Afterbirth: A Strandville Zombie Novel #2

by Frisch, Belinda

  Adam lay still on the table, staring at the ceiling without blinking. Gurgling breaths came at intermittent intervals and Michael wondered how long it would be until his organs functioned normally, or if they ever would again. Adam’s was an unprecedented resurrection after a prolonged death, and with no science to guide him in what to do next, he did what fathers do. He wet a paper towel at the sink and used it to wipe the blood from Adam’s pale face. Beneath the gore, his lips still appeared blue, a sign that he had not yet been oxygenated. Michael raked his fingers through Adam’s white-blond hair and washed the bit of blood from his bangs and his forehead. He watched and waited for something to happen, for the spark of recognition to return to his son’s dull eyes, and panicked when Adam’s body went suddenly rigid.

  “Adam, son, can you hear me?”

  His muscles became rock-hard and Michael was unable to move his arms or legs. He placed the stethoscope to Adam’s chest and the breath sounds disappeared.

  “Adam, buddy. Come on.”

  A heart beat, but he wasn’t sure if it was Adam’s or his own, echoed in his ears. He couldn’t think. Nothing made sense.

  “You have to calm down,” he told himself. There was a reason physicians didn’t treat their own family members, especially in a critical situation.

  He had to be better than this.

  “Adam, come on. Breathe for me.”

  He started compressions, careful not to crack Adam’s sternum in his desperation to get his heart beating again. Adam’s muscles let go and his lifeless body melted into the stainless steel table.

  “Come on, buddy.” Tears rolled down his cheek, blurring his son’s image. “Breathe, damn it.”

  He placed his mouth tightly over Adam’s and he started rescue breathing. Blood filled his mouth, Adam’s blood and a lot of it. The metallic taste made him feel sick and he spat on the floor, afraid of becoming infected. He wiped his face on his sleeve and cried out when Adam’s head fell to the side. “No!” Michael resumed frantic compressions, praying for another miracle. “Please don’t leave me.”

  When Adam’s small body didn’t respond, he was forced to accept what he already expected all along--that the virus had done irreparable damage. The treatment would have worked if he had it days earlier, but it was too late. He hadn’t saved him, only returned his mortality so that he could have a peaceful, human death. There was no point in trying to pump life into his defeated body. He’d been through too much already.

  Michael lowered his head and gave himself over to the crushing sadness. He cried so hard his back shook and he could barely breathe between sobs. Days of heartache and frustration, of fearing for his son, and longing for his wife poured out of him. He closed Adam’s eyelids and placed his tiny hands over his chest. Part of him wondered if the vicious infection was cyclical, if Adam would come back again, undead, or if this was it. When minutes passed without movement, he knew the nightmare was over. He took a clean sheet from one of the lab drawers and wrapped Adam snuggly inside of it.

  He lifted him off the table and prepared to carry him out to the Yukon, but before he could reach for the door handle, the door opened and a tattooed man stumbled through it.

  CHAPTER 70

  “Where’s the baby, Miranda?” Nixon asked a second time, not believing her story.

  “I told you, she didn’t make it.”

  “And what did you do with her then?” It was his first time hearing the child was a girl.

  Scott brushed Miranda’s tangled hair back from her face. “We buried her.”

  “Isn’t that what civilized people do?” Miranda wiped the tears from her dark eyes and held Scott’s hand.

  “I can only imagine your devastation.” A sharp stitch came at Nixon’s side and he winced. He checked Miranda’s IV and examined her stomach, but his own pain kept him distracted. The bite wound on his hand throbbed as he palpated for the top of her uterus. “The bleeding seems to be slowed to normal. How do you feel?”

  “Better.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. Scott, can I have a word with you in the hallway?”

  Miranda held his hand tighter and he shook his head. “I told you I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

  “And I told you that I would help you in exchange for a favor that you’ve yet to repay. I think you’ll enjoy this.”

  Scott handed his pistol to Miranda and grinned at Nixon. “Looks like I need a new weapon.”

  Nixon turned to Paul, the paunchy, middle-aged guard wearing the hat. “Give him your gun.”

  Paul looked at Joe who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. He took mine last time.”

  Paul handed Scott his gun and Scott thanked him, though it was clear he hadn’t much of a say in the matter.

  “Now what’s this favor?” Scott asked. “You can tell me here.”

  Miranda gripped Scott’s pistol until her knuckles turned white.

  Nixon sat down on a metal stool, his head pounding to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Max Reid is here, somewhere. He’s been here for the past seven months and I don’t think I need to tell you what a threat he is. He’s outgrown his usefulness and has been killing my men, which I’m unfortunately in short supply of. I need your help. I want you to find and eliminate him. He should be less of a challenge as I suspect he’s become infected.”

  “Scott, no!” Miranda burst into tears.

  “But if he hasn’t,” Nixon continued, “I believe both you and Miranda are in danger.”

  Nixon knew Scott’s weakness, the same as he knew Zach’s, and in both cases, the women in their lives were likely going to get them killed.

  Scott didn’t say anything for a minute. He looked at Miranda lying in the bed. “The bleeding’s slowed down, but what if it comes back? Reid’s had it out for us since I shot him. Nixon’s right. You’re in danger.”

  “I’m in danger with him,” Miranda said, referring to Nixon.

  Nixon sighed. “We made a deal.”

  “I’ll do it,” Scott said. “Miranda, you have a gun and I know where you are. I’ll be back for you, I promise.”

  “Scott, no.”

  “I promise. Please, trust me.”

  “Do what you have to.” She sniffled and turned away.

  Nixon opened the door for Scott to leave. “Sooner you get out there, the sooner you get back.” He wiped the sweat from his face.

  Scott nodded and left.

  Nixon called for Paul and Joe to follow him into the hall. He closed Miranda’s door, and when Scott was out of ear shot, spoke to them, softly. “Any signs of Reid?”

  The men looked at each other and Paul nodded that they had, in fact, seen him.

  “And?” His patience had worn thin. “Why isn’t he dead?”

  “He climbed into the ceiling,” Paul said. “We had him cornered, but there was a horde and this guy…”

  Nixon narrowed his blurring eyes. “What guy?”

  “Frank something or other.”

  “Frank Krieger?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

  This was a repeat of seven months ago and he wondered how much of this he should’ve read from Scott and Miranda. “Have you seen anyone else?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  Nixon slammed his palm against the wall and let out a frustrated yell. “I can’t believe this.” The halls closed in on him and he couldn’t think.

  “Are you all right?” Paul asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  He needed Paul and Joe away from him. Only Corey knew, for sure, that he’d been exposed to the virus. Even if these others suspected it, confirming it to them made him weak and a target.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “This goddamned thing won’t stop bleeding.” He held up his blood-soaked, bandaged finger. “I sent Scott after Reid because I need him away from here, but I want him dead. Miranda’s much more likely to comply if she doesn’t feel protected. The infant is here somewhere and she’s not alone. I want you to find her, and
if you come across Scott or Reid, you take them out. Get Paul a gun out of the supplies and hurry.”

  His teeth clenched and his hands tightened, igniting fire in his injured finger. He pulled his hand straight, hoping to alleviate the pressure, but it cramped up again. Waves of nausea came and went. His vision became blurry.

  He waited until the guards were out of sight and resumed his search for syringes.

  CHAPTER 71

  The mess was like nothing John had ever seen, and he’d seen a lot. Castoff covered the walls and ceilings and decapitated infected bled out in dark, congealed pools. Their heads had been flung from their bodies except for one, which remained stuck in the chainsaw by its hair.

  John pushed open a nearby door which hung slightly open and recoiled from the sight of the bald-headed child shot through the forehead. Her remains had been treated with care and respect, and she lay wrapped in a blanket as though someone were coming back for her.

  “Oh, God.”

  He moved around the foot of the bed and gasped at the sight of the familiar pair of cowboy boots.

  “No, no, no.” He rushed over to Frank’s body and immediately tried to find a pulse. “Frank, can you hear me?” He felt around the side of the elderly man’s wrinkled neck and found nothing. He had bled out and died from a single gunshot wound. John picked up the pistol tucked under Frank’s leg and checked it for ammunition. There was a single bullet left.

  He lowered Frank’s eyelids and said a silent prayer. For the first time that he could remember, Frank’s expression was without worry or pain. He recalled their conversation about how so many dead went without burial and how none of them made it back to their family plots. Frank had gone through hell to get Holly’s body buried near her mother’s and John owed him at least that for helping save his life.

  He righted the toppled wheelchair and put on the breaks, facing the chair toward Frank. He hooked his arms under Frank’s armpits and lifted, careful to avoid pulling his stitches. Frank was even lighter than he expected, having sustained on cigarettes and whiskey, both of which John could smell even with so many rotting dead just outside in the hallway. He lifted Frank’s feet onto the rests and pushed him out the door. The tires went through the drying blood and left two thin trails down the white tile.

  He kept his head down in reflection and only looked up when he reached the atrium and the elevator chimed. A scruffy man wearing full camouflage stepped out of the car holding Amelie.

  “Zach? Is that you?”

  Zach looked stunned. “John? What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing with Amelie?” John reached around his back to grab the gun from his waistband.

  “Stop right there. Show me your hands.”

  John hadn’t seen the gun tucked beneath the baby. “Zach, come on. It’s me. How much did I help you try to get Allison back?” He could see he struck a nerve. “She’s here, isn’t she?” Zach didn’t answer. “Oh my God, Nixon, too. You can’t do this. You can’t take her to him.” He moved from behind the wheelchair and held out his arms. “She’s got to be starving and Miranda’s worried sick. Please, give her to me.”

  “I can’t do that,” Zach said. “Allison needs the cure. Without her,” he trembled as he looked down at Amelie, “Allison’s as good as dead.”

  John took another step, seeing no other choice but to try to disarm him. “There’s another way.” He tried to placate him. “A better way. Where’s Michael?”

  “Michael Waters?”

  “How many Michael’s could there be here? Clearly you’ve seen him. He has the cure, Zach. That’s why he came here. He needed the equipment to finish it. You don’t need the baby. Please, Nixon’s going to hurt her. Give her to me.”

  “Do what he says.” Scott stepped out of the stairwell and aimed his pistol at Zach’s head. “I won’t let you hurt her. John’s right, if Allison can be saved, Michael’s the one to do it.”

  Zach looked back and forth between them.

  John took the gun from his waistband. “There’s no way you’re going to walk away from here if we don’t let you.”

  Zach sighed and held Amelie out for someone to take her.

  “Smart move,” Scott said. “John, Miranda’s on the second floor. She’s in a room near this main stairwell and she has my gun, but Nixon’s there, too. Get Amelie to Miranda and lock the door. I have something to take care of.”

  John looked at the wheelchair. “What about Frank? I can’t leave him here.”

  Scott nodded in agreement. “I’ll take him out to the truck. It’s the least I can do.”

  John took Amelie from Zach and she started to cry. He’d never held such a small baby in his life and struggled to find a comfortable way to hold her.

  Zach reached behind him and pushed the elevator call button. The door opened immediately.

  Scott tilted his head and lowered his pistol. “And where are you going?”

  “To the last place I saw Michael, and he better have a cure.”

  CHAPTER 72

  Michael’s swollen eyes burned and fresh tears rolled down his cheek, but the critical part of him, the physician in him, functioned automatically. The man on his knees in front of him needed saving, and as much as it made his heart ache, Adam was gone. Priority went to those with a chance of survival.

  He helped the man in the familiar, blue uniform to his feet and looked him over for bite marks.

  “Follow me.” He carried Adam back to the lab where he’d left the supplies, hoping the virus would hold off, and that, this time, the cure would work. He laid Adam gently inside the trunk where his remains would be safe until he could bury him.

  The tattooed man collapsed on the floor, shivering.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Michael asked as a test of cognition.

  “Reid,” the man whispered. His teeth chattered and he crossed one arm over his chest. The other appeared injured and set at an odd angle.

  Michael recognized the name. He lifted Reid’s eyelid and shined a light into his eyes, which shimmered like fish scales. Beneath the discolored cornea, the pupil still responded. He set his fingers to the side of Reid’s thick neck, below the pistol tattoo, and found a weak pulse. He prepared an identical dose of the combination he treated Adam with, loaded it into a fresh syringe, and knelt on the floor.

  “Hang in there.”

  He rolled up Reid’s sleeve, struggling to get the sweat-soaked cotton over his large bicep, and secured a tourniquet. He wiped the injection site with an alcohol swab and easily found a vein. Unlike with Adam, Reid’s blood still circulated, meaning quicker, systemic distribution. Michael inserted the tip of the needle, drew a tiny amount of blood into the syringe, and pushed the cure in.

  The effects were obvious and quick.

  The shivering stopped almost immediately, as did the profuse sweating. Michael put his stethoscope in his ears and listened as Reid’s breathing cleared and his heartbeat recovered in strength and speed. The color returned to Reid’s face and Michael squeezed his fingertips, checking his nails as a test of blood flow.

  All signs were that the virus had not only stopped, but was reversed within minutes.

  Reid stared at the ceiling, one arm across him and the other at his side. He drew several slow breaths and rolled his green eyes in Michael’s direction.

  “How do you feel?” Michael asked.

  Reid cleared his throat and answered, “Human.”

  * * * * *

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.” Zach stood outside the lab and, again, held Michael at gunpoint. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Where’s the baby?” Michael asked. “What did you do with her?”

  “She’s safe, which is more than I can say for you if you don’t get moving.”

  Reid sat up and cradled his injured arm. “Zach Keller. Wish I could say I was glad to see you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual, Reid. Believe me. Let’s go.” He waved the gun for Michael to hur
ry. “Get what you need to do whatever you did to him, again.”

  “We don’t know that it’s permanent. I need time. I’m not sure there’s enough…”

  Zach pressed the pistol to Michael’s temple. “I’m not asking.”

  Reid made like he was about to reach for a weapon and Zach turned his gun on him. “Nixon wants you dead. I don’t think that’s news. I’m just looking for a reason to shoot you.”

  Reid smirked. “What’s the reason not to?”

  “I don’t like being told what to do. Get your hands up. Let’s go.” Zach moved out of the way of the bloody tissue and needles. “What of this do you need?”

  Michael looked at the closed trunk and the cardboard box on the examination table. “Almost all of it.” He collected some things and put others inside a small metal refrigerator or freezer which hummed on top of the counter. “I have enough mixed for one more dose. The rest, I have to prepare.”

  “Then I suggest you don’t get bit.” Zach marched Michael out ahead of him and called the elevator. He didn’t care about Reid, anymore. Not really. He was in too bad of shape to be any threat, and Allison was his more immediate concern.

  The elevator door opened and Zach held the door. “What’s in the trunk?” he asked.

  Michael secured the lock. “My son.”

  Zach remembered the small boy on the table and stopped short of asking for an explanation. The door started to close and Reid stuck his hand through to stop it.

  “You never asked how I got infected.” He spoke directly to Michael, who only raised his eyebrows in response. “I don’t guess it mattered at the time, but I wasn’t bit. Nixon injected the virus into me.”

  Zach sighed. “Not his first time with that trick.”

  Reid pulled his arm until his shoulder popped back into place. “Definitely not, but I plan on making it his last.”