Doctor Grace Karas: A Short Story

“Gather up everybody, and tell them to meet us at the base. I am going to go grab a quick cup of coffee. Do you want a glass?”

Within the hospitals located in the South during the Civil War, cleanliness was basically unheard of. The quarters were cramped and closed and “the smell of human waste, unwashed bodies, and gangrenous wounds was so intolerable as to overpower healthy men.” In order to combat the stench, nurses were known to place within their nostrils cotton balls soaked with camphor. A number of nurses that volunteered their services succumb died due to their extended exposure to the ramped filth and contagious disease.

“Holy shit!” says one of the LT’s assistants as he notices from a distance two of the medics carrying a body out on a stretcher. “What in God’s name is that stench?!!!” He’s looking in the direction of the large single-story building just off to his right.

Men would be fine and the next morning they would be carried out in body bags, they would drop like flies in the shower, yard, on the john and even mid sentence. It had been all over the news, tens of millions dead. He had come down with it himself, but in a great stroke of luck a cure was found and he was one of the few that survived. Only a quarter million were cured. Nearly 80 million dead worldwide. He remembered the night he saw his cell mate die as clear as a picture. The stench, something he could barely stand, was even stronger that night, smelling like how he imagined his long dead great-grandmother would smell like in her grave. And then there was that thud, a sick, wet thud, something that sounded awfully wrong. He immediately jumped off his bunk and hit the call button and flipped his mate's body and instantly threw up. He knew it had been bad, but he never thought it was this bad. In the moonlight his face looked like a bowl of cottage cheese. He is neck swelled like a balloon and even in the darkness he could make the dark veins bulging against his skin. Pus and mucus ran across his face and there was blood pooled under his eyes, even leaking like the final teardrops of a dying man. Asher felt around for a hopeless pulse, but only found an unnatural wetness on his

I found myself in another room too small for the amount of people in it. The stale smell that clung to the latex of medical equipment offered a resurfacing of bitter inconclusive memories. White coats with clipboards shined lights in my eyes and prodded at my body. They rattled off the questions that had become all too familiar to me and I recited the same lines I have been for the past 13 years...

The smells are of fresh blood, old blood, rotting human flesh, body fluids, disinfectants, iodine, drainage from various infections and God knows what else. Men are strung up in all kinds of traction, some have bulky splints or dressings and a few have casts of all kinds. Pieces of them are missing. (“Women in Vietnam: The Aftermath” 2)

With each moment feeling like an eternity, hiding his reaction to the effects of the poison became too much for him to bear. Suddenly, in a scratchy, labored voice, he hollered with all of his might at the top of his

"We're running late already," she said anxiously. "How about you go and bring the guys with you? Meanwhile, Rohini and I will take care here?"

On December 9th the fog had lifted and the after math was enormous. The smoke pollution that had filled the air for five days was so lethal it had killed humans and animals. According to Excell “ Before the weather conditions changed and the smog retreated, thousands had died. Official estimates at the time put the number of fatalities at 4,000 – more civilian casualties than were caused by any single incident during the war – while recent research suggests that it may have caused as many as 12,000 deaths”. (Excell, 2015) It was so bad funeral director were running out of caskets and florists were running out of flowers. Many people were complaining of having breathing difficulties, and chest pains throughout the five days and days after.

They room was crammed with dozens of bodies. The ground trembled, the walls shook, and debris began falling from the ceiling. Many shrieked and cried as they listened to the chaos surrounding

They walked into the hospital with a purpose. Lt. Bright flashed her badge at anyone who attempted to slow them down. It took a few minutes to arrive at a non-descript door that had a sign stating the room was an auxiliary-waste treatment pump room. Darp checked his gun, and then tapped the sign on the wall.

The smell of rotten flesh would sometimes fill the corridors if there had been an attack on a larger scale than

It smelled like human waste and rotten flesh. There were stains of dried blood on nearly every surface, and most appalling, on a pair of shackles, somewhat hidden in the corner by a frail, broken body.

It would a bombshell that would devastate Michael's world. However, this had been Giselle's backup plan if she had second thoughts over for her true intention. The thirty-six year old Giselle had tired of the role of dutiful wife along Michael's side for the past decade.

Then she smelled it. Of what exactly she could not tell – perhaps horse manure, rotting garbage, sweat or some other noxious combination. Like a dirty blanket, the stench hung in the air, invading the senses in an unavoidable and persistent manner. She pulled the loose flap of her hood over her nose and mouth in a feeble attempt to keep it out of her lungs.