The Wyrms of &alon

In fiction, a person coming out of a persistent vegetative state tends to get portrayed as a joyous event—a return to life and love; a resurrection. Unfortunately, as was often the case, the reality fell short of most writers’ expectations. Rehabilitation was difficult. They had to endure a full regimen of physical therapy just to regain a semblance of basic motor control. The process was long, arduous, and belittling. When a person returned to life, they arrived in musculoskeletal infancy, diapers included. For this and many other reasons, on the rare occasion we had an awakening, we kept the patient in Quiet Ward. The Ward had a physical therapy module of its own, and as humiliating as the walk back to normality often was, what awaited the patients and their caretakers at the other end was a true miracle. It was the reason people like Yuth Costran could bear to work in the Quiet Ward. Returning the sleepers to the waking world swept away the heartache like the sky washed clean by the rain.

As I stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to the double doors that marked the start of the Quiet Ward’s, Yuth’s words echoed in my mind.

Letty threw the physical therapist against the wall. She didn’t lift a finger. It just… happened, like magic.

The echo stuck to my thoughts like a fly on the wall throughout the entire doffing-donning process as I entered the Quiet Ward.

“How do you think it happened?” Heggy asked, grabbing the replacement PPE gown and gloves from the niche in the wall. “Letty’s infection, I mean.”

After my videophone call with Merritt had turned into a waking nightmare, I’d resolved not to face Letty on my own. I only went down to the Quiet Ward once I’d gotten the cavalry to come with me, and what better cavalry to have than the one-woman army otherwise known as Dr. Heggy Marteneiss?

When I’d asked Dr. Marteneiss to come, she’d replied with, “I’ll be there; lemme get myself a gun, first.” I didn’t know whether she’d been joking or not, nor did I have any intention of asking her about it. I hoped I wouldn’t need to find out.

“Are you certain she’s infected?” I asked. I slipped the new, clean plastic sleeve around my console.

Heggy glared at me. “Miss Kathaldri slammed an orderly against the wall just by gesturing towards ‘em. That’s psychokinesis, ergo, she’s gotta be a Type Two case.”

“But what if it’s something else?” I asked. “What if you don’t need to be a Type Two to have psychokinesis?”

Dr. Marteneiss flattened her brow. “Genneth, you’re the one who called me and told me Nurse Costran told you that Letty was now packin’ psychokinesis.”

I scratched the back of my head and fidgeted with my bowtie before I began donning my fresh PPE gown. “Yeah, but…” I looked Heggy in the eyes. “I already told you about what just happened with Kurt. Merritt was taking bites out of a blanket. I’m not sure what to expect anymore. I figured I better start opening my mind or risk getting caught off guard when something crazy happens.”

Heggy nodded in approval. “A noble, futile effort.”

We finished the garb-changing tedium and stepped into the main hallway of the Quiet Ward. Traffic was scant, though that was normal for the place. Even so, even if you didn’t know where Letty’s room was, you could figure it out just by watching how the traffic of beds, orderlies, and supplies moved around the door to Ms. Kathaldri’s room like water around gutter blockage. People kept a wide berth and their mouths shut.

Heggy waved hello to Nurse Costran. “Well, what’s the status?”

Yuth glanced warily at Letty’s door. “I don’t know,” she whispered, “and I don’t want to know.” She sat down in the chair behind the Quiet Ward’s reception desk and rubbed her thighs, pressing down on her PPE gown and the skirt beneath it. “I’ve been up and about all day. I think my legs are going numb.”

“Sounds bad,” I said.

Nurse Costran grimaced. “Every time any of the staff try to go in, that witch starts shrieking like a banshee. It’s been a non-stop horror show. The hallway lights flicker. The lamps shake. Sometimes, I think I can even hear the walls groan.”

Heggy and I responded at exactly the same time.

“What makes you think he’ll—”

“What makes you think I’ll—”

—Both women turned to me.

I cleared my throat and looked Yuth in the eyes. “What are we supposed to do?” I asked. “What does Director Hobwell expect of us?”

“You brought the sedative, didn’t you, Genneth?” Heggy asked me.

I pursed my lips. “Well, yes…” I padded my hand on my breast-pocket, feeling the contour of the syringe stored within. “But that’s just a stop-gap measure. Sedatives knock-out people, not their troubles.”

Sighing, Yuth rolled her eyes and shook her head, crossing her arms atop the reception desk. “Ms. Kathaldri says she doesn’t want to be pitied by a bunch of niknaks.” Yuth winced in disgust. “I damn sure she’s only saying that for the added insult.”

The racial epithet drew more than a couple of stares from the other nurses and orderlies on call in the Quiet Ward.

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Talk about rubbing salt in the wound…”

Yuth snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Hatred had a flair for irony. In a place as large as West Elpeck Medical, it was inevitable that folks would start arguing over lists of rankings, such as “best view”, “worst doors”, “ugliest painting”, and “worst place to work”. When it came to the worst place to work, the children’s cancer ward was a perennial front-runner. But if you asked me, the Quiet Ward won that specious honor, no contest; the proof was in the paperwork. No WeElMed division had more difficulty recruiting employees than the Quiet Ward. Of those brave few who did take up that grave responsibility, they were disproportionately skewed toward being of Costranak ethnic background. Yuth once told me it was a cultural thing. The elderly were held in particularly high esteem in Costranak culture, and caring for them through the infirmities of their final years was a mark of honor. They gave that humbling work the dignity of affect and nobility of purpose it so rightfully deserved. For Costranak immigrants who weren’t confident with the Trenton language or our cutthroat economy, caring for the elderly and the infirm was seen as a worthy vocation. If only my fellow citizens—including myself—had such a strong commitment to care for the weakest among us. And yet, hatred would have my countrymen view the Costranaks with fear and rage and a sick, twisted sense of jealousy, rather than give them the recognition they deserved for doing work that so few others deigned to do.

Yuth grasped the edge of the reception desk to steady herself. “And…” Yuth shuddered, “Letty said she was only going to talk to a real doctor.”

Scoffing, Dr. Marteneiss shook her head in disgust. “I don’t care how talented she was. That woman’s a hag.”

“Yuth,” I said, looking Nurse Costran in the eyes, “a nurse is a real doctor.” I smiled.

Nurse Costran looked away, turning back to the prompts pinging and popping on the console on the adjustable armature on the desk.

“Well,” Heggy said, looking first at the door to Letty’s room, and then at me, “let’s get this over with.”

As we walked up to the door, my insecurities got the best of me. I leaned in close to Dr. Marteneiss and whispered, “Were you serious about bringing a gun?”

Slowly and solemnly, Heggy nodded in the affirmative.