Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 50

The nurse shook her head as she peered out of the intensive care unit window at Dan Huber.  He looked like death itself, but his son looked worse.

Karl's young body lay almost naked on the hospital bed.  Wires and tubes coiled about him.  His body was rigid, and his face was a frozen mask of agony.  The nurse hovered above him, dropping saline solution into the eyes that refused to close.

"Why has this happened?" Mr. Huber whispered. "Why?"

Electronic monitors traced Karl's vital signs.  Electrodes clustered around his heart, and wires entwined his temples: an ironic wreath for the Olympian hero.  An EKG showed the rapid flutter of his heart.  A frantic though feeble "beep – beep – beep" tried to keep pace with his pulse.

A tall, gray man in a white coat came silently up behind Mr. Huber.  "Are you the father?" he asked.  Mr. Huber nodded, mutely.  "I've never seen anything like this," the doctor whispered.  "You see that monitor?"  He pointed at the screen high on one wall.  "That's a neural network analyzer. It maps every nerve in his skull."

Mr. Huber tried to deciper it.  "It looks pretty active."

"Active?  It's maxed out!  It's past overload, and it's been like that ever since he got here.  His brain can't possibly handle this level of activity."

Mr. Huber gulped. "Why is he like this?"

"Terror," the doctor answered, soberly.  "I can't tell you why, but I know what it is.  Every nerve in his body is burning itself out.  He's barely able to breathe right now, but if he had the breath for it, all we would hear would be one eternal scream."

"An eternal scream," Mr. Huber repeated, brokenly.

Mr. Avery hastened down the hall from the elevator. He had been up all night – again –  driving like a madman toward Boston's Children's Hospital.  "Dan," he said, simply.  "Dan."  Tears filled his eyes.

Mr. Huber turned toward him like a drowning man.  "Avery!" he cried.  "Thank God you're here.  What happened to my son?  What made him like this?"

"It happened to Nancy, too, Dan," Mr. Avery answered.  "It took us almost an hour to snap her out of it."

"It's been more than an hour, man!  Why hasn't Karl snapped out of it?"

"Nancy was only in it for minutes.  Karl was trapped in that hell for hours!"

"What can we do?" Mr. Huber shouted.

"I don't know," Mr. Avery whispered.

"But we can't just stand here.  What can we do?"  Mr. Huber repeated, brokenly.

"Pray."

"Pray?" Mr. Huber roared, with what was left of his shattered strength.  "Pray?  Why should I pray to the God that let this happen?  And why should He listen to me?"

Mr. Avery was silent, holding his tongue—even holding his breath—until the fire flickered out of Mr. Huber's eyes, and his shoulders sagged back down.   "Dan, Karl made his choices.  He's reaping what he sowed.  We should pray to God for mercy!"

"Go ahead, you pray to your sadistic God," Mr. Huber snarled.  "Pray to this God who sends boys to die like this, who does these horrible things.  Let Him save my son.  Then I'll pray."

Just a few feet and one universe away, Karl was trapped.  He clawed about himself helplessly, desperately seeking a way of escape, but his hands and feet met only the tangible emptiness of chaos.  The face of Hades loomed over him.  It cried out, "This is death, Karl!  This is Hell!"