by Mike Chen
Moira did a mental check of everything in the backpack hanging off Rob’s shoulders: duct tape, flashlights, binoculars. They left what little cash remained in the car, though Moira saw Krista shove her business card holder in her pocket.
The backpack also held the gun. Unloaded, ammo clip in a side pouch. But still, it was an illegal firearm, and even though she had experience with them during her overland days, being near guns unnerved her. From the expressions on Krista’s and Rob’s faces, they felt it even more.
Moira led them along the perimeter fence, keeping their distance at first until the loading dock angled into view. From a small hill, they were able to survey the situation: one gate in and out and a long chain-link fence around it, all topped with barbed wire—basically, security for a hospital in a post-pandemic world, one that might slow an angry mob but nothing that could truly keep out individuals who really wanted to break in.
She’d dealt with worse though.
Farther in, a dim orange glow came from the loading area’s light, lighting the outline of a man, puffs of smoke trailing behind him. Moira pulled out the binoculars for a better look. The smoking man appeared to be someone on break, not security. One camera was visible, but it lay on top of the door—a door that had a badge reader for security.
“We’re gonna need to get that guy’s badge. And it looks like that delivery gate’s chained up. We need to move fast. He’s only on a break.” She checked for lighting around the perimeter, as well as any hiding spots. “There.” She pointed to a spot with a tree on the outside of the fence and a Dumpster several feet from its interior. “That will hide us. Come with me.”
The plans, the instincts for movement and concealment, all activated in ways that felt as instinctive as speaking in an English accent again.
Maybe more.
“Okay. Rob, find a safe spot to grab the barbed wire by hand and pull it down here. Krista, do the same thing there.” She gestured about four feet away. Rob was able to reach from his tiptoes though Krista needed toeholds on the fence to give her extra height. “Hold it tight. Do not let go,” she said. Before they could grunt affirmatives, Moira was up, then swung her leg over the pulled section of barbed wire and dropped to the ground.
She moved to Krista’s side and grabbed the same spot in the barbed line. “Krista, you’re gonna need to climb too.”
Krista’s eyes went wide as she looked at the gap of about four feet of depressed barbed wire. “Fuck,” she said under her breath. “Yoga does not train you for this.”
“Just be careful when you swing your leg over. Jump down, I’ll catch you.”
“Jesus, Moira, how strong are you?”
“Just trust me, we did this all the time with Narc.”
Krista scaled the fence, slower than Moira and producing much more noise than she would have preferred. Moira kept glancing over her shoulder at the smoking man, but the noise didn’t seem to catch his attention. “Okay, drop,” Moira said, and she angled herself to absorb Krista’s fall, her arms catching under Krista’s shoulders.
Krista looked back at the fence with her feet on the ground. “Let’s not do that again.”
“Oh shit,” Rob said. “He’s putting out his cigarette. You guys go before he heads back in.”
Moira assessed the situation, from the position of the man to the probable range of the security camera to the equipment in the backpack. “Krista. Run as quietly as you can that way. In the shadows. Then about halfway down the fence line, limp out and call to him for help.”
“What are you going to do?”
“No time. Just go.”
A grimace came over Krista’s face, but she still departed at a brisk pace.
“Rob, slide the backpack under the barbed wire.” He did as told, the backpack’s straps briefly catching on the top of the fence line but making it into Moira’s hands.
“What’s the plan?”
“Just wait here.” From the distance, Krista made her fake cry for help. Moira set the backpack on the ground, then ripped the zipper open. Rob made an audible gasp when Moira pulled out the gun. “And trust me.”
She stepped out from the safety of the Dumpster to see the man approaching Krista, who hobbled on one leg toward him. Bits of their conversation broke through, and Moira had to hand it to Krista. Maybe it was the training as an event coordinator, but she sold her excuse about going on break for a walk before catching her leg on cracked pavement. So well, in fact, that the man didn’t realize when Moira began approaching him. She swung her track wide just to make sure they were out of camera view, then held the gun up.
“Don’t move. I’ve got a gun.”
The man inhaled as his hands popped up in the air. He glanced back at her, his eyes widened with panic. “Walk slowly to the Dumpster, and you won’t get hurt.”
“Listen.” The man’s voice cracked as he stepped forward. “I’m not involved with politics. I mean, I’m registered with the Centrist party, we kind of agree with everyone, you know? And I know nothing about what’s happening, I only work here because all the jobs are in the Metro.”
“Get the duct tape,” Moira said, tossing it over. Krista grabbed it, eyes still filled with uncertainty as they moved over to the far side of the Dumpster. From their angle, Rob was still on the other side but not visible. “What’s your name?”
“Jim.”
“Listen, Jim. I’ve got a friend. He’s actually just over by the gate. We’re not anarchists, and we’re not here to hurt anyone. But for now, you’re going to have to stay here. On your knees, and stick your hands behind your back.” Moira nodded at Krista. “Tape his ankles and wrists.”
Krista unfurled the tape with a sharp precision that caught Moira’s attention, and maybe that had something to do with setting up events. She moved quickly, though she checked in with the man on occasion, asking him if it was too tight or if it hurt. While Krista finished up, she looked over. “Grab his keys and badge.”
Krista frisked the man, then pulled out what Moira requested. “Does this badge open up the loading gate?” Krista said as she released it from his belt loop.
“No. A supervisor has to do it.”
“Damn it. But it’ll get us inside?” He nodded and Krista gripped the massive key ring, then hooked it onto her belt. “That’ll do. I’ll figure something out for Rob. One more thing,” she said, staying down on his level. “Have you seen a little girl in the hospital? Seven years old, black hair? Earnest in a cute kind of way?”
The creases along his mouth softened and his eyes tightened. “I think so. I saw security walking with a girl about two or three hours ago. She had a scarf, kind of this ugly blue thing.” Moira caught the faintest hint of a smile from Krista. He craned his neck around to the two women. “Is that what this is about?”
“It is,” Moira said. “And I’m really sorry we’re doing this to you. But you’re going to have to sit tight until we find her. Cover his mouth. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry,” Krista said, pulling the duct tape over his mouth.
She held the gun up, turning it at an angle to show a hollow bottom. “Never loaded it.” From afar, the sounds of police sirens came whirring in, probably at the front of the hospital. “I don’t know how much time we have. If you found your uncle, would he talk to you or would he call security?”
“He’d talk. I’m sure of it. I just have to do my part and not yell at him.”
“Okay. I’ll get Rob over. Let’s badge you into the back door, then leave it with me. I’ll text you when we’re in. Remember, it’s a hospital, not a prison. Even with the military around, people will probably still act fairly normal. Act like you belong and you’ll blend right in.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help you get Rob over?”
“There’s no time. We don’t know how things are going to play out.” Moira point
ed over to the back entrance and the women began jogging over. “Good luck,” she said, as the badge caused the door to beep and unlock.
Krista swung the door open, then handed the badge back to Moira, who shoved it in her pocket. “The first time someone flips out, I’m blaming you,” Krista said. Before Moira could come up with a clever enough retort, Krista disappeared down the hallway and the door shut behind her.
From the Online Encyclopedia page on MoJo:
As with many celebrities of the era, the official record for Johanna Hatfield states that she is “missing, presumed dead.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Rob
“Is everyone okay?” Rob asked. He tried to position it as innocently as possible, but the fact that a gun was involved and everything was out of view rattled his nerves. “I heard you guys talking but I couldn’t make out what was being said.”
“Yeah. I’ll explain on the way in. He’s fine, though. Just tied up.” Moira flashed the badge out of her pocket. “Krista’s already in. Let’s get you up and over.” She hopped up on the chain-link fence, then pulled the barbed wire down. “There’s a little less space with just me holding it down. Take your time, be careful when you swing your leg over, and you’ll be fine.”
“Playing softball has definitely not gotten me ready for this,” Rob said. He climbed up the fence, first handholds, then one foot in, then the other, and then he moved gingerly up. His muscles burned as he pulled himself to the top of the fence line, the little spears of metal pushed low by Moira’s pressure. He pulled his legs up as much as possible and looked down at Moira.
“We totally got this. Trust me.”
Trust Moira.
Of course.
As he perched near the top, all sorts of questions began to rattle around in his mind, but none of them questioned her. His first leg swung over, and he tried to use as much slow and controlled movement as he could muster. Given that most of his athleticism had departed about a decade ago, it wasn’t the smoothest of attempts.
“Halfway there. Go slow.”
They were close. So close to being inside, to being able to really look for Sunny.
“Now just prop yourself up and bring the other leg over.”
His toes turned inward, a perilous grip on the inside of the fence, and his hands helped him straddle the line. Sweat gathered across his brow, and the sheer stupidity of what he was physically trying to do really sunk in.
He brought his other leg over.
“Okay, this is really, oh shi—”
Rob’s front leg slipped, letting free of what little grip he had. He toppled forward, hands losing holds and back leg smacking the fence line, possibly even one of the barbs.
“I got you!”
A thunderous clap echoed through the loading dock as something smacked against the fence, and something—presumably Moira—wrapped itself around him, slowing his forward momentum but failing to stop it. When he figured out what had happened, he looked straight down into Moira’s eyes, his own hands planted on the pavement as he draped over her. “Oh, shit, are you okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.” She smiled, flashing a grin as her cheeks lifted, and he realized that her arms were still wrapped around his waist. “I told you to trust me.”
“I totally do. Thanks for catching me.”
“My pleasure.”
He stayed perched over her, the veins pounding in his tensed arms.
They remained, silent on the ground, Rob’s knees stinging a little from the impact, but it paled in comparison to the surge of hope in his chest, the same one that told him to get closer and press his lips against hers.
Bathed in fluorescent loading dock lamps next to a rusty Dumpster, they kissed, everything else fading away until only the immediacy of the moment remained. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and Rob slowly pulled back. As he did, the world seemed to have changed. They were still on a mission and there was still an outbreak, but maybe it was finally okay for two people like Rob and Moira to stop running from the past and look toward the future together.
She opened her eyes, looking straight into his. “You were right,” Rob said. “We totally got this.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Krista
Moira’s hunch was half-right—things weren’t exactly normal in the hospital. The military presence made Krista feel like she got the side-eye from just about every passing uniform. On the other hand, everyone else looked exhausted and apathetic. Even the guy with the giant machine gun yawned. The hospital’s stark lighting didn’t help tired complexions, and Krista considered whether she too looked worn down. Might as well fit in.
This probably was a good thing, since a lobby TV showed coverage of the front entrance riot—complete with freeze frame of Rob front and center trying to talk to the guard. Krista recognized herself, though an adjacent shoulder obscured her enough to hopefully prevent any passersby from making a connection.
In her pocket, Krista felt her business card holder. She debated taking it out and flashing its contents—not business cards for networking, but the photo booth print of her and Sunny. Would it be easiest just to ask?
But she decided against it. Too much at stake. Instead, she marched forward, face hidden by a mask.
The main directory listed Uncle Dean’s office on the third floor, but a quick check showed that he’d recently moved. From the grousing she’d overheard about military and government operations, chances were Uncle Dean was on the higher floors with them, though nothing gave away his location. A little voice tugged at her to turn around, disappear, keep all blood ties severed clean. But that feeling came and went, the weight of finding Sunny eclipsing any raw nerves triggered by being in the same building, the same city as Uncle Dean.
Booming male voices broke through the relative quiet by a break room, and Krista walked in, pretending to ponder the vending machine’s selection while eavesdropping. “It’s overkill,” one security guard said to the other. “Military? They’re protesters, not zombies.”
“Guess we have some extra-smart doctors here to protect.” The other one, a stocky Latino man with bushy eyebrows and a patch of unkempt hair on his chin, leaned back in his chair while he raised his paper cup like a toast. Neither of them wore their masks.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the standing one, a lanky blond kid whose security uniform hung off him, “if military means I get longer breaks, then I’m all for it.”
“Oh, I think you two could handle a little action,” Krista said, pulling down her mask and grinning. The two men chuckled in return, and Krista put on the same facade she showed clients, particularly the male members of families: polite, humble, and a little flirty. How many floors were in this hospital? Krista grabbed a number and threw it out there. “Are the smart doctors still holed up on the seventh floor?”
“Is it seven now? I thought it was the ninth floor,” the kid said.
Ninth floor. “Oh, that’s it. Sorry, I’m just tired. Long shift.” On command, she gently laughed with an insincerity only she could detect.
“You and me both,” said the sitting man. “If the outbreak crosses the state line, I’m quitting and going home.”
“Nah, I’m not scared.” The younger man looked at Krista and shot a cocky grin, one that probably was meant to impress everyone listening. “This whole thing is overblown.”
“You only say that because you’re young. You can’t even legally drink yet.” The sitting man looked over at Krista. “You see what I have to put up with?”
Like pushing a button, another laugh came out, this one complete with a shoulder squeeze for the sitting man. “I gotta get back. Oh, by the way,” Krista said, keeping the smile, “I heard some story about a young girl wandering about. Is that true, or is everyone delirious now?”
“I didn’t see her, but I heard they brought her back to the
pediatric ward. You know, it’s funny, I heard she said she knew Dr. Francis.”
“How about that, huh?” she said, offering a flirtatious wink. “You strapping hunks keep us safe, okay?”
Krista turned and had just about reached the open door when one voice called her back. “Nurse?”
“Yes?”
“Can I see your badge?” The Latino security guard scratched the scruff on his chin as Krista spun back around. “It’s not hanging around your neck like it’s supposed to be.”
“Right, that.” She leaned against the door and patted her pocket, hoping it appeared as inconspicuous as she’d planned. Her fingers settled on the rigid form in her pocket, and Krista considered the other option of just running.
Instead, she reached in, flicked open her business card holder, and nudged out the photo from the diner. Here goes something, she thought to herself before flashing the photo, fingers and thumb hiding as much of the image as possible, with dim lighting hopefully doing the rest. “I keep it in my pocket. One time, it fell into a bedpan while hanging from my neck. Not cool,” she said, shoving it back in. From their seats, the two guards probably couldn’t see her hold her breath.
“Ugh, keep it over there. I hope you washed it. Say no more,” the guard said. “Okay, thanks. I just wanted to show Mr. I-Can’t-Buy-A-Beer that we maintain protocol around here.”
“Yeah,” Krista said. “You keep on that whippersnapper.”
The younger guard mocked being offended, then Krista turned around, consciously trying to move her butt with a little wiggle while she walked away. As soon as she escaped from the view of any possible security guard her stride returned to normal, but her pace quickened and the mask went back on. Her hip buzzed from her phone’s vibration; she grabbed it and read as she hit the elevator bay.