Apokalypsis | Book 5 | Apokalypsis 5

by Morris, Kate

  As they performed an awkward loping movement towards Abraham’s position again, Alex shot two night crawlers while Wren, Roman, and Spencer picked them off from the front and sides, along with the men who were probably the kidnappers.

  Abraham met up with them in the middle of the street in the truck, sliding to a stop, where everyone jumped in. Tristan let out a sigh of relief to see her little brother. He’d been on his mind the entire time he was in the middle of the mission, which was a dangerous distraction. However, the kid was fine and had managed to escape and evade any potential problems. He’d even made it nearly all the way to the actual pick-up spot.

  Tristan had to have assistance with Jamie, who was still out. They spread him across Elijah and Alex’s laps in the backseat while Spencer rode in the bed to provide escaping cover fire. Wren crouched on the floor in the backseat. Abraham slid over into the middle, and Roman rode shotgun again, which was good since he knew his way around better. It was a little crowded, but they’d needed a group this size to overwhelm the other one. Her dog jumped into the backseat, too.

  People were chasing their truck on foot. He knew because Spencer was shooting at them, and Tristan could see it going down in his rearview mirror.

  The girl screamed, “What happened to him, Elijah?”

  There was a lot of rummaging, and Tristan assumed she was digging in her backpack for medical supplies, which she and Alex had explained they were carrying with them anywhere they went now.

  “Hold this!” she ordered. The sound of material being ripped came next. Then she asked, “What the hell happened to him?”

  “They tortured us. Jamie said one of them stabbed him. I’m not sure. I think it happened before I got there either last night or today.”

  “Put pressure,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abraham replied.

  “Jesus!” she swore. “Jamie needs a hospital.”

  “Wren, I don’t know if any of them will see him or…” Elijah started but was cut off by her.

  “Now!” she yelled at Tristan, who was driving them away from the scene.

  “Elijah,” Alex said with nerves in his voice. “You need a hospital, too, little brother. What the hell’d they do to you?”

  “Just pounded on me a while…”

  “No, you were shot!” Wren said.

  “I think it just grazed…”

  She interrupted, “I was there. I saw it. They shot you. Even if it was just a graze, your pants are soaked. You’re bleeding, Elijah. You could have an infection. Or broken bones or anything.”

  “Ow!” he roared and then clamped his teeth together.

  “I need to tourniquet your leg better. Hold still,” she ordered as if she were suddenly in charge. “Hey! We need a hospital!”

  He assumed she was barking at him now, so Tristan nodded. He paused long enough to slow the truck so Spencer could get inside the cab instead of the bed, where he was probably freezing his ass off. It was more than crowded now, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t being pursued by vehicles or people on foot anymore and were nearly a mile away, so he figured they were done fighting those idiots for the night. It was too bad, really. He would’ve liked to have taken them all out.

  “Go!” she yelled this time.

  “Tell me where the nearest hospital is,” Tristan said to Roman, who nodded, told him, and stared through the windshield.

  Then Roman’s deep blue eyes found his again briefly. Written there was the same feeling Tristan had. A hospital probably wasn’t going to be able to do much, either.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman

  He helped Jamie into the hospital E.R. with Tristan on one side holding him up and he on the other. Wren and Elijah followed on their heels. Alex and Spencer volunteered to stay with the truck, which was a good idea because of the widespread looting. Roman suggested it and told them that his vehicle, or rather his mother’s was stolen at a quarantine zone and that he had to jog back home. Tristan told Abraham to stay, as well. It was probably a good idea as they pulled up their masks and went inside.

  The emergency room was a madhouse, even though they no longer took victims of the Russian Flu virus. Those were sent to the quarantine or medical camps. Even still, they also might not treat Jamie because the place was jammed full and appeared to be short-staffed. That was probably because many of the nurses and doctors also became sick with the virus and either died or were among the many outside roaming the night looking to kill people. Doctors’ offices, medical clinics, urgent care centers, and even dentists were no longer seeing patients and had all closed down at least a month ago. Many hospitals had, as well. The employees didn’t want to catch the virus or a bullet from some junkie trying to rob them. Roman couldn’t blame them. It was a war zone, and the police weren’t much help anymore.

  “Help! We need help! He’s been stabbed,” Roman called out anyway. They had Jamie under each of his armpits and were mostly dragging him.

  A man in a military uniform ran over with a wheelchair, which they placed him in very carefully. Roman was concerned that his head slumped forward to rest on his chest.

  “I’ll do what I can. There’s a lot of this in here already,” the man said with sympathy.

  Wren didn’t wait for him. She took charge of the wheelchair and began wheeling it straight for the entry doors to the treatment area.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” the military man said.

  “Fuck off,” she blared. “He’s gonna die if we don’t get him help right now.”

  Beside him, Tristan pressed something into the young soldier’s palm, which he looked at, his eyes jumping to Tristan’s above their masks. Then he nodded vigorously. The soldier used his badge and swiped it across the sensor on the door, which caused it to swing inward. Elijah went with them, so he followed, too. Even Tristan went with them, and still, nobody said a thing to stop their group. Nobody even said anything about them all open carrying weapons, either, which was strange.

  “Here, down here,” the guard led them, pushing through a throng of people, most of whom looked badly injured.

  He opened the door to a room numbered, “seventeen” and led them in.

  “You guys get him on the table. I’ll find a doc,” he encouraged before disappearing again.

  They managed to hoist Jamie onto the table, which was stainless steel and not the typical hospital bed. It looked like an autopsy table like he’d seen in movies. At least it looked clean enough. The floor wasn’t, Roman noticed. There were blood splatters and droplets all over. Some on the wall, too. So much for hospital cleanliness standards. Of course, none of this was new to him. He’d taken Jane with him to this very hospital, the one where his mother had worked. What they’d seen had been eye-opening at the very least, and that was months ago. Things had clearly deteriorated even worse since then.

  Wren snatched a towel from the cupboard, rolled it, and placed it under her uncle’s head.

  “Jamie, can you hear me? Hang on,” she implored. “We’re at a hospital. You’re going to be okay now.”

  Roman wasn’t too sure of that at all, but the man’s head lolled to the side, and his eyes popped open to look at her.

  “Wren,” he moaned softly.

  “I’m here, Jamie. I’m here.”

  She spoke quietly with her uncle while the rest of them waited for the doctor.

  “Elijah?” Tristan asked the other guy, who was holding his side.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Over here,” he motioned with his arm toward the cabinets. “Come here, and let’s clean up your wounds. Might as well use their stuff. Sit.” He pushed a wheeled stool over into the corner.

  Elijah nodded and sat on it.

  “Roman, watch the door,” Tristan warned as if he feared someone or something other than a doctor would come through it.

  “On it,” Roman stated and stood where he could look out the upper glass partition of the door.

  Behind him, Tristan began cleaning Elij
ah’s wounds, to which he winced and occasionally said, ‘ow.’ It wasn’t much of a complaint given the extent of the wounds on his face.

  “This one above the eye needs some stitches, but I’m going to butterfly tape it. I’m no nurse.”

  “Cool, thanks. I’ve got plenty of other scars. One more won’t make a difference,” Elijah told him.

  “Where’s the bloody doctor?” Wren yelled toward Roman.

  “Let me check,” he said and opened the door. This chick was intense. He was pretty sure if a doctor didn’t show up soon, she was going to drag one back at gunpoint.

  The hallway was the same chaos it was a few minutes ago, but he spotted the soldier leading a doctor their way.

  “He’s coming now,” Roman told them.

  The doctor entered the room, which made everything seem a bit more in control.

  “Jesus, stab wounds?” he asked in an utmost unprofessional tone. “What the hell happened to this man?”

  “Kidnapped. Tortured,” Tristan answered. “Shot, stabbed, you name it, Doc.”

  A nurse flew in a moment later, pulling off a bloody paper disposable apron of sorts and tossing it haphazardly toward the trashcan, which was already overflowing. She pulled another disposable apron from the top cupboard and joined the doctor, who was also less than sanitary in his appearance.

  “Stab wound to the abdomen. Likely some broken ribs. Multiple lacerations and contusions. We need an open OR right now.”

  “Get in line,” the nurse said without sympathy. “There’s already three gunshot wounds ahead of you.”

  “Fuck it. Let’s do this,” the doctor said in a way that made Roman think the young doctor was a wild card.

  “Yep,” the nurse spouted.

  “You need us to clear out?” Tristan asked.

  “Hell no!” the nurse said, her blonde hair a wreck and matted to her forehead with sweat, leaving Roman to wonder how long she’d been working. She looked to be in her early twenties but had dark circles under her brown eyes. “We may need an assist. Stick around.”

  “I’ll begin prepping him. Get what you can,” the doctor instructed the nurse, who nodded and literally ran from the room.

  Tristan stopped treating Elijah and stepped forward. “What can we do to help?”

  “Pull on some gloves if there’s any left over there,” the doctor said, pointing toward the drawers.

  The doctor then rushed around the room, gathering what he could. He dumped a bunch of antiseptic looking stuff on her uncle’s stomach wound, which caused him to flinch. She pulled on latex gloves, and so did Tristan. The doctor started an IV line and ran something through it.

  “This isn’t much, but it’ll help with the pain,” he told them as the nurse rushed back in with an armload of supplies.

  “Got a vial of local,” she said, tossing the little glass vial to the doctor, who caught it in midair and almost instantly had a needle plunged in. “Swabs, bandages. Here,” she said, throwing some towards Elijah. “You’ll have to self-treat, but at least I got you some stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Elijah stated and looked confused.

  “Help him!” the nurse shouted at Roman.

  “Oh, right. Yes, ma’am,” he answered and rushed over to aid, although he had no damn idea what to do, either.

  The doctor said, “Prepping the site.”

  The nurse nodded and pulled down a visor over her face. Then she laid clean blue sheets around Jamie’s stomach, covering everything but the wound the doctor was slathering with brownish-orange dye.

  “Wren, listen to me before I’m out again,” Jamie said to her across the room from Roman. She was still at his side and holding his hand. Then he cried out in pain as the doctor began irrigating the deep stomach wound and using an instrument that pried back and held the skin that way. “Listen, darling.”

  “I’m here,” she said with tears streaming down her face.

  “Stay with Elijah. Stay with these people. Don’t leave that farm again. The people that took me, there will be more, others, many others. The country is felled. The world will soon follow.”

  “Shh, rest, Jamie. We can talk when you wake up.”

  “I’m not going to wake up,” he said as if he knew it for certain. “They’ll never stop looking for you. Remember that. Promise me, Wren.”

  Roman wondered what he meant. Who wouldn’t stop looking for her? Those men at the factory? That seemed overly ambitious for losers who’d mostly just wanted their guns.

  “I promise,” she said, nodding vigorously.

  “We’re gonna need a transfusion,” the doctor said to the nurse. “What’s his blood type?”

  “B positive,” Wren immediately answered, which impressed Roman. He didn’t even know his own. “I am, too. I can donate.”

  “No time,” the doctor stated as he dug around in Jamie’s guts. Whatever they gave him must’ve kicked in because he was no longer crying out in pain or struggling.

  The nurse hurried to the door and shouted that she needed a bag of blood and the type. Then she came back and assisted the doctor.

  “Here, mop up as we go,” she instructed Tristan, who seemed more at ease in this scenario.

  Roman used some of the same bottle of clear antiseptic liquid and cleaned Elijah’s wounds on his face and bare torso.

  “Wren,” Jamie moaned again.

  “I’m here, Jamie.”

  “Stay together. It’s safer. Elijah will take care of you. So will these others.”

  “So will you,” she insisted.

  “I always loved you,” he said in an almost desperate way. “I need you to know that. I wasn’t good at saying it.”

  His words became slower, slurred, and spread out between uneven pauses.

  “I know. I know it. You don’t have to say it.”

  “I took the job not out of guilt. I took it because I promised your father I’d look after you. I did it because I loved you like my own daughter, Wren. It wasn’t a job. You were my family.”

  “I know. You’re my family, Jamie,” she said weakly.

  Roman risked a peek at the girl and saw fat tears plopping from her eyes onto the man.

  She paused, sniffed, and continued, “We’re family. We’re gonna get through this, okay? We’ll always be together.”

  He coughed and sputtered a few times. Another nurse, or maybe some other type of hospital worker, rushed into the room and began transfusing blood into Jamie’s arm. Everything was happening so fast, it made Roman’s head spin.

  “Family, kiddo,” Jamie said just above a whisper. “These are your new family now. Tell them. Warn them. Love…”

  “Jamie?” she asked in a worried voice. “Jamie?”

  “Nurse, begin chest compressions,” the doctor ordered steadily.

  “Jamie!” Wren screamed.

  The doctor said to Tristan, “Get her back, please.”

  Tristan hurried to the other side of the table and pulled at her shoulders. She shirked his grasp and grabbed onto Jamie’s arm.

  “Jamie!” she cried out again.

  The nurse shouted something loudly about a defibrillator machine, and a moment later, someone pushed a small cart into their room

  Tristan successfully pulled her back, although she still struggled in his grasp.

  “Everyone, get the hell back!” the doctor yelled and warmed up the paddles. “Clear!”

  He shocked the man’s bare chest. This went on for a while. The team worked hard to revive him. One used a bag and pumped oxygen into his lungs, they performed chest compressions, and the doctor used the paddles. Many, many times.

  “Save him, please!” Wren cried out, her voice cracking.

  Somewhere in the Emergency Room, gunfire went off. The nurse screeched and instinctively ducked. Then another shot echoed through the halls outside the room.

  “Clear!” the nurse yelled this time and used the paddles. The doctor immediately went back to CPR. After another solid five minutes, they stepped back in u
nison. “I’m sorry.”

  “Goddamn,” the doctor swore, threw down some instrument, and stormed out.

  “We’ll handle the body,” the nurse said.

  “No, no, no,” Wren said and grabbed onto her Jamie’s hand.

  The nurse touched her shoulder, “You all should get the hell out of here asap. That gunfire happens all the time now. The police and the military try to keep it under control, but as you can see, people are desperate out there. Virus is everywhere now. They don’t think masks are enough anymore.”

  Wren jerked away and hovered over Jamie’s lifeless body.

  “We need to move,” Tristan stated firmly.

  That was when Roman realized the nurse was right. It had slipped his mind, and apparently, everyone else’s, as well. They’d all just been in such a hurry to get her uncle to help that nobody had their masks secured on their faces. His was hanging under his chin, so he hastily pulled it up.

  “Let’s go, people,” Tristan repeated.

  “Jamie,” Wren said in a pathetic, small voice.

  Elijah broke away from him, causing some of the medical supplies to fall to the dirty floor and went to her. He gathered her in his arms and led her from the room.

  “Can I take those?” Tristan asked the nurse, who nodded of the supplies she’d brought in for Elijah.

  “Take what you want. Take this, too,” she said, handing him a vial of something along with a hypodermic needle in a package. “Antibiotics. He looked pretty messed up like his friend. You know how to do stitches?”

  “I guess I could in a pinch,” he said.

  “I’d offer to do them, but you’re better off getting out of here now. Make sure you give him the antibiotics. Better stay ahead of the infections, the ones we can still battle.”

  “Thanks.”

  She dug around in her smock and removed another vial of something, “Take this, too. It’s morphine, so just a tiny bit.” Then she handed him something else. “This is a local anesthetic for the stitches. It’s for the pain. He’ll need it for the stitches.”

  “Right,” Tristan agreed and thanked her again. Then he and Roman gathered the supplies and left with the others. Halfway out of the Emergency Room, Wren sagged like she was going to pass out.