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04082157-0447 - Journal of Dr. Ashley Scott
It’s difficult being a doctor these days. I find myself constantly torn between survival and the code of honor you take upon when you gain the title of doctor. Every day I have to deal with the conflicting worlds and it does start to get to me. I’ve sworn to do all I can to save lives regardless of political affiliation but there are times when you’re forced to die or take a life. And, when that situation arises you don’t really have time to think about it.
The bass thrum of the engine flipped to a shrill baritone as the dune buggy found the top of the hill and broke free from gravity’s grip for the time being. The large vehicle sailed through the air, biodiesel fumes trailing behind it like the tail of a comet. Wind tore at her hair and inertia held her tight against the back of her seat. There was a moment of weightlessness, a unique kind of freedom that you didn’t encounter very often in the wasteland. Then it was as if all those forces the buggy was defying caught up to it at once when it hit the ground. The vehicle clattered about as it connected with the dirt and grass, the thunderous clamor briefly overriding the loud hum of the engine that propelled it.
Ashley gave the steering wheel an adjusting twist here and yank there to maintain a straight course before glancing behind her to see if she was still being followed. A moment later two motorcycles shot over the hill, the riders leaning back to keep the front wheels higher than the back so the bike stood as a shield between themselves and the buggy. She cursed under her breath and turned back to watch where she was going, scanning the horizon for some place nearby to go for a respite. They were going to cut her off soon and she needed to choose her ground. There was likely no peaceful solution to this.
I’ve come to the conclusion that in this world there is a mercy in death. It’s a pretty wide-held belief that if you’re trying not to kill someone with a gun then the best course of action is to shoot them in the limbs. That couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve seen what gunshot wounds do to people out here. We don’t have the sterile, clean medical facilities of yesteryear. No, the best way to avoid killing someone with a gun is to not shoot them. But when it’s you or them, well, a quick death is the closest you’ll come to mercy.
There, to the right about a hundred and fifty meters away, a mass of stone that protruded from the hillside indented enough for a campsite. A fire pit even sat in the center, empty and waiting, a ready and open campsite to any wanderers in need. Ashley put her foot down as the engine revved and gave it all it had. She was barely picking up speed as she kept driving straight ahead but the sound of her engine had the desired effect. She knew she couldn’t outrun the motorcycles so she was going to try to out-maneuver them. Not that she could do that for very long either, but hopefully just long enough.
One of the motorcycles pulled up on her left, twisting this way and that to maintain a straight line while avoiding rocks, bushes, and other things a motorcycle doesn’t like getting intimate with. She couldn’t tell what the other was doing but it didn’t matter too much. Waiting just a moment longer, right as the biker to her left was reaching to point a gun at her, Ashley hit the breaks and put everything she had into a sharp right turn. As hoped, the ass end of her buggy swung around behind her as the nose turned to point at the campsite. Dirt, grass, and stone sprayed behind the buggy as it spun. The stones and dirt battered at the biker that had been to her left, a lucky break causing one of the stones to dent the biker’s helmet and send them rolling off the side. The other biker swerved and hit the breaks hard to stop from colliding with the buggy. Ashley pounded the gas and prayed to no one in particular that she’d make it to the campsite before they did.
I don’t like killing. I avidly seek to avoid death however possible. Whenever a patient of mine dies I feel like a failure, I know I should have done something different. Most of the time it’s simply a lack of equipment or supplies. I try to make everything I need but I just can’t carry a clinic worth of equipment and supplies with me at all times. However, I’m finding I’m getting more and more numbed to death. It used to really bother me. Now? Now I’m getting used to it. It never gets easier to lose someone though, even if it’s to save my own skin.
As the buggy slid to a stop she threw the buggy’s door open and leaped out. She was turning to get to the trunk of her buggy before she even touched ground. Throwing the hatch back, Ashley yanked the assault rifle from its slot in the trunk and flipped the safety off. A quick glance showed the bikers coming in fast, a moment away. They weren’t going to try to pepper her while driving, she’d taken the advantage of mobility away by coming to the site.
Closing the hatch Ashley took a knee and brought the rifle to her shoulder. Peering through the sight while wearing those ‘hard target goggles’ she’d picked up had taken some getting used to but she understood how they worked now. The gloves the Vista Rangers had given her after completing her training courses were wonderful for this sort of thing, her trigger finger was left uncovered while the rest of her hand was covered in a neutral brown-green like the rest of her outfit. All this ran through her head as she followed one of the bikers through her scope, zoomed in close enough to watch their body language.
She only waited for them to close a little more distance before she gave the trigger two light squeezes. The first three round burst hit the rider in the chest, sending them rolling back off their bike. The second made a trail up their back with the final bullet hitting the nape of the neck. The bike hit the dirt with a loud clang, the sound of stone and metal scraping loud until the machine hit one of the many upturned rocks. The second biker, the one she’d knocked over with the buggy, swore audibly and twisted the bike in a controlled fall. Sliding on the ground with the bike as cover, the biker pulled their pistol and took a couple shots with no chance of hitting. They had the desired effect of making Ashley duck for cover.
The biker stood and ran for the rock the other bike had hit as Ashley brought her rifle up and took aim again. This time she just held the trigger down as she sprayed a line of ammunition after the man. A couple of the bullets caught the biker in the leg armor, one found a way through and tore through the calf. The man fell with a shout, unloading round after round into the buggy as he shouted a new and more colorful insult with every shot. Ashley took cover and waited until the shooting stopped and the only sound was painful shouting. With her rifle in hand, she stood and approached the fallen man.
After the fight is done I tend to the wounded. I even attempt to tend to the people who were trying to kill me. It’s surprising how compliant some people can get after they realize you’re trying to help them even if they’re wondering why. I find I always end up having to say this to every patient of mine, I’ve even had to tell a few of my co-workers this. As long as you’re on my table you’re safe. My job is to tend to the wounded, not kill them.
The man was still holding his rifle as he clung to his wounded calf. Blood oozed through his fingers as he shouted and rolled about in the dirt. His armor was black, utilitarian but not military. It was a hodge-podge assembly of leather, bits of metal, and layered cloth all dyed or painted black. The pockets, what pockets he had, were on his belt. As she approached the man pointed his empty pistol at her and said in a quavering voice filled with pain, “Stay back! I’m w-warning you!”
Ashley kept the rifle lowered as she reached the man before releasing it and letting it hang from her neck. She held both hands out, palms to him, and spoke in soft and comforting tones. “I’m a doctor. If you’ll let me, I’ll see what I can do to fix that up for you.”
“You’re a f’kin’ Vista,” he spat. Still, he seemed to do the math in his head and let the pistol fall. “Why you helpin’ me?” He watched her with a hunted, cornered expression. The way he saw it, she figured, he was dead no matter what and couldn’t stop her anyway.
She shook her head and put the rifle on her back before squatting down to look at the man’s leg. As she did so she reached behind her into her knapsack and pulled out a roll of bandages. “I’m a doctor first and Vista second. All people have the right to live.” As she put pressure on his leg to begin the wrap she glanced up at his face, “Even people who try to kill me.”
The man let out a grunt of pain from the pressure as she bandaged his leg, watching her with wary and untrusting eyes. “Bullsh’t. You’re goin’ to interrogate me ain’t you? Well I’m not tellin’ you sh’t! Ow, damn it!”
“Hold still,” she ordered in a firm tone as she shifted her weight, pinning his leg down with a knee while she worked. “I don’t care why you were coming after me. I’m just sorry someone had to die today. Now take a deep breath, you may get dizzy. It’ll feel like a head rush when you stand up too fast.” Before he could object she had her right glove off and held her hand just above the wounded area on his leg, barely not touching the bandages. As she concentrated her palm began to emit a soft white-blue pulsating light. The light engulfed the wound as the man gasped, squirming beneath her knee. After a moment it was done and the light was fading away. “Keep the bandage on for three days and by Gaia try to avoid strenuous activity. Understand?”
He stared at her through eyes hazed in equal parts wariness and appreciation. His response was just to nod while she helped him up. Just to top things off she handed his pistol back to him and helped him to his bike. When he was mounted up he looked back at her. She was already getting back to her buggy, slipping the rifle back in the trunk. “Oi, Vista. Got a name?”
She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Doctor Ashley Scott, Saints Incorporated. Try to remember that, hm?”
The Vista speak of balance. Everyone seems to think all the Vista focus on is nature but my take is they’re just trying to fix the planet and bring it back into a sense of balance with humanity and technology. Either way, I’m learning about balance myself. I think it’s something of an idea people should live by. You can’t have only good or only evil, you can’t have only right or only right. There’s a balance in everything, even in healing and killing. Perhaps that’s why I was given the gift of healing, so I can better learn this lesson and grow. I like that idea.
It’s difficult being a doctor these days. I find myself constantly torn between survival and the code of honor you take upon when you gain the title of doctor. Every day I have to deal with the conflicting worlds and it does start to get to me. I’ve sworn to do all I can to save lives regardless of political affiliation but there are times when you’re forced to die or take a life. And, when that situation arises you don’t really have time to think about it.
The bass thrum of the engine flipped to a shrill baritone as the dune buggy found the top of the hill and broke free from gravity’s grip for the time being. The large vehicle sailed through the air, biodiesel fumes trailing behind it like the tail of a comet. Wind tore at her hair and inertia held her tight against the back of her seat. There was a moment of weightlessness, a unique kind of freedom that you didn’t encounter very often in the wasteland. Then it was as if all those forces the buggy was defying caught up to it at once when it hit the ground. The vehicle clattered about as it connected with the dirt and grass, the thunderous clamor briefly overriding the loud hum of the engine that propelled it.
Ashley gave the steering wheel an adjusting twist here and yank there to maintain a straight course before glancing behind her to see if she was still being followed. A moment later two motorcycles shot over the hill, the riders leaning back to keep the front wheels higher than the back so the bike stood as a shield between themselves and the buggy. She cursed under her breath and turned back to watch where she was going, scanning the horizon for some place nearby to go for a respite. They were going to cut her off soon and she needed to choose her ground. There was likely no peaceful solution to this.
I’ve come to the conclusion that in this world there is a mercy in death. It’s a pretty wide-held belief that if you’re trying not to kill someone with a gun then the best course of action is to shoot them in the limbs. That couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve seen what gunshot wounds do to people out here. We don’t have the sterile, clean medical facilities of yesteryear. No, the best way to avoid killing someone with a gun is to not shoot them. But when it’s you or them, well, a quick death is the closest you’ll come to mercy.
There, to the right about a hundred and fifty meters away, a mass of stone that protruded from the hillside indented enough for a campsite. A fire pit even sat in the center, empty and waiting, a ready and open campsite to any wanderers in need. Ashley put her foot down as the engine revved and gave it all it had. She was barely picking up speed as she kept driving straight ahead but the sound of her engine had the desired effect. She knew she couldn’t outrun the motorcycles so she was going to try to out-maneuver them. Not that she could do that for very long either, but hopefully just long enough.
One of the motorcycles pulled up on her left, twisting this way and that to maintain a straight line while avoiding rocks, bushes, and other things a motorcycle doesn’t like getting intimate with. She couldn’t tell what the other was doing but it didn’t matter too much. Waiting just a moment longer, right as the biker to her left was reaching to point a gun at her, Ashley hit the breaks and put everything she had into a sharp right turn. As hoped, the ass end of her buggy swung around behind her as the nose turned to point at the campsite. Dirt, grass, and stone sprayed behind the buggy as it spun. The stones and dirt battered at the biker that had been to her left, a lucky break causing one of the stones to dent the biker’s helmet and send them rolling off the side. The other biker swerved and hit the breaks hard to stop from colliding with the buggy. Ashley pounded the gas and prayed to no one in particular that she’d make it to the campsite before they did.
I don’t like killing. I avidly seek to avoid death however possible. Whenever a patient of mine dies I feel like a failure, I know I should have done something different. Most of the time it’s simply a lack of equipment or supplies. I try to make everything I need but I just can’t carry a clinic worth of equipment and supplies with me at all times. However, I’m finding I’m getting more and more numbed to death. It used to really bother me. Now? Now I’m getting used to it. It never gets easier to lose someone though, even if it’s to save my own skin.
As the buggy slid to a stop she threw the buggy’s door open and leaped out. She was turning to get to the trunk of her buggy before she even touched ground. Throwing the hatch back, Ashley yanked the assault rifle from its slot in the trunk and flipped the safety off. A quick glance showed the bikers coming in fast, a moment away. They weren’t going to try to pepper her while driving, she’d taken the advantage of mobility away by coming to the site.
Closing the hatch Ashley took a knee and brought the rifle to her shoulder. Peering through the sight while wearing those ‘hard target goggles’ she’d picked up had taken some getting used to but she understood how they worked now. The gloves the Vista Rangers had given her after completing her training courses were wonderful for this sort of thing, her trigger finger was left uncovered while the rest of her hand was covered in a neutral brown-green like the rest of her outfit. All this ran through her head as she followed one of the bikers through her scope, zoomed in close enough to watch their body language.
She only waited for them to close a little more distance before she gave the trigger two light squeezes. The first three round burst hit the rider in the chest, sending them rolling back off their bike. The second made a trail up their back with the final bullet hitting the nape of the neck. The bike hit the dirt with a loud clang, the sound of stone and metal scraping loud until the machine hit one of the many upturned rocks. The second biker, the one she’d knocked over with the buggy, swore audibly and twisted the bike in a controlled fall. Sliding on the ground with the bike as cover, the biker pulled their pistol and took a couple shots with no chance of hitting. They had the desired effect of making Ashley duck for cover.
The biker stood and ran for the rock the other bike had hit as Ashley brought her rifle up and took aim again. This time she just held the trigger down as she sprayed a line of ammunition after the man. A couple of the bullets caught the biker in the leg armor, one found a way through and tore through the calf. The man fell with a shout, unloading round after round into the buggy as he shouted a new and more colorful insult with every shot. Ashley took cover and waited until the shooting stopped and the only sound was painful shouting. With her rifle in hand, she stood and approached the fallen man.
After the fight is done I tend to the wounded. I even attempt to tend to the people who were trying to kill me. It’s surprising how compliant some people can get after they realize you’re trying to help them even if they’re wondering why. I find I always end up having to say this to every patient of mine, I’ve even had to tell a few of my co-workers this. As long as you’re on my table you’re safe. My job is to tend to the wounded, not kill them.
The man was still holding his rifle as he clung to his wounded calf. Blood oozed through his fingers as he shouted and rolled about in the dirt. His armor was black, utilitarian but not military. It was a hodge-podge assembly of leather, bits of metal, and layered cloth all dyed or painted black. The pockets, what pockets he had, were on his belt. As she approached the man pointed his empty pistol at her and said in a quavering voice filled with pain, “Stay back! I’m w-warning you!”
Ashley kept the rifle lowered as she reached the man before releasing it and letting it hang from her neck. She held both hands out, palms to him, and spoke in soft and comforting tones. “I’m a doctor. If you’ll let me, I’ll see what I can do to fix that up for you.”
“You’re a f’kin’ Vista,” he spat. Still, he seemed to do the math in his head and let the pistol fall. “Why you helpin’ me?” He watched her with a hunted, cornered expression. The way he saw it, she figured, he was dead no matter what and couldn’t stop her anyway.
She shook her head and put the rifle on her back before squatting down to look at the man’s leg. As she did so she reached behind her into her knapsack and pulled out a roll of bandages. “I’m a doctor first and Vista second. All people have the right to live.” As she put pressure on his leg to begin the wrap she glanced up at his face, “Even people who try to kill me.”
The man let out a grunt of pain from the pressure as she bandaged his leg, watching her with wary and untrusting eyes. “Bullsh’t. You’re goin’ to interrogate me ain’t you? Well I’m not tellin’ you sh’t! Ow, damn it!”
“Hold still,” she ordered in a firm tone as she shifted her weight, pinning his leg down with a knee while she worked. “I don’t care why you were coming after me. I’m just sorry someone had to die today. Now take a deep breath, you may get dizzy. It’ll feel like a head rush when you stand up too fast.” Before he could object she had her right glove off and held her hand just above the wounded area on his leg, barely not touching the bandages. As she concentrated her palm began to emit a soft white-blue pulsating light. The light engulfed the wound as the man gasped, squirming beneath her knee. After a moment it was done and the light was fading away. “Keep the bandage on for three days and by Gaia try to avoid strenuous activity. Understand?”
He stared at her through eyes hazed in equal parts wariness and appreciation. His response was just to nod while she helped him up. Just to top things off she handed his pistol back to him and helped him to his bike. When he was mounted up he looked back at her. She was already getting back to her buggy, slipping the rifle back in the trunk. “Oi, Vista. Got a name?”
She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Doctor Ashley Scott, Saints Incorporated. Try to remember that, hm?”
The Vista speak of balance. Everyone seems to think all the Vista focus on is nature but my take is they’re just trying to fix the planet and bring it back into a sense of balance with humanity and technology. Either way, I’m learning about balance myself. I think it’s something of an idea people should live by. You can’t have only good or only evil, you can’t have only right or only right. There’s a balance in everything, even in healing and killing. Perhaps that’s why I was given the gift of healing, so I can better learn this lesson and grow. I like that idea.
