Page 4 of Fanatic

“People are demanding to be told why Major General Winslow and Colonel Jefferson are being court-martialled for disobeying orders. They wanna know why the national guardand Airforce weren’t mobilised by the President to protect an American city. Joe public want to know why, for over a year, the President ignored warnings from experts that we had a massive home-grown terrorist threat.”

“I can’t believe Winslow and Jefferson have been relieved of duty and court-martialled,” I whispered.

“They lost men. The President acted to shut them up, but it’s too late. Winslow and Jefferson had already given a lawyer evidence of them contacting the higher-ups. And the presidential stamp is on every single refusal where help was requested. And with the camera footage, there’s no denying if the National Guard and Airforce hadn’t helped, we’d have lost Rapid City, and it would have been a massacre.”

“I can’t deal with that,” I admitted.

“So, take a career break and run. For your own sanity, Willow, run. Let the shit settle where it does, but you work on your grief,” Fanatic urged.

“I will do.”

“Don’t cut me out, babe, let me know where you end up,” Fanatic murmured.

I nodded, not knowing I would break my word.

November 2023

Fanatic

I parked the bike and swung towards the entrance of the hospital. The message had got my ass on the first plane out of South Dakota. Yeah, I had purloined Mum’s plane, and anyone with a problem could bite me.

I raced inside and headed for the reception desk.

“Willow Ware,” I demanded.

The nurse in charge studied me. “Pardon?”

“I received a call from a Dr Stratford. I’m Willow Ware’s emergency contact. Dr Stratford said I was needed.”

The woman ducked her head. “Your name?”

“Micah Michaelson.”

“You want level three and the maternity wing. Follow the blue arrows, and they will take your there.”

I’d begun walking away but turned back slowly as I paled. “Maternity? Willow’s pregnant?”

The nurse scrunched her eyes. “Yes. I suggest you make your way up there.”

I didn’t bother hesitating and headed to the lifts. Anxiously jabbing the button for the third floor, I tried to gather my thoughts. What the hell was I walking in to? The doctor hadn’t given me much information, just said Willow needed me, and I should come. Maternity had not been mentioned.

I exited the elevator and stormed down the corridors, following the arrows. I punched the intercom to be admitted and gave my name. As I entered, a woman hurried towards me in a midwife’s uniform.

“Mr Michaelson, this way, please,” she called and spun around. My long strides caught her up as she led me to a room.

Inside, someone screamed.

“Go!” the midwife ordered.

Scared, I opened the door and peered in. Willow sat hunched up in bed, a sweaty mess and her legs drawn up as she cursed.

“Come in!” somebody snapped, and I hurried in before standing uselessly.

“Fanatic,” Willow moaned. “No! Why are you here?”

“Because I got a damn call.”

“Go away,” Willow hissed.

---