by Lucin, David
Dylan radioed Sophie and told her to join them here. The six navigated the corridors with Dylan in the lead. In the middle of the pack, Jenn scanned inside rooms for movement. Her flashlight lit up a wheelchair, a tablet, and an upside-down bedpan. Even though the hospital had been evacuated, she expected to see a body.
The hallway terminated in a T-intersection. “Which way, Doc?” Sophie asked.
Ben lifted a limp arm and pointed left. When he made to follow Dylan, he tripped and stumbled to his knees. Carter put a thick hand beneath Ben’s armpit and dragged him forward. His feet dangled behind as they struggled to gain purchase.
The shooting outside ceased. The doctor’s whimpering filled Jenn’s ears, so she shut her eyes to focus.
Nothing. No machine gun and no rifles.
Did that mean Rusty had been destroyed? Could gunfire wreck a drone like that? If the Major’s men had taken it out, they might have even heavier weapons, such as grenades. Jenn didn’t hear an explosion. Not yet, anyway. She wished Rusty’s camera worked so she could see what was going on.
“Pass me the tablet.” Dylan held out his hand.
She pulled it from her pocket and gave it to him.
Blue light lit up Dylan’s face as he tapped at the screen. “The drone’s still online.”
The muscles in Jenn’s neck loosened, then tightened again. If Rusty wasn’t destroyed, why had it stopped firing?
“What happened out there?” Sophie asked.
Dylan put the tablet to sleep and slipped it into his pocket. “My guess? It doesn’t have any targets to shoot at anymore. So either everyone’s dead or the Major’s people realized it was nothing but a distraction and are on their way in here.”
Not for a second did Jenn believe that Rusty had killed all the guards at this hospital. They were out of time.
“We’ll assume the latter,” Sophie said. “So let’s get on with it.”
They passed a bank of elevators and a service desk. A large LED screen hung above it. Jenn navigated around a wheel bed that lay on its side. Still no bodies.
“Here,” Ben said. “This one.” He flailed an arm at a closed door on their left. Sophie and Valeria lifted their guns as the doctor pulled a keyring from his pocket. “It’s locked. Let me—”
The keys fell from his hand and struck the floor with a clink that echoed down the hallway and made Jenn wince.
Dylan ignored it and retrieved the key Lionel had given him. When he pushed open the door, the group poured inside.
Shelves taller than Jenn, at least six of them, lined the room. Wheelchairs, most of them folded up, ran along the nearest wall.
“Doc,” Sophie said, scanning a shelf. “Intravenous antibiotics. Where are they?”
Four flashlights fell on him, and he threw his hands up to shield his eyes.
Sophie tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist. “Tick-tock, Doctor. Good chance that there’s almost a dozen angry people with guns storming this hospital as we speak.”
“Right,” Ben said. “Right. They’re, uh . . .” He shuffled down an aisle and touched a shelf. “Here! They’re here!”
Carter dropped one of his duffel bags and unzipped it. Sophie pulled down a box and shoved it inside.
“What else do we need?” Jenn asked.
Dylan opened Lionel’s list of supplies on the tablet. “Gauze.” He squinted at the screen. “Needles, alcohol pads, and something called Aqua-Gel.”
Jenn secured her weapon in its holster to free up her hands, picked an aisle, and made her way down. Memories of the dark Go Market—the sound of the shouting and the smell of sour milk—came roaring back. The darkness here was absolute. If not for her LED, she would have seen nothing but black. Her pulse kicked up a notch. So did her breathing. Her eyes invented shapes moving around the room. Every time she shown the light toward them, they disappeared.
Squeezing the flashlight tighter, she scoured the nearby shelves: a stack of bedpans, a box of cotton swabs, a bag of disposable gloves.
Alcohol pads! She unzipped her backpack and stuffed them inside.
“Did you find anything?” Carter asked.
The air evacuated her lungs, and she jumped. A hand to her chest, she said, “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry,” he said. Jenn’s flashlight, pointed at the floor, cast sharp shadows across his face. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he was holding a box of alcohol pads. “Do we need this stuff?”
“Yeah, it’s on the list.” Jenn plucked the box from him and shoved it into the duffel bag.
“What’s next?”
She led them down the aisle and found a package of gauze. Together, they took as many as they could fit. Having Carter so close helped ease the flow of adrenaline and steady her breathing.
When their bags were full, they met the others by the door. All but Ben and Carter wore bulky backpacks, though Carter carried two duffels. The doctor had one as well, and so did Dylan. Altogether, it didn’t seem like much, not considering the population of the relief camp and the size of the hospital in Home Plus, but it was enough to save Ed, at least.
“Time to go,” Sophie said.
They moved into the hallway and toward the service desk. A dark exit sign above it stood next to the bank of elevators. As they approached, white light shined through the square window in the door.
At first, Jenn thought it was a reflection from her flashlight. But when she heard heavy boots on the floor, her legs took over and spun her around. Dylan fell into a crouch and waved for everyone to retreat.
They ran past the supply room. A dozen strides later, Carter tripped, stumbled, and dropped one of his bags. Several boxes spilled onto the floor. He collapsed to a knee and, with frantic hands, struggled to shove them inside. Jenn helped. When everything was safely stowed, she zipped it up.
Sophie, Valeria, and the doctor had disappeared around a corner ahead. A hand gripped Jenn by the arm and lifted her up. Dylan. His expression was neutral. Yesterday, it unnerved her. Now it gave her strength.
They took a sharp left, and the white of flashlights temporarily blinded Jenn. Seeing stars, she pressed her eyes shut. When she forced them open, all rifles were lowered, their lights bouncing off the floor and casting shadows on the walls and ceiling.
“Doc says this way,” Sophie said. She waved a hand and led them farther down the corridor, the doctor close behind.
Their steps were light, except for Carter’s. Each strike of his boot on the linoleum sounded like thunder in Jenn’s ears. If she’d heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, then someone on this floor would certainly—
A beam of white appeared down the hallway. Then another.
Everyone scattered. Jenn’s legs assumed control again. They made her dart right, through the closest open door. Her breath came out in desperate gasps, and she realized she was on her backside. The flashlight had fallen from her hands and lay on the floor, illuminating a tub and a toilet with a plastic riser.
She was alone.
Light shone down the hallway. The door across from her was closed.
Had she been seen? Where was everyone else? Why hadn’t they followed her?
The light brightened, and Jenn heard the patter of shoes. She found her flashlight and switched it off, then scrambled to the door and tried to close it. It wouldn’t budge. Teeth clenched, she tried again, then realized a doorstop was wedged beneath it.
From the hall, the sound of boots grew louder.
She searched for a place to hide. Behind the door? No, there wasn’t enough room. Closets or cupboards? It was too dark to see them, and she didn’t have time to feel around with her hands.
The tub! On all fours, she scurried toward it. Careful not to make any noise, she rose to her feet and climbed inside. There she lay and held her breath.
The wall above her lit up in bright white. She twisted to face the ceiling as much as her backpack would allow and pointed her Glock up. Something jiggled, followed by a thump, as though someone was tr
ying to push through a door. The clomp of boots came closer, and the light was even brighter.
Jenn readied her trigger finger. She was still holding her breath. Her lungs screamed. Fire spread across her chest, and her diaphragm threatened to override her willpower. She tried to think about something else, but the heat rising in her cheeks and the ache in her stomach made it impossible.
Then someone whistled a single note the way one might call a dog. The room went black, and the slap of boots on the floor faded. After what seemed like hours, Jenn couldn’t hear them anymore.
She exhaled sharply, then sucked in the bleachy air. It was the best air she’d ever tasted. Dizzy, she poked her head over the lip of the tub but saw nothing in the darkness, so she eased herself out and waited on one knee.
The skin on her arms itched as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
A squeaking sound sent her gun up, and she pointed it across the hall, where a door cracked open. “Jansen,” Dylan called out in a low voice. “Jansen, you there?”
A knot in her stomach loosened. “I’m over here,” she whispered.
The door opened inward, and out came Dylan. Hunched over, he darted into her bathroom. Valeria’s head poked out next.
“You okay?” Dylan asked her, a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Where the hell did you go?”
He flicked on his flashlight. “We zigged left and you zigged right. We gotta leave.”
She and Dylan met the others in the hall. Sophie, the doctor in tow, led them in the same direction as before. Soon, they reached another stairwell. It was dark, with no signs of people, so they went down. At the bottom, a hallway, indistinguishable from the one upstairs, stretched left and right.
“Where to, Doc?” Sophie asked. Her flashlight reflected off a wall-mounted LED screen.
Arms out, the doctor spun in a full circle. “This way,” he said. “To the emergency room.”
“No.” Jenn shone her light on a sign hanging from the ceiling. An arrow beside the words “LOADING BAY” pointed in the opposite direction. To Sophie, she said, “We can get out through the man door, right, just not in?”
“I’d assume so.”
“Good,” Jenn said. “We’re taking the back way.”
Without waiting for orders from Sophie, Dylan made for the loading bay. Jenn fell in behind him. A sitting room with rows of chairs passed by on her left. Then a janitor’s closet. When they came to a set of push doors, Dylan lifted his foot and kicked.
Nothing but darkness on the other side. This time, it didn’t frighten her; it meant no one was here.
They kept moving. Dylan turned right at another hanging sign. After a second door, the floor changed from linoleum to concrete. A thick, putrid stink of garbage struck Jenn as the hallway spilled into a cavernous space. Her flashlight found a five-ton backed up to a loading dock. Its rear door hung open. Inside were boxes filled with what she guessed was rotten food. A fly buzzed past her face, and she blew it away.
“Over here!” Valeria called out. Her voice came from beside the truck. There, shrouded in an aura of white from her LED, she opened a man door that led outside.
Ben was the first through. Jenn went last.
The stench of rot faded, replaced by crisp Arizona night air. Though it still carried the scent of smoke, the smell reminded her of evening softball games. The moon loomed overhead, bathing the concrete of the loading bay in faint oranges and yellows. To her right was a long white semi truck and trailer. Ahead stretched a parking lot littered with dozens of abandoned cars.
This was the south end of the hospital, Jenn remembered from the map. They needed to cross this parking lot and a road. Then they’d be in the relative safety of houses, fences, and winding suburban streets. “This way,” she said.
Flashlights off, they descended the concrete steps. Valeria led the pack this time while Dylan watched their backs.
After a short sprint, they passed the first row of parked cars. Crickets chirped, and their shoes pounded the pavement. No gunfire, no shouting, nothing. At the next line of vehicles, they weaved between a pickup and a white van.
The adrenaline began to fade. With it, Jenn’s senses returned to normal. Suddenly, her legs weighed a hundred pounds each. So did her eyelids. Sleep was the only thing on her mind.
They’d made it.
Her backpack bumped against a sideview mirror of the truck. Before she was through, a shot pierced the air.
She hit the asphalt.
Another shot rang out.
Carter gripped her by the shirt and dragged her behind the van on her right. She sat against the front bumper. Everything seemed brighter and more vivid, and her fingers tingled.
Carter crouched and clutched his duffel bags tight. Sophie, Valeria, and the doctor hid behind the pickup truck. Where was Dylan?
She glanced around the vehicle. On the pavement, Dylan lay face-down, the duffel bag splayed out in front of him.
A sense of dread gripped her, and she wondered if he was dead. He couldn’t be. Not Dylan, of all people. He’d trained for this.
“Dylan!” she shouted at him.
His arm moved. Thank God.
One palm planted on the ground, he dragged himself forward.
“No, no, no, no,” the doctor cried, shaking his head.
“I see them!” Sophie peered around the truck. “Two of them on the loading bay. We need to—”
A sharp pang erupted from the van. The clap of a rifle followed a fraction of a second later. Could bullets punch through a whole vehicle from this distance? Was she safe?
Dylan still lay there. Blood oozed from a hole in his calf.
Jenn holstered her Glock and balled her hands into fists.
She’d made up her mind without even realizing it. The next thing she knew, she was out from behind the van, exposed and in the open, and scrambling toward Dylan.
20
“Jansen!” Sophie called, but it was too late.
Jenn knelt beside Dylan and wrapped an arm around his back.
Gunfire erupted, this time from the truck. The insanity of what she was doing became clear, but even if she wanted to stop, to run behind the van, she couldn’t, not with her friend in danger.
With Dylan holding onto her, she thrust up. Both knees nearly buckled under his weight, but she loosed an animalistic grunt and pushed so hard that something popped in her hip. AR hanging from his chest, Dylan carried the duffel bag in his free hand. More gunfire cut through the still night air. Valeria appeared and ran forward, then took a knee next to Jenn, shouldered her rifle, and fired toward the loading bay. The report of Sophie’s gun joined in.
Carter darted out to meet Jenn. In one fluid motion, he bent down, wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist, and threw him over his shoulder.
Sophie continued firing as Jenn slipped behind the van. She could hardly hear the shots anymore. Everything sounded the way it did behind headphones. With frantic hands, she touched her chest, stomach, legs, and face. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t been hit. Would she even feel it if she had?
Hunched over, Valeria withdrew to cover beside Sophie. Dylan cried out as Carter rested him on the blacktop. Blood soaked his pant leg.
Sophie ejected a spent magazine. “What the hell do we—” The pang of a bullet striking a vehicle cut her off.
They were trapped. Pinned down. Moving into the open was suicide. Only two of the Major’s men were firing at them now, according to Sophie, but soon, more would come. Then what?
“Here,” Dylan said through clenched teeth. With Carter’s help, he sat up and slung off his rifle, then passed it to Jenn. The weight caught her off guard, and she almost dropped it. He wasn’t expecting her to use this thing, was he?
Dylan pulled out the tablet. As he tapped away, Valeria poked her gun out and fired a shot. Between her and Sophie, the doctor sat on his rear, knees tucked tight to his chest, and rocked back and forth. Was that how Jenn looked when she faced the refug
ees outside Flagstaff?
“Rusty’s still online,” Dylan said. “Waiting by the front entrance.” He punched something onto the screen. “I’m telling it to come to our location.”
Another pang on the van. “How long?” Jenn asked.
Dylan laid the tablet on his thigh while Carter held him upright. “Two minutes. Maybe three. This is the kind of thing LCDs were built for.” His eyes closed, and Jenn thought he might pass out, but they thrust open, and he said, “Keep up covering fire. Pin them down. Make sure they don’t flank us.”
Was he talking to Jenn? What good would she be with a rifle? “I can’t do it.” She held the weapon closer to Dylan in hopes that he’d take it. “You should.”
Valeria let off another shot. So did Sophie. The doctor covered his ears while Carter helped Dylan tear off a piece of his sleeve to wrap around his leg.
“I can hardly move,” Dylan said with pain in his voice. “You’re fine. Just like Val showed you.”
Jenn sucked her teeth and repeated Valeria’s instructions to herself. What if she’d forgotten something important?
“What’s the plan here?” Sophie shouted.
“Rusty’s on its way!” Jenn said.
“It’s loaded.” Dylan handed her a fresh magazine.
She swallowed and set it down beside her. Had her hands ever been this sweaty?
“You got this,” Dylan said to her. He groaned as Carter tightened the shirt sleeve around his wound. “Covering fire only. You don’t—” The bark of Sophie’s AR cut him off. “You don’t need to hit anything. You see someone, shoot in that direction.” Another clap from a rifle. Valeria’s this time. “Just keep them down until Rusty gets here.”
“Okay,” Jenn said. You don’t need to hit anything. Index finger away from the trigger, she rested the butt of the gun on her shoulder. With her left hand, she gripped the support guard, then eased the barrel around the van.
The hospital stood beyond two lines of parked cars. She lifted the rifle and pressed her cheek against the stock, but a yellow light burst from the loading bay.
Instinct tugged her behind cover. A bullet panged off metal. Jenn didn’t know if it was the van, the truck, or some other vehicle. Valeria returned fire.