cara took one subtle look down the hall as she passed through the door, noting that it was still clear and closed the door behind her. The stairwell was lit by bright fluorescent lights, no windows. She wasn’t sure how far she needed to go down other than all the way down. She could be a floor or two up or as many as six floors high. The hospital was five story and the field door came out of a section of exposed basement.

Nothing to do but do it. Another issue, the railing was on the right. No way she could make it down the stairs without support. She was going to have to travel along the outside edge to stabilize against the wall.

When her foot landed on the first step down, a blast went through her shoulder so jarring she had to lean her whole body against the wall to avoid falling down. She stifled a groan and breathed deliberately in and out – but that hurt, too.

Cara set her forehead against the cement wall and the cool, smooth surface helped. She slowed her breath and thought about the cold on her face.

Stairs, left, second left, door.

She could do this. She must do this. At some point someone would notice the empty bed and start looking for a wandering patient. She needed to be long out of the building by then.

Keeping her weight leaned against the wall, she slowed stepped down the next step. By sliding along the wall instead of letting her weight fall onto the step, she was able to place her foot down much more softly. It still resulted in a sharp, white pain but it wasn’t debilitating. She tried the next step with the same result.

OK, speed up. Stairs, left, second left, door.

As she slide her way along the wall moving downward, she counted. Each section of stairwell had eleven steps. She counted to eleven once, twice, three times, four, five, six. On the seventh count there were only ten. As she turned the last corner, she could see she had reached the final floor, she was almost to the bottom.

She was sweating, shaking and feeling very cold from the exertion and the injury. The pain was becoming numb and despite her exhaustion, she didn’t feel tired.

The pills are kicking in, she thought. This was taking too long. She must have been at this for at least 40 minutes if the drugs were starting to take effect. A wave of anxiety struck at that thought. She needed to get out of here. Stairs, left, second left, door.

A small silver lining. She needed to take two lefts and she was already dependent on the left side wall. All she had to do was follow the wall to the left and then the second left before the door. She didn’t waste a moment. Placing her hand along the wall – now drywall again – she did her best to walk forward with smooth steady steps. Even with the numbing of the painkiller, the jolt of each step was still agony.

She came to the first turn and kept following the wall left.

Stairs, left, second left, door.

The second left she needed now, halfway out. Cara focused her gaze and counted the first left turn. For the first time since the beginning of the stairs, she was standing with no support as she lifted her hand off the wall to pass the first left hall turn. She noted how unstable her legs were. The drugs were doing their jobs, but she was not operating at any semblance of normal.

She reached for the wall again, yearning for the support again of the wall. She leaned too hard toward the wall on her last step, and her right arm involuntarily strained against her sling trying to stretch out to catch herself. The drugs didn’t dull anything this time. She caught herself against the wall with her left hand and had to catch her breath again.

Breath in, breath out. Stairs, left, second left, door. You just have to follow the wall to the door.

Weak and blurry, she felt the surge of motivation that comes with nearing the finish line.

She followed the wall, step by step, with only one more left to go. She rounded the last corner, ready to feel the relief of the last stretch. When she turned the corner, it was a gut punch.

The hall opened up to a room full of spare hospital equipment. She was going to have to make it through the room, unsupported. The exit sign above the door taunted her.

Then her stomach dropped when she realized she was going to have to make it across the room – and the field – of her own volition.

She rested against the wall, pondering where she was going to get the strength to pull this off and her hand fell against her side, rattling the bottles in her pocket. The white pills – the alertness promoters. These were supposed to be fast acting and limited to combat, military use. Meant to help injured or exhausted soldiers get out of bad situations.

She said “to keep you on your feet”, Cara remembered Lucy’s guidance.

She started to reach for the bottle, when she heard the steps and voices getting closer. At least two people were coming down the stairs.

She shuffled quietly along the wall of the room until she was able to tuck behind a row of hospital beds. The voices grew louder and she could hear they’re conversation only two turns away from her.

“…requested the hard copy records of all the Jane and John Doe patients from two years. And all the ones under the care of Gilbert, Jessup, and Mansfield,” a male voice said.

“I didn’t even realize we kept the hard copies of patient intake records,” a second voice replied.

“The contester sects have been trying to use the tech algorithms to erase records in the system. The brass wants the hard copies compared to the digital copies to see who they’re trying to erase. I guess they’re suspicious of those nurses,” the first voice answered coldly. “How can a nurse, a protector of lives, allow violent contesters go unchecked? Hide them by falsifying records?”

“They think there are nurses sneaking contesters through the hospital’s care under the radar?”

“Yes, I think so! I’ve seen at least three John Does come through in the last six months that I have no idea where they’re final paperwork collection was.”

“Were they managed by Gilbert, Jessup, or Mansfield?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but I think so.”

“It’ll take a while to get those files pulled. Everything on a Jane or John Doe and all the files for three nurses for two years?! There must be hundreds of people coming through from all over different postings – plus civilians – in just a couple weeks!”

“True, but I think they…”

The voices drifted back out of range. Cara heard they’re steps start climbing the stairwell again. Once she felt like they were far enough away, she took the opportunity to move as fast as she could to the exit door – pain be damned. Once outside, she shut the door gently to prevent it from slamming shut and looked out to the place where she and Lucy would meet on her “smoke” breaks. The field crossed a downhill slope from the trees where she usually connected with Lucy on their sly runs.

On this side she would need to go up the slope, and climbing upward proved to be a balancing nightmare with only one arm on the uneven grassy ground. Cara never looked back and did her best to walk naturally and casually just in case there was anyone happening to look into the field from the hospital or surrounding areas. She wasn’t in the clear yet – she needed to remain inconspicuous.

After what felt like another grueling infinity, she reached the simple clearing hidden from the hospital in by the tree line. The familiar rusted metal bistro table with a half filled ashtray – Lucy did actually bring cigarettes to burn and usually would smoke one or two puffs to ensure that people believed the cover story – sat welcomingly. Cara went to sit down on one of the old matching stools after the seemingly simple but horrifyingly arduous ordeal of making it down four floors and through a short stretch of field.

A large, looming figure came out of the trees, and Cara jumped before she recognized him. Mannon put his hands up cautiously.

“Hey, Cara,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can I touch you?” he said reaching one hand forward for hers.

“Mannon,” she sighed, relieved to see him. “Yes. Let’s go, please.”

Her residual adrenaline was wearing off. As she stood, her legs tried to give out. Mannon caught her under the elbow and steadied her.

“Cara, we can go quicker if I can carry you out,” he cautioned. “We need to go through the woods for a ways before we get to the vehicle.”

Cara didn’t love asking for help, but she was so exhausted and in pain she realized she was going to need the help. She nodded.

“Put your arm over my neck,” he said, bending down. She hooked her elbow over the back of his neck and he pulled her into his chest, lifting her knees up off the ground. “You OK?”

“I’m good,” she said, gritting her teeth. The position put a new kind of pressure on the back of her shoulder, and the curved position made her chest feel like it was crushed. “Please, let’s go.”

Mannon pressed on about a half mile through the woods, traveling as smoothly as he could. By the time they got to the work van that was waiting, she was sweating again in pain. He put her down so he could open the sliding side door while Cara did her best not to fall down.

Mannon guided her gently to sit on van floor and lifted the overcoat softly away from her left side, checking her pocket. He pulled out the pain pills and retrieved a bottle of water from the back of the van. He handed her two and she took them.

“We’re being extra cautious here,” he said, “You’re going to travel undercover in the back. There are some blankets there on the floor. Get yourself as comfortable as possible, and we’re going to get you over to the newest safehouse to recover. Lucy will be coming this evening or tomorrow, as soon as she can.”

Cara climbed in, laid on some of the blankets on her left side, and allowed Mannon to pull one more over the top of her. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and they headed off.

Every bump and pothole on the drive was a misery, but Cara now with an audience, couldn’t voice a single one. Mannon was here to help, she didn’t want to be difficult. After a while the painkillers took hold, and she started to get drowsy. By the time they were clear of the city limits, she had fallen into an uneasy sleep.

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