Her Last Defense

by Vickie Taylor

  Chapter 19

  Brinker leaned over Macy’s bed and wondered if she could still see him. Still hear him. He had to go on as if she could.

  “Macy, I’m going to intubate you now to help you breathe.”

  “No.” Her voice sounded as though she’d swallowed glass, but he was glad to hear it no matter how it sounded. “Have you…heard from him?”

  David didn’t have to ask who “him” was. He’d seen the way she looked at her Ranger. She’d never looked at him that way.

  And, he had to admit, he’d never looked at her that way, either. In his own way, he’d loved her. But he’d loved his science more. It wasn’t until he thought he was losing her that he’d become desperate to keep her. He’d have to live with what he’d done as a result for the rest of his life, and still it would never be punishment enough.

  He should be the one with ARFIS, the one dying. Not her.

  Not her.

  If she died, if anyone else died because of him, he wasn’t sure his life would be worth living.

  “No word yet, honey, but I’m sure they’ll all be back soon. They had a good lead. They’ll come back and they’ll bring the cure.”

  “Tell him, David,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Tell him what?”

  “Tell him to be strong. Don’t give up.”

  “I’ll tell him, honey. I know he’d tell you the same thing if he were here right now.”

  “Tell him I know he’ll find a way to keep doing what he does.” She swallowed painfully. “Tell him I love him.”

  “He knows, honey.” He stroked damp curls back from her forehead. He could feel her fever even through two pairs of gloves. “He knows.”

  As her eyes closed again, he curled her fingers around the silver circle and star in her limp palm, then picked up the synthetic hose that would hold her airway open as her body’s organs began to shut down, one by one.

  “What the hell is taking so long?”

  A block away from the football stadium, Clint marched back and forth outside the mobile command post.

  “You know the drill,” Del said calmly beside him, waiting in full tactical gear—a reminder to Clint that his fate and Macy’s was out of his hands now. Thanks to his undependable arm, he would be stuck in the command post handling radio traffic while his friends entered the stadium.

  He guessed it was better than being left out of the operation altogether. The Rangers had taken the news pretty well. Been sympathetic without making a big emotional scene. Thank God for that. His emotions were in enough of a turmoil already today. He just wanted to get this over with. Get back to Macy.

  “This is a big place,” Del continued. “We had to call in SWAT teams from five suburbs to cover it. Dallas Fire Department just now got here with the hazmat gear. The captain had to study blueprints of the structure, come up with a plan. Everybody has to be briefed. It takes time.”

  “It’s been over an hour.”

  “And it’ll probably be another before we go.”

  And another couple of hours to get the cure back to Houston. If they found a cure.

  Too long. It was taking too long. Assuming Macy was still alive when they got back. Even if she was, it might be too late. If her internal organs were too badly damaged, she couldn’t survive even if they did manage to kill the virus in her system.

  He checked his watch. “If they’re here, they’ve been in there almost all night.”

  “I imagine it’s delicate work tapping into the water lines without setting off any alarms or causing a flood. And they’ve got to have some kind of complicated setup to keep the virus alive in a contained environment until they’re ready to release it into the water. Otherwise the virus would all be dead before people arrived for the game tomorrow. Plus they’d probably want to insert the virus at multiple points in the system, to catch as many people as they can, and as a failsafe. That’s all gotta take time.”

  Del was right. But what if they weren’t in there? What if they were long gone, their cure with them?

  He and the other officers here would have saved the city, maybe the country, from a major catastrophe, he told himself.

  But Macy would still die.

  “So how come you didn’t tell me about your arm?” Del said, watching him pace from his position propped against the van. Trying to distract Clint? Or honestly hurt that he hadn’t leaned on him? He wasn’t sure.

  “We’re supposed to be partners,” Del said. “Not to mention it was my wife you were trying to save when you got shot. Makes me kind of responsible, you know?”

  No distraction. Del was stinging. And more than a little pissed off underneath that veneer of calm.

  “It was nobody’s fault but my own I got shot. And I wanted to say something to you, to all of you. I just…couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  “You mean you were in denial.”

  “That, too.”

  Del heaved out a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Clint felt for him. His partner had been standing around in fifty pounds of Kevlar for an hour. Plus he had the added burden of the gas mask slung over his shoulder, and the weight of the danger he was about to walk into squarely on his shoulders. It wore on a man.

  “I still feel responsible,” he muttered.

  “You think you owe me? Now’s the perfect time to pay the debt. You make sure nothing goes wrong in there. Take those guys down and find that cure, if they’ve got one.”

  Before Del could respond, the door of the command center swung open. Bull Matheson stuck his head out. “Green light. Get ready.”

  Time accelerated. Seconds that seemed to drag by just moments ago now flew as men in heavy armor scrambled to get in position.

  Bull Matheson gathered his team and looked at Clint. “You keep track of the other teams. Keep us out of the cross fire if it gets dicey in there.”

  “Will do.”

  “Everybody check your masks. Make sure your gloves don’t have any tears. Hazmat showers will be waiting when we come out, just in case.” He turned his attention to Kat. “And you stay with me. No matter what.”

  Her “will do” was notably absent. Bull had been sitting on her like a hen on a chick since she’d joined the team. It looked like she was starting to resent it. Bull didn’t seem to notice, though, as he looked back to Clint. “If there’s anything in there that can help the doctor, we’ll find it.”

  A lump the size of San Antonio lodged in Clint’s throat. These were his friends, dressed out like knights in armor and ready to put their lives on the line to save the damsel in distress.

  And a few hundred thousand other lives, he reminded himself. Every kid who washed his hands in the bathroom or person who took a drink from the public fountain at tomorrow’s game was at risk. Then they’d take ARFIS home to their friends and families, who would spread it to their coworkers when they went back to work Monday morning, and on and on.

  Where would it stop? Would it stop at all, or were they looking at a biological Armegeddon?

  He couldn’t say anything to his team, his partners, so he just nodded.

  Moments later he sat behind a console with dozens of switches and buttons, a headset pulled tightly down over his ears and microphone in front of his mouth.

  “All teams, on my mark.” He blew out his breath, said a short prayer. “Go.”

  Keeping track of the three entry teams and the resources deployed outside for containment should anyone try to bolt required every bit of Clint’s attention for the next ten minutes, and still he had a sense of a clock in the back of his mind, the hands sweeping around, ticking away the seconds of Macy’s life.

  “Control, this is red team.”

  “Control. Go, red team.”

  “We’ve reached the boiler room. No sign of targets.”

  He heard Kat’s voice, high-pitched as always when her adrenaline was flowing. “I’m going to check the water lines.”

  “No, wait for me.”

  “There’s no one
here, Cap—”

  What Del heard next was hard to interpret. Running feet. Labored breathing. Muttered curses. The oomph of one body slamming into another.

  The explosion that came next required no interpretation.

  “All teams, hold position! Red team leader? Red team leader? Status.”

  Only static answered him.

  “Control, blue team leader. We’re close. We’ll go.”

  “No.” His stomach twisted, wanting to send help, send eyes to tell him what was happening, but he couldn’t put more officers in danger. “Hold your position.”

  “Red team. Reply. Red team.”

  Relief washed over him when he heard someone’s harsh breathing come on the line. “Control, the place is booby-trapped.” Del. What about the others? “Explosive devices deployed. Red team leader is down. Repeat, red team leader is down.”

  “Can you get him out?”

  “The way we came in. Have medics meet us at the exit,” Del replied grimly. “It’s bad, Clint. Real bad.”

  An hour and a half later, Del stepped out of the mobile command center. Kat crouched by a wheel well, still in her body armor, with her face in her hands. Del waited for him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “She feels responsible.”

  “He told her to stay with him.”

  “Any of us would have done the same thing, checked out the water lines. Hell, I was headed over there myself. She just got there first.”

  “Bull saw the device?”

  Del nodded. “Practically threw her out of the way about a half second before it blew. Took the full force of it himself. Any word from the hospital?”

  “No. It could be awhile. I’m sure he’s still in E.R.” At least he hoped the captain was in E.R, and not the morgue. He’d seen the injuries. Del had been right. It was bad. Real bad. “I gave them my cell phone number and asked them to call as soon as they knew anything.”

  “So that’s it?” Del asked. “It’s over?”

  “Blue team and green teams both found virus canisters with material to sustain live virus tapped into the water lines, along with what the clean-up crew found at your location. All three sites were booby-trapped. But there was no sign of the targets.”

  Del swore. “I’m sorry.”

  Clint was sorry, too. His chest felt cold and dead with sorry, despite the lives they’d saved.

  “They were probably gone long before we got here. Must have seen the first cop who stopped to check out the van, decided they could do without it and hoofed it in the opposite direction.”

  “Maybe someone saw them on the road. It’s not like there’s anything else real close, anywhere they could have gone.”

  Clint heard him, but his mind was somewhere else. “Have they towed the van yet?”

  “No. Hazmat crew wants to have a look first, make sure there’s no more virus in it.”

  Clint was jogging across the parking lot before Del finished the sentence. He blew by the uniformed officers securing the van and stopped by the driver’s door, cupping his hands to peer in the windows. Del was right behind him.

  “What are you doing? Hey, you don’t even have hazmat gear on.”

  “The hell with it.” He tried the door handle. Locked. He broke the driver’s side window with the butt of his gun. At least the damn thing still served some purpose.

  “Hope that these guys didn’t carry all their gear into the stadium with them.”

  He crawled across the driver’s seat, checking the glove compartment and center console. Del opened the side door and checked the cargo area. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing here, either.” Then Clint bent over, and hissed in a breath.

  Under the passenger seat was an insulated lunch bag, zippered closed. He pulled it out gently, ran the tab back to open it, and pulled out a plastic baggie with four small, brown vials inside.

  Del leaned over the passenger seat from the back. “Is it virus, or cure?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “But I know someone who will.”

  Macy gradually became aware of a bright light in front of her. It pulled at her consciousness. It called to her. She wanted to go to the light. Down deep in her soul she needed to go to the light, but she was afraid. Afraid this was the light. The eternal light. The light of the hereafter.

  Isn’t that what all those near-death stories described? A bright light that called to them, promised them warmth and comfort beyond words?

  Innumerable aches and pains began to make themselves known to Macy. She’d never been flattened by a truck, but this had to be what it felt like. Her head throbbed. Her throat felt raw. Her arms and legs felt like lumps of clay attached to her torso.

  She tried to drift back, back to the dark where she’d been—how long? It was cold there, and lonely, but at least there was no pain. No light tempting her to give up her life.

  Clint had asked her to fight, and for him, and because she didn’t want to die before she had a chance to tell him she loved him, she had fought. She’d fought with every ounce of her will and her strength. But both those were gone now, and no matter how hard she tried to crawl back to the darkness, the light called her. It called her with such insistence that she couldn’t hold on any longer.

  Choking back a sob, she let go. She floated toward the light. The bright rays warmed and filled her, took away some of the pain, and she stopped fighting. She opened her eyes to face the light, and what lay on the other side.

  Gradually a figure took shape in the light. A dark silhouette, tall and lanky. The hazy edges of the light sharpened until she realized it wasn’t a light at all, or at least not that light, but a window with the sun shining brightly through it.

  In front of the glass stood her Ranger, calling her name.

  Was he really here—wherever here was—or was she having some sort of out-of-body experience?

  “Clint?” Her throat felt as if someone had scrubbed it with a wire brush.

  He jammed his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans and strode toward her. She still couldn’t see much of him. The light behind him was too strong. It hid his face and made her eyes water.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said.

  She snuffled. Blinked. “You came back.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “Need— Need to tell you—” She couldn’t get the rest out. She needed to take a breath first. Several breaths.

  He stopped beside her. “Tell me what?”

  “G-goodbye.” Her tears welled over her eyelids to leave warm trails down her cheeks. “And I love you. Didn’t— Didn’t get to tell you. Before.”

  “I’ll take the ‘I love you,’ part. But this isn’t goodbye. More like hello again.” He propped one hip on the edge of her bed and used his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

  For the first time, she realized he wasn’t wearing any protective gear. Fear exploded inside her like an over-filled water balloon. She tried to scrabble back, away from him, but she was so weak all she managed was to thrash against the sheets. “No! Clint, don’t touch me. Mask. You need a mask! Please—”

  Horror strangled the rest of what she wanted to say.

  “Shhh. It’s all right.” He stilled her with his big hands on her shaking shoulders, then framed her face. “It’s okay. The virus is all gone. It’s been out of your system for days.”

  ARFIS, gone? While she tried to comprehend what he was saying, he let her go, straightened up and the impenetrable shield he usually wore over his expression fell away. He smiled.

  Clint, smiling?

  He had a beautiful smile. White and straight and strong.

  “You still gave us a scare. The virus had done quite a number on your systems. It took a few days to stabilize you, but you’re going to be fine.”

  “B-but…how?”

  He dipped a finger under the neck of her hospital gown, lifted a thin chain. On the end of it dangled the silver star and circle. “Texas Rangers always get their man.” His smile broadened. “Even t
he microscopic ones.”

  Epilogue

  It was a perfect night in heaven.

  The last few leaves of fall clung to the trees under a silver-dollar moon. The surface of Lake Farrell, the best fishing hole in southeast Texas, or so Clint told her, rippled like black velvet. And the air, sharp with the scent of pine, was clean enough to scrub the last remnants of illness out of a woman’s lungs with each breath.

  Macy stood in the doorway of Clint’s cabin, with José chattering happily in her arms and picking at her hair. After the monkey had helped save her life, she could hardly have abandoned the poor thing. He’d adjusted amazingly quickly to life as a pet. He was already spoiled rotten.

  José lifted one simian hand and pointed toward the lake, his voice raising from chatter to full squawk.

  “Yes, I see him.”

  Out on the pier, her husband placed beer bottles in a neat row and then headed back to shore.

  They’d been married by the hospital chaplain as soon as she was strong enough to sit up. He didn’t want to miss out on a single day living with her as his wife, Clint had claimed. He’d let her hold on to his badge until he replaced it with a ring.

  “Watch this,” he said as he stepped back on the porch.

  Then he sat down in the creaky old grapevine chair and frowned at her bare feet on the cold planks. Nearly a month had passed since she’d woken in the hospital, weak and disoriented, and he still worried about her.

  He motioned her over with his fingers and pulled her into his lap, tucking the quilt she had slung over her shoulders carefully over every exposed bit of skin before lifting his gun.

  In his left hand.

  “Plug your ears,” he said.

  She did, and turned her face into his shoulder to protect her eyes. She knew what was coming. He’d started training himself to shoot with his non-dominant hand over a month ago. The question was, was it working?

  Clint fired three rounds, and she raised her head to see, almost afraid to look. His early efforts had met with frustration, but he’d been practicing religiously. She knew how important it was to him.