by Hunt, James
Silhouettes of furniture and cabinets lay spread out in an open floor plan, the only doors inside leading to bedrooms or closets. She rushed to the front door, unlocked it, and then dragged Luke inside.
A fireplace was on the south end of the house in what she considered the living room. There was a pile of wood and a few starter logs next to it. She piled them into the chimney, then her feet thumped against the floor as she scoured the kitchen in search of a lighter.
She found her prize in the fifth cabinet and then ripped up an old newspaper as she made her way back to the fireplace.
The lighter sparked a flame on the first flick of her thumb, and she held the piece of paper to it until it caught, then tossed it beneath the wood.
Smoke billowed up but then was pushed back in, and Kate realized the vents were closed. She held her breath and reached for the lever up inside the chimney and opened them, clearing the airways. She stepped back, coughing, as the first few flames caught the starter log. She heaved Luke close to the fire and sat there, rocking with him. “Okay, Luke. Time to get warm.”
The pair sat in the living room, the fire growing along with the warmth, and Kate felt her body thaw. It felt so good it was almost painful. A few minutes later, the fire was raging. Kate reached for a pillow on the couch and gently laid it beneath Luke’s head.
She pulled open kitchen cabinets, bypassing the canned foods, though her stomach growled at the sight of them. She reached for a closet door and finally found the stacks of bottled water she was looking for. They were cold.
Kate forced the water down Luke’s throat, and much to her surprise, he drank it. His lips worked against the streaming current of water, though half the bottle ended up on the front of his shirt.
The wind howled outside, and a gust blew snow and frost through the back window, over the glass she’d broken to enter. With the storm coming, she’d need to cover it up, or the fire wouldn’t do much good to keep them warm when they were sleeping in snow.
But even with that, there was a more pressing matter, and that was the bullet still currently lodged in her son’s chest. The bloody bandages that she had used from the first aid kit on the Skyranger were now hard and crusted. They broke off in pieces as she peeled them back. She didn’t know much about first aid, but she knew that the wound needed to be cleaned.
After another few minutes of searching, Kate found a bunch of gauze and bandages with other medical supplies, and she pushed past the bottles with names she didn’t recognize until she found the hydrogen peroxide.
Armed with a mountain of gauze, the antiseptic, and a package of water bottles, Kate hesitated as she knelt by Luke’s side. She feared what lay beneath those last strips of bandages. There was so much blood already, and while she had seen gunshot wounds on television and in movies, she had never seen a real one up close.
Finally, Kate gritted her teeth and pulled the old, dirty bandages back. She winced, squinting with only one eye at the wound, but once the bandage was off, she discovered that it was little more than old, crusted blood.
Kate poured water over it and scrubbed some of the frozen, stubborn slabs of blood. Luke moaned in pain in his unconscious stupor. She tried to move quickly, unsure of the exact procedure, and halfway through her cleaning, she realized that she should have sterilized her hands before touching him. She doused her fingers with the peroxide, hoping she wasn’t too late, and went back to work.
Once she was finished, the flesh around the bullet wound on Luke’s shoulder was light pink. She saw the entrance wound and the tiny bits of jagged, hanging flesh that surrounded the tiny crater. Kate lifted the lip of the bottle of peroxide near the wound and slowly tilted the bottle over.
Luke’s body gave an involuntary spasm as she poured, but she kept going until she felt as if it was enough. He grew still when she stopped, and then Kate quickly wrapped the wound with the fresh bandages, making them snug but not overly tight. She remembered training from her early aircraft-safety days that told her to keep the blood flow pumping, so long as bleeding had stopped, which it had.
A thick sheen of sweat covered Kate’s face as she finished, and she leaned back into the couch and sighed. Luke continued to lie still, and when she checked his pulse it was still weak.
Kate collected all of the old, dirty gauze and bandages and piled them in a trash bag that she set by the back door, where she was reminded of the broken window. She found some blue tarp in the same closet as the medical supplies and then found a hammer and nails.
The patch of blue tarp was stretched taut over the window. It was crude, but it kept the snow out—for now. Then she scraped up the glass shards and placed them in the sack with the medical waste.
After the cleanup, Kate’s stomach growled. She searched the cabinets and plucked out two cans of tomato soup and poured them into pot that she sat next to the fire.
While it warmed, Kate fed Luke another bottle of water, of which he managed to drain three quarters. The fact that he was drinking and his skin was warming helped to ease her worries.
The shelter, warmth, water, and food were drastic improvements from an hour ago. She checked the soup and fished a spoonful out. It was lukewarm, but she nearly lifted the pot to her lips and drained it all.
Kate forced herself to eat slowly, savoring each bite. She ate half of it then tried feeding some to Luke. He ate a quarter, and then Kate polished off the rest. After that she rummaged for snacks and found some crackers that she munched on.
Luke’s face glowed due to the flames, the fire offering a crackle and pop as if in challenge to the growing winds of the storm outside.
The longer she sat in that cabin by herself, the more she wondered what had happened to Mark and Holly. They had more than a day’s head start on her. She tried to avoid traveling down all of the horrific scenarios that could have occurred, but there wasn’t much else for her to do.
A thousand things could have happened. But she tried to rationalize. Holly’s condition could have worsened, and maybe they stayed somewhere until she was better. After all, Mark probably wouldn’t have wanted to move her if the flu worsened, though she knew that Rodney wouldn’t have been happy about it.
But even if that was the case, or one of the other few positive scenarios, Rodney’s whole concern was to have gotten to the cabin before that big storm blew through. What did he say? Trying to wade through the snow and find the cabin after twenty feet of powder dropped would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Kate walked to the front window. She clasped her hands together tightly, staring out into the growing storm. The snowfall had thickened, and the wind had picked up. A branch snapped off a tree and crashed into the powder, kicking up more white into an already growing blizzard. It wouldn’t be long until she couldn’t see anything beyond the front porch.
But Kate stood there, waiting, hoping, wishing to see a few bodies pushing their way through the storm. She’d run out to greet them then help them to the fire. They’d joke about the cold, and then Rodney would be able to do something about Luke’s wound. And everything would turn out just fine. She could live with that.
What she couldn’t stand was being here alone with Luke, whom she no longer knew how to heal. What she couldn’t stand was not knowing what was going to happen next. She was still flying blind.
13
Rodney paced nervously, checking the pocket watch every few seconds to see if the hour was up. It was only another five minutes, but Rodney was careful not push Mark too quickly. He could see it in the man’s eyes that he was struggling with the decision to leave.
“How’s she doing?” Rodney asked, still keeping his distance.
Mark hovered over her, his upper back hunched as he held her hand and gently stroked her hair. Her breathing was labored, but the wheezing hadn’t returned, which was a good sign. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. She looks so tired.”
The candle flames flickered and moved the shadows over Mark’s face. They made him l
ook older, hollowed. It was almost as if they were at a funeral home instead of a hospital. And with the number of sheet-covered bodies that Rodney had seen, it wasn’t a far stretch.
Rodney checked the pocket watch again—two more minutes until the end of the hour. He stepped out of the room and into the hall. Even inside, the howl of the wind had picked up, and Rodney knew that it was the big storm from the northwest. They had to get going. Now.
“Mark, it’s been an hour.” Rodney stepped inside the room, finding Mark in the exact same position. “We need to get going. Laura and Glen are waiting on us.” He hoped that the fact that there were other lives at stake would provide the needed clout to go, but Mark didn’t budge.
Rodney sidled up alongside Mark, looking down at Holly from his point of view. “She’s stronger than you think. And I’ve been listening since our talk. She hasn’t wheezed once.” He pointed to the medicine. “It’s working, and I have more packed with our gear. I’ve got the supplies needed at the cabin to set up an IV, but our window is closing fast. It’s now or never, Mark.”
Another howl of winter wind penetrated the walls, and Mark finally nodded. “All right.”
Before Mark could change his mind, Rodney carefully removed the IV from Holly’s arm and helped bundle the girl up as Mark scooped her up off the table.
“Glen and Laura are with the sled.” Rodney led while Mark carried Holly, staying close behind. The trio weaved through the darkened halls, and a weight lifted from him.
They passed the open doors of the other rooms. Some of the rooms were dark and empty, others filled with the grief of sobbing survivors.
Rodney propped open the stairwell door, and they passed some doctors and nurses hurrying upstairs, carrying what looked like a packet of blood, which also covered their scrubs. Light penetrated the cracks of the first-floor door, and Rodney quickly reached for the bar and pushed it open.
The first floor was busier than the second, and Rodney and Mark had to dart between the scurrying bodies of staff and patients. Patches of conversations flooded Rodney’s ears as he hurried toward the ER lobby.
“What do you mean you’re out of water?”
“I need the doctor to check on my son.”
“I don’t know. He’s not breathing anymore!”
Tones ranged from fear and confusion, to fury and anger. It was already happening. The boiling point had been reached.
Rodney shoulder-checked the double doors open and immediately spotted Laura, who shot up out of her seat and quickly patted Glen, who’d fallen asleep, on his shoulder. Rodney smiled, and she smiled, and with less than fifteen yards between Rodney and Laura, a shimmer of black caught Rodney’s peripherals. He looked to his right just in time to see four men enter, all armed with shotguns, rifles, and pistols. And then they opened fire.
A brief roar of screams erupted before the cacophony of gunshots cut them short, and Rodney had just enough time to duck behind a row of chairs before the bullets started flying toward him.
He landed hard on the tile, the impact made worse by the cold, though he was so flooded with adrenaline that he barely felt it. He army-crawled farther behind the chairs and seats but then stopped himself, looking for Mark and Holly. He spotted Mark on the floor behind the next row of chairs, his body curled up around Holly, shielding her from gunfire.
“Mark!” His voice was barely audible over the gunfire and screams and… laughter? Was that what he was hearing? “Mark!”
Mark finally looked over, and Rodney pointed toward the wall, gesturing for him to follow and keep low. Rodney waited for Mark to nod in compliance, and then they started their trek toward the wall.
Rodney watched the shuffling and scattering of feet from beneath the chairs. When he and Mark reached the wall, they tucked themselves behind the chairs, curled up in balls, and Rodney held a finger to his lips for quiet.
“They runnin’ for hell or high water! Hah!” The voice was high pitched, and despite the gunfire, there was still the shrill of laughter.
“Spread out! If you can’t fuck it or it isn’t a doctor, then shoot it.” The second voice was low and angry. “You two stay and watch the exit!”
They grunted in annoyance but obeyed.
From his position against the wall, Rodney saw carnage in the lobby. Bodies littered the floor, and blood seeped onto the white tile. He tried to crane his neck to see the fates of Laura and Glen, but the wall that led up to the ER’s exit doors blocked them from view.
More screams and random gunshots echoed in the hallways, and when a woman came sprinting through the double doors and into the lobby, shrieking, one of the men on guard shot her before she had a chance to stop and turn around.
“Now what the hell did you do that for?” one of the sentries asked.
“You heard Mulls. She was too ugly.”
Rodney’s heart hammered in his chest. He stared down the end of his aisle. He had a clear view of the woman who’d been shot. Her head had turned toward him as she fell. Her mouth twitched, the last bits of life draining from her as their eyes locked onto each other. She moved her arm along the tile and stretched her fingers toward him. And then she was still.
It took everything Rodney had not to scream or jump up and run at those bastards at full steam, screaming his fury until they shot him dead like that nurse. But he buried that urge, knowing that he’d have to be smart.
He waited until his heart rate calmed, and then caught Mark’s attention. Luckily for both of them, Holly was so tired that she was practically sedated. Rodney gestured for Mark to follow him, and they crawled toward the wall next to the exit doors.
Once there, Rodney whispered into Mark’s ear.
“I’m going to jump the guard nearest to us. I can kill him, but I don’t know if I’ll have time to get the friend. If I can’t, you jump him when he comes over to get me. Then you take Holly and run as fast and as far as you can into the woods. Try and get to the cabin, but don’t stop moving.”
When Rodney pulled away, Mark was frantically shaking his head. But there wasn’t any other play. They had to act, and they had to do it fast. There was no telling how many more of those people were around.
Rodney coiled his body in preparation. His muscles tensed, and he focused every bit of willpower on the sliver of an arm that he had in his view. A thousand different scenarios of what could happen ran through his mind. He lunged for the arm and wrestled the weapon away from the shooter, wrapping his hand around a cold, meaty arm.
At the same moment, someone shouted, and the man tried to yank free, but Rodney already had his other arm around the man’s throat, spinning him around and using him as a human shield. From behind his human shield, he saw the barrel of a gun pointed at him. But that wasn’t what caught his attention first.
Although Glen was lying on the ground, covered in blood, Rodney was still able to recognize his bald head immediately. But even more recognizable was the tuft of Laura’s blond hair. Blood pooled from beneath her stomach, and while Glen’s face was turned away from him, Laura’s pretty blue eyes stared right through him.
Something shifted inside Rodney when he saw that. He stepped away from himself and inched closer to something primal, almost evil. He turned his gaze back to the man with the rifle. “Put it down. Or I kill him.” The voice that escaped Rodney’s lips wasn’t one that he recognized. It was cold and feral.
The man in Rodney’s choke hold squirmed, and he groaned something through his teeth that sounded like “Do it!”
Rodney added pressure to the blade, causing his hostage to stiffen. The partner grimaced, looked at the doors his friends had disappeared through, and then finally lowered the weapon.
“Toss it on the ground, and then kick it toward me.”
“Shit.” The inmate did as he was told, and the rifle skidded over the tile to Rodney’s feet.
“Good.”
Rodney ran the blade across his hostage’s throat quickly, and a warm gush of blood rushed over his fingers. T
he man gargled and then collapsed to the ground, choking, both hands around his neck as he bled out.
“What the fuck!” The thug stared down at his friend in shock and then looked at Rodney, his face flashing anger. “You fucking prick—”
Rodney squeezed the trigger of the rifle he’d picked up off the floor, and the man buckled forward due to the bullet that entered his gut. He dropped to his knees and looked up at Rodney, blood dripping from his mouth. “What the—”
Rodney squeezed the trigger again, putting a bullet through his skull. Everything was quiet for a minute, nothing but the ringing of the gunshot in his ears.
“Rodney?” Mark stood behind him, clutching Holly close to his chest. “Rodney, are you all right?”
He heard the question, but he didn’t respond. His eyes fell to Glen and Laura, and he walked to them, stepping through the blood and tracking footprints on the tile. He knelt by Laura’s side. He felt himself take another step away from himself as he gently closed her eyes.
“Rodney, we have to go!”
“I know.” Rodney kept his eyes on Laura’s body. And then, after another pause, he stood, turning to Mark, who recoiled once Rodney faced him.
More shouts echoed from the behind the double doors that led deeper into the hospital. The hallway doors burst open, and three more men flooded into the ER lobby. For a brief moment, nothing happened. They simply stared at one another, and then when Rodney raised his rifle, the one in the middle screamed for his men to shoot, and the bullets started flying.
Rodney squeezed off two shots before he joined Mark’s retreat into the cold. Wind and snow whipped their faces, the storm immediately slowing their escape.
Shouts and gunfire carried on the wind, and Rodney kept hold of Mark’s arm as he held Holly close to his chest. Their shins kicked up piles of white, and they struggled against the sudden steep pitch of the terrain.
Snow concealed the rocks and boulders that tripped them and sent them tumbling into snowdrifts. With the howling wind, and subzero temperatures, Rodney knew they couldn’t survive the storm. He forced Mark to stop. “We need to find shelter! We’ll freeze before we get to the cabin!”