Countdown
Part Nine
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.

(9:02 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Two hours and fifty-eight minutes before the end of the world, Dr. John Carter gave the board one more cursory glance, then deposited his clipboard on the desk and announced, "And on that note, my shift's over!" with a smile.

Maggie glanced over at him. "Aww, Carter, you're depriving us of your company for the rest of the night?" she whined in mock-disappointment.

"Afraid so, Maggie, you'll have to make do without me." He put a little dig in his voice. "Think you can handle that?"

"In my sleep, junior," she retorted.

"Yeah, you wish."

She made a motion as if to throw her own clipboard at him, and he cowered theatrically. "You got any plans?" she said.

"Off to the grandparents' house," he replied. "It's an old family tradition - like we have any other kind - Everyone, no matter how estranged from the family, is expected to appear on the thirty-first, to ring in the New Year."

She grinned, sympathetically. "Couldn't get out of it, huh?"

He shrugged. "It won't be so bad. The flipside is that all family squabbles and old arguments are put on hold until after everyone's gone home. Tonight, it's just family spending time together."

"Hmm. They'll be serving drinks, I take it?"

"How do you think they manage to postpone the arguments?"

They laughed together, and she chucked him jovially on the shoulder. "Have a good one, Carter."

"You too, Maggie." Carter stretched his back as he ambled into the lounge to change.

He had put on a fresh shirt, and was just knotting his tie when the lounge door opened and Kerry Weaver entered. "You're leaving us, huh?"

He nodded. "Well, Dr. Weaver, you know I'd much rather be here working with all the city's less fortunate, but some things just can't be avoided forever. I've got to put in an appearance at Gamma's."

"Yeah, I overheard. Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"That's okay, it wasn't a private conversation."

"Well, just be careful driving tonight if you're going to drink."

"Yes, mother," he replied.

Kerry winced inwardly. That had sounded a little naggy and condescending, hadn't it? She wished she could work up the same kind of banter that Maggie had with Carter, or at least a friendly conversation like they had enjoyed when they lived together, but she felt uncomfortable talking to him on a personal level lately. She was always acutely conscious of the distance her position put between her and the staff, but especially so with Carter.

"Anyway, I probably won't be driving home tonight," he added, "There'll be champagne served aplenty, and Gamma won't let anyone drive when she can put us all up for the night. They've got plenty of rooms for guests."

"Good. Okay." That was about all she could think to say.

Carter finished his sartorial preparations, said good night, and turned to leave.

"I'm sorry." The words came out before she could think about them.

He turned back. "For what?"

She took a short breath and let it tumble out. "For throwing you out the way I did. I've felt bad about it ever since, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry..."

Carter gave a confused smile. "Dr. Weaver, you don't have to apologize. It's your house, you were entitled to ask me to move out whenever you wanted. And I understood your reasons, even if I was a little surprised at first."

"I know, but..."

"Anyway, it's not like I intended to live there forever. I always assumed it'd be just a temporary thing, until I began drawing salary, and could afford a place of my own. In fact, I ended up staying much longer than I expected to..."

"Carter," she cut him off gently, but firmly, "I'm not apologizing for asking you to leave. I still feel it was a necessary step for us both, professionally."

"Then what is it?"

She paused. Now that she was finally giving voice to the thoughts, the words she'd planned to say escaped her. "I feel bad about the way I did it," she said, "I shouldn't have been so rude and abrupt, it wasn't fair to just dump it on you like that. I should have..." She swallowed. "I should have told you how much I enjoyed having you there. I've had other boarders, but they were mostly just strangers with whom I had nothing in common. I...I always meant to tell you how much..." She ran out of words.

"Kerry," he said, quietly, "It's okay. I knew."

The use of her first name somehow relaxed her. "You did, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, with one of his best smiles.

She found herself returning it, immensely pleased. "Well, good. Everything's all right, then," she said, meaning it.

"And for the record," he added, "you've never treated me unfairly. In fact, you've usually been more than fair to me."

"I'm glad you feel that way," she told him, "I just didn't want any old issues hanging over us..."

"No, we're fine," he said, sincerely. "Unless there's anything else?"

Kerry shook her head. "Can't think of anything," she said. But then, as he was about to turn again, she added, "Yes, there is, actually," in a sterner voice.

He looked momentarily blank. "What's that?"

She almost changed her mind, but decided, what the hell. It's New Year's. Her position demanded a degree of decorum, but if you couldn't push the limits of propriety once every thousand years, when could you?

"Since I won't see you at midnight..." She put her left hand behind his head and tilted it down to where she could plant a more-or-less chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. They didn't hold it for more than a moment, but both were blushing a little after it was over.

"Happy New Year, John," she said.

By way of reply, Carter gave her a brotherly hug. "Happy New Year, Kerry," he said, and then he left.

After he was gone, Kerry took a minute to reflect on their talk. Since evicting the young man, she'd been perpetually unclear where she stood with him. Some of his behavior had left her ambiguous about his feelings - crashing Romano's meeting, for instance, or ridiculing the idea of her playing "Mrs. Claus" - Had he harbored some resentment for her, or was it just a form of playful camaraderie? Knowing it was the latter gave her a definite sense of relief. The kind of warmth Carter had shown her had been in short supply of late.

Until this day, Kerry would have ignored the idea of the anything terrible occurring at Midnight, giving it no more weight than the graffiti on the wall outside - "THE END IS NER" indeed. However, the visions she had been having all day, coupled with Mr. Henshaw's uncanny perception, had nursed a growing concern within her. If she was wrong, and anything happened tonight, she could take comfort that she had made peace with at least one person she valued.

You're getting unnecessarily maudlin, she told herself. Nothing is going to happen tonight. All is well.

She had no sooner formed this thought...

...when the universe proved her wrong...

(TIME OUT...)

Kerry entered the building, carefully, through the unmarked door. Casually glancing about, and seeing no one nearby, she tapped twice on the door, waited, then three times more.

After a moment, the peephole slid open, then shut, and the door unlocked. "Get in," Morales hissed, urgently.

She stepped quickly inside, with only a brief glance at the two black men stationed by the door with submachine guns slung over their shoulders. Without a word, she followed Morales up nine flights of stairs, past slogans spray-painted on the walls - END APARTHEID!! FREE AMERICA!! - and onto the roof of the building. The climb was tough on her, but she didn't voice a complaint. You suck up pain and live with it. Particularly in this society.

The moon was down, and the darkness was near complete on the roof, but she could still make out the other figures waiting up there - Boulet, Olbes, Doyle. Boulet had his back to the rest of them, staring out over the city through a pair of binoculars. The others glanced at her.

"How'd it go?" Pam Olbes asked her.

"Well enough," Kerry answered her, "I've got news."

"What is it?" Boulet asked, without turning.

Kerry cleared her throat. "We were right," she said, "Romano has just authorized the opening of a new department."

"Who's running it? Kayson?"

"Worse. Vuselich."

"Dammit, I knew it!" Doyle snarled. The scar tissue on her face, shaped like a letter 'L' twisted even more. Kerry couldn't imagine what it felt like as it was burned into her face with a heated knife. And that was before the soldiers were finished with her.

"Officially, it's being called a 'private clinic'," Kerry said, forcing her thoughts to the present, "but..."

"But we know it's really a goddamned interrogation center," Boulet filled in.

"Al, I wasn't able to confirm that's its real purpose," Kerry said.

"You don't have to," he assured her, turning. "We know Carl Vuselich's track record. Everywhere he's been assigned, the official crime statistics drop..."

"...and the arrests among minorities skyrocket," Doyle filled in, bitterly, "correlated by the death tolls."

"You're certain Vuselich is being posted at County Garrison, permanently?" Boulet asked, "That it's not a temporary assignment?"

"I read the orders myself," Kerry assured him. "He's been given free reign, with all the equipment he needs."

"Christ," Olbes breathed, "The Apocalypse comes that much faster to Chicago."

Al Boulet clicked his jaw, thinking. "Any police choppers in the area, Pam?"

She checked her electronic equipment pack, then shook her head. "The sector's clear," she said, "We're safe."

He seemed to reach a decision. "All right," he said, "We blow the place."

Kerry felt a little colder in the night air. "How long will it take to get the explosives in position?"

Morales smirked. "They're already there. All we gotta do is press the button." He held up a hand-held detonator, the red switch prominent on its casing.

Kerry stared at him. "You had the building wired to blow, all the time I was in there?"

"Never said life was easy, Doc."

She swallowed and said, "All right. The best time would be during the shift change at noon, when the evacuation will be easiest..."

"No," Boulet said, flatly. "We can't wait. Too much chance the explosives might be discovered. We do it tonight."

"You mean before dawn?"

"I mean right now."

Everyone looked at him. Morales was nodding, eagerly. "It'll take a few minutes to make the connection," he said, and bent to work.

"Al, don't you think we should check with the other resistance leaders?" Kerry asked.

"This can't wait. If Vuselich is it, then his arrival will more than justify our autonomous action."

"You can't do this!" she insisted, "There are too many people in there who'll die through no fault of their own! Prisoners, suspects, infirmary patients..."

"We can't help that."

She clutched his arm. "I'm begging you, Al, please don't rush into this!"

Boulet pressed the binoculars into her hands. "Take a look at that building," he commanded. "You've seen what goes on in there yourself. It's the center in this city for everything that's worst in this country. Everything America was supposed to stand for, liberty, equality, freedom, it's all become so much bullshit, here in the Land of the White and the Home of the Slave. Are you willing to sit by and let them advance the cause of the Apocalypse, instead of doing something about it?"

"No," she retorted, "but this isn't the way to stop it. They'll just start again somewhere else..."

"Then so will we. But at least we'll be ahead of the game. Morales, you about ready?"

" 'Nother minute..."

Kerry looked through the binoculars, at the County Garrison building. It was an ugly place, cold and uninviting, and what evils it harbored had turned her stomach. But she knew many of its staff - Wright, for instance, and Markovic - were honest, decent, if misguided, people despite all the wrongs of their leaders. How many of them would perish? "Al," she insisted, "there has to be something else we can do..."

He looked at her intently, then said, "Maybe I made a mistake in trusting you. All that time you spent in Africa, you weren't here to see your family torn apart by the supremacist groups and the fundamentalist factions. Maybe you don't fully appreciate what's happening here. You remember what they did to Benton and Oligario, don't you?"

"It's all ready," Morales said behind her.

Something caught her eye, and she focused the binoculars on the front doors of the Garrison. Someone was stepping outside, in no particular hurry. Just out for a breath of air, perhaps. From the uniform, it was a ranking officer. Probably Commandant Romano, he was scheduled to work tonight. No, wait, it was too tall to be...

Oh, God...

"It's Carter," she whispered.

"What'd you say?" Morales spoke up.

"That..." She swallowed and tried again. "That's Jonathan Carter, the Sub-Captain! He's not scheduled to work tonight, what's he doing there?"

"Probably can't get enough of the place," Morales spat, "Probably enjoys the interrogations too much..."

"No, he's not like that," Kerry insisted.

"He's one of the aristocracy, isn't he?" Doyle sneered.

"Yes, he's one of the Families, but he's a good man, I've seen him treat everyone fairly, no matter what the policies." Why was he on duty tonight? She'd seen the schedule herself.

Abruptly, she realized what must have happened. Commandant Romano was notorious for altering the schedule without notice, claiming it was an exercise in the flexibility of his staff. Everyone knew it was just an excuse for him to spend the evening in the company of one of his mistresses. Carter would have been the one unfortunate enough to get stuck with the extra shift.

Kerry turned to plead her case with Boulet again, but he took the binoculars from her and pressed the detonator switch into her hand, and she could see his mind was made up. "You really think we can free this country bloodlessly?" he demanded.

She had no reply.

"It's time to decide which side you're on, Weaver. I want you to blow the building."

Kerry turned and looked at County. The detonator was surprisingly light in her hands. The switch under her thumb felt fragile, and it was hard to believe that a few pounds of pressure would seal the fates of dozens, perhaps hundreds of people.

"Do it, Weaver."

As much as she abhorred their politics, most of them had families. Most of them were ordinary people, just trying to get by. To simply contract the muscles of her hand and take their lives...

"I said do it!"

"No." The word came out without her thinking about it.

She gasped, sharply, as the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed itself against the back of her head. "Al just gave you an order," Morales growled behind her, "Now you follow it, or I'll kill you."

An electric shiver of terror ran through her as she realized she was about to die. A whimper escaped her, involuntarily, but she bit down on it and shook her head. "No," she repeated, almost a whisper.

He cocked the hammer, and she felt the vibration through her skull. She closed her eyes and waited for oblivion.

"Stop it," Doyle snapped, pushing Morales' gun hand down sharply, "This isn't how we do things, and you know it! If we start treating each other that way, we're no better than they are."

Boulet said, "She's right. Put it away."

Morales looked like he wanted to argue the point, but Boulet stared him down, and he holstered the pistol.

Doyle put a hand on Kerry's shoulder. "Take it easy, Weaver. It's okay. We can't force you to do this."

Kerry nodded tightly, too shaky to speak. She let go of the detonator.

Doyle took it from her gently. "We've got no right to ask you to do something we're not willing to do ourselves," she said.

Then she pressed the switch.

County Garrison went up in a thunderous ball of flame that lit up the night. The noise clapped their ears and sent them staggering back.

When her eyes cleared, Kerry forced herself to view the carnage. She couldn't see any sign of Carter, or any other living thing.

Olbes said, "The choppers will be on their way in response. We should evacuate."

"Right, let's go," Boulet replied. As the others hurried off the rooftop, he turned to Kerry, who hadn't moved. "Smile, Doc," he said, "We've just taken another step towards liberating the nation."

She faced him, coldly. "This isn't liberation, this is murder," she said, forcing the words out, "and I'm not going anywhere with you. Not as long as it's just a question of your Apocalypse or mine."

"Suit yourself." He left.

Kerry sank down on the rooftop and cried.



"Kerry, are you all right?"

She looked up, toward the lounge door.

"My God, Kerry," Maggie Doyle said, crossing to her, "You look like you've seen a ghost." She took Kerry by the arms. "What's wrong? And please don't tell me you're fine."

Kerry looked at the resident's face, beautifully unblemished by scars or hatred. Two versions of the same woman contrasted in her mind's eye, one laughing playfully with Carter between caring for patients, the other prepared to casually butcher hundreds. How could anyone hold two such disparate, opposite shapes within them, Mr. Henshaw?

"No, I'm not fine," she said, honestly. "Please, just leave me alone for a while, Maggie."

The other woman hesitated.

"I'll be all right, I promise," Kerry said, less honestly.

Maggie nodded, unsure, then turned and walked out.

Kerry sank down onto the couch, curling almost into a fetal position, and tried to breathe regularly.

I can't take any more of this. I can't understand it, and I can't deal with it. Whatever it is, please make it stop.

Just make it stop. Please.

(9:19 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)