SURVIVAL

by Karen Payton Holt

  “Yes, I’m sure. But the council must not be told yet.”

  “Okay.” Julian waited for more.

  “If this is blurted out, there will be a frenzied epidemic of oven-baked vampires and freezers bursting with blue humans. No, we have to think about this.”

  Julian nodded slowly.

  “Let’s get Rebekah through this first.” Connor took her hand, moving his thumb over the back of it as he tested for dehydration. Inhaling her scent like a smoker taking a hit of nicotine, he snapped his jaw shut and expelled her cocktail of hormones, pheromones, and the bouquet of her blood gently through his nose. His sensitive sinuses shot the information to his brain. “If we can keep her stable for another three hours, and run through two more units of blood, I might be able to go with an epidural.” He looked into her face. “Her brain activity is encouraging.” Connor smiled lightly as he said, “She may well come round before then. Things are looking up, Julian.”

  A cautious feeling of euphoria filled the room as the theater door whipped open.

  Anthony’s red lips and the flush over his cheekbones told Connor he had fed. Not just fed... feasted. Connor nodded his approval, and stretched out his hand for the blood vials, which he needed too.

  When Anthony approached, Connor’s face compressed into a mask of rage. An odor clinging to Anthony’s clothes assailed Connor’s nostrils and, reeling around, he shot out through the door. A vortex of low air pressure whisked through the room, and the word ‘Sebastian’ hung in the air.

  Without stopping to think, Julian took off after him.

  His confusion solidifying on his face, Anthony froze, still holding out Connor’s vials of blood as if an invisible hand still waited to take them.

  Rebekah stirred, and her groan reanimated the stunned vampire. Anthony crossed to her side and laid his palm over her forehead. Hope swelled inside him. The activity in her brain has moved up a level, maybe she’s waking up. “Connor better get back here soon,” he muttered.

  The operating theater door banged shut behind Connor as he flew along the wide hospital corridor. Ricocheting from side to side, with the purpose of a heat-seeking missile, he beat his fists on the closed doors lining the walls. Their metal hinges creaked in protest when each one flung open, and Connor barely paused as he sampled the air just inside each room.

  He didn’t make it this far. Sebastian’s scent had wicked into the fabric of Anthony’s shirt. Did he brush past him? Or did Anthony walk through a suspended cloud of his stench? Connor knew how scents could stain the air, like those in the ladies’ powder room of cheap hotels. Not the perfume on their bodies, but the musk of cheap sex they tried to disguise. Some odors were thicker than others.

  “He was definitely here,” Connor muttered darkly.

  His fist was followed by a shoulder charge through a doorway when Connor caught the scent. The room was empty but the stench was stronger. “He passed through here.” Connor looked around the deserted area. The mattress on the metal bedframe was covered in plastic and the pillow was pitted as though it had been shaken out. Connor crossed the room and took a deeper breath. He took rap sleep.

  With the puzzle piece slotting into place, Connor moved back out into the corridor and stepped straight into Julian’s barreling path.

  “He was here, lying in wait, maybe, long enough to take rap-sleep, certainly.” Connor frowned.

  “I know him better than you do. He has a plan. He’s waiting for the birth.” Julian scanned the corridor in both directions.

  Connor’s eyes darkened as he visualized Rebekah after her last encounter with Sebastian. Her bruised body and shattered collarbone were the sick bastard’s idea of foreplay. “Julian, stand guard. You can see the morgue door and the entrance to the surgical wing from here. I’m going after him.”

  “You had better come back fast. You might’ve drummed the resuscitation procedures of a newborn into me, but you’re going to have to do the hard bit.” said Julian.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Connor as he shouldered the exit doors aside.

  Picking up the scent again, he raced along in the slipstream of Sebastian’s flight path. The pungent particles clustered in satisfying plumes. He was hesitating. He’s near, I know it. Focusing his gray gaze front and center, Connor pushed the pace to the limit of control, his shoulder crumbling plaster when he cut the corners in the corridor.

  Connor’s chest cramped tight and he stopped breathing when he caught a glimpse of a snarling face with one hazel and one cataract-frosted eye. He launched towards it with rage-driven determination. Closing him down, Connor could almost taste Sebastian’s desperation as his outstretched fingers clutched at the fabric of his quarry’s flapping coat.

  At that moment, three sensations fractured Connor’s concentration: Sebastian’s huff of anxiety flooded Connor’s mouth with venom, Anthony bellowing his name scraped alarm down his spine, and Rebekah’s bloodcurdling scream crushed his heart with fear.

  “Damn it.” The woolen fabric teased his fingertips for fractions of a second before Connor applied the brakes and wiped the wasted opportunity from his mind. He was already halfway back to the operating theater when Julian added his shout to the layers of anxiety.

  Chapter 27

  Rebekah’s last clear memory was of being tucked into the side of Connor’s hard chilled body and walking out into the moonlight outside the eco-shelter. The row of vampire faces terrified her. Their frowns framed darkened eye sockets and, as Rebekah held her breath, a tourniquet tightening around her chest prevented her breathing and then everything went black.

  Her consciousness meandered like a shoal of silver fish undulating beneath rolling ocean waves. The blackout curtains of her eyelids danced with pinpricks of light as the fish scales glinted like scraps of aluminium foil twirling in dazzling sunlight. And then, they darted in a new direction and were draped in dark shadow.

  Confusion folded her brow and her face ached. She heard Connor’s voice, arguing, it seemed. The problem of lifting her eyelids became too difficult to contemplate, so she stopped thinking, and the void of unconsciousness claimed her again.

  The relaxing rocking movement made her feel safe – she was in Connor’s arms. But lilting momentum, like riding an ocean swell, ran aground with a jolt, and a blow to her chest doubled her over and her bones creaked. Pain took a bite from her stomach and the bone suddenly snapped.

  Her throat burned as a rasping breath screamed inside her head.

  The world seemed to stop moving, and her body felt heavy. She wanted to stay there in the world where she couldn’t feel her limbs. But then, pain flooded in as a metal grip of cold hands framed her ribcage and another spanned her hips. Her brain yelled at her to do something to make it stop. Panic clawed inside when her body lay like a heavy corpse, and a deathly chill spread over her stomach. Relentless pressure cutting through her skin like a skewer, pushed the pain through to her spine.

  Her mind ran screaming along a jagged path before dreams crowded her head again and darkness welcomed her with open arms.

  There was a moment when nothing hurt.

  The relief of ice cold fingers stroked her temples, and the name Connor was written in script across her brain.

  Her lashes blurred her sight when she struggled to raise heavy eyelids, and she abandoned the swallow which caught in her throat.

  Rebekah,” a tentative voice said, as though trying the word out for size.

  The voice was low, and it was not the familiar warm resonance she expected. Her heart picked up a notch as she shrank from his touch. Forcing her eyes open, she saw a stranger’s face. His white skin glowed with pearl fragments. The eyes, shadowed by frowning brows, were brown, but flecks of bronze foil gave them a preternatural metallic sheen.

  It’s not Connor. Rebekah’s body bypassed the sluggish responses of her brain as fear jolted up her spine, her abdomen tingled as the skin stretched tight, and her heart rate pumped adrenalin at breakneck speed. The keening scream tearing its
way out of her throat vibrated the air particles in the room.

  Anthony snatched his hand away and backed up. “Connor!” For the first time since he had died, Anthony was scared.

  As Rebekah’s scream died away, the silence was filled by the rush of Connor bursting into the room.

  It took fractions of a second for him to understand the situation. Shit, she’s never met Anthony. “Rebekah, this is Anthony. It’s alright. He’s on our side. Honey, it’s alright.” Connor closed the distance and framed her face with his hands. The whites of her eyes flashed as they remained glued to Anthony like a mongoose’s to a snake.

  “Rebekah, honey. It’s okay, trust me.”

  Finally, peeling her gaze from Anthony’s nervous grin, she found Connor’s face, and for the first time in what seemed like eons, she smiled.

  Gently touching his forehead to hers, his breath fanned her lips as he said, “Welcome back.”

  Her lips reached for his, returning his kiss as her dry throat tried to say his name.

  “I’ll get you some ice chips,” he said, holding onto her fingertips until the last possible moment as he moved away to reach for the icebox.

  Just as the scream of the heart rate monitor slowed, and the tension drained from the room, Rebekah hissed and clutched her side. She suddenly arched and threw her head back on an agonized groan as the baby distorted her stomach in a jerking spasm.

  “Anthony. Scan. Quick.”

  Connor collected a syringe of anesthetic from the surgical tray and stabbed it into the I.V. line near the catheter, depressing the plunger slowly until Rebekah’s body went slack. Working as one, Anthony passed the ultrasound probe over her abdomen. Connor checked her pupils were equal and reactive, and that her pulse rate was regular, at least.

  Anthony stopped the sweeping movement of the probe, abruptly. “We have an internal bleed.”

  The black inkblot stain on the monitor screen said it all. The amniotic sack was swelling with Rebekah’s blood.

  Connor introduced another ten millilitre dose of muscle relaxant into the baby as he swore loudly, “Damn. The adrenalin in her bloodstream stimulated the baby and diluted the effect of the muscle relaxant.” Connor closed his hand around Rebekah’s upper arm, and stared helplessly at the monitor, watching the shadowy image of the bleed grow. “Blood pressure is dropping. We are delivering this baby, now.” Connor glowered at Anthony. “There’s going to be a lot of blood. Go pack your sinuses before you put your mask on. Don’t let me down in there. If she dies, you die.”

  Connor was not joking.

  Anthony dived out of the operating suite and rushed into the suture room. Frowning fiercely, he tried to banish his doubts. I can do this. I CAN do this. He had knocked grown men senseless in the boxing ring when human, and being splattered in blood had never bothered him. He would kill for some of that immunity now. It was only his tenacity that kept him in Connor’s favor. Doctor Connor believes in me.

  He scanned the rows of shelves piled up with back-up supplies of the dressings, I.V. catheters, and sterilizing alcohol he had collected from the clinic at the farm. He was quite tempted to find a new use for the alchohol. Maybe it will deaden my sinuses if I snort it.

  Picking out half-a-dozen tubes of fibrous cotton padding, he inserted three into each nostril, facing the possibility that Connor might need to operate and remove the ones which became lodged in his sinus cavity. But better safe than sorry. He rolled cotton gauze into tightly packed wads and put them into his mouth. There was no gag reflex to bother him, so he pushed them down into his throat as far as his oesophagus.

  He pressed his transparent plastic mask firmly into place and stepped back into the operating suite, feeling tentatively confident. I will not breathe during the operation.

  The scrub room was deserted, but low scuffing sounds came from operating theater two. Anthony paused, uncertain what to do for a moment, until his decision was made by Julian walking in.

  Julian cocked his head and said, “Don’t just stand there, scrub in.” His serious expression was distracted as he moved around the room loading up a trolley with bags of blood, saline I.V. pouches dosed with antibiotic steroid combinations, sutures, clamps, and anything else he could lay his hands on. Tossing the words over his shoulder while he moved around, he said, “I’m the dirty nurse.”

  Interesting title. Unable to speak, Anthony grinned at the thought, giving Julian an ironic thumbs-up. Thinking of Julian as a ‘dirty’ anything, was a stretch.

  Julian shrugged, humor was lurking behind his expression, but there was no time to indulge it. “Connor said something about ‘circulating the sterile field’. When I asked him, ‘what the hell does that mean?’, he gave me that flattering label.” He recounted his instructions. “I touch all the things that you both can’t because you are sterile.” Jerking his head towards the door through which he had appeared, he said, “Getting Rebekah in there and keeping everything germ-free has been interesting. I’ve scrubbed in three times, and I’m not even operating.”

  Anthony grinned in his turn as he scoured his hands beneath boiling water pouring from a swan’s neck faucet. He nudged the paddle lever with his elbow, turning off the water, pushed his arms into the gown Julian held up, and shouldered his way through into the operating room.

  Rebekah had been intubated to protect her airway and the bellows of the respirator sighed. Not breathing for her, but oxygenating her blood. Her body was draped in sterile green linen and, through a square hole cut in the fabric, Connor was staining the tight skin of her abdomen a greasy brown with an iodine swab.

  “Her low blood pressure and body temperature should help us now,” said Connor. “It will slow the bleeding when I make the incision.”

  But, increase the risk of the heart stopping. Anthony’s throat worked as the frustration of not being able to talk kicked in.

  Connor did not need the monitoring equipment common to human surgeons. His hand took accurate temperature readings as though his palms were filled with mercury. His fingers recorded her blood pressure and pulse rate with a fleeting touch. Pressing a thumb gently onto the tissue over her cheekbones told him she was still too dehydrated for an epidural block. So, I have to take the anesthesia option. As long as she does not bleed out on the table. Connor sought refuge in action, and pulling a tray of sharp- and blunt-edged scalpels forward, he squared his shoulders.

  “Julian, go and prepare the resuscitation cradle for the baby.” Connor leveled a serious look at both vampires. “Bring it in here, turn on the heating lamps and prepare the finest gauge suction tube we have. I’ll tell you what temperature we need the lamps adjusted to when I discover if the baby has warm or cold blood.”

  Julian’s brows climbed as it dawned on him, “We have no idea what to expect, do we?”

  “No idea...” Connor’s words faded as he gently squeezed Rebekah’s thumbnail for pain response. That’s good. He absorbed the wave-form of electrical impulses inside her brain. She is definitely under, the anesthetic is working... maybe too well. Connor was silent as he made his final preparations.

  Julian disappeared through the doors to complete his mission.

  “Ready?” Watching Anthony’s fists clench and release, Connor added in a conversational tone, “You let me down, Anthony, and I will kill you.” Connor was satisfied when he met Anthony’s earnest brown regard. “I’ll be walking out into the sun, and I’ll be taking you with me.”

  Anthony stepped purposefully forward, and Connor said grimly, “Suction.”

  Connor picked up the scalpel, spread his palm over Rebekah’s relaxed stomach muscles, and took in a deep breath. Closing his eyes for a moment, he prayed.

  Pressing the blade to her skin, he made a six-inch incision in the lower part of her belly, quickly swabbing away the oozing blood. Changing scalpel, he cut through the muscle wall. Next, the blunt scalpel blade, which will wear through the uterine wall. He mentally rehearsed the sawing action which would protect the baby from injury. It’
s been a long time since I did this. Connor’s concentration faltered. His hackles rose as he sensed danger thickening the atmosphere.

  Connor heard the muffled, ferocious growl and glanced up in time to see Anthony tearing his mask away as though he was suffocating, and his mouth frothing with white fragments of shredded gauze. The suction tube in his hand shook violently and his brown eyes were drowned with sorrow. Anthony backed away, even as his muzzle folded with a vicious snarl and his fingers stiffened into a clawed grip.

  Damn it. All he had to do was suction, pass the forceps, and hand the baby over to Julian. That was it! Connor tensed, ready to fight.

  As the cotton gauze spilled out of his mouth, and his gaze crazed with bloodlust, Anthony lunged forward. Connor pressed one cold hand firmly over the incision in Rebekah’s stomach, stemming the bleeding with his ice-cold touch as he swung around. With his other hand, he buried the scalpel blade squarely into Anthony’s chest, at the base of his sternum. As human instinct took over and Anthony’s shocked fingertips closed over the hilt, Connor gripped him by the throat, compressing the carotid artery on both sides of his neck at once.

  “Julian,” Connor bellowed as he felt Rebekah’s blood filling his palm.

  Shock released Anthony from its stupefying hold and he pressed mindlessly into Connor’s grip, his jaws grinding as he lashed out, clawing at Connor’s chest. “Julian,” Connor bellowed again. The tendons in Anthony’s neck creaked. I don’t want to break his neck.

  Anthony’s eyes closed as Connor’s fingernails cut into the softer tissue under his jaw, stretching the ligaments to tearing point.

  Rebekah’s congealing blood oozed out from between Connor’s tight fingers and he was a heartbeat away from ending the stalemate – applying the pressure which would rupture Anthony’s oesophagus and snap his neck.

  Julian burst into the room, and Anthony’s snarl reverberated the air in the nanosecond he had to absorb the scenario.