Cataclysm, Pt 7

It doesn't take long until the three of you make it to the urgent care clinic. And as your father had mentioned, it's only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. Thankfully so.

By the time you get there, your Dad has become paler, and stumbles around a bit as he walks. It's clear that he's lost too much blood.

You go to support him, but he raises his palm at you, as though to tell you, "I can handle it."

The clinic itself is part of a strip mall, half of which has been broken apart by a cluster of crystals protruding through it. Some of the shops have been reduced to nothing more than a pile of rubble, unsold goods, and dead shoppers.

Thankfully, the clinic appears to mostly still be in one piece, though its front door frames have been wrenched wide open and most of its glass front has been smashed to pieces. The lights are certainly on, but you don't see any activity happening inside. Of course, all you can see right now is the front waiting room.

Who knows what's happening in the back rooms… Your heart thumps lightly at the thought.

"Let's get in there," says Kaja. "We oughta check if there's a doctor who can help us. And if not, we can at least grab some medical supplies."

"Wait, what if there's someone or something in there already?" you say. "Like one of those insect things?"

Your Dad draws his Beretta from his holster and flips the safety off, but keeps it at the low ready.

"Good thing I got this," he says.

"It's not gonna help," you retort. "Bullet's too small to punch through its armor."

"How'd you know? Did'ja try it already?"

"It might, but let's not test it," says Kaja. "Besides, just having this thing around keeps those things away from us. I think it's emitting some kind of repellant? Something like that anyway. So probably just having it here will keep 'em away."

She maneuvers the massive blade ahead of her, then embeds it into the parking area just outside the clinic. It makes an incredibly satisfying sound as it pierces into the asphalt. Not only that, but you can practically hear its infinite edge slicing apart the gravel and substrate beneath.

It soothes you.

"Hey, try picking up some broken glass," you suggest. "Could use those as mini-blades, maybe?"

"Alright, yeah. Good idea."

Kaja reaches out with a hand, then telekinetically picks up a few shards of glass. You can see her face strain and her fingers twitch as she attempts to control multiple pieces. Clearly, maneuvering multiple things at once is harder than a single one, size be damned.

But after a few moments of practice, she's able to move them around with some proficiency. She's able to swish them around in the air quickly and relatively accurately.

"I could spend all day practicing this," she says. "But we've gotta get that wound patched up asap. Let's hope we don't run into anything at all, though. You two stay behind me, alright?"

Kaja's boots make crunching noises as she enters the clinic, stepping on the broken glass shards along the way. You enter a few steps behind her, and your Dad a few steps behind you.

You can feel the tenseness in the air, shared between the three of you. Although to be fair, you're the most tense of everyone. You can barely feel Kaja's anxiety as she slowly and carefully plods forward, while your Dad seems to place all his faith in his sidearm.

Then again, what's new, right? Your default state is to be a ball of anxiety, and not even the end of the world can change that about you. Or, perhaps, it has made you even worse.

You're betting on worse.

The interior of the clinic's front room is pretty basic and standard, as far as clinic front rooms go. It's a relatively spacious area with a few rows of chairs in the waiting area. Most of them have toppled over, or broken, or even stolen.

Magazines, paper cups, and all manner of detritus is scattered on the floor.

At the far end of the room is a secure counter built into the wall, which is usually where a nurse receptionist would welcome incoming patients. Of course, it's empty at the moment.

Behind the counter is a massive shelving unit that contains what looks like patient records. It's filled to the brim, and practically spilling over.

What strikes you as odd is there's no dead people in here, which is a distinct contrast from the rest of the city. Everywhere you've been has had corpses. At least until now. You do see a few streaks of mostly-dried blood that lead outside.

Whether that means someone was wounded in here and left of their own volition, or dragged out, you have no clue. But at least they don't lead inward.

Kaja heads to one of the doors flanking the nurse receptionist's counter - a sign on its face reads "No Entry" - and tries the handle with a jiggle.

"Locked," she whispers.

She then goes to the other door and attempts the same thing. But it's clear that it too is locked.

"I can break 'em, or try to pick 'em," your Dad offers, but Kaja shakes her head in response.

"I'll just hop the counter," she replies. "Rather not make a lotta noise in here. Don't wanna attract attention to us. Besides, we don't want you to strain yourself even more."

Kaja leans over the counter and looks around for a moment, just in case. Then she sits on it, spins in place, then hops off on the other side. She beckons for the both of you to follow before she heads towards the end of the large shelving unit and turns towards the rear section of the front office.

Just as you fumble over the counter, you hear the words, "Stop right there!"

You're immediately consumed by the need to run over to Kaja, but she urges you to stop with a mere gesture. She's looking further into the front office, which you can't see thanks to the large shelving unit.

Even though you can't see, you still get a sense for what's back there. Besides the person telling Kaja to stop, you can hear faint breathing behind him. At least two more people. Maybe three or four. You can't tell exactly - maybe there's even more stuff between them and this guy up front.

And judging from how the voice of the guy up front is echoing around, he's likely behind something - a desk maybe. Or more shelves.

More than that, you can smell a faint trace of blood - you can almost taste its copperyness on your tongue. Then again, you're in a clinic - they should smell like this.

"Sorry to barge in," Kaja says. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We just have someone who is hurt that needs help, alright? So please put the gun down."

"Gun ain't coming down," demands the voice. "But tell me: hurt how?"

"Knocked his head, split it a bit, bleeding a lot."

"Is it just you two?"

"Three."

"Alright. Show yourselves! Quick! Hands where I can see."

Kaja gestures for you to join her, so you step out from behind the shelving unit. Your Dad joins you moments later, after a few grunts and groans from climbing the counter.

And the back room is as you visualized earlier, to some degree. Most of the furniture and equipment in the room has been moved to one side of the room and piled together to make a kind of barrier. Peeking through one of a few open sections of the barrier is what appears to be an orderly, still wearing his scrubs.

In his hands looks to be a mean-looking shotgun. Of course, the business end of it is pointed at the three of you.

"Can you help us?" you say. "'Coz if not, then we'll just be going."

The orderly grimaces as he looks your Dad up and down, particularly at the bandage around his head.

"Who did the wrap?" he asks. "It's kinda sloppy. Blood's already blotting the gauze."

"I did," Kaja replies. "I barely know first aid, kinda why we're here in the first place. So can you help? If you can't then we need to go find a place where we can get him fixed up."

The orderly exhales loudly, then pulls his shotgun aside, which immediately alleviates much of your anxiety. You can practically feel it diffusing into the air around you.

"Alright, fine, come around here," he says with a gesture.

The three of you walk towards him, or rather around the makeshift barrier to where he's standing. At the same time, he continues speaking to you.

"We don't got a doctor anymore, but we do got a couple nurse practitioners who can help," he continues. "At least, for something like lacerations like what your pops got. Yeah, 'course we'll help. It's what we do. But if you do anything sketch at all - I'm gonna come at you with a vengeance. And I ain't the only one, alright?"

It seems to you that he has said that phrase a few times now. It's not that it seems practiced, more like he's in the process of practicing it.

"Thank you," Kaja replies.

You smile inwardly as you realize that she always knows what to say. She always has. If that was you, you would have been extra defensive, maybe even frantically so.

Good thing you didn't say anything, or you might have ruined the tentative truce.

He ushers you three through the secure door next to him, which he opens with a few keypresses on the codelock pad.

Behind there is an open clinic floor where a number of exam beds line three of the four walls. They're separated by privacy curtains, though all are drawn back so everything is visible. Along the fourth wall is a series of cabinets and counters and drawers, each of which holds all sorts of medical supplies, from gauze to meds to tools.

A door in the middle of that wall leads out to the rest of the clinic.

But most importantly, there are a number of people here, about five of whom are regular people just like you. Well, maybe not you - you've never thought of yourself as regular. More like irregular. All of them have bumps and scratches in varying degrees, some to the point of bleeding. One has a very clearly broken arm.

He's being looked over by an orderly, who's doing her best to keep him as calm as possible. One of the nurses joins her moments later and administers what appears to be local painkillers.

The other nurse comes up to your Dad soon after and leads him towards one of the beds.

"That's not looking so great," she says. "Let's get you over here so we can get a better look. Sam. Sam! Can you give Ms. Janelle over there 250 milligrams of ibuprofen and 50 milligrams of tramadol? Thanks."

While she gives one of her orderlies instructions, she carefully lays your father down on the bed and unwraps his bandages. You watch with interest as she opens it up and examines the wound. She then gets to work cleaning and redressing it as quickly as she can.

"Hey, you two," says an orderly. "We gotta keep this space clear so we can work. So come follow me."

You and Kaja quickly follow after one of the other orderlies, who leads you out to what seems to be a hallway. Opposite the clinic floor is an open double door that leads straight into the staff's break room. There, one other orderly is seated at a table with his head back and eyes closed, clearly taking a nap. Or at the very least, doing his best to try to.

Also seated at the table are a couple of other people - civilians just like you. They seem to be having an incredibly quiet conversation between the two of them. You can just barely hear them talk. A third is up by the coffee machine, pouring himself another cup.

"Feel free to sit tight in here for a while," says your orderly escort. "We got some food and drink, but try not to empty us out, alright?"

You and Kaja greet everyone in the room in a general sense as the orderly who escorted you there heads back to work on the clinic floor. Everyone else acknowledges the both of you through grunts and nods.

And something strikes you as incredibly odd about the pair seated at the table. At first you believe they're having a hushed conversation. But it dawns on you that their mouths aren't moving at all. No sounds are actually coming from them.

No, what you're hearing is the conversation they're having through their minds.