Afterbirth: A Strandville Zombie Novel #2

by Frisch, Belinda

  “You ready?” Michael asked.

  Randy reached the front stoop and was huffing and panting.

  Before Miranda could even answer, the Yukon barreled through the weakened gate. The large tires carved deep furrows into the soft front lawn and the grill guard cast aside the fastest of the advancing infected as the truck plowed into them. Blood spattered the hood.

  A teenage boy darted for Michael and was dispatched with a single thrust of the knife into his head. “Get her out of here,” he shouted.

  Scott grabbed Miranda’s sweaty hand and nearly pulled her off her feet, dragging her in the direction of the large, white truck now parked directly in front of them.

  Earl lowered the window, shouting but almost inaudible over the escalating commotion. “Get in!”

  Randy threw open the passenger’s side front and rear doors. He took the passenger’s seat and immediately rolled down the window, hanging out of it and shooting anything that came close to reaching Scott and Miranda.

  Everything was a blur. Blood, brains, limbs, and the snarls of a mob of ravenous, infected teens charging at them. Miranda ran, despite the excruciating pain, and when she neared the truck, she wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

  “Hurry!” Michael herded them into the rear door and climbed in, slamming the door behind them.

  Randy moved back inside and Earl closed the windows. “Hang on!” He revved the engine and Miranda braced herself for the inevitable lurching forward that came when he let off the brake, plowing through and over the undead bodies.

  She closed her eyes, breathing to calm her nerves.

  “We need to take our truck,” Scott said. “Pull up to it,” he said.

  “Are you crazy?” Michael asked. “We can’t just let you out.”

  Randy chimed in. “We nearly died back there. If we stop, who knows what’ll happen?”

  Scott insisted. “And if she goes into labor? The truck is full of the baby’s things. We need them unless you have supplies for a newborn infant somewhere.”

  “Pull up to the truck,” Michael said. “I’ll cover you.” He took a pistol from under the seat and lowered the window enough to shoot.

  The Yukon stopped less than a foot away from the Ford. Scott flung open the door and hurried Miranda between the vehicles.

  The pain in her ankles nearly had her collapse, but Scott lifted her into the truck and locked the door. The Yukon backed up, and as Scott ran around the driver’s side, Michael picked off two more infected. One landed behind the Ford’s rear tire and Scott backed over it as he took off after the others.

  “Are you all right?” Scott reached for her shaking hand.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but as they drove away from the chaos, heading toward Strandville, she wondered for how long she would be.

  CHAPTER 37

  Foster pulled into the desolate parking lot of the abandoned Nixon Center and an unsettled feeling gnawed his gut. It’d been months since he’d last been there and, even though he expected the worst, the deterioration was startling. Bodies hung from the lighting, warning him to keep out. The fall breeze carried the smells of smoke and decomposing flesh through the automatic lobby doors, which had been propped open and stayed that way for a lack of power. He took a last deep breath before walking inside. A fetid odor filled his nose and remained trapped, even after he blew snot from either nostril. Gray ash covered the floor, and in it, were dozens of footprints and black swirls he couldn’t immediately identify. Crimson and brown droplets of blood, some dried and some fresh, dotted a trail that indicated dragging.

  He prayed the blood wasn’t Penny’s, but even if it were, there wasn’t enough to indicate her wounds had been mortal.

  “Penny?” He swept the pistol back and forth and waited for Reid to show himself.

  No one else would be sick enough to haunt these halls.

  Foster walked past Ambulatory Surgery and wrinkled his face, disgusted by the pile of bones and incinerated flesh from the sub-human bonfire he assumed was Reid’s attempt at dealing with both the virus and the stench.

  “Penny?”

  The blood trail led him through the glass atrium and to a closed examination room door. He set his hand on the lever-style knob and he paused, fearful of what was on the other side.

  “Penny, are you in there?”

  He pushed the handle down and the door swung open, releasing a cloud of stench so thick and terrible that it made him vomit. A half-naked female corpse with a strangely familiar face sat slumped against the wall. The amount of blood made it hard to tell what had happened to her, and the smell made it impossible to look too long. He pulled the door shut and backed away, smacking his mouth at the sour taste which coated his tongue.

  “Penny?”

  He followed the most travelled path to the open elevator shaft and looked in. The basement was nearly dark except for a small puddle of light that leaked down from the atrium and gleamed off the silver metal of an extension ladder, which had been knocked or intentionally taken down.

  “Penny, are you here?”

  Other than the footprints, there was no sign of Reid or anyone else. Foster began to wonder if maybe Penny had been taken elsewhere.

  “Hello?” He tilted his head and listened, wondering if he had heard a faint noise in return, or if the silence was playing tricks on him.

  He assessed the depth of the hole and the likelihood of Penny being down there. The chances seemed good, considering the ladder. Dropping down all but guaranteed an injury he couldn’t afford and he looked for another way.

  He went through Ambulatory Surgery to the recovery unit at the back. Gurneys, once lined up in neat rows behind the privacy curtains, littered the room, some knocked over. Blood spattered the walls and a few spare body parts rotted on the floor. He kicked a finger aside and pressed his ear to a supply cabinet door, listening for noise before opening it.

  He turned the handle and grabbed an entire stack of bed sheets, which he knotted together. He carried the makeshift rope to the elevator shaft and dropped the line down the hole, testing to make sure it was long enough. To the left of the elevator, a metal bench was anchored to the floor with bolts. He tied the rope off, and though it shortened it some, it was enough to get him to within a safe dropping distance. He tucked his pistol away to free up his hands and slid a flashlight into his waistband. He slowly descended, and when the floor became visible, let go. His boots hit with a loud clap that echoed up the shaft and down the hall. He waited for the echo to stop, and when no one appeared to attack him, he turned on the light and moved down the hall toward where the infected were once held.

  A padlocked door immediately caught his attention and he shined the light through the window. Penny was asleep inside, strapped down to a gurney. A jagged wound, crudely sutured and caked with dried blood, extended down her bare thigh. Her clothes lay cut away on the floor and a gauze gag was tied in her mouth which hung slightly open.

  “Penny!” He pounded the door and her eyes popped open. She pulled at her restraints and he held up his hand. “I’ll be right in.”

  He looked around for something to pry the hasp, and finding nothing, stepped a safe distance away to shoot it. He took a well-placed shot, pressed his hand to his ringing ears, and ran inside to free Penny.

  “Thank God,” he said. “When I woke up and you were gone, I was sure…” He took out his pocket knife, cut the gag, and tossed it aside.

  Penny sniffled and started to cry. She turned her face away from him as he unfastened the first wrist restraint. A scarlet pink, deeper than that of her bra and underwear, blushed her cheek. He unfastened her other wrist, helped her sit up, and looked around for something to cover her with. Finding her clothes destroyed, he picked up the blue and white cotton gown pooled at the foot of her bed. “Here,” he covered her up. “You look like you’re freezing.” He started to take off his sweatshirt to give to her and she drew him close.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs.
r />   “For what?” He rubbed her bare back and rested his head against hers.

  The question seemed to make her cry harder.

  “I was awful to you. I’m so sorry. I was afraid I wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you.”

  He pressed his lips to her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears, and stroked her hair. “You weren’t that bad,” he said, jokingly. “I came looking for you, didn’t I?”

  She let out a chuckle, sniffled, and wiped her nose on the gown.

  He waited until she was calm before letting go of her, and then freed her ankles. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?” He helped her to her feet, and then into the gown which he tied in the back.

  “Yes.” She put on her socks and used the cut away sweatshirt as a jacket.

  “Stay behind me.” The door creaked as he pulled it open and looked into the hallway. “Where’s Reid?” he asked. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know where he went. Some men came and took him, I think, and the baby.”

  Foster tilted his head. “Baby? What baby? And what men?”

  Penny shrugged. “I could only hear. I don’t know. I just don’t think he’s coming back, at least, not anytime soon.”

  He went to the elevator shaft and extended the ladder. “Can you climb?” He shook the ladder to test the sturdiness of its position.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Really, she didn’t.

  He reached up and placed his hand on the small of her back to keep her from falling. Every other step was incredibly slow. “Are you all right?”

  She stopped for a minute at the halfway point and took a deep breath. “I will be.” She climbed out of the hole and he came up behind her.

  He reached for her hand, and to his surprise, she took it. The two didn’t say a word as they walked through the atrium and out the lobby doors. Foster unlocked the Jeep, and just as he opened the door for Penny to get in, a white Yukon and a junky, old Ford pick-up pulled alongside them.

  CHAPTER 38

  Miranda’s breath hitched as the twin towers of the Nixon Center came into view. The sight of the familiar red Jeep wasn’t nearly enough to offset the dread. She hadn’t had a night’s sleep without thinking of the place in seven months, and the idea that her daughter could be born there terrified her.

  Scott parked next to Foster’s Jeep and reached across the seat to comfort her. “It’s going to be all right.”

  There was hesitation in his voice.

  Sharp pain radiated through her stomach and into her groin. She took slow breaths to try and calm down, to postpone the inevitable, but she’d been under too much stress.

  Michael parked in the next space over and opened Miranda’s door. “How’re you holding up?” He put his stethoscope into his ears and listened to her belly.

  “You tell me.” She watched his expression change.

  He pursed his lips. “How close are the contractions?”

  She hadn’t been timing them.

  “Where are Earl and Randy?” Scott asked.

  Michael shook his head and glanced at the footlocker on the back of Yukon. “I can’t have them being part of this.”

  “Miranda!” Penny limped around the side of the pick-up and stopped short when she was in sight of Miranda’s swollen belly. “Oh, God.” She broke down.

  Foster wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his jacket.

  Miranda couldn’t believe the changes in her. Penny appeared hardened and, under other circumstances, she would have asked how she’d been surviving. She bordered on emaciated and there was a pervasive sadness about her, aside from the obvious pain. A small bloodstain seeped through the hospital gown at her thigh.

  “What happened?” A wave of pain radiated across Miranda’s stomach and she clenched her teeth.

  “We have to get you inside,” Michael said.

  Scott looked at Foster. “Is anyone else in there?”

  Foster shrugged. “Not that we saw. Not now, anyway.”

  The main entrance doors remained wide open, inviting Miranda back into her nightmare.

  “I can’t go in there.” Her heart beat faster and she started to sweat. Another contraction, stronger than the last one, caused her to groan.

  Michael shook his head. “We need to find the antivirus before you deliver, Miranda.”

  Scott held her hand and she squeezed as hard as she could. “Foster, do you know where Nixon kept the shots?” he asked.

  “What’s going on?” Penny sniffled. Miranda crossed her arms over her stomach and looked away. “Miranda, what’s happening?”

  Another contraction came and when the dark liquid seeped through Miranda’s cotton maternity dress, she started to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “As much as I hate to say it, this is the best place to deliver. I know you wanted us to get what we need and get out of here, but we’re going to have to take you inside.”

  Scott smoothed her sweaty hair back from her face. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “You’ll both be fine.”

  Michael turned to Foster. “How well do you know this place?”

  “Pretty well, considering I used to work here.”

  Penny retracted. “Please, say we’re not going back in there.”

  Miranda took several deep breaths. “The baby is healthy,” she said. “She’s not like the others.” She grunted through a weak contraction. “But if her blood gets into my bloodstream, I’m…” She choked up, and even after clearing her throat, couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “If the baby’s blood crosses into Miranda’s bloodstream then she becomes infected.” Scott lowered his head.

  The next contraction hit, hard. Miranda screamed as the pressure increased to the point that she couldn’t stand it. “I need to push!”

  “Help me get her inside.” Michael helped her out of the passenger’s side door and she nearly collapsed in his arms. Warm fluid ran down her legs and spotted the asphalt. She wrapped one arm around Michael’s neck and the other around Scott’s and shuffled toward the place she swore she’d never go again. Each step brought a new spurt of liquid, and the more she walked, the stronger her contractions became.

  “Foster,” Scott said, “There’s not a lot of time. Do you know where Nixon kept the shots?”

  He nodded. “I doubt there are any left in the basement, but he kept a stash in his office. What are the odds he didn’t take them?”

  Scott shrugged. “I hope pretty good.”

  Miranda looked at the swinging bodies and the dried blood leading into the center and wept. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t go in there.” Her chest tightened and she was unable to breathe. She couldn’t take another step. The agonizing pain increased and the pressure of the baby’s descent as unbearable.

  “Foster, grab that wheelchair, would you?”

  Foster brushed the dirt and ash off the wheelchair just inside the door and rushed over to Miranda.

  Scott lowered her into the chair and the seat became immediately soaked.

  “Which way to Labor and Delivery?” Michael asked.

  Foster turned to Penny, who had been begging to leave. “They need help. You said, yourself, that Reid was gone.”

  Miranda huffed in and out, breathing the way she’d learned in the childbirth class that seemed a lifetime ago.

  Scott’s mouth fell slightly open. “Reid? I shot him. I thought I killed him.”

  Penny pulled the bloody gown away from her wound and winced. “I assure you, he’s alive.”

  When the next contraction hit, it spread unrelenting pain throughout Miranda’s entire body. “What if he comes back?” She closed her hands around the dusty wheelchair arms and bore down, screaming.

  “I have to get her something for the pain,” Michael said.

  Scott grabbed the chair’s handles and pushed. “Foster, where are we going?”

  Penny grabbed Fosters hand. “I don’t want
to be alone.” He folded her under his arm.

  “Straight ahead, left at the first hallway,” said Foster. “Stairwell is on the right, past the bathroom.”

  Miranda closed her eyes and rocked gently front to back. The movement alleviated the pain and pressure in her low back and helped her focus on something other than the remains of their escape.

  Penny limped along and leaned against the wall when they reached the stairs. Foster pushed open the door and jammed the charred remains of a door stop under the edge, wedging it open.

  “We have to carry her.” Michael settled his grip under the front of the wheelchair. “You help the girl up,” he said to Foster, referring to Penny. “I can see she’s hurt. I’ll take a look at her as soon as we get through this.”

  Miranda bore down and grunted, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

  “Labor and Delivery is on the second floor,” Foster said.

  Michael lifted the front of the chair.

  Scott lifted the back. “Hold on,” he said and ascended the blood-smeared stairs.

  The second floor door was already open. A dispatched female infected rotted where she fell. Miranda covered her nose and mouth and tried not to vomit. Scott hurried her past the body and down the hall to where Michael stood in front of one of the rooms.

  “In here.” He rummaged through the cabinets for vials and needles. “Get her on the table.”

  Miranda struggled to stand.

  Scott put a step-stool at the foot of the pelvic examination bed and pushed the stirrups aside. “Here,” he said. “I’ve got you.” Scott lifted her and raised the side rails.

  She sank into the plastic-covered mattress and reached for Scott. “Hold my hand!” she screamed.

  Michael drew up a syringe. “Demerol will help with the pain.” He turned to Foster. “We need those shots, now.”

  Foster nodded. “I’ll go up and look for them. Penny, stay here.”

  “I need to examine you.” Michael said, rolling Miranda onto her side.

  There was a sharp pinch in her right buttock and within seconds, the water-logged wallpaper with pink floral pattern started to dance.