Surviving the Dead (Book 4): Fire In Winter

by James Cook

  “I’d rather see you sputtering like an idiot than not see you at all. You should have come sooner.”

  “I know.”

  Her hair tickled my chin as she shifted and laid her head in the crook of my shoulder. My arms went around her of their own volition, squeezing tight. I breathed in her scent and swore to myself I wasn’t going to screw things up this time. Not with a woman this perfect.

  “I’m in love with you, you big dope. You know that right?”

  A smile spread across my face, and words that hadn’t passed my lips in ten years tumbled free. I had wanted to say them before, but never did. I was worried they would not come, that they would remain lodged in their self-imposed imprisonment forever, never to be released. But as I sat there with that good woman, and knew she loved me despite everything, I couldn’t keep them to myself anymore.

  “I love you too, Liz.”

  And I meant it.

  TWENTY TWO

  March slowly declined toward April, and the coming of spring. Unfortunately, winter didn’t get the memo.

  The day of transition from one season to the other came and went, but there was no warming of air or melting of frost and ice. Instead, gunmetal clouds darkened the sky, the temperature plummeted into the high twenties, and a gentle snow began to fall on Western Tennessee. Not a blizzard like a few weeks ago, but a slowly descending gauze of fluffy white stuff. It came down like oversized dust, gentle and tame, seeming to hang in the air for hours before settling to the earth.

  There are bad snowfalls that make life difficult, and there are good ones that demonstrate nature’s haunting beauty. This was one of the latter.

  Liz and I walked along the wall in the pale bluish light that comes just before sunset. Her hand was in mine, and we were letting our appetites grow sharp before heading over to Mijo Diego for venison tacos and slow-cooked beans. The guards nodded politely and offered muffled greetings from behind scarves and balaclavas as we passed. Liz responded in kind, calling each guard by name even though she couldn’t see their faces, a fact not lost on the people she addressed.

  “No wonder you always win elections,” I said when we were alone. “You know everybody in town.”

  She shrugged. “I pay attention to some groups more than others. The town guard, for instance. It pays to know who’s protecting you while you sleep. Makes it easier to spot minor problems and deal with them before they become major problems. The last thing we need is someone getting killed because a watchman has a weakness for strong drink, or falls asleep on duty because he was up all night arguing with his wife. Little things like that keep me awake at night, so I make an effort to stay informed.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  We walked a little farther in amiable silence, happy to be on solid footing again. The walkway turned southeast at the corner of Dodd Street and Highway 70, leading toward the south wall. To our left was a row of houses, and beyond that, the central part of town. VFW hall, sheriff’s office, clinic, and the building that housed Liz’s offices. If we took a staircase to ground level, we could be there in five minutes’ walk. Not that I was in any kind of a hurry.

  “Allison finally told Eric she was pregnant,” Liz said, stopping to look out at the rolling fields on the south side of town. An undulating blanket of white rippled gently toward the treeline in the distance. There were a few walkers shambling along, drawn to the sounds of life behind the wall, but even they couldn’t detract from the quiet beauty of the scene.

  “You knew about that?”

  “Yes. I was the first person she told. We’ve been friends since before she left for med school, you know.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know that. How did Eric take it?”

  “He picked her up and spun her around, and shouted at the neighbors he was going to be a father. Then he started crying. Allison said it was very sweet.”

  I laughed quietly. “Wish I could have seen that.”

  “They’re planning to visit you tomorrow to break the news. Allison asked if you could please pretend to be surprised. Eric probably wouldn’t like it very much if he knew you found out before he did.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Liz walked to the edge of the battlement and rested her hands against the rail, smile fading. Her neck creaked as she stretched it from one side to the other, eyes clouding with the dark veil of introspection. I stepped closer and rubbed the strong muscles between her shoulders. “Something on your mind?”

  She lifted one boot and absently tapped the toe against a plank beneath her. “I spent an hour on the phone yesterday with an assistant director for Homeland Security. The new administration is calling around to all the outposts to reassure us of their continued support. In our case, they offered to provide additional troops and artillery since we’re so close to Alliance territory. The Phoenix Initiative is sending two doctors and a dozen nurses, and starting next month, we’ll be getting increased allotments of fuel and medical supplies.”

  She turned her head to look at me, voice lowering in pitch. “They’re also sending aircraft and tanks.”

  I nodded, understanding her fears. “Which is to imply they think we need it. With resources as stretched as they are, they never would have offered otherwise.”

  Liz stood up straight, hands going into her pockets. “In exchange for all this, they asked to requisition Fort McCray. They want to turn it into a forward operating base. That’s going to be a lot of mouths to feed, and a lot of bored soldiers making trouble in town. I’ll have to establish some ground rules with the commanding officers.”

  “What about the Ninth? Where are they supposed to go?”

  “They’ll garrison with the Army. Since they know the area, they’ll be used mostly as scouts and guides.”

  “They’re not going to like that.”

  Liz shrugged. “It’s a volunteer militia. They can quit whenever they want. We can always call up new recruits; there are enough people in place to train them, now.”

  I frowned at her. “That’s a bit dismissive, don’t you think? That militia has fought hard to keep this town safe. They’re good people, and they deserve better than that.”

  Liz closed her eyes and nodded, a quaver entering her voice. “I know. But having a large Army presence will make Hollow rock a safer place, and if we have to lose a few militiamen to make it happen, then so be it. I don’t like it any more than you do, Gabe, but it’s what’s necessary. Being mayor means making the hard choices. If the militia takes exception to their new circumstances, I’ll do my best to make them understand. Short of that, they can take their leave. Sheriff Elliott is always looking for guardsmen, and Lord knows there’ll be plenty of work in the fields once the weather turns.”

  She was right. I didn’t like it. But I couldn’t argue with her logic, and I knew very well how difficult of a situation she was in. In her place, I would do the same thing. I told her as much, and she smiled over her shoulder at me. “Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”

  She took my hand again, and we walked a little farther, stopping to take in another angle of Tennessee vista. There was a buzzing sound to my left as a transplanted streetlight came to life, its faded bulb casting a sickly orange glow on the fortifications outside the wall.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” I said. “Looks like Jutaro finally found enough cable to hook up the perimeter lights.”

  “Yeah, he’s making great progress,” Liz replied. “Did I tell you Central Command sent a Phoenix Initiative rep not long ago to see how things were coming along?”

  “No, but I heard about it. Seems like the Phoenix Initiative is all anybody talks about anymore.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  “Not really.”

  I opened my mouth to ask another question, but was cut short by a shrill whirring that rapidly increased in volume until it culminated in a sudden THACK, loud and hard, like someone throwing a rock against a tree with incredible velocity.
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  I knew that sound. I had heard it many times.

  Half-panicked, I looked where the impact sounded from and saw a support post a few feet away. There was a splintered hole in it about as big around as my thumb, and in the air between, a faint red mist drifted to the ground.

  Then I heard the report.

  Moving on instinct, I grabbed Liz and lifted her up like a child, breaking into an all-out sprint. A distant part of my mind analyzed the sound of the shot, doing a few calculations. By the volume, pitch, and timbre, I knew the round was most likely a 7.62x54. Judging by the time between impact and when I heard the report, it had traveled from five to six hundred yards before impacting the post. More than enough time had elapsed for the shooter to shift aim and draw a bead on me. The shot could come at any moment.

  I had to get off the wall.

  As I ran, Liz let out a cough that sprayed my chest and the left side of my face with blood and spittle. An agonized sound somewhere between a scream and a moan bubbled from her throat, and she struggled in my arms.

  “SNIPER!” I screamed. “Sound the alarm! Take cover!”

  A guard patrolling nearby heard me and, to his credit, did not hesitate. He crouched and dashed to the closest bell, seized the ringer, and began frantically swinging it back and forth, splitting the air with a cacophony of bronze clanging. An answering bell came from the next station down, then another, and another, until bells all over town were ringing the signal for an attack.

  “Hang on Liz, I’m getting us out of here.”

  “Gabe…nghk…” She started coughing again.

  “Don’t try to talk, you’ll make it worse. Just hang on, baby, hang on. We’re not far from the clinic. You’re going to be all right. Just hang on…”

  I kept repeating it, over and over, a mantra against my own fear. I had caught a glimpse of Elizabeth’s back as I grabbed her and saw a jagged, blossoming red spot on her coat, right about where the lower portion of her left lung would be.

  Open pneumothorax, better known as a sucking chest wound. A penetration of the chest wall that allows air to pass freely between the pleural space and the atmosphere. I could hear her gurgling breath whistling in and out of her torso.

  The proper first aid would be to place sealing bandages front and back, leaving one side of the front bandage unsealed, thus plugging the punctures on inhalation and allowing air to escape on exhalation. Once the holes were covered, the next step would be to insert an endotracheal tube to help her undamaged lung continue to breath, then insert an IV in her arm and start pumping in fluids. None of which was going to happen, of course, because I had left my first aid kit at home, I didn’t have an endotracheal tube, and I sure as fuck didn’t have an IV.

  A guard dashed up to me as I approached the staircase shouting something about helping me carry Liz. I roared at him to get the fuck out of the way and nearly knocked him over as I passed.

  “Take cover you idiot!”

  There was a prickling feeling in my back, a tingle I had felt many times before. The expectation of impact, the buzzing, panicky anticipation of a bullet slamming into me at immense speed. I shrank down, trying to stay as low as I could without slowing. The staircase ahead of me grew closer and closer, and with every step, I waited for that sledgehammer feeling followed by burning and howling agony. Then would come the report, the miniature sonic boom, the sound of air slamming back together after a small object passed through it faster than the speed of sound. Last there would be the fall, and the encroaching cold, and the slow descent as the world grew smaller and smaller until it went black, and then there would be nothing …

  Stop it. Just keep moving.

  Finally, my foot came down on the first stair. My shoulders were still visible above the battlement, still vulnerable. I let my knees go almost limp, barely touching the boards underfoot, pumping my legs for maximum descent. The second stair passed, and the third, and the fourth. Now it was just my head above the line. If the bullet came, I would never feel it. My boots hit the fifth stair, the sixth, all the way down to the eighth and the landing where the stairs double backed on themselves. I was out of danger, and could finally stand upright, move faster, gain momentum. In my arms, Liz tried speaking again.

  “I…I can’t…hgk…”

  “Liz, please, don’t talk. I’m taking you to the clinic right now. You’re gonna be ok.”

  The effects of a gunshot wound to the lung began scrolling through my head like the credits at the end of a movie. The first problem was airway. It is hard to get sufficient oxygen to support life with only one lung, which is why we have two of them. One of hers was damaged and inoperable. The next problem was bleeding. The lungs are full of blood-rich tissue and arteries that bleed profusely when damaged. With every step I took, with every ragged breath as I charged toward town, her lung was filling up with blood.

  Faster. Move faster.

  The only thing I had going for me was the bullet hit the left lung and not the right one. Due to the asymmetrical shape of the human heart, the right lung is larger than the left, with three lobes instead of two. The left lung is longer than the right one, which explained how the bullet had penetrated it despite hitting so low. Since her right lung was still intact her chances of survival were better, but she was still in a lot of trouble. I had to get her to Doc Laroux and get her on an operating table, and I had to do it now.

  My feet hit the pavement of Dodd Street as I sped along, wounded love bouncing in my arms, head down, mouth open wide to feed as much oxygen to my muscles as possible, stride opened up to its maximum. I barely felt Liz’s weight in my arms. She was tall and muscular, and well fed. She should have weighed more.

  Adrenalin. Use it. It won’t last much longer, and when it’s gone, you’ll start slowing down.

  Reinforcements for the perimeter guards sped past me, barely more than streaks at the edges of my vision. I screamed at them to move, to make way. Some stopped, eyes wide, shouting things I couldn’t understand. I ignored them and focused on pushing harder, on breathing deeper, on getting everything I could out of the fear response before the chemicals faded and I was running on willpower alone. I remembered thinking a few minutes ago that the clinic was a five minute walk away. I hadn’t asked myself how quickly I could make it there at a dead sprint.

  The answer was about ninety seconds.

  A nurse saw me coming and opened the door, shouting for the guardsman at the desk to get Doctor Laroux. I sped through the entrance, slowing just enough to turn sideways and ease Liz through the gap. The guard opened the door to the clinic’s interior, raising his voice at a passing orderly to get the doctor. I pushed past him and headed for the two marginally well-equipped rooms that serve as the closest thing Hollow Rock has to an ICU.

  “Mr. Garrett, wait!” a nurse shouted as I passed her.

  “Just follow me. Where’s Allison?”

  “I’m right here,” she said breathlessly as she rounded a corner and began peeling off her white coat. “Oh my God, Elizabeth. What happened to her?”

  “She’s been shot. Rifle round, through and through. Penetrated her lower left lung.”

  “How long?”

  I turned her sideways again and squeezed into the room before placing her gently on an operating table. Her eyes were half closed with shock, face pale from plummeting blood pressure, breath coming in hitching gasps. “Not more than three minutes ago.”

  Allison turned to her nurses. “All right. Ellen, Dave, scrub in and do it quickly. Brett, get a chest tube and an IV and fluids in here right now. Amanda, cut her clothes off and get a dressing on those punctures. Laura, go to the storeroom and bring me a vial of Propofol. Carrie, get an IV started, then check to see how much A-negative blood we have left. I have to go scrub in. Move fast, people. We don’t have much time.”

  I stood over Liz and took her hand, the noise and motion of the nurses around me growing dim. All sound faded except for the rasp of my own breathing and the hush-thump of my heartbeat. Liz
’s eyes fluttered and went blank, rolling up into her head. My voice came to me from a distance, as though my ears were underwater. A big hand that looked remarkably like mine started slapping her frantically on the cheek.

  “No, no, no, Liz, stay with me now, come on. Wake up baby, wake up.”

  Then hands were tugging at me, strained voices imploring. “Gabriel, come on, you have to leave the room. Please, we’re going to take care of her. Let’s go, you’re in the way.”

  The rational part of me knew they were right; I couldn’t help her. I didn’t want to leave her there, but I stepped back anyway, letting the grasping hands and gentle voices lead me away.

  “It’s going to be okay, Gabe, we’ve handled wounds like this before. We know what we’re doing, all right? Stay right here in the waiting room. Allison will come and speak to you once we get her stabilized. No, honey, I don’t know how long it’s going to take. You just wait right here, and we’ll be back as soon as we can, okay? Your clothes have blood on them, sweetie. You’ll need to change. Is there anyone who can bring new ones for you? There’s a runner on duty, he can go and find them.”

  Without thinking, I said Eric’s name. An automatic response to the stress, the shock, my subconscious mind falling back on the one person in the world I felt I could rely on. The nurse said they would send for him. Just wait here, sweetheart. I have to go now. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.

  I sat down and put my head in my hands.

  Not Liz. Please, not Liz.

  TWENTY THREE

  Eric showed up within half an hour.

  He limped into the waiting room, sweating and clutching his cane. “Gabe, what happened?”

  “Elizabeth’s been shot,” I said, voice a hollow monotone. “Sniper, out past the wall on the east side. We were walking along the catwalk. Must have been five, six hundred yards away. I didn’t catch a muzzle flash. We were close to the clinic. I carried her in.”

  There was a long silence. I could hear the dim echoing of Allison’s calm commands and the more elevated chattering of nurses in the ICU. My hands were sticky with blood. Liz’s blood. I could smell its coppery scent above the vinegar the nurses used to clean the floors.