Free Powerless by Tim Washburn Page B

results of the test, first.”
    â€œBut I would want to know if I were her, Mom.”
    â€œI know, son, but she has to care for her fam—” The words die in her throat as her cheeks turn a deep crimson.
    â€œYou can say it, Mom. Family. It’s been three years. I know she has a family, but I still think she would want to know,” Zeke says.
    â€œZeke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Mom.” Zeke steps toward the door and, without turning to look at his parents, says, “I’m going to walk for a few minutes.”
    He wanders down the hallway, with no specific place in mind, just to gain a little distance from his parents.
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    After the IED exploded beneath our Humvee chaos reigned inside. Through the smoky haze, the screams of my friends were loud enough to penetrate my near deafness from the explosion. The smell of cordite and singed flesh was overpowering. Someone, most likely the soldiers in the following vehicle, pried open the doors and the heavy smoke cleared. The bright beams of several flashlights washed over the interior and I knew immediately that two of my squad members were dead. There was blood everywhere.
    Someone grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside. Pain—all I felt was mind-numbing pain. Someone jabbed a needle into my arm and the morphine coursed through my body, taking the edge off. I must have passed out. My next memory was being loaded into a rescue helicopter. Above, the blades cut through the dark night.
    I remained at the base hospital for two weeks. Shrapnel wounds covered my lower body, and my shoulder, which was hit with a large piece of flying debris, looked like hamburger. But I was alive. If I had been riding on the other side of the Humvee, I’d have been dead. At the start of the third week one of the doctors informed me I was being transferred to the VA hospital in Oklahoma City.
    After arriving there, I struggled not only with the physical wounds but the emotional wounds—why did I survive and the others didn’t? It was a question I couldn’t answer until I met Amelia. With a head of red, curly hair and skin the color of porcelain, she had freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her beautiful nose. She was nearly as tall as I am, and I took every opportunity to peer into her green eyes as she led me by the elbow along the busy corridors. After four years of nursing, she had witnessed the tragedies of war firsthand, but she hadn’t let the suffering consume her. Her cheery disposition was a welcome relief to every wounded soldier confined to the hospital.
    From the first moment I saw her I knew she was the woman I wanted—to care for, to love like no other.
    Every soldier in the hospital was in love with Amelia—hell, who wouldn’t be? She was smart as a whip and, though not drop-dead gorgeous, attractive nonetheless. The red hair was often pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a face almost devoid of makeup.
    I felt the envious stares of the other wounded soldiers as Amelia and I shared a meal at the two-top table tucked into the corner of the hospital cafeteria. I felt like the guy crowned prom king sharing lunch with her. The way she laughed, the way she cocked her head when she contemplated an answer to another of my endless questions, the way she brushed the strands of hair from her face—each little gesture was magnified in my mind.
    â€œCan we go on a real date?” I blurted out during one of our meals.
    â€œZeke, if you haven’t noticed, we’re in a hospital. Besides, I make it a policy to not date my patients.” She’d said it with a smile, but my heart was no less crushed.
    â€œWhat about when I get out of the hospital?”
    She paused for a long while. “Maybe.”

C HAPTER 23
    NOAA Space Weather Prediction Center
    Wednesday, September 29, 12:09 P.M .
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    S amuel Blake is