Countdown
Part Three
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: Okay, here we are again.  First, the usual jazz. Sing along if you know the words...

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work, especially if I remind them that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Yeah, they'll buy that...

Rate this one PG-13 for subject material.

The time-frame on this one is as current as you can get. Last episode seen was "Great Expectations," and there are probably 6th Season spoilers, accordingly. (I'll try to keep them to a minimum, though.)

One more thing. This is the most intense, serious story I've written yet. There may be parts that could be disturbing, chilling, or downright tragic. Some seriously bad things will probably happen to our heroes before we're through. Expect the worst. However, by way of reassurance, I ask you to recall the ad campaign for 'The Princess Bride': "She gets captured, he gets killed...but it all turns out okay." If you're still game, with all that in mind, let's get to it...

(3:13 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Eight hours and forty-seven minutes before the end of the world, Dr. Luka Kovac was in some confusion.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't quite understand," he said, "You're not here because you're feeling unwell..."

"But my husband is," the elderly Mrs. Bentley replied, mildly.  "He's not feeling at all well today."

"I see," said Luka, who really didn't.  He exchanged a brief glance with Lydia and asked, "Was he unable to come in himself...?"

"Oh, no, he's right here," she assured him, reaching for her large handbag.   Opening it carefully, she reached inside and lifted out a small, gray kitten with tiger stripes.  The kitten blinked at the light, its pupils contracting, and mewed impatiently at the doctor and nurse.

They blinked back at it, none the wiser.

"This is your husband?" Lydia asked her.

"No, this is my cat," Mrs. Bentley informed her, as though she suspected Lydia was a little slow.

"Ah, Mrs. Bentley," Luka began, carefully, "I'm afraid I'm just not following you.  You were saying that your husband isn't feeling well..."

"That's right.  That's what I've been saying," the woman told him, beginning to show impatience of her own.  The cat jabbed at her collar with a forepaw.

"Then you said he was here, but you showed us your cat, instead?"

"Yes."  The cat squirmed for release, and then jumped lightly from Mrs. Bentley's lap to the counter near Lydia and rubbed its back against her elbow.   "You see, when Edmund passed, his spirit transmigrated into my cat," the woman explained, matter-of-factly. 

"Transmigrated...?" Lydia repeated.

"It happens all the time," the woman insisted.  "I saw it on Jerry Springer."

"Oh, I see..." Luka replied, with another significant glance at Lydia, "And so the cat can tell us Edmund's complaint?"

"That's right," said Mrs. Bentley, clearly relieved that the foolish doctor had grasped the obvious at last.

"Okay.  And what does the cat say is his complaint?"

Taken aback, the woman blinked indignantly at him.  "Well, how would I know?   I don't speak cat, do I?  Don't you have experts for this sort of thing?"

While Luka tried to think of a reply that wouldn't be received the wrong way, Lydia stroked the kitten's fur and said, "He's lovely, what's his name?"

"Edmund!  I told you that!"

"No, ma'am, I meant the cat's name.  Or is he named Edmund, too?"

"No, HER name is Fluffy."  The old lady cast a stern glance at the cat, still rubbing against the nurse and purring loudly. "Edmund!  What have I told you about flirting with other women!  You shameless cad!"

"Well, Mrs. Bentley, I think we might have some specialists who can help you after all," Luka put in, trying to placate her. "Lydia...?"  He gestured for her to come with him.

Lydia followed him out of the room, and muttered, "All-cay yche-psay...?"

"I think she just wants a little attention, is all," the doctor replied.   "See if Lucy's not too busy, would you?"

"Sure."

"Would you also check the board and see if I'm needed elsewhere?  If not, I'd like to stay with her for a bit."

"No problem, doctor." Lydia took the chart - what were they going to write down for this one? - and walked to the front desk. 

Things were surprisingly quiet at the moment, and a glance at the board told Lydia that Luka could remain with the cat lady for a while without depriving anyone else.  That was fine with her; she had grown to appreciate the new doctor's manner with patients who were scared or confused. 

Encountering Kerry Weaver at the desk, she updated the ER Chief on Luka's patient, just to make sure he wasn't needed elsewhere.  "No, that's fine," Kerry told her, "It looks like we might actually have an easy day ahead of us."

"Ooh, don't jinx it," Lydia told her, half-jokingly.  "You remember that Christmas about five years back?"

"I wasn't here then," Kerry replied, absently.

"Oh, that's right.  We had no patients at all for the first half of the day, and then there was a massive multiple-MVA trauma that just had us swamped."

"Right, I heard about that.  Sorry I missed it." 

"Wish I had."

Kerry gathered the sheaf of papers in front of her and said, "I'll be in the lounge catching up on these reports if I'm needed."

"Okay, Dr. Weaver."

Kerry excused herself and went into the lounge, already feeling tired. Sometimes a day spent doing little or nothing could sap the strength from you faster than a hectic, fast-paced day.  At least the adrenaline gave you an extra burst now and then.

She opened the refrigerator and took out a small carton of milk, an apple and a tuna sandwich she had brought in with her. Sitting down on the couch, she ate quickly, and was about to reach for the first of the reports...

...when it began again.  The world disassembled itself around her, the sights and sounds and smells disappearing into nothingness.  What now?

This time, strangely, the sensation was almost familiar.  Welcome, even.  If it was a recurrence of the vision she had experienced earlier, a part of her was almost excited at the prospect of seeing more of that other world.  The one in which all was well.  Almost all.

The first thing she felt was a rhythmic slapping against the soles of her feet.   Right, left, right, left, right, left...



(TIME OUT...)

Running.

The feel of wind against her face.  The warmth of blood flowing through her veins.   The sweet ache of muscles contracting, releasing.  The charge of oxygen filling her lungs.  She loved this.

Rain, shine, snow or sleet, Kerry Weaver made a point of running at least three miles a day, schedule allowing.  Today was a good day, sunny but not sweltering hot.   Just warm enough that she could get away with shorts and a sleeveless cotton shirt. Traffic was light, and pedestrians were relatively few.  She could dodge easily around those she encountered without breaking stride.

"Kerry!  Hold up a second!"

She began slowing, obligingly, but continued to the end of the block before stopping completely.  Even then, she kept moving, her legs pumping steadily in place.   "Still with me, David?" she asked.

David Morgenstern, her reluctant track-suited companion, reached her side.  He leaned against a bus stop bench and bent over, puffing heavily.  "Just barely," he answered her.

Kerry stopped and put one foot on the bench, leg fully extended, and stretched out over it, reaching for the tops of her new Nikes.  "Don't worry, David, it's tough to get into the habit, at first, but you'll find it's really terrific once you've been doing it a while.  It works wonders for the cardiovascular, you know."

"Thank you, Dr. Weaver, as an experienced surgeon, I wouldn't have known that."

"Sorry.  I tend to lecture too much, I know."

"Particularly for someone who should be exhausted by now, if there were any justice in the world," he ribbed her, good-naturedly.  "Honestly, just because you're about to run your first marathon..."

"I know, it's just next week!  I'm so thrilled!"  Kerry realized she was gushing, girlishly, every time the subject came up, but she didn't care.  The prospect of the physical accomplishment made her feel radiant. 

Kerry wasn't tall or long-legged, but she was slim and athletic, with good muscle tone.   She wasn't necessarily built for speed, but then the marathon was about endurance, not velocity.  She didn't have a lot of weight to carry, and she had made herself very good at carrying what she had.  Running, like anything else, is a skill, and she had always prided herself on the variety of skills she had mastered. 

Strange to think that, within her life, there had been a time when her condition would have made it difficult even to walk unaided.  If she'd been born just a few years earlier, the surgeries and the genetic splicing wouldn't have been effective. Beyond a certain age and physical development, the defects couldn't be cured, and even the medical quantum leaps in the 1960's couldn't have helped her. But Kerry had been fortunate to be the right age - and have parents with enough money, she admitted - to qualify for the experimental procedure.

She flexed her knees, feeling everything in those delicate joints, so brilliantly designed by nature, moving just right against everything else.  Her range of motion was perfect; the tiny computer chip implanted with the alloys worked fine, as it always had.   Her own physicians at the institute had given her the go-ahead to run the marathon, and were looking forward to her report.  Kerry Weaver was not their only success with this particular enhancement, but she would be the first to run a marathon.  She knew there would be journal articles written about the event; she fully planned to write one of her own.

As they set out again, walking back toward County General, Morgenstern said, "Oh, I meant to ask you, earlier, about this new doctor, Malucci. How's he working out for you?"

She snorted.  "Dr. Dave?  Not as well as I'd like.  His professional expertise is adequate, I guess, at least for his level of experience, but his attitude leaves a lot to be desired."

"How so?"

"Well, in a nutshell, he thinks he's Tom Cruise in 'Top Gun', or something along those lines.  All ego, no judgment.  You know, like he's more concerned with showing off what a hotshot he is than getting the job done."

"I see.  Would you like me to reassign him?"

"I'd like to give it awhile and see how he does, David.  I've handled ego cases before, as you know."

"I certainly do.  We've all been there.  How about Dr. Carter?"

Kerry smiled.  "I have to tell you, I'm very pleased with his performance.   I'm thinking of recommending him for an Attending position next year.  I'm still grateful to you for allowing him to switch from surgery to trauma, by the way."

Morgenstern grinned.  "You've already thanked me for that plenty of times," he said.  "Besides, it was obvious where his talents lay."

"I'm glad you thought so at the time.  We really needed him that first year, losing Mark like that."

The grin faded.  "Oh, yes.  That damned PBS documentary.  I swear, Kerry, if I'd had any idea..."

They were silent, sharing the uncomfortable memory.  Ambushed on camera during the taping, Mark Greene had been all but interrogated about his attack of a few weeks earlier.   The stupid woman doing the questioning hadn't let up, and he'd finally snapped, screaming and throwing things at the cameraman. 

The breakdown had been exacerbated when the footage was broadcast, though Kerry and David had done their best to censor it.  Publicly humiliated, Mark had abruptly resigned from the hospital and moved out of his apartment, leaving no forwarding address. 

Kerry and Doug Ross had pooled their efforts and hired an investigator to locate him, finding a surprising common ground in their mutual concern.  Her relationship with Doug had certainly improved, she had to admit, and he'd really shaped up.  But as for the search for Mark, nothing had come of it.  Their friend was still missing, a casualty of his own making.

"If there is one decision I could reverse," Morgenstern said, "it would be granting them permission to film that thing."

"We all share the responsibility for that, David," Kerry assured him. "None of us recognized what kind of pain Mark was in. Not until it was too late."  It was one of the great failings of medicine, she admitted, that the mechanics of her legs could be made flawless, yet the inner workings of the mind were still a mystery.

He nodded.  "Well, I just hope he's found some peace, wherever he is now."

Trying to lighten the mood, she chucked him on the shoulder and said, "Come on, last one back buys the frozen yogurt."

"I might as well pay now, since-hey!"  Morgenstern hastened to catch up as Kerry broke into a sprint. 

Privately, she was amazed she'd managed to rope David Morgenstern into joining her fitness kick.  Since taking over as the hospital's Chief of Staff, he'd proved himself a capable leader - if a bit lackadaisical as an administrator - and had known just when to give her free reign as ER Chief, and when to step in.  But he'd been deskbound too often.  He'd even cut back on surgeries, leaving most of them for the obnoxious, though obviously skilled, Robert Romano, and devoted himself entirely to the business of running a hospital.

Most people didn't notice the effect it was having on him, but Kerry did.  She saw the lines in his face deepen, the worry he carried with him at all times.  She'd guessed that he was headed for a heart attack soon at the rate he was going.  So she'd taken an interest in his health, guiding him on stress management, dieting, and exercise.  It never hurt to keep the king healthy, for the sake of the country, she reasoned.

Kerry was aware of the rumors about the two of them, the speculations about all the time they'd been spending together. Everyone seemed to think that they were somehow involved.   And she had to admit, the thought had occurred to her.  But -

The sudden screech of tires interrupted her musings, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal and glass and concrete in collision.  A clatter of metal, perhaps a detached fender, screams for help.  Crying in pain.

She changed direction, finding even more speed within herself, and headed for the noise.   Running like the wind.

Rounding the corner, she saw the problem.  A delivery van, a station wagon, and a fire hydrant had all failed to avoid each other.  The van was half-leaning on its side, propped up by the station wagon, and the wagon's other side was wrapped around the hydrant, which sprayed its contents into the air like a lopsided fountain.  She smelled the leaking of gasoline.

Morgenstern was already beside her, yelling for a shocked woman in a business suit to call 911 on her cell phone.  Kerry didn't wait, but ran toward the vehicles.  The van's driver, she saw through the windshield, was slumped, unmoving against the wheel.   Inside the car, she could see a plump woman in the driver's seat, with two small children in back.  All were conscious, but terrified.

Kerry reached the woman's door, but it was locked.  She yelled for the woman to unlock it, but the woman was either disoriented, deafened, or naturally slow, because it took her several seconds to pay attention and comply.  Kerry was quickly soaked with water from the spraying hydrant, her clothes and hair plastering against her body.

She wrenched the door open, and said, "Don't worry, we're doctors.  We need to get you and your children out of the car.  Just come with me, and you'll be fine." 

The woman climbed out, slowly and arthritically, and Kerry guided her into Morgenstern's arms.  He led her away from the wreck, while Kerry reached into the car again, for the children.  The rear door was crushed against the fire hydrant, and couldn't be opened. 

The first of the children, a small boy of about four, scrambled easily over the front seat and into her arms, but the girl, maybe seven, refused to budge.  She shook her head, crying hard. 

"Honey, I know you're scared, but it's all right," Kerry assured her, "I'm a doctor.  You've been in an accident, but we're gonna take care of you, okay?"

The girl shook her head, harder.

"Kerry, something's burning, I can smell it!"  David said, behind her.

Jesus, that was all they needed.  "How can there be a fire?  There's water spraying all over everything!"

"I don't know, just get her out of there, quickly!"  Morgenstern was already on the other side of the car, trying to find a way to reach the van's driver.   She heard glass breaking.

"Listen to me, honey, I know you're scared, it's okay to be scared," Kerry said to the girl, in her most soothing voice, "but we really need to get out of this car.   My name's Kerry, I'm a doctor.  I'm gonna help you, but I need you to be a big girl and climb over here, okay?"

She heard the FWOOMP of a flame starting, and the smell of burning rubber reached her nose.  It couldn't be long before both vehicles went up in flames, even with the water.

Kerry had to coax the girl a little more, but she soon allowed Kerry to pull her over the seat, and out of the car.

A glimpse told her that someone else had taken the boy and the woman further away from the vehicles.  She lifted the girl in her arms and began a hasty retreat from the car.  

They were about twenty feet away when a wave of heat and sound smashed into them from behind, throwing them forward. Kerry felt a sharp whack at her knee and found herself landing hard on the pavement of the street.

Kerry opened her eyes and took in several things in an instant. 

The girl, lying on her side a few feet away. 

The expanding fireball from the exploded vehicles. 

The screaming of more injured people.

A woman's Nike running shoe, lying a few yards away from her.  The shoe was still on the woman's foot, the foot was attached to the leg, the leg was attached to...nothing.

It took her only a microsecond to recognize the shoe, and the leg, but that microsecond seemed to last forever.  The leg and the shoe, seen bizarrely from this radically changed perspective, defied instant identification at first. 

But then, the awareness crashing in upon her, she realized they were hers.

As the shock and horror hit, racing the agony, Kerry's hands reached, involuntarily, for the stump where her left leg had been, it's familiar contours suddenly altered, the limb now terminating abruptly at the shredded, irreparably ruined knee joint, doused in the gushing of arterial blood.

By the time her body began screaming, her mind had already shrieked itself hoarse. 

It's not fair, it's not FAIR, IT'S NOT FAIR...!!!



Kerry's eyes flashed open, her spine stiffening reflexively.  She sucked a lungful of air, and had to stop herself from screaming aloud.

As her perceptions changed gears again, she found herself doubling over, fighting the urge to throw up her sandwich and apple. She was back in the lounge.  Back in reality.

She choked down the impulse to gag, and concentrated on breathing steadily through her nose.  Her left leg ached momentarily, and she realized she was clutching it, desperately.  Her fingers, digging into the limb, as though reassuring herself it was still there, would leave bruises later.

Oh, God, that was horrible.

What in the hell is happening, she asked herself?  Twice today, she had suffered some sort of experience that she couldn't possibly explain.  A perfectly realized, crystal-clear vision - for lack of a better word - of some situation that had never happened, and never would.  People were familiar, places were familiar, but events were so different. Like the shapes of roads not taken.

This one had been different from the first one.  The first had been pleasant enough, if also a little disquieting, but this one...  It started out so beautifully - she could remember the sensation of running, feeling so passionately alive - and then turned ugly and tragic so quickly.  Kerry had always known that people's lives could be so perfect one moment, and then shattered forever the next, but experiencing it like that...

Stop it.  There is a perfectly logical explanation for this.  There must be.   I will find it.

She wanted to curl up on the couch and sob, as she had as a girl after a nightmare, but now she refused the desire, forcing herself to stand. Both legs worked.  At least as well as they ever did in her experience. She'd never run like that, but for now, she could walk.  She would walk.

Back to work, she told herself.

Gathering the reports, figuring she'd do them later, she left the lounge, and stepped into the vivid normalcy of the ER.  Filling her senses with the familiar.  The explicable. 

As the doors opened, admitting a bundled figure, Kerry let the wave of icy December air help clear her head.  She shivered against the cold, just for a moment before they closed.

The figure unwrapped her scarf and stocking cap, revealing Randi's practiced expression of studied boredom.  "Dr. Weaver, you oka-?"

"I'm fine, Randi," Kerry snapped, a little too quickly.  Forcing herself into the moment, she asked, "You're on until when?"

"Two in the morn," the clerk replied, sounding a little put-upon. "Working here on New Year's Eve.  Fun fun fun."

Kerry forced a smile, knowing that Randi's casual griping was more habit than anything else.  "Glad to have you," she said, and walked off.  She found herself leaning more heavily on the crutch than usual.

She could still feel the freedom of running...

Randi clocked in, stowed her coat and things, and returned to the desk. "What's with Weaver?" she asked Jerry, "Somebody die?"

"I dunno, she's been in a mood," the big man told her, "Maybe it's the holidays or something."

"Huh."  Randi glanced at the board, then picked up a magazine and took her favorite stool.

(3:49 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)