“Why aren’t you letting anyone else in?” Gordy asked, closing the door behind him.
Jan stood in front of the man on the table, blocking Gordy’s view. She slid around the table, hands working non-stop to cut away the filthy clothing.
“Oh, my God!” Gordy felt his heart jump in his chest, as if it were about to leap out of his throat.
The front of the old sweater fell away, exposing a long, brutal slash across the front of Jimmy’s chest. The wound was bright red, tendrils of infection beginning to spread from the eight inch long gash. Jan ignored the wound as she started cutting away the suit-pants. The men in the room chorused exclamations at the sight of the wound. Jan finished by cutting off Jimmy’s ruined boxer shorts.
“Dean, hand me that bottle,” Jan commanded, pointing, “no, the one next to it, yes; now grab a blanket and throw it over him.” She began to irrigate the largest of the wounds, starting with Jimmy’s right ear, which had been ripped half off his head. “I’m going to have to debride this,” Jan glanced to the wound on Jimmy’s chest, “and that one, before I can suture them.”
“Debride?” Rick asked from a corner, where he stood out of the way.
Continuing to work steadily Jan said, “Remove the dead or infected tissue around the wound, to help in healing.”
“Gotcha,” Rick said.
“What the hell, Anna, let go of me!” Tam’s voice came through the door, high and angry.
“Be ready, guys,” Gordy said. Rick and Dean both nodded in affirmation.
Rick caught the door as it flew open, holding it while Anna led Tam into the room, gripping her forearm. He quickly closed it and stepped up behind Tam, waiting.
“What the hell?” Tam asked, eyes going from face to face. She glanced at the man on the table and up to Jan. Taking another step forward she watched the face of the man on the table, recognizing the battered thing to be her husband.
“Tamara, honey,” Jan said softly.
A quite “Oh,” issued from Tam’s lips, more breath than word. Rick caught Tamara under her arms as her knees began to fold. Dean helped get her to a folding chair, where the two men stood like sentinels beside her, each with a hand on her shoulder.
“Anna, we have work to do. Get one of the big bottles of iodine, and a suture kit. Didn’t we find a surgical stapler in the stuff that was brought back?”
“Yeah, Mom.” Anna deftly maneuvered around the small room, picking items from shelves and placing them on a tray beside her mother.
“Anna, get me a bag of the 0.9% Sodium Chloride solution. We need to start rehydrating him now.” Jan swabbed the back of Jimmy’s hand with iodine and slipped an intravenous needle into the site, taping it down with white surgical tape. She hung the bag from a makeshift pole made from a broom-handle with a small hook screwed into it near the top.
Once the IV fluids were dripping Jan went to work on Jimmy’s torn ear, slicing dead tissue from the edges of the wound. “Anna, use one of the bottles of sterile water and start wiping him clean, starting at his feet. Look for lacerations or punctures, and check that ankle over.”
Jimmy would moan occasionally as Jan cut or Anna cleaned and prodded, but he did not wake. Tam slumped in the chair, held up by the hands of people who cared a great deal for her and her husband.
“Gordon, we need fewer people in here, it’s too tight to work comfortably. Go on out and let everyone know what’s happening. I’ll send these two out once I can get Tam awake and coherent.”
Gordy nodded and left the small clinic without a word, glancing back at the bloody visage of his friend. He offered up silent words in prayer as he closed the door behind him.
“Can you two try to wake her, gently please?”
At their soft prodding and rubbing of her hands and arms, Tamara came awake, slowly at first, then her eyes snapping open as she realized where she was. “Jimmy,” she said, her voice weak and questioning. Several small steps took her to Jimmy’s side, where she hovered over him.
“No more fainting, Tamara. Jimmy’s in rough shape as you can see, and he’s going to need your strength to help pull him through this. Ok?”
Tamara cast watery eyes at Jan, nodding, not trusting her voice to speak just then. Her hands fluttered from Jimmy’s face to his chest and back like pale white butterflies afraid to land.
“You can touch him, just be careful.”
Several fingers alighted softly on the least-bruised portion of Jimmy’s face. The man stirred beneath the touch of his wife’s fingers and tears spilled from her eyes.
Jan nodded to Rick and her son, letting them know they could go. “Go talk to Jimmy’s girls; let them know they’ll be able to come see him very soon.”
Jan and Anna continued to work on the silent, still form of Jimmy Mitchell, while Tamara stood watch, helping when asked, standing by her husband’s side when not helping.
Jimmy remained unconscious for three and a half days, unaware of his wife or daughters at his side or the people that came to stand by him in silent prayer. Some would whisper, others would speak while holding his hand.
Tamara gasped loudly when Jimmy’s eyes fluttered open for the first time, and she wept when his glassy eyes found hers. The corners of his mouth turned up just as he fell back to sleep seconds later.
Jimmy was in and out of wakefulness over the next few days, becoming more alert and staying awake longer each time he crested a wave of sleep.
Thanks to the attentions of his wife and the Jan’s medical ministrations, Jimmy woke late one afternoon, eyes clear and bright. He looked into Tam’s eyes and said, “Hi babe.” His voice was soft, but not weak, though it was still raw at the edges, raspy and rough.
“Hey, you.” Tams eye glittered in the dim light of an oil lamp.
Casting a look around the room, Jimmy asked, “Where’re the girls?”
“Getting some dinner, they’ll be back soon.”
“Good. How long have I been here?”
“Almost six days now. You were in pretty bad shape when Dean and Rick found you on Highway N. Dean thought you were a zombie at first, almost put that hatchet of his in your head.”
Jimmy smiled, “Glad he didn’t. Any water?”
Tam removed the cap from a bottle sitting next to her, filled it with water and tipped it over Jimmy’s lips. “Just a bit at a time, Jan’s orders.”
“Ok. Guess I didn’t turn all zombie, huh?”
“No, you did,” Tamara said with a smile, “you’re the new talking-dead kind.”
Jimmy tried a small laugh as he reached up with his left hand to touch Tam’s smile. She placed her hand over his, holding him close, kissing his fingers.
Ashley and Miranda came in soon after, followed by Jan and Anna. Jimmy touched his daughter’s faces and wiped away their tears, reassuring them that he was going to be ok.
They all talked quietly while Jan checked and changed bandages. Jan watched closely as Jimmy visited with his family, finally administering a painkiller when she saw him grimacing, though he was trying to hide it.
Soon after he began to doze off, and Tam leaned in for a soft kiss, followed by both girls. “Get some rest; we’ll be back in the morning.” Jimmy waited until the door closed before resting his head, his eyes closing fast. Just before the wave carried him under for the night Jimmy whispered, “Thank you, Jan.” She patted his left hand and told him goodnight.
The following morning Jimmy asked Jan if he was allowed to sit up.
“Yes, you can sit up,” she told him, “just don’t get any ideas about jumping up and dancing.”
“No problem, I can’t dance,” he told her with a smile.
Soon after Jan had him sitting Tam and the girls came in, their joy at seeing him awake and sitting up was enough to light the room.
“Can you do something for me, babe?”
“Not until you’re fully healed,” she said with a wink.
“Ha, yeah, ok, smartass,” he said, smiling back. “Can you get the guys? I fi
gure everyone wants to know what happened, and I need to let them know I don’t blame them at all.”
Within the hour everyone from the hospital scavenging crew, as well as Gordy, Jan and Jimmy’s family were crowded into the small building. The room quickly became stuffy and the door was propped open to the sharp morning air.
Jimmy looked around the room, watching faces, gazing into eyes, seeing the shame and guilt his friends felt.
“I’m only gonna say this once guys, so please don’t make me repeat it. Shit happens, and it was nobody’s fault. We were beating a hasty retreat and I was pushing Alex to step on it. That corner caused the trailer to tilt; I lost my grip and fell. There was no way you could have gotten me out of there without every single one of us getting eaten, so put that shit out of your heads now and let’s move on, ok?”
He didn’t speak again until he had looked every man in the eye and received a nod of agreement in turn.
He sipped at a bottle of water and took several breaths before beginning the tale of his journey home.
Chapter 29
Jimmy sat up, raising a hand to his head, which was already throbbing. He could feel blood running down his scalp and under his bite collar. He turned, looking for the truck behind him. He saw nothing but empty road.
Facing forward again he lifted his gaze to see a massive horde of undead coming straight for him. Moaning, grasping hands out and twitching.
“Oh shit!” They were closing on him quickly, leaving him no time to wallow in his pain or indulge in self-pity.
He cast a frantic look around him, hoping for someplace safe. The parking lot of the Children’s Center was twenty feet away, which he gauged to be the distance the zombie horde was from him, though they were narrowing that gap easily while he sat there in the middle of the road.
Pushing up from the ground, Jimmy’s head spun wildly, a wave of nausea twisting in his stomach. He stumbled several steps, nearly going down, before he got his balance. His head throbbing, guts roiling, fearing he would vomit on his shoes, Jimmy focused on reaching the overcrowded parking lot.
He crossed the grass border separating the lot from the street and sidled between two vehicles parked so closely together he didn’t think the doors would open even half way. Not wasting his time trying, Jimmy dropped to the ground, pushing himself beneath a minivan. He had to shift his day-kit and the rifle that was still strapped across his back to fit beneath the low vehicle.
Not bothering to check on the horde, he turned his head to see how close the next car was, scraping the back of his head on the underside of the van. He could see from this angle that the large pickup sat higher than his current hiding place and began shifting out from under the van toward it.
Before he could slide out from under the car his vision filled with feet, bloody and torn, some missing shoes, some not wearing anything at all, including skin. Glancing behind, he watched as the feet surrounded the vehicle. He knew that he was trapped.
Faces started to appear as the zombies sought their prey under the van. Jimmy recoiled at the sight of so many hungry zombies with snapping teeth.
He knew he couldn’t wait; they would have him imprisoned under there until he was bitten or he died of exposure. Drawing in as deep a breath as the limited space would allow he pushed in the direction of the pickup truck waiting on the other side of the sea of feet and faces seeking him out.
Reaching the edge of the van he could feel hands snatching at his clothes, trying to draw his legs into waiting maws. He felt a tug, heard a ripping sound as most of his right pants leg was torn away, left hanging from inside the thick leather bite guard wrapping his shin. Without hesitating he shoved out from the vehicle, knocking faces and feet away as he pulled his arms in and rolled toward the truck, bowling over gut-suckers like ten-pins.
Though they fell around him it also brought their faces closer to biting range. It was all the motivation he needed to push harder, roll faster. The rifle slung over his shoulder bit into his back, jabbing him over and over, clacking against the pavement with each roll. He used the pain as yet another motivator. Then he was under the truck.
Those that he had knocked down in his roll to the pickup truck pulled towards his hiding place, teeth constantly snapping. The extra space under the taller vehicle allowed him room to maneuver, while making it easier for his ravenous pursuers to follow him.
Slipping the blade on his hip from its sheath, Jimmy stabbed the first zombie within reach in its eye. The second reached for his arm, fingers brushing the bite guard before he could bury the blade in its skull. The dead continued to come, feet blocking his view, occasionally trampling one of their undead kin reaching for Jimmy.
The crush of zombies surrounding his hiding spot began to blot out the daylight, leaving him in ever increasing darkness. Stabbing over and over again, the unrelenting horde pushing further under the truck, he kicked out, slamming back the head of one as it tried to bite into his boot. He heard its skull thwack against the undercarriage and he kicked it again, smashing the head into the frame of the vehicle, pushing until the skull cracked and gave, the creature lying still as stinking gray tissue dripped from the trucks frame
No matter how he tried he could not stem the push of the undead, tenacious in their hunger. Hands grabbed, fingers brushing at his clothes. He centered himself under the vehicle, closed his eyes and waited to die.
He saw Tam weeping; his little girls sick at the loss of Daddy. He pictured his grieving friends, overcome with guilt. He could see Gordy hating himself for sending him out to die. He felt the odd sensation of his life flickering behind his closed eyelids, a movie set to ultra-high speed, showing him not moments lived, but those he would not be there to see. He was unable to wipe away the tears that rolled down his face, dripping from his ears to the chill oil-stained pavement.
Deep within his chest Jimmy began to growl, starting as a vibration, rising to a rumble and exiting through parted lips. He released his fear and sadness, placing rage in front of all other emotion.
“I’m going home mother-fuckers!” Jimmy lashed out with both feet, stomping faces as they pressed closer. Each hand flashed out, one burying his knife into the forehead of one dead thing, while the other shoved up under the chin of another creature, forcing its mouth closed and slamming the head backward, pounding it several times into the underside of the truck, pulping the back of the skull.
He began to worm his way toward the back of the vehicle, under the bed, hunching his body up, down and sideways, all the while kicking and stabbing out at hands and faces reaching for his soft flesh, still growling low in his throat.
“Kill every last one of you with my bare hands if I have to,” he thought.
The mass of undead now surrounding the vehicle prevented him from using his previous rolling tactic to escape. This time he would have to push out and up, standing amidst the horde. He wished to escape; they only wanted to feed.
Not worrying about making noise, knowing that the creatures knew he was there, he paused for a breath as he reached the end of the vehicle. Jimmy kicked out, snapping the shin-bone of a zombie, reveling in the dry pop it made. He pushed out, amidst the legs of the horde, saved momentarily by the press of so many dead bodies trying to get to him. He stood up quickly, the growl bursting from his throat, becoming a roar as he sheathed his knife and pulled the rifle he still wore on his back around, to use as a bar, pushing against the dead as they reached for him.
Inside, Jimmy felt the darkness rise to the top and he welcomed wholly the same darkness that had filled him when he killed the pervert Richard. Without looking through the crowd of dead he began to shove with his rifle, pushing the gnashing teeth away from him, zombies filling in the space behind him with every step, grasping with fingers that could grip like a vise. One zombie pushed nearly face to face with Jimmy, straining to lean across the rifle pushing against it and bury its teeth in a living face. Jimmy stared into blank eyes and roared in the undead thing’s face, the rage boiling u
p, filling every space inside him with raw heat.
Jimmy knew that it was unlikely he would ever make it out of this horde; that getting home to his family was a rage dream, but he would not stop. There was no shortcut, and in this instance the only way out truly was through. A Latin phrase he had read years ago and forgotten came to mind, Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, “I will either find a way, or make one,” he said under his breath. Had he not been fighting for his life he would have laughed as it dawned on him that the phrase belonged to Hannibal, the renowned military commander.
He continued to use the rifle as a ram, pushing through the crowd grabbing at him, trampling squirming bodies when they fell before him. He felt fingers rake his back, tearing through his shirt, drawing burning lines on his skin. Those fingers must have caught the rifle sling, as he felt a sharp tug, then he was stepping backward, hoping to stay on his feet. He gave the rifle a vicious shove, tearing the strap from the hand that gripped it. Thrown off balance he stumbled forward, stopping with his face centimeters from ragged lips and clacking teeth.
Jimmy could see teeth and hands pressing in from all sides, closing on him, ready to bring him down and tear into his flesh. His heart beat wildly, thrumming its fear-song in his chest. He brought his arm up just as vise-like teeth clamped down on his leather guard instead of his face. Hands scrabbled at his clothes, long dead fingers shredding his shirt and skin. Suddenly a sharp tug on his ear snapped his head to the right. He could feel the bones in his neck pop, the evil chiropractor still jerking at his ear.
Fingernails began to dig into the soft skin behind his ear, and he could feel the separation as it happened. Pain like lava burned, radiating out, enveloping his face and bringing tears to his eyes. The sound of ripping skin threw him into a frenzy and he lashed out to the right, the butt of his rifle connecting with the jaw of the creature tearing his ear from his head.
He slammed the rifle into its face again, while continuing to move forward. Stopping, even for a second would be asking to die. The last crash of the rifle into its face caused the zombie to stumble, its fingers flexing, releasing Jimmy’s severely torn ear.
American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man Page 15