Published: 2025-09-23

The emergency room of New Town Metropolitan Hospital was busy as usual that night, yet there was nothing out of the ordinary. Broken bones and severed limbs due to a traffic accident, appendicitis, and overprotective parents freaking out because their child has a mild fever. Health professionals called this scenario “business as usual”. That changed pretty quickly when an ambulance brought Philip Johnson, an athletic man in his 20s who didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs; he had no genetic disorders or known allergies; he had not been involved in any accident, and yet, here he was. His right arm was bursting with worms. He cried in pain; his bicep was split in two, and the worms were moving to the shoulder and neck. Philip Johnson was patient zero, and this is not his story.

It was just after dinner, Mary and Kyle sat on the front porch, rocking their chairs back and forth. Mary ran his hand on his belly as she talked to it. She was pregnant. Kyle gazed in the distance. Corn, beautiful full-grown corn plantations, was all he saw. Life on the farm wasn’t easy, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He had his wife, his harvest, and in a couple of months, a child to call their own. Kyle looked at the starry sky and felt thankful.

A grunt of pain interrupted Kyle’s moment of reflection. He turned his head quickly; it was his wife. She was kneeling on the floor, grabbing her belly.

“Mary! Honey, what is it? Do you feel right?”

Mary kept panting and grunting; she had started to sweat, and she felt feeble.

“It’s the baby, Kyle. Something is happening to the baby.”
“The baby? What’s wrong with the baby? Did he stop moving?”

Mary felt a cramp in her insides, as if somebody was twisting and turning her self. She screamed in pain. Kyle’s mind drew a blank. He stood in place, petrified, not knowing what to do.

“The baby, Kyle, I think it’s coming.”

Kyle said no word. He helped his wife back to his feet; his face filled with horror when he looked at her. She was white as a ghost and bathed in blood from the hips downwards. Kyle slapped himself with both hands as if applying aftershave and ran inside to find the pickup truck keys. He kept muttering, “The baby is coming. Two months early. The baby is coming. I am not ready.” He helped Mary to the truck and was on his way.

Their farm was in the middle of nowhere; it would take them around one hour to reach the city, but Kyle wasn’t planning on letting his wife die that night. The road was clear that night, as it was most of the time. Kyle stepped on the gas, knowing his wife’s life depended on it. Mary drifted in and out of consciousness, grunting when she was awake and sweating when she was asleep. Kyle kept taking his eyes off the road to check on his wife. She was paler and had lost enough blood to dye the upholstery red. Kyle took a deep breath, grasped the steering wheel tighter, and stepped on the gas. “We are gonna make it. You are going to be right, even if it kills me.”

They were three-quarters of the way in when Kyle saw a parade of red lights in the distance. He eased up on the brakes. There was a long line of cars just shy of the entrance of the city. Kyle stopped and got out of the truck. A group of men on the side of the road seemed to be discussing what was going on. Other drivers, Kyle presumed. He approached the men.

“Hi, excuse me. Do you guys know what’s going on here?”
“City is closed.” Said one of the men.
“Excuse me?” Kyle said.
“They’re running a military drill or something. I have a gas truck to be delivered tonight, and these idiots have made me wait for two hours now.” Said another.

Kyle crouched and brought both his hands to his face.

“You OK there, pal? Don’t you worry, I bet they’ll let us in in an hour or so. You know how this country worships those military types. We can do nothing.”

Still crouching and covering his face, Kyle said, “My wife. She is dying. My wife and my son. They are both dying. I don’t have an hour.”

The men looked at each other, as if in that moment they could understand Kyle’s pain. They probably had wives and kids of their own, but there was nothing they could do.

Kyle took his hands from his face; his eyes were red and watery. He thanked the men and got back to his truck. Mary was unconscious; she could barely breathe. Kyle tightened his seat belt and got off the road. He stepped on the gas and charged towards the city. The men saw his truck go, bumping and bouncing on the dirt road. “He is gonna get himself killed.” Said one of the men.

He was willing to die from a bullet to the head, but not live after letting his wife and child die. He could see the toll booth up ahead. Armed men waved at him to turn back, one of them pointed at him with his rifle. “Forgive me, honey.” Kyle said and ran through the barrier arm. He heard shots as he stepped on the gas. Whatever the case, he was inside the city now.

Kyle made it to the hospital, followed by a military vehicle. He got out of the truck and carried his wife on his back. His back got warm as his wife’s blood soaked his shirt. He heard a loud noise and got on one knee. He had been shot from behind. A bullet had reached his left thigh, leaving a burning hole in it. Now his leg was warm too. Kyle left a piercing scream out, but he didn’t let go of his wife.

A man holding a megaphone stepped out of the military vehicle. He shouted on the megaphone: “Drop the person you are carrying, put your hands behind the back of your head, and drop to the ground. If you fail to comply, we will open fire.”

Kyle, still kneeling, gritted his teeth in pain.

“My wife is dying. My son is dying. You may put a bullet in my head, but if you hurt my wife, if you hurt my son, I will kill you with these hands, even if I have to come back from hell.” He said.

He stood up, letting a scream of pain out, and started walking towards the hospital. The man with the megaphone said, “Prepare to open fire.”, and four soldiers got out of the vehicle and pointed their rifles at Kyle. The man with the megaphone pressed the button, a hissing sound came out of his mouth, as if he was trying to put out a candle; he was about to say “fire”, it was over.

The hospital doors opened, and four people wearing hazmat suits ran towards Kyle and his wife. One of them signaled the military men not to shoot. “Lay down your weapons!” Said the man with the megaphone. He was furious; his face turned red, and a vein in his forehead bulged. “You opened the hospital’s doors. You went against what was ordered from you. You will pay for this.” He could not tell for sure, but the man with the megaphone could swear one of the men in hazmat suits said, “We are doctors, we save lives, we don’t take them.”

Kyle woke up. He was lying down in bed in a sterile room, which he was not familiar with. The white light made his eyes water. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t; all his body ached. A man in a hazmat suit entered the room. He understood it then, he was in the hospital. He didn’t know how or when they took him in, but he made it. He looked at the man in a hazmat suit and asked, “Where is my wife? Where is my son?” The man shook his head.

“Your wife died during labor, and you didn’t have a son. I’m sorry.” Said the man in a hazmat suit.

Kyle didn’t know how to react. That could not be true. He swore to protect his wife. He would not let her die.

“What you do have,” the man in a hazmat suit continued, “is a healthy baby daughter.”

Kyle’s face lit up; he started to cry.

“My little Mary.” He said.

THE END.