Читать книгу Crisis: Blue - J. A. Davis - Страница 9

Chapter 3

It was a cold day; the air was unusually still, and black, low-lying clouds drifted slowly overhead. The only sound that could be heard was the excessive chirping of thousands of confused birds. They flew in one giant, turbulent circle over the little town of Carencrow, located on the banks of the Cajun River in southern Louisiana. Oddly enough, this funnel cloud of wings appeared to touch down over Carencrow Regional Hospital, an affiliate of Lambed HCA. However, instead of creating a vortex powerful enough to suck up this monstrous for-profit hospital, nothing but droppings rained down.

It was October 31, and a massive storm was approaching the little town. Suddenly, in the distance, multiple lightning bolts shot toward the earth. The light was blinding, and the energy reflecting off the ominous clouds gave the town an eerie glow. Soon thereafter, the sound of the rolling thunder could be heard far off in the distance. All that was missing was the deadly warlock and his ravenous pack of goons and goblins. However, they were soon to arrive, as the workday was about to begin.

GeeHad Bin-Sad, founder, president and chief executive officer of Lambed HCA, had just arrived at the hospital. It was 5:00 a.m. He parked his Bentley on the sacred ground reserved for his eminence. As he stepped from his car, he looked toward the sky, thinking how much he loved stormy days such as this one. But it was neither the awe-inspiring force of nature nor the sweet smell of the approaching rain that captivated him; it was the thought of cash flow. He knew so very well that inclement weather generated more traffic accidents, resulted in more heart attacks and strokes, and exacerbated the inherent paranoia of the simple people living in this rural community. He was confident that the emergency room would soon be overwhelmed and the cash registers singing. Yes, it was going to be a great day.

But GeeHad’s euphoric thoughts were soon shattered. As he approached the entrance, his feet slipped out from under him. He lost his balance and fell backwards, landing on his backside. The force of the fall was partially broken by his outstretched hands, which slipped in the muck beneath him. He was momentarily dazed, but, after regaining his senses, managed to crawl to his feet. It was then that he became overwhelmed by the pungent smell engulfing him.

“Yil’an shaklek!” GeeHad screamed, so loudly that he awakened the sleeping security guard. Realizing this was not a call to prayer, Jimbo, a seventy-five-year-old semi-retiree, staggered toward the front door to find GeeHad covered in bird crap. “Son of a bitch!” GeeHad blurted out as he tried in vain to brush nature’s alterations from his fine, tailor-made suit.

“Are you alright, Mr. Bin-Sad?” Jimbo inquired, without any genuine concern.

“Hell, no!” GeeHad shot back, locking his fiery eyes on Jimbo. Jimbo couldn’t help but notice the bulging veins on GeeHad’s forehead begin to pulsate. He was certain that it wouldn’t be long before steam would billow from GeeHad’s ears. Sensing danger, Jimbo instinctively stepped back.

“Jimbo, you sorry, decrepit bastard! What in the hell do I pay you ten dollars an hour for? Certainly not to sit on your ass and read RV magazines! Every goddamn day there’s bird shit at this entrance. I have told you countless times to hose down this area every morning. Since I can’t seem to get rid of these fucking birds, then I need to get rid of you. You’re fired!”

“Yes, sir,” Jimbo replied instinctively, although he was not yet fully awake. However, when GeeHad’s tongue-lashing finally registered, Jimbo was ecstatic! “It’s time to go RVing!” Jimbo shouted with joy, and started to do a jig. “Thank you, Jesus, this was just the excuse I needed to leave this dreadful little town,” Jimbo said out loud while the thought of traveling the country became more and more appealing. “Yes, indeed, it’s time for old Jimbo to kick up his heels, enjoy several ice cold beers, and chase a few new dreams,” Jimbo concluded with a great sense of pride as he watched GeeHad storm off in a huff, trailing a toxic cloud of Carencrow’s claim to fame—buzzard excrement.