Chapter 8

John sat at the desk in his laboratory mulling over a paper. This paper had been buried under some equipment in the corner of the lab. He found it last fall when he was cleaning the lab, in preparation of setting it up for his experiments. The experiment described in the paper had been proven incorrect several years ago, but the experimental part is not what had caught his attention. There was a small section of the paper that suggested the reason for the current temperature of the planet might be due to a slow cold fusion process within the planet.

He sat there thinking about that line wondering what kind of physical environment within the earth could support a cold fusion process. This, of course, was not his research project. He occasionally wrestled with this little problem when he could no longer concentrate on his real research.

His real research required intense concentration in lining up mirrors, checking the beam path of the lasers, and regulating the flow of dye into the laser. It could take him a month of effort to set up a particular experiment. One moment of inattention to detail could set him back a whole day.

Sometimes, he wondered whether it was worth a month of work to collect a day of data. It almost didn’t seem reasonable, but that was the nature of his research. Everything needed to be perfect. The original laser beam was broken into eight separate beams using six beam splitters. The eight individual beams were individually amplified. They were then arranged to meet at a single point in space coming from eight different directions. The path lengths of each beam were intended to assure that all beams impinged the meeting point with equal phase. At that point, a droplet of a liquid was suspended. The experiment used a separate low-power laser to probe the droplet for surface deformations.

However, today, the paper was not keeping his attention. He was distracted by some inner force urging him out of the lab. He tried to ignore it, but the urge just kept getting stronger. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he would give in to it. He checked his watch and decided that he would quit early today. He stood, grabbed his walking stick and headed out of the lab. It was springtime and he had been in Austin since August.

An hour later, he was roaming the Austin streets of a rather poor neighborhood. As he walked, he took in details of his surroundings. The houses were set back from the street by a mere ten yards, with small little lawns. Some homes were well kept; the lawns were lush and green, the houses painted, and the curtains in the window washed. Freshly planted flowers lent blues, yellows, and reds that pleased the eye. Other homes were just the opposite; weeds and trash littered the yard, the paint was peeling, and windows were broken. Many of the houses had porches with two or three chairs. Usually, the chairs were occupied by elderly couples chatting and watching the world. John would wave to couples and often stopped to exchange pleasantries about the weather. Many of the older residents recognized him from his past wanderings through the neighborhood.

His passing through the neighborhood was a subject of much discussion among the people living there. It had been noted by them that his presence in the area often meant that something bad was going to happen, but that the worst consequences would be prevented. He had been in the area when people had heart attacks and provided medical care until an ambulance arrived. He had been nearby when a car accident occurred and had coordinated the treatment of the people involved until the authorities came. He had performed an emergency tracheotomy on one of the victims and prevented another from being moved. He had told someone else how and where to apply pressure to halt the bleeding of another victim. Two lives were saved and paralysis avoided for the other. Some people knew of at least six different people that he had saved.

Tonight, he stopped in front of a home with a couple sitting on the porch. He called out, “How are you feeling, Mr. Johns?”

The old black man yelled back, “Much better, thank ya. Docs put inna pacemaker and a sum sort a spring. I guess the ol’ ticker ‘ell keep agoin’ for some time yet. Can’t use the microwave to make ma popcorn, tho.”

It always took John a moment to make sense of the old man’s use of English and his heavy accent. He wondered if the spring Mr. Johns was talking about was a shunt. He answered, “Glad to hear that. Guess the wife is going to have to make the popcorn from now on!”

“Ol woman can’t cook wurt a damn!”

The woman sitting next to him elbowed him in a friendly fashion in the side. She mouthed, “You ol fool. No greens for you!”

“Sheet woman, thas what give me the heart tack!” he replied with a grin that showed more than one missing tooth.

“No biskits and gravy for yer brakfast in the mornin’!”

John was laughing at the couple. They would carry on that way all evening and neither one of them meant the threat or the insult. He remembered how worried she was when Mr. Johns had the heart attack last fall.

“Be good ol’ woman or I won’t take the vigra!” he chuckled, “We all knows how much ya like my sexin’ you!”

John was about to interject a quick farewell when a piercing scream sounded from across the street. It wasn’t the kind of scream made by kids at play or a woman scared or angry. This was a scream from a man in excruciating pain. John looked around and saw flames through the window of the house across the street. As he raced towards the house, he shouted, “Call 911!”

Reaching the house, he leapt onto the porch clearing all three steps in a single bound. Not stopping, he kicked open the door; there was no time to find out if it was locked. He charged into the house. In the front room, a man’s body lay on the floor in flames. It was clear that he was dead. There was a bottle of liquor on the floor next to him, from which pale blue flames were emerging. The source of the fire was centered on a chair where the man must have been seated.

The flames were rapidly spreading and smoke was billowing out of the room. There was no way he could extinguish the fire. He heard a noise down the hall. He ran in the direction from which the noise came. Halfway down the hall, a small boy was standing in the doorway of a bedroom. His eyes were wide in shock and he shook in fear. He was frozen in indecision, unable to decide in what direction to run.

John grabbed the boy and ran back the way he came. The smoke was so thick that it was difficult to see his way. The light on his walking stick came on and he thrust the lit end in front of him. He didn’t remember turning on the light, but it helped him see through the smoke.

The heat was unbearable. He held the child on his left side, placing his body between the flames and the child. Now that the child had been freed from his paralysis, he started whimpering in fear. John’s lungs burned from inhaling smoke. He reached the front door and raced out nearly tripping his way down the stairs. He coughed as his lungs tried to force out the irritating smoke. He set the child down on the sidewalk and took several deep breaths. Cool clean air displaced the smoke.

“My sister’s in there!”

John, voice rough and harsh from smoke, ordered, “You stay here until the police, firemen, or your mother comes!”

“Yes, Sir!”

John ran back into the house. As he raced past the door into the living room, there was an explosion from within it. A can of air freshener exploded from the heat. He felt a sharp pain in his left leg. It stung with each step, but he continued into the back of the house. The smoke was so intense that he could hardly make out the way down the hall although he was holding the light of the walking stick in front of him. Fire blasted into the hallway and, as he ran through flames, it felt like his skin was blistering.

Confused and unsure of the layout of the house, he realized he was lost. He moved away from the flames as much as he could thinking he would be moving to the back of the house. He heard a small sobbing noise from behind a closed door. He opened the door, entered the room, and closed it behind him as quickly as possible.

The air was filled with smoke, but it was nowhere near as bad as had been in the hall. He looked around the room with tearing eyes and didn’t see anyone. He was about to leave, when he thought to check in the closet. Opening the closet, he searched and still found nothing. Frustrated, he turned to leave believing that he had misinterpreted the source of the noise. As he reached the door, he heard sobbing behind him. He turned and still did not see anyone. He looked under the bed finding the little girl hiding in fear. He gently reached in and pulled her out as he said, “Don’t worry little girl, I’m going to get you out of here!”

Now that he had found the child, he realized that he had several options on getting out of the building. He could go out the back and was about to head that way, when it dawned on him that he could exit through the window. He tried to open it, but it had been painted shut over the years. He stepped back and broke out the glass with the brass tipped end of his walking stick. He ran the walking stick around the window frame to clear out as much glass as possible. Satisfied that he could exit without being cut to shreds by the glass he looked out the window. He saw that he had a considerable drop and couldn’t lower the girl out the window. He was now faced with the task of trying to get out with the child in his arms.

He threw the walking stick out the window and climbed onto the sill while holding the little girl. She looked up at him with wide eyes. John whispered to her, “I’m going hold you when I jump down. Don’t worry, your brother is waiting for you out front.”

The light on his walking stick lit up the ground below him. He slid off the sill to the ground below, a drop of eight feet. A horrible pain ran through his back as he went down. A metal bracket that he had not noticed before had cut his back as he slid across it. Bending his knees to absorb the shock, he landed cleanly and ended in a kneeling position. He set the little girl down. When he tried to stand, he found that he didn’t have enough strength in his legs. He reached out for his walking stick. It took several sweeps over the ground to locate it. With the stick in one hand and the child in the other, he leveraged his way to his feet. He staggered around the side of the house to the front while holding the girl’s hand.

He gave the hand of the little girl to the boy. His voice cracking from the abuse of the smoke on his throat, he ordered, “Watch your little sister.”

“Yes, Sir!”

John seated himself on the ground and lay back in exhaustion. Mrs. Johns from across the street arrived and hugged the kids. He heard the sirens in the distance and knew that everything would be okay. The world spun and then faded away as he lost consciousness.

The world slowly came back into focus. An oxygen mask was over his face. He tried to speak, but his throat was too sore. He looked at the figure leaning over him and recognized Harry from the EMS. Harry saw that John was coming back and spoke, “Well, Hero. It looks like I’ll be carting you off this time!”

John tried to speak again, but his effort was interrupted by Harry, “Don’t worry, the kids are alright. My partner checked them out. The police have talked to them and given them over to the neighbor lady across the street. She’ll watch them until the mother gets back.”

John tried to get up and Harry pushed him down, “Not this time Hero. You have shrapnel in your leg, a bit of a burn, and a gash down your back that requires stitches. You’re coming with me to the hospital.”

John wanted to fight it, but there just wasn’t enough energy left in him. Harry and his partner lifted John onto the gurney and rolled him to the ambulance. It took them half a minute to load the gurney into the ambulance and fasten it down. Another minute later and they were headed to the hospital. He lay on the gurney staring at the ceiling of the ambulance trying to mentally construct the route it was taking. He felt more than a little embarrassed at being in this position. Harry broke the silence, “Hero, you’re not going to believe the reception you’re going to get at the hospital.”

John wondered about Harry’s comments. He was used to Harry calling him hero, although he always insisted on being called John. He decided to try again, but Harry interrupted him, “I know you want me to call you John. You aren’t John to many folks; you are The Hero. So even if you don’t like it, that’s what I will call you because that is what you are.”

The ambulance pulled to a stop and the back door opened. As they removed the gurney, John looked around and saw a huge crowd of people by the door. He pulled on Harry’s sleeve and managed to croak out, “If there’s been an accident, treat the others first. I can wait.”

Harry shouted out to the crowd, “The Hero says that if there’s been an accident to treat the others first. Says he can wait.”

His announcement was greeted with laughter. John watched with confusion as several people elbowed each other in that knowing fashion people have when they are sharing an inside joke. He saw one man reach into his pocket and pull out a wad of bills. He took one out and handed it over to the guy next to him. The money was greeted with a smile.

The gurney was rushed into the emergency room. He was followed by the crowd that had gathered at the door. When the gurney came to a rest, a doctor stepped forward, “So! We meet at last, John Carter!”

“What?” he croaked. He was confused by the fact that the doctor knew his name.

The doctor bent to the task of examining the patient. A middle-aged nurse was removing his pants using scissors to cut them off his body. A male nurse was inserting something in his arm, but he couldn’t see because of the people crowded around him. A younger and prettier nurse stepped up with a cloth and started wiping the grime from his face. She stated, “John Carter! You are a legend around here. I wondered when we would finally get a chance to meet you.”

“I don’t understand.”

The doctor rolled him over onto his side. A nurse stepped forward cutting away the shirt. It took the doctor a minute to examine the back. Satisfied he laid him back down on the gurney.

The doctor spoke up, “Okay, take Mr. Carter over to x-ray and get the operating room set up. The shrapnel’s in there pretty deep and it’s bleeding. The back looks bad, but it’s not as bad as it looks, so we’ll wait to suture it.”

Even as the doctor was speaking, others were lifting John off the ambulance gurney onto one that belonged to the hospital. In seconds, it was rolling down the hall. The only clothing on him was his underwear. He was partially covered by a blanket. It didn’t cover his left leg. As they pulled into the x-ray room, the technician said, “Welcome, John Carter. The film is loaded. Let me position you and you’ll be out in three minutes.”

John was amazed at the efficiency of the hospital. Then he recognized the technician as the one who had gotten the money from the other man. He went to look at the man’s badge for his name, but the guy was already moving his leg into the proper position for the x-ray. Someone else threw a lead-lined cover over this chest and genitals. Everyone left the room. The x-ray machine made a low hum. The technician came in with another plate, slid the old one out, and replaced it with the new plate. He disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. There was another low hum from the x-ray machine. The technician entered the room and shouted, “He’s ready to go.”

A crowd swarmed into the room and he was just as quickly wheeled out. Another doctor appeared beside the gurney and started asking questions about the last time he ate or drank anything and details about allergies. John was croaking out his answers as fast as he could, but his throat was killing him. The doctor stepped away to be replaced by another nurse. John recognized her, “Betsy, what’s going on here?”

Betsy made a double take. She was amazed. He remembered her name although he had met her once and that was four months ago during a blood drive. “You remember me?”

John smiled weakly, “Yes, you were nice to me and you do very important work with the blood drive.”

Betsy shook her head in amazement. This guy was cute. She knew he was modest and never talked about his heroic deeds. She put her mind back on business. “I’ve got a unit of your blood here in case you need it. We saved it for you.”

“I’m so glad that you’re here. It’s nice to see a friendly face, you know.”

Betsy was moved emotionally, even as she was pushed out of the way by an administrator. The woman held up a stack of papers and said, “Mr. Carter, I need you to sign these so the doctor can operate.”

She patiently proceeded to explain each form. After each explanation, John signed the form in each place that she pointed out to him. As soon as they were done with the forms, the administrator thanked him and moved away. It was only at that time, John realized the forms had been fully filled out with his name, address, and occupation. He couldn’t remember giving that information to them.