by Tracy Serpa
She pulled the door to Brandon’s room closed quietly and locked it. There was a second empty bed in the room, which she maneuvered over to the door, where she locked the wheels. It would still slide, but she hoped it might catch against the opposite wall and buy her more time; really, she hoped the entire gesture would be unnecessary.
The beeping and jiggling continued at the end of the hallway, and she sank to the ground, covering her head with her hands, and allowed herself a few seconds to feel completely and utterly helpless. The tears ran freely, and soon she was shaking with sobs. Without warning, the detached doctor in her brain clamped down on the terrified woman, and she was wiping away the tears and reminding herself that Thad would be calling back any second now.
Still, when the phone rang, she was unprepared, and every muscle in her body contracted at the sound. Embarrassed, she scrambled to the phone and snatched it up.
“Thad?”
“Karen, it was Brandon’s brother. They’re coming now—”
Thad was still speaking, but she was no longer listening. At almost the exact moment she picked up the phone, the man who had identified himself as Marks had appeared at the window in Brandon’s door. He surveyed the room, his eyes moving first to Brandon passed out on the gurney, then finding her kneeling on the floor; a strange expression hardened on his face. She thought it almost looked like pity.
She had locked the door, but she could hear that he was working at the lock and was sure it would be free in a matter of moments.
“Thad, he’s at the door—”
“Hang on; they’re on their way. Just don’t let him get in—”
The lock clicked free, and Marks put his weight into the door. The gurney wheels screeched terribly against the floor, moving a few centimeters. She heard him growl with frustration, and somewhere far away, Thad’s voice shouting for her not to let them in.
Something inside her snapped, and she was on her feet and throwing her weight against the gurney, her teeth gritted with the exertion as she tried desperately to keep the door from moving any farther. The pain in her leg and ankle flared up ferociously, and she nearly buckled over, barely able to muster the strength to remain on her feet. But she could feel the door and the gurney shuddering as Marks pushed his full weight against hers, over and over, each time the door opening a little more. Instinctively, she threw her weight back against him, gaining back a fraction of the distance, but the panic that fueled her could not give her the strength to match his weight.
She thought he was calling out to her, telling her to stop, but then she realized that the door had slid closed again, and the voice calling out was directed at Marks, not at her. Then gunshots rang out, two short, staccato bursts, and then a few more-measured, steady bursts. Someone cried out, and something heavy fell to the floor. She heard more shouts from farther away, another struggle, and then footsteps heading for Brandon’s room. She braced herself against the gurney again.
The first face that appeared in the window was a young man with a military haircut. He caught her eyes and shouted, “Here!”
The next face that appeared belonged to Kai Kavida, and Karen collapsed onto the gurney in tears.
Twenty-Three
The young Marine had been happy to help Kai drag the unconscious man who called himself Marks into Brandon’s hospital room, where they secured him to the second gurney at the ankles, waist, and wrists. Karen had settled into a chair near Brandon’s bed and was attempting to gather her wits. Kai noticed that a wrapped wound on her lower calf had reopened in the struggle, soaking her bandages in short order. The doctor seemed not to notice.
In the brief moment of calm that followed, Kai introduced himself and Paul to the Marine, who shook Kai’s hand and smiled.
“Casey,” he offered, replacing his hand on his weapon. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, just a skinny kid with a good-natured face and a Texas accent.
Kai was grateful that their guide had the gun. When they had exited the elevator and made for the psychiatric ward, he had not expected to meet armed resistance. Despite the lab tech’s warnings that the men upstairs were likely armed, even Casey had been taken by surprise when the first shot was fired at them; he recovered quickly, and their assailant had been on the receiving end of a well-placed bullet. The man Karen called Strimmel had been sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood before he realized he’d been shot.
Kai still had the pistol that Casey had taken off the dead man, the weight of it in his hand both strange and comforting. The young Marine had been able to knock Marks off his feet with a bullet that exploded through his thigh, followed by a vicious blow from the butt of his weapon that knocked the larger man out cold. Marks’s pistol had gone to Paul, who set it gingerly aside as soon as the action was over.
Karen did her best to explain to them what had happened, briefly updating Kai and Paul on their brother’s condition and then launching into a quick retelling of the events of the past half hour. When she said that the two men had identified themselves as CDC agents, Casey’s ears perked up, and he shook his head.
“No, ma’am,” he said gruffly, embarrassed at his own interruption. “We haven’t had any word from the CDC or the mainland since 1600 yesterday. And believe me, we’ve been trying to raise them.”
He told the group he’d wait with them until Marks regained consciousness, and Kai thought the Marine must be just as curious as the rest of them for information. Casey moved to stand near the door casually, shoving a pinch of tobacco between his lower lip and gums as he settled in to wait. Except for that brief moment, Kai noticed that his hands never left his weapon.
“So, Brandon’s okay?” Paul asked.
Karen looked up at him, a look of uncertainty on her face.
“Well, it’s hard to say. In some ways, he’s better than he was when he arrived. His blood samples aren’t showing the same . . . behaviors as they were originally. But his white blood cells were decimated by whatever infected him. We haven’t had a chance to take more blood to check the count again, but you see how yellow his skin is? That’s not what we want to see.” She hated to give the brothers bad news but knew that coddling them would be pointless.
“But, he’s himself again,” Paul continued. Kai heard the same concern and hope in his brother’s voice that he felt welling up in his chest.
“Yes, he’s coherent and acting relatively normal,” she answered. “I think he’s out so heavily because of the morphine. He had some pretty serious injuries. But again, I’m just . . . not sure.”
Their conversation was cut short by a low moan from Marks, who shifted tentatively on his gurney. He opened his eyes, blinking slowly, and let out an expletive. Immediately, Kai felt unprepared for an interrogation; he had no idea where to start with the man. Still, he was doing his best to appear calm and collected, when Karen Lau suddenly stood up and limped over toward the man’s bed.
“Why did you want Brandon Kavida?” she demanded, her voice edged with flint.
Marks squinted at her, his eyes searching her expression. Karen’s face was emotionless except for the hard set of her lips. Marks shifted his weight again, the shackles clattering as he moved; he licked his lips and tried to prop himself up, wincing as the flesh of his ruined leg moved and bled freshly.
“Fucking prick,” he spat, glaring at Casey, who merely shrugged, returning the vitriol with a small, self-satisfied smile.
“You’re luckier than your friend,” he answered and gave another shrug. “My aim was a little off with you.”
Marks scoffed, gritting his teeth against the obvious pain. His gaze moved back to Karen, who stood near the foot of his gurney.
“Well, I will be as much help to you as he,” was his only response. As he spoke, Kai heard the same strange kind of accent that he had detected in Nordec, which he pointed out quietly to his brother. When he mentioned Nordec’s name, he saw Marks react briefly before he was able to feign disinterest; it was obvious they knew one another.
“We ran into another two-man unit like this,” Kai continued louder. “They were at the Pearl City Police station.”
“That’s a secondary evacuation center,” Casey said, his eyebrows raised.
“They were armed too,” Paul chimed in. “And dressed pretty similar, although the guys at the station had war paint on their faces.”
At that, Marks chuckled, and Karen Lau whipped around to face him again.
“Start talking,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Marks tilted his face up to gaze at her defiantly; if he felt threatened, he didn’t look it. Karen watched him for a moment longer, and then stepped away from the bed. Once she had put some distance between herself and the gurney, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Kai frowned; the pose was vaguely reminiscent of a pinup model. Was she hoping to woo the information from the man? His confusion was cut short when Karen stuck out her injured calf and pointed to the bloodied bandage.
“You see that, Agent Marks?” she asked. “Not long ago, I was bitten by a crazed patient.”
For the first time, Kai thought the man’s hardened façade looked less stable. Casey reacted as well, his hand shifting slightly on his gun. Kai caught his eye and tried to communicate patience to him, although he knew the Marine did not intend to fire on Dr. Lau. Even when their fence had been attacked, the Marines had not fired a single shot at the assailants, and Kai thought it was unlikely that the killing of civilians would start now.
“From what I’ve seen today, I’d say I’ve got”—she glanced at the clock—“fifteen minutes or so before I’m a violent lunatic, like him. Like the people out on the streets. I’ve been feeling the effects already.”
To emphasize her point, she lifted a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes momentarily from the light. With a light but menacing step, she moved back toward him slowly.
“I’m willing to bet you know what this shit is. And I’m willing to bet you know how it spreads,” she continued. “Well, guess what? I do too. So, what do you say I bandage that wound for you, and then we’ll see if you feel like talking?”
With that, she reached down and peeled the wrapping from her calf and lifted the soaked material up into Marks’s line of sight. Instantly, his expression dissolved into a look of naked fear, and he struggled to pull his leg away from Karen as she approached. His eyes were glued to the bandage as he thrashed against the restraints, and soon he began to call out for her to wait. Unmoved, she continued forward with the confident intensity of a predator.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Shit, just wait a second! What do you want to know?” He was nearly frantic, pulling hard against the restraints and wincing as dark blood pumped out of his wound, soaking the gurney.
“Why did you want Brandon?” Karen repeated her original question. Blood was trickling down her ankle with each step she took, but it was clear to Kai that she was beyond feeling. Awe and revulsion mingled inside of him as he watched her performance.
“He’s on the list,” Marks responded quickly, his eyes still glued to the bloody bandage.
Karen stopped, but did not lower the gauze.
“What list?” she pressed coldly.
Marks looked around the room, weighing his options and licking his lips again.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling,” Marks finally responded. “It doesn’t matter much at this point either way. Unless you want to let me go.”
He made a show of looking around the room, searching each of their faces for some sign of pity. Finding none, he sighed loudly.
“Well, like I said, it doesn’t matter much either way,” he said. Then he looked up at Karen, who still waited at the foot of his bed, bloody bandage in hand.
“What do you mean?” Paul asked. Kai fought down his frustration; he had wanted to bite at Marks’s bait too, but he knew the man was stalling. His theory was confirmed by the satisfied look on Marks’s face as he shifted his glance to Paul.
“I mean the generators at this hospital are going to fail. Probably soon. And well before that time, your main concern will be trying to find a way out of here—not figure out my purpose for wanting your brother dead.”
Kai balked at the blatant admission of guilt. The words stoked a new kind of fury, different from the purely defensive reactions he had experienced when attacked by the maniacs outside. He felt his hands curl into fists as the first wave of real hatred rolled over him.
“The generators are designed to last for days,” he heard Karen retort.
Kai tried to mimic her calm to avoid chasing down the red herrings Marks was throwing out; they needed more information, and that knowledge was the last chain rooting him to the spot where he stood. But once they had what they needed, he knew he was going to kill the man where he lay.
Marks shrugged in response to Karen’s assertion.
“Then I must be bluffing,” he replied casually.
At that moment, they heard a warning shout from outside, followed by the pop pop of rounds being fired and the ugly sound of metal grating and twisting against metal. More voices began shouting, punctuated by a low thud thud thud.
“Oh shit,” Casey said. “That’s tear gas.”
By the time they made it to the window, the scene outside was erupting into chaos. A large black van had plowed into a section of the perimeter fence, which now tilted at a dangerous angle. The Marines were shouting orders, their weapons sighted in, as the van backed away from the impact point and into the deserted street, its windshield marred by circular, webbed cracks where the guards had fired at the driver.
“Bulletproof glass,” Casey muttered.
Suddenly, the van revved its engine and lurched forward again, plowing into the same section of the fence, which caved easily beneath its tires. The Marines fired a few more rounds before they were forced back by the onslaught; but as the fence crashed down, Kai saw one Marine fall beneath it, his left leg pinned down. He didn’t see the Marine call out, but immediately two others scrambled back toward him to help as the rest took up defensive positions, firing more tear gas into the street and pocking the side of the van with bullet holes.
“Why would they—”
Paul’s question was cut short by an eerie wail, dozens of voices lifted together, like a war cry or a siren.
The streets were choked with tear gas, but from their vantage point, Kai could make out a mob of people rushing toward the hospital, pouring out from alleys and adjoining streets, sluicing through the billowing yellow clouds of gas as if they were nothing more than smoke. The pinned Marine still struggled to free his leg as his friends pulled at his arms desperately, making little progress. The mob closed in.
“Any chance those are just smoke bombs?” Kai asked quietly.
Casey shook his head. “The color is different. That gas should put a grown man down in seconds, especially running through it like that.”
The people waiting in the parking lot were on their feet, watching spellbound as the Marines worked to pull the injured guard to safety, closing ranks around him and returning immediately to their defensive postures. The mob was less than twenty yards from the downed section of fence before the first wave of panic rippled through the civilian ranks, those nearest to the fence turning and making for the hospital. In seconds, the orderly crowd became a roiling mass of bodies stampeding for the ER and perceived safety.
Without a word, Casey spun on his heel and was gone from the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as he made for the elevators. Kai knew immediately that the young man was running to the fight, not away.
“I would take the stairs,” Marks called after him, his voice callous and mocking.
Outside, the sound of the advancing maniacs mingled with the voices of the Marines and the frightened civilians, their shouts and screams a terrifying, animalistic counterpart to the sounds of the panicked mob surging toward the hospital walls. The crazed attackers were beginning to clamber over the van, which suddenly lurched back
ward, reversing back into the street. Kai watched in mute horror as some of the attackers fell beneath its tires as it reversed, and more as it moved forward again, pulling quickly down the street and disappearing around the corner.
The gaping hole that was left in the perimeter fence was indefensible. The Marines nearest the gate had set off more tear gas, and several continued firing at the van until it disappeared. Most were moving back toward the now panicked civilians in an organized line, their weapons trained on the predators flooding in through the gate at breathtaking speed. Even the ones who had been wounded by the van continued forward, their mouths gnashing, hands grasping, as they dragged themselves along the asphalt and were trampled by the other members of the pack.
“Why aren’t they firing?” Karen whispered.
And then the lights went out. Brandon’s heart monitor fell silent, and the buzzing of the fluorescents above them ceased. Seconds later, the first gunshot rang out from the parking lot. Kai had seen the muzzle flash come from inside the crowd of people trying to get to the hospital doors before the attackers got to them; another group of Marines, dressed in riot gear and wielding shields, had moved to the front line, taking the place of those with rifles, who now moved off to help try to get the crowd to safety. When the front lines of the attacking mob collided with the Marines, Kai sucked in a quick breath. The violence of the impact was astounding.
“There’s nowhere for them to go,” Karen murmured in stunned dismay as she watched the civilians. “Even if they can hold the ER doors open and get everyone inside . . . they won’t keep the rest out.”
The Marines continued trying to move everyone into the building, but Kai knew Karen was right. Dozens of the lunatics still flowed through the gate, and soon the number of civilians would be matched by the number of attackers. They would be overrun in no time. As he watched, a branch of the attacking mob headed off for the triage tents, and his stomach twisted at the thought of Jones, alone and virtually helpless on a cot.