White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (30 page)

“Just another day at the office,” Deeta sighed.  Janelle wanted the details but it could wait. Eventually, she would find out if this guy made it, what happened.  They’d talk about it over dinner when she got back.

“American,” Janelle said referring to the airline. 

“I’d walk you to security, but I need to get back there,” Deeta said as she was pulling to the drop off.

“I’m a big girl. I can get there myself.” Janelle got out of the car and walked to the rear.   Deeta popped the trunk and yelled, “Be safe,” through the open passenger window.   Janelle turned and waved with a smile.  Deeta pulled back into traffic and drove away from the airport. 

Deeta Nakshband moved to Connecticut from India when she was eight.  Her parents were not doctors. They owned franchised doughnut stores, six of them.  She was able to attend Yale as expected, and her parents footed the bill.  She was accepted at UCONN for medical school, but she was also accepted at Yale.  Although she was more than happy to go to public school, her parents preferred prestige over economy.  Deeta, the practical one, could not put this kind of burden on her parents.  She still had a brother in his sophomore year at MIT and a sister in law school when she was accepted.  Deeta joined the United States Navy and served eight years in order to finance her own education.  After the Navy, she did her Infectious Disease fellowship at Columbia in New York, and then returned to Connecticut to be near family and build her practice.

Deeta’s parents were livid when she joined the Navy.  They still get excited when Deeta (deliberately) brings up the subject.  They were terribly worried about her wellbeing and were for some reason, unknown to Deeta, embarrassed by her being in the military.  Deeta took pride in taking the responsibility to finance her own education and take the burden off her parents, and eventually, they forgave her.  She had always been too independent and American for her parent’s liking.  (Her younger brother was worse, but he was also better at hiding his activities from them.)  Over the years, she was able to find herself and realize how much they meant to her.  Her homecoming was warm and familiar, and she enjoyed being back at home and close to her family, despite how much she argued with her mother.  She had become more confident in the Navy, which strengthened her independence.  However, this increase in confidence also allowed her to embrace her family without wondering how much influence they were exerting on her.  In her mother’s eyes, she was outright defiant, but this is truly not the case.  Deeta loved them dearly, and was greatly appreciative for all they had done for her.  Joining the Navy  really put their sacrifice in perspective for her.  Since she had gotten older, she had become more understanding of their way of thinking, and frequently thanked them for all they had done for her.  She had also gotten better at declining their advice with reason.  Although, they still had a tendency to say, “I don’t know where you come from,” when their wishes were not carried out.  And sometimes, just for fun, Deeta would dig it in. 

It was in the Navy that Deeta was able to shed expectations and discover and nurture her unique talents and habits, and learned of course, to curse like a sailor.  What took her by surprise was that she had an affinity for exercise and athletics.  Never encouraged to engage in physical activity or sports when growing up, she was weak as a kitten during Officer Candidate School and struggled.  Deeta not only loved the challenge, she enjoyed stressing the body to reach some physical goal.  After OCS, she found she had a lot of free time.  Aside from studying for the boards, she had the time to pursue her new hobby.  Before her duty hours, she was in the gym.  After duty hours, she studied.  After she had taken the internal medicine boards, she was in the gym before and after work.  Running, swimming, weight training and Martial Arts.  She studied several arts, but liked Kenpo the best, and worked to a blue belt before getting out of the service. There was a school in Torrington and she had just started taking instruction again to earn her next level and eventually get her black belt.

Deeta liked to lift weights and used bodybuilding practices to gain strength and mass, but when she started with martial arts, she changed to strength and conditioning.  It was about efficiency, the most strength at the lowest mass.  She dated a SEAL for a while and he was quite impressed by her strength and stamina.  He would push her to her absolute limits and have her puking and cramping by the end of those sessions.  She felt proud when, at the end of the workouts, he was winded and sore.  Deeta still did those sorts of workouts when she could.  Although she would have liked to do them once a week, once a month was about all she could manage with her work schedule.  Her workouts were now mostly at home, close to the phone so she could respond to calls.  Her routines were fast, hard, intense, and rarely over an hour, but she could still, absolutely, wipe herself out. 

That’s how Deeta met Janelle, in the gym.  Janelle was an amateur bodybuilder that was trying to cut weight for a contest.  She had approached her and asked her for tips on staying and getting lean.  Deeta was small but her muscles looked as if they belonged on an anatomy chart, and she had no fat on her that anyone could detect.  Deeta led Janelle through one of her SEAL workouts; taking her to Sleeping Giant State Park.  They started by running up the head of the giant on the west side, about 450 feet straight up, and then continued to run up and down the trails for another 2 hours.  When that was done, it was calisthenics: burpees, pushups, squats, jumping jacks and sit-ups.  When they got back home, nauseated and wobbly, Deeta made some amazing curry vegetables.  Deeta told Janelle she was vegetarian and that she should try the diet.  Janelle was now 85% vegan.  She would eat lean meats if she felt she needed to gain weight, but she stayed on this diet most of the time. 

JJ was very lighthearted, good humored, and kept her laughing the entire time they were together.  Her easygoing manner let Deeta relax and be herself without advice or criticism, and she had become the closest friend Deeta had ever had.  Right now, her life was about as complete and comfortable as it had ever been. She had a job she loved, she was able to pursue her hobbies, she was healthy, and had family and a very close friend. 

It was more than an hour before she got back to the hospital and she was still angry.  Dr. Patel, the internist on the case, often consulted Dr. Slagle.  Charles Slagle was an old, crusty, marginal surgeon, and a full-fledged, blustering, member of The Old Boy’s Network who wanted to be an administrator.  He had been at Torrington Regional since he graduated from his UCONN surgery residency and he had been Chief of Staff and Chief of Surgery so many times, he had lost count.  Over the last twenty years, a contingent of Indian physicians had gotten sufficient numbers to vie for political power.  Racial lines had been drawn, and the competing cliques influenced even those who didn’t want to play the political games.  It reminded Deeta of junior high and she and a few others referred to those jostling for power the Cowboys against the Indians.  Dr. Patel tried to placate both sides by consulting both the old and new guard.  He consulted Deeta frequently. She took excellent care of his patients and he was able to appease the Indian crowd by having her on the case.  If any of his patients had any infectious process, or hint of an infectious process, she was on the case.  And he used her exclusively for intensive care.  When she was assigned, Patel stopped writing orders.  “You do what you want,” he would say to her, “I trust you.”  Deeta believed he was just covering for his laziness that was evidenced,  as he would get upset whenever she would sign off on a patient before discharge.  He would most often talk her into staying, “In case something happens,” he reasoned.  Now she was going to have to deal with Slagle and somehow put this behind her.  On top of that, Dr. Patel was going be upset with her for putting him in the middle of a conflict.

Lori, one of the ICU nurses, had relayed that Mr. Callenetti had gone into surgery about twenty 20 minutes prior to her arrival, so she began rounding on her other five patients in the unit.  Deeta was one of the intensivists at Torrington Regional.  The other intensivists belonged to a pulmonology group and they were trying hard to recruit her.  So far, she had resisted the urge to join them.  Deeta was calm and pleasant. Patients, doctors, and nurses liked
her, she was an excellent physician and a favorite among staff, and getting more popular.  She would be too busy to be independent if the other group wasn’t taking the lion’s share of consults due to their political clout.  But, as for now, between the ICU and her ID consults, Deeta kept her census between twelve and twenty, a busy but tolerable load.  It was ideal for her.

She had been in the ICU about an hour, working with the usual commotion of people going to and from X-Ray, the lab, and patients working with physical therapy when she heard the overhead announcement, “CODE ORANGE, SURGERY. 
CODE ORANGE, SURGERY, SECOND FLOOR. CODE ORANGE, SURGERY, SECOND FLOOR.”

“What’s a code orange?” Deeta asked the unit clerk. 

“Violence, Violent disturb...” the clerk was cut off.

“CODE ORANGE, MAIN HALLWAY, SECOND FLOOR.
CODE ORANGE, MAIN HALLWAY, SECOND FLOOR.  CODE ORANGE, MAIN HALLWAY, SECOND FLOOR.”

“You fucking BITCH!”  It was Slagle, still in his OR gown.  His surgical mask was around his neck.  The gown was bloody, very bloody, and he was holding a surgical Liston knife.  “I knew this would happen! I told you he would die! Now I’m gonna have my cases pulled. They’re gonna be up my ass, pulling my charts and running my numbers because of this!  You got your
way, YOU HAPPY NOW?”  The staff stood frozen looking at him.  Slagle was walking toward Deeta with absolute rage in his eyes.  He was short and pudgy with thick, naturally strong arms.  His right hand held the large knife at his side and his knuckles were white from his grip. 

Everyone in the room froze, except Deeta.  She was slowly walking backward, fixated on the knife.  “Why did he have a Liston knife?” she thought.  “What the hell kind of OR kit did he open?  I don’t think I’ve even seen them when I was in training.  What the fuck is he doing with THAT?”  Then she thought, “What happened in the OR?”  She had no idea where he got it or what had happened in the operating room. All she knew was that he was dangerous.

“Dr. Slagle?”  Lori said. He looked at the nurse and brought the knife up with a backhand motion.  She instinctively leaned backward, avoiding the weapon, then turned and ran.  The surgeon was after her.  The rest of the staff was scattering to get away, while Deeta ducked behind a counter. After Lori ran past, Deeta kicked out and tripped the surgeon.  He fell hard, hitting the tile floor with a sharp crack.  The knife was still in his hand as he started to get up.  Before he could get his balance and bearings, Deeta kicked his left knee from the outside.  She felt it give inward and something snapped.  He crumpled and fell with a scream.  Rolling on his back, he slashed wildly with the knife, coming nowhere near her.  He swung again as he tried to get up, but his left leg would not support his weight.  He stumbled and put his right hand, the one with the knife, on the ground to support his weight.  Deeta kicked him as hard as she could and caught him right in the middle of the throat.  The tissue of his neck could be felt against the top of her shoe about half way up her foot.  She felt her toe hit something solid.

That stopped him.  He choked and tried to cough but couldn’t. Then he dropped the knife and grabbed his throat with both hands.  Everyone stood still with their backs against the walls, watching.  Deeta kicked him over and grabbed the knife by the handle.  Slagle’s face was already turning red, then bluish purple from the lack of oxygen.  He was trying to inhale between the reflexive attempts to cough, but absolutely no air was getting through that crushed airway in either direction.  She turned around and looked. Everyone was staring at her.  She walked over to and put the scalpel on the counter.  “Call the ER and get them up here.  Call the fucking police.”  Then she sat down and cried.

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