Desolation (Book 2): Into the Inferno

by Lucin, David

  A line of old self-checkout tills was the only indication that this was once a furniture and home supplies store. Row after row of cots and medical beds lined the cavernous space. Bright LEDs bathed the room in white, and the beep of instruments fought with muffled conversations for dominance in Jenn’s ears. The air smelled vaguely of bleach and burnt meat.

  Lionel paused next to the self-checkout tills and inspected his tablet. “This way.”

  He led them right, down an aisle flanked with cots. In one, a man lay on his side. A thin sheet concealed his lower half, and an IV line ran from a bag attached to a stand beside his bed. As Jenn passed, he rolled over. Bandages soaked with blood covered most of his face. What little skin was visible was scorched black. On the next cot, a woman sat up. The back of her hospital gown was open, exposing burnt flesh. A male nurse slathered a dollop of ointment onto the woman, who jumped at his touch.

  “What’s happened to these people?” Valeria eyed a young boy. Bandages covered his arm from hand to elbow. He coughed, then coughed again before breaking into a fit so violent he doubled over.

  “Burns, mostly,” Lionel said over his shoulder. He slowed to allow a doctor wearing a white lab coat to cross his path. “The explosions ignited fires all over the city. They’re starting to fizzle out now, thank God. Still burning, and will be for days to come, I imagine, but at least it’s not as bad as before. I’m sure you smelled the smoke.”

  “We did,” Jenn said. “It was so thick in Flagstaff you could hardly see more than a block away.”

  Lionel turned down another line of cots. “That’s part of the reason why we set up the relief camp here. All these buildings had solar power and good ventilation systems. People couldn’t breathe outside without masks or respirators. Lots of folks died of smoke inhalation in those first days, even if they managed to escape the fires.”

  Maybe that was how Jenn’s parents were killed. She wondered if that was better than dying in flames. After some consideration, she decided it was. Darkly, she thought vaporization in an atomic blast would be best. Quick and painless. No fear and no suffering.

  “The lack of air-conditioning in the city is also a problem,” Lionel continued. “Once we get into June and July, survivors left without power will be stuck in sweltering hundred-and-twenty-degree heat. Add in water and food shortages, and the situation’s looking mighty dire indeed. We expect to receive a lot more people, even though we’re already stretched to the limits.”

  “How many casualties in the attacks?” Dylan asked.

  “That’s not something we like to talk about,” Lionel said. “Not here, anyway. Regardless, we can’t be certain of the numbers. Needless to say, it was dev—”

  Sophie pushed Lionel aside, sprinted ahead, and dodged a nurse carrying a tray of food, then bumped into a chair and swore. She hobbled forward and held out both of her arms.

  Then, without warning, her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell to her knees beside a cot. Dylan, his mouth hanging open, moved away from Jenn and toward Sophie. Carter, who’d caught Lionel, let him go and followed. Valeria was saying something in Spanish.

  Sophie took a man’s hand in hers and brought it close to her face. Her eyes were shut. Tears streaked down her cheeks. The sight made a lump form in Jenn’s throat.

  Dylan waved her over.

  Jenn rubbed her arms. She should give them some time to be with Ed. They’d known him for years, and who was she? Everyone worked for him and Sophie, but not her. She could wait for them outside.

  As she began to turn, Lionel stopped her and said, “Go. Be with them.”

  “Jansen,” Dylan called, “get over here.”

  Lionel put a hand between her shoulder blades, then gave her an encouraging push forward.

  14

  On the bed lay a man with distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and a week’s worth of beard growth. He was smaller than Jenn expected. She imagined Ed as larger than life, as broad-shouldered and burly, the epitome of masculinity. But he was slight in stature, his frame narrow. His skin was pink with sunburn, and his cheeks caved in on themselves. Bandages covered most of his shoulder and the right side of his chest. A sling cradled his arm.

  Eyes shut, Sophie remained beside his cot, oblivious to the world. Dylan stepped up and shook his hand, careful not to disturb the IV above his knuckles. Ed smiled weakly at him. Next came Valeria, who reached down to hug him as tightly as she could. When it was Carter’s turn, he said, “What happened to your arm? Are you okay?”

  Ed waved his good arm. “Looks all right to me.”

  “Not that one!” Carter pointed to the bandages. “That one!”

  “Oh,” Ed droned. “Don’t you worry about that, buddy. I’m okay. Just a scratch. The docs say I’m fine.”

  “But your shoulder. It’s—” Carter started to object, but Dylan led him a few steps away from the cot.

  Ed then found Jenn. He gave her the same welcoming smile he gave the others, then offered his left hand for an awkward shake, so she moved closer and took it. His grip was so weak she might crush his fingers if she squeezed too hard.

  “I’m Ed,” he said.

  “Jenn.”

  “So how did my wife convince you to join her on this little excursion?” He faced Sophie and narrowed his eyes at her. “Even when I told her not to come after me, no matter what happened.”

  Sophie’s only response was to nudge Ed in the side. The gesture seemed oddly playful.

  “I’m the guide, I guess,” Jenn said. “I didn’t really do much guiding, now that I think about it.”

  Dylan made a dismissive sound. “You got everyone here in one piece. If not for you, we might’ve driven straight into an ambush in Camp Verde.”

  Ed hummed his agreement. “We did exactly that. The bastards chased us halfway to Prescott before they finally gave up.”

  “We met Sheriff Jordan,” Carter said to him. “He told us you stopped by.”

  “Jordan Wilson,” Ed corrected. “Jordan’s his first name.”

  Carter snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Hey, no worries.” Ed spoke to Carter almost as though he were a child, but Carter puffed out his chest and stood tall. He didn’t seem to mind. The opposite, in fact. “I never met him, but I chatted with one of the deputies outside of town. Mentioned Prescott was having some problems, so we turned south. That’s when it happened.”

  Ed paused. His eyelids drooped, and he licked his lips. Sophie saw it and shot up. “Nurse!” she shouted at nobody in particular. “Nurse! Can we get some water over here?”

  “It’s okay, Soph.” Ed squeezed her hand. “I’m fine.”

  Sophie waved at a nurse spoon-feeding a man seated in a folding lawn chair. “Hey! You! You deaf? My husband needs water!” She left the cot and approached her.

  “She never listens to me,” Ed said to Jenn. “As you can see.”

  When he spoke to her, a warmth spread throughout her chest. He made her feel welcome. Wanted, even. It felt like she’d known him her whole life. “I don’t think she listens to anyone,” Jenn joked.

  “This one.” Ed waved a finger at her while looking up at Dylan. “She’s got my wife figured out already. It’s been almost twenty-eight years and I’m still clueless.”

  “So what happened, Ed?” Carter said. He crouched down beside the cot and leaned his elbows on it. “We found José and Tess.”

  Ed shut his eyes.

  “The soldiers,” Valeria said. “They’ve promised to bury them.”

  “Thank God.” Ed ran his tongue along his lips some more before continuing. “After Prescott, we decided to take the back way and go around that bridge outside Cordes Lakes. They—whoever they are—must have seen us turn off or were waiting up there to begin with. Came out of nowhere, just opened fire. Boxed us in. Trapped us. Then they hit José. Me and Tess tried to make a break for it. They killed her. I took one to the shoulder.” He patted the bandages some more. “I made it away. Don�
��t know how. Maybe they stopped caring once they had the truck.” His voice caught. “I didn’t deserve it. I should’ve died there with them. I shouldn’t have run.”

  “Hey,” Dylan said. “There’s no shame in surviving.”

  Survivor’s guilt. According to Gary, Liam fought with it for years after his tour in West Ukraine. Jenn realized that she was suffering from it, to an extent. Maybe that was what this whole journey was about. If she’d decided to go home right after finishing her final exams, she would have died with her parents.

  Sophie returned with a plastic cup and a red face. “Idiots in this place,” she said and shot a cold glare at Lionel, who hung in the aisle. “All of them.” She knelt again and brought the water to Ed’s lips. He took a small sip and then waved her off.

  “So what happened next?” Carter asked.

  Ed dried his mouth with his forearm. “I kept going toward the city. I’m not sure why. Closer than home, I guess. I tried wrapping my shoulder, but it was bleeding bad. Spent the night in the desert, continued on in the morning. I must have passed out, ’cause when I came to, I was in the bed of a Humvee and heading down here. Docs pulled the bullet out—without anesthetic.” He scrunched up his face at the memory.

  Jenn noticed Ed’s breathing: heavy and rapid. He was sweating, too, despite the air-conditioning. Was he sick? Nicole would probably know.

  “They saved my life,” Ed said, more to Sophie than to anyone else.

  She pressed her forehead to her husband’s, and they both shut their eyes.

  That thickness returned to Jenn’s throat. “Let’s go, guys. We should give them a minute.”

  Dylan and Valeria backed away. Carter stayed behind, his arms folded atop the cot. “Vladdy,” Dylan said. “It’s all right. He’s in good hands.”

  Carter patted Ed on his bandaged shoulder. “Can I see you again soon?”

  Ed held out his hand for another shake. “You bet, buddy. Thanks for coming to get me. I missed you guys.”

  As Carter joined them, Lionel finished speaking with a doctor who looked too young to have even enrolled in medical school. His face told Jenn something was wrong.

  “I’m glad you found him,” Lionel said. “That man is lucky to have people like you.”

  An awkward silence smothered the group. Lionel wore the same foreboding expression as before. At the cot, Sophie had fit herself beside Ed and lay next to him, his arm draped over her stomach and her fingers interlaced with his.

  “He’s sick, isn’t he?” Jenn said. “An infection.”

  Lionel’s mouth drew into a line. “I think we should talk outside.”

  They left the makeshift hospital through the automatic doors. The drone at the front entrance monitored them closely. Another buzzed overhead, and a truck, its bed stacked full of blue plastic boxes, rolled past as people moved aside to let it through. Jenn shivered and hugged herself.

  Lionel sat on a bench beside one of the brick-covered pillars. Carter took the spot next to him while the others remained standing. There was a mister nearby, reminding Jenn of her trip to the mall when she was a little girl.

  “Sepsis,” Dylan said. “Am I right?”

  “What’s that?” Carter asked.

  “It means he’s got an infection. The body’s working too hard to clear it out, and it’s making him sick.” He spoke to Lionel next. “So?”

  “That’s what the doctors tell me.” Lionel rubbed his knees. “Apparently they found him too late. The wound was already infected when he came in. If it was an arm or a leg, they would’ve amputated, but since the bullet hit so close to his chest, they couldn’t. He needs antibiotics.”

  “Then give them to him,” Valeria barked. She waved a hand for emphasis.

  Lionel struggled to make eye contact. “That’s the problem. This isn’t a proper hospital facility, and that means we have very limited supplies, most of which we used up in the first couple of days, before your friend arrived. You must understand, we were flooded with tens of thousands fleeing the fires. I’m told we’re entirely out of the antibiotics he needs. The federal government has promised us a shipment of food and medicine, but there’s no timeline. It could arrive tomorrow or in a month. It’s all up in the air.”

  “Then we’ll bring him home,” Carter offered. “In the truck. We know the way.”

  Dylan stirred beside Jenn. “The trip could kill him. He’s gotta be hooked up to an IV to keep as hydrated as possible. Not to mention that he just went through surgery without anesthetic. I hate to say it, but that cot is the safest place for him right now.”

  “Then what?” Carter said. “Can’t anyone go get more medicine?”

  All eyes fell on Lionel. He ran a hand over his scalp. “We already tried. Three days ago, the army sent out a team to gather supplies from a hospital near Cave Creek. We lost contact with them.”

  Carter slammed a fist on his knee. “Then send someone else!”

  “There is no one else,” Lionel said, raising his voice. “Please, trust me, we’re undermanned and understaffed. There’s over fifty thousand people in the camp, and we have less than a company of soldiers assigned to this part of Phoenix. Half a platoon is up north, guarding the roads against those raiders you ran into. Most of the rest are trying to keep order here and track down gangs deeper in the city. The modular housing complex a few miles south in Anthem? It’s worse than Mexico City in ’58. Complete and utter anarchy. Quarantining that alone takes almost a hundred men.”

  He struggled to his feet, tucking a corner of his shirt into his pants as he did so. “Look,” he continued. “Things may seem all right on the surface, but food is already running low. We’ve scoured every supermarket and pharmacy this side of the blasts, and folks are still getting restless. This camp, it’s a temporary solution at best. We’re doing what we can to help, but if that delivery of supplies from the feds doesn’t come soon, the lid’ll pop. Keeping this place in working order means having as many boots on the ground here as possible. I apologize in advance for saying this, but they aren’t my words: the military has bigger fish to fry, and they’re under strict orders to get the city under control, even though, personally, I think that’s impossible. Scouring hospitals just isn’t the priority for them at the moment. If I ask for another team to head out, I’ll be laughed all the way to Alaska.”

  Jenn couldn’t let Ed die in that cot. According to Dylan, Ed saved him from a life on the streets. He was sleeping in a shed, and instead of throwing him out, Ed fed him and offered him work. And Carter? The man worshiped Ed. Jenn could see why: Carter had no family in town, but thanks to Minute Tire, he had a job and a purpose—things few people possessed in a world of economic depression and war. She didn’t know Valeria’s story, but if Carter and Dylan were any indication, Ed had likely rescued her somehow, too. Was she a refugee from Colombia? Probably. It made sense. Thousands came into the country after the Brazilian invasion. Most ended up getting tossed into modular housing complexes. But not Valeria. She helped run the Beaumonts’ businesses.

  Although Jenn had known this man for all of ten minutes, if anyone deserved help, it was him. Besides, he made a wisecrack about his bum shoulder to Carter. How could she not respect someone like that? Since the bombs, her world was mired in misery and violence. Ed, with his jokes and his positivity, cut through all that. For that reason alone, he was worth fighting for.

  “We can go,” Jenn offered.

  Carter gaped at her. Valeria widened her eyes, but not in surprise—in approval. Dylan crossed his arms over his tiny T-shirt. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he said, “I’m with Jansen.” Then, to Lionel, “You give us your trucks and our weapons, and we’ll get those antibiotics.”

  Jenn remembered the little boy with the cough and the man with the burnt face. “And more. Whatever you need, if we can find it and carry it, we will.”

  “Val,” Dylan said. “You in?”

  She clapped her hands together. “Si. Of course.”

  “Vladdy?
”

  Carter’s chin fell to his chest. “Ed and Sophie said I’m not supposed to.”

  “Screw what they say,” Jenn cut in. “You’re part of this team.”

  “She’s right,” Dylan said.

  “Really?” Carter asked.

  Jenn held out her hand to help him off the bench. She tried not to wince when he took it and pulled himself up. “Really,” she assured him.

  “There you have it,” Dylan told Lionel. “Looks like you’ve got your manpower.”

  “Well, hot damn.” Lionel retrieved the tablet from his pocket. “I’ll call in some favors so your trucks and supplies are released. Heck, I might even see if I can’t find you some extra firepower to boot.”

  Jenn clapped once. “Let’s tell the boss.”

  She made to go inside, but Lionel called out to her. “Wait,” he said. He pressed his hands together and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Sophie still lay with Ed, whose eyes were shut. Briefly, Jenn feared that he might have died, but relief washed over her when she saw his chest rise and fall.

  A few beds away, Dylan waved Sophie over. Careful not to wake Ed, she extricated herself from his grasp and peeled herself off the cot. She tiptoed over, checking behind her every few steps to ensure that Ed was still sleeping.

  “What?” she asked. “You all look like you’re keeping a secret. Out with it.”

  “Ed has a blood infection,” Dylan told her plainly. “He’s got sepsis.”

  Sophie touched her collarbone in search of her necklace. “And? If you haven’t noticed, we’re in a hospital.”

  “There’s no medicine left,” Carter said.

  The lines around Sophie’s mouth deepened, and the tendons in her neck went taught. A vein pulsed on her forehead. “Then go get the trucks. We’ll drive him home. At the house, we have plenty of antibiotics there.”

  “No,” Jenn said.

  “No?” Sophie towered over Jenn and peered down at her. “I don’t recall dying and relinquishing command of this operation to you. You’re the guide. You found a route here. Bravo. Almost got us killed in the process, but I’m willing to let that slide because my husband seems to like you. But in no way, shape, or form is this your call to make.”