Morristown Memorial Hospital…Clean Up on Isle Three
They pulled up to the main Emergency Services Entry Portico at Morristown Memorial shortly after three o’clock in the afternoon, just in time to see the last ten military-drab Humvees and Ambulances snaking their way back down the hospital exit lane. A Morristown cop was stationed at the main roadway in front of the place to stop oncoming traffic and allow the military convoy to leave in one continuous parade.
Leeds watched the military vehicles piling out of – what must’ve been for them – a gruesome and physically punishing long assignment.
“I bet those soldiers can’t wait to see their families again” she said to Heinlein. He just grunted, eyeing up the whole scene in front of him.
The enormous automatic Emergency Room window-wall doors marked “Admissions” were frozen open, creating an access that a semi tractor trailer could’ve driven through. Every window in the building they could see was pushed open or lifted to vent and air the place out.
Workmen in bright yellow vests emblazoned with “Eagle Commercial Cleaning Services” on their backs were swarming all over the building, some lugging wet-dry vacs and others dragging mops and buckets. There was what appeared to be a Volkswagen-sized moisture-proof dumpster near the entry doors, into which the day-glow-vested workers were heaving the putrid liquid contents of their rolling buckets. The dumpster was painted with bright red “WARNING – HAZARDOUS FLUIDS!” lettering and reeked, stinking up a twenty-foot radius around the hospital doorway area.
Heinlein parked his Ford Explorer on top of a grassy area directly across from the open ER doors and they made their way inside.
There were gurneys and wheelchairs everywhere – all being scrubbed and sprayed with heavy chemical disinfectants. Nurses were scurrying about calling out for doctors and aide personnel to handle patients that were aimlessly lumbering their way up and down the hallways like they were actors in some zombie movie. The Hospital smelled like a soup of chloroform, bleach, ammonia, battery acid – and fecal matter.
Heinlein gently reached out for the elbow of a nurse that was hurrying past him to get her attention.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m Detective Heinlein with the Warren Township Police Department and this is Sargeant Leeds from the New Jersey State Police – can you direct us to the Doctor or Administrator in charge of what’s going on here?”
“Yes, Sir…that would be Doctor Raimondi – he’s the guy right down the Hallway there wearing that smeared and wrinkled white coat” she responded.
Heinlein thanked her and headed towards him, Leeds at his side.
“Look around us…the cleaning crews are scrubbing walls and mopping floors removing black shit stains from everywhere; I wonder what that’s all about” he said to his partner.
They walked up to Dr. Raimondi and flashed their badges.
Heinlein kept it brief.
“Doctor, I’m from the town that delivered the two little girls that – I guess you might say – started this whole thing…can you update me? Sargeant Leeds and I are conducting a joint Warren Police and NJ State Police Investigation of the incident”.
Dr. Raimondi eyed them both with a weariness that bordered on exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open, and his face was the color of soap. His breath was sour, and his armpit odor was nauseating.
“Follow me, please” he said.
He guided them through a maze of disinfectant buckets, yellow-vested cleaning personnel and discolored walls and floors to a broom closet with chairs marked “MD Consultation room” – a cubby Doctors used to inform family members of treatment options and/or progress or worse. He flopped into a well-worn seat and rubbed his eyes. At least the place didn’t smell like animal entrails.
“I honestly can’t tell you much. Two girls – Andrea Jameson and Tracy Marcam – were taken here by Warren EMS. Both were in a bad way – infected with something that was rampaging through their bodies. Their skin started rotting – literally – on their bones. Then it liquified. De-congealed. Their bodies melted onto the gurneys and then dripped onto the floors. Then the EMS workers started dropping…then the nurses…. then three Emergency Doctors. I was working graveyard shift – appropriately named – and walked in on the tail end of the blowup.
Then – for some reason – the infections abated. The skin rotting slowed. The sick people started coughing up – then vomiting – a heavy, black oily sludge that crusted over into a disgusting, smelly black ash. We reported what we saw to the State Health Emergency Authorities according to Center for Disease Control protocols – and the military arrived. They cordoned everything off. They acted like they’d seen this all before. All they kept saying to us during quarantine was, WAIT.
Twenty-four hours after that, all the infected patients either died or slowly came around after barfing up that black sludge. We tested what we scraped off those little girls; we called them “Patients Zero”. It was some kind of Superbug…. a strain of Streptococcus that we never saw before. It seemed to supercharge latent Necrotizing Fasciitis bacteria that was mixed in with it. Me and a bunch of others, for some reason, were never infected. When I told this to the Military Doctor from Joint Base McGuire who was in charge of enforcing the quarantine, he just shook his head in the affirmative like he’d heard it before. He wasn’t the least bit surprised or interested.
All I can surmise is that the visible light spectrum generated by our intense fluorescent illumination throughout the ER weakened and degenerated the Superbug – and it died on its own – transforming itself into odious, inert black sludge. The detritus got everywhere – and on everyone. All the survivors smelled like an unwashed autopsy table – but at least they were alive. I can’t figure it out……but I can say this: I’ll swear to my dying day that the military knew what the Superbug was. They’d run into it before but wouldn’t share any information. They let it run its course and then left us to clean up the mess. They were as useless as nipples on a doorknob. “
Heinlein and Leeds thanked Dr. Raimondi and left him – hopefully – to find a shower and some clean clothes. Back in the Ford Explorer, Leeds asked Heinlein “What do you make of all this?”
“We’re on our way to get some answers…” Heinlein said. “There’s somebody that we’ve got to lean on right now. We’re heading to Millstone Township -to sit in a Faraday tent and lay some old-fashioned Good Cop – Bad Cop moves on an Indian Chief. Follow my lead. You can be the Good Cop.”
They jumped on US Rt. 287 South in Morristown and headed to Millstone – 15 miles West of Freehold, in Monmouth County, New Jersey. Their destination was the “Lodge” of the Lenni Lenape Nation – actually, a center-hall colonial in a trendy suburban neighborhood with Little Tikes toys on front lawns and privileged middle-class women in Lulu Lemons jogging all over the place. Heinlein parked his police cruiser in the driveway – to block the exit of the two new Toyota 4Runners that were facing the street. As they walked up to the front door, Heinlein told Leeds – “Get ready to flash your badge. You’re about to meet Sakima Nemahtenow – or Sachem – Crow Feather of the Lenni Lenape Nation”.
A young man in a ponytail, festooned with silver chains inlaid with turquoise and spiney oyster shell pieces answered the “Lodge’s” doorbell. He looked annoyed as he focused on the police badges that were being raised up to his fair-skinned face.
“Can I help you, Officers?” His tone was dismissive – redolent with disrespect.
“WHY, YES!” Bellowed Heinlein, not sparing his sarcasm.
“YOU MUST BE SUCHTKA, SACHEM’S ADJUTANT. TELL SITTING BULL IN THERE TO CANCEL HIS RAIN DANCE TODAY – HE’S COMING IN FOR QUESTIONING WITH US!”
From behind the door Heinlein and Leeds heard some words in being directed at young Suchtka in a strange language. The front door then opened completely – and there stood Sachem Crow- Feather wearing his signature khaki pants, dock-siders and LL Bean fleece.
“Come with me, please, Officers” He said with eyes downcast, obviously ashamed of his young adjutant’s unprofessionalism. “I’m certain we can resolve our differences without any unpleasantness…. please leave your cell phones on the table over there.”
Heinlein and Leeds placed their phones on the table and followed Sachem Crow-Feather to his backyard Faraday Tent.
The Sachem let Heinlein speak first. Heinlein kept it brief.
“PEOPLE ARE DYING! AND YOU KNOW HOW TO STOP IT! DON’T BULLSHIT ME! Whatever you’re holding back you’d better tell me now. I’ll have you shucked around to so many holding pens in so many locations that your CIA and NSA buddies won’t find you for weeks…”
The Sachem wasn’t fazed.
“My people have withstood pressure from White men for centuries. I don’t care about you, Detective Heinlein. BUT – your lovely companion…. well, let’s just say I’d be interested in her perspective. Young lady, would you please remove your cap?”
Leeds lifted her NJSP cap off her head, revealing a mussed-up mop of hair. Sachem Crow-Feather reached over and gently touched the left and right sides of her forehead, just above her hairline, with his thumb and forefinger.
“Yes”. He whispered. “You are one of the few.”
“Alright, Detective Heinlein. I will share the secrets with you and this very special young woman. Secrets that I hoped I’d never have to say to any man – let alone a White Man. There is a Leni Lenape ritual…..called the Nutemat Wuntschimen Pataman.
It is through this ancient rite that The Guardians are summoned.
We of our Tribe have not performed this ritual in over a hundred years. BUT KNOW THIS, DETECTIVE: Tribal Medicine Men and their Sachem can recite the prayers and sing chants for Summoning The Guardians – but the summoning act- the Wuntschimen – can on by a completed by a Witch – a “Nuchihewe”. A woman who bears the “Mark” – the Kichkican.
And that woman, Detective, is right next to you.
Am I not correct, Sargeant Leeds?”
Copyright 2025, Jon Croft
www.bogironpatriot.com
www.bogironslav.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
