Countdown
Part Twelve
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: Okay, here we are again. First, the usual jazz. Sing along if you know the words...

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work, especially if I remind them that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Yeah, they'll buy that...

Rate this one PG-13 for subject material.

I'd be very surprised if anyone knows where the "bit his tongue" bit is
borrowed from, but if you do, you might find it oddly appropriate.

(11:44 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

There was no reason to think that the world would end in sixteen minutes. There was no scientific basis for such a belief. There was no shred of tangible, logical evidence to so much as point to the possibility. There was absolutely no cause for even considering it at all.

But that didn't mean it wouldn't happen.

Kerry looked at the clock. One way or another, everything would be over in less than fifteen minutes. There were many things she wished she could have accomplished in the remainder of her life, but there was only time for her to do one of them before midnight. Better do it now, she told herself. If the world ends at midnight, you won't have another chance.

She walked to the desk, finding Randi Fronczak at her post. Randi looked up at her, concerned, but didn't speak.

Kerry let the silence hover for a second, and then she took the crumpled Employee Incident Report from her pocket, smoothed it out, and handed it to the clerk. "I want you to read that," she said, quietly.

Randi took it and read it quickly, including the recommendation for disciplinary action, up to and including termination of employment. Her face fell almost imperceptibly as she read. When she was finished, she nodded and said, "Okay, Dr. We-"

"Now I want you to burn it."

Randi looked at her in sharp surprise.

Kerry looked back, her gaze cool. "Think of it as a late 'Secret Santa' gift."

The clerk gave another nod, almost too small to be seen. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Just make sure you never do anything like that again," Kerry added, "I can only get away with this once."

Another nod, this one stronger. "New Year's resolution," she promised, tucking the form into a pocket.

With that, Kerry considered the matter lain to rest. She was going to walk away after that, but she realized she had nowhere she wanted to go. If these really were the last few minutes of her existence, she didn't want to spend them alone.

Face it, Kerry, she told herself, you're lonely. And you're scared.

A glance at Randi showed some of the same feelings mirrored in her eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to work on this of all nights," Kerry told her, leaning against the desk like a fellow drinker bellying up to the bar, "but I really appreciate it."

Randi managed a smile. "Ahh, that's okay. Truth is, I don't have many real friends outside this place."

"Really?" Kerry said, taken by surprise. She'd always pictured Randi frequenting clubs or private parties when she wasn't working.

"Yeah, well, I mean, I got invited to a couple of places, but I'd rather be here."

Kerry looked around the ER. "Here? On New Year's?"

"Sure. You know, places like Times Square, right now, there's a million people all yelling and screaming and partying their little tails off. I bet you that most of them are making all that hoo-hah because they got nothing else to say to each other. It's like, if they make enough racket, set to music, it'll hide the fact that they wouldn't make eye contact with each other on the street, the other 364 days of the year. Meanwhile, here we are, making a real connection for the first time. So who's better off?"

The older woman had to agree, in spite of herself. She'd volunteered to work this shift ostensibly to allow as many people as possible to spend the holiday with their friends and families, of which she herself had virtually none. The truth was, she'd volunteered because it was better than being alone. It hadn't occurred to her that anyone else might feel the same way.

Enjoying the sudden insight into Randi's world view, she asked, "What did you want to be when you were a child?"

"Wonder Woman. You know, like Lynda Carter in the series?"

"Oh. You wanted to fight crime?"

"No, I wanted to be able to spin around real fast and-BOOM!-create really cool outfits in a flash of light."

Kerry had to laugh at that.

"When you're a kid, they always tell you, you can be anything you want to be," Randi added, "So how come everyone ends up as what they are? Do all that many people really want to be plumbers and trash collectors and winos?" She shrugged. "Besides, what you want to be ain't necessarily the best thing, or the right thing. For a while, I wanted to be an astronaut. But what would I do? Spend a couple billion bucks of the taxpayers' money for a handful of days in orbit, maybe get a couple moon rocks for souvenirs, then spend the rest of my life gazing at the night sky, going 'been there, done that'? What good is that gonna do for all the homeless loonies or the crack babies or the rest of the human race?"

Kerry was momentarily reminded of her first vision, seeing herself as a reluctant astronaut. It was something many people no doubt aspired to, but the idea just left her cold.

"I used to think I was going to retire after a career as Surgeon General of the United States, or something like that," she told Randi, "For years, I just kept moving up and up, couldn't be stopped. I was really on the path. Imagine my surprise when they didn't want me for Chief, and they didn't want me, and they didn't want me...and then, just when I'd FINALLY adjusted to the disappointment, they go and make me Chief again."

"Yeah, that's management for ya. Uh, no offense."

"None taken. So here I am, tonight, draining pus from porn stars, instead of making policy and making real improvements in things, and all I can think is that I'd rather be here than anywhere." She rubbed her head. "What the hell went wrong?"

"Who says anything went wrong?" Randi argued, "Maybe it went right. Maybe the path didn't lead through here, so much as TO here, if you catch my drift. Maybe you found the place you're meant to be."

Kerry didn't speak.

"Look at Carter," the younger woman went on, "He's worth a bundle, could've been a fancy-shmancy surgeon and all, but he chose to come down here and get puked on for a living. You know why?"

"Enlighten me."

Randi leaned closer, conspiratorially. " 'Cause you guys got the coolest job in the whole world. Every damn day, you save someone's life, or at least make it better. Tom Cruise can't do that, Donald Trump can't do that, but you do. That's why I'm still working here. 'Cause I get to be a little part of it. Even if it's just answering your phones."

Kerry regarded the tough-talking clerk with the perpetual half-sneer and the garish, extroverted fashion sense, and said, "You're really a neat person under it all, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, don't spread it around, okay? I've got a rep to maintain."

Kerry patted Randi's shoulder and drifted away.

Five minutes.

Luka Kovac passed by her, waving a chart. "I believe that this one," he told her, wryly, "had the honor of being our last patient of the twentieth century."

"Maybe he should win a prize," she said. "Or she."

"He. It's rather anticlimactic, really. Claims he bit his tongue."

Kerry looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Claims?"

"Well, the evidence suggests otherwise." Luka leaned toward her, imparting a secret. "The teethmarks were backwards."

She suppressed a snort of amusement as Luka deposited the chart in its place.

Two minutes.

Kerry noticed Luka was still looking at her, closely. "What is it?"

"You tell me."

"I don't follow - oh, you're not going to ask me if I'm all right, are you?"

He smiled gently. "No. I can see you're not. I've seen the look of people in crisis plenty of times before."

She sighed. Was it that obvious?

"Besides, the consensus around here seems to be that you're troubled by something." He shrugged. "I can listen if you want to talk, and respect your silence if you don't."

Kerry greatly appreciated both offers. "Thank you."

"Is it tonight?" he asked, gently, meaning the New Year.

She nodded. "If you had asked me this morning whether anything would happen at midnight, I'd have said no."

"And now?"

"Now...now, I just don't know," she admitted, softly.

Luka nodded once, and simply said, "How can I help?"

She considered a moment, glanced at the clock, and said, "Just hold my hand."

He did.

The last minute began ticking off the seconds. The assembled crowd chanted along with the television, "Fifty-EIGHT... Fifty-SEVEN... Fifty-SIX..."

She thought, is this what it feels like in the last moments before you die?

She thought, I've got no complaints. I've seen wonderful things in my time. I've saved more lives than I can remember. I've spent my last minutes in good company.

She thought, I'm so afraid.

The crowd counted down the seconds. As the count reached single digits...

...it began one last time.

But this was different. Her reality, her sense of Here and Now didn't fade out, the way it had before. Instead, she experienced a curious overlap, like two photographs superimposed on each other. The images flashed briefly, like frames of a film, each vanishing almost before it was registered...

"TEN!!"

...she was walking a dog on a leash, unhindered by crutch or limp...

"NINE!!"

...she was painting on an easel, with fluid, graceful strokes...

"EIGHT!!"

...she was throwing the bouquet at her wedding, joyous and radiant...

"SEVEN!!"

...she was being zipped into a body bag, her lifeless skin pale and cold...

"SIX!!"

...she was lifting weights, flushed and perspiring, but confident and strong...

"FIVE!!"

...she was making love...

"FOUR!!"

...she was screaming in rage and hurt and loss...

"THREE!!"

...she was teaching, her students rapt and attentive...

"TWO!!"

...she was in a dreamless, peaceful sleep...

"ONE!!"

...and then it was over, and she was herself again.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

The world ended.

(12:00 midnight, January 1st, 2000...)

Two seconds after the end of the old world, Dr. Kerry Weaver took her first breath of the new one. It smelled virtually the same, and nothing had ever been sweeter.

She opened her eyes, and took her first look.

They were all alive and happy. Cheering, whooping, laughing, crying, embracing, kissing, singing. All of them. A year's worth of 'joie de vie' embodied in a few moments. The sight almost broke Kerry's heart; she was so glad to have been here to see it.

Feeling the sudden, impulsive need to be a part of it, she turned to Luka, who was just turning to her at the same moment, and she kissed him - or perhaps he kissed her, it didn't matter - and there was an instant of perfect joy. She found herself caught up in his arms, her feet leaving the ground. She held him tightly, though she barely knew him, and felt the blood and the breath and the life singing through them both.

They were filled with a single, silent thought in that instant: forget the future, forget the past; whoever you are, at this moment I love you, because you are alive.

The instant ended as quickly as it had begun, and he released her, setting her daintily on her feet. They exchanged a friendly smile and a pair of shouted "Happy New Years", barely audible above the noise, before separating.

Kerry found herself immersed in the group of revelers, faces both familiar and not blending together. She saw Randi claim the next kiss from Luka, and from the sudden bulging of his eyes, she suspected Randi had slipped him the tongue. Now, why didn't I think of that? she wondered, a little giddily.

She traded hugs with each of the nurses as she encountered them, and even surprised Jerry Markovic by pulling him down by his tie and granting him a maternal smooch. It was worth it just for the look on his face, she decided.

Even Maggie Doyle, she saw, though still grieving for her friend, had a moment of joy. She and Lucy hugged each other, in a curious mix of sympathy and celebration. Kerry knew the task of informing Lee Silverberg's family lay ahead, but for this moment, Maggie held tight to someone among the living.

The babble of voices resolved itself into a sort of harmony as Haleh led everyone in the time-honored rendition of "Auld Lang Syne", her golden, strident voice holding the notes clearly, though many of the other staff members obviously couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Perhaps 'harmony' was being kind.

Kerry gave her own, much-neglected singing voice a rain check, her eyes roving over the walls of the emergency room, the doors, the floors, the halls, the desks. How much blood had been spilled in this place in the last year, she wondered? How much pain had this place held? How many lives had ended? And what would it see in next thousand years?

It didn't matter now. Tonight, it was beautiful.

(12:46 am, January 1st, 2000...)

Forty-six minutes after the beginning of the world, Dr. Mark Greene entered the emergency room of County General Hospital and stamped the snow off his boots. "Morning, Randi," he called to the clerk.

"Morning, Dr. Greene. Happy New Year."

"Thanks, you too. Anything unusual happen?"

"Nahh," she replied with a slight gleam, "same old same old."

Mark located Kerry soon enough and listened as she filled him in on their current crop of patients, mostly the inevitable DUI's who had come in shortly after midnight. "One is in surgery upstairs, probably looking at midline amputation, the rest are either being sutured or sleeping it off."

"Never fails," he muttered. "Sorry I came in late, by the way."

"I figured you would," she assured him, "Don't worry about it. Did Rachel stay up 'til midnight?"

"Yeah, but just barely. I got her tucked in and headed here. Elizabeth should be coming on by six."

"All right. Give her my best."

"Will do," he said, exactly as he had, just over twelve hours earlier.

Kerry closed her locker, buttoned her coat, and was prepared to leave, but she turned back to him instead. "Mark?"

"Uh-huh?" He was checking the pockets of his lab coat for pens and such.

"We haven't had it easy the last few months, have we?"

Mark looked at her. "No, I guess that's fair to say. You mean you and me, right?"

"That's what I mean. Look, I...it's always been very frustrating to me that you and I haven't managed to become friends, in all the time we've worked together. I know we disagree on many things, but..."

"Kerry, are you sure you want to start the New Year with an argument?" he said, a little defensively.

"I'm not trying to start an argument," she retorted, though she could feel one brewing, "I'm just...I wanted to tell you..." How did these discussions always go wrong?

"Just spit it out, Kerry." A little impatient, now.

Bite the bullet. "I'm glad I work with you," she stated, bluntly. "We can't seem to sustain a harmonious working relationship, and you aggravate the hell out of me when you undermine my efforts for improvement, but...at the end of the day, I have to admit that your interests lie in the same place as mine. We both want the best for this place. I admire you for that a great deal."

Mark was silent.

"That's all. Happy New Year." She put on her hat and walked to the door.

"Kerry, uh..."

She stopped.

"I disagree with a lot of your choices," Mark told her, "but I also think we're both better off having the other around to tell us when we could be wrong. And I'm glad you're here, too."

Rather than hide her appreciation behind her usual mask, she exaggerated it to comical degree. "Aww, Mark," she gushed, "that's so sweeeeet..."

"Git outta here, willya?!" he snapped, waving brusquely, but a trace of a smile forced its way out. "Happy New Year."

Kerry got while the gettin' was good.

As she exited the emergency room, the night air was crisp and cold and crystal-clear. Moonlight lay softly on the snow, mixed with the sodium glare of the streetlights. In the far distance, Kerry still heard fireworks and traffic. Sad to say, more of those noises would probably result in business for Mark and the others. But for right now, she didn't concern herself with it.

"So this is what the future looks like," she said to herself.

Passing by the alley wall she'd contemplated earlier, still covered in graffiti, Kerry stopped to peruse it again. By the end of the week, according to Mark, it would all be gone, painted over by some community-conscious high schoolers. That was fine with her, but before it disappeared, there was one thing she wanted to do.

Bending to a small, unmarked patch of the wall, she extracted a marker from her pocket and quickly inscribed:

KW@Y2K.

There. Not quite "Kilroy Was Here," but good enough to commemorate the night - in all its myriad forms - for her.   

Capping the pen with a smile and facing forward, Dr. Kerry Weaver walked, unafraid, into the future.

(12:57 am, January 1st, 2000...)