Being scared wouldn’t make her a coward, though. If this Truthmore guy and the one who murdered Joel had her in a corner, she would fight. She popped up and scanned the area in front of her. All she could see with the lights from the sun nearly gone were a few oxygen tanks and hundreds of empty medicine bottles. After taking a mental inventory, she plopped back down and waited.
Pop! Pop! Two quick shots echoed through the hospital, almost five minutes after the explosion she had heard earlier. They had to be here already, but where are they?
As the minutes ticked away, she grew more and more restless. They all knew they would attack, but the question was when. Colleen had only asked them to hide and hadn’t given them any timetable. Truthmore could burst through that door at any moment, and—
A faint tremor rattled all the shelves lying on top of each other. The lights above her flickered and turned dim. Something was drawing on their limited power grid, and it wouldn’t be able to sustain it for long.
God, I hope Colleen knows what she is doing.
As the lights dimmed, the pharmacy's double doors clicked and slowly, the hinges of the door squeaked open. From her location, she couldn’t see how many people had entered. Cupping her ear, she listened, first hearing only two voices, but then another two joined a few seconds later. The most boisterous of all the voices—a female—spoke up, booming through the metal racks.
“… it doesn’t matter. These people are pathetic. You said yourself how they scattered when there was just one of us back at the warehouse.”
The voice sounded similar to Marisha’s, maybe Russian, but the accent was thicker and clung to her words. There was a response, a more masculine but nasally voice; she struggled to make out a single word of what he said. If only she had asked Marisha to have gone over more Russian with her, but it was too late now.
“There hasn’t been a single person on any of these floors.” The new voice sounded young, almost like it had just escaped puberty, “What makes you think this one will be any different? It’s not like—"
There was a faint pop and gurgle, then what sounded like wheezing as someone fought to take in a breath, a voice that she could only describe as handsome, spoke next; each word coming out perfectly enunciated. “I don’t want someone to surprise me. I don’t like surprises.”
Chenoa heard a sound like a hard thump against hollow sheetrock, “Kind of like that. And that, my friends, was in front of your faces. Imagine what would happen if you didn’t see it coming. We will spend all night searching this place if that’s what it takes, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” the young man wheezed
“Help Bryson up. We don’t need anyone trailing behind. Especially him, I told his aunt I wouldn’t let him die.” Shuffles came next like someone had picked up the wheezing boy and dusted him off.
“Now, you two,” the handsome voiced man said, “go see if you can find the breaker for the lights.”
“Yes sir,” two male voices said in unison—one of them still wheezing.
Chenoa eased her head up and looked over the counter, glimpsing two men walking away. She could only see their shadows, but the height difference was staggering. As they rounded the back, a side profile became more visible. The taller of the two had to be the quiet one, with his angular head and his beard that reached his chest. The other man—or boy, looked slight and a good half-foot shorter. He walked hunched over, without a single hint of confidence.
They reached the electrical box on the far side of the hall and flipped the switch. She ducked down as the lights instantly came to life, but turned off just as quickly as they came.
“Damn,” Bryson said, “How can you get anything done in this place. They can’t even keep a single floor lit.”
“This just means something else is drawing on the grid,” another woman said, “You're really are stupid. That’s why I wanted to leave you behind.”
With the lights out, she popped up and panned across the room. Hoping to get a peek at the other two. To the left, Chenoa saw a woman throw off her pack and reach inside. She pulled out something and began to vigorously crank. Moments later, a light emanated from the device and she kept cranking until the light was strong enough to illuminate her face and the man’s that stood next to her. The others followed her lead.
The voice was correct; he was a handsome man. With arresting blue eyes and chiseled features, he certainly didn’t look intimidating, but she knew looks could be deceiving “Let’s clear the room, stay together, and let me know immediately if you see anything suspicious.”
Chenoa squatted back down and backed up, looking for a place to hide. Behind her was the pharmacist's office, but it would be one of the first places they would look, and it would only serve to trap her with no way to escape. Instead, she molded her thin frame into the narrow opening between the shelves and the front desk. However, it made it possible for her to see most of their movements while keeping her hidden.
The invaders split into groups of two and made their way around the pharmacy, rarely stopping to inspect anything for too long. The beams of light shot around the room, but the toppled shelves made it hard to progress very far. They converged on the front desk that she hid under, and as light bounced off the back wall, her heart began to race with every step the group took toward her.
Taping her gun on her hip, she unholstered her weapon and waited. The shelves creaked and moaned as someone put their weight on them. Suddenly, something gave way, crashing down, and pinning Chenoa’s finger in between a pole and the desk. She bit her bottom lip, holding back her desire to scream.
“I can’t really get behind here,” the Russian woman said, “the shelves are, scattered all over. I don’t really feel like breaking a leg.” The woman let her weight off the rack and backed up. It had worked.
“Well,” the handsome man said with a sigh, “If you think it’s safe to turn your back, then let’s go."
“Let’s check the other levels,” the other female said. The intruder’s footsteps staggered away. Chenoa heard a click, then a rattling sound. Still far too frightened, she waited until she was sure that they were gone and let out a sigh of relief. She pulled her hand free and inspected the damage, opening and closing her fist. Nothing felt broken, but it was certainly going to hurt worse in the morning.
Seventeen
Cooper
It was a terrible idea to split up. It’s not like we have a plan besides, ‘don’t die.’ I should have never left Chenoa alone.
Cooper was kicking himself for not paying attention to what floor he had picked. He should’ve known better than to pick the twelfth floor. Who was he fooling?
Originally, the twelfth floor had been for physical rehab, at least according to the nameplates on the door. Now, the entire floor was essentially one gigantic room; no pretensions of privacy now or before the shifting. There were three offices along the north wall, but every last one was framed with glass and littered with sparse furniture. The rest of the walking areas had been floored with a rubbery material and filled with exercise machines. The idea of using equipment to exercise still felt off to him. He never stopped moving and didn’t understand the point in overstressing muscles when you didn’t know what was around the corner. Rest was golden.
He rarely could sit still. Growing up in Montana had been fun. From the moment he had ridden without training wheels, he had been gone from sunup to sundown, exploring anywhere and everywhere. Being the second youngest of seven kids was both a blessing and curse, but it allowed him to disappear for hours, and no one noticing.
His parents had a small ranch that they ran on the outskirts of a large city and had pulled him out of school a few months before The Shifting. His father spent every waking hour of his day installing the bunker that would keep them safe, but he wouldn't come to use it.
There had been a loud noise followed by an explosion of gunfire above him, barely ten minutes ago. It had been quick, and since, silence. His head told him it was a good sign,
but his heart couldn’t deal with the ramifications of being wrong. He let a feeling of comfort wash over him, knowing Dr. Vasquez could fix up anyone who might've gotten hurt. Even if he wasn’t an actual doctor, he could work miracles. They indeed were fortunate to have him.
Cooper scanned the room for what felt like the tenth time, hoping he had just missed something obvious or at least a place to hide. He looked up, eyeing the sheet metal ductwork, but at six foot three inches, he knew better than to think he was going to fit in there. The three offices to the north had chairs stacked into piles in the middle of the room, all flanking a massive wooden desk. He jogged over and tried to slip inside the first office, but it was too cluttered. The second less so. He could hide behind the stacks of chairs in there, but even the least observant person with a flashlight would spot him instantly if they walked inside. There had to be a better option.
Then it hit him. No one said how he had to fight back. There were no rules, and he certainly wasn’t about to just give away his position. If they thought he’d been removed from the equation, they would no doubt give up. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight, especially one on his terms.
Distraction would be the name of the game, and if Colleen was right about Truthmore, the bigger the boom, the better. What would work more effectively than an explosion? The problem was finding something capable of exploding and doing it with enough power. It wasn’t like gunpowder or fertilizer would be sitting around in piles waiting for a light.
He paced around the nearly dark room, banging into the plastic chairs and metal office equipment that covered every corner of the room. Then his foot kicked into something hard. With a deafening clang, it went skittering across the floor. Grasping his jammed foot, his free hand searched, reaching down and feeling around for what he could’ve hit. Flicking on his eternal flame lighter, he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been in front of him the whole time.
What was it that fire needed? Heat, fuel, oh yeah…OXYGEN!
Cooper set off, collecting what he would need. Although the bottles were everywhere, he couldn’t be sure any of them would be full or at least filled enough to pull off what he was planning. Most of what he found was empty, even the ones that had been sealed off. Cooper counted 6 tanks: three full or mostly full, and three more that would do in a pinch. He pulled the mostly empty first aid kits from the wall, hoping that he wouldn’t need them, but wanted to keep them handy.
He dragged the tanks, placing two behind the middle desk, and a half-full tank nestled precariously inside the stack of chairs on top of the desk. The remaining tanks were placed in the northwest corner of the room.
He had hoped to find some sanitizer that hadn’t dried out, but unfortunately, the rehab floor wasn't stocked as well as the surgery ward or the emergency room. He knocked several dispensers off the wall, finally finding one with enough left to start something on fire. Anything would help.
The lights flickered on, then off again. The enemy could arrive at any moment; he couldn’t waste any more time. Fuel was necessary, and getting the fire going was going to require kindling. Cooper opened the first medical kit; it was empty save for Q-Tips and aspirin. Tossing it aside, he opened another; this one was bare as well, save for a mask and some nylon tape. The last one felt heavier, and somehow, that still didn’t offer reassurance. He flung it open; it wasn’t much better, but it had exactly what he was looking for. He emptied the contents, stuffing it in his pockets, and ran to the middle office.
Cooper unrolled the ace bandages, wrapping them loosely around several plastic chairs that filled the most cluttered office. He squeezed some sanitizer out onto the fabric but left most of it in the bag so that it didn’t evaporate. He stepped back, surveying the mess he had just made. If it worked, it would be glorious. If it didn’t, well, at least it would be a swift death.
Eighteen
Chenoa
Although they had seemed to be long gone, it still didn’t feel like it was safe to come out. The whole point of her being there and not in the morgue was for Chenoa to have created a diversion, or have taken a few of the attackers out. Instead, she had frozen up just long enough to save her own skin.
Maybe I am a coward after all, and a coward is not what Colleen and the others need right now. Ugh, how could I have messed this up? What if Cooper needed just a few more minutes? I might have sealed his death warrant.
Chenoa clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, then immediately released them when the sharp pain radiated from her smashed hand. She had forgotten about it; her body shook with anger, aimed toward herself. She felt her nails dig into the soft skin of the palm of her good hand, drawing beads of blood.
Snapping out of her self-inflicted trance, she huddled over the desk that she had used for a hiding place and proceeded to the back exit. In seconds, Chenoa was out the door and into the exterior stairwell. Just a few steps outside and the sounds of broken glass underfoot stopped her in her tracks. It was everywhere; the floor was littered with dark tempered glass pebbles. Making the way up the steps, Chenoa noticed that all the windows were intact.
Where did all this come from?
Approaching the next flight of stairs, she saw a pool of crimson expanding with each drop that flowed down over the edge of the landing. Oh, no! I’m too late.
“I’m so so so sorry! Baby, what have I done!” Chenoa called out, not caring who heard her any longer.
With each step, her knees weakened as the metallic smell of blood became more pungent. Her eyes welled up with tears and her sobs increased. Step by step, she made her way to the 12th floor, tiptoeing around the glass. Even as the blood trickled down from above, there was still no sign of a body.
At first, the door to the 12th-floor emergency exit looked closed, but upon further inspection, something was keeping the lock from clicking in place. She reached out, took a breath, and opened the door. Listening, Chenoa could hear nothing. She stepped further inside, letting the door close behind her.
“Hello? Coop? Can you hear me?”
She held her breath, the pulse in her chest slowed. Her eyes fogged up as bright circles floated in and out of her vision.
A gloved hand clasped over her mouth, and another pulled her back into the darkness.
Nineteen
Cooper
“Keep it down. You are going to give us away. I think they are—” Cooper said, pointing down at the floor below him.
“You scared the crap out of me! I think I even peed my pants a little,” Chenoa's face fell and her shoulders slumped at the thought.
He balled up his fist and put it to his mouth, trying not to laugh, but the smile that played at his lips gave away his struggle. Chenoa slugged him in the arm and started to walk away. He rubbed the sting away—those small, bony hands packed a punch with near surgical precision.
“Come back, Sweetie, I’m sorry,” he said, chasing after her, “Don’t be mad; you have to admit it was a little funny.” He held up his hand, barely visible in the dark, and slightly spreading his fingers apart.
“I could've had a heart attack, you know,” Chenoa growled, sending him a squinted glare.
He rolled his eyes, “You aren’t old enough. You might have a point, though; I’ll see if we can find some diapers for you in the old pediatric wing,” he snickered and shot her an innocent smile.
“Keep going, see what happens,” she continued to walk further into the open room. Her eyes darted around the enormous central room, and she turned to Cooper. A pensive look spread across her face, still deep in thought, “Where are you supposed to hide in here?”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said
“So, why are you still here? Let’s go!”
Cooper put a finger over his mouth, “Keep it down. I’ve got a plan, and now that you are here, this should be a lot easier.”
“So, what’s the plan? Or should I even ask?” Her eyes narrowed, and she wrinkled her nose. He had seen this look before, and it was going to be hard to
convince her to go along with him.
“If I told you, you’d try to stop me. I know you won’t like it.”
“Then, why even waste any more time on this. We're getting out of here, let’s go,” Chenoa grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the exit. He slammed on the breaks, and her body jerked around.
“Babe, we’ve got a chance here to take these people out. If we walk away, we only show everyone else that we weren’t in 100%. Do this for the people who can’t help themselves. Please?” He gave her the saddest puppy eyes he could muster—it wasn't a fail-proof plan to get her on his side, but it had worked in the past.
Chenoa stopped and rubbed the back of her neck, “Okay, enough of the guilt trip, just tell me what you need me to do.”
Chenoa
They walked to the three large offices at the other end of the room. On the way, he quickly explained his plan and what her part would be in it, conveniently leaving out some of the more dangerous details.
“You want me to do what? You never said I’d be bait!”
It took every bit of self-control to keep her body from betraying the fear wanting to pour out of her.
“Bait is such a harsh word, more like a live moving target,” Cooper said, trying to justify his plan and squinting his eyes off into the distance.
The Maddening: Book 2 in the Terror Saga Page 9