Three Minute Fiction--Waiting in the Emergency Room

For the record...this short story is 599 words long.

“Lock the doors. We’ll wait in the emergency room until the helicopters arrive. It’s not safe out there.” I knew it wasn’t safe here either, but it was the best we could do. There was certainly enough food and water for the twenty doctors, nurses and researchers who had survived, in addition to state-of-the-art medical equipment that might be needed very shortly.

The Air Force had said they could get a helicopter to our location within a week. I was skeptical. The country was devastated. The military had enough troubles maintaining order in the Green Zone. They wouldn’t be able to spare anything to make a foray into the Red Zone, even for the most skilled medical researchers in the Midwest. We couldn’t rely on them. We could only rely on ourselves. And ourselves alone couldn’t make it more than a couple weeks. But nevertheless we hunkered down and waited for rescue.

We rationed food and water and shored up our defenses. But most of our time was spent waiting in the emergency room. It was the safest place in the building. And so we waited in the emergency room for our rescuers to arrive. None of us wanted to consider the painful death that would await us if they didn’t reach us in time.

Five days into our ordeal, the security guard picked something up on the cameras. We drew our weapons, put on our protective gear, and ventured outside to the barricaded gate. We were stunned by the sight that greeted us: At least half a dozen police vehicles, all packed full of officers and civilians, all wearing rudimentary masks.

We let them inside to the decontamination room we had set up, hoping against hope for survivors. As the other doctors began testing them, I returned to wait in the emergency room.

It took a full day and a half for the tests to come back on the survivors. They were all negative. The room erupted into cheers. We were now fifty-three in strength, including twelve heavily armed cops. I radioed the Air Force informing them of our new members.

“Hospital to Andrews AFB, do you copy?”

“Copy”
“Be advised Hospital has acquired thirty-three new members. All have tested negative. Members include twelve police officers. Requesting additional evacuation helicopters.”

“10-4, additional helicopter dispatched.  Andrews AFB over.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Hospital to Andrews AFB, requesting elaboration.”

Silence.

“Hospital to Andrews AFB.”

Silence.

I returned to the emergency room where our group was waiting. I didn’t say anything. False hope would have been worse than no hope. Andrews AFB was hours from here. Those hours felt like an eternity. Finally, just as the Sun went down on another post-apocalyptic day, the radio that had given us so much hope crackled to life.

“Andrews AFB to Hospital.”

“Hospital.”
“Be advised that Chinook 1 and 2 will be approaching your position shortly. Switch to secondary frequency to contact them.”

“10-4.” I couldn’t believe our luck. After waiting in the emergency room of our hospital for almost a week, the Air Force had sent not one but two helicopters to rescue us.

“Chinook 1 to Hospital.”

“Hospital.”
“Chinook 1 proceeding to land on helipad.”

“10-4.”
The thirty-three policemen and civilians went on Chinook 1. We waited behind for Chinook 2. It followed right behind Chinook 1. We boarded it and left the city of death behind. We were saved from imminent death, but our work as medical researchers was just beginning. There was a human race to save from itself. Failure was not an option. We were the last hope.