by Greig Beck
“Hi, I’m Matt. How do you feel, angel? Do you hurt, or are you … itchy anywhere?”
She wiped her nose. “Those men threw rocks at me, but only hit me a few times. They were bad shots.”
Matt smiled. “Lucky for you. Umm, and those lumps on you … when did they come up?”
She looked up and tilted her head, thinking hard for a few seconds. “They started on …” Her lips moved and she seemed to be counting to herself. “I think it was yesterday, or the day before … or the day before that. But they were small then. They don’t hurt.” She shook her head.
Matt nodded. “That’s good. Are you thirsty?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, and hungry. Have you got any cookies … the ones with pink icing on them? They’re called Pinkies. My mommy always gets them on Saturdays, from …”
Her face went blank as memories came flooding back.
“It’s okay darling.” Carla hushed her and started to lead her back to the vehicle.
Reed stepped in front of her, his hand up. “No, Dr. Nero. She cannot enter the vehicle. That is an order.” His face was deadly serious.
“Out of our way. You can’t order us; we’re civilians, remember? Besides, we can dose her in what’s left of the repellent. That will cleanse her temporarily.”
Reed shook his head violently. There was panic in his eyes now. “No, she’s a bloomer. When those blisters pop, she’ll cover several square miles in micro larvae. Within an enclosed space, we’ll be overwhelmed.” Hs eyes were wide. “It’s not just skin contact that can be a problem. You haven’t seen what a lungful of those parasites will do – they’ll eat you from the inside out.” He shook his head, frustration creasing his features. “What’s the matter with you? You know this better than anyone.”
Carla took a step closer to the vehicle’s open door. She held up one hand. “Take it easy, Sergeant.”
Reed shook his head. “Please.” For the first time, Reed’s gun hand came into view – the gun not up, but now in sight.
Matt felt torn – he wanted to see the little girl safe, but also knew the danger she posed. He could feel the waves of anguish coming off the soldier – Carla was putting him in an untenable position.
Matt eased a little closer, trying to get in front of Carla. “Uh, maybe we can put her in one of the spare suits. And then get her straight into quarantine once we’re back at the CDC.”
Maddie had moved behind Carla’s leg, and Carla’s face was taking on a fierce protective look. This was not just about saving the infested girl. Matt recognized the name – it was about the daughter she couldn’t save twenty years ago.
Matt couldn’t believe Reed would shoot Carla, but the soldier’s eyes kept darting down to the child. Matt didn’t like the thought that jumped into his head. He wouldn’t.
Reed straightened, his face blank. “I’m sorry.”
The gunshot was loud in the near-silent street and Reed was punched backward a good six feet. He lay still.
Matt grabbed Megan and pulled her down. He looked back toward where he thought the shot had come from, but all he could see was the inside of his hood. He suddenly remembered: turning his head didn’t turn the faceplate. The only window he had on the outside world, and it only offered one-eighty degrees of vision.
Maddie started to cry again and Carla hugged her to her breast. More shots rang out, and chips from the pavement sprayed both of them. Carla turned her face away, offering herself as the only protection.
Matt yelled to Carla. “Okay, we’ve got no choice now; back to the truck.” Megan and Matt sprinted to the fallen soldier. Reed was still motionless on the road, his entire torso blood red. The soldier’s gun was beside his hand. Matt grabbed it and spun, holding the faceplate in front of his eyes. The street was deserted.
Great, a sniper, Matt thought. Fuck you, Dillon.
“Give me a hand here.” He grabbed one of Reed’s hands, and Megan took hold of the other one. Together, they started to drag him toward the armored vehicle, leaving a long streak of red on the road, like a garish snail trail of human life.
More shots came, but it was obvious they weren’t targeting Megan or Matt, or even Reed, now that he was out of action – the firing concentrated on Carla and Maddie. Carla picked the small girl up, her face pinched as if squinting would offer protection against the flying lead projectiles. She kept the small girl’s face pressed into her neck.
A flaming bottle of petrol exploded a few feet from them, a pool of orange flame splashing at Carla and Maddie.
Matt saw the crowd coming back down the street. Some had revolvers, some rifles, and some had bottles with rags already alight, ready to throw. The guy with the knife was at the front. Here comes payback, Matt thought.
Most of the men and women had masks over their faces. At least they’re not skinners, Matt thought crazily, as if the death the non-skinners were about to rain down on them would make them any less dead.
Matt let go of Reed’s arm, his body still dozens of feet from the truck. He looked at Carla struggling with the girl, and turned to Megan. “Can you manage?”
She nodded behind her faceplate and started to tug hard on the injured man. His arm would be near wrenched from its socket, but it was life or death now.
Matt zigzagged toward Carla, dragging in deep breaths through the micro-filter and spitting perspiration that ran down into his mouth. He found it hard to see clearly; the steam on the inside of his faceplate made everything swim greasily.
He reached out to Carla and Maddie just as a loud crack sounded from close by, and Carla disappeared from his view like magic. She scrambled back up, but blood streaked the front of her suit.
Carla looked down, bewildered, wiping both hands through the red wetness and lifting them to her face. For a second or two she was confused, then she looked down and wailed. Maddie lay small and crumpled at her feet, like a large broken doll. Baloo, or what was left of him, was lying beside her.
Carla sank to her knees. The shooting had stopped, the rabble’s bloodthirsty anger perhaps blunted by the death, and satisfied its objective had been achieved.
Matt knelt beside Carla as she rocked back and forth. Even in the heat, the woman shivered, all the death and misfortune seeming to well up from deep in her soul. She threw her head back, screaming to the sky. She’d lost another Maddie, Matt thought, trying to pull her toward the armored vehicle.
Carla shook him off and lifted the tiny body, squeezing it hard to her breast. As Matt watched, some of the small bubbles on Maddie’s face and neck seemed to swell, and then burst.
Matt recoiled, remembering what Reed said about the mites devouring you from the inside out. Carla, inches from the tiny face, coughed and gagged, and Matt grabbed her, roughly pulling her back from the lifeless body.
“Let’s go, we can’t do anything else for her.” Carla screamed, but let herself be pulled back, the small body sliding to the ground like a tiny bundle of rags.
The mob came slowly now, keeping their distance, treating them like dangerous creatures to be shooed away, or killed from a distance. Matt saw that one of them had a jerry can in his hand.
“Goddamn, she’s bloomed!” There was a roar of disgust from the group. Another flaming bottle exploded nearby.
“Move it.” He dragged Carla toward Megan, who was still struggling with Reed. “Grab that arm.” He let go of Carla and, almost trancelike, she took hold of the arm that Megan tugged on. Matt grabbed the other.
There was the crash of breaking glass, a thump of ignition, and then a wave of heat erupted from within the open door of the ASV – a dumbass-luck direct hit.
“Oh, no, no, no!”
Matt dropped Reed’s arm and sprinted at the flaming vehicle, jumping inside, the heavy suit giving him temporary protection from the flames. He looked around madly, snatching a medical kit, some water, the sample vials, and the last dregs of the insecticide. “Fuck!” The suit started to melt and stick to his skin. The pain was phenomenal, and he g
ritted his teeth. He still had Reed’s gun stuck into the suit’s belt at his waist – pointed down at his groin. The bullets had to be getting hot – they’d spontaneously fire soon. That made up his mind. He dove and rolled free.
Matt got to his feet, running as fast as the bulky suit would allow. Megan had taken several paces toward him, leaving the sprawled soldier behind. Matt waved her back as he raced over.
Carla looked up as he arrived, and he jammed the meager supplies he had retrieved into her arms.
Megan grabbed his arm, trying to see the burn on his suit, but he pulled away. “We’ve got to get to cover … now!”
He pointed with his chin. “Those buildings. Quick. Let’s get out of sight.” He and Megan each grabbed one of Reed’s arms and started to drag him. They picked up speed, the soldier’s boots bouncing along the ground. He groaned – a good sign, Matt thought … hoped.
The mob ran hard, converging not on Matt and the others, but on the burning ASV. Salvage was obviously on their minds, too. Matt and Megan slowed with the strain of pulling the large man. Megan lifted her head. “Keep up, Carla.”
Matt saw that the scientist was slowing, the supplies clutched to her chest. He looked over his shoulder. “Down here.” The street was one of few not boiling with running figures. He turned back to the burning armored vehicle. Dozens were swarmed around it when the explosion came. The flamethrower tanks burst in a gigantic ball of superheated jellied fuel, causing a pressure wave that blew Matt, Megan, and Carla off their feet, even though they had managed to get a few hundred feet away.
Matt sat up and looked back. The mob that had been all over the flaming machine was decimated. Bodies, and bits of flaming bodies, were scattered over the road … few were moving. It was the break they had needed. They got to their feet, grabbed Reed, and scurried around the corner.
“Stop, stop.” Megan let go of Reed’s arm, dragging in heavy breaths. Her face behind the faceplate was pale. “We need to find shelter, and then work out how to get back to home base.”
Matt put his hand on her back and rubbed. “You okay?”
She nodded. He looked at Carla, who had her head down, her hood still hanging limply on her shoulders.
“Carla … all right?”
Her head bobbed, but she didn’t look at him.
“Yeah, shelter. I’m hoping the last traces of the repellent will give Carla and Reed a bit of protection. But we’ve got to get out of the open spaces – there’s too much chance of being infested.”
Megan sucked in another deep breath, gathering her strength. “Let’s go.”
They dragged Reed around the corner, now having to rest every few dozen feet. Matt couldn’t believe just how heavy a full-grown man could be. They paused at a plumbing supply store and without a second thought, Matt kicked in the door. He hoped that the owner wasn’t home. It seemed to be that kill or be killed was the standard course of action now.
“Hello?” They waited just inside. “Hello?” Matt tilted his head and listened. After a full minute of silence, Carla gently shut the door behind them. They slumped to the floor. Carla leaned against the wall, her eyes shut tight, a look of distress on her face.
Reed groaned again, and Matt crawled across to him and pulled open his shirt, exposing the ugly wound in his upper chest.
“Carla, I need your help.”
Megan knelt beside him, dragging the first-aid kit with her, along with a wad of paper towels she had found. The wound still pumped scarlet blood, but it bubbled and popped with escaping gas.
“Punctured lung?” Megan asked as she wiped the blood from around the wound.
“Looks like it.” Matt turned. “Carla!” He snapped his fingers to get her attention.
“It’s all gone bad.” Carla spoke to her hands, folded in her lap.
“No, not all of it, and not yet. Come on Carla, we need your help here.” Matt yelled the words, and her head came up slowly, her eyes finally focussing on him. “He’s dying … help us.” After a moment she nodded, and wiped her nose on the thick plastic sleeve of her suit.
She went to pull the hood and faceplate back up and then stopped, snorting softly. “What’s the point now?” She let the hood hang, and came over to Matt and Megan.
Reed coughed, and blood lifted from his lips. Carla felt around the wound. “Broken ribs, lung punctured and deflated. Might even be bullet fragments in there. We can’t fix it here, but we need to keep it clean and drained.”
She got to her feet quickly. Matt felt relieved; her businesslike professionalism had returned in an instant. Carla busied herself, quickly searching lockers, drawers, and shelves, and came back with some tubing, scissors, and bleach.
She reached into the first-aid kit and grabbed some tape and a small bottle of alcohol, which she opened and splashed onto the wound. “Megan, wipe that down.”
Next, she bathed the tubing and scissors with bleach. “Cut me half a dozen six-inch strips of the tape.”
Matt and Megan worked quickly. Carla then cut about two inches of the tubing, and carefully inserted it into the bullet wound. She took the tape strips and placed them around the outside, holding the tube in place, then pressed them down, sealing the wound edges at the skin-level. Next, she bandaged him and created a sling, to immobilize his arm and shoulder. “Help me lift him.”
They raised Reed into a sitting position. Once seated, he groaned again. Reddish fluid dripped from the tiny tube.
Matt grunted. “Good job. Will that reinflate his lung?”
Carla wiped her hands. “Nope, but it’ll give him a fighting chance until we can get him to the medics at the CDC. That’s just going to drain him, otherwise he could end up with a pneumothorax – his lung fills with fluid and unescaped gases. He’d be dead in an hour.”
She stabbed his leg with a needle from the kit. “Antibiotics and painkillers. He’s going to have to be kept upright so he doesn’t drown in his own blood. He’ll be in a lot of pain, but the sedation will either keep him unconscious or spaced out for another few hours.”
Megan tossed damp bandages into the corner. “Lot of blood, not to mention how much he left on the street. Will he …?”
Carla nodded. “He’ll need a transfusion, and quickly.” She looked over the unconscious man’s upper body. She smiled weakly. “Let’s take five and then see if the phones are working, or if we can find a radio or something we can use to contact the CDC.”
“Roger that.” Megan slumped, and Matt picked up the bottle of repellent, a few ounces left sloshing around in the bottom. He swallowed, nervous about bringing up the girl again. “Carla, that poor little thing, Maddie, she was infectious, and you got a blast from the cloud – I saw it.” He held the bottle out. “There’s enough left in here to dose your head and neck.”
Carla stared at the bottle in his hands. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus as she spoke. “Bloomers … it’s an appropriate name. Like a flower opening, a viral bloom expands outward, via explosive dispersion.” She smiled sadly. “This little monster is clever. It knows how to survive … and spread.”
“It’s managed to exist for hundreds of millions of years.” Matt poured the remaining acrid-smelling fluid onto a wad of bandages, soaking them through. He handed them to Carla, who rubbed the repellent over her face and neck, and then through her hair. She dropped the bandages and sat back, breathing hard, as if finishing a long run up a steep hill. She looked up at the ceiling. “I need a holiday.” She smiled dreamily, fatigued to the point of collapse.
Megan sat close to her. “Got anywhere in mind – a tropical paradise, perhaps?”
Carla shook her head and rubbed her face hard. “No, had enough of those. Just somewhere with clean sheets and hot water. Now, that would be luxury.”
“I hear that.” Matt poked around the small office, locating a phone on the wall. He lifted it and listened for a few seconds. There was an emergency broadcast of a recorded message, telling people to stay indoors. It went on to tell citizens to record any cr
imes they witnessed, but not to get involved, explaining that law enforcement was stretched and may not be able to attend quickly.
Or at all, Matt thought grimly.
He clicked the receiver and listened again – there was a dial tone.
“Got a tone, Carla, over here.”
Carla stood and walked slowly toward him. He barely recognized the frail and tired-looking person as the same strong, smart woman who had interviewed him not too long ago. She looked about as bad as he felt.
Carla took the phone, listened, and then dialed. She waited, and when she spoke there was relief on her face. She turned on the speakerphone so they could all hear.
“Go ahead, Hew.”
“Carla, what happened? You disappeared.”
She sighed. “Long story. Bottom line is, Reed’s hurt – badly – he’s been shot. But we’re okay. There was a girl … a bloomer. The truck is gone – we need help.”
Matt could hear Hew’s groan over the speaker. “The bloomers are our biggest problem – walking time bombs. Another little gift from these arthropod monsters. If primarily pregnant females infest you, you don’t shed skin. Instead, they keep you on your feet so you can bloom. We didn’t find out until later – micro-dispersal – it’s how they went airborne, and managed to infect everyone and everything so quickly.”
“Yeah, we know that … now. But thanks for the heads up.”
“Sorry, probably doesn’t make a difference now. Just give them a wide berth – the bloomers are bad news.”
Carla snorted. “The bloomers are bad news, the skinners are bad news, the gangs of vigilantes and the militias are bad news. The thin veneer of civilization is getting thinner all the time.” She sighed. “We need to get home, Hew … we’re tired.”
There was a pause, and then Dr. Francis Hewson spoke again, his voice sounding almost as drained as Carla’s. “Yes, yes, that is critical. It’s getting dark and we can’t land – there are too many mobs in the vicinity now. Are you somewhere safe?”
Carla looked around. “I have no idea. If you mean, are we off the street, the answer is yes.”