ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., Amblin
Entertainment, and ConstantC productions, used here without permission.
Slight liberties have also been taken with real persons and institutions,
with respectful apologies.
This story has been written entirely for entertainment value.  No copyright
infringement is intended, and no form of profit is being made on this work.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This story was written in a rush, unedited, because it
demanded to be written now.  Since the initial disaster, I have watched
helplessly, like many others, unable to do a single damn thing to help.
Except, I'm told, pray.
Well, I'm not a praying man.  I don't subscribe to religion, and I don't
attend a church.  I have resented the suggestion that I just imagine things
as I wish them to be, and then send those wishes out into the emptiness for
the benefit of whoever cares to heed them.  But then it occurred to me,
that's exactly what I do when I write and post stories.
So here's a story.  Or, if you prefer, a prayer.



Tomorrow, by Scott J. Welles


John Carter awoke at the sound of his pager and forced his eyes open.  He
squinted at the number displayed, sighing as he realized it was nothing
urgent.

Rolling to his feet with a groan, he looked around the empty lounge, still
darkened except for the soft predawn light from the window.  He'd come in to
lie down on the sofa for a few minutes' rest, he realized, and fallen
asleep.

Picking up the cartoon page-a-day calendar someone had left in the lounge,
he idly tore off the previous day's page, revealing today's date: September
11, 2001.  The minor irony of the date made him grin wryly.  9-11.  Let's
hope that number doesn't get called much today, he thought.  Yeah, we should
be so lucky.

"Carter," Kerry Weaver called to him as he ambled out of the lounge.  She
waved him over to where she stood by the admit desk, conferring with Luka
Kovac.

"You page me?" he asked, staggering wearily across to them.

"Yes," she replied coolly.  "Malucci's called in sick.  Can you cover?"

"My shift's over," he told her.  "I'd be home by now if I hadn't fallen
asleep."

"Well, we're short a resident," Kerry repeated.  "I need you here."

"Well, gee, Dr. Weaver, I'd love to help," Carter shot back, "but that would
mean taking on extra responsibilities in addition to my regular workload.
I'm fine with that, but you've made it clear that you don't think I'm up to
it."

Kerry felt the wash of anger run through her.  Ever since she'd intercepted
his application for Chief Resident, he'd been like this.  Sarcastic,
resentful, and borderline insubordinate.

"It's okay, we don't need him," Luka put in before Kerry could react.  He
didn't look at Carter.

"There, you see?"  Carter didn't look at Luka, either.

Kerry scowled at the tall Attending's lack of support.  "Then who'll
cover--?"

"We'll make do without him," Luka overrode her flatly.  "Go home, Carter."

"Fine, I'm outta here."  Carter spared Kerry one more look of coldness
before turning away.  He ignored Kovac, who replied in kind.

Kerry forced herself to swallow her rage and count to ten before speaking.
Both men had walked away in opposite directions by the time she reached six.
"What is it with them lately?" she muttered.

"They're facing off over Abby Lockhart," Randi told her from her seat.
"It's a whole jealous triangle thing."

"Oh, you're kidding," Kerry sighed in frustration.  That kind of drama was
the last thing she needed disrupting her staff these days.

"Lucky gal, you ask me," Randi added with a slight smile.

Kerry fired a daggered look at her.

"Or not," the clerk amended, the smile vanishing.


* * *


Carter stashed his lab coat in his locker, mouthing silent imprecations
against Weaver, or Kovac, or both.  He didn't much care anymore.  This whole
place had changed in his view.

"Hey, Carter," a familiar voice said casually, behind him.

His mood softened as he turned to one of the few authority figures he felt
he could count on anymore.  "Morning, Dr. Benton."

The tall surgeon glanced at him sidelong, perhaps catching the edge in
Carter's voice.  "Tough night?"

"Not really.  Just...woman troubles."  Two women, in particular.   One an ER
Chief who seemed to have lost all the confidence she'd once shown in him,
the other a sad-eyed, vulnerable nurse who had come to affect him more
deeply than any woman he could remember... "Speaking of which," he said,
trying to change the subject, "how are things going with you and Dr. Finch?"

"They're not," Peter stated, closing the subject.  He focused on the cup of
coffee he was pouring, bade Carter a curt farewell, and headed upstairs.

Cleo Finch was a closed subject as far as Peter Benton was concerned.  Not
by his choice, but by hers.  Even after her HIV test results had come back,
she'd shut him out entirely.  As concerned as he felt for her, the love he
felt invoking difficult memories of Jeannie Boulet and the turbulent end of
their relationship, Cleo had never forgiven him for siding with Carla
against her.  He knew he'd overreacted to Reese's accidental injury in her
care, but it couldn't be undone.  The hard shell Walt had commented upon,
the one he'd inherited from his father, had worked against him again.  Only
this time, the woman it had cost him had a shell even harder than his.

Peter finished his coffee as he neared the County's day care facility.  He
paused at the sight of another woman from his past.  "Elizabeth?"

"Oh, good morning, Peter," the British surgeon greeted him, forcing a smile
through drawn features.  She hitched one shoulder, trying to keep the
shoulder bag from slipping without disturbing the baby sleeping in her arms.

"Here," he said, securing the shoulder strap for her.  "You here to arrange
day care for Ella?"

"Thanks.  Yes, we're looking into it.  Or, rather, I am."  She sighed.
"Mark wanted to hire a nanny for her when I came back to work, but he kept
dragging his feet about finding one."

He nodded, sensing something was troubling her, but uncomfortable about
venturing into the Greenes' domestic problems.

"Peter, there's something wrong with him lately," Elizabeth confided, her
brow creasing.  "He's been distant and moody, almost guilty."

Peter grunted.  He'd known Mark Greene for a long time, but they'd never
been close friends.  "You, uh, think he's cheating on you?"

"No, I can't imagine that.  He's been completely devoted to Ella and myself.
But something's not right.  A wife can sense these things..."  She held her
daughter closer against herself, all pudgy cheeks and pouting, drooling
lips.  An image of her friend Carol Hathaway came to her, cradling two such
infants.  Maybe she should call Carol and invite her to bring Doug and the
twins for a visit.  They'd both known Mark longer than she had, maybe they
could talk to him, find out what was plaguing him...

"Oh, so this is where my two best surgeons are hanging out these days!"   The
world's most annoying voice broke into her thoughts.  "Myself excluded, of
course."

"Hello, Robert," she replied, turning toward the approaching despot.

Robert Romano strolled arrogantly up to join them, standing a little too
close and scrutinizing the infant in her arms.  "So this is the little one,
huh?  Cute."

"This is Ella, my daughter," she said politely.  The girl was already
starting to whimper and squirm, probably in reaction to the new arrival.  A
thin whine began to emerge from her.  Elizabeth snuggled her closer and
whispered soft assurances, glaring at the hospital's Chief of Staff.

He smirked at the child.  "Kids'll drive you nuts, huh?" he said.   "That's
why I never had any."

"That's the reason, huh?" Peter muttered softly, disbelief plain in his
voice.

Elizabeth said nothing, silently glad that Robert Romano had sired no
progeny.  The world had it bad enough without more of him.

"Peter, you doing that appy this morning?" Robert asked, turning the
critical gaze on the taller man.

"Yeah.  I'll be there in a few minutes.  I just have to settle a bill for
Reese's care."

"Yeah, whatever."  Robert turned away, already bored with all the kid-chat.
Why anyone would want to get bogged down with a demanding, undisciplined,
disobedient critter like one of those was beyond him.  At least Gretel could
sit or fetch when you told her and asked little in return.

He rode the elevator down the emergency room, stepping off into the
never-ending chatter of the trauma department.  Someone was playing a radio:
"The times, they are a-changin'".  Two black nurses were bickering over
scheduling, the smaller one bitching about her assigned shifts, the fat one
claiming it was the best she could do.  Robert hated it down here in the
trenches.

"Kerry!" he snapped, seizing the passing woman's attention.  "Walk with me."

"What is it, Robert?" she said, tiredly.  "We're a little short-staffed
today, and I've got patients to see."

"So what's new?  What's this I'm hearing about Greene?"

"I don't know," she countered, continuing to hobble along.  "What is it
you're hearing about him?"

"You tell me.  Word is he's not holding up his end of things."

"That's ridiculous," Kerry replied automatically.  "Mark has met all his
responsibilities, and I have no cause for concern."

"Yeah, we've heard that song before, haven't we?"  Robert took her elbow and
steered her into a nearby curtain area.  "You and Kovac wouldn't be covering
for him, would you?"

She stared at him, coldly.  "If I had any reservations about his
performance, I assure you I would inform you immediately."

"Kerry, it's never been a secret that you're a little soft on him.
Although, given recent revelations, I'd think you were more inclined toward
his wife."

She stared at him, jaw slightly agape.

"Not that I blame you, mind you.  I always had an eye on Lizzie myself.   Too
bad for us both that she's taken now, huh?"

"That was completely uncalled for," Kerry told him, her voice like soft
iron.

"So is your lack of communication," he shot back.  "He was a reasonably
bright boy once, but we both know his day in the sun is over.  Start giving
serious thought about putting him out to pasture, or I will."

"Damn you, Robert, you cannot force someone out of a job just because he
doesn't kiss your ass!"  Kerry kept her volume low, but the hiss in her
voice was as sharp as a sword being unsheathed.  "Didn't you learn that over
Kim Legaspi?"

Robert leveled a finger at her.  "Don't think you can hide behind that gay
pride angle forever, Kerry.  I've given you a lot of leeway, but just
remember who's in charge of this hospital.  I'm still your boss, for
Christ's sake."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," she said venomously.  There were few things on
earth she'd love to change more, but that wasn't an option right now.

He kept the imperious stare on her a moment more, then said, "I want to see
an improvement in his work by the end of the month, or I'll have to look
into this closer."

Kerry didn't reply, but held his look until he turned away with a disdainful
snort.  She let him go, then took a deep breath, trying to will the cold,
hard tension out of her shoulders, spine and legs.  For the hundred
thousandth time, she wished she could talk to Kim again.  If their love
affair was over, that was acceptable, but if only they could be friends
again.  Just talk.

Leaving the curtain area, she looked around, finally spotting Mark leaving
an exam room.  Yosh Takata followed him, asking for clarifications on a
patient's labs, but Mark snapped at him, waving him off unhelpfully.  She
had seen him like this before, after his tumor surgery, and after his
beating, but this was different.  It wasn't the aftermath of a physical
injury, it was deeper.  If she wasn't such a pragmatic woman, she'd have
guessed it was spiritual.

"Mark," she said, catching his eye.

"What is it, Kerry," he said, every trace of body language wanting her to go
away.

"We need to talk."

"So talk."

She gestured him to a private corner and spoke softly, while he waited
impatiently.  "I just lied to Romano on your behalf," she said.   "I told him
you were fine."

"You didn't lie," he replied dismissively.

"The hell I didn't.  You haven't been right for weeks, since that shooting
rampage."  She caught his sleeve before he could turn away.

"Get your hand off me."  He pulled free.  "If you're so worried, Kerry, why
don't you have me tested again?"  There was a cruel emphasis on the word
'tested'.

"I don't want to do that," she began.

"Why not?  Maybe this time you'll get lucky and find an excuse to get rid of
me."

"How dare you say that to me?" Kerry demanded.  "I've always valued you as a
colleague, Mark!  I've bent over backward to try to help you..."

"Bullshit, Kerry!"  He stepped closer, looming over her.  "You've agreed
with me when it suited your purposes, until you had a chance to advance your
career.  Then it's everyone for themselves..."

"Mark...!"

"Like when Anspaugh stepped down, and you jumped on the Romano bandwagon."
He shook his head.  "Jesus, Kerry, I supported you for Chief Resident, and
then for Attending, and even tried to help you become ER Chief.  You
wouldn't be working here if not for me!"

She felt bitter tears forming behind her eyes and forced them back by an act
of will.  "Supported me?" she said in disbelief.  "At most, you've tolerated
me!  You want me to apologize because I stepped in to take responsibility
where I had to?  When you were resistant to every effort I made to shape
this department up?  Screw you, Mark!  I've tried to be your friend, time
and again, and you've blown me off!"

He snarled and spun away from her, storming off down the hall.

Kerry pursued him.  "Mark, we're not done!"

"Fine, you want to talk this out in public?" he snapped, making no effort to
show discretion.

She put on a burst of speed that hurt like hell and caught up to him.  "I
can't keep making excuses for you, Mark.  Something's tearing you up, and I
don't know how to help you anymore!"

Mark was trying hard to ignore her, but every word stabbed through him.  He
signed off a couple of charts at the desk, a harsh, electric impulse chewing
its way through his hands, up his arms, behind his neck at the base of his
skull.  He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack.  "Then leave me
alone, Kerry," he grated.

"No," she persisted.  "I can't do that anymore.  You have to talk about
this, or you're going to self-destruct, and I won't let that happen in my
ER.  We can't afford that."

Her ER.  It was, he realized, her ER.  Not his anymore.  And it wasn't her
fault; he'd lost any right to act like he belonged here when he betrayed his
calling and watched that man die.  At the time, it had felt right, good
even.  But once it was done, he knew there was no undoing it.  And that
choice would follow him forever.

"No matter what you think of me," Kerry stated, with every ounce of her
self-control, "I care about you.  I want you to trust me, and to be able to
trust you."

Mark leaned his arms against the desk, head dropped beneath hunched
shoulders.  Damn her, she could see it in him.  He could hide what he'd
become from the others, even from Elizabeth.  But Kerry could see it.

"Please," she said, standing closer than he could bear.  "Please, talk to
me, or to Elizabeth, or to someone."

He couldn't stomach it, the sick, vile secret he'd harbored.  The knowledge
of how much of himself he'd lost in one moment of inaction.  He looked
sharply up at her, seeing his own conscience embodied in her form.  "You
want to know what happened?"

"You have to tell someone," she said.  Deep down, she could sense it coming.
She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was horrible.

"You want to know what I did, Kerry?" he challenged her, almost hoping she
would say yes so he could blurt it out...

"Oh my god..."

The hushed, shocked note in Randi's voice distracted them both.  But she
wasn't looking at them.  "What is it, Randi?" Kerry asked.

The lovely clerk was staring, horrified, at the TV set.  Other staff
members, Lydia Wright and Malik McGrath among them, were starting to
gravitate behind her, all staring slack-jawed at the set.  "Dr. Greene," she
said, "Dr. Weaver...I think you should see this."

The moment of confession passed as the two senior doctors came around the
desk to share the view of the live broadcast.  Randi raised the volume as
Luka joined the crowd at the desk.

What they saw was beyond anything they might have imagined.  The staff of
County's ER had survived floods of casualties, from the '94 Blizzard to the
'99 Storm, and countless others.  They had seen mutilations large and small,
death in every form and cause.  But the sheer scale of what appeared on
screen was beyond their experience.

Images of the World Trade Center in New York exploding as a speeding
airplane careened into its side.

The second tower erupting as the horror repeated itself.

Victims waving from shattered windows, amid smoke and flame.

Huge clouds of black smoke and debris filling the streets and sky.

Terrified onlookers fleeing.

Stunned, frantic newscasters struggling to make sense of the cataclysm.

The first tower disintegrating under its own weight, crumbling to the
ground.

Its twin collapsing by its side.

The Pentagon, in Washington, burning along one side.

Word of an attack on Camp David.

The President's location, unknown.

Earliest reports of the possible body count.

"Oh, God..."  Lydia's soft exclamation echoed among the assembled onlookers.

Luka closed his eyes, lost among memories.

The tapestry of disbelief unraveled as they watch, spellbound.  Around them,
the emergency department seemed to hold its breath, as though the daily
business of hospital life was suspended, rapt in attention on the shocking
developments.

Carter burst in through the doors, aghast, the keys to his Jeep still in his
hands.  "Hey, turn on the telev--"  He broke off, seeing they already knew.

"Oh, dear god," Elizabeth breathed, arriving along with her child.  Ella
whimpered against her shoulder, as though sensing something horribly wrong
in the air.

Kerry heard the phone ringing, and realized they'd all been watching,
thunderstruck, for more than an hour.  She snatched it up reflexively,
hoping to find some toehold of sanity.  "E-ER," she stammered.

"Kerry, are you watching this...?"  Romano's voice was shaken.

"Of course."

"Jesus..."

She swallowed with effort.  "Robert...I think we should go on alert status,"
she said.  "There's no telling if there will be attacks here in Chicago."

"Yeah, um...you're right."

"The Chicago Mercantile Exchange might be..."  She couldn't finish the
sentence.  "Or there might be rioting...against the Islamic community..."

"Right," he snapped, cutting her off.  "Get set down there, anything you
need.  I'll alert the other departments."

"Okay."  She hung up and raised her voice, overriding the television
speaker.  "Everyone listen: we are on full alert, effective immediately.  I
want this place prepped for a major disaster."

Everyone looked at her.  "Dr. Weaver, this isn't happening here," Malik
pointed out.

"Not yet," she said.  "But we're going to assume it will.  I want this place
ready to receive casualties, as though we were a block from Ground Zero."

Mark raised his voice.  "You heard her!  Let's go!  NOW!"

Everyone moved.

Kerry looked at Mark, and he at her.  The same shock and despair was
mirrored in each pair of eyes.  "This may be unnecessary," she told him
softly, "but..."

"Then we'll be wasting our time," he agreed.  "But it's better than the
alternative."

She nodded gratefully, and they separated, each diving into work.

Mark found Elizabeth.  "We're going to be busy for a while," he said.   "I'm
sorry about..."

"It doesn't matter," she told him.  "Not now."  They kissed quickly and
parted.  Elizabeth handed Ella to Conni, who promised to take her to day
care first thing.  The surgeon thanked her and headed for the surgical
floor, already organizing the necessary equipment in her mind for a possible
inundation of patients.

Kerry reached Carl DeRaad's office, only to find Kim filling in.  The blonde
woman had paged the rest of the Psych staff, and promised they'd be ready to
help distraught, panicked civilians as needed.

Mark and Luka divided task between them, making sure all the bases were
covered.  They worked smoothly, comparing notes with a bare economy of
words.  As the Croatian doctor turned away from him, he spotted Carter
dumping his jacket in the lounge.  "Carter, you sticking around?"

"Yeah," the younger man confirmed with a brisk nod.  "Long as you need me."

Luka nodded in turn.  "Glad to have you," he said honestly.

Randi was on the phone.  "Jesus Christ, Malucci, turn on your goddamn TV
set!  No, forget it, just get your ass in here now!"

Kerry appeared by her side as she hung up.  "Get me Mercy and St. David's,
Randi.  We'll need to coordinate with them, and the rest."

"Yes, Dr. Weaver..."

A page from Romano interrupted Kerry's next order, and she dialed him
quickly.  His terse voice said only that he'd conferred with state and local
authorities, and assured them County would be ready to receive casualties as
needed.  National Guard had also been informed, and was deploying
immediately.  She acknowledged his message curtly, but had no time to
appreciate his confidence in her.  Something more important had taken
precedence in all their minds.

A hole had been blown in the world.  A gaping wound remained in the nation's
body, one that might never entirely heal.

The entire staff worked quickly and efficiently, girding themselves as
though for war.  And, indeed, an act of war had been committed, both on the
United States and on humanity itself.  They would fight that war, as they
had fought battle after battle, in their own way.

When all supplies and equipment had been checked, Kerry ordered them to
check it again.  Better to have them all active, doing something, than
sitting around fretting.

And then there was nothing left to do but wait, and watch, and pray.

Maybe this would be the most horrific disaster that County had ever dealt
with, if the catastrophe of New York repeated itself in Chicago.  Or maybe
they would wait in vain, and nothing would happen at all.  But, like all
their counterparts, in every city across the nation, they would wait, and
they would stand ready.

Their conflicts, their arguments, and their fears all remained unresolved,
and would not go away unaddressed.

But those conflicts would wait until tomorrow.