Invasion of America

Chapter 105 Cold-blooded Tenderness

When Xia Ni woke up from her deep sleep, she subconsciously reached for her phone beside her. Her blurry vision barely allowed her to make out the time—she had actually slept for more than ten hours straight.

The nerves that had been tense for a long time returned to normal, but the muscles all over the body ached as if they had been run over by a truck, and every joint was protesting.

The ventilation fan in the temporary office hummed loudly, and the smell of disinfectant, which was administered every six hours, remained unchanged.

Outside the office, cries and pleas echoed from the ward area, the suffocating cacophony of medical equipment alarms.

Xia Ni rolled over and got out of bed, wanting to rub her face, only to find herself sleeping on a simple cot while still wearing protective gear.

She then realized that she had only intended to sit for a while during her busy schedule, but she had unexpectedly fallen asleep. She wondered who had kindly provided her with a bed.

"Is this nightmare not over yet?" she muttered to herself in a hoarse voice.

I thought that a good night's sleep would revitalize me, but instead, the long-awaited relaxation opened the floodgates of my emotions, and the fatigue and despair that had accumulated over the past few days burst forth instantly.

A flashback to a week ago, when the first patients flooded into the emergency room, everyone thought it was just another outbreak of a seasonal virus.

The chief physician even joked at the morning meeting, "Once this peak is over, I'll treat everyone to Starbucks."

Who could have imagined that just a few days later, the entire healthcare system would collapse like dominoes?
Ordinary hospitals no longer have beds available to accept patients.

Now, stadiums are crammed with makeshift hospital beds, public buildings are filled with patients coughing up blood, and even underground air-raid shelters have been converted into temporary hospitals.

However, the organization of medical staff in the United States is ultimately lacking. Once they realize that something is wrong, many employees will not come to work at all, preferring to stay at home rather than fight the epidemic head-on.

Xia Ni also regretted why she had joined the 'emergency medical' team for three times the salary and then worked in this underground hospital for six or seven consecutive days.

If she had known this would happen, she should have stayed home and taken care of herself first.

I got up, went to the toilet, and rinsed my face with cold water. In the mirror was a haggard-looking woman, with dark purple marks left from wearing goggles for a long time.

The office door opened and closed, and the Black head nurse walked in. Seeing Shani awake, she cried out as if rescued:

"Great, Shani, cover my shift for a bit so I can get some sleep. If I don't sleep soon, I'll die of exhaustion."

When the head nurse entered the room, she was already staggering. She almost collapsed onto the makeshift cot, and before she could even adjust her sleeping position, she fell into a deep sleep a few seconds later.

Xia Ni sighed, changed into her protective suit, tidied herself up a bit, grabbed the walkie-talkie on her chest, and shouted to everyone in the ward:

“I am Shani Costa. Nurse Williams is taking a break, so I am taking over her duties. Report to me if there are any issues.”

Before the words were even finished, a distress call came through the walkie-talkie, "Xia Ni, another patient in Zone 3 has developed acute respiratory failure!"

"Oh my God!" Shani sighed inwardly, "I just woke up and haven't even had time to eat anything to regain my strength."
-
When Xia Ni rushed to the bedside in ward 3, she found that someone had taken her job.

A tall figure in protective gear, holding a tablet computer, said to the nurse making rounds in a serious tone:
"This patient has as many as seven underlying diseases, has lost 65% of his lung function, and his blood oxygen saturation has been consistently below 80%. There is little point in trying to save him. Remove the tubes and send him to the hospice care area."

Shani was shocked to hear this, because she saw the patient's identity written on the bedside medical record card—Deputy Director William House of the Federal Arbitration and Mediation Bureau.

This title may seem unremarkable, but it is actually a Level 3 civil servant position in the United States, equivalent to a vice ministerial level, and there are only a little over a hundred such positions in the entire country.

She had seen this silver-haired politician on television news; he had represented the federal government in handling the West Coast port strike last month.

Logically, a high-ranking official of this caliber shouldn't be sent to this temporary hospital converted from an underground air-raid shelter, but given the current chaos due to the pandemic, it's indeed possible that someone might be sent to the wrong place.

However, these high-ranking officials possess natural privileges and receive preferential treatment everywhere, so they cannot be sent to 'end-of-life care' casually.

Duty dictated that Xia Ni had to step forward to see who was so audacious as to arbitrarily deal with a vice-ministerial level official.

When she got closer and saw the face behind the mask, she exclaimed in surprise, "Victor?"

The person holding the tablet was none other than Zhou Qingfeng, who was supposed to be a caregiver. He had changed into a protective suit and was wearing a new identity tag on his chest.

The top part reads 'Victor Zhou', followed by 'Doctor', and the bottom part lists his job title as 'Medical Assessment Specialist'.

Xia Ni was stunned on the spot, her eyes dazzled by the 'Doctor' sign, and she felt a little guilty, wondering if it would be inappropriate for her to rashly pull a 'Doctor' along.

Is it possible that Mr. House, who held a vice-ministerial position, was indeed old and frail, suffering greatly from the virus?

Sometimes, it's better to receive hospice care and leave this world with dignity than to live a life devoid of dignity with a life on a ventilator.
-
Zhou Qingfeng turned around, revealing a rosy face behind his protective mask. He smiled and said, "Xia Ni, did you sleep well? Hot food is now available 24 hours a day in the restaurant area. You should go and get something to eat first."

Xia Ni stared at the brand-new name tag on his chest and subconsciously grabbed Zhou Qingfeng's wrist. "Wait, Victor, what's with this 'condition assessment specialist'?"

“I was surprised too.” Zhou Qingfeng shrugged. “I was just moving medical waste, changing oxygen cylinders in the intensive care unit, and sending corpses to the morgue to help lighten the nurses’ workload.”

"Professor Hart, who was in charge of managing this underground hospital, suddenly called me into his office." Zhou Qingfeng mimicked the old professor adjusting his glasses.
He stared into my eyes and asked, "Young man, you're actually a PhD from Johns Hopkins University specializing in infectious diseases, aren't you?"

Shani was completely baffled by the question, "Johns Hopkins University?"

“I’m an honest person, so of course I’d say no,” Zhou Qingfeng continued. “But the professor wouldn’t give up.”

He then asked me if I graduated from Harvard Medical School, and also asked if I knew Nobel laureate Cornell.

How would I know anything about Cornell? Of course, I shook my head. Then the professor kept asking questions, and finally I got fed up.

Zhou Qingfeng lowered his voice and leaned close to Xia Ni's ear, "I just said, 'Professor, which school do you think I should have graduated from?'"

Shani was completely dumbfounded.

"Then the professor slammed his fist on the table and stood up," Zhou Qingfeng suddenly raised his voice to imitate, "'I knew it! You're a top student from UC Berkeley!'"

Xia Ni almost had a brain freeze, staring intently into the man's eyes: "So, which university did you graduate from?"

"Shh—" Zhou Qingfeng put his index finger in front of his mask. "Actually, if you really think about it, I didn't even graduate from high school."

Xia Ni gasped, and the two stared at each other through their masks.

At that moment, Professor Hart was walking towards them, holding a stack of medical records labeled "Priority for Severe Cases".
-
“Victor.” Although his eyes were bloodshot, Professor Hart seemed to be in good spirits. “Young people are so healthy; they can work for more than ten hours straight without getting tired.”

The professor came over with a smile, his gaze naturally sweeping over the vice-ministerial-level 'Lord House' lying on the hospital bed next to him.

How to deal with this esteemed superior has clearly become a difficult problem.

The professor, with impeccable composure, instantly revealed a worried expression and asked with concern, "How is this patient?"

"This is not good." Zhou Qingfeng, also an 'actor' at this moment, said in a low voice, "Lord House is suffering from great pain, but we are helpless." He uttered a bunch of random words like 'blood oxygen,' 'breathing,' and 'heart and lungs.'

Professor Hart, a medical expert, nodded repeatedly. "Victor, what's your opinion?"

Zhou Qingfeng readily replied, "I think it's better to provide 'end-of-life care' than to let him continue lying there like a living corpse."

Let Lord House's life have a peaceful end. I believe he himself thinks so right now.

Upon hearing this, the patient on the hospital bed suddenly struggled violently, and strange 'hoarse' sounds came from the intubated mouth and nose, as if a soul trapped in a body was crying out.

His pale eyelids trembled wildly, and his cloudy eyeballs rolled violently beneath his skin, as if he were about to break free from the shackles of drowsiness at any moment.

The people present stared at the patient, none of them speaking or exchanging glances. Only the regular beeping of the electrocardiogram monitor sounded particularly jarring in the silence.

Seeing the patient struggling more and more violently, Zhou Qingfeng, after a few seconds of surprise, quickly turned off the 'artificial lung' next to the hospital bed.

Once the lungs are shut down, patients without spontaneous breathing immediately become hypoxic, lose consciousness, and stop struggling.

Xia Ni looked at Zhou Qingfeng in surprise, wanting to say something.

Professor Hart, who was standing next to him, breathed a sigh of relief and said quickly, "Victor studies infectious diseases at Berkeley, California. I trust his judgment."

Everyone dies eventually, and the pandemic is too severe right now. We should respect Mr. House, and may God bless him.

After saying this, the professor seemed to have put an end to his point of view, and deliberately made the sign of the cross on his chest and said "Amen".
-
Shani hurriedly followed Professor Hart into the director's office of the underground hospital. It was actually just a small space separated by a curtain, containing two tables, a chair, and a cot.

Professor Hart slumped in his swivel chair like a lump of mud, his dark circles under his eyes particularly noticeable under the light. He slowly took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with the corner of his white coat.

Shani leaned on the desk and questioned, "Professor, you can't let Victor do this. He's not a medical doctor at all, and he has no ability to assess patients' conditions."

The professor's eyelids drooped, looking like he wanted to sleep but couldn't, and could only force himself to stay awake. He was too lazy to speak loudly, and could only sigh:
“Xianni, you are not the only one with a sense of justice here, nor are you the only one doing your best to save lives.”

My child, the world is collapsing.

If we had enough resources, we could certainly save everyone, but we don't.

Victor was at least still saving people, while those suit-clad bastards had long since hidden in the bunker. He did a good job, no fault whatsoever.

Right now, we can only select some patients to treat. Someone has to take on this difficult task.

“I understand what you mean, but what about afterwards? What if someone holds Victor accountable?” Shani whispered, “He’ll be sent to jail.”

Professor Hart chuckled at this, "Victor is a wanted criminal, and he's not even an American, so he doesn't care at all."

"What?" Shani stammered, "He's...a wanted criminal?"

"You never read current affairs news?" the professor chuckled. "I recognized him the moment I saw him."

The president of the 'Holy Light' Group, a young billionaire with a net worth of over a billion, has sparked huge controversy online, controlling a technology company that could potentially change the future world.

He didn't even bother to hide his name; what an arrogant genius!

Shani thought carefully until she suddenly realized, "Victor, I remember now, he was arrested by the FBI and IRS and it was on the news."

The professor patted the table, his voice suddenly becoming lighter, "Relax, Nurse. On these terrible days, we need someone who doesn't care about the rules."
-
Shani walked through the noisy corridor back to the ward area. She stopped and looked at the now empty bed.

House's nameplate was still hanging above the bed, but the sheets had been changed to brand new white ones.

Two caregivers were pushing a stretcher past her. Through the thin sheet, she could see the gaunt silhouette of the former deputy minister.

The old man's endotracheal tube had been removed and replaced with a small square gauze pad on his neck. His eyes were half-open, and his cloudy pupils reflected the flickering emergency light on the ceiling.

"Excuse me, nurse." The caregiver's voice brought her back to reality.

Shani stepped aside and noticed that the direction they were pushing the cart was at the end of the corridor marked "Area A"—a place known as the "Angel Corridor," the final resting place for all terminally ill patients.

As she turned around, her gaze met a pair of bright eyes.

In the next bed, a boy of about eight or nine years old was curled up on a stretcher, his small body almost completely submerged in an adult-sized sheet.

The boy was clutching a faded teddy bear tightly in his arms, the IV needle starkly visible on the back of his pale hand.

“They’re disinfecting my new bed,” the boy explained, his voice hoarse from the fever. “The nurse said I’ll be able to use that breathing machine soon.”

Xia Ni suddenly felt something melt in her chest. She knelt down and tucked the blanket around the boy: "What's your name?"

“Tommy.” The boy gave a weak smile. “My dad said he’ll take me to see the Nationals’ game once I get better.”

A crisp sound of medical equipment colliding came from behind me.

The nurses are repositioning the artificial lung on the empty bed in House's hospital room.

The silver pipes gleamed coldly in the cool light, and the screen of the electrocardiogram monitor lit up, displaying green lines awaiting the pulse of life.

At this moment, all moral dilemmas become crystal clear. In the face of death, age becomes the fairest measure.

As Shani walked past the central nurses' station, she noticed changes in the data on the registration board.

The once densely packed list of elderly patients is rapidly disappearing, now interspersed with many young names.

Pediatricians are no longer standing idly in the corner, but are now busily moving between the beds.

Most surprisingly, she heard laughter—some of the sick children, who were listless, responded to the nurses' comforting words.

No matter how good the care those elderly high-ranking officials receive, they can only let out a dying sigh.

Xia Ni took a deep breath and suddenly realized that behind Zhou Qingfeng's 'cold-blooded' nature lay a gentle humanity.
-
"Nurse Shani, you're now acting as head nurse, right?" Two Homeland Security agents appeared in the underground hospital, flashing a wanted poster.

"Have you seen this person before? Asian, black hair, about 1.8 meters tall, and strong."

Xia Ni glanced at the wanted poster and snapped rudely, "Get out of the way! This is the intensive care unit. Who gave you permission to barge in?"

(End of this chapter)