“Can’t see anything from in here. Besides, I gotta check in with the boss-lady, if you know what I mean?” he rolled his eyes. “Want the TV on or off?”
“You can leave it on, thanks.”
CHAPTER THREE
Something metallic, a tray maybe, hit the floor causing Beth Woods, a tall, thin, brown-haired woman, to jump, turn, and at the same time put a hand on six-year old Gavin’s shoulder.
Steve spit tobacco into a styrofoam cup he was holding and said, “It’s okay, babe, somebody just dropped something.” He shot a quick look at Max and explained, “She and Gavin were at the mall only a half hour before it all went down. But everyone’s a little jumpy. It’s crazy out there.”
“Crazy how?” Max asked.
“Well, it’s just that people aren’t used to all this stuff. They’ve gotten accustomed to their nice, safe, comfortable lives. The traffic lights keep them from running into one another, nobody butts in line, their neighbors cut their lawns twice a month, right on schedule, people pretty much follow the rules, so everyone feels, you know, comfortable. Then they find out their nice, secure, predictable, orderly world ain’t so safe after all, and it screws with ‘em. They jump at every loud noise, run from every shadow. To make matters worse, along come those fucking Homeland Security assholes …”
“Steve!” Beth said, turning her palms up and nodding at Gavin.
“Sorry. Anyway, they aren’t helping any. They show up with their armored vehicles, dressed out like they’re going to war, M4’s strapped across their chests, acting like king shit …sorry …on the manure pile; it’s only scaring people, making them feel anything but safe. It’s not like they’re real cops or soldiers, anyway. They’re strictly second string. They’re posers.”
“Things will settle down. It did after 911. The feds will get whoever is responsible and people will feel safe again.”
“Sure hope so, but so far the feds got nothin’ or aren’t saying nothin’. Nobody’s even stepped up and claimed responsibility, at least as far as I’ve heard anyway. Maybe they’ll figure it out when they ID the bodies. They gotta have that by now.”
Max saw Beth look at her watch. She stepped to the bed and put her hand on Max’s shoulder. “Sorry, but we have to go. We have to get home and Steve has to get to work.”
This caused Steve looked at his watch. “Oh, shit, yeah, we better get going.”
“Steve, come on,” Beth pleaded in regard to his choice of words.
“What? Okay, okay. I’m trying.”
“Well try harder. I get the calls from his teacher, not you.”
Steve rolled his eyes, which got a punch in the shoulder from his wife.
“Wait, you’re already back to work?” Max asked.
“Answering phones. Couple more days, then hopefully back in the saddle.”
“Steve,” Beth said
“Yeah, we better get going. You need anything …” he put his hand to his ear as if he had a phone in it.
After they were gone, Max laid there, mind surfing. He wasn’t thinking about anything specific, just letting the thoughts flow and with them came a general, overall feeling of helplessness. Things were happening, and he was stuck here, in the hospital. But what the hell could he do about it? Nothing. Still, he could feel a remarkable anxiety inside him that just kept building and building and building.
They said I’m doing fine, Max told himself. Nothing vital was damaged, and my wounds are healing. They pulled my catheter, and I’m pissing on my own; everything okay there. I’ve done a few laps around the floor; no dizziness, pain bearable. So why am I still here?
This conversation with himself went on for quite some time before he reached over and picked up the phone next to his bed, got an outside line, and dialed Information. After working through the electronic phone tree, he was connected with