Mulehorn117
Community Member
Hey guys we haven't been able to keep up with all of the posts but here is a new Agent Ground Zero Post! Check out our website for more or these stories!
The air was stale and carried the scent of death. A small camp stove hissed in the corner. The harsh wind howled outside the paper-thin windows and the seemingly cardboard walls. The sunlight shone through the window at his back, but its warmth was so slight that it seemed even the sun wanted nothing more than to abandon this Godforsaken place.
The tattered wooden chair creaked as he leaned toward her bedside. He ran his trembling fingers through her oily blonde hair and paused as he touched her cheek. So cold. So pale.
“How many days has it been? How many—” He shook his head blinking back tears, “It doesn’t matter…”
Medical supplies were strewn about the floor at his feet. Among them was an IV bag with traces of blood still inside.
The virus had progressed so quickly; there just wasn’t enough time. Even if there had been, he knew it wouldn’t help.
No. Help was what the pills were for. Help was what the shots were for. HELP was what the goddamn PRAYERS were for!
He stood up filled with rage, slamming the chair to the ground behind him. “She was six! SIX!” he shouted pointing his finger up at the ceiling. “And why not me? Huh?! WHY?!” He fell to his knees again at her bedside and laid his forehead on her cold, scab-covered arm and wept.
*Footsteps in the hallway
*Voices
*Three—no, four assailants
He could feel his training attempting to take over as the adrenaline flooded his veins.
“Must’ve heard me shouting,” he muttered as he looked back at the frail shell of his daughter. He gripped her hand and felt a wave of warmth and peace wash over him.
“See you soon,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes.
The door kicked in and the four men flooded the small apartment. They moved across the room with incredible speed and precision checking corners and closing blinds. Not shooting. ‘Why weren’t they shooting?’
“Dr. Nash,” one of the men called as the others set up positions around the room. “Sir, we have wounded. Why haven’t you responded to our hails over the radio?!”
Nash looked up at the man from his daughter’s bedside, defeat evident in his eyes. There was a glowing orange circle at the wrist and shoulder of each agent. He pulled his disheveled hair out of his face and exposed his own watch with an identical glowing circle.
“I learned to tune them out, Agent. More… important things on my mind,” Nash quipped glancing down at the bed.
A younger agent in the corner of the room glanced up from his rifle in disbelief, “More important than—”
“Watch it, boy,” the lead agent cautioned.
“No! This guy thinks he’s the only who lost someone?!”
“I said watch it!”
Nash’s mind raced, infuriated by this small-minded boy.
‘This little maggot thinks he knows something? He has no idea. He wasn’t at the hospital as the sick masses came pouring in. He didn’t clean countless oozing sores or watch patients in the lobby vomiting on each other. He didn’t lose count of how many children, mothers, fathers, grandparents, people who are LOVED by somebody else that he pronounced dead that day.
HE didn’t stay to help just one more patient before he finally remembered his own damn kid…’
He wanted so badly to loose his tongue on this young agent, but guilt gripped his heart and he stayed silent.
Still looking down at his daughter, Nash could feel the judging eyes of the four agents on his back. He touched her arm again craving that warm peace that just moments before had given him respite.
Nothing.
“Sir?” the lead agent pressed, “we have men and women that need you now.”
Nash let out an exhausted sigh and hung his head for a moment.
“I guess ‘soon’ will have to wait. I’m sorry…” he whispered before turning to pick up his pack.
“If I get shot, you let me die. You hear me?” Nash barked sternly at the lead agent before grabbing his carbine and heading for the door.
“All due respect, sir, I’d shoot you myself, but we’ve got a city to save.”
The air was stale and carried the scent of death. A small camp stove hissed in the corner. The harsh wind howled outside the paper-thin windows and the seemingly cardboard walls. The sunlight shone through the window at his back, but its warmth was so slight that it seemed even the sun wanted nothing more than to abandon this Godforsaken place.
The tattered wooden chair creaked as he leaned toward her bedside. He ran his trembling fingers through her oily blonde hair and paused as he touched her cheek. So cold. So pale.
“How many days has it been? How many—” He shook his head blinking back tears, “It doesn’t matter…”
Medical supplies were strewn about the floor at his feet. Among them was an IV bag with traces of blood still inside.
The virus had progressed so quickly; there just wasn’t enough time. Even if there had been, he knew it wouldn’t help.
No. Help was what the pills were for. Help was what the shots were for. HELP was what the goddamn PRAYERS were for!
He stood up filled with rage, slamming the chair to the ground behind him. “She was six! SIX!” he shouted pointing his finger up at the ceiling. “And why not me? Huh?! WHY?!” He fell to his knees again at her bedside and laid his forehead on her cold, scab-covered arm and wept.
*Footsteps in the hallway
*Voices
*Three—no, four assailants
He could feel his training attempting to take over as the adrenaline flooded his veins.
“Must’ve heard me shouting,” he muttered as he looked back at the frail shell of his daughter. He gripped her hand and felt a wave of warmth and peace wash over him.
“See you soon,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes.
The door kicked in and the four men flooded the small apartment. They moved across the room with incredible speed and precision checking corners and closing blinds. Not shooting. ‘Why weren’t they shooting?’
“Dr. Nash,” one of the men called as the others set up positions around the room. “Sir, we have wounded. Why haven’t you responded to our hails over the radio?!”
Nash looked up at the man from his daughter’s bedside, defeat evident in his eyes. There was a glowing orange circle at the wrist and shoulder of each agent. He pulled his disheveled hair out of his face and exposed his own watch with an identical glowing circle.
“I learned to tune them out, Agent. More… important things on my mind,” Nash quipped glancing down at the bed.
A younger agent in the corner of the room glanced up from his rifle in disbelief, “More important than—”
“Watch it, boy,” the lead agent cautioned.
“No! This guy thinks he’s the only who lost someone?!”
“I said watch it!”
Nash’s mind raced, infuriated by this small-minded boy.
‘This little maggot thinks he knows something? He has no idea. He wasn’t at the hospital as the sick masses came pouring in. He didn’t clean countless oozing sores or watch patients in the lobby vomiting on each other. He didn’t lose count of how many children, mothers, fathers, grandparents, people who are LOVED by somebody else that he pronounced dead that day.
HE didn’t stay to help just one more patient before he finally remembered his own damn kid…’
He wanted so badly to loose his tongue on this young agent, but guilt gripped his heart and he stayed silent.
Still looking down at his daughter, Nash could feel the judging eyes of the four agents on his back. He touched her arm again craving that warm peace that just moments before had given him respite.
Nothing.
“Sir?” the lead agent pressed, “we have men and women that need you now.”
Nash let out an exhausted sigh and hung his head for a moment.
“I guess ‘soon’ will have to wait. I’m sorry…” he whispered before turning to pick up his pack.
“If I get shot, you let me die. You hear me?” Nash barked sternly at the lead agent before grabbing his carbine and heading for the door.
“All due respect, sir, I’d shoot you myself, but we’ve got a city to save.”
