Frank picked it up and dropped it into a red sharps container hanging on the wall. “What was that about out there?” He pointed toward the waiting area. “Aren’t you two on the same side?”
“Hardly.” Reid scoffed. “If I hadn’t seen this coming, I’d have been dead already.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been taking the shots since the outbreak. You can’t live with these things and not expect to get bit, but it wasn’t a bite that got me.” Reid unburdened his soul about the baby he’d passed off as Miranda’s and how he lied about her being dead. “Nixon’s been hunting me for months and he injected me with tainted blood to test whether or not the baby I gave him was hers. The shots slowed down the virus, but I can’t say for how much longer.”
Frank sighed. “Looks like we have more than one common enemy.”
“Nixon sent me back here with Brett to get Miranda’s corpse. I can’t bring him what I don’t have, and without it, there’s no cure. That’s about as fucked as a guy can get, right?”
Frank scratched his head and saw his opportunity to get back at Scott. “Not necessarily. What if I told you I knew where she was?”
Reid raised his eyebrows. “I’d ask what’s in it for you.”
A loud thump came at the pharmacy door followed by the clawing of nails as the infected tried to get in.
“We need to get out of here.” Frank whispered.
Reid shouldered his bag of supplies and stood. “What do you have for ammo?”
Frank checked his clip. “Six shots.”
Reid checked the gun he’d taken off of Brett. “It’s more than I’ve got. We’ll have to improvise. See anything around here we can use as a weapon?” Reid sorted through the desk drawers.
Frank looked around the room and then sifted through the mess on top of the desk. He pushed aside a stack of unopened mail and saw a silver handle. “There’s this.” He handed Reid the blade-like opener.
Reid seemed unimpressed. “Anything else?” He searched the storage room and came back empty handed. He took the hammer out of his belt loop and examined a slight crack in the handle. “Guess we’ll have to make do.” He pushed aside the gray, metal filing cabinet and a sea of flailing arms came through the open window. A chorus of moans filled the small space as the infected grasped for a meal.
A petite, infected female led the pack. The top half of her head was the only thing visible above the large, rectangular window. Reid drove the letter opener into her eye, far enough that his hand touched her face and the spike came through the other side with a crack.
Frank lifted the edge of the shade, helpless to do more than just watch. “Look out.”
A male clawed his way through the pack. Pieces of Brett’s uniform stuck between his jagged teeth. Reid raised the hammer and lowered the claw into the man’s skull, killing him instantly. He pulled the hook from the man’s head and his body collapsed on top of the woman’s.
Frank was afraid to walk past them. “Help me move this.” He tried to clear the other window, but the cabinet was too heavy. Reid hesitated. “Come on, you can’t take them all out yourself.”
Reid slid the filing cabinet across the floor and the horde frenzied, some of them turning their attention toward Frank.
Frank took aim and fired. “Six.” The male with the hole in his pants and the gaping thigh wound went down. “Five.” Another shot took down an elderly female. Reid kept to the window, cutting down those he could reach with the claw of the hammer. “Four.” He counted down until there were only two infected left.
“One shot left,” Frank said, “And two of them.” His ears rang from the repetitive noise and his chest ached from the stress.
Reid threw open the door and ran out into the room with the hammer held high over his head.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank fought the lightheadedness.
Reid was a bloody blur as he attacked the largest of the remaining infected with the hammer. The first blow cracked the man’s skull, but he kept coming. The break distorted his face. Reid leveled a second, fatal hit. The frail, elderly woman went down quickly and easily. “Come on!” he said and waved for Frank to hurry.
Frank’s heart raced. A squeezing sensation formed in his chest and the pressure spread to his right arm. He reached for his nitroglycerine tablets, but dropped the bottle. The pain worsened and made him feel weak. He held onto the counter and willed his legs to move, but he was frozen. The room spun and the smell of death made his nausea worse as he waited for his pacer to fire.
“Help me,” he whispered.
Reid rushed over to him and caught him just as he started to fall.
CHAPTER 58
Blood soaked into the beige carpet and an intermittent trickle ran down Miranda’s legs. Crimson handprints stained the window panes and the master bedroom resembled a crime scene. Miranda stared at the empty parking space, wondering how long ago Michael had left and how she could have slept through him taking her daughter who was only feet away in the crib. She held a receiving blanket to her face and breathed in the delicate fragrance of the pink baby lotion she’d slathered Amelie with after washing her.
“I was wrong. We shouldn’t have let the boy go,” she said. Scott stood silently beside her. “Michael wouldn’t have wanted Amelie if it wasn’t for his son.” The statement rang half-true, even as she said it. The world needed a cure, and Amelie was at the crux. If it hadn’t been Michael coming for her, it would have eventually been Nixon. This close to the center, she could almost feel his presence. “We have to get her back,” she said, though she could barely stand.
Scott lifted her arm around his neck and walked her to the attached bathroom. “We’ll find her, but we have to get you taken care of first.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as clots spilled from inside of her.
John stared from the doorway and Scott looked over at him.
“There’s a pack from the hospital, downstairs. Bring me the box of pads, would you?” Scott lowered Miranda onto the toilet and when John moved away, helped her out of her underwear.
Blood ran out of her and splashed the water’s surface in spurts like a leaky faucet.
Scott stripped off his shirt and washed his hands. The blood on them wasn’t hers.
“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
Scott took the washcloth off the towel rack and soaked it with soap and water. “Nothing, it’s fine.” He knelt in front of her and started washing her legs.
The cold water made her shiver.
He lifted her soiled dress to wash her thighs and she grabbed his wrist, terrified that he had done something to make Michael angry, that he had been early on the two weeks. “You gave your word.” She choked up, praying that it wasn’t Scott’s fault Amelie had been taken.
“It’s not the boy’s, Miranda.” A moment of silence followed before he told her the truth. “It’s Penny’s. Somehow she and Foster were infected.”
“Oh, God. We have to get out of here.” The thought of being locked in with two infected terrified her. Now, more than ever, she needed to stay safe. Amelie’s safe return depended on it. She reached for the edge of the sink to help her stand.
Scott eased her back down. “I took care of it. We’re safe.”
She buried her face in her hands and wept. The memory of the joy on Penny’s parents’ faces when Penny arrived home made the loss hurt worse. “How could this have happened?”
“Foster’s injury, I guess. It didn’t look like a bite, but apparently the infection spreads other ways.” Scott lifted her dress over her head and traded her soiled clothes for clean ones. “We have to be careful. Seems we’re all in more trouble than we thought.”
The reality of having lost two more in their dwindling group hit home. Sadness for Penny magnified her worry for Amelie’s safety and she wondered if all of the fighting, if risking her life to save the women at the Nixon Center, was for nothing.
“I’m sorry, Miranda.” Scott wiped the tears from her cheek.
John cleared his throat and handed Scott a pack of sanitary napkins over his shoulder with his back to the bathroom.
“Thanks,” he said and looked up when John didn’t leave. “Something else?”
“I should have known something was wrong,” John said.
“Why do you say that?”
John shrugged. “I heard shuffling around and growling. The doctor gave me something for pain so I thought I was hearing things, but what else would make that noise?”
Miranda held her hand to her forehead, the room spinning as she descended into a pit of worry and angst.
“What about Amelie?” Scott asked John. “Do you remember the last time you heard her crying?”
John shook his head. “I heard some doors opening and closing early this morning. Figured Michael was out at the truck again, but there wasn’t any crying.”
A cold chill swept through Miranda and she shivered. Scott came in and out of focus and John’s voice became distorted. She swallowed, hard, several times to clear her ears. The blood flow between her legs increased to a steady, urine-like stream and made her weaker. She leaned her head against the vanity, suddenly too woozy to sit up.
“Miranda, honey.” Scott patted her hand between his. “Miranda, can you hear me?”
In her head, she said “yes”.
Clearly, Scott didn’t hear her.
CHAPTER 59
Sun poured through a wall of sealed glass that was used in place of windows. Dust and ash caked the top of the heating and air conditioning unit that served as a sill. Two hospital beds lay side-by-side and empty. The once white blankets, now gray after the fire, were wrinkled from being soaked by the sprinkler system. Mold grew in concentric swirls on the wall and the bitter tang of mildew filled the air. A chair tucked under the doorknob reinforced the lock and a blue curtain covered the small rectangular window.
Death scratched on the other side of the door.
Frank tried not to think too hard about that. A restrictive tightness spread through his chest and he ached, bruised from the fall. Wherever they were now, Reid had transported him by wheelchair. Frank coughed and cleared his throat.
“What the hell happened?” He pushed the feet rests out of his way and checked to see that the brakes were on. His legs shook under his weight and then settled.
Reid sat down on one of the beds, trying to tie a square of white sheet. “We’re even,” he said through clenched teeth. “Worst time ever to pass out, by the way.”
“No, I mean what happened to you?” Frank checked Reid’s eyes for signs of infection and found none, though there was one bullet left in his pistol if he needed it.
Reid tugged the knot and the loop fell apart. “It’s this goddamned shoulder again.”
Frank took things slowly—a step, then two—and when he was sure he was stable, made his way over to Reid. “Let me have a look.”
Reid hesitated.
“I was a medic for longer than you’ve been alive. Hold your arm like this.” Frank bent his elbow at a ninety degree angle.
Reid’s face twisted with agony as he imitated the position.
Frank examined the lax joint, pushing with his finger to feel for what he really needed an x-ray to be sure of.
Reid jumped when Frank pressed on his deltoid and tried to move the arm. “Shit! That hurts.”
“Looks dislocated.” Frank considered the best way to get it back in place. “Lie down.” The pounding and rattling of the door increased the sense of urgency. “I have to get it back in place and this is the easiest way to do it. It’s going to hurt like hell until it’s fixed, so lay down.”
Reid reluctantly complied.
Ash and mildew permeated the air as his weight settled on the mattress. Frank turned his head to avoid breathing it in. He placed his one hand on Reid’s shoulder and the other on his forearm, maintaining the ninety degree angle.
“You have something to bite on?” Frank asked.
Reid turned his head away. “Just do it.”
Frank gently rotated the arm out to the left. Reid nearly shot out of the bed. He screamed and the noise stirred the horde outside the door.
“Relax,” Frank said, unable to move the arm because of the tension.
“You relax,” Reid snapped.
“I mean it. If you don’t loosen up, I can’t do this.” Frank let go of his arm and looked through the pills in the bag. He shook a couple of Percocet into his hand and gave them to Reid. “Take these,” he said.
Reid sat up enough to dry-swallow them, and then fell back onto the pillow.
“Ready?” Frank asked.
Reid closed his eyes. “This time, don’t stop.”
Frank resumed the in and out manipulations with the arm bent and the shoulder still. Reid groaned and bit his clenched fist, his knuckles white from tension. He’d nearly broke skin by the time the shoulder moved into place.
“Got it.” Frank tied the cotton sling and helped Reid sit up. “Better?” Reid nodded. He slipped the sling over his head and Frank helped settle the arm into place. “You’ll need to keep it immobilized until you heal, at least a little.”
Reid moved his arm and hissed, drawing a breath through his teeth.
Frank went to the door and pushed aside the curtain. A bloody handprint obscured his view, but he could make out a sea of heads. “We probably shouldn’t have used guns,” he said, knowing it was the noise that drew the attention. “You have a plan for getting out of this?”
Reid shook his head. “I was improvising the last time.”
CHAPTER 60
The crowded medevac helicopter touched down in the center’s main parking lot just before noon. The draft from the whirling chopper blades blew sheets across the pavement, toppled abandoned wheelchairs, and created a vacuum which drew a cloud of ashen dust from the main entrance.
Icy gusts of wind cut through Nixon’s sweat-soaked shirt. He flexed his aching hands and wrists, which were strained from performing repeated chest compressions during CPR on the hybrid infant, who he’d nearly lost twice during the flight.
“Wayne, you’re going to have to open the doors for me.” He shouted over the chopper noise to the overweight cook who was good for little else. “Corey, help Zach get Allison to a safe room. Fifth floor, if you can manage, and lock her in.” Zach shot him a nasty look. “It’s for her protection. I don’t have any idea what we’re dealing with in there, and she’s in no condition to protect herself. Corey, once she’s settled, I want you to go out back and manually start the generators. I need power ASAP, so be quick about it.” Paul shut down the helicopter, took off his helmet, and turned around. Nixon gestured in the direction of the trunks of weapons and ammunition stowed in the small cargo area. “Paul and Joe, start cleaning out the infected. I want everybody out of there, dead and alive.”
Paul smoothed his hand over his slicked-back hair. “Even Max Reid?”
“Especially Reid,” Nixon said. “He’s been trouble long enough. Zach, get Allison safe and settled.” He turned to Joe. “Give me your pistol.” Joe hesitated. “I’m not asking, Joe. You can take any other one you want. I need Allison upstairs. Come on.” Joe handed Nixon his laser sight-fitted pistol and Nixon, in turn, handed it to Zach. “Once she’s comfortable, I want you looking for Reid, specifically. You get a shot, you take it. You understand? No questions asked.” He debated clueing Zach in that Reid might well be infected and decided against it.
Zach tapped the rail-mounted sight and a red dot appeared on the ground ahead of him. “And if I don’t?” He tapped the sight again to turn it off.
“I’m not the second chances type, Zach. Don’t push me. I hired you because you can shoot. Nothing about that has changed. Allison’s life is as much in my hands as it ever was, and I’ve held up my end of the bargain, despite the mess you caused here. Kill Reid,” he ordered. “And bring me his body.”
Joe held
out a shoulder holster. “Might as well give you this, too.”
Zach slipped his arms through the straps and secured the gun to hang on his left side. Corey unfastened Allison’s safety belt and lifted her toward the exit. Zach opened his arms to receive her. She was nearly unconscious, sedated by the heavy doses of painkiller. Large, white bandages wrapped around her feet and her head fell against Zach’s chest when he cradled her frail, limp body.
Nixon lifted her eyelids and shined a light into them. He felt her pulse and examined her legs. “She’s going to be okay,” he said. “As long as you do what you’re asked this time.” He reached up toward Corey and grabbed the end of the bulky backboard. “Push him this way.” He gestured for Corey to twist the backboard so that he could reach the straps holding the infant. He unfastened the boy, set his I.V. bag on his chest, and swaddled him in a blanket that was meant to be a barrier against the elements as much as anything else. He fitted a tiny oxygen mask over his face, tightened the straps, and hoisted the portable tank onto his back. He adjusted the tubing and headed toward the front door.
The wind picked up and something swayed from the fixtures to the right of the entrance. Paul, who carried a trunk of supplies in front of him, was the first to see what it was.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.
Mike and Jim, two of the last three men Nixon sent after Reid hung by their necks. Both of them had been shot.
“Keep out.” Nixon struggled to read the words carved into the flesh. Between the gas-induced bloating and the toll taken by the weather, the letters were almost indiscernible. “Not very original, is he? Cut them down.”
Joe and Paul looked at each other and then at Zach.
“You heard the man,” Paul said, the gusts of wind barely moving his gelled hair. “Cut them down.”
Joe’s muscled arms twitched as he unsheathed the knife strapped to his leg and tried to get the rope. Even at over 6 feet, he wasn’t tall enough to reach. He slid the case he’d been carrying next to the body and climbed on top of it. “You at least going to help me over here?” The wind picked up, spreading the rotting smell. Paul turned his head away and steadied the swinging body by its feet. Joe sawed on the rope which frayed, groaned, and eventually gave up. The first body dropped and Paul stepped back, letting it hit the pavement with a slushy thud. Blood poured from the man’s mouth and the smell worsened.
Afterbirth: A Strandville Zombie Novel #2 Page 20