Eric Flint: Time spike

Jenny sped up. "The nurses are never hurt," Barbara said, panting a little as she worked at staying up with Jenny. "We're the ones who give them their pills and make their appointments with the doctors.

They're nice to us. Afraid to get us mad. Afraid we won't get them what they want." Jenny looked down the dark side street they were passing. The reassurances that everything was safe scared her. She could tell by the nurse's tone of voice, Barbara's hurry to reach the guards had less to do with the injured man and more to do with her wanting to be surrounded by guards with guns. Jenny increased her speed. Experience had taught her that anything that has to be said over and over is usually not true. They rounded the next corner and Jenny came to a complete stop. There were about a dozen C.O.'s standing near a man lying on the ground, his head on a woman's lap.

The woman was crying. A prisoner, a deadprisoner, lay just a few inches away. There were another three prisoners crumpled on the ground several yards away, obviously dead. A guard was kneeling next to one of them. She took a breath of the morning air; it was warm, filled with moisture. Then she noticed the sun was rising. Surprised, she stumbled, caught herself, then kept moving toward the man dressed in blue and black. Her patient. The other man, the one checking the prisoners, had held her attention for a little longer than she liked.

Even in the dim light she could see his face. It stirred up a set of emotions she still wasn't sure how she felt about. He was Captain Andy Blacklock. She knew his name even though they'd never spoken. She'd seen him leaving the facility as she was arriving every morning of her orientation. He was tall and thickly built. His complexion was ruddy and his hair-color a light brown. And even though he looked nothing like her husband Matt, she couldn't deny the attraction. That attraction had bothered her at first. After a couple of mornings, she found herself looking forward to it. Matt had been dead for almost three years. It felt good just knowing she could still feel. She took a quick glance at her patient, and forgot about the captain. The guard had been stabbed in the groin area, just centimeters from the femoral artery. She knew the artery had been missed because he was still alive. That was the good news. The bad news was, he had lost a lot of blood. Jenny patted the woman holding the man on her lap, then gently lifted the young man's head so she could move and the wounded man could be laid flat. She then applied a pressure bandage and motioned for Barbara to apply additional pressure while she checked his vitals.

His blood pressure was low, 108/58. That wasn't good, but it wasn't bad enough to cause a stroke or throw him into shock. His pulse was 92, weak, and irregular. But his Sat level was 93 and that meant his blood carried enough oxygen to do its job. He would live. She set the oxygen level to the 2 lpm. mark. It wasn't much, just enough to help him out a little. He looked young and healthy, but you never knew. A conservative approach would be better. She slipped the nasal cannula in place and made a mental note to apply a little K-Y jelly to his nose when they got back to the infirmary. Using her penlight she checked his eyes. PEARL. The pupils were equal and reactive to light.

No brain injury. "What's your name?" "Frank," the woman answered for him. "Shh. Let him answer. Frank, what's your last name?" "Nickerson," he whispered. Jenny looked at the woman and she nodded. She stroked the man's forehead. His brown skin looked a little dusky, but it was warm and dry. "Where are you?" Frank tried to sit up and she gently held him in place. "Can you tell me where you are?" "Yeah. Alexander Correctional Center. And today is Monday." He waved weakly toward the sky. "Maybe Tuesday. And I don't know who won the ball game, since I didn't get to watch the ending. I can tell you who I rooted for, though." He attempted a smile. Oriented to person, place and time.

Good. "I guess if you can be all that cocky, you'll live. Let's get you to the infirmary so I can patch you up a little before we ship you." She motioned for the guards to bring the gurney over. "Keep him as flat as you can when you lift him. Barbara and I will keep the leg straight and pressure on the wound." Four guards lifted the man in one smooth move, placing him dead center of the cart. The move was practiced. She had seen experienced E.M.T.'s who couldn't do as well.

These guys had had a lot of experience doing this. She steadied her breathing. "Barbara, take him to the infirmary. I'll check the prisoners." Barbara nodded and followed the guards with the gurney.

The LPN from the afternoon shift had already checked the inmates lying inside the building and the one next to Frank Nickerson, so Jenny turned to the dead men lying on the street beneath the light. Dressed in prison issue, they were in the exact same position she had seen them when she first arrived. But she had to take their vitals. That was the only way to know for sure. "There's nothing you can do for them," Captain Blacklock said as she approached. "They're dead." "I know, but I have to check." She had put the electronic equipment on the gurney and sent it back to the infirmary. It was useless for this job. It would do nothing but beep and flash error over and over, giving her no reading. This had to be done the old fashioned way. So she started with the closest man's pulse. For a full minute she counted. Nothing. Respirations nothing. She then pulled out a manual sphygmomanometer and took his blood pressure. Again nothing. She thought about taking his temperature and decided to wait another fifteen minutes or so. He wasn't exactly warm, but he wasn't cold. Not yet. She repeated the procedure over and over until all three men had been checked. "What am I supposed to do with the bodies? The phones are down so I can't call the hospital or morgue to have them picked up." Blacklock shrugged. "We'll put them in with Lowry for tonight.

I'll send a few guards after gurneys for transport and have them load them into body bags for you." "Thanks." The captain nodded, the gesture seeming calm and relaxed. That was part of Blacklock's reputation, from what Jenny had heard. One of those people who never lost their composure, no matter what they might be feeling inside.

Under the circumstances, that was a quality that would be invaluable to all of them. It also made the man particularly attractive to her-and would have, no matter the circumstances. Despite the lack of physical resemblance, her husband had been the same way under pressure. It had been one of the things about Matt that Jenny had treasured. Trying to tear her mind away from these completely inappropriate matters, she almost asked how many body bags the prison kept on hand. Fortunately, she kept the inane question unspoken.

Instead, she said, "Things don't feel right." "I know." "It's the barometric pressure. It feels sky high. And things are damp. Bone-deep damp. You get a combination like that and anyone planning to stroke, will. Same way for having a baby." "Baby?" "Yes. If the pressure goes up enough, it can cause a woman close to her due date to go into labor. It can also cause a miscarriage, if she's early on." "Oh, wonderful." Blacklock turned to Hulbert-the sharpshooter who'd just returned from his perch on the roof of David-house. "Locate Kathleen.

I don't want her by herself until the end of shift." Hulbert nodded.

Blacklock turned back to Jenny. "Is there anything we can do to stop the barometric pressure from causing a problem?" She shook her head.

Despite his outward calm, she could sense that the man was upset. The shooting and killing hadn't ruffled him, but mention of a baby being born did. Well, that was one awkward question she wouldn't have to figure out how to ask somebody. He was married. And his wife's name was Kathleen. Jenny was met at the infirmary's outer door by Barbara Ray. "Lylah and I cleaned and stitched Nickerson. It was deep, but he's all right." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper and she motioned to Jenny's nametag, which was imprinted with the initials N.P. "You're a nurse practitioner?" Jenny nodded. "Brown'snot all right. She's hemorrhaging. We're going to lose her." Jenny ran down the hall to the examination room the wounded correctional officer was in. Coming through the door to the small cubical, she glanced at the machine giving a continuous reading of several vital signs. Elaine Brown's blood pressure was down; her pulse was up. Her Sat level was an 81. Jenny knew by looking, the woman's skin would be cold and clammy. She was almost the same color as ash and her lips were black and purple. Years of training and experience made her forget she was the new kid on the block. "Heat me a blanket," she said. She looked around the room. She couldn't remember where everything was stored.