Melt

by JJ Pike

  She dialed Fran’s number. Her cell rang and rang. Everyone needed a Fran. What in the world would she do without her? She was her eyes and ears, in some instances her hands and heart. She made Alice look good and her work product look even better. She was indispensable. Her phone kept on ringing. Not good, but also not going to voicemail, so Alice let it ring.

  “You’re not going to believe what’s going on.” Fran was breathy; not like her.

  “Tell me when I get there,” said Alice. “Send a chopper. We’re medevacking Angelina back to St. Joseph’s. Get them to prep a sterile room. No plastics. Our team on hand. Get it done. I’ll sign off on the costs.”

  “Done,” said Fran.

  “Oh, and Fran?” Alice felt her courage rise as it always did when presented with an impossible puzzle. “Not a word to Jake.”

  “Roger that,” said Fran.

  Alice scanned the hall before turning her attention back to the security guard. “We need to get her out without touching her. You’re going to help. If it’s the last thing we do, we’re saving this child.”

  Chapter Six

  Black bears were sighted from time to time near their home down in the Hudson Valley, but up around the cabin the population density of black bears had skyrocketed. Last time Bill had checked—and he checked threats to his home and hearth like clockwork—50-60% of New York State’s bear population roamed the Adirondacks and that was only in areas open to hunting, which meant the real numbers of bears dangerously close to his family were higher than that.

  In their own little corner of paradise, the Everlees agreed that black bear sightings were up dramatically. That probably had something to do with the new landfill that had been plunked down not 20 miles away. The influx of weekenders meant the long-timers in the area simply didn’t have the numbers to vote the stinking eyesore down. And all those slick, idle wannabees from the City had their minds on Manhattan, rather than their vacation homes. So, the bears kept on coming in greater and greater numbers, closer and closer to human homes. The closer they got, the more habituated they were to being around humans and the more habituated they were, the harder it was to scare them away. Gone were the days when you could bang a steel pan with a metal spoon and scare a bear off your property.

  Bill couldn’t think about that now. He had to think about the bear in the barn. A bear in the barn, for crying out loud. Could it get any worse? If it had been outside, ambling around, looking for an easy meal, they would have hunkered down in the cabin and allowed her to pass, but the barn was the portal to their underground stores and if she made it down there, well, Alice would never forgive him. The pemmican they’d made the last time they were up at the cabin was their staple, should anything go wrong. Protein-packed and designed to last for many seasons, he couldn’t lose the pemmican. Could not.

  Bill signaled to the kids that they were to keep low to the ground. It went without saying that they needed to be as quiet as possible. He felt a wave of gratitude to Alice for all she’d taught them. They’d gone through this sort of “wild animal on our property” prep more times than he could count. Alice wanted everyone and everything to survive; it was one of her charming quirks. Or at least that’s what the kids thought. Bill knew it came from a different place. What that quirk meant was, animals were killed for meat, not sport; and everything on the animal was used for something, no waste, ever. It also meant they couldn’t just kill the bear, especially not a bear who had cubs. Not unless she presented an immediate threat to human life. If she was just passing through, trying to survive like the rest of them, Alice’s “Everything Lives” code dictated that they tranquilize the bear, rather than shooting her dead.

  Bill slid around the door to the barn and paused. The bear wasn’t more than 20 feet away. At least she hadn’t discovered their mouth-watering, hydroponic veggie patch on the other side of the sliding doors. She was on the ground, her head lowered into the opening in the floor. His heart flipped over and back again. So, it was bad, but not the worst scenario he could imagine. She hadn’t gone down there. She had just snuck in, torn open the trap door, and contemplated going down to decimate their dry and preserved stocks.

  Bears weren’t built for stairs, certainly not steep stairs that were deliberately difficult to navigate. He’d built the place with intruders in mind. The winding staircase was just one safety feature he’d thought up. He would have had a moment of pride, if he hadn’t been so panicked about keeping his kids safe.

  There was a crack just behind him. A foot on a stick, nothing more. Probably Petra. She was the least careful of the bunch. Bill didn’t look around. He kept his eye on the bear. She lifted her massive head and peered their way. He had to hope she was long in the tooth. Bears lose eyesight, just like humans, with age. Maybe she was like him and had 20-50 vision. He could hope for miracles. But, no. No grey around her muzzle and Midge had said there were cubs. Where were the infernal cubs? He scanned the barn as fast as he could then swung his eyeballs right back to the main threat: a fully-grown black bear who was rising up onto her back feet.

  It never ceased to amaze him, how that huge, low-to-the-ground beast could rear up and, if she put her mind to it, outrun him in a heartbeat. Their only chance now was to lure her outside, tranq her, and take her far, far away.

  It was obvious from the way the bear was standing her ground that the cubs were nearby. She was reared up fully now, ears slightly back, the ruff on her neck raised.

  “Aggie, go right. Stay close to the tree line. I want you back here and swinging that lure at her in three minutes. Not a second longer.”

  The food lure was always in the same place, over by the garage in a sealed tub. Everything in the cabin and surrounding compound had its place. It had to if this was to work as a genuine bolt hole from real danger. They always knew where everything was; no need to stop and search for anything. That was the way Alice had designed the place, so that her family could switch from, “hanging out in the woods” to “Action stations. Action stations. There’s a life-threatening incursion. Everyone do what needs to be done.”

  Aggie could do what needed to be done. She was reliable and resourceful and someone he could count on absolutely. She hunkered down as low as she could and hugged the edge of the barn, then sprinted—light and nimble, barely a sound—towards the pines. If anyone could get to the lure it was her.

  The bear let loose a low growl, so low it made the base of Bill’s spine tingle. He’d heard that noise before. She was getting herself ready. All she needed was the slightest excuse and she’d charge them. She reared back, her paw swiping at the air. It was a test, to see just how much of a threat he was.

  Bill prayed and prayed that Aggie had the bear lure. It was filled with what they called “bear scraps,” everything they could think of that a bear would love: nuts and berries and mice and salmon carcasses…all wrapped in a wax shell that kept the honking ball of refuse good and stinky, but completely sealed and, therefore, fresh enough to grab a bear’s interest. All Aggie had to do was break it open. An axe would do it.

  Aggie would test which way the wind was blowing, get upwind of the bear, smash the waxy mess open, wait for the bear to catch the whiff of delicious mouse guts, then lead her away from the barn so Paul could tranquilize her. It was like fast food, bear style, and it had worked before. Aggie knew what to do, where to go, how close to get so the bear would smell the lure. She was a pro. A fifteen-year-old pro. And if it went south, Petra had the rifle. They would kill the bear if they absolutely had to.

  The bear took a step closer and took a swipe at Bill. It was still a test. Her ears weren’t fully back.

  Then he heard it, a faint mewling from below. Her little ones were in his stock cellar. So, the whole plan was a bust. She would never leave without them.

  The bear reared back. She wasn’t going to retreat, but neither had she charged.

  “We’re going to need to take her down in the barn,” he whispered.

  Paul eased himself arou
nd his father, the tranquilizing rifle in his hand. It would never be their first choice—tranquing a bear in the barn—because it was just that bit harder to get them into the back of the truck. But Bill knew this was the way to go.

  Paul raised the rifle and nestled it in the crook of his shoulder. He’d been shooting since he was Midge’s age. He was an expert and couldn’t miss at this range.

  “There was no hot water.” Sean shouted from the cabin, then let the front door slam shut behind him. “I had a head full of that disgusting soap and when I put the tap on, I was doused in freezing fricking water.”

  Bill shot a look over his shoulder. Jiminy Christmas, did the kid know nothing about survival?

  Petra caught the look. She cocked her head as if to say, “Sorry, Dad.” But that wasn’t enough, if one of them died because some city kid didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut when faced with a bear. Her being sorry she’d brought this putz all the way to their safe place wouldn’t mean jack if someone got injured.

  He felt a hand on his leg and startled to the touch. He looked down to see Midge peering around the barn door. His heart went into triple overtime. “Get away from here,” he hissed. “You need to go back to the house. Petra, come get your sister…”

  “But…” Midge was already in tears. “Sean came out…”

  Bill shook his head. Of course she had thought it was okay. He rested his hand on her head. “Petra, get over here.”

  Then all hell broke loose.

  The bear roared and lunged at Bill as Paul cocked the gun and shot. Petra was screaming to get Sean and Midge back in the house, but no one knew what she was saying.

  The bear didn’t even acknowledge the intra-muscle dart. She lunged again, but barely moved her feet. She wanted to pose a maximum threat with a minimum chance they could get at her cubs. She opened her cavernous mouth and let rip. Her teeth were every bit as threatening as her roar. Bill didn’t like his chances if she decided to go full-on mama bear on his skull.

  It wasn’t like the movies. The bear didn’t stumble back, clutching at the site of the dart, then slump to the ground, completely out of it. All the tranquilizer did was make her a little woozy. It was going to take a while to travel through her blood stream and make it to her brain.

  “Again,” screamed Bill. “Shoot her again!”

  Paul fumbled with the tranq, but managed to get off another shot before the momma bear threw herself on top of Bill.

  Bill was ready. He had dropped onto his front and laced his hands over his head, with his legs spread slightly so the bear couldn’t roll him over with a single paw swipe. He felt her breath, hot on the back of his hands. It was true what they said, bears go for your head and neck. Her teeth were on him now, sliding over the back of his hands. The scent of his own blood filled his nostrils, but he could take a hand wound. As long as he could hold her off his neck, he’d be alright.

  Aggie banged a shovel against the floor boards on the far side of the barn. “I’m going down there to get your babies. Don’t think I won’t.”

  Bill prayed she was far enough away that the bear couldn’t get to her. But it was smart, getting closer to the trap door, so the bear’s attention was divided between him and the prospect of someone going after her cubs. He felt the two-hundred-pound creature shift on top of him, her paws still heavy on his arms, but her mouth shifting towards Aggie’s noisy demonstration of power.

  The tranq had barely made a dent in the bear’s consciousness. Sure, she was a little sluggish, but she was still capable of killing him and taking one or more of his kids out. He had to think of something other than playing dead. Alice would forgive him if he died protecting their children. Petra and Midge were already on their way back to the house, so they were safe. It was just him, the bear, Aggie and Paul. He could not let Aggie or Paul get hurt.

  He shifted his head, just enough to get his mouth out of the hay. “Close the trap door,” he mumbled. “Close it and run. Don’t stay. Don’t try to distract her. Just run.”

  Aggie made a dash for the middle of the barn and the bear was pushing off Bill, stumbling towards his middle daughter. He couldn’t let that happen. He shook his hands—blood dripping, the skin cut in jagged slashes—and grabbed the gun from Paul. He smacked the butt into the bear’s back just as hard as he could. All he needed was to give Agatha that extra edge. A few more seconds and she’d have the door closed and could hightail it back out the side door.

  It worked. The bear circled back and fixed her eyes on Bill as he scrambled to his feet. He wished, as he’d never wished before, that there was some connection between the two of them—that she would understand that he was trying to protect his cubs, too—but all he saw was the blind rage of a mama bear separated from her youngsters. And it was to be his last sight because she was coming right at him, full strength, no hesitation. He threw his arms up over his head to make himself look larger, but they were long past that now. She was in bloodlust, tempered only by the medicine coursing through her veins.

  Bill fell to the ground, the world spinning into blackness. The last thing he saw was Alice’s sweet, sweet face. Then, nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  “What did you see them use on her?” Alice was up in the guard’s face demanding answers.

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t here for that. I was just told she was allergic to everything. That she was contagious and to get everyone out of here.”

  “What does that mean, ‘allergic to everything?’”

  “Dissolved on contact. Melted off her.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Maxwell.”

  “Well, Maxwell. I am going to need your help.”

  The guy nodded. She’d been wrong when she first met him. He was no spy, no higher-up, no one “in the know.” He was just a regular old working stiff who took his job seriously. He’d been visibly moved when he saw Angelina. He wasn’t going to abandon her or make Alice leave the fourteenth floor.

  Alice looked back at the child who continued to moan. The marble slab was a clue. They’d put her on that deliberately. They’d already worked out that MELT—or whatever it was that was causing Angelina’s skin to peel and the people around her to sustain burns—wouldn’t be activated by that material.

  “Where’s the supply closet?”

  “Lady, I’m in security. I have no clue where they keep their supplies.”

  Alice flung her heels into the corner of the room and raced down the corridor, Maxwell loping along behind her. She’d never been on the Acute Care Ward but how different could the layout of each floor be? She’d spent so many hours with her mother-in-law at Mount Sinai, she had a fairly good idea where she could find sheets. She prayed as she hadn’t prayed in a long time that the sheets were 100% cotton. That would make the most sense. Easy to wash, easy to keep bleached clean. Or did hospitals not use bleach anymore? Anyway, sheets, that was the first order of business. She was going to tie Angelina to the slab and get her up to the roof where they’d be met by the incoming helicopter.

  She skidded to a stop outside a supply closet. It was locked, but she didn’t let that stop her. She reached into Maxwell’s belt and grabbed his nightstick, then bashed at the flimsy lock on the door. It didn’t take much. Sheets, after all, aren’t high on the list of supplies that need to be secured from the public. Not like meds. That would be a different challenge, but one she knew she’d have to take on if she was to get the girl under enough sedation to make it feasible to move her without killing her. Because the way things were going for Angelina, Alice didn’t fancy her chances in a helicopter. She had seen enough serious burn victims being moved to know that they didn’t do well unless they were pretty much out of it. Extra jostling led to more pain which led to shock which could mean death. Alice wasn’t willing to chance it.

  She pulled armfuls of sheets out of the closet and ran her fingers around the edges, desperate to find a label. “Glory be,” she said. “100% cotton. Tear these into long strips.”
>
  “Strips?” His tone said he thought she was three slices short of a loaf.

  “We’re going to strap her to the slab. We need materials that have no plastic derivatives. Cotton will be safe.”

  She eyed his gun. Would he part with it willingly? She didn’t have a lot of time to explain. Best go at it straight on. If he said no, well she’d find another way to blast her way into the pharmacy. That was surely locked behind a steel door. Or at least some kind of double-lock system that required a passkey or password or some other nonsense that would slow her down. “I need your gun.”