The growing heat that sizzled through his flesh drove aside all further thought, searing his skin and bursting his lips. It consumed him from within until he thought his bones would melt.
“Get him on an IV drip now, Hannah. Hurry.” Jonathan’s voice remained calm, but it contained an edge that was unmistakable. “Blood pressure low, temperature rising. We need to get him on fluids and antibiotics right away. Where’s that IV?”
“Here.” A rush of cool air as Hannah swept past him, her familiar lavender scent replacing the sting of disinfectant. Seconds later, a sharp pinprick in his arm told Breytenbach the needle was in.
“I’m administering a sedative, and we need to get him out of these clothes. Hand me the scissors.” Snip, snip, snip. “Sorry, Captain. Guess you’ll need a new uniform after this.”
Ah, damn. Where will I get another?
The confines of the clinic faded away as the sedative took hold, the fire diminishing to a distant glow. Instead, Breytenbach found himself swept back to a scene from his past.
The tall grass crackled when he shifted his body into position, resting his gun barrel on top of a termite mound. The sun rained down heat, each ray a droplet of lava hitting the skin. Breytenbach licked his lips with a tongue that felt like a stick of wood.
To his left, the faint outline of Johan’s large frame was visible. To his right, the tip of Ronnie’s rifle appeared through the brown stalks of dry foliage. Breytenbach waited, counting down the minutes until he was sure the platoon was in position.
In front of him and slightly downhill, lay a small stretch of brush, the dull green of the leaves faded and washed out after the hot summer days. Inside that strip, hid a group of enemy soldiers, waiting to ambush the next convoy that passed by on the road further downhill.
Breytenbach was determined not to give them that chance. He lined up his shot, sighting along the barrel until he zeroed in on what he was sure was a shoulder. Aiming slightly to the side, he squeezed the trigger. The sharp report was followed by a barrage of fire as the platoon let loose.
This brief period of one-sided fighting ended when the enemy scrambled to return fire. The sharp whine of bullets cut through the air above Breytenbach’s head. Dirt exploded from the termite mound, and he leopard-crawled into a shallow depression.
One of his men tossed a grenade. Shocked cries were followed by a loud boom as it detonated, the earth erupting upwards. A sudden scream rang out behind him, laden with pain. Corporal Smith. Breytenbach snapped off a few more shots and crawled towards the agonized sounds.
Corporal Smith lay on his back, clutching his stomach. Dirt and sweat streaked his face and blood squeezed out between his fingers. “C…Captain,” he gasped.
“Shit,” Breytenbach swore, taking one look at Smith’s twisted features. “Medic!”
A figure slithered through the grass towards them. Medic Swarts. After a brief examination, Swarts shook his head. “This is bad. We need a casevac.”
Breytenbach nodded, crawling through the grass until he reached Ronnie, tapping his shoulder. He had to yell to make himself heard. “Radio for a casevac!”
Ronnie looked around, mouth compressed into a grim line. “Will do, Captain.”
He turned away, fumbling for the equipment in his backpack. Another eruption of earth sent him ducking, this one far too close to be one of his own team’s grenades. His heart hammered in his chest, and his ears sang.
Johan’s blunt features appeared next to his shoulder, lips moving. He heard nothing. “What?”Another explosion. “Shit!”
“We need to pin down these fuckers, Captain. They’re…”
The smell of antiseptic drifted into Breytenbach’s nostrils, pulling him away from the scene and back into the clinic. How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? He had no way of telling.
“His vitals are stable, Doctor,” Hannah said.
“Thank God,” Jonathan replied. “It seems he’s responding to the antibiotics.”
A languid feeling had taken hold of Breytenbach’s limbs. Every muscle was relaxed, the feverish burning replaced with a slight chill, the chill of the evening air. Outside, crickets chirped, confirming his suspicions that night had fallen.
In the background, a woman moaned, arousing his curiosity. Was someone else sick as well? His question was answered when Jonathan said, “Can you keep an eye on him, Hannah? I need to get back to Erica.”
“No problem, doctor. Please call me when you need me.”
“That might be sooner rather than later. If she doesn’t dilate fully within the next few hours, we’re looking at an emergency C-section.”
Jonathan sounded tired, and Breytenbach imagined he hadn’t been getting much sleep with two patients demanding his care.
“Why don’t we ask Dr. Lange to assist?” Hannah asked.
“I have, and he refused.”
“Let me speak to him. Perhaps, I can persuade him.”
“You’re welcome to try. God knows I need the help.”
For a time after that, Breytenbach lay, his thoughts drifting in circles. He felt curiously detached, unable to summon up the will to move or speak. Must be the drugs.
Erica’s cries grew steadily louder, and Breytenbach felt sorry for the poor girl. Her suffering was undeniable, fear evident in her voice. Neither her husband nor Jonathan managed to console her.
“Please don’t let my baby die,” she begged nonstop. Her plight aroused long-buried memories within Breytenbach. Memories he’d rather forget.
Hannah abandoned him at one point, either to speak to the stubborn Lange or to help Jonathan, and he was left alone. He tried to swim up through the cobwebs created by the drugs pumping through his veins but failed. Instead, he drifted off to sleep only to awaken in a haze of confusion. The fever was back, running through his veins like poison.
“Doc, blood pressure is dropping.”
“Damnit, I don’t understand.”
Rustling sounds.
Swearing.
“I think he’s going into septic shock. Get Dr. Lange. Maybe he can…”
The scene faded, replaced by his old bedroom. The walls were freshly painted, the smell lingering in the air. Cream. That was the color she’d wanted. A neutral palette to provide a backdrop for the striking hues of purple and vermilion that comprised the decor. He didn’t care for it. To his eyes, the colors clashed. But it wasn’t up to him. As long as she was happy, that was all that mattered.
“Christo?”
He turned. Nadine leaned against the doorjamb, one hand resting on her distended belly. Sweat matted her hair to her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed. A smear of dirt from the garden decorated one cheek.
She was so beautiful.
“Who was that?”
He glanced down at the phone sitting on the bedside table, and she read the answer in his face. “Who was it? The army? What do they want?”
A note of hysteria crept into her voice.
“They need me. It’s important.”
“When?”
The clock on the wall ticked.
“Now. I leave today.”
“Now?” Both hands flew to her belly. “You can’t leave now. What about the baby? I’m due any minute. You said you’d be there. I need you!”
Breytenbach grabbed her hands, squeezing her fingers. “It’s only for a few days. I’ll be back in time for the birth.”
“How do you know? How can you be sure?”She shook her head and tears ran down her face. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone. I’ll make it back in time, I swear.”He pressed his lips to her forehead before sliding his mouth down to her ear, breathing in her warm scent. “I promise.”
The room shifted, the shapes and colors blurring, reforming to show a different picture. He was sitting on his bunk bed inside the barracks, boots resting on the floor. His dog tags swung back and forth as he hunched over, elbows resting on his knees.
In his hands, he held an envelope, ret
urn address unknown to him. The paper crackled when he opened the flap, sliding out the letter. The easy banter of his fellow soldiers flowed around him.
His attention focused on the embossed page in his hands, the official letterhead of the army’s headquarters glaring at him.
We regret to inform you of the unfortunate passing of your wife, Nadine Breytenbach. To the best of our knowledge your wife went into early labor on the…uncontrollable hemorrhaging…infant stillborn….
The words on the page blurred into a meaningless swirl of ink, the world around him receding into the background. His hands shook, his heart hammered, threatening to burst free from his rib cage.
“No.”
“No, no, no.”
I promised.
Everything faded to black. Breytenbach found himself drifting in a vast black void. It mirrored the despair that swirled through him, the pain as fresh and keen as a knife edge. Like it was only yesterday.
The voices of Hannah and Jonathan floated across the void.
“We’re losing him, Doctor. Vitals are dropping.”
“I don’t know what more to do. The strain of bacteria…It’s not responding to anything I’m giving him…Organ failure…”
The words meant nothing to Breytenbach. What did it matter, anyway? She was gone. Nadine was gone, and so was his child.
I should have been there.
His conscience tortured him with images of a blood-soaked hospital room and agonized screams as she bled out. Alone. Abandoned. The tiny body of his stillborn son hustled away in a sheet.
Red on white.
White on red.
A flash of light in the distance pierced the dark, inviting him. The closer he moved to it, the larger it grew. Warm. Comforting.
“He can’t die. Do something!” Hands gripped his shoulders. “Christo, no.”
Breytenbach paused, drawn to the sound of that voice.
“Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me. I need you.” Julianne’s entreaties echoed around him, anchoring him to the spot. “I don’t know why this had to happen for me to realize it but…”
He found himself straining to hear her next words.
“I love you.”
Chapter 13 - Julianne
The steady beeping of the heart monitor connected to Breytenbach was the only thing that reassured her he was still alive. That and the faint rise and fall of his chest.
Julianne rubbed a tired hand over her face, tucking her oily locks behind her ears. She knew she looked a fright. Ever since his collapse, she’d hardly left his side, neither to bathe nor to eat. A shudder ran down her spine as she recalled the moment he’d crashed to the ground, unresponsive to her frantic pleas.
The gray pallor of his skin, the glazed look in his eyes, it all reminded her of John. During the long wait, while Jonathan and Hannah fought to save his life, she’d been sure he was infected. The thought that he might turn into a zombie had nearly undone her, and her fragile psyche had hovered on the edge.
When Jonathan told her they’d managed to stabilize him, it was one of the happiest moments of her life. With it came an exhilarating yet terrifying realization. She loved him.
Julianne bit her already bleeding lip and clung to his uninjured hand. The other was bundled up in a wad of bandages, a formless lump on the side of the bed. Such a small thing. It might well cost the life of the strongest man she knew.
“Oh, Christo. Please, don’t give up. I love you,” she whispered for the umpteenth time.
The only answer she got was the monotonous beeping. A hand fell on her shoulder. “Mom, please. You need to rest.”
“No.”
“Eat something at least. You’re killing yourself.”
“I’m not hungry.” The thought of food made her stomach roll in a nauseating fashion. How could she eat when Christo lay dying?
“Meghan has been asking for you.” Max paused then continued when he got no response. “Sam’s been crying all day. She needs you too. They both need you.”
Julianne’s heart clenched. She was being selfish, but couldn’t help it. “Max, I’m sorry. I’ll try, but I just can’t deal with it right now.”
He sighed and left, leaving her alone. An hour later, Hannah walked in, going about the routine of checking Breytenbach’s vitals. Her sympathetic gaze rested on Julianne’s face. “He’ll be okay, you know. Jonathan and Dr. Lange managed to find the correct combination of medicine to treat him. It’s just a matter of time.”
Julianne shook her head mutely. She already knew that, had been briefed at length on his condition. Somehow, Jonathan and Dr. Lange had brought him back from the brink. It wasn’t enough, though. At any moment, something could go wrong again. It was foolish to hope.
“The coma is his body’s way of healing itself.”
“It’s been more than a week!” Julianne burst out, anger filling her. Why couldn’t they leave her alone?
“Just give it some time,” Hannah whispered before walking out.
“Time,” Julianne muttered, bitter at the thought. Time was the one thing none of them had. Not anymore.
Julianne slammed a fist into her thigh. “I’ve been so stupid! Why didn’t I tell him before? Why did it have to come to this?”
She fixed tear-filled eyes on Breytenbach’s face. “Please, wake up. Please.”
Her gaze traveled to his bandaged arm, cursing the cut that caused all this. Cursed Jonathan whose request for medical equipment had sent him to the hospital in the first place. Cursed Dr. Lange who left dirty scalpels lying around. Cursed herself for being so stubborn.
The only happy occasion had been when Erica gave birth to a healthy baby girl after thirty-six hours of labor. In the end, it had not been necessary for the C-section. The glowing mother and child had left the clinic only that morning, a fact that made Julianne happy but also sad when she looked at the helpless Breytenbach. Exhausted, she lay her head on his hand and closed her eyes, drifting off.
Screams woke her. Loud, agonized screams.
“Christo!” Her head snapped up, eyes fixating on his face. It wasn’t him. The screams were coming from outside. “Oh, God. What now?”
Julianne jumped to her feet and rushed outside. The late afternoon sun blinded her, and she paused to let her eyesight adjust. A knot of people rushed towards the hospital. She squinted, the figures coming into focus. Max and Lenka carried a make-shift stretcher on which lay a writhing form.
Rosa.
Astonished, Julianne stepped aside to allow them in. Jonathan and Hannah closed in on the unfortunate girl. They rushed past, and Julianne got a brief glimpse of Rosa. A chunk of flesh had been ripped from her upper arm, and blood leaked from the wound.
“What happened?” she asked.
No one stopped to answer.
The injured girl was carried inside while a knot of people clustered around the entrance. Julianne spotted Elise and grabbed her arm. “What’s going on?”
Elise’s wide eyes fixed on her face. “Infected. Hundreds of them.”
“Where?”
“The gates,” came the stuttered reply.
“The gates? Where’s Meghan? Sam?”
Elise raised a hand. “They’re safe. Ronnie and the rest fought the infected off. I left them with Michelle in the common room. But Rosa…she was on guard duty, and one of them got her.”
Julianne gasped, the implications sinking in. “Is she…?”
Elise nodded. “Yes, she’s infected.”
Julianne didn’t wait to hear more, her feet flying over the ground to the dining room. She had to make sure her babies were safe. She burst inside, relieved to find Meghan and Sam unharmed, playing alongside the other kids under the watchful gaze of Michelle.
At another table sat the heavily pregnant Tumi. Erica was also there, holding her newborn tight to her chest. Expectant faces turned towards Julianne, hoping for news. She managed a reassuring smile. “Everything’s under control. No need to worry.”
“What hap
pened?” Erica asked.
“We were attacked.” Julianne raised a hand to calm down the kids who gasped, eyes going wide. “But it’s okay. We’re safe now.”
“What about Rosa?” Michelle asked. “I heard she got hurt.”
“I don’t know,” Julianne replied, reluctant to say more. Satisfied that Samantha and Meghan were safe, she turned to leave. “I’ll go check on the others.”
Somber nods acknowledged her statement. She exited the building with a heavy heart, trudging towards the gates. A hive of activity surrounded the area. Piles of undead littered the ground, a few still twitching.
Ronnie, who had taken over temporary command of Breytenbach’s team, shouted orders to the rest. Together, they walked among the corpses, finishing off those that moved.
Max turned to face her, his face grim. “Are the kids okay?”
“Yes, they’re all right.” She looked at the scene with horror. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Max shook his head. “They just came out of nowhere. Luckily, Kirstin spotted them and sounded the alarm.”
“There’s so many. Where did they all come from?”
“I wish I knew.” Max pointed to the steel gates. “Look.”
Julianne gasped, her knees growing weak at the sight of the mangled metal. “They got inside? How? What about the moat?”
Max shook his head. “There were so many of them; they filled up the ditch, and the rest walked right over. The gates gave way under the pressure.”
“What do we do now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom.”
For the first time in her life, Julianne saw her son look utterly helpless. It was a moment that shook her to the core. Never since the day John died, had she felt so scared. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep the people calm, and send all available hands here.” His lips tightened. “We’ll have to work overtime to restore our defenses.”
Julianne nodded and left the scene of death behind her. Her feet carried her to the clinic where she found a sorrowful Hannah and Jonathan.
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