by M. Lorrox
I’m going to die here.
She takes a breath, and the scent of the freshly cut grass fills her mind. She recalls the sound of her dad’s old lawnmower. It announces when its job is completed with a loud backfire as Skip lets go of the throttle. He wheels it into the shed as she bounds down the stairs. He walks into the kitchen while wiping his face, and she hands him a tall glass of iced tea. Ice cubes clink in the glass, and the light from the window hits the tea and turns the glass a golden amber. He looks at her and smiles. He says, “Thanks June, you take good care of me.”
She breathes in deep again, and she smells the earth beneath her face. Traces of mineral, scent of a mushroom, something wet, a beetle bends a sprout of grass as it passes. She opens her eyes. So much life… Life in the blood... This isn’t my death.
She focuses her mind on the burning and stabbing ache in her chest, and the pain disappears. She thinks about the knife that’s poking through her, and she bends her arm around to grab the handle. She can’t really reach it, but she knows that she can if she tries hard enough.
She reaches it and tugs the blade out. The hilt drags across the back of a rib and rattles her chest, but she doesn’t quake. Blood pours out of the opened wound, and it starts to flow freely down her back. She imagines the hole smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller until it’s gone, and then, it is. She presses her hand on the front of her chest where the tip of the blade sliced through, and she feels a heat within. When she removes her hand, her chest is healed.
She sits up. She’s woozy, but her hands find the grass beside her, and she grasps the crisp green blades. She inhales. She crunches the grass in her fingers, and she feels better. She looks down at the bloody knife on the ground. She picks it up and licks off the blood. That’s my blood. It stays inside me. When the blade is cleaned, she considers just leaving it on the ground, but she decides to hold onto it.
She walks to the door she came out of. There’s no handle to open it from outside. She walks around the building until she finds an entrance, and she walks through. She hides the blade by pressing it between her arms and holding them at her chest.
The frazzled security guard outside the ICU looks up. “Oh my god! Are you alright, child? Is that blood? Let me get you a doctor!”
June shakes her head. “Blood spilled on me, and I have a doctor. I’m alright, I’ll go back to my room.”
The security guard steps through the metal detector, and it starts an alarm. He places his arm around her and walks her through. “Let me get someone with a wheelchair to take you up at least.”
June snaps her face to him and locks her eyes onto his. “No. I’ll walk.”
Somehow, the security guard decides not to argue, and he removes his arm. “Okay, you can walk.”
“Thanks.” She walks past.
The guard shakes his head at her red-stained gown. “Wait!” He grabs the zip-up, hooded sweatshirt that he puts on during his breaks. “You look cold. You can wear this.”
June stops, turns back, and nods. He walks over and drapes it over her shoulders. She looks at him and smiles. “Thank you, I’ll send it back in a bit.” Then she walks away.
The guard returns to his post. Chicken pox, a dirty gown, and I guess cancer? Poor girl.
June heads back toward Eddy’s room. She takes an elevator, walks through halls, turns a corner, and finds Schermer at the guard station.
Schermer looks at June, and her heart breaks. She sees the hospital gown beneath the large hoodie, the girl’s shaved head, and the wounds on her scalp. When she glances at June’s downcast eyes, she looks only long enough to see the green of a vampire. “Are you alright, child? Can I get someone to help you?”
June shakes her head as she passes. “I know where I’m going. Thank you.”
Schermer nods and frowns. “Alright… Well, keep your chin up; you’ll get through this.” Poor girl… She’ll be fine with blood and rest. I wonder what happened to her?
June walks down the hall. When she reaches the corner where earlier she took the fire escape, she glances out the window to her side. The treetops in the distance sway in the cool evening breeze, and for a moment, she just stares at their countless dancing leaves.
Someone drops something in the hall behind her, and the noise calls her back to herself. She continues to Eddy’s room and pauses outside the door. She hears some movement inside but no voices. She pauses another moment, collecting her courage, and walks in.
Inside, Eddy has his back turned to her. He stands near the head of the bed where the other boy lies. A doctor leans over the bed.
The room’s other bed has a girl in it, and a pair of doctors lean over her. That’s the girl from the hotel before; she was with those guys. Those guys...they got away.
“Please stand aside.” A nurse brushes past June and carries pints of fresh blood to hook up to both patients’ IVs. June follows the nurse and licks her lips when she thinks about the blood. Then, she remembers Eddy. She unfolds her arms and sets Li Chen’s dagger on the table, then she puts her arms through the much-too-big-for-her sweatshirt’s sleeves, and she raises the hood to cover her head. She clears her throat.
Eddy is gripping the bandaged hand of the boy in the bed.
“Eddy?” She bites her lip.
Eddy blinks. That’s... Can’t be. He turns and half expects to see nothing behind him, assuming his mind is playing a nasty trick on him, but it isn’t. “June!”
She nods and looks down. He sees me now...
Eddy rushes to her and grabs her up in a great hug. “June! You’re okay! Oh, thank god! We thought you...”
She lays her head on his shoulder. “I’m okay. It’s good to see you.”
Eddy pulls back to look at her, and she turns away. “Don’t. I look…different.” She glances out the corner of her eye, and she sees that his eyes are wet.
“I don’t care, June.”
She presses her forehead against his shoulder. “I... I was so scared before.”
He rubs his hands along her back and presses his lips to the outside of the hood. “So was I. I thought I lost you.”
You still might have... You just might not realize it yet.
“June, I was afraid I’d never get the chance to tell you—”
She squeezes tears out of her eyes. “Don’t say it, Eddy.”
Eddy furrows his brow for a moment, but then he smiles. “June, I’ve always loved you, I just never knew it.”
She cries into his shoulder.
He holds her tight enough to feel her heart beating against his chest. Someone behind them clears their throat, and Eddy twists around to see a nurse waving them away. Eddy steps and pulls June with him, closer to the wall. He looks over to Enrique. “You’re gonna be alright, buddy.”
A blood covered thumb extends up above the doctor.
“I said don’t move!” The doctor grabs the hand and pushes it down.
Eddy looks at Madeline. She’s unconscious. The pair of doctors above her work on the injuries that weren’t meant for her. One of the doctors leans up to grab something off a tray, and Eddy catches a glimpse of Madeline’s closed eyes. Thank you. He squeezes June tighter for a moment before releasing his arms from around her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
In the hall, she wipes her face dry.
“Do you want to go back to your room to sit down? You still look a little pale.”
That means he must have seen me before I woke up… He saw me, the way I am now. She drops her head. “Meet me there in a couple minutes. I want to change into a new gown first.” Without waiting for a response, she turns to leave.
Eddy notices her sadness, but he still smiles because she’s alive. “I will.”
Dr. Lars Melgaard steers the Penn Yann tunnel-drive boat out of the Chesapeake Bay and into Poquoson River, just north of Norfolk, Virginia. He checks his map under a flashlight. He follows the winding and thinning, mostly tidal river for three miles inland, then he enters an area that many out
board boats couldn’t travel.
The Penn Yann boat was designed to run in extremely low water levels and to allow beaching of the craft when desired.
Lars carefully navigates along a narrow and shallow tributary until he can see an overpass ahead. On his sides, there is only marsh and no houses. He beaches the boat into the marsh, collects his samples and equipment, and jumps off the side of the boat and into the mud.
One hundred squishy steps later, he climbs up a hill to a parking lot between a church and a city government office. He holds his breath. The car should be here...
Ah. There. He walks over, the trunk opens, and a man climbs out of the driver’s seat.
“Mr. Mel?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s my pleasure to be your driver, sir. My name is Ken.”
Lars places his samples and equipment containers into the trunk, but he holds onto the organ transport device that Michael made.
“It was an odd request for a limo here but—”
-Slam- “Please shut up and get in the car.”
Ken nods and gets back behind the wheel. What a prick. He watches in the mirror as “Mr. Mel” gets into the back and rolls his head around, cracking the bones in his neck. “Where to, sir?”
“Start toward Newport News International Airport. I’ll direct you as we approach.”
Oookay.
Ken follows Lars’ directions, pulls into a lot near some hangars, and tries to hide his grin while he parks. Private hangars? That’s money. Just keep your mouth shut, old boy, and you’ll probably get a big fat tip… Is he gonna get out?
Lars just sits in the back and waits.
The silence slowly starts to eat at Ken. After a minute, he’s fidgeting. After three, he’s breathing louder than he intends to.
A door opens from one of the nearby hangars, and a pair of men in suits step out and beeline for the car.
Ken watches them in the light of his headlights. One of the men has his coat unbuttoned, and a weighed-down shoulder holster peeks out. A faint glint steals away from black metal. Oh shit... Shit, shit, shit!
“Ah, there we are.” Lars reaches into his pocket. “Could you pop the trunk please?”
Ken swallows. “Of course…sir. Would you like help with your bags?” Ken successfully keeps his voice calm.
“That’s alright. Thank you, Ken.” Lars hands him a one-hundred-dollar bill. You should forget you met me tonight. I expect you should report that I never showed.”
Ken takes the money. “I can do that.”
“You will do that, unless you want me to send someone to tear your throat out.” He opens the door and steps out. “Bye, now.” Lars shuts the door and rolls his eyes. Idiot.
Ken’s eyes are peeled open, and he stares straight ahead as the suited men walk to the trunk. They help Lars with his bags and the organ transportation cooler. The one with the opened coat shuts the trunk. -Slam- “Everything is ready, sir.”
“Everything?”
“Unless we’re to wait for another passenger. Your assistant?”
“No. He will not be joining us.”
As the men walk away from the car, Ken swallows, shakes as he puts the car into drive, then leaves.
The men lead Lars to a hangar, and then to a G-650 Jet. Inside, they offer to stow his equipment and the cooler for him, but Lars insists that he secures his items himself. Behind the cockpit is a large open area with a pair of reclining chairs and a couch with an ottoman. Farther aft is a sectioned-off room that Lars plans to use as an in-flight laboratory, and past it—farther toward the rear of the jet—is one other sectioned off room.
He stows the samples and equipment in his makeshift lab, then knocks on the door to the last sectioned-off room.
“Enter.”
He slides the door open and walks in. “How’s our patient?”
Erica Wakkana sets the pages of a romance novel across her knee, then she glances at a heart rate monitor. “She’s lost an arm and a lot of blood, but she’s stable. I’ve got her on a heavy sedative.” She looks up, and her sparkling green eyes shine out from her dark skin. We’re all set to fly, sir.”
Lars stares down at Mary and smiles. “Very good. Keep her under… Deep under.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shot pellets fly toward the zombies behind Skip in a wide and wild spread. Jambavan hopes that they all reach their zombie targets and that none of them stray and find Skip.
Skip’s bullet spins from the barrel’s rifling, and it zips toward General Riley on the far roof. Skip is indeed a good shot, and although he aimed at the center of the dark figure, he is off target by 0.136 degrees. At that range, that deflection results in a miss by two feet.
Riley’s finger pulls the RPG launcher’s trigger and releases the hammer, which strikes and ignites the primary charge. Now at this moment, the secondary charge is starting to ignite. After another split-second when it has fully ignited, it will ignite the booster charge, which will then propel the grenade and sustainer motor-charge out of the launching tube at three hundred and eighty feet per second. The projectile will travel thirty feet away from the launcher before the sustainer-motor fires, which will then accelerate the warhead toward the target at nearly one thousand feet per second.
The Chinook helicopter’s dual rotors spin in opposite directions in slow motion as the grenade’s booster charge is ignited and the grenade begins its short journey out of the launching tube.
The warhead at the front tip of the rocket-propelled grenade moves a tenth of an inch by the time Skip’s bullet strikes the back end of it, where the warhead attaches to the sustainer motor. The bullet smashes and crushes the rear fuse and the pyrotechnic safety mechanisms. The grenade is being launched out of the tube, but the tube is twisted away by the impact. The self-destruct mechanism of the grenade is started, and if the front nose of the warhead doesn’t strike a hard surface within five seconds, it will explode on its own.
The continued push from the booster charge shears the warhead off the rest of the rocket-propelled parts of the grenade, and as the far-from-harmless booster and sustainer-motor accelerates out of the launching tube toward empty sky, the warhead twists in the air as it falls to the roof a few yards from General Riley.
Skip sees the flash, smoke, and something rocketing off—from his vantage point—straight toward the Chinook. His heart drops. Then he feels a flash of pain in his leg as a ball of lead shot slams into him.
General Riley is knocked over from the sideways impact. He was in textbook-perfect RPG firing position, which is strong front to back—the direction of kick from the rocket’s thrust—but the stance is weak to the sides. He hits the ground and is stunned for a moment. He sees the rocket fly way off target in front of the helicopter. Huh?
Then he sees the RPG’s warhead a dozen feet in front of him. It’s spinning on the ground, only a few feet from the edge of the roof. He gets up, then dives toward it to push it over the edge.
He makes contact and shoves it off the roof, but when it’s a foot away from him and still on the plane with his face—before his body comes to rest on the roof—it blows up. The explosion throws his arms back, and his skull is crushed in by pressure before shrapnel slices though him from his skull cap to his ass crack.
Skip’s heart recovers when the explosion he feared happens on the opposite roof and not on the broadside of the helicopter. The night sky is filled with a flash of light. It fades to reveal smoke and falling debris on the far roof.
Skip stands, ignoring the pain in his leg. He glances behind him at two zombies that writhe with handfuls of shot in their bodies.
Skip raises the rifle and holds it by the barrel, then uses it to crush in their skulls, one after the other.
In front of him, dead zombies bleed from headwounds and bullet holes. Beside him, on one side, is the blown apart roof where flames trickle up from the office below. Behind him, the helicopter beats the air with its rotors. He turns and shields his eyes from the flick
ering orange light of the flames, and he peers up at the helicopter’s silhouette. He holds the rifle in one hand, and he waves it in the sky. A smile crosses onto his lips.
Jambavan waves his arms wildly back—panic is written across his face.
Skip is tackled by a zombie from his side, the one side he didn’t just check. He’s hit hard, and on impact, he tosses the rifle. He’s thrown off his feet, the zombie is on top of him, and they fall toward the hole blasted in the roof. They land just next to it, and while Skip keeps the zombie at bay, the section of roof they’re on tips.
Jambavan watches the zombie rear its head back with its mouth open wide as the roof underneath them collapses, dumping both Skip and the zombie into the inferno below. The sudden rush of air shoots flames and sparks ten feet above where the roof used to be. Then, another section of the roof collapses, and more flames blast into the air.
Jambavan can’t see where Skip and the zombie landed, only the flames that engulf them. As another rafter falls, so does Jambavan’s spirit. Korina, Lance, and now Skip?
Charlie props himself up against the wall and takes the last of the blood from his battle-pack. “Gotta go back. Gotta get Skip.”
Jambavan looks at him. He can’t bring himself to say a word. Instead, he flips the switch near his shoulder to close the Chinook’s rear gate.
Charlie shakes his head. “What are you doing? He can’t… No… Skip!” Charlie’s eyes fill with tears. As he sobs, he slams his head back against the wall. The resounding -Clang!- that fills the helicopter’s cabin silences everyone—they know they’ve left someone behind.
Danny banks as he flies away, heading west, back in the direction they came.
-bzzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz-
Wren pauses midsentence and pats her side. Her phone is ringing. “I was saying, we don’t have any information about the explosions coming from downtown DC, but my cameraman says he caught a few video frames showing a helicopter and flames. Stations, if there’s anything in the footage, see if you can isolate it and put it onscreen. Like I was saying, we don’t have any information yet about the developing situation in downtown DC, but I do have some good news.