CHAPTER 2
Susan
“Welcome to another
edition of Under Big Blue, with Susan
Elmsmith. I’m Susan Elmsmith. It’s Day 300, and we’re—well, we’re
still under the dome. We’re broadcasting from the parking lot of
Winoka Hospital, a beacon of hope for this troubled town. The, er,
hospital, not the parking lot.
“This is the place
where the wounded come for healing and comfort, where medical
professionals work tirelessly to keep the spark of life . . . um,
sparking . . . and where Death fears to tread!”
“Good heavens,
Susan—”
“We have a special
guest today, to celebrate our three hundredth day of survival. Dr.
Elizabeth Georges-Scales, M.D., leader of the town—”
“Susan.” The
emerald-eyed, blonde woman seemed embarrassed. “I’m not the leader
of the town. I’m the head of surgery for this
hospital.”
“If you say so. Your
job has become more difficult this past year, hasn’t
it?”
“It has. While the
violence of last winter and spring has died down, we are running
out of medical supplies . . . and everything else.”
“Can’t we reuse some
things?”
“Replenishment is
possible in some cases—we began recycling certain resources and
growing some simple medicinal herbs once it became clear the dome
would be with us for a while.
“And we are figuring
out ways to keep our building’s generators going with biomass—wood,
animal carcasses, that sort of thing. However, most of modern
medicine is too sophisticated—pharmaceuticals, plastics, and so on.
Our second winter is coming. The only thing that penetrates this
dome is weather. We need the outside world to be thinking about
this problem and helping us forge a solution.”
“And how do we know
they aren’t already working hard on this problem, Dr.
Georges-Scales?”
“Because we have
received virtually no transmissions from the outside world. In
fact, from what we can see ourselves through the few media outlets
who carry excerpts of your reports, there is no evidence anyone is
paying attention to our town at all.”
“Could you elaborate
on that, Dr. Georges-Scales?”
“No one—not media,
not university research, not private industry, not law enforcement,
not military—has responded to our repeated requests for assistance.
At all. People need to understand that there are real people in
here, hurt and dying.”
“Why don’t they
respond, Dr. Georges-Scales?”
“Your guess is as
good as mine. Perhaps some are frightened by what this town holds.
Perhaps they want us to go away. This town is not a danger to
anyone. The only danger here is that people will suffer needlessly.
Please, if you are listening to Susan’s transmission: reach out to
us. You will be saving lives. We would be so grateful. Thank
you.”
“You’ve done your own
share of lifesaving, haven’t you, Dr. Georges-Scales?”
“Oh.” Susan held her
breath and tilted her brunette locks as she watched the doctor
pause at this deviation from their agreed-upon script. “Well. Yes,
we have saved some lives here. The staff at Winoka Hospital is
highly trained and professional. I am honored to work with
them.”
“And you lead them,
against all odds.”
“That’s a dramatic
overstatement, Susan.”
“So it contains a
kernel of truth, then, Dr. Georges-Scales? Sources credit you with
keeping this town together in a crisis. They point out your
trademark focus and discipline. They talk of your accomplishments:
you were a favorite disciple of the late Mayor Seabright, you
finished med school one year early, you sing beautifully in the
shower when you think no one’s listening—”
“My husband put you
up to this, didn’t he?”
“I can’t comment on
that, ma’am,” she said primly. “But sources also say you fell in
love with a dashing young man who should have been your enemy. The
danger thrilled you, and hurling caution to the winds, you embraced
it with a surprising vigor and passion.”
“I’m going to hurt
him. Jonathan, if you’re watching this transmission . . . shame on
you. You should be taking Susan’s broadcasts more
seriously.”
“Argh. Pause it,
Gautierre.” Susan made a cutting motion, and her tall,
black-braided boyfriend lowered the camera. “C’mon, Dr. S. I’m
trying to spice it up.”
“With mixed metaphors
focused on my personal life?”
“Folks outside the
dome need to see a little hope in here. You give people hope, and
even people in this town want to know more about you. I figure
maybe part of the reason we’re not hearing anything is because all
we have to share is depressing . . . or boring.”
“You’re worried that
we’re boring them.”
Susan swallowed and
managed a smile. “Not that boring is bad, mind you! Except it is,
in journalism.”
“You’d prefer a
return to the daily killings, from a few months ago.”
“Geez, Dr.
Georges-Scales, no! I’m not talking about being exciting that way.
I was thinking of something more fun. For example”—she motioned to
Gautierre, who faithfully raised the camera again—“some of our
listeners may want to learn: what is it like to love a
dragon?”
“Come
again?”
“Loving a dragon.
What is that like?”
Elizabeth stared at
Susan, then the camera, then the boy holding the camera. “I . . . I
don’t suppose it’s any different from loving anyone else. I’ve only
had one love in my life, and that’s Jonathan Scales. He’s a
wonderful man. I wouldn’t trade my life with him for
anything.”
“That’s sweet. But
our viewers’ concerns may be . . . more specific. More
practical.”
The older woman
shifted. “Such as?”
“What’s the
experience like?
“The
experience.”
“Yeah. The
act.”
The doctor’s face
paled. “Susan. I’m not talking about this on the
Internet.”
“Don’t think of it as
the Internet. Think of it as posterity. You’ve experienced
something no other woman has, yet—a physical expression of passion
with a man who could literally tear you apart. Surely, you have
some tidbits you could share, some advice—”
“Susan . . . okay,
first of all, I could just as easily tear him apart. And I might, if he put you up to this.
Second, if you and Gautierre have questions for me, I am happy to
answer them . . . in
private.”
“Arrrgh! Gautierre,
cut! We’ll have to edit that out, too.”
“Susan, maybe Dr.
Georges-Scales is right . . .”
Susan didn’t blame
her boyfriend for siding with the older woman. Even though he was a
lovely boy who was utterly devoted to his perky and clever
girlfriend, Dr. Elizabeth Georges-Scales could intimidate the heat
away from a fire. Susan bit her lip and nodded as Elizabeth walked
to Gautierre, seized the camera from him, handed it to Susan, and
said, “This interview is over.”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“You should edit
quickly and transmit.”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“Electricity is at a
premium, Susan. I support your use of hospital computers and power
outlets because you are doing important work and because you’re
usually good at it. But you need to stay focused on the crisis at
hand.”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“Lives depend on you,
as much as they depend on me and my colleagues.”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
Elizabeth sighed as
she walked away. “Oh—and, Susan.”
“Yes,
ma’am?”
“The ‘experience,’ as
you call it, is absolutely outstanding. But it has nothing to do
with what the man can do under a crescent moon. It has everything
to do with his love for you, his depth of commitment, and his . . .
willingness to learn.”
Susan grinned. “Yes,
ma’am.”
“One more thing. As
far as Jennifer knows, you and I never had this
conversation.”
“Yes,
ma’am!”