Chaos reigned in the emergency room at Arkansas Children’s hospital. Parents lined the walls with their children, waiting in line for triage. Grown ass adults without kids rushed in off the streets demanding narcotics. Nurses in scrubs and doctors in white lab coats hurried from exam room to exam room or supply closet, hands stuffed with gauze and bandages. The pharmacy tried their best to keep up with fills of antibiotics, burn ointments, and routine meds ranging from anti-acids to anti-psychotics. Eventually, even they were pulled onto the floor to man the tidal wave of patients. The administrative staff had fled entirely after the very first broadcast.

Coming off a double shift, Chris hadn’t expected an alien invasion. He only packed three Subway foot-longs, and he ate two of them on the previous shift. Hoofing it around the emergency room lifting patients, performing chest compressions, and rolling carts with heavy equipment was routine for an E.R. tech. The usual stuff, but the invasion had amped up the volume of work and tension riding in the air. The stakes were never higher. On a day like today, his job qualified as downright noble.

As Chris wheeled a portable X-Ray cart down a long hallway to the I.C.U., he surveyed the rows of people piled along the walls. One family approached him, parents and two girls.

The mom asked, “Do you know when we’ll get the inhalers?” Her voice was tight with urgency. The influx of human bodies bumped the temperature up by twenty degrees. Sweat streamed down his brow and stung his rich brown eyes.

“Have you already seen the doctor for the prescription and taken it to the pharmacy?”

The dad said, “Yes, they said someone would bring them to us. They’ve locked the waiting room for the pharmacy from the inside.”

“I’ll check as soon as I get this machine to the I.C.U.,” Chris promised. He rushed off, but a pull on his shoulder snapped him around, again. “Please, don’t touch me.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but it was important during a time of crisis to maintain boundaries. Otherwise, they may eventually tear the staff apart to get their supplies.

The dad dropped his hand and took another step away to maintain a respectful distance, saying, “Please, we have to get to the capitol before they fill up.”

Chris asked, “The capitol?”

The mom explained, “They’ve opened a shelter there. Strength in numbers. Looters stormed our neighborhood earlier. Set the house on fire. We’re wearing all we own.”

The girls, about seven and eight, wore a velvet, puffy dress meant only for the holidays and a short jumpsuit meant for the summer. Each wore the puffiest coats a kid wore in deep winter. Mary Janes on both their feet. The parents were dressed for work in formal business attire, but both wore their heavy wool coats.

“Which one has asthma?”

The mother startled and looked to her partner for confirmation. “Neither. Samantha here has cystic fibrosis.” Mom patted the oldest daughter with a debilitating lung disease on the back.

“Watch this cart. Don’t let anyone touch it. I’ll be back,” Chris said as he marched down the hall on the right.

The dad smiled back to his partner and nodded firmly to Chris.

“Fucking aliens,” Chris muttered to no one in particular.

Fortunately for the family, the State Capitol was only two blocks away. Chris would just grab the inhalers they needed and set them on their way. The keyring on his hip let him into multiple doors like supply closets, radiology, and the pharmacy. He pushed into the door and met resistance.

“What the fuck?” Pushing against the door, a heavy scraping answered. Awake for a solid thirty-six hours standing on his feet, Chris gave one last shove with everything he had. The door opened far enough he could squeeze through. “Why is this here?” He scaled an armchair with long, steady limbs.

Chris called into the room, “Hey, are you guys okay—”

Through the pharmacy window, Chris spied two men in lab coats with bags in hand. No. Fucking. Way. The men stopped mid-reach and stared at him with mouths wide open.

Chris cried, “What the hell are you doing in there? Dr. Warren, is that you?!”

The richest pediatric neurosurgeon in the state gaped at Chris for another moment before regaining composure. “Get out of here!”

“Fuck no! Answer the damn question.” The other doctor, Chris recognized as Dr. Lyle of child psychiatry, scooped an entire shelf of medication into his bag.

Dr. Warren snarled, “This doesn’t concern you. Get out!” A little superiority added gravity and might to his words.

“You’re stealing drugs from sick kids and needy families. What do you plan to do? Sell them out there?” Chris asked, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“It’s the currency of the new world, man,” Dr. Lyle started while selecting choice pills from the racks. “We gotta trade this for supplies out there. Soon every pharmacy and veterinary clinic in the country will be looted. You should get in on this before you miss your chance,” he offered.

Dr. Warren nodded, saying, “Yes. Keep your mouth shut, block that door, and help yourself. There’s plenty for three.” He scanned Chris from head to foot, all six feet plus one inch of broad muscle. “You can have first pick of the opioids.” He tried to make nice with the tall and capable E.R. tech.

Chris’ head weighed heavy, hanging in sadness. An idea came to mind. If this was the end of human society, he wanted to do some good. “I have a better idea,” he proposed, stepping back to the door.

Dr. Lyle continued to fill his Santa’s sack of goodies.

Dr. Warren narrowed his eyes and tracked Chris as he moved back to the chair in front of the door. “Yes?” Caution and suspicion sharpened the single syllable.

“Let the people in.” Chris swung the door wide open. “Hey, people!” A few heads popped into the hallway’s threshold. “Free meds!”

Dr. Warren cried, “You idiot!” A din roared through the hall of grateful cries, running shoes on industrial linoleum, and pill bottles rattling as Dr. Lyle and Dr. Warren hurried to make their escape.

“I don’t think so.” Chris crossed the room in three strides before diving over the pharmacy counter. Both doctors froze when he grabbed their white collars at the back of their necks.

“Mister?” A little boy sniffed behind them. “You got my ampi-otics?”

“They do.” Chris shoved both doctors onto the counter. Their noses polished the poly on top.

The crowd grew so thick it filled the pharmacy waiting room and trailed out the door down the hallway. These people looked exhausted, past the point of shock, and straight into panicked over the future.

Chris laid his face on the countertop next to Dr. Warren. Their eyes connected. Tears leaked down the doctor’s temples. In as low a voice as he could manage, until it was just a rumble in his chest, Chris instructed, “You will stick to the oath you made and help these people. Won’t you?”

Despite the edge of terror in his eyes, Dr. Warren clenched his jaw, making no move to agree.

“For a man of science, you’re pretty fucking dumb. Let me put it to you plainly. Either you help these people properly, or I’ll tell them what you were doing back here.”

The man’s eyes stretched wide.

Ripped apart came to mind.

Chris said, “That’s right. Now, you’re getting me, aren’t you?”

Dr. Warren gave one stern nod.

“Good. Now.” He turned to Dr. Lyle. The man blubbered on the countertop, nodding his head repeatedly. “You got it. Great.”

Chris straightened and addressed the crowd again, “These men will help you get on your way. Now, excuse me.” He passed through the crowd in the waiting room and into the hallway. Behind him, parents cried to the doctors.

“Who goes first?”

“Do you have any Amoxicillin?”

“What about inhalers?”

It was not Chris’ problem anymore. After pulling an all-nighter and another eight hours to boot, his size thirteen feet ached in his sneakers, his head hurt, and his stomach growled. “Time to go,” he muttered to himself. He needed one more thing before he went home. He took the stairs two at a time, and he approached the Infant/Toddler Unit or ITU with quiet steps. Parents had claimed their babies and kiddos hours ago. All except one.

Heaven Lee Leike.

That’s right.

Heaven suffered from CHARGE syndrome, a genetic mutation disorder affecting the malformation of several parts of her body. Her crib sported predictably pink sheets and a frilly pillow Chris had placed in there two days ago. She’d visited the hospital at least once a month since birth. Due to the condition, her heart grew much slower than her body needed. It couldn’t keep up. Her parents worked sixty hours a week to afford the extra care ArKids didn’t cover. Every cent and every second, they poured into Heaven’s well-being. They sold their car and committed to riding the bus everywhere. During this apocalypse, he guessed they were working when it all started with no way to get her.

Heaven cooed from her crib. A small sliver of light from the cracked door illuminated her umber complexion.

Chris said, “Hello to you, too, Ms. Heaven.”

A little pink tongue popped a bubble in her smile. Her dark eyes shone at Chris.

“We’re gonna get you home, sweetheart. But first…” He packed up all the supplies of formula, food, and diapers able to fit in his backpack.

With the bag properly stocked, Chris snatched the last item to complete the adventure: a papoose. When he’d strapped this baby on before the world went to shit, the ITU nurses’ heads turned. Some women appreciated a man with paternal instincts.

Chris said, “All right, Heaven.” He reached into the crib as she bubbled back at him. “It’s time to go.”

She snuggled right into the papoose. The bag rested like a heavy shell against his chest. Chris kept his stride smooth to prevent disturbing the baby. Hopefully, she’d fall asleep soon.

Chris exited the hospital and looked up. “I think that’s a bad sign.” Outside, the sky had dimmed to the shade of dusk at 2:30 in the afternoon. Clouds silhouetted in the sienna scape, dimly lit by the blackened sun. The announcement earlier on the radio had described the eclipse, but NASA’s last communication implied it was something else altogether.

Chris muttered to himself, “It’s been three hours…”

With each breath, the acrid aroma of fire grew strong enough to make his throat itch. He gritted his teeth as he set out to the back of the lot for his motorcycle.

Heaven peered at him from the cushy papoose.

Chris said, “Don’t go making a mess now. I don’t have time to change your diaper.” Not to mention no helpful surfaces to change her on.

Glass crunched under his foot. “What the…” Examining the bike, he cursed, “Motherfucker!” Shards of glass speckled the shattered headlamp.

Baby girl busted out a wild giggle.

He assured himself the timing was coincidental.

Searching the cars nearby, Chris sucked air into his teeth. Slashed tires, busted side mirrors, and scratched hoods littered the lot. Not a single car was undisturbed. He asked no one in particular, “What is wrong with people?”

After stuffing the cargo of baby supplies into his saddlebags, Chris mounted the Honda Shadow. Scrubs were so uncomfortable on a motorcycle.

Another baby giggle.

“Listen, ma’am,” he lectured, “I’m starting to think you’re enjoying my torment.”

Bright eyes shone at him through thick lashes, and a leaden weight anchored in his heart.

The hospital had lost so much staff over the last eight hours, and so many patients and families swarmed the lobbies and halls. Chris didn’t have a wife or kid. His parents lived in a remote town south of Little Rock. They were probably safe. The baby’s sigh cemented his resolve. As soon as he got Heaven back to her parents, he planned to return. Plenty of children couldn’t afford to leave the hospital. The staff needed help.

Some supplies, a quick baby drop-off, and maybe a Subway raid—Chris would come back.