X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 32

Chapter 32…

"Help! I need help here!" Erik shouted as he shoved the ER's door out of his way. In his arms, Charles' body was limp; the other man's left arm was slumped across his chest, his right one dangling lifelessly from Erik's grasp.

The ER's lobby was flooded with soon-to-be patients and family members. A man clutched a bloody towel to his arm. A woman sat with a puke bucket beside her. There were children in the waiting area as well, sweaty and sick like a classroom for the infected. The stench of vomit and body odor practically poisoned the air.

From behind a reception desk, a dark-skinned nurse with an afro hurried from her desk, curiosity wrinkling her face. As her sneakers squeaked to a stop in front of them, she checked Charles' pulse and then sprang a flashlight from her skirt's pocket.

"When did he lose consciousness?" she asked as she flicked the light in Charles' eyes.

His pupils didn't contract.

"I wasn't there," Erik said.

The curiosity on her visage darkened; the woman reeled around to the reception area again. She hollered at a couple more nurses, noting Charles' non-reactive pupils and weak pulse. Get a stretcher. Get a doctor…it happened with the speed of a lightening bolt striking a tree.

A stretcher appeared from one of the back rooms along with two men in white coats and another nurse. Then, Charles was taken from Erik's care and placed on the stretcher. The side bars were snapped up with a clank on both sides.

Erik followed the herd from the lobby and through a set of swinging doors.

"What's his name?" one of the nurses asked.

"When did you find him?" asked another.

"Does he have a past history of seizures?"

"Is he allergic to anything?"

Further down the hall, the mind-numbing silence of the ER's lobby was replaced by a horrid drone of nurses and doctors shouting orders, and computers beeping and humming. Nurses and orderlies raced from room-to-room with supplies of surgical packets and blood bags. A repugnant smell of latex and sterilizing solution overpowered the place.

In front of Erik, the medical staff continued barking questions at him as they rushed into a private room. Across the walls dangled wires and enough electronic equipment to power a small city.

"Does he have any medical conditions?" one of the nurses asked.

Erik cleared the knot in his throat. "He's a paraplegic," he replied from the door.

Encircling Charles, the doctors shouted his name. A nurse brought out an IV bag. A heart monitor was strapped to his left arm.

"How long ago was he injured?" the same nurse asked.

"Six months."

The nurse darted away. She reached one of the doctors, tugged on his arm, and talked into his ear like she was divulging secrets.

The cluster of medical staff didn't slow. They hovered around Charles, examining his head and body like his heart would flat-line at any second. A nurse whipped out a pair of cutting shears and took them to Charles' pants.

Then, one of the other medical staff hustled Erik towards the hallway. The door swung open and then shut, and then Erik stood in the corridor, his eyes gaped at the dark hickory slab in front of him.

The door didn't open again.

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Dr. Napier's office was the generic type for any doctor. A stylish mahogany desk sat in its center, a cascade of family portraits conquering its edges; every earned certificate was paraded on the walls like the man was trying to over-compensate for something.