Countdown
Part Seven
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.

(7:10 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Four hours and fifty minutes before the end of the world, Dr. Kerry Weaver was sitting in a booth in Doc Magoo's. The diner, she reflected for the thousandth time, was a prime example of a restaurant's success being due to three things: Location, Location, and Location. If it were anywhere else, no way would she ever be caught dead eating stuff this bland, and she suspected few other people would, either. But since it was right across the street from the hospital, everyone went there, just out of sheer convenience. The same way a soda at the movies cost four times as much as anywhere else, but you bought it anyway, just because you were there. Supply-and-demand strikes again.

Finishing her sandwich and taking one last bite of her soup, she waved for the check. The waitress came over and left it on her table, departing again without asking her if she'd like anything else. Nothing like service with a smile.

Kerry found herself low on cash, so she pulled her VISA card out of her wallet and set it on top of the check. She really should get back to the ER, she thought, but the idea of standing up right now seemed too much to deal with, and she allowed herself a few more minutes' rest.

Letting out a sigh of pure melancholia, she looked out the window at the street. Everything was covered with snow, but it didn't look very Christmasy. It hadn't on Christmas, either, for that matter.What it looked like was a city street in wintertime, populated only by those people who were on their way somewhere, and who didn't look very happy about it.

She looked around the inside of the diner. Someone in the management had hung up a string of gold letters - HAPPYNEW YEAR - but it didn't do much to cheer the place up. There were only a couple of customers, eating quietly by themselves. No wonder the waitress was in a mood. This place was depressing.

Kerry looked at her reflection in the window, seeing a joyless woman with no family, heading full-tilt-boogie into middle age, stare vacantly back at her. Well, isn't this a pip, she thought, the biggest New Year's in recorded history is here, and I've got no one to share it with. Or who'd even want to share it with me. I've got a handful of professional acquaintances I refer to as friends, even though I never see them. I have a staff full of subordinates, good people who think I'm a martinet. I've met people I really like, and I've alienated all of them.

So I'm successful at my job. So what?

Enough self-pity. Onward and upward.

She took hold of her crutch and prepared to stand...

...and it came again...

(TIME OUT...)

The late-night rain beat savagely at her, even in the short walk from her car to the front door. She didn't bother opening the umbrella; even if it didn't turn inside out, or blow out of her hands, she'd just be closing it again in a few steps.

Letting herself inside, Kerry hung up her coat and umbrella, dropping her car keys in the little dish on the shelf. There was a towel hung on a coat peg, waiting for her, which she considered a very thoughtful gesture on her boarder's part. Her shoes and the cuffs of her pants were soaked, and she looked forward to changing out of them.

Drying her hair, she was on her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but she noticed the blue glow of the television in the other room. Its sound was turned low, and the lights were off.

Kerry detoured to investigate. "Susan? You're still up?"

Susan looked up at her. She was sitting on the floor, her back against the couch, in her favorite spot for watching old movies. She blinked as Kerry turned on a light, dim though it was. "Kerry, hi," she said, and Kerry could see she'd been crying.

"What's wrong?" Kerry asked her, "Is Susie all right?"

"Yeah, she's asleep downstairs." Susan sniffled and brushed her eyes dry. "It's nothing, really. I'm just having one of those days."

Kerry nodded understandingly. "There seems to be a lot of that going around. Thanks for leaving the towel out, by the way."

Susan smiled, wanly. "I thought you'd be needing that. How was work?"

"Oh, if I knew that being Chief of Staff was this hard, I'd have insisted it come with a raise."

"And if it didn't come with one, you'd take the job anyway."

"...I'd take the job anyway," Kerry finished with her, and they shared a brief chuckle. She sat down on the couch. "What are you watching?"

"Ahh, just whatever's on. News, mostly."

"Any good news?"

"God, I wish. The troops have just entered Northern Italy, apparently."

Kerry shuddered. "Well, we knew that was the next likely development," she said, trying not to sound as scared as she felt.

"I listened carefully, but the newscasters are all still avoiding calling it 'World War Three'." Susan forced a note of jocularity into her voice. "I'm betting that if someone finally comes out and says it, the duck will come down, and they'll win a hundred dollars, just like 'You Bet Your Life'."

Kerry gave an obliging laugh, but it was hollow. The media had, indeed, refrained from referring to the conflict in Eurasia as such, even though there were more nations and manpower committed to it than had served in the previous World War. It was a miracle that no nation had yet violated the nuclear agreements, but she couldn't help feeling it was only a matter of time.

Susan had a sheet of paper half-crumpled in her hand, and she looked like she wanted to talk about it, but was reluctant to raise the subject.

"What's that?" Kerry asked her.

"Um, it's a letter," Susan told her, "From Capt. Hathaway, head nurse, 182nd Evac Hospital, European Theater of Operations."

"From Carol? How is she?"

"Well, overworked, certainly.She ran into a familiar face; Capt. Edson was transferred to her unit recently..."

"Any word on Doug?"

Susan shook her head. "Her C.O., a Colonel Anspaugh, regrets to inform her that Major Doug Ross has been officially listed as Missing In Action.No further news."

"God. Poor Carol..."

"I know. Part of me feels like I don't deserve to be safe here in the States," Susan said, "like I should be over there with her..."

"Don't do that to yourself, Susan," Kerry told her, "That's just survivor's guilt, you know that. Susie needs her mother, now more than ever."

Susan nodded.She'd had herself legally declared her namesake's legal guardian as soon as her real mother, Susan's sister Chloe, had been found dead of a heroin overdose in a Kansas City gutter.Raising a child on her own while continuing her residency hadn't been easy, especially after her parents were killed in an early terrorist action, a precursor to the ongoing war. Susan's staunchest supporter had been Mark Greene, up until he was unexpectedly beaten to death in the County General men's room. His killer had never been found.

With no one else to turn to for help, Susan had been on the verge of a professional breakdown, when Kerry Weaver - of all people! - had shown her a level of support and sympathy that surprised everyone. Kerry had offered Susan and her child the use of her basement apartment, rent-free, until she could get her life together, and Susan had amazed herself by accepting.

They arranged an overlapping schedule of workshifts, so that they were rarely on at the same time.With the money she saved on room and board, Susan was able to hire help to care for little Susie when neither she nor Kerry was available. She had to admit that, in spite of their previous history of antagonism, they had found a way to live together in something resembling peace and harmony.

The younger Susan Lewis deserved much of the credit for this. She had immediately taken to her secondary mother figure, and Kerry had fallen in love with the girl just as quickly. The two women's mutual affection for the child had allowed them to move beyond their past differences much more easily than either would have believed possible.

The coming of the War had helped, in its way, to draw them together. Being a single mother, Susan had been exempt from overseas service, while Kerry's disability had disqualified her as well. But they both had plenty of friends and colleagues in Europe and Asia, and their responsibilities on the home front had helped bring them together in the face of adversity.

Speaking of which... "I had some bad news of my own to deliver today," Kerry spoke up.

"Another K.I.A. notice?"

Kerry nodded. "To Malik's mother."

Susan closed her eyes. Another friend lost to the biggest waste in history."It's not going to get any better, is it?"

"Susan, we don't know that..."

"Yes we do, Kerry, everyone knows where this is headed. It's only a matter of time before one side or the other does then inevitable, and the world dies."

Kerry found herself unable to argue the point. "I was meaning to talk to you about that..."

Susan found the remote and clicked off the television. "What is it?"

"The Armed Services Department made announcements about the nuclear shelters today," she said, recalling the way those announcements had seemed to draw the blood from her face, "They distributed lists of shelters throughout the city, and designated evacuation patterns."

Susan paled in almost exactly the same way. "They think we're that close?"

"It's just a precaution," Kerry said, not very convincingly, "but I brought you a copy of the brochures. There's a shelter not far from here..."

"No thank you," Susan said, quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I won't need them, but thank you anyway, Kerry."

Kerry tried to take in her meaning, failed, and said, "Susan, I know this is difficult to discuss, but you have Susie to think of..."

"I am thinking of Susie," her housemate insisted, "I've already taken precautions of my own for us both."

"What sort of precautions?" Kerry asked, feeling a chill.

Susan debated a moment with herself, then produced a small paper sack and pulled out a short, black revolver.

Kerry saw plenty of guns on the job, but the sight of one in her home went straight to her stomach. "Why do you have that?"

"I bought it today, from a street punk I treated last week," Susan told her, "He tried to sell me a box of bullets with it, but I refused. It's already loaded with six, but I only need two.One for Susie, one for me. "She put the gun back in the bag and folded it shut.

"My God, Susan..."

She looked up, and Kerry saw the tears in her eyes. "I can't let her see the world come to an end, Kerry," Susan said, and her voice was thick. "I love her more than if she were my own daughter, but...I just can't bear the thought of her forced into that kind of hell. And I don't want to see it, with or without her. "She choked back a sob and said, "Does that make me a coward?"

Kerry thought of what the world would be like after a nuclear holocaust. Countless millions dead, or dying of starvation and radiation poisoning. Whole cities burned to the ground, or crumbled to dust. Civilization torn apart and replaced with anarchy.

Little Susie Lewis was bright, inquisitive, joyful child. She loved animals and music and rainy days when the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds. Even if she were protected from the destruction, the thought of explaining to her that all the animals and the trees and farms and fields were destroyed, or of raising her as a bitter, burned-out survivor, was too much to bear.

She stroked Susan's hair and said, "No, Susan, that doesn't make you a coward."

Susan calmed herself, her tears abating. "If there's a merciful God, it won't come to that," she whispered, "but if it does, I just pray I have the strength to do it. To protect her in the only way I have left."

Kerry thought about the other four bullets, and said, "You won't have to."

Susan looked up at her.

"I'll help you both, if you want me to," Kerry promised her. "Just save one for me."

There was a moment of silence, and then Susan nodded gratefully.

"Mommy...?" The girl's voice preceded her appearance in the hall, still in her Elmo pajamas.

"Oh, Susie," her mother said with a smile.The hand farthest from the girl pushed the paper sack under the couch, out of view. "Come here, sweetie. Whats'a matter, can't you sleep?"

"Uh-uh." Susie was obviously concerned by the sight of her 'mother' and 'aunt' talking quietly in the dark. "Are you sad?"

"Oh, honey, I'm never sad when you're with me," Susan assured her, smiling brightly. "C'mere, big hug." She picked up the small girl and held her tight.

"Aunt Kerry, too?"

Susan cast a glance at Kerry. There had been a time when she'd considered the other woman her professional nemesis, making mock-gagging gestures in private at the mention of her name. But for the past few years, she'd come to value Kerry Weaver's support and her, well, her friendship. And right now, she couldn't think of anyone she could depend upon more.

"Yeah, Aunt Kerry, too." She got up from the floor, still holding Susie, and sat on the couch, allowing Kerry to join in the three-way hug.

Kerry held the two Susan Lewises, elder and younger, and prayed that nothing would ever befall their little family. One way or another, she vowed, whatever became of their foolish, war-torn world, they would all be together.



"Ma'am? Ma'am!"

Kerry looked up. "Uh...what?"

The waitress stood over her, annoyed. "You can't pay with this. This is a Blockbuster Video membership card!"

She stared, uncomprehendingly at the waitress, and then a degree of orientation reentered her head. "Oh.I'm sorry..." Kerry fumbled for her purse, still in a daze, and located the credit card instead. "Here."

The waitress rang up the check, and Kerry signed for it, leaving a generous tip, and she put on her hat and left the diner.

Susan Lewis. Kerry hadn't thought of her for years, except for her brief appearance in Kerry's first, earlier vision. They'd never really gotten along well. Kerry always considered her a good doctor, but not so good that she couldn't stand improvement. Kerry had tried to be helpful in making her better, but Susan had been so resistant to her help, always taking advice or professional criticism as a personal attack, and Kerry had never been able to get past Susan's resentment of her.

Looking back, she wondered how much was really Susan's fault, and how much her own.Kerry knew many people considered her cold-hearted and difficult.Maybe she should have eased up on her (then) fellow resident.Could they have become friends? 

Was it necessary for Mark and Malik and who knew how many others to die that they might reach a peace with each other?  For the world to be on the brink of catastrophe?   Is that the nature of things, she wondered?  Remove one conflict, and another takes its place?  Exchanging personal battles for global ones hardly seemed an equitable trade.

Crossing back to the ER, Kerry came upon an unusual sight, even for County.  The ambulance bay had become the setting for an impromptu dance recital.  Some two dozen of the chorus girls they'd been treating were working on their routine, still in the skimpiest of outfits.  Kerry watched, transfixed by the incongruous sight, until the dancers took a moment's break.  "Rehearsing for tonight," one of them told her.

"Aren't you all freezing?" she asked the dancer.

She shrugged.  "Come rain, come shine, come snow, come sleet, the show must go on."

"Yes, but...never mind.  Good luck."

"Honey, never say that to show people.  It's 'break a leg'."

Kerry smiled.  "And never say THAT around an emergency room."  She went inside.

"Dr. Weaver?"  Randi called to her as soon as she entered.

"What is it, Randi?"

The clerk looked rather concerned.  "I looked up that name, Robin Vitelli, in the phone book, and called the number..."

"Oh yes, the woman with the wallet?"

"Yeah, but it's not hers," Randi informed her, "Turns out Robin Vitelli's a man!"

Kerry was momentarily confused, but then she said, "It's probably a different Vitelli..."

"No, I described the woman.  Her name's Crystal Blandisch; she's his ex-wife.   They broke up when she got hooked, a couple of years ago."

"So what's she doing with his wallet?"

"You're not gonna believe this.  His son was kidnapped yesterday; she's the kid's mother, but he got custody, since she's an addict.  Vitelli had no idea who did it, until I asked about her, now he figures it must be her.  She must've taken his wallet, too."

Kerry digested this new information.  Another dysfunctional American family.   Then she said, "Okay, I want you to call the police and report what you just told me.  See if they'll confirm Mr. Vitelli's claims.  You can just tell them she dropped the wallet, or whatever you like."

Randi nodded, with a slight smile.  "Okay, Dr. Weaver.  Um, does this mean you've decided what you're going to do about...?"

The Incident Report.  Kerry hadn't quite decided.  "Let's just deal with the police for now, Randi."

"Okay."  The clerk turned back to the phone, while Kerry went to her locker to change.

(7:27 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)