Eleven: Fallout

 

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

Thursday

Ellie lay on her side, blinking repeatedly in an effort to clear the tears caused by the impacts of the bullets striking her head.

"Ohhh," she moaned softly. She realized she was still alive, even after being shot—five times? six? She could not be certain. Her ears rang from the last, very loud gunshot. She could feel her heart pounding inside her chest as she sucked in great breaths of air. Pain radiated through her head across her forehead and down the line of her jaw and she felt a trickling warmth spreading from the impact points on her skull down the side of her head towards the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled against the shock that robbed her of the ability to think.

As the ringing in her ears began to diminish Ellie became aware of a sound like strangled laughter near her. She opened her eyes. A few feet from her head Romita stood unharmed, his video camera on his shoulder. His face was white and slack, mouth open, nostrils flared. Ellie saw the muscles in his face begin to twitch and a fit of hysterical giggling burst from him as he panned his camera around at the tableau before him. Then soft whimpering and the sensation of squirming on her chest called her attention to her niece and nephew.

The thought that she might be lying on top of one of the children drove all thoughts of her own concerns out of Ellie’s head. She rolled onto her back and lifted her hands from atop Dennis and Sally, raising her head to look down her front. Sally crawled out on hands and knees from under the fabric of her bodice first, her face screwed up in fright and her eyes and nose beslobbered. Dennis wormed halfway out from his hiding place on top of her and then stopped, putting his hands over his ears and squeezing shut his eyes.

"It’s all right, it’s going to be all right," Ellie whispered as she stroked the backs of the children. She gently clasped each child in her hands, ignoring the stinging sensation in the back of her hands as she flexed them. "I’m not going to let anyone hurt you."

Ellie sat up, groaning from the pain in her head and back, and swallowed back the nausea that threatened again as she came upright. She looked around. Thompson, rifle in hand, was running up the driveway towards her. Behind him, moving more slowly, came Moskowicz, yelling something over his shoulder at the soldiers standing a hundred yards away, and the blond female soldier.

Moaning by a familiar voice made Ellie look down. Her sister was writhing on the driveway, her face twisted in pain. Nancy’s right arm lay limp on the ground. Her left hand gripped the root of her right shoulder, a spreading red stain seeping from the point of her shoulder into her coat. Mark had jumped across her in an effort to shield her from further injury and now lay beside her, gently pressing one hand against the wound in her shoulder. Ellie looked from her sister to her fiancé. Hadad was sprawled on top of Steve. Both men were unmoving as they lay face down on the driveway. Ellie felt her heart leap into her throat and she just remembered to put the children down safely before she flung herself onto her hands and knees and moved to where Steve and Hadad lay.

"Brian?"

Hadad did not respond as Ellie took him in her hands. His face was ashen, his hair disheveled and matted. Ellie saw what looked like an ugly, misshapen, very deep dent just inside his hairline, surrounded by a thick clot of dark blood. She realized suddenly that his skull had been shattered by a bullet. Hadad was dead.

Ellie recoiled in horror. She began to sob as she carefully put Hadad’s body on the grass beside the driveway. Then she turned to Steve. A low sound of distress escaped her as she looked at his still form. A red stain was visible around a ragged hole in the fabric of his coat, spreading across his back from his left side—his heart side.

"Oh, Steve," she whispered softly. She reached out and carefully caressed his head with two fingers. He felt cold to her touch and made no move or sound as she applied the gentlest pressure to him. "No. Oh, no. Please, no—"

Ellie’s cry of anguish shook the windows of the house. She fell forward onto her forearms and lowered her head, a flood of tears blinding her, the pain from her wounds pulsing with each beat of her heart. Steve was gone. Steve? He couldn’t be gone. He promised her he would never leave her, but he was gone. He was killed by a sniper shooting at everyone but herself. Shooting at her family. She couldn’t believe it. The cruelty of such an act, the evil of it. Ellie shook her head and her tears redoubled.

"NO," she cried out. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"

Through her haze of tears Ellie detected motion approaching from one side. She blinked to clear her eyes and saw Thompson, rifle in hand, slowing to a stop, his barrel chest heaving. He carefully placed his rifle on the ground and began to move more slowly towards her. Following him came Moskowicz, the female officer trotting beside him. Immediately behind them was another soldier, panting in his heavy chemical-protective gear and bearing a large field radio in his hands. More similarly uniformed-and-covered figures were running full tilt up the road and the gaggle of anticontamination-suited figures from the motor coaches milled uncertainly around the foot of the driveway.

Rage erupted inside Ellie. She raised herself upright, a feral snarl creasing her features. Moskowicz, in the act of grabbing the field radio from the other soldier and putting it to his ear, did not see her motion, but the lieutenant did. She grabbed the general’s arm and yanked at him as Ellie took a step towards them.

"YOU BASTARDS!" she screamed. The sheer volume of her voice stunned the approaching soldiers, causing them to collide with one another as they skidded to a stop. Moskowicz lowered the hand he had clapped to his ear in reaction to Ellie’s scream. He took one look at the fury suffusing her features and stopped dead, his arms falling to his sides. Ellie clenched her fists and began to take another step.

"Ellie."

The voice was soft, muffled, almost inaudible. Ellie stopped. She looked quickly back at Steve and saw one of his hands twitch slightly.

"Steve!" Ellie dropped to her knees beside him. Carefully she slipped her hands underneath him, turning him face up. Steve was as pale as Hadad had been. His body shifted slightly in her hands and his face contorted in pain.

"Ellie," he said again. Ellie cupped him inside both her hands and lifted him off the ground. She could see a neat round hole in the middle of his jacket.

"Steve? Steve, please—" she sobbed. His eyes fluttered open and he swallowed convulsively. He tried raising his right hand towards her face but seemed to lack the strength. Ellie felt panic rise inside her as Steve went limp in her hands.

"You’re going to be all right, Steve," she cried softly. "You’re going to be all right. Stay with me Steve, please. Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me—"

"Ellie, don’t—don’t hurt any of them," Steve gulped. "Lang—wants you—dangerous—to hurt them. Promise me—don’t—"

Steve’s face twisted and he opened and shut his mouth repeatedly.

"Steve? Steve!" Ellie said, bringing him to within a foot of her face.

"Can’t—breathe," he gasped. His eyes closed. Ellie looked around wildly as she felt herself slipping into a brittle-edged panic.

"Miss Andersen, let me help," she heard a voice say. Looking down she saw Thompson beckoning to her, waving his arms downward urgently.

Ellie nodded and lowered her hands until they rested on the ground. Thompson dropped to his knees beside Steve, his stubby fingers opening Steve’s jacket and peering at the wound in his chest. Ellie watched as Thompson checked Steve’s pulse and listened to his breathing, warring with the sense of dread that threatened to overcome her.

"He’s alive," Thompson said after a few seconds. Ellie felt a crushing weight lift from her heart. Thompson looked up at her, frowning. "But he won’t stay that way without attention."

"Help is coming," Moskowicz said. He had stopped just short of Ellie’s arms’ reach. "I called for a band-aid. They’ll be here any minute."

Thompson looked over his shoulder at the two military officers. He noticed the lieutenant had her hand on the grip of her sidearm. He snorted in derision.

"I told you before, lieutenant, she is no danger to you at all," he said. "You people are the only dangerous ones here."

A strangled gurgling reclaimed Ellie’s attention. She turned and saw pink-colored bubbles forming around Steve’s mouth. Thompson murmured under his breath.

"You have a doctor out there?" he asked over his shoulder. The two military officers looked at one another.

"Medics," the lieutenant replied. Thompson shook his head.

"This man needs a doctor, not a corpsman," he snapped. He grabbed the shoulder microphone of his radio.

"Billy, this is Thompson," he called. "Get Doctor Canfield and the ambulance up here immediately."

"Joann—Doctor Canfield is here?" Ellie asked. Thompson looked up at her.

"Yes," he replied. "Steve called both her and myself when all this started."

"Help is coming," Moskowicz repeated. Ellie turned to face him fully. The look on her face caused him to take one step backwards. A soft groan from Steve reclaimed her attention. Ellie bent herself forward to lean on her forearms, her face a few inches from Steve’s.

"It’s going to be all right, Steve," she whispered softly. "You’re going to be all right. You’re going to stay. You promised to marry me. I’m holding you to your promise. I love you, Steven Carter. I love you. I’m going to take care of you and protect you. I love you. We’re going to be husband and wife. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again. You stay—"

Ellie’s sobs robbed her of her voice. She crouched on the driveway, her eyes focused on Steve’s face. A sheen of perspiration covered his skin. Thompson shrugged off his jacket and slipped it over Steve. Hysterical crying called Ellie’s attention back to her sister. Nancy looked much like Steve, white-faced and sweating. Sally and Dennis had grabbed fistfuls of their mother’s clothing, weeping in fear and confusion. Mark looked around, as desperate and uncertain as herself. Ellie looked back at Steve, carefully shifting her hands in an effort to make him more comfortable. She did not see Moskowicz and the other officer staring at her, their mouths open.

Moskowicz turned from the spectacle before him when motion in the woods caught his attention. He pointed.

"Thank Christ," he called out. "Here they come."

A Humvee decorated with hospital crosses appeared out of the woods, heading towards the house, dirt spraying from under all four tires. It was halfway across the field when it came to a sliding halt. Two soldiers garbed in the ubiquitous protective suits popped out of the doors of the vehicle to stare at Ellie.

"What the hell are you doing?" Moskowicz shouted. He waved his arms in the air. "Get over here now!"

Ellie sat upright and looked over her shoulder at the new arrivals. As she came erect both soldiers visibly started and then dashed around the military ambulance to take cover behind it, peering around the boxy rear section of the military ambulance. Ellie closed her eyes in frustration and annoyance.

"Oh, stop it, please," she muttered. Further shouted castigations from Moskowicz and the female lieutenant brought the two medics hesitantly back into motion. They re-entered the vehicle and drove it more sedately, to stop near Ellie’s feet.

The two medics hesitantly grabbed up their medical gear and separated, each going to one of the wounded. Mark, Nancy and the two children looked up at the soldier in his chemical-protective suit and hood, followed by the lieutenant. The female officer had her hand on the grip of her gun. Both children screamed in fear and crowded closer to Nancy, one of them jarring her right shoulder. She screamed in pain. Mark threw up his hands.

"Don’t shoot, for Christ’s sake," he said. The lieutenant stopped and looked down at her right hand. She released her grip on her gun and held both hands out and open.

"We’re going to help you," she began. She turned to the medic, who was staring up at Ellie’s thirty-foot form sitting beside him. Even through the eyepieces of the hood his eyes looked as though they were about to start out of his head in shock.

"Goddammit, you been struck dumb or were you born with your head up your ass? Move!" the lieutenant shouted at the medic. He came out of his daze and began to pull open his canvas medical bag. The lieutenant grabbed at the two children to get them out of the soldier’s way.

"LEAVE THEM ALONE," Ellie’s voice boomed out. The lieutenant looked up and saw Ellie was staring down at her. She could see the muscles in Ellie’s jaw working.

"Okay," the lieutenant replied meekly, snatching her hands away from the two children as though they were electrified and waving them in acquiescence. Ellie turned back to Steve. The other medic had stopped short of her hands and their burden, his head bobbing on his neck as he looked up at her and then down at Steve, over and over again.

"You’ve seen enough, soldier. Get to work," Moskowicz growled. The general grabbed the soldier by the arm, pointing at Steve.

"Uh, yessir," the medic replied, nodding. He pulled out a field bandage and a stethoscope from his carryall and slipped Thompson’s jacket off Steve’s chest. He quickly pressed the bandage onto the spot over his wound. It reddened almost immediately. The medic then placed the stethoscope on Steve’s bloody shirt, listening. After a few seconds he looked up at Moskowicz.

"Sir, this man has a sucking chest wound. Sounds like—SHIT!" he said. He jumped backwards in fright, almost toppling over his heels at the sound of Ellie’s impossibly large intake of breath immediately over his head. Ellie turned to Moskowicz, who noticed her gaze. She frowned as he uttered an obscenity of his own, his expression embarrassed.

"Nearest chopper is thirty minutes away," he said.

"The ambulance at the roadblock can take them to a hospital," Thompson said. "We’ll take him out in that."

"That’s not possible," a distorted voice said. Ellie lifted her head slightly to focus on the approaching figure of Turner in his suit.

"This area and everyone in it must stay under strict quarantine," he continued. "Taking these people to a local hospital is too risky. General, the best thing to do is to call in a medevac chopper and have these people taken to Fort Bragg."

Moskowicz turned back to the medic hovering over Steve.

"Can we wait for a chopper?" asked. The two medics looked at one another.

"These people need immediate attention, sir," the senior medic replied.

"Surely you have some helicopters closer," Turner insisted. Moskowicz shook his head.

"According to you, she’s contagious. I kept the least number of people I needed for the task to minimize the possibility of contagion. That’s SOP."

"Look, General, don’t try to blame me or the CDC for this. I had no idea Lang was going to show up here."

"This can be discussed later, Turner—"

The squawk of a radio distracted them.

"Sheriff?" a voice blared out of Thompson’s radio. He grabbed his mike.

"Yeah, Billy, go ahead."

"Sheriff, we can’t get all the way up to y’all there," the voice, blurred by static, replied. "There’s this mob of people in front of me blocking the road and that bunch of mobile homes from before out here."

To emphasize his point the deputy snapped on his siren. Ellie straightened and saw the latest arriving police cruiser, a boxy, truck-type ambulance decorated with flashing lights immediately behind it. Almost all of the people who had arrived in the motor homes were gathered next to Thompson’s cruiser in the narrow road, waving their gloved hands at the new arrivals. The siren sounded loud to Ellie.

"Tell your people to move their vehicles, Turner," Moskowicz said. "These people need immediate attention and it’ll take over a hour to get them to the base hospital at Fort Bragg."

"I don’t want to see anyone die either, General, but we have to take precautions against the greater danger—" Turner began.

"General, we gotta get this man out soon," the medic attending Steve said, his stethoscope on Steve’s chest. The medic had inserted an IV in one of Steve’s arms and was squeezing the bag with his free hand to force fluid into him. Ellie looked down and saw Steve’s chest heaving spasmodically. A sibilant gurgling sound came from his chest. "I think one of his lungs just collapsed and it’s putting pressure on his heart."

"Better try to find a nearer chopper, General," Turner said.

"BLANKET."

Everyone stopped. The debate developing between Moskowicz and Turner suddenly cooled. Everyone surrounding Ellie looked up at her tight, angry features.

"A BLANKET—NOW!" she said, her voice rising steadily in volume. She lifted her hands into the air, effectively pulling Steve out of the medic’s reach.

"NOW!" she shouted. Another hooded soldier suddenly appeared from behind her, dragging an olive-drab-colored blanket from the military ambulance.

"SPREAD IT ON THE GROUND," Ellie instructed. The soldier nervously complied. Ellie carefully placed Steve on it, slipping her hands as gently as she could from under him. Her face drew tighter as she saw Steve’s blood decorating her left hand. She stood quickly, the crowd around her hopping backwards in unison as she reached her full height. Ellie looked down to Thompson.

"Sheriff, please watch my family," she said softly. Thompson looked up, tilting his hat back on his head. A frown crossed his face. He nodded.

Ellie turned and took one step towards Moskowicz and Turner. She saw the lieutenant grab her sidearm again in a reflex action.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY," she said. She took another step. Moskowicz and the soldiers promptly scattered from her path, leaving Turner standing alone. He tilted up his suit visor with one hand to look up at Ellie while waving at her with the other.

"Miss Andersen, this is not the time to do anything foolish—" he began.

"I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN," Ellie said. She took one more step, stomping her foot heavily on the ground inches away from Turner’s feet. The doctor’s bravado abruptly vanished. He yelped out a curse and jumped, flinging himself onto the ground. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his prostrate form frog-walking clumsily away from her.

Ellie became aware of a flurry of activity around her as she straightened and looked down the driveway—the soldiers occupying the tree line were moving in response to her actions. She focused on the newly arrived police cruiser and the ambulance. Someone had come out of the ambulance and was saying something to the crowd of suited people blocking its path. It was Dr. Canfield.

Ellie moved swiftly. In fifteen strides she came up to the Humvee Moskowicz had used to approach them. The driver took one look through his windshield at her and frantically fumbled with the door lock, then stumbled out of the vehicle. He proceeded to flee from her on all fours at an amazing rate of speed, gibbering as he moved. Ellie looked down at the squat, heavy military car sitting in the threshold of the driveway.

"YOU FORGOT SOMETHING. TAKE THIS WITH YOU," she said. She lifted one foot off the ground and suddenly swung her leg back, and then forward, her cry of anger echoing off the hillside. Her placement was perfect. The side of the vehicle molded around the front of her foot on impact like an underinflated soccer ball, twisting and distorting. Glass fragments sprayed into the air as its windshields shattered form the shock. The Humvee shot up nearly a hundred feet in the air under the impulse of her kick, diesel from its burst fuel tank showering in the air, maps and other belongings trailing after it. It nearly reached the tree line before it fell to the ground with a loud crash, nearby soldiers abruptly appearing as they abandoned their hidden positions to duck away from it.

Adrenaline and anger prevented Ellie from feeling the sting of having just used a ton-and-a-half vehicle as a football. She turned to the other vehicles blocking the ambulance. Taking two more steps, she reached the first of the motor coaches.

"What the hell are you doing?" she heard a voice behind her call. She looked over her shoulder. Moskowicz was almost dancing with anger as he trotted down the driveway after her, waving his arms. She ignored him and turned back to look at the group of suited figures, craning her head to see over the roof of the nearest motor coach.

"GET THESE THINGS OUT OF MY WAY," she said. The gaggle of suits did not move. Ellie peered through the tinted windows of the coach but she could not make out if anyone was inside. She squatted down, her arms between her legs. She found purchase under the front bumper of the coach and lifted. The coach tilted up until it rested on its rear bumper, all four of its tires off the ground. Ellie tested its weight in her hands, then stepped to her right, pulling and twisting with her arms and body. The vehicle slid sideways off the driveway into the field, its bumper loudly scoring a gash in the road. Ellie spread her feet out of harm’s way and lowered her arms, then let go. The coach slammed into the earth, burying its front wheels to the hubs. Crashing noises inside it indicated the damage done to its contents. Ellie moved faster now, repeating her actions. In one minute she had shifted five of the coaches onto the grass verge beside the access road, flipping one of the vehicles onto its side in the process.

As she approached the sixth coach she saw a suited figure dash inside it. Its engine started and it began to roll forward towards her. Ellie quickly squatted down and reached out protectively. The motor coach came into contact with her outstretched hands and stopped cold. Through the tinted windscreen she could just see the driver raise his arms protectively as he almost catapulted over the steering column. She pushed the coach to one side, its front tires rasping on the macadam, its rear wheels spinning into smoke. Once it was safely pointed away from her she released it, letting it roll off the road.

The last impediment was Sheriff Thompson’s car. Ellie straddled the vehicle, bending to grasp it under its doors. She bent her knees and lifted, moving her feet in small, spastic motions until she had the car completely off the narrow road, then she carefully set it back down.

Ellie straightened. Before her feet was the deputy’s police car and the large, truck-like ambulance with the caption COLUMBUS COMMUNITY AMBULANCE CORPS emblazoned on its side. The deputy had left his car while Ellie was clearing the path. He now leaned against the cruiser, eyes and mouth open in shock, arms outstretched across the car’s roof to support himself. Ellie saw Dr. Canfield step around the ambulance while its crew was huddled inside, staring through its windows at her. Ellie fixed her gaze on Canfield’s worried, earnest expression and she began to cry.

"Joann, Steve’s been shot," she sobbed. Canfield nodded briefly and waved at the crew of the ambulance.

"Don’t just stand there, boys," she shouted. "This woman is the one who rescued those kids on the lake a few days ago. Now she needs your help. Come on, move!"

The driver of the ambulance, quicker-witted than the others, gunned the truck’s engine and snapped on his siren. The piercing wail startled the deputy out of his trance and he ducked back inside his car. Canfield was about to get back in the ambulance when she felt herself grasped by a pair of hands just over half as long as she was tall. She looked up in surprise at Ellie, who nodded through her tears in apology and began to carry her up the road in the wake of the two rescue vehicles.

Moskowicz was still hopping with anger but had the sense to get out of the way as the rescue vehicles approached. Ellie stepped through the crowd of suited figures and soldiers which had encircled the wounded, dispersing them again.

"PUT HIM DOWN," she said. Soldiers had surrounded Steve and were in the process of lifting him by hauling on the corners of the blanket beneath him. They jumped at her command and lowered Steve down again, none too gently.

"Ellie, put me down there," Canfield said, gesturing urgently. Ellie set her back on her feet. Canfield moved the instant her feet hit the ground. She seized a stethoscope away from the nearby medic and pressed it to Steve’s chest briefly, shifting from one place to another.

"Sweet Mother of God," she breathed. She stood up and waved at the ambulance crew.

"I need a trauma kit, right now!" she shouted. "Contact St. Luke’s and tell them to make sure a thoracic surgeon’s available. Let’s go, boys!"

"Will this help, ma’am?" the medic said as he offered her his bag. Canfield nodded and began to remove the contents of both the medic’s bag. She was quickly joined by the volunteers from the ambulance with their large plastic cases.

Ellie tried to follow the jargon that surfaced among the medical people while Dr. Canfield attended to Steve, applying more needles in his arms and an oxygen mask over his face. She sucked in her breath in shock as she observed Canfield plunged a huge syringe into Steve’s chest.

"Oh, God," she cried, slapping her hands over her mouth.

"It’s okay, Ellie," Canfield said, looking up. "This is to relieve the pressure in his chest so we can transport him."

"You still intend to take him to a local hospital?" a tinny voice suddenly said. Turner had picked himself up off the ground and injected himself back into the crowd. The front of his once-shiny suit was now a mélange of earth colors and the metal mesh over his suit speaker was partially plugged with mud and grass, blurring his voice. Canfield looked up from Steve and fixed her fierce stare on him.

"This man is my patient, whoever-you-are," she said crisply. "If you’re a doctor and you want to help us, fine. If you’re not get out of my way. Come on, people, get the stretcher out. We’ve got to get him to the hospital now."

"But the possibility of spreading whatever is causing her condition—" Turner began, pointing up at Ellie, his tone placating and reasonable. Ellie focused an angry glare on him and something on his suit caught her eye.

"—you are going to share with me, if I am contagious," she interrupted, stabbing one finger at the left leg of his suit. Turner froze in puzzlement for a moment, then bent over double to look at his suit. He pulled up the left leg of the suit. A gasp of pure terror slipped from him as he saw the tiny rent in its fabric.

"Goddammit! Goddammit! Goddammit!" he shouted, spinning about and threading his way through the crowd surrounding Ellie and the others. As his path became free Turner broke into a shambling run towards the one undamaged motor coach, waving his arms, his team members flopping after him as best as their suited condition would allow.

Steve was quickly strapped onto the one stretcher and promptly wheeled inside the ambulance. Her sister Nancy, dopey from morphine injected into her by the army medic, was able to sit up with assistance. A wad of green bandages pressed to her shoulder was slowly reddening. After another minute’s time passed, during which Ellie became increasingly impatient, Nancy was bundled into a wire basket-stretcher and settled in the ambulance as well. When Ellie turned to Mark and the two children Thompson held up his hand to her.

"Don’t worry, Miss Andersen," he said to her obvious relief. "I’ll give them a ride in myself."

Moskowicz and the soldiers about him looked increasingly unhappy as Thompson, the civilian volunteers and Canfield effectively took control of both Steve and Nancy away from them. Ellie took one step in the direction of the ambulance and the crowd complaisantly thinned out of her path once more.

"Ellie, we’re heading to St. Luke’s Hospital," Canfield said as she prepared to step up into the rear compartment of the ambulance. "It’s a good hospital. I’m going to be with Steve all the way in. I’ll see he’s taken care of."

Ellie shook her head.

"I’m coming with you," she said.

 

Janet Stiller had done what any sensible person would as shots were fired near her: she ducked behind the equipment inside the van. Now, as the sounds outside died away she rose from the dirty carpeting on the van’s floorboards. She looked first at the monitor. The picture was clear but unsteady, dipping and swaying. She unbent her legs, groaning from the pain in her joints caused by the cramped position she had occupied for the last—twenty minutes? Thirty? Stiller looked at her watch. It was almost two-thirty in the afternoon. She shook her head—so much had happened since she and Romita had gone giantess-hunting she was surprised that it was still the same day.

The van’s door squealed as she slid it open and squinted in the relative brightness outside.

"What the hell?" she muttered. The first thing she saw was a Humvee ambulance sitting in the grass some twenty feet away from the news van. A handful of soldiers, most wearing masks, were clustered around it, talking in low tones. One or two suddenly pointed in her direction. In the distance more figures were moving swiftly and silently along the edge of the open field, heading towards the access road. Two—no, three Humvees, their diesel engines loud in the prevailing quiet, were snaking their way around the trees in the same direction. The road itself was even busier. One hatless soldier was running down the road, waving at the disappearing Humvees. Five motor homes were sitting on the grass verge beside it. All of them looked like their front tires had gone flat and one was lying on its side. A sixth, surrounded by a figures in shiny suits and helmets, was apparently being maneuvered off the grass and back onto the road.

Stiller stumbled momentarily on the soft, grassy earth, then straightened and circled the van. Romita stood in the middle of the driveway directly in front of the house, facing down the road, camera still on his shoulder. His face was pale, his eyes glassy.

"Marty? Marty, you all right?" she asked. Romita did not turn or acknowledge her call. Stiller stepped onto the driveway, her boots clacking on its surface. She reached out and touched Romita’s shoulder.

"Marty?"

The camera suddenly slipped from Romita’s shoulder to the ground, its halogen lamp popping on impact. The camera’s motion directed Stiller’s eyes to the ground. Objects strewn on the driveway caught her attention—bloodstained bandages, torn plastic and paper wrappers, syringe caps, a rumpled olive-drab blanket with a broad pinkish stain in its center. Romita suddenly emitted a strangled bark of laughter. Stiller turned back to him just in time to see him fall down on his rump, still staring blankly down the road. She turned and faced the same way, squinting. She felt herself shiver.

"Holy shit," she muttered. She was about to grab Romita under his arms and help him to his feet when a voice stopped her. She turned and saw a young blond woman in uniform striding towards her, a group of armed soldiers at her heels.

"Are you all right?" the female officer asked. Stiller nodded.

"Guess so. What the hell’s going on?"

"That is one fucking good question," the officer replied. She was about to say more when the roar of a truck engine heralded the arrival of the motor coach up the driveway. The female officer looked at the big vehicle backing up the driveway towards them, then back at Stiller and the incoherent Romita.

"Damned if I know," she muttered in response.

Two soldiers helped Romita to his feet and stood beside him to keep him steady. The motor coach came to a halt just short of the medical detritus in the road. A half-dozen elaborately suited figures exited the vehicle and surrounded the two reporters. One figure, helmetless and with an unpleasant look on his face, strode forward in an aggressive manner.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Were you exposed to that giant?" he asked quickly. Stiller noted the distress in his voice. She looked quickly at the female officer and saw that she was tired and obviously unhappy, too. Still was about to ask a question of her own when gloved hands seized her arms.

"I regret to inform you that, in order to prevent any possibility of spreading—whatever it is—the two of you must be detained," the black-haired, unsettled man said quickly. His shoulders sagged. "If it makes you feel any better, this officer and I are in the same boat you are. It’s to your advantage to cooperate."

Stiller saw the ready nature of the weapons in the hands of the soldiers surrounding her and nodded. Obviously neither she or Romita had any choice but to cooperate—and she wasn’t happy at all.

 

Junction of Green River Road and I-26

Polk County, North Carolina

Sally Firth grinned with anticipation. The two remaining deputies at the roadblock had just announced that the ambulance was coming out. Her crew quickly staked out a spot immediately beside the road. She watched as the other four camera crews moved similarly. The exit ramp off I-26 was getting a little crowded, she observed—two more news trucks had arrived in the last hour and more were supposedly on the way. She watched as the other semitrailer belonging to the NBC affiliate finished orienting its satellite antenna. She nodded and offered a small smile to NBC reporter (and on-scene rival) Don Smith as he finished his preparations.

"Sally?" she heard the voice of her director call in her ear. "We’re transmitting in one minute. You ready?"

"Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go," she said into her hand microphone in reply. She looked up the road. Her cameraman had already oriented his burden in that direction, filming the activity. The sound of sirens in the distance galvanized the collection of news people and they all unconsciously leaned into the road. Firth saw both deputies lean towards their left shoulders as they listened to their radios. They began to move with alacrity, literally jumping into their cars. Then, to her surprise, they snapped on their sirens and pulled into the road, racing towards the exit. She watched as they flashed by her spot on the road to roll up the ramp to the highway and race east, screeching through the turn as they did so.

"Man, they’re in a big hurry to get somewhere," she heard Smith say. "Wonder what’s happening—what the fuck?"

Firth was surprised by the obscenity Smith uttered. She looked at him and saw he was staring pointedly up the road. She jerked her head back. The sirens were louder now. She thought she saw a brief flash of a police beacon through the undergrowth blocking their view of the curve in the distance, then something else caught her eye. Movement above the canopy of trees hiding the curve. Something round and big, bouncing and jerking.

"Sally, we’re about to feed this," she heard her director. "Stand by."

"Okay, let’s do it," she replied automatically. "Are we on yet? Are we on yet?"

"—now," her director said. The cavalcade of emergency vehicles racing up the road towards the assembled news crews appeared around the curve just as he spoke and Firth brought her microphone to her lips.

 

CNN

Atlanta, Georgia

"This is CNN’s Afternoon News, covering local, national and international events." The reporters on the television screen looked up as the lights brightened around them and the title crawl background music ended. The female reporter fashioned a bright smile and stared directly into the rostrum camera.

"Good Afternoon from CNN. This is Robin Okuda, with Daniel Bester. We’re glad to be here this afternoon with you. We are interrupting our normal coverage for a special report on the ongoing military deployment near Asheville, North Carolina. We go now to Sally Firth, who has been covering the scene for us for the past three hours—"

A loud, high-pitched voice suddenly blared through the speakers, effectively drowning Okuda out. Her image vanished off the screens as the picture was switched abruptly to the on-scene camera being broadcast by satellite. The picture jerked unsteadily but was still recognizable. An ambulance led by a police cruiser, their lights flashing and sirens wailing, rushed up to and then past the camera, a cloud of dust rising from the road with the speed of their passage. Then the camera tilted up, revealing a running figure, obviously a female figure, dressed in off-white clothing of some sort. She was jogging steadily behind the ambulance, another police cruiser racing up behind her. More vehicles—Humvees—came behind the last cruiser—and it was obvious that none of the vehicles in the picture came up to the woman’s knees.

"Holy Christ! Are you getting this? Are you getting this, guys? This is the—the most—!" Sally Firth’s voice, raised to an uncomfortable octave and cracking, echoed in the studio.

"Sally? Sally, can you hear me? This is Robin Okuda, in Atlanta. Sally?" Okuda said.

"This can’t be real. This can’t be real! Atlanta, are you getting this?" Firth’s voice continued to boom into the feed being presented live to the CNN audience. The noises of sirens and shouting being transmitted to the studio was cut off as quickly as it was presented. Okuda bent her head, holding one finger against the earphone stuck in her left ear. She started visibly and nodded, then looked up at the camera.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the interruption of our ongoing live coverage of the military deployment near Asheville, North Carolina. Our director is currently communicating with our field team there and we hope to have more information about the newly occurring events happening there as soon as possible. I—are we ready to replay that tape? Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to replay the footage just shot by our CNN cameras on the scene. Bill, are we ready—there, there it is now—"

The video was replayed in a continuous loop, presenting the same scene over and over again. Okuda and her co-anchor stared at their own monitors for a moment. Okuda sat back abruptly in her chair, her eyes wide.

"I—uh, we have just seen—Bill, is that real? Ladies and gentlemen, if what we have just seen is real—" Okuda stopped as a muffled—and very excited—voice began shouting at her. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been assured by our director Bill Kanelly that what we have just broadcast into your homes is very real. We have just seen—we have just seen the most amazing thing I think has ever been broadcast, anywhere or at any time. I—what is going on—"

The video image disappeared, replaced by a generic "Special Report" illustration. A recorded voice suddenly made itself heard.

"This is CNN."

 

St. Luke’s Hospital

Columbus, North Carolina

The chief administrator of St. Luke’s Hospital was pacing back and forth at the threshold of the emergency room, his activity observed by a dozen nervous-looking subordinates. Fifteen minutes ago they had received a radio call from the ambulance corps detailing a shooting incident that involved a man and a woman plus two small children. Doctor Philip Hattnik shook his head as he paced—another incident proving firearms and people don’t mix. He really had no place among the trauma team that was quickly assembled, but this was the first time any mass shooting had ever occurred in St. Luke’s history and he wanted to see it all for himself, up close and personal. A nurse suddenly darted into his path, her face flushed.

"Doctor, they’re coming!" she announced excitedly. Hattnik nodded.

"Okay, everybody, get ready," he called out. He moved to the head of the spontaneous queue composed of four scrub-suited doctors and a group of similarly attired nurses and orderlies which formed at the first nurse’s warning and led the way to the large double doors of the emergency entrance.

The beep-beep-beep of the ambulance’s backup warning became louder as the automatic doors opened. The truck was backing up to the entrance. Hattnik caught a glimpse of at least two sheriff’s cars, their lights flashing, pulled up behind the ambulance, effectively cutting off vehicular access to the emergency room door. The rear of the truck snapped open. Hattnik recognized all four of the volunteer EMT’s who began to manhandle out the occupied stretcher and wire basket. The additional passenger promptly stepped off the rear bumper of the emergency vehicle and nodded to him.

"I’m Doctor Canfield," she said. Hattnik nodded.

"Phil Hattnik. Heard of you, Doctor. Glad to be able to make your acquaintance. Wish the circumstances were better," Hattnik replied, offering his hand. Canfield shook his hand briefly and looked over her shoulder at the figures being removed from the ambulance.

"That man, Steven Carter," she continued, pointing to the figure on the stretcher, "has been shot in the upper-left thorax area. The woman, Nancy Burke," and she pointed to the woman in the wire basket being lugged out of the back of the ambulance, "has a wound in the right shoulder. Burke is stable but Steven is in bad shape. I had to vent the air in his chest cavity after his lung collapsed—"

Hattnik nodded as he took in each piece if information Canfield reported to him. He was about to turn and follow the stretcher when motion through the just-closing double doors distracted him. Something large and white had appeared around and above the bulk of the ambulance, then silently disappeared. Hattnik paused.

"That was strange," he said. Canfield had already turned to follow Steve and now turned back. Her eyebrows came together.

"You can worry about that later, Doctor," she snapped, regaining his attention. "Did you have a thoracic surgeon on site?"

"Oh, yes," Hattnik replied. Canfield had grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into the emergency area. "He’s waiting inside."

Canfield nodded in satisfaction. Sheriff Russell Thompson suddenly appeared on Hattnik’s opposite side, escorting a harried-looking man. Two small, very frightened children were clinging to the man’s hands. Hattnik pointed Thompson and the man into the waiting area and followed the stretchers into the emergency room. For five minutes he watched the coordinated efforts of the team already assembled in the room, nodding in satisfaction as the team swiftly conducted the initial examinations of the two new patients. He then turned back to Canfield.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Canfield looked at Hattnik and a small, sad frown appeared across her face.

"Both these people were shot by a large caliber rifle."

"My God," Hattnik exclaimed. "How did it happen? Who would do such a thing?"

"That is a long story, Doctor—"

Canfield was interrupted by a sudden commotion. Hattnik looked up at the noise and saw a man dressed in a scrub uniform frantically stumbling backwards down the hallway leading past the emergency room. It was Reginald Smalls, one of the staff orderlies on duty. Why—

"Lord Jesus help us! Lord Jesus help us!" Smalls shouted, his arms and legs akimbo. Hattnik’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline at the orderly’s incredible behavior. Smalls continued his crazy course past the ER doors and down the hallway until another orderly stopped him and helped him keep his feet. He continued pointing and shouting again and again, his eyes wide, looking back down the hallway he had come.

"What in all that’s holy—" Hattnik began, looking down the hall at the gibbering orderly, then back towards the entrance doors. He observed Canfield rub one hand across her forehead in a gesture of resignation.

"I expect he just saw the reason why those two people were shot by soldiers," she answered slowly, shaking her head. Hattnik looked at her as he thought he detected the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. He allowed himself a few seconds to verify that the two attending ER shift doctors and the rest of the trauma team were doing their jobs, then he turned towards the entrance doors. A hand on his arm arrested his motion.

"Before you go out there, Doctor, there’s some things you should know," Canfield said as she held his arm. She hesitated for a moment and sighed.

"Maybe the best way to begin is to ask a question: how are you on adventure?"

"What? ‘On adventure’? Are you all right, Doctor Canfield?"

Canfield nodded, amusement becoming more evident in her features.

"Oh, yes, Doctor Hattnik. I am perfectly all right. It’s just that—well, what you are about to see is going to be completely outside of your experience. I warn you to prepare yourself for it."

"What?" Hattnik looked at Canfield’s peculiarly amused expression. He frowned. Canfield nodded and waved at the entrance doors.

"Doctor Canfield, I should think that as the chief physician of a hospital you would have little time for riddles," Hattnik began, striding quickly to the entrance. The doors opened automatically at his approach and he stepped out. Hattnik again spotted something large and white around the bulk of the ambulance. He darted around the bumper of the vehicle and turned to face the ramp leading to the hospital’s parking lot. "This is obviously a very serious situation—"

His protestation died in his throat as he looked up at the most colossal living human being he ever imagined. Ellie had placed herself in the no-parking zone in front of the hospital’s main entrance. She sat on her heels, knees decorously together, one hand resting casually on the side of the building. Hattnik lost all sense of scale as he stared at her. Bent together her legs looked as big as the compact car parked beside her. The hand she cautiously extended towards him in greeting had to be almost three feet long. He stumbled backwards, barking his head on the steel side of the ambulance.

"Hello," the giantess said softly. Hattnik was astounded at how remarkably normally-pitched her voice sounded, given her size. "Is Steve all right?"

"Bwah-bah-ah-ah—" Hattnik heard someone saying. He realized it was himself. He almost jumped when he felt another presence at his elbow. It was Canfield.

"Doctor Philip Hattnik, I’d like you to meet Ellie Andersen," Canfield said, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

 

"Honey, Steve is in surgery," Dr. Canfield said. "It shouldn’t be more than another hour."

Ellie nodded gravely at Canfield’s words, a sad half-smile forming on her lips.

"Thank you, Joann," she replied, keeping her voice as soft as possible. She extended one hand towards the doctor, who took it in her own and began stroking it, nodding and smiling. In the two hours since the arrival of the ambulance and despite Canfield’s efforts, the hospital and its environs were steadily degenerating into bedlam. Ellie had immediately become the object of attention from around each corner and through every window. Shouts and calls echoed across hallways and around the hospital itself. Ellie could make out motion all around her as the medical staff, ambulatory patients and visitors made furtive dashes to their vehicles or peeked around corners to gawk. The roads surrounding the three-story hospital were clogged with cars stopped by their incredulous occupants, most of whom had been inattentive as to their course along the roads once they spied Ellie, as a few dozen minor accidents around the hospital bore witness. A few vehicles attempted to thread their way among the chaos at indifferent rates of speed and the air was filled with the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns. Thompson had corralled all of the volunteer fire police he could get as well as all of his deputies—on-duty or off—in an effort to keep some semblance of order but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Three Humvees filled with soldiers, including the utterly nonplussed Moskowicz, had followed the rescue convoy to Columbus and now parked themselves at a discreet distance from Ellie, milling about their vehicles. Ellie, focusing her eyes on them, could see Moskowicz communicating via the radio in the back of one of the military cars. Two of the news vans had also taken up the chase and quickly settled themselves on a quiet side street nearby, their video equipment unfurled—every time she looked in their direction Ellie found she had to squint against the increasing brightness of their camera lights. Residents of the town had also begun to cluster within her view, pointing and staring. Ellie felt embarrassed and exposed, kneeling in the parking lot of a building as tall as herself when she stood upright.

"Nancy is looking much better," Canfield continued, looking closely at Ellie’s expression. "When the bullet went through her shoulder it only nicked her one of her shoulder bones. The orthopedic surgeon tells me that the greenstick fracture should heal by itself in about four weeks."

Ellie nodded. Canfield touched the wound in Ellie’s hand and stopped. She tugged at Ellie’s hand. Ellie obediently rotated her wrist until the top of her hand came into Canfield’s view.

"Ellie, what’s this?" Canfield demanded. "You were shot, too?"

Ellie nodded again.

"Why didn’t you say something? Here, you, " Canfield turned to one of the two orderlies who apparently been detailed to observe Ellie. "Get off your rump and get me a small trauma kit and some bandages. Ellie, when did this happen?"

"At the same time Steve and—and Brian—were hurt." Ellie could not help the sensation of choking in her throat.

"And you had the two kids under your hands at the time?"

"Yes."

"Bastards." Ellie was shocked. It was the first time she had ever heard Canfield use any kind of obscenity. Canfield was peering closely at the wound.

"This must hurt."

"No," Ellie replied. "Actually, I only felt a sting, like a bee sting. Afterwards, it only hurt a little when I moved my hands."

Canfield snorted. The orderly suddenly reappeared, stopping well away from Ellie, his outstretched arms holding out a small green parcel. Canfield looked at him from over her glasses.

"What’s the matter, boy? You scared?" she jeered. The orderly looked up at Ellie. With the westering sun coming over her right shoulder he was standing in her shadow. His eyes bugged and he nodded, his mouth open.

"Oh, for the love of Mike," Canfield growled. She let go of Ellie and strode towards the orderly, snatching the package from his hand. The orderly darted away.

"You’d think—" Canfield began as she quickly opened the package. She retrieved a small, plastic-handled scalpel and a forceps from the package as well as a pair of plastic gloves. Slipping the gloves on quickly, she returned to Ellie and reclaimed her hand.

"This will hurt a little, Ellie," Canfield said in warning.

"Okay," Ellie replied. Canfield began probing the wound, first with her gloved fingers, then with the tips of the forceps. The light was indifferent due to the overcast sky and the advanced hour of the day and Canfield found it difficult to make out the exact edges of the entry wound. She pressed harder around the lump with her fingers and something popped from under Ellie’s skin, almost hitting her in the face. She grunted and bent to retrieve the thing.

"Well, that was easier than I thought," she muttered. The misshapen slug of metal did not resemble a rifle bullet—in fact, it didn’t resemble much of anything at all. Canfield looked up at Ellie.

"Did I hurt you, honey?"

"No."

Canfield was puzzled. She brought the slug up close to her eyes and peered at it closely. Given her limited experience with gunshot wounds—she had actually treated a half-dozen cases in the twelve years she was at Edneyville Medical—she could not determine its caliber, but it was certainly the biggest bullet she had ever seen, weighing heavily in her hand. It appeared to be made of two different kinds of metal, part copper-colored and part silvery-gray. Its point looked like it was covered with a red-colored substance that was slippery to the touch of her glove. Canfield abruptly realized she was holding the remains of a full-metal jacketed bullet with a plastic—teflon?—coated tip—and it had barely penetrated Ellie’s skin.

Canfield’s expression was a study in wonder as she met Ellie’s gaze. She silently motioned for Ellie’s other hand and repeated her finger probing. This slug also obligingly popped free with no effort and no pain. Canfield was about to announce success when she saw Ellie reach up and touch the back of her head.

"Honey, you were shot up there, too?" she asked. Ellie colored slightly, as if embarrassed, then nodded again.

"Okay. Let’s have you lying on your side here," Canfield said in her most businesslike tone. "I don’t want one of my patients suffering from any infections. Hey, heroes," she shouted at their watchers, "get me some blankets or sheets or something. If I have to take care of this patient myself at least you can provide a clean place to work on."

Both orderlies responded and a chain of sheets and blankets were quickly spread out on the parking lot. Ellie slipped onto one hip and laid herself atop the extemporaneous cover, squirming a little to get comfortable.

Canfield could not help a sense of awe as she watched Ellie settle herself. Lying on her side her body towered over Canfield—the point of her upper shoulder had to be over a foot above Canfield’s head. As her braided hair fell towards the ground Canfield could see that the span of Ellie’s neck was just below the level of her chest. Ellie lowered her head until it touched the ground, cooperatively turning to present the rear of her skull face-up. Canfield quickly oriented on the part of Ellie’s hair that was matted and sticky.

"Bastards," she said again. Canfield used both hands to heft up a shock of Ellie’s hair. This time the wound was even less easier to see amongst the lush growth atop Ellie’s head. Canfield squinted and felt around the hairs with both hands. She counted six protrusions just under the skin. Canfield tried getting at the wounds but Ellie’s hair draped down, blocking her efforts.

"Ellie, I’m going to need your help for this," Canfield said. "Bring your hand back here."

Ellie complied and nearly clapped Canfield off her feet. Canfield saw the immense digit coming overhead and ducked down just in time, instinctively holding up her arms. She raised her head to see Ellie’s hand hovering just inches above her.

"Whew! Not so fast, honey," she said. Canfield stepped away from Ellie, then grabbed at her fingers with both hands and guided them into her hair. "Now, pull up a little here. A little more. Good."

Canfield felt a real sense of shock as she bent to examine Ellie’s head wound. The bases of six bullets stuck up out of Ellie’s skull. She touched one with a finger. It neatly slipped from her skin and fell to the ground. Canfield looked for the wound channel that should have been left behind. It didn’t exist. Canfield shook her head and tapped at the other bullets. They all fell away cleanly. Retrieving them from the ground she saw they were all the same—large caliber, partially deformed, and plastic-tipped.

"Honey, you are practically bulletproof," Canfield said disbelievingly. She began to rub the wounds with a disinfectant swab, looking intermittently at the pad in her hand. Other than traces of dried blood the pad retrieved nothing from the wounds.

"You’re, ah, going to be fine, Ellie," Canfield said. "Everything looks really good. Okay, I’m all finished."

Ellie slipped off her shoulder onto her back. She turned her head to face Canfield, draping one arm across her chest. The two gaping orderlies began muttering to one another and even Canfield found herself gulping in surprise. Her professional skills of observation told her that Ellie was visibly bigger now than when Canfield had seen her two hours ago. Head and neck together easily covered seven feet, attached to shoulders that were just as broad. Her near arm was slim and visibly muscled under the comparatively thin cloth of her dress. Lying on her back her bosom stood out from her chest in utter defiance of gravity, pressing against the cloth of her bodice. Canfield could see the visible nipples atop her two immense mounds rise a foot into the air with each breath she took. Her flat belly flowed into broad, curvaceous hips and down to two incredibly long, lithe legs. Canfield blinked. Ellie half-smiled at Canfield’s inspection, gently.

"Thank you, Joann," she whispered. "I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, and Steve."

Canfield saw unshed tears in Ellie’s huge, blue-green eyes. Her newest and most unusual patient was a wonder. At over thirty feet in height Ellie Andersen was now six times the normal size of any human female. She was also lonely, frightened and desperately in need of comfort. Canfield stepped towards her and seized the hand lying across her shoulder. She observed Ellie’s eyes narrow in an effort to watch her.

"You’re my patient, honey—and I am your friend," Canfield said. Ellie echoed the smile that crossed her physician’s features. "Remember what I told you? The Man upstairs has something big in store for you. Now, don’t you worry, ignore these two idiots—" she raised her voice so she would be overheard by the two gaping orderlies—"and keep the faith. I’ll go in and see how Steven is doing."

 

"Please repeat your last," Moskowicz said into the receiver of his radio. The headache which had first manifested itself five hours ago was now raging across his temples and he rubbed at his forehead in an effort to relieve it. The mission he had been assigned had gone to hell in a handbasket. Now all he and everybody else involved could do is react to each new situation as it developed. Moskowicz had just spent the last hour explaining by radio to his superiors why he had allowed the civilian ambulance crew to take away the wounded into a heavily populated area like Columbus (they would in all likelihood have died otherwise and Moskowicz was not supposed to be in the killing business on this mission) and why he had allowed the giantess to accompany them into the town (did any of the desk-bound geniuses on the other end of the radio have any idea how he was supposed to have stopped her?). With the press short-stroking the story across the country, if not across the world (or so Moskowicz had been told, more than once) any efforts at secrecy were preposterous, and his superiors recognized that fact as well as he did. His new orders, however, were no better.

"Roger, I repeat," he said after almost five full minutes of listening. "You are requiring the complete cordoning off of the town. Am I reading you correctly? You want the whole smash?"

He listened again, his free hand in constant motion across his forehead.

"Roger. Acknowledged," he said after a moments’ pause. He drew the receiver from his ear and stared at it for a few seconds. Then, with a groan, he smashed it back onto its cradle, cracking its plastic casing. He looked around at his masked subordinates. They were standing patiently, waiting for his next order. Moskowicz stepped away from the Humvee and looked around. His watch told him it was almost five p.m. local time and the sun had set. In the deepening shadows of the evening he could see the giantess sitting patiently on top of some sheets or blankets in the parking lot of the hospital. Even from over two hundred feet away he could make out her anxious, unhappy expression as she stared at the main doors leading inside the hospital—doors she was obviously far too big to fit through. Lights were coming on in each window of the building. Moskowicz could see figures in every window that fronted onto the parking lot as patients and staff looked out at the giantess. The crews of the two news vans were training their video equipment on her, the glare of their lights increasing as the natural light diminished. Traffic along the roads that bordered the parking lot of the hospital was at a standstill. As he turned in a circle Moskowicz could see more figures standing in the windows of the residences across the street from the hospital. Two small stores and a diner immediately opposite the hospital also were lit and crowded with onlookers. Despite the efforts of three tired-looking deputies and a handful of people wearing blaze-orange vests stenciled with the caption FIRE POLICE, more and more excited, frightened people had gathered nearby, pointing and talking—no, shouting—amongst themselves. More bedlam was visible at a nearby intersection where the traffic was moving quickly and, to judge from the noise, chaotically. The locals are upset now, Moskowicz thought. Just wait until they find out what’s happening next. He spun on his heel and crooked a finger at the nearest deputy.

"Contact Sheriff Thompson," he said. "Inform him that Governor Symington has authorized martial law in all of Polk County. The Governor’s office is faxing confirmation to your sheriff right now. Effective immediately, you people take orders from me. I want one of your radios, set to a frequency so I can talk to the state police who will be arriving within the next fifteen minutes. I also need to see Thompson right away. You got that?"

The deputy nodded wordlessly. Moskowicz stumped back to his Humvee.

"Listen up, people," he growled. "Things are about to get real serious around here. Right now the Eight-Two is being recalled back into the area. They will be dropping around the town just after dark. And they’re only the beginning. We’ve been given orders to cut this municipality completely off from the rest of the county. Everything that’s here stays here, including her—" he pointed in the giantesses’ direction—"and the people that were wounded. Right now our big concern is to see that the locals stay calm. As soon as the sheriff gets here I’m going to have him tell his people to drive through the town, informing them of the state of martial law and telling them to stay in their homes. Lieutenant Cogan," he continued, turning to one subordinate, "go into the hospital. Inform the people in charge there that they are to vacate their vehicles out of the hospital parking lot now. We’re going to need the space. The rest of you, prepare to set up the radio shack again."

 

WNBC-TV

New York City, New York

WNBC television news anchor Tom Brokaw looked up from the sheaf of papers in his hands and looked into the lens of the number two studio camera. He snapped to attention in his chair as the "live" light atop the camera flashed on.

"We are continuing our coverage of the incredible events that have occurred today in North Carolina." Brokaw’s usual pleasant demeanor was replaced by a combination of anxiety and surprise and his normal, professionally-warm voice was thready and terse. "For those of you just tuning in, here’s a recap. This morning, the United States Army’s Eighty-Second Airborne Division was suddenly scrambled from their home base of Fort Bragg near Fayetteville, North Carolina, to an area just west of the sleepy municipality of Columbus. There they discovered a woman who has somehow grown into a giant. We have been given access to the signal being broadcast by a mobile news unit belonging to WWRL-TV of Asheville and we are going to show you once again the pictures they are broadcasting right now."

On the multi-monitor screen behind Brokaw an image flashed. The broadcasting camera was set across a street jammed with haphazardly parked cars. Immediately before its lens a three-story brick building stood with the name ST LUKES HOSPITAL on its façade. The camera panned slowly until it showed the parking lot adjacent to the hospital. A mass of people, some in military uniforms, others dressed in the sky-blue of protective suits, could be seen amid a scattering of vehicles illuminated by a sea of lights. The camera zoomed in on the woman sitting on her heels beside the hospital building. The harsh floodlights around her clearly illuminated only the lower half of her body to just below her full bosom. Her head and shoulders were half-hidden by shadows and the near-full darkness of the encroaching night. As the camera panned from her head to her waist one or two figures came into view, limned by the work lights set up beside her.

None of the people surrounding the woman were any taller than her elbow.

"This is no special effect," Brokaw intoned. "This is a real picture coming to us from across the street from St. Luke’s Hospital in Columbus, North Carolina. You can see soldiers dressed in their chemical-protective clothing around her there as well as representatives from the United States Army Communicable Disease Medical Center and the Centers for Disease Control. We have not been able to get our own news crews to the scene because the entire town of Columbus has been sealed off by the military from the rest of the county. We have also confirmed that martial law has been declared in all of Polk County by Governor Sonya Symington. There will be a press conference outside the Governor’s offices in Raleigh in approximately fifteen minutes and we will bring you coverage of that event live as it happens."

The image behind Brokaw flickered slightly as the broadcasting camera zoomed in and out. The giantess gestured and the figures around her scattered, then one figure walked towards her to stop by her knees. It was a middle-aged black woman, dressed in a brown leather coat. The camera zoomed in quickly. The black woman reached out and the giantess grasped her in two immense hands and lifted her up. The camera followed unsteadily until it showed the giantess holding the woman to her face.

"We hope to have sound for you shortly as well as pictures so that you can hear what is going on outside of this Saint Luke’s Hospital," Brokaw continued. "NBC correspondent Ken Bode is with our mobile unit on U. S. 74, just outside the limits of Columbus. He has a report for us—"

"Tom, we managed to contact the WWRL television camera crew right outside that hospital inside the town by cellular phone," Bode’s voice cut off Brokaw in mid-sentence. Bode suddenly appeared on the monitors standing beside a road lit by the headlights of dozens of vehicles. His appearance was disarrayed and uncoordinated. He squinted in the harsh light of the camera, one hand holding a cellular phone, the other a mike. "They tell us that we just saw was a doctor coming out to talk to the giant woman," he continued, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of car horns and other noises. The camera panned in a circle, revealing a mass of flashing lights and shadowy people blocking the road ahead of their news van. "The newscrew on the scene tell us the giant woman came from someplace near the nearby Polk County reservoir, following an ambulance which they say carried two other, normally-sized people who had apparently been injured, possibly by the woman herself. They also have told us they intercepted a broadcast of what they describe as an interview with this gigantic woman. Now, where this interview originally came from is not clear but we understand that this local news crew taped most of what they saw. We’re hoping to get a copy of that tape as soon as possible and take a look at it for ourselves. Tom, I must tell you that this is certainly the most unusual thing we have ever seen. It’s going to be hard for folks to believe that what we are showing them is not some sort of special effect from some movie but is in fact completely real—"

The cellular phone in his hand rang. He paused and put it to his ear.

"Yeah, hello," he said. He listened for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Tom, that was the WWRL-television news crew again. They’ve just informed us that the government people around the giant just seized their copy of the video they had previously, ah, intercepted, and they’ve been ordered to shut down their cameras. No—no reason was given for these orders. They—just a moment—" he pressed the cellular phone closer to his ear. "Hello? Hello? Tom, we just lost contact with the WWRL news crew."

"Ken? Ken Bode?" Brokaw said as Bode’s image looked around his spot beside the crowded highway. The camera turned away from the reporter to show a line of military vehicles racing along the side of the highway, heading towards the town.

"—Tom, we have more activity here now," Bode suddenly said. "Another convoy of military vehicles is going past us right now. There are a lot of soldiers coming up here. I haven’t seen this much activity since Desert Storm."

"Ken Bode? Ken, we may be witnessing one of the most unusual events to ever occur in our lifetimes. Has anyone given out any kind of information about who this woman is, or why she grew so big?"

"Tom, we have heard nothing at all from anyone about who this woman is or what happened to make her into a giant. So far all we have been able to learn is that she had been discovered by elements of the 82d Airborne and that somebody, possibly one of the soldiers, opened fire on her. We also have a report that there have been some deaths at the place where this woman was discovered. We need to say that we have not confirmed that any fatalities occurred or if this incredible woman was involved. Tom, we are being motioned at by North Carolina State Troopers. The troopers, as you saw previously, are in charge of the roadblocks on all the roads into the town of Columbus and, we are told, into Polk County itself—"

The screens went blank and the sound cut off. Brokaw visibly started.

"Ken? Ken Bode? We seem to have temporarily lost contact with our reporter on the scene. Right now we are going to break for a commercial then we will be right back. We will be pre-empting our scheduled programming so we may continue to bring to you the latest information on what is probably the most historic event in all of human history—certainly what we have seen tonight is unlike anything else we have ever seen, ever. This is NBC."

 

St. Luke’s Hospital

Columbus, North Carolina

"LET DOCTOR CANFIELD GO," Ellie called out.

After having the bullets removed both Ellie and the already-nervous denizens in and around the hospital were surprised as a convoy of canvas-topped army trucks come rolling into view. Dozens of soldiers had spilled out of each truck, their chemical-protective suits giving them a sinister appearance in the low light of dusk. They were promptly followed by a motley collection of vehicles, some obviously military, some not, adding to the anarchy already present around the hospital. Ellie then found herself suddenly surrounded by a phalanx of hooded and armed soldiers, who apparently been detailed to act like a living fence around her. More people, dressed in the now-all-too familiar protective suits and who announced themselves as doctors or scientists from a bewildering variety of government agencies, also had arrived just after full dark, clustering around her. To their palpable disappointment and puzzled hostility they quickly discovered that Ellie’s reservoir of patient cooperation was not what it has the first two times around.

"I’ve already told everything I know and feel and can to that Doctor Turner and the bunch of doctors and scientists when I was kidnapped and taken to the lab on that base in Texas," she had replied to presumed leader of this group of scientists after demurring to his inquiry. "I suggest you talk to them if you want any information about my condition. It hasn’t changed, except that I’m bigger than I was then. Now, what I’d like is to be left alone."

"That’s a very inconsiderate attitude to take, miss," the lead scientist had replied. "We’re here to help you and protect you."

Ellie refused to speak further. Additional uninspired but persistent efforts at persuading Ellie to be more cooperative were met with a stony silence and the gaggle eventually withdrew, leaving the circle of guards behind. Ellie had kept her vigil on the main entrance of the hospital. Without her timepiece—presumably the clock on its chain around her neck had broken at the house during the shooting—she had no idea as to how much time was going by. Then Canfield came out of the front entrance, arguing with another overdressed figure. Squinting against the glare of the lights set up in the parking lot she waved to Ellie and moved toward her. The soldiers had quickly moved to restrain her, drawing Ellie’s demand.

The officer apparently in command of her keepers took one look at Ellie’s expression and waved open a hole in the fence around her. Canfield offered a few withering observations about the officer and his subordinates as she stepped within the circle and was promptly swept up in Ellie’s hands.

Ellie felt fear grab at her throat as she looked carefully at Canfield’s expression.

"Honey, Steve is out of surgery," Canfield said softly. "He’s currently in the recovery room. Ellie, I’m sorry, but his condition is extremely critical. The next few hours are going to be very important for him. Doctor Cook, the surgeon who operated on him, is of the opinion that as soon as he is stable enough to travel he should be airlifted to a major medical center, and I am forced to agree with him. The bullet both punctured his lung and nicked his heart and he has lost a great deal of blood. There may be other complications—neurological, renal—caused by the massive blood loss and oxygen deprivation. It took too long to get him here. I’m—I’m sorry."

Ellie felt tears well up in her eyes. She blinked repeatedly and inhaled to squelch the panic rising within her.

"How—long?" she asked. Canfield looked at her tight, strained expression and deliberately misconstrued her question.

"He should begin to come out of the anesthesia within an hour."

"I want to see him."

Canfield nodded, a tired grin lighting her face. "I thought you would. I’ll go tell ‘em."

"Thank you, Joann," Ellie replied, placing Canfield carefully on her feet. Canfield nodded again and slapped at the backs of two soldiers surrounding Ellie.

"Out of my way, boys," she snarled at the invisible faces under the hoods. She strode out of the circle. Ellie could not stop the sobs that wracked her. She wiped away the tears in her eyes and resumed watching the front door.

Five minutes later a delegation trooped out the front doors of the hospital, led by an officer wearing a khaki uniform under a translucent suit and hood.

"I’m Captain Jasper Holmes, U.S. Navy. I’ve been placed in charge of the male patient’s care. I understand you want to see him? I’m afraid that’s impossible."

Ellie focused her full attention on the naval officer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Canfield slip out the doors, a furious expression on her face. Ellie shifted slightly on her heels.

"Just who are you, and why are you in charge of Steve? Dr. Canfield is his doctor."

"Doctor Canfield is no longer in charge of Mr.—Carter?—Mr. Carter’s care," Holmes replied. "I am. I’m afraid that, considering your condition, I can’t warrant any kind of risk happening to him. In his weakened condition—"

"THAT’S RIDICULOUS," Ellie said abruptly. She shook her head and lowered her voice. "Look Doctor, I am no threat to Steve. I’ve been with him since last Friday. In fact, I’ve been with a great number of people for over a week now. I’ve hurt none of them and none of them has begun to grow like I have. Now, I’d like to see my fiancé, please, before he—he—"

"Look, miss, be reasonable," Holmes replied. "We don’t know anything about your condition or what’s causing it. It’s just a precaution—"

Ellie suddenly stood upright. A few of the soldiers surrounding her were looking in her direction as she moved. One observed her motion and promptly dropped to the ground like a felled tree. Others literally jumped and began running away from her, one or two dropping their assault rifles. Holmes staggered backwards, landing square on his rear. Somebody collided with one of the worklight stands, toppling it. The huge quartz halogen lights atop its slender pole flashed brilliantly on impact with the ground, sending sparks flying. A collective gasp rose from the crowded audience of civilians which had been steadily building on the streets around the hospital despite the damp cold of the approaching night and the efforts of soldiers and state troopers to disperse them.

"JUST A PRECAUTION?" Ellie said. She saw Holmes cringe under the volume of her voice like it was a physical slap. Ellie inhaled deeply in a visible effort to restrain her temper.

"Listen carefully to me, Doctor Whatever-your-name-is," she said. "I have had enough of all of you people and your PRECAUTIONS. I want to see my Steve, NOW. Either you bring him out where I can see and touch him or I will go looking for him myself."

"Look, his condition is very serious—"

"OKAY, FINE. YOU BETTER GET EVERYONE OUT OF THIS BUILDING. I’M GOING TO START LOOKING FOR HIM MYSELF. I’LL BEGIN WITH THE ROOF AND WORK MY WAY DOWN. I WON’T STOP UNTIL I FIND HIM. YOU’VE GOT ONE MINUTE."

Holmes open-mouthed shock was almost comical on his face.

"You wouldn’t do that."

"YOU’VE GOT THIRTY SECONDS." Ellie reached out to just above her shoulder height and grasped at the overhang of the hospital’s flat roof. She tightened her grasp and pulled upwards. The sounds of breaking wood and twisting metal was loud in the silence her outburst had provoked. Holmes began waving his hands and protesting. An Army officer rushed towards her, also waving his arms. Ellie recognized Moskowicz.

"Miss—Andersen, isn’t it? Miss Andersen, please don’t do anything rash," Moskowicz said pleadingly. Ellie took one stride towards him and bent herself to see him.

"First you people shoot my family," she snapped. "Then you argue over my Steve while he’s lying on the ground dying. Now you won’t even let me see him. Thompson is right—you people are the real danger here. I WILL SEE STEVE NOW."

"Look, miss." Holmes had picked himself up off the ground and carefully checked his suit, then stepped forward to stand beside Moskowicz. "It’s a real bad idea to bring someone whose just had surgery outside here. He really needs to stay in ICU."

Ellie sighed. Her shoulders sagged. Holmes was probably right—bringing Steve outside would not be a good idea. She looked around, turning slowly. Her eye fell on the massive gate of the hospital’s delivery entrance. She looked back at the two military officers.

"What’s behind that gate there?" she said. "Bring Steve into there. It’s big enough for me to crawl through. I’ll be able to see him in there."

She watched the expressions of both military men carefully. Holmes looked as though he’d been asked to swallow a frog while Moskowicz was half-nodding in acquiescence. Moskowicz turned to the Navy Captain.

"It’s a reasonable request. The two of them were together when we found them," he muttered under his breath. Holmes appeared to gather himself to argue. He looked up at Ellie’s face, and hesitated. His shoulders sagged.

"All right," he said, nodding. "I’ll see what can be arranged."

 

Ellie sat outside the loading gate of the delivery entrance, waiting for it to open. She focused her attention on the muffled voices she could hear through the heavy steel gate.

"It should only be for a little while," a voice that sounded like Holmes’ said. "She gets her chance to see this guy, then we take him to Maryland."

"Where is she going to be taken, sir?" another, unfamiliar male voice said.

"Damned if I know. According to the CDC people she was supposed to be taken to some facility in the Utah desert." Ellie detected the sounds of squeaking wheels and faint hissing and beeping noises. "She’s so big it’d take a C-141 or a C-5 to carry her. Now this guy—watch it there!—will be in Maryland by morning—if he makes it."

Ellie felt herself beginning to go faint from holding her breath while overhearing the conversation between Holmes and the other man. She sucked in several deep breaths of air while she struggled against the feelings of utter fury and sinking hopelessness at the tone and import of what she had heard.

"Okay, the bed’s in place, the stuff is plugged in. You can open that gate."

Two loud clacks heralded the release of the gate locks. The heavy steel gate jerked in its tracks and began to rise, all too slowly. Ellie watched impatiently as it rose into its overhead box. When she gauged she had enough room to enter through the door she slipped to her hands and knees and thrust herself inside.

The delivery area was surprisingly high-ceilinged—high enough for Ellie to sit upright. More than half its space was occupied by a boxes and crates. Ellie pushed the boxes aside to form a path for herself, the wooden pallets the boxes rested on squealing echoingly on the concrete floor. Once she had a clear path she could slide herself along she looked to the far wall of the receiving area of the hospital. She saw the dull-painted door of what had to be the hospital’s freight elevator. Beside it, surrounded by a bevy of equipment, stood an occupied hospital bed. Holmes and three other men stood against the far wall. To a chorus of high-pitched curses by the three men Ellie scurried on her hands and knees to the bed until she overshadowed it and its occupant. One man neatly vaulted on top of a packing crate in an instinctive effort of escape.

"Now, go slow," Holmes said loudly, holding out his hands. His voice rose a full octave and cracked. "You’re so strong—"

Ellie ignored Holmes and focused her full attention on the occupant of the bed, choking on the despair that almost overwhelmed her. Steve lay on his back, pale and limp. He looked shrunken and frail in the massive hospital bed. His eyes were half-closed, runny and filmed. The trachea tube down his throat pulled his mouth into an ugly parody of his lopsided grin and a suction line in his nose was coated with bloody fluids. More tubes ran from IV bags hung on a stand beside the bed under the sheet that covered him to mid-chest or ran from under the sheet into other receptacles. A maze of wires snaked under the sheet to a half-dozen flashing machines whose beeping and chirping was nightmarishly loud in the cavernous room. The rhythmic hissing and bubbling of the ventilator pumping oxygen into him made his chest rise and fall mechanically, like a life-sized doll. Just above the sheet Ellie saw spatters of blood and a broad ocher-colored wash staining the skin of his chest.

"He needs to be transferred to a better facility than this place as soon as possible," Holmes suddenly said. "We are arranging to have him moved to a hospital in Maryland—"

His mouth audibly clapped shut as Ellie turned to face him fully. He found himself instinctively stepping backwards, away from her. The heel of his suit’s overshoe squeaked as it braced up against the wall behind him.

"Get out," Ellie said. Holmes suddenly appeared to break out in a cold sweat. He nodded and backed away from her towards the freight elevator, his subordinates moving with alacrity to join him.

Ellie waited until the door to the elevator closed before she turned back to Steve. She saw her breath start to fog and she realized that her means of getting inside the room was still open. She looked over her shoulder at the open gate.

"HEY, OUT THERE," she called. After a moment a masked face appeared around the corner of the door.

"Please close that gate," she said politely. "It’s getting cold in here."

The masked face did a visible double-take, then nodded. The soldier vaulted through the door and worked the controls to close the gate. With a loud squeal the gate began to drop. The soldier jumped under the gate as it closed.

Ellie turned back to Steve and lowered herself until he was in her shadow.

"S-Steve?" she said, choking. "Steve? I’m here, Steve. You’re—you’re going to be all right. Can you hear me? I’m right here. I’m going to stay with you."

Ellie bent forward and brushed her lips against him. She pushed out with one hand to clear away more boxes and leaned on her elbow, hovering over her lover’s still form. With her free hand she carefully brushed aside the sheet covering him. A broad green bandage secured by white surgical tape covered half his chest, electronic monitor contacts of the other half. Ellie gently placed her open hand on his chest and torso. His skin was cold and clammy to her feel. She began to rub his body with her open hand, using the lightest of touches.

"I’m right here, Steve," she whispered. "I’m right here beside you. I’m not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. We’re together and we’re going to stay that way. You’re going to be all right, Steve. Oh, God, please be all right—"

Ellie gulped back her sobs. A tear fell down her cheek and splashed on Steve’s forehead, dripping into his hair. Ellie rested her hand on his body. She lowered herself until she half-laid on the concrete floor beside his bed and angled her other hand so that she could smooth his hair.

"The first thing you’re going to need to do is get a proper bath when we get back home," she said softly. "I’ll join you. You’ll like that, won’t you? Then we can make our wedding plans. We’d better go to Alice Springs for our honeymoon so I can put those bikinis you got me to good use. The weather will be perfect there. Yes, you’re going to get well, and then we’ll get married and go on a real honeymoon."

Ellie felt a twitch under her hand. She lifted it and saw Steve’s fingers moving. She couldn’t help the quiver of hope that coursed through her as she focused all her attention on his movements. A sudden fluttering motion caught her attention. His eyelids fluttered, fluttered again. She felt his hand jerk under her palm. He was trying to lift his arm or hand but wasn’t able to. Ellie realized the wrap of cloth around his forearm was part of some kind of a restraint tying him down. She carefully grasped the thick nylon tie down around his arm and pulled. The sound of ripping cloth rewarded her effort and she replaced her hand back over Steve’s torso. She felt his arm begin to move under her thumb until it was free. A combination of relief and anxiety suffused her as Steve managed to raise his arm and lay it over her hand—he was so weak. She saw his mouth begin to move around the ventilation tube as if he were trying to form words.

"Shhh, now," she whispered to him. "It’s all right, Steve. I’m here, lover."

She kissed him again, gently, carefully. She felt his eyelids flutter again under her lips.

"You’re going to be all right, Steve," she whispered. "Shhh. You need to rest. I’m going to stay right beside you. We’re going home soon. Quiet, now."

A pressure across the top of her hand made her heart leap. Steve was squeezing her with his arm. Ellie gulped and felt a real smile cross her face for the first time since the shooting.

"You sleep now, Steve. I’m going to stay right beside you. I’ll be with you from now on."

Ellie blinked, showering Steve with more tears. She brushed away the droplets that landed on his face and neck while gently rubbing his upper chest with the fingertips of her other hand. She felt him squeeze her hand again, more weakly this time. Anxiety won against her sense of hope and she felt a tightness in her chest grow until she thought her own heart would stop. She gulped and breathed deeply to dispel her fear for him.

"Shhh, now," she murmured, kissing him again. "You need to rest."

Ellie saw that a little color had returned to his skin. Her outstretched hand was acting like a blanket, warming him. One of her tears splashed into his eyes and they fluttered again. Then they opened, blinking once, twice, three times. His mouth grimaced around the thick ventilator tube twisting it to one side.

"It’s all right, Steve," Ellie whispered softly. She kissed him again. "You need to rest. You’re a fast healer, remember? You’re going to be all right."

 

Canfield was in the process of stepping into the freight elevator when she found herself surrounded by a press of bodies. Holmes and the two specially-trained corpsmen flown in from Bethesda were the first to join her, followed by a squad of fully-armed soldiers. The bulk of their protective suits quickly filled the spacious elevator car to capacity.

"Never in my life…" she began. Holmes turned a hard expression upon her.

"Doctor Canfield, you surprise me," he replied. "You act as if gigantic people roamed this town on a daily basis. Whatever caused that woman to grow so big needs to be thoroughly investigated and any avenues of prevention determined and prepared. It is obvious that she is a danger to herself and to others. In my opinion it was a big mistake to allow her to see this man from the beginning. We’re going to get an evac chopper here soon to take him to the CIPCD within the hour. The woman should have been quarantined and then transported to the facility at China Bravo. It’s not just this town I’m worried about, Doctor, but the whole country. There are real dangers here and it is about time you recognized them."

Canfield turned herself fully so she could face the flushed, earnest Navy physician. She seemed to consider his words for a moment, then she nodded as if she had come to a decision.

"Doctor Holmes," she said in her sharpest, most businesslike tone, "as you may have noticed I’m a black woman who has spent most of her life in North Carolina. I spent eight years earning my medical diploma at Harvard and another four years for my Ph.D. I have been a Board-certified doctor for over ten years and the administrator of a hospital for two. I have made life-and-death decisions for tiny infants and eighty-year olds. I have even experienced racism. But I have never met such a bunch of ding-dongs like all of you people in my entire life as I have met on this one day."

Holmes grew even redder at Canfield’s calm pronouncement. He was gathering himself to argue when the elevator doors opened. His eyes darted to the opening and he gasped. Canfield imitated him but found her view blocked by the broad backs of two soldiers. She promptly slapped at them.

"Out of my way, heroes," she snapped. The soldiers seemed frozen in place. She grabbed the sleeves of their oversuits and shoved them aside, then elbowed her way between them and the soldiers in front of them. The foremost soldier, the sergeant commanding the squad, was cursing fervently and incoherently under his breath. She jabbed him in the kidney to get his attention then pushed him aside and strode through then open door of the elevator.

"OH, JOANN, THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE," Ellie cried out. She was sitting on the bare concrete floor of the delivery-storeroom, her off-white clothing messed by dust and stains. One of her hands rested atop Steve, whose free arm was waving feebly at his face. Ellie’s expression was strained, almost panic-stricken. Canfield hastily made her way to Steve’s bedside.

"I was just smoothing his hair when he suddenly began to do this," Ellie began. "I didn’t touch any of these things around him or move or touch anything on him—"

"It’s all right, Ellie," Canfield said as she shook her head to recover from being half-deafened by Ellie’s cry. She could hear tiny mewling noises coming from Steve as he continued to wave his free arm. Canfield saw his other arm jerking against its restraint. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes were rolling in his head.

"WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?" Ellie asked plaintively. ‘PLEASE TELL ME!"

Canfield squinted against the loudness of Ellie’s voice.

"Ellie, move your hand," she directed. Ellie lifted her hand off Steve’s chest. Canfield placed her hand on him and felt the motion of his ribs. She reached up and began pulling the surgical tape holding the ventilator tube from around Steve’s jaw.

"What are you doing?" she heard Holmes’ voice call out. "He’s hardly out of surgery—"

"He’s fighting the ventilator, you fool," she replied sharply. Dodging Steve’s own efforts, she freed the ventilator tube and began to draw it up out of Steve’s mouth. Steve promptly began gagging and choking, then coughed suddenly. With an audible pop the end of the tube came free, still hissing. Canfield dropped it on the bedsheet and bent over to listen carefully to Steve’s chest. Steve coughed twice more. His thrashing motions stopped. His hand began to wave back and forth across his chest, as if searching.

Canfield straightened and looked up at Ellie. Ellie was bent over Steve, her hands over her mouth. Canfield's eyes narrowed, and then a small, wondering smile creased her face.

"He’s breathing on his own," she announced. She looked down at Steve, then back up at Ellie. Canfield gave off a half-strangled chuckle, and nodded to herself.

"He—he’s going to be all right?" Ellie asked. Canfield nodded.

"Yes," she replied.

"What the hell—" Canfield heard Holmes say behind her. "How is it possible—"

Holmes cautiously moved to stand beside Canfield. He ducked as Ellie’s hand came down to rest on Steve’s chest again. Steve coughed again. His face twisted in pain as he swallowed. Then his eyes opened, blinked once, and focused on the face ten feet above him. Canfield followed his gaze and her breath caught in her throat. Ellie’s face, framed by hair not contained by her braid, was radiant with hope and joy. Her lips were curved into a tremendous smile. Canfield almost laughed. The hissing of the ventilator died away as she switched it off. Holmes jumped backwards as Ellie brought her face down until it was only a foot or so from Steve’s. Steve swallowed again and gagged. His free hand reached out unsteadily until it touched Ellie’s face.

"Ellie?" he croaked. Ellie began to cry and laugh at the same time.

"It’s me, Steve," she whispered, turning her face so she could kiss his outstretched hand. "I’m right here. You rest now. I’ll stay right here beside you. Shhh, now. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not leaving you."

Steve closed his eyes. His free hand dropped to rest on top of hers. She again caressed his chest and shoulders with her fingertips as Steve turned his head and promptly fell asleep. Canfield looked up at Ellie. Her joyous expression seemed to brighten the entire room.

"You certainly are good medicine, Ellie," Canfield said softly. "In more ways than one, I think. You stay right beside him, now. I’ll see what I can do to make arrangements for you here. These soldier boys—" she half-turned and raised her voice, startling the bemused Holmes who had found himself sitting on his rear end for the second time—"will be able to put something together for you, either in here or outside, I’m sure. You heroes are going to help, aren’t you?"

Holmes gaped at Canfield, and nodded wordlessly.

"In fact, they’re going to start putting things like a necessary together for you right now, aren’t they?"

Holmes’ mouth dropped open even more as the import of what Canfield said dawned on him. He nodded again, coloring unaccountably. Canfield snorted.

"Some doctor," she quipped. "You folks better get started now. Yes, you scaredy-cats go take care of Ellie’s needs and I’ll take care of Steve’s."

 

Canfield waited until Holmes and his entourage had disappeared behind the closed elevator door before she turned back to look at Ellie’s hand. She held out her hands in a measuring way, then looked up at Ellie.

"Ellie, honey, has something happened to you?" she asked.

Ellie shifted slightly and looked down at herself for a moment. Then she nodded.

"I think so, Joann," she replied softly. As if on cue the expansion panels across the bodice of her clothing suddenly popped free on their own. A cascade of fresh cloth draped down Ellie’s front, freeing up more space to grow. Ellie swallowed and nodded again.

"My growing—I think it’s happening faster, now," she said.

Growth Encounter Part 12