CHAPTER 73
Michael stood with Zach and Reid outside of Allison’s room. A low buzzing noise came from a trash can with a red bag inside marked “Biohazard”. The smell bordered on unbearable.
“The door is locked.”
“I think Nixon has the keys,” said Zach.
Reid, who seemed to have recovered completely from the infection, pushed Zach aside. “Not only Nixon.” He jingled his keys, unlocked the room, and pushed the door open.
Allison lay unconscious on the bed. Blood seeped through the thick white bandages on both of her feet and stained the blanket covering her.
“How long has she been like this?” Michael asked.
Zach shook his head. “Which this are you talking about? The toes, she lost a couple of days ago. The unconsciousness, several hours, but Nixon sedated her. The infection, she’s had for the better part of a year.”
Michael drew his eyebrows together. “A year? How is that possible?” He wiped the sweat from Allison’s face with the blanket. She was burning up and her skin felt coated in wax. He lifted her eyelid and shined a light in her eye. Her cornea was too opaque to see so much as a hint of its color. He set two fingers to the side of her neck and found a weak pulse. “She’s alive, but barely.” He readied a syringe with the same combination that had worked on Reid and tied a tourniquet around her arm. Her pale skin told a long story of abuse with its needle marks and scars. He tapped her arm and settled for a thin vein he prayed wouldn’t immediately collapse.
Zach lowered the side rail and sat next to her. He held her hand and sniffled. “What are her chances?”
Michael stuck the needle through her skin and drew a tiny amount of blood into the syringe to make sure he was in the vein. “I honestly don’t know.” He depressed the plunger and wiped the tiny blood spot from her arm. “There’s a lot more going on with her than the infection. Here, give me a hand.”
Zach lifted the railing back into place and uncovered Allison’s feet.
Michael set a roll of fresh bandaging material on the bed, put on a pair of gloves, and unwrapped her left foot. “What happened here?” The blood became thicker, congealed the closer he got to the wound and he was mindful of the infection.
“Frostbite,” Zach said. “Nixon amputated her toes because of gangrene.”
Michael shook his head, unsure of whether or not he agreed with that decision. He looked at the rough wound, the site already showing signs of infection, and held pressure on it to slow the bleeding. Blood leeched through the tissues and spilled down her foot onto the bed. He reapplied a thicker compression dressing and decided it best to leave the other foot alone. Releasing the pressure had only made things worse. “We need to get her started on antibiotics.” He considered the condition of her veins and decided it best to wait until she could swallow a pill. An I.V. was nearly out of the question. He re-examined her eyes and sighed, relieved when a rim of blue appeared through the white.
“She’s responding to the treatment.”
Her pulse felt stronger and he listened to her heartbeat and lungs. The cure worked quickly for those who hadn’t yet completely turned. His mind started processing the data, thinking about practical application, and what it meant outside of Strandville.
“How long is she going to be out like this?” Zach asked.
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know what sedative Nixon gave her, when, or how much and I’m not entirely sure she isn’t in shock.” He turned his head at the sound of footsteps. “Speaking of which, where is Nixon?”
Zach looked around the room. “Better question yet, where’s Reid?”
CHAPTER 74
Blood poured from Nixon’s finger and the bite wound festered beneath the meager bandage. Sweat ran down his face and his leg muscles clenched then released, making it painful and awkward to walk. He had checked every place he could think of for the antivirus and feared he hadn’t the strength to go elsewhere. He pressed his back against the cold wall and slid to the floor.
The room spun and he held his hands to his head, though that didn’t stop it.
Memories of the earliest days with the infected, when he taunted and tortured them, flooded him. He had wrongly considered himself untouchable.
The virus knew no prejudice.
He rolled onto his knees, determined to fight back.
A spasm caused his back to arch and forceful vomit poured from his mouth onto the floor. He heaved and spat, losing control of his bodily functions. Warm urine trickled down his legs and he was lucid enough to feel the shame of his body refusing to obey his mind. He grabbed the bed’s side rail and pulled himself up with the last of his diminishing strength.
“One more room,” he whispered, closing his eyes and drawing a ragged breath.
“And then what?”
Max Reid stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Oh, thank God.”
Reid entered the room and closed the door behind him. “I wouldn’t thank anyone just yet.” His attention turned to something stowed underneath the gurney. “Get on the bed.”
“What’re you doing?” The glug-glug of Nixon’s heartbeat muffled the sound of his voice in his ears.
“What someone should’ve done a long time ago.” Reid pulled the pistol from the back of his pants and tapped the sight.
Nixon looked down at the red dot of light on his knee. Everything had come full circle. “Max, don’t do this. You need me. You need the cure.”
Reid pulled an empty syringe from his pocket, similar to the ones used for the antivirus, but larger and with blue plastic surrounding the needle instead of green. Nixon noted the difference.
“You mean this cure?” Reid asked.
Nixon shook his head, holding back tears which were on the verge of falling. “No, that can’t be.” He coughed into his hand and spattered it with blood.
“Oh, it can. I’ve been where you are right now, Doc, that shitty place where it hurts to take a breath. Your head’s pounding and you can’t see straight. Maybe, you even piss your pants, though I can’t say I got to that point.” Reid smirked. “You were right about that baby, though, the one whose blood you stuck me with. It wasn’t Miranda’s, but hers is here. Michael Waters, too. Remember him? He finished your work. He found the cure.”
“That’s my research, goddammit.” It took all of Nixon’s strength to argue.
Reid smiled. “That’s not what the rest of the world will think. It’s gotta hurt knowing he’s going to look like a savior, like a genius, and no one will even know who you are.”
“What do you want?” Nixon whispered. “What’s it going to take for you to help me?”
“You’re out of bargaining chips,” Reid said. “What I want now is payback.”
Nixon dropped to his knees and lowered his head. Every bone in his body ached and he could barely see. He couldn’t fight Reid off and he didn’t have the strength to escape him. His fate was sealed. “Do it,” he said, in a moment of complete and utter desperation. “Kill me.”
Reid shook his head and clucked his tongue. He tucked his pistol away and lifted Nixon by the front of his lab coat.
Nixon’s feet went out from underneath him and he clawed at Reid, trying to get free.
Reid shoved him onto the bed and grabbed the restraints from underneath it. “Bet you wish you didn’t have so many of these lying around.” He fastened Nixon’s left wrist to the railing. “How many people have you tied down knowing there was no way out?”
Nixon reached for the restraint and Reid dealt a sharp blow to his chin, sending his head backward. He fell against the pillow and was unable to get up.
Reid restrained his other wrist and then his ankles. “This fuckin’ virus of yours, takes everything out of you, doesn’t it. I had never wanted to die so bad in my life. You fight and you fight, but it’s stronger than you. It burns you up from the inside. The way your eyes have gone almost completely white, you’re close to dead already. You can bare
ly see me, can you?” Nixon blinked, unwilling to answer. Reid pulled a syringe of antivirus from the same pocket that had held the cure. “This little push was enough to keep me going until competent help arrived. Unlike you who’s been stumbling around for months with nothing to show for it. Michael did what you couldn’t. Problem is, to feel better, I mean really better, you need a full shot—sometimes two.” He stuck the needle through Nixon’s sleeve into his arm, and with the pain he was already in, he barely felt the pinch. “I’m going to let you have this last shot a few drops at a time,” Reid said. “It’s not enough to alleviate any of the pain or the fear you’re feeling right now, but it’s enough to keep you going. It’s enough to keep you wanting death more than anything and it lets me drag this out until I feel better about what you did to me.”
CHAPTER 75
Miranda pushed herself up on her elbows and strained to listen to what she could’ve sworn were voices coming through the wall. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but she’d lost enough blood to feel exhausted, lightheaded, and weak.
You have to find Amelie.
Maternal instinct drove her past her own pain and sickness toward a singular purpose she’d die to fulfill. She set Scott’s pistol down on the bed and plucked at the edge of the tape holding her I.V. in place. Her skin burned and the thought occurred to her that pulling the line, discontinuing the medication, might restart the bleeding. It was a risk she was willing to take. She scratched the loose edge until there was a large enough tail for her to yank the tape off. A soft, plastic tube jutted from her skin. She pressed her arm tight to her body as she pulled it from her vein. The momentary pain quickly subsided.
She scooted to the end of the gurney and slid until her feet hit the floor. Blood trickled down her legs, already sticky with a dried layer that made her skin feel taut. The swelling in her ankles had lessened, but the first few steps still hurt. Gravity took hold of her post-partum body. Her stomach sagged in a fleshy half-moon and the now ill-fitting maternity dress hung on her as if she were wearing the clothes of someone larger.
She shuffled to the door and held the knob for a moment to get her bearings before walking into the hall. The moment she opened the door, the voices became louder. Someone else was being held several rooms away and she made her way toward them.
It was Allison, Zach’s wife, and Zach was with her.
Miranda stopped in the doorway and aimed the pistol at Michael, who was washing his hands at the sink. She scanned for Amelie and found only the trunk and a box of supplies.
“Where is she?” she asked. “What did you do with my daughter?”
Michael swallowed and reached for the gun. “Miranda, what are you doing? Give me that.”
Her hands shook and she refused to budge.
Zach stood up from Allison’s bedside and she pointed the pistol at him. “Don’t you dare move, Zach. This doesn’t concern you.” She turned it back on Michael who had taken a step closer. “Stay where you are. Don’t take another fucking step. Where’s Amelie?”
Michael shook his head.
“What did you do with her?” Spit flung from her mouth as she spoke.
“She’s fine. I didn’t hurt her, Miranda. I swear it.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Zach said. “She’s with John.”
Allison moaned. Her eyes rolled open and called Zach’s attention.
Infant cries erupted in the hallway and Michael sighed, seemingly relieved.
Miranda backed out of the room.
John appeared in the stairwell, his messy brown curls covering part of his face and his eyes red from crying.
Miranda lowered the gun and rushed over to him, refusing to acknowledge her pain as she snatched Amelie from him. She buried her face against her daughter’s neck and held her tight. Relieved tears poured from her and she sobbed, vowing to never let her out of her sight again.
“What, did you get lost?” Zach asked John.
John shrugged. “I had to go around a mess in the stairs.”
Miranda adjusted her dress and immediately set Amelie to nursing. She could tell she was starving and the warm milk both soothed her and gave Miranda comfort.
Michael brought out a chair and Miranda sat down.
“I didn’t mean to take her.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “I didn’t know what else to do.” He reached down and moved Miranda’s hand lower on Amelie’s hip. “I had to take a marrow sample.” Miranda immediately bristled and he held up his hand. “I was very careful and she’ll be fine. There’s a needle mark, that’s it.” Zach called for Michael to come into Allison’s room. “She’s saved two lives already.”
“Your son?” Miranda asked.
Michael lowered his head. “It was too late for him.”
“Come on, get in here,” Zach said. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Miranda nodded for him to go and closed her eyes while Amelie ate and drifted off to sleep.
Two lives, he had said.
If Allison was one, who was the other?
CHAPTER 76
Scott stepped into the elevator at the basement floor and pushed the button marked “1”. His plan was to methodically go through each level, starting at the bottom, in hopes of flushing Reid out.
In a place as large as the center, a search party of one seemed almost pointless.
He had his reasons for wanting Reid dead, Nixon had been right about that much. Miranda and Amelie would never be safe as long as the grudge between them continued.
Finding him, however, proved harder than Scott expected.
The elevator door opened and Scott stepped into the lobby.
The automatic doors slid open and a cross-breeze swept through the first floor. The generator hummed behind the center and Scott wondered if maybe Reid had holed up temporarily in one of the outbuildings.
He kept both hands on his pistol as he walked, slowly, toward Central Receiving. The roll-up door had been warped during the fire and hung partially open. He ducked underneath it and immediately noted the carnage.
Three bodies lay on the pavement, the remains of an undead landscaping crew, all wearing the same brown uniforms. Each had been shot in the head, two of them twice. A lawnmower had been knocked on its side and a pool of gasoline surrounded it. A bloody rake sat in front of the threshold of a white shed whose doors were closed, but not locked.
“Gotcha.”
He slowly pulled the left shed door wide open. The rusty hinge squealed and the thin, wooden floor creaked. Old tools, discarded medical supplies, and equipment were piled on top of each other and the cramped space stunk of moldy grass. Scott took aim at the sobbing mess hiding in the corner. A sliver of skin was visible in the shadows above the collar of a navy blue uniform that was almost indiscernible in the dark.
“Come out,” Scott said. “I see you in there.” He squinted, looking for the telltale tattoos. “Reid, I said come out of there.”
The man turned his face into the light. It wasn’t Reid. A jagged scar extended from the corner of his eye to his chin and was covered in scratch marks. White spots dotted his cornea, and though Scott couldn’t see a bite mark, it was clear Corey was infected.
“Help me,” he whispered. Scott put his finger on the trigger and Corey held up his hands. “Please, no. Nixon promised me.”
“Promised you what?” Scott asked.
“The cure, if he lived to find it.”
“Lived? What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he be alive?”
Corey shivered. “Because he’s been bit.”
“Shit!” The realization struck Scott that Miranda was in grave danger and he felt sick for not noticing it. He fired a round into Corey’s head, killing him instantly, and ran to warn her, terrified he was already too late. His whole body shook as he ducked under the door and broke for the stairs. He thought about how Nixon had looked, about his bandaged hand, and the half-assed story about cutting it on a file cabinet. How could he have been so stupid? He threw
open the nearest door and ran as fast as he could toward the second floor. The stairwell put him out at the far end from where Miranda was and as soon as he opened the fire door, Nixon’s guards, Joe and Paul, were on him.
“Stop right there.” Joe, the one who reminded him most of Reid, set his sight on Scott’s chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Paul’s hair fell over his face and he brushed it back. “Following orders,” he said. “Put down your weapon.”
Scott shook his head. “Not a chance. Where’s Nixon?”
“I said, drop your weapon.” Paul moved a few steps closer and a door opened behind him.
Growls echoed from the room, the kind of guttural noise that made the undead sound feral. Reid stepped into the hallway and aimed at Paul’s head.
“There’s been a change in plans,” he said. Scott drew his eyebrows together, confused by the fact that Reid seemed to be on his side. “You got this one?” he asked.
Scott nodded and kept his pistol pointed at Paul.
Reid turned toward Joe and smirked. “Nixon must’ve really missed me.” Even he saw the resemblance.
“You’re really making this easy for us,” said Joe. “Nixon wants you both dead.” He set his sight so that the red dot rested steadily in the center of Reid’s forehead. “And here you are, two for one.”
Reid fired two rounds into Joe’s chest without warning and a third into Paul’s head. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
Scott’s mouth fell open. He immediately closed it and wiped the blood from his face.
Reid holstered his gun and stretched the shoulder Scott had shot him in almost seven months earlier. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m sick of Nixon’s orders.” He looked into the room behind him, shrugged, and started to walk away.
Everything had happened so fast it took Scott a minute to make sense of things. “What the hell was that about?”
Afterbirth: A Strandville Zombie Novel #2 Page 25