by Dirk Patton
She had hated the orphanage, especially the education the nuns forced on her. Despite her dogged resistance to learning, she remembered being taught about germs and infections and how dangerous they were if untreated. With an idea, she scrambled over John’s inert body and ripped open his pack. On top were two containers of water and she opened one with shaking hands.
Letting the cap fall, she trickled water over his head and face, rubbing it in with her free hand. She wanted to pour some into his mouth but was afraid of drowning him. Was that even possible? She didn’t know, so she didn’t try. Emptying the container, she shook him again with a plaintive cry, but he remained unconscious. Touching the exposed skin on his arm, she was shocked. It felt like he was on fire.
Trying to calm herself, she returned to his pack and removed everything in search of a first aid kit. She didn’t find one. No medicine to make him better. Frantic and out of options, she reached for the second container of water, then stopped and looked down the slope at the car.
Energized with hope, she dug the keys out of his pocket and jumped off the rock. Slipping and sliding down the slope, she raced to the car. With fumbling hands, she unlocked the passenger door, leaned in and ripped the glove compartment open. It was stuffed full of crap and she scooped all of it onto the floor and began digging through.
A small bottle caught her eye and she held it close to the dim interior light to read the label. Aspirin. She knew it was for headaches and had never heard of it being used for any other purpose. Almost tossing it aside, she held on to it and finished digging through the contents of the glove box. Nothing other than papers and a half empty box of condoms.
Bottle in hand, she slammed the door and raced back up the slope the way only a nimble child can. Quickly reaching the rock shelf, she checked on John. He hadn’t moved and if anything, his skin felt hotter. Looking at the aspirin, she decided that trying something was better than nothing.
Popping the lid, she spilled the contents into her small hand. Eight pills. That’s all there were and she had no idea how many she needed or if they would even help. John moaned softly in his delirium, momentarily giving her hope, but he didn’t wake up. Didn’t sit up and give her a goofy smile.
Looking back at the aspirin in her hand, she decided to give him all of them. But how? He wasn’t awake, so how was he going to swallow the pills? Could she poke them down his throat? After a few second’s consideration, she decided that was a really bad idea. Then how? What would they do in the hospital?
Mavis had never been in a hospital, but she’d seen a few TV shows while living at the orphanage and knew what an IV was. Knew a needle went into the sick person’s arm. But she didn’t have one of those, either. Even if she did, she had no idea where to stick the needle.
A memory from when she was very young suddenly came to mind. One of the other children at the orphanage had gotten sick and the nuns made her stay in bed. Twice a day, they would give her some kind of medicine by putting it under her tongue. At first, she would spit it out, so Mavis was given the job of sitting at her bedside to make sure the girl let it dissolve.
Not knowing what else to do, Mavis carefully put the eight aspirins onto the rock shelf and using the side of her hand, scooped them into a tight pile. With a fist sized stone, she crushed them into small pieces and meticulously scraped every bit back into her hand.
Leaning over John, she reached for his mouth, but hesitated at the last instant. What if he bit her finger off when she lifted his tongue? What if he inhaled the powdery chunks? It took some effort for her twelve-year-old mind to force her body to ignore those fears and put her fingers on his chin.
Timidly, she forced his mouth fully open, but couldn’t see his tongue in the darkness. Holding her breath, she slipped two fingers past his lips and fumbled about. Grimacing in disgust from the slimy feel of another person’s mouth, she forced herself to stay with it until his tongue was lifted aside. Bringing her other hand forward, she carefully poured the crushed aspirin in, using his lower lip to rake the last of it from her palm. Pulling her hand clear, she lifted his chin until his lips met.
Mavis had been so focused on getting the medicine into John, she was suddenly at a loss. Should she pour more water onto his head to try and cool him off? What else should she be doing? Not knowing, she settled onto the rock a foot from his face, watching him and taking a small sip of water.
An hour later, other than trickling some drops from the container into John’s mouth when it didn’t seem like the aspirin was dissolving, Mavis hadn’t moved. He moaned from time to time, his legs occasionally twitching, but he hadn’t opened his eyes. His fevered skin was still frighteningly hot to the touch and Mavis was approaching panic. Not that one would be able to detect her mental state as she appeared completely composed while watching over him, but her mind was racing. Seeking any way to help him.
Another hour passed and Mavis was certain that John’s fever had climbed. Using her finger, she’d checked his mouth, gratified to find that all the aspirin had dissolved. But it didn’t seem to be helping. She had no idea how long it should take for her to see an improvement in his condition, if it was even going to work, and the lack of knowledge fueled her distress.
Sitting there, she’d had time to consider what to do if John didn’t begin improving. She knew he needed a hospital, but that wasn’t an option. Even if it was, there was no way she could get him down the steep slope and into the car. He easily outweighed her by three to one, maybe more. So, she’d concentrated on how she could bring help to him, and was only coming up with one solution.
The biker John had saved in the city. The Aborigine. He’d been worried about her traveling with a white man and had offered to help. She knew little about her ancestral people’s culture, but she could read intentions and recognized his had been well meaning. So, would he help John if she asked? Begged?
With no other viable option, she took another small sip of water and placed the half-full container on the rock in front of John so he’d see it if he woke up. Leaning close, she gently kissed his brow, fresh concerns rolling through her when her lips contacted his burning skin.
Standing, Mavis took another look at him, then turned and began making her way down to the road. At the car, she climbed behind the wheel and spent nearly a minute figuring out how to adjust the seat forward. John was tall and had shoved it all the way back to accommodate his long legs.
With it pulled nearly to the steering wheel, she started the engine. She didn’t really know what she was doing, having only ever been behind the wheel of a car three times before this, and all of those had been stolen. But it didn’t look that hard and it wasn’t like she had to worry about other drivers or the cops catching her. She just needed to get back into town without running into anything.
Taking a last look up the slope where John was lying, she shifted into drive and pressed on the accelerator. The engine roared and the rear tires spun in the loose dirt on the shoulder of the road. With a small squeal of fright, she let off and pressed the brake. Breathing hard, she gave herself a moment before trying again.
This time, she pressed on the pedal like there was an egg beneath her foot. Slowly, the car began to accelerate and she steered to follow the line painted along the center of the asphalt. Rounding a gentle curve, she caught a glimpse of Sydney and its suburbs in the distance. There were isolated pockets of electric lights, brilliant in the night, but the area that was completely dark was vastly greater. Letting out a shuddering breath of fear, Mavis pressed a little harder to speed up and focused on the road in front of her.
46
“John. John!”
I groaned and tried to open my eyes, but they didn’t seem to want to work. For that matter, neither did the rest of my body. I was aware of it, could feel pain from the hard surface I was lying on as well as the fire burning within me, but even that was a distant sensation.
“JOHN!”
Ever so slowly, I succeeded in forcing my one good
eye open, blinking a couple of times at the incongruous sight of a pair of shapely, very feminine legs wearing a set of heels. What the hell?
“John. Get up!”
I was mesmerized by the legs. Didn’t know where I was or why I was lying on a hard floor. But I couldn’t stop looking at them.
“You have to get up. She needs you!”
“Who?” I mumbled, my mouth so dry and gummy I wasn’t sure I was actually able to speak.
“Mavis. Now, get your ass up, soldier!”
I stared at the woman’s calves for what may have been seconds, or a very long time. Nothing was processing. My head ached and that detached from my body feeling wasn’t improving.
“What?”
“She’s in danger. She needs your help!”
The voice was insistent. Determined. And familiar, though I couldn’t think of who it could possibly belong to or why they were wearing a pair of high heels. After another eternity, I rolled my head slightly and ran my eye up the length of the woman’s body.
Her strong legs were tanned and bare, a lightweight skirt beginning above her knees. It flared over her hips then gathered tightly at her waist before stretching over her breasts. When I saw her face, I smiled.
“Hi,” I said, a sense of peace washing over me.
“Get up, John. You’re not through fighting. Mavis needs you!”
I lay there looking up at Katie. After a long time of staring, I realized something was odd. This was the Katie I married. Young. Still in her mid-twenties.
“You look good,” I mumbled with a thick tongue. “I miss you. Where have you been?”
She smiled and I waited for her to lean down and put her hand on the side of my face, like she does. Did. But she didn’t move. Just stood there, watching me. Waiting for something.
“You’re sick,” she said. “You were bitten by an infected and you’ve got a fever. But you can’t let it stop you. Mavis needs you!”
“Where have you been?” I asked, unable to think about anything other than my wife.
“John, get up!” she said without answering. “If you don’t help her, she will die.”
“Who?” I asked, trying to raise my arm and reach for Katie’s hand.
She didn’t move to take mine and I let it fall to the large, flat rock I was lying on.
“Drink,” she said, pointing at a container of water I hadn’t noticed. “But you need to hurry. There’s a car coming.”
She looked into the distance briefly, then back at me and smiled.
Forcing myself to sit up, I grasped the bottle with shaking hands and fumbled the lid off. It slipped through my fingers, bounced on the rock and rolled to a stop near Katie’s feet. She ignored it.
Lifting the container to my mouth, I drained it in a long drink, the water leaving a cool sensation all the way down. When I lowered my head, Katie was gone. Stumbling to my feet, I nearly fell from a wave of dizziness as I searched for her.
Stepping to the edge of the rock, I looked down the steep slope and spotted her standing on the road beneath me. Her hair blew in a night breeze, the skirt billowing around her legs. She seemed to glow in the darkness. But how the hell had she gotten all the way down there in the few seconds I was drinking? And in heels?
Weak and unsteady, I stumbled off the rock and began my descent. Within a few yards, my feet slipped from beneath me and I fell to my ass and skidded. It was a brutal trip down, made even worse as I bounced off a couple of trees on the way. But I made it, mostly in one piece, rolling to a stop in a shallow ditch next to the pavement.
I lay there gasping for air, but the desire to find Katie spurred me into motion. Climbing up, I saw that she had moved to stand on the road’s centerline, near a sharp curve. Facing the sound of an approaching engine, she looked over her shoulder and waved for me to join her. Strength and coordination were returning and I stepped forward, focused on my wife.
“They’re close,” she said when I stopped at her side. “Ready to fight?”
“Who are they?”
“Bad guys. Remember the SUV that was shot up? The reason you turned back?”
“How do you know that?” I breathed.
My brain was still on fire, but at least the synapses were starting to connect again. And this wasn’t making sense. It was like a bad dream. Until Katie looked at me and smiled.
“I love you,” she said.
I started to reach for her. To pull her into my arms. But bright headlights suddenly swung around the curve and bathed me in a cold, stark light. Brakes squealed and a small pickup came to a stop, pinning me on the road like a deer.
Katie, smiling, tilted her head at the idling truck. I glanced at it but couldn’t see past the light. Turning back, I caught my breath when she was gone. Whirling, I looked around but didn’t see her. Looking up the slope in hopes she’d returned to the rock ledge, I thought I caught a glimpse of movement. I started to head to the edge of the road, pausing when a loud male voice called out.
“Where the fuck you going, mate?”
Two sets of footsteps hurried across the asphalt, approaching from behind. I stood, staring up at the ledge, hoping to see any sign of Katie. I ignored the men as they came to stand on either side and slightly behind.
“Are you fuckin’ daft, mate? I’m talkin’ to you!”
I couldn’t tear my eyes off the slope. I remembered that Katie was dead, but I’d seen her. I’d talked to her! Was she back somehow? The Athena Project?
“That’s a Russian gun,” a new voice said behind me. “Think he’s a Russian? Can’t understand English?”
It had been a dream. All of it. My gut churned and my jaw clenched, the pain of having lost Katie feeling as fresh as it had the day she died. The wall I’d built to compartmentalize the grief and anger collapsed. Lowering my head, I slowly turned around and looked at the two men.
They were unremarkable. Dressed similarly and both in their mid-thirties, one held a double-barrel shotgun, the other a bolt action hunting rifle. They traded a quick glance then looked back at me.
“Give me that gun,” the one with the shotgun said, nodding at the Russian rifle slung down my back.
The anger over Katie’s death coalesced and I focused it to a white-hot point of fury. My eye flicked over each of them, noting how they held their weapons, where the muzzles were pointed and how far away they were. In an instant, I calculated how best to kill them.
Slowly nodding, I carefully lifted the rifle sling over my head and held it out toward the one who’d demanded it, maintaining a firm grip on the barrel. As expected, they relaxed when I appeared to be docilely obeying commands. Trading a look with his buddy, Shotgun Man grinned and stepped forward, reaching for the weapon.
I didn’t move. Stood still, seemingly calm though I was ready for the right moment. It came when Shotgun hooked his weapon through the crook of his arm and stepped close to take the rifle from my outstretched hand. His eyes were locked on the prize, as were his friend’s.
Letting the rifle drop, I spun and snapped an elbow into the man’s temple. While in motion, I drew the knife and let momentum take me directly at the second man, Bolt Action. I was trusting that Shotgun was down, dead at best or stunned at least. But you’ve got to take risks in a fight.
Bolt Action’s eyes flew wide in shock as I charged, blade held low. They had thought they’d found a dullard that wouldn’t resist. Expected me to be completely cowed because I was outnumbered two to one and they were both armed. Well, boys, that was your last fucking mistake!
It only took three fast strides to move in on Bolt Action. He had regained enough sense to recognize he was in mortal danger and started to backpedal, trying to bring the long, clumsy hunting rifle onto target. Surging, I batted it aside with my injured arm, anger overriding the pain.
His hands came up to protect his chest and neck, so I stabbed low. The full length of the blade sank in an inch above his belt buckle. His mouth fell open in a silent scream of pain. Wrapping an arm arou
nd his neck, I pulled him close as I sliced up with the knife, then twisted and cut to the side. The razor-sharp steel encountered little resistance as I disemboweled him.
His body was stiff as I continued to hold him up, staring into his terrified eyes. He knew what had happened, but there was probably a part of his brain that refused to accept the reality of the moment. The results of the path he’d chosen.
Releasing my grip, I stepped away, pulling the knife with me. Blood and other things gushed out of the gaping wound in his abdomen. Staggering away, he clamped both hands over his stomach, but it did no good. Black blood flooded out of his body, seeping around and between his fingers. He was dead. He just didn’t know it yet.
I stood there for a beat, inhaling deeply and reveling in the hot coppery smell of the blood I’d spilled. A few seconds more and he toppled to the road. He looked at me, mouth moving like a fish out of water as he tried to say something, then he died. Without a second look, I turned and strode to where Shotgun lay unmoving.
I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive and didn’t waste any time trying to find out. Reaching down, I flipped him onto his stomach and buried the bloody knife in the back of his neck, angling up and twisting to destroy his brainstem. Pulling the blade free, I wiped it clean on his shirt, grabbed my rifle off the ground and strode to their still idling truck.
Climbing behind the wheel of the Toyota Hilux, I jammed the manual transmission into first and floored the throttle. The truck lurched forward, bouncing hard as I rolled over the two men I’d just killed, then I was accelerating toward Sydney. Mavis needed me.
47
Anger clawed its way through my guts as I drove. Pushing the small pickup to its limit, I screamed along the curvy, mountainous road, sometimes dropping the outside set of tires onto the shoulder. When that happened, a huge plume of dust would be thrown up and the roar of dirt and small rocks against the undercarriage would drown out the straining engine.