Snippet #2490992

Harper poked her head outside of the door and looked both ways, spotting Stevie sitting up against the wall of the edge of the huge craft. She stepped up to Stevie and studied her; she looked awful.

Her face was pale and there was a dazed look in her eyes when she looked back up at Harper.

"Hey," Harper said softly, kneeling down to sit down in front of her, "you all right?"

Stevie looked around, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, "don't worry about me. Just let me know when they call us to go."

Harper shook her head. "They did call us. There's been an abrupt change of plans. Something weird happened. We're all being loaded onto the same helicopter out." She eyed Stevie again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Stevie sprang to her feet almost involuntarily and vomited over the ledge. Harper followed her up and looked around, then patted Stevie's back in an attempt to help in some way.

"Now it's my turn to tell you you don't look fine at all."

Stevie spat over the edge and turned back to Harper, standing up straight. Her back slumped just a little in obvious exhaustion. "Look," she said, "if we're going off somewhere, the last place I want to get stuck is one of those little mobile units that they throw sick people into."

Harper shook her head. "I know, so what do we do? What's wrong, exactly?"

Stevie sighed and smoothed her dress downward in an attempt to look like she wasn't panicked to random passerby. "Ever since I was little, I get sick if I overwork myself," she said, leaning in toward Harper's ear and speaking quietly. "It's a kidney condition. It took me out of school a few times when I was little. I had surgery to fix the worst of it, but it can come back if I'm not taking care of myself." She took a breath. "I haven't slept more than maybe ten hours in the past five days. It's more than just yesterday that's catching up to me."

Harper's eyes went big. "You'll need antibiotics or this is going to get a whole lot worse," she said.

Stevie nodded. "If it's really bad, yes, I will," she said, "but sometimes I can sleep it off."

"When are you going to be able to do that?" Harper asked. "I mean, I don't doubt you, but-"

"Ladies," a voice called out sharply. They both turned to see a pair of Marines motioning to them. "We've got to get going. Hustle along."

Harper nodded, understanding the urgency. "Thank you," she said calmly with a half-smile, and patted Stevie's arm and gently pulled her along. "We'll go right now."

They wordlessly made their way back into the hangar, where Schantz and Nathan beckoned them to follow them through the door to the other side. There was a line forming behind a massive CH-53, a ramp set down to collect passengers. The four were quickly and efficiently ushered aboard, and before they knew it, the six rotor blades whooshed heavily to life and they lifted off of the frigate.

# # #

There weren't any windows substantial enough to feature the cityscape unfolding ahead of the massive aircraft as it pushed ahead, mile by mile, toward Pomona.

The sun overhead sizzled the air to over 90 degrees, even though it was barely mid-morning, far higher than normal for the time of year. The city's sky was eerily silent except for the occasional military aircraft lifting through the air.

The typical hum of commercial airliners was far quieter than usual.

Patches of black smoke billowed above parts of the city, adding to the cloudy smog hanging like a curtain draping up toward the atmosphere.

Finally, the huge craft began to descend on the FEMA camp's helibase, touching down very carefully in the clearing amongst the trees. The ramp was set down and passengers were called out, sent to line up divided amongst a few stations. They must have been getting checked in.

Stevie worked to appear like she wasn't feeling as listless as she was as she provided her Washington driver's license and passport to identify herself. Her bag was searched, but not well enough; Nathan had tucked her contraband into her spare clothes, which they didn't bother checking out. She reflected on the fact that maybe he'd done something nice for her. She found the question asking about a good contact phone number, and phone number for a person to contact in case any harm befell her to fall a little on the darker side of humorous.

Harper, devoid of anything but the clothes on her back and one white leather flat shoe, let out a sigh of relief when Nathan happened to have her press credentials from a recent secured shoot. Sometimes Nathan would carry her credentials and ID when they were on a shoot that occupied her time; he found it a lot easier to just dig into his wallet to pull out two ID's and get it over with. This wasn't an official ID of any kind, but the overly-detailed laminated card had a headshot of Harper, her full name, her affiliation, and, oddly but conveniently, her birthday.

The four followed instructions to head to a large, white softcover tent along with about ten other people. The inside featured about one hundred people gathered, low cots rowed along the walls of the tent, and forming aisle ways in the interior. It was hot, and smelled like there were too many people. Their guide informed them that a diesel generator was giving power to the tent, and that there were outlets stationed frequently throughout. He said that the HVAC system was working, but that the different tents around the encampment took turns with it so that way fuel could be conserved. The food service station was supposed to resume service in about two hours, and the water purification system was still being worked on--meaning, no laundry, showers, or water until then.

The four split from the main group and set themselves on a cluster of cots along the tent wall, feeling somewhat better about their chance for cooler air.

Nathan flopped down on his cot face-first and let out a long, loud sigh. "Just like home!"

Schantz stretched out on her stomach on hers. "I asked if there's anything I can do to help, and they said they'd let me know," she reported. "I think that's government-talk for, 'No, you can't.'"

Harper laughed. "I feel like the weirdo here without an ID," she said, looking down at her feet and pulling off her single shoe. "This is pathetic," she said, holding it up near her face and pointing to it. "One shoe. And we're in the woods."

"The shoe's not the one that's pathetic," Nathan piped up from his spot on his cot. Harper glared at him playfully and smacked him with the shoe. He jumped up and tackled her. Schantz rolled her eyes and pulled a FEMA emergency manual from under the cot and started to read.

Stevie set her bag down underneath her cot and sat on its edge after instinctively pulling out her cell phone and charger. She plugged it into the nearby provided outlet and her phone began to slowly power itself up. Hoping that maybe something had changed, she checked the phone and wireless once again. Nothing for now. She shoved her coat on the surface of the cot and laid down, flipping mindlessly through her phone as though trying to find something to occupy her mind with.

She opened up her photos and came upon recent photos of herself, Dean, and life back in Seattle. It seemed so far removed from sitting in a crowded tent with a bunch of strangers in California after what was decidedly the weirdest day of her life. Even though it hadn't been 24 hours, she felt like she was taking a look at someone else's life, someone else who wasn't there anymore. The voyeuristic quality of it made her stomach twist even more. It certainly did feel creepy to see someone else's moments from another life. Even Dean, who certainly meant so much to her, didn't even look familiar... not at all like the last time she saw him.

She switched her phone off and stared up at the white ceiling, willing herself to not vomit again.