Chadpocalypse - 2:15 I'm Still Standing

It's been a while, but I've written the full book of Chadpocalypse. My goal for the first bit of the new year is to get this first draft edited and shared with you all. If you want to catch up, here's a link to the collection: https://www.abctales.com/collection/chadpocalypse

If you have any feedback, please, don't hesitate, I welcome it and will use it :)

2:15 I’m Still Standing

Chad and James were something of local celebrities in the days following the crash. There were many heated arguments with the nurses, trying to convince them that anonymity was key, but in the end, it got out. By the morning following the crash, Chad and James had their haggard faces splashed across the front of most European newspapers. Their fake identities were on display for the world to see, and their survival had even been claimed as a miracle by the pope.  

     “We’re going to have priests swarming us if we don’t get out of here soon.” James turned off the television. “Don’t suppose you could let us out yet?”

     The nurse tending to his IV bag shook his head. “I’m sorry, it’s regulation.”

     “It’s not that bad.” Chad propped himself up on an elbow. “At least the view is nice.” Despite being restricted to bed rest and having near-constant monitoring from a team of doctors, the hospital was pleasant. Chad felt nothing other than a little stiffness from the crash, and with proper rest, was feeling more alert than he had in days.

     Their first afternoon, a doctor came in holding a clipboard and looked as though he were about to burst. “Alright, I don’t get it!” he exclaimed. “How the hell do you just walk away from a plane crash? No broken bones, no internal bleeding, not even so much as a bruise.” He flipped through the pages of his notes, hoping to find some injury he had forgotten to check for. “This doesn’t happen.”

     James was about to answer when Chad cut him off. “We were both pretty drunk at the time.” Chad had read that drunk drivers often suffered less damage than their sober counterparts and figured the same basic principles would apply to a plane crash.

     The doctor stared at him blankly.

     James picked up the thread. “You know, relaxes the body?” He made loose, noodle-like gestures with his arms.

     The doctor cocked his head and moved James’s arms back to the bed. “Try not to exert yourself, you can’t be sure what damage you sustained.”

     “We’ve been telling you since we got here, we’re fine!” Chad was getting frustrated. The Swiss hospital was very nice, especially compared to those in Midway, but they were running out of time. “Your tests keep coming back negative, and I feel great. Can you just let us leave?”

     The doctor clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid not. There’s more than just your medical records keeping you here.”

     “Meaning?”

     The doctor tugged at his collar. “Well, technically, you never passed through customs.”

     “Are you fucking kidding me?”

     “I’m sorry, sir. I know it must be frustrating, but please, keep your voice down. There are other patients.”

     Chad looked across the room to a man who had been comatose since they had arrived. Tubes were coming out of more places than they should have, and occasionally, the machine attached to him would make a horrible wheezing sound. “Sorry.” Chad didn’t think the man was listening much anyway but didn’t want to be on the bad side of the doctors and get a Nurse Ratchet situation going.

     The doctor shrugged. “You’ve been through quite a lot. I wouldn’t like it either.” He scribbled something on his pad. “But surviving a crash because of drunkenness. It would be an entirely new level of precedent for—"

     “When can we be released?” interrupted James, unrelenting.

     The doctor jumped, as if he had forgotten they were there. “Not to worry, your consulate will be by this afternoon to sort things out.” The doctor made a final note. “In the meantime, lots of rest, and enjoy lunch.” He smiled as a nurse wheeled in trays with delicious browned quiche, salads, and a puffed éclair for dessert.

     Chad eyed the food hungrily. “I might never go back to Midway.” Back in the city, a hospital meal would have consisted of a pudding cup and a couple slices of ham between moldy bread. He barely waited for the nurse to put the tray down before setting in to devour the meal.

     “You can try, but our immigration policies are strict,” chided the doctor as he left the room.

     “Not one for sarcasm, is he?” asked Chad through mouthfuls of egg and éclair. He avoided the salad like it was a poisonous snake.

     James didn’t answer. His eyes were wide and he was looking wildly around the room for an exit.

     Chad stopped eating. “What’s wrong?”

     “Didn’t you hear what the doctor said?” whispered James.

     “Yes, the consular will be here in the afternoon to come get us?”

     “Do you not see a problem with that?”

     Chad thought about it and popped another bite of quiche into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of juice. The unmatched flavor of the food was making him draw a blank. “We might miss dinner?”

     “We’re here on fake passports with fake identities.”

     Chad’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

     “Yeah, oh shit.” James pulled his covers off. “Look, when I disconnect these cables, it’s going to set off some alarms. We might have to knock out one of the nurses. Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, looking around the room for his clothes.

     Chad followed suit, dropping off the bed, and pulling the tangle of wires and tubes with him as he went. He looked longingly at the éclair and shoved the whole thing in his mouth before abandoning the rest of the tray. He found what remained of his clothes in a cubby beside his bed. They were held in a sealed plastic bag and looked as though they had been passed through an incinerator.

     James found his bag and unzipped it. The smell made his eyes water. “Jesus, I think I might have pissed myself during the crash.”

     Chad opened his bag. “That makes two of us.” He was getting ready to slip back into the filthy clothes when a firm voice cut through the hospital room.

     “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

     Chad looked up and found himself face to face with a trim woman in an all-black suit. “James, it’s those death goons, they’re back!”

     James immediately balled his fists and put them up like a boxer.

     “Will you keep your fucking voice down?” hissed the woman. “Just because I am wearing black does not make me a Death Co. goon.” She looked them both over, saw the bag in Chad’s hand and shuddered. “You think they would have told me to bring you some clothes.”

     “Are you from the consulate?”

     She raised an eyebrow. “If I was, there would be several military patrol personnel with me. You two have broken quite a few laws.”

     Chad gulped.

     “Don’t worry young Chadwick.” The woman walked over to the man in the coma, looked at him and looked at Chad. “He’ll do.” She bent over and rummaged through the man’s cubby, pulling out a plastic bag with his clothes in it. “Put these on, they’ll stink less.”

     “I’m not going to st—”

     “The consulate will send someone within the hour, and as the two survivors of a deadly plane crash who were traveling with falsified identification, you are about to be the prime suspects of this international incident. So, put on his fucking clothes and let’s get moving.”

     “James, we’ll find you something along the way, but you might as well leave that.” She pointed a limp finger at the bag in his hands.

     Understanding dawned on James at once, even if it eluded Chad. “You’re from the Swiss branch of The Order.”

     “And here I was starting to doubt that you were the smart cookie they made you out to be.” She walked over to the machine attached to Chad and typed in some commands into the attached console. The screens brightened briefly and turned off. Walking briskly, she did the same thing to James’s. “Now, disconnect yourselves and let’s get the hell out of here.”

     Chad was through arguing. He put on the man’s clothes, trying not to look at him as he did so. They were a little big, but certainly beat the burlap sack he had been confined to a day earlier.

     Together, the three of them made their way out of the hospital. “Now, as far as they’re concerned, I am from the consulate, so I need you to look sullen.”

     James and Chad hung their heads obediently as they passed by the front desk. Chad’s new shoes squeaked against the polished tile floors of the hospital. He looked down, hoping to quiet them and saw his reflection, flanked by another. The grim visage of death looked up at him from the floor, grinning, or at least  what could be considered a grin when the person had nothing but bones for a face.

     No, no, no, thought Chad.

     “Yes, yes, yes,” whispered Death. “I didn’t count on the kids upstairs having your back. You got lucky, but I’m coming for you now, and I’m going to finish this personally.” Death disappeared in the flash of an overhead lamp, leaving Chad’s reflection alone again. He put a hand to his temple, feeling a lightning bolt of pain there.

     “You alright?” asked James.

     “Yeah, just our old friend reaching out again.”

     “Shit.”

     “Old friend?” asked the woman quietly.

     “Capital ‘D’ Death,” answered Chad.

     “Shit,” she replied.

     “How far away is Milan?” Chad stepped through the outward doors of hospital and into the crisp morning air. Even through the fear, he was stunned by the beauty of the mountains that surrounded them on all sides. They were capped with white snow and cut jagged lines across the blue sky. Stretching out before them was a quaint town that had been nestled between the slopes. In the distance, he could see lines of tow cable pulling gondolas up the mountains.

     The woman pulled out a phone. “Looks like about four hours. Madeline will be happy you’re ready to continue the mission.”

     “Of course, Madeline was worried about the mission.” James scoffed. “Never was the sentimental type.  

     The woman shrugged. “It’s her job.” As they descended the hospital steps, a black SUV pulled up.

     James tensed to run.

     “Relax.” The woman pressed a button on a keypad. The front window of the SUV rolled down revealing an empty driver’s seat. “This is us.” The three of them hopped in the car. “Driver, take us to the Spazio Cavallerizze in Milan.”

     An all too chipper voice that was reminiscent of Matthew from the Order for Religious Intervention sounded through the car. “Happy to, Mam. Sit back and enjoy the trip. You will arrive at your destination in four hours and fifteen minutes. Just in time to catch the opening show of fashion week.”

     “Anyone fancy a drink?” she asked.

     “I’m sorry, mam, while this vehicle might be driven autonomously, I can’t—” The woman pressed a button cutting the chipper voice off.

     “That’s better.” She pushed a button on the center console and a tray with iced glasses rose slowly from between the front and back seats. Next, a tap popped out of the driver’s seat. “In my experience, there’s not many problems that a German beer can’t help solve.” Despite the car winding around the small-town roads, she poured three perfect beers.

     Chad took one without saying a word. After the plane crash, things had been a bit of a blur, but reality was setting in. “How many people were on that plane?” He asked, cradling the beer in two hands like it was a hot cup of tea, sipping at it gingerly.

     The woman looked at him with determined eyes. “Would it make a difference if it were ten or a hundred?” She drank half her beer in a single draught.

     A set of military vehicles passed by the outside of the car, followed by local police with their lights on, but no sirens. James looked out at them. “They for us?”

     “Likely.” She took another deep pull from her beer and set the glass down.

     Chad followed their progress up the hill and couldn’t help but feel like he should turn himself in.

     “Look, it’s not your fault.” Her steely demeanor softened for a minute. “I’m not from a religious order, but from what little I’ve heard, what’s been chasing you has no regard for human life. That’s not on you.”

     Chad nodded and tipped back the beer, finishing it. It was smooth, but not strong enough to dull the guilt creeping through him. His heart sunk lower in his chest and he felt like weeping. “Let’s just get to Milan and get this over with.” Chad turned to look out the window, indicating he was done talking. He tried not to get lost in the reflection, for fear that Death would appear there.

     The mountains blurred past and no one spoke. Occasionally, Chad caught sight of the little, pink cherub darting between trees and giving him the finger, but he chalked it up to exhaustion. The other option was an LSD flashback, which he wasn’t too keen on either. He rested his head on the glass and tried to fall into an uneasy sleep.