Afterbirth (15 page)

“We’re going to need supplies.” Michael sorted through the cabinets and drawers of the small exam room.

Miranda couldn’t imagine how he could be so calm and calculated when her own head was spinning. She tried to block out the moans of the growing horde just outside the fence.

“Scott, pass me that bag.”

Scott handed Michael the empty, paisley satchel they’d used to smuggle in Miranda’s chart. Michael put the manila folder, disposable pads, forceps, clamps, scissors, and a sterile scalpel inside it.

The glimmering metal through the window of the sterile package heightened Miranda’s anxiety. “What’s that for?”

Michael added several prescription bottles and sterile water to the sack, filling it to capacity. “Don’t worry about what I’m doing. This stuff is just in case.” He looked to Scott. “You have to keep her calm. Stress will bring on premature labor.” He said it under his breath, but not so low that Miranda couldn’t hear him. “Deep breaths.” Michael hoisted the bulky bag of supplies onto his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. He hooked his arm through Miranda’s and held her hand tenderly enough to convey that everything would be all right as long as he was there. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Scott moved around her other side to help.

Dangling between the two large men, her arms held higher than comfortable and out to her sides, Miranda felt like a woman crucified. A new, stretching pain burned down her torso. She wriggled free of Michael’s hold and leaned into Scott. “I’ll be all right,” she said, defying the pinching cramps in her legs.

Michael set the bag down and withdrew the knife from his sheath. He turned to Randy and Earl, who were both standing at the door, staring at Miranda with a piteous look that made her feel like bait. Though neither of them said it, she was sure they were both thinking that in the event their escape plan failed, she’d be the easiest take-down and they’d get away with their lives.

“So how are we going to do this?” Scott asked.

The metallic rattling of chain link rang through the boarded up windows. Miranda’s heart hammered as she peered through a peek-hole cut in the plywood covering the sidelight window. The weight of the aggressing horde had all but collapsed the gate. The undead bodies piled on top of each other, clawing to break through. She held her hand to her stomach, the nervousness magnifying her nausea and causing the baby to squirm. Tension knotted every muscle and the fear of labor made it worse. She tried to repress the anxiety, to be calm the way Michael had instructed, but instinct won out, leaving her terrified. The urine-soaked fabric of her dress clung to her bare legs, and if she wasn’t afraid for their lives, she might have been embarrassed.

“I’ll go out first.” Randy, the smaller, younger of the guards, reloaded his rifle. He wiped the sweat from his brow, narrowly catching it before it rolled into his squinted, hazel eyes. “I’ll distract them until Earl can get through the fence.”

Miranda noted Randy’s hands shaking and tried to manage a supportive smile.

Earl slung his rifle strap over his shoulder, opened a coat closet to the right of the barricaded front door, and withdrew a large pair of bolt cutters.

“You have the keys?” Randy’s voice quivered. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

Earl showed him the key and the remote entry fob hanging from a lanyard inside of his shirt. “Right here.”

A look of concern washed over Michael’s face as Randy hesitantly cleared the horizontal board from in front of the door. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I’m faster than he is,” Randy said, pointing at Earl. “This has always been the plan.”

Miranda put her eye back to the peek hole. The tie wires holding the chain link mesh to the top of the gate had caved under the driving force of the infected, and the gate’s center sagged.

Michael nudged her gently aside. “If you’re sure you’re okay with this,” he said to Randy, “it’s time to go.”

Randy removed the lumber barricading the door and unlocked the dead bolt. “I’m positive,” he said, looking at Earl. “He has a wife and a family out there. Me, no one will miss.”

Earl grabbed Randy’s shoulder. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think for one minute I’m leaving you out there.”

“Wait.” Scott held his pistol out to Randy. “It’s lighter and faster than your rifle and you’re going to need the ammo.” He handed him a back-up clip.

“Thank you.” Randy gave him his rifle and opened the front door.

The growls magnified and Miranda covered her ears to avoid hearing the terrifying sounds that immediately recalled memories of the center.

Randy darted across the leaf-covered front lawn. He opened fire and the eager horde, attracted to the sound, intensified in their collective effort to get at him.

Earl used the distraction to make his way to the side yard and disappeared from view.

Scott closed the door and rubbed his hand up and down Miranda’s back which she found more annoying than soothing. “What’re the chances they’re going to make it?” he asked.

Michael honed the edge of his blade with a small sharpening stone. “No better or worse than ours.”

The rapid gunfire accelerated and Miranda cowered, leaning against the wall for fear that her legs were about to give out. The extra weight of the pregnancy, the toll of food deprivation, and the strain of months of exhaustion made her an unlikely survivor.

“It’s going to be all right,” Scott insisted, but Miranda couldn’t bring herself to believe him. She sniffled and wiped at her tears.

Michael leaned forward, and after looking out over the melee, stepped back with a pleased grin. “Earl made it.”

A series of long horn blasts replaced the rapidly firing pistol.

Michael opened the clinic door in time for Miranda to see Randy running full-out toward them.

“Get ready,” he shouted.

Michael took Miranda’s arm and she could tell from his hard stare that he meant business. “Earl’s going to be here in a matter of seconds. You be ready to run.”

Earl took several laps with the truck, a white Yukon with black tinted windows, plowing through the infected and tossing them aside with the enormous chrome grill guard.

“You ready?” Michael asked.

Randy reached the front stoop and was huffing and panting.

Before Miranda could even answer, the Yukon barreled through the weakened gate. The large tires carved deep furrows into the soft front lawn and the grill guard cast aside the fastest of the advancing infected as the truck plowed into them. Blood spattered the hood.

A teenage boy darted for Michael and was dispatched with a single thrust of the knife into his head. “Get her out of here,” he shouted.

Scott grabbed Miranda’s sweaty hand and nearly pulled her off her feet, dragging her in the direction of the large, white truck now parked directly in front of them.

Earl lowered the window, shouting but almost inaudible over the escalating commotion. “Get in!”

Randy threw open the passenger’s side front and rear doors. He took the passenger’s seat and immediately rolled down the window, hanging out of it and shooting anything that came close to reaching Scott and Miranda.

Everything was a blur. Blood, brains, limbs, and the snarls of a mob of ravenous, infected teens charging at them. Miranda ran, despite the excruciating pain, and when she neared the truck, she wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

“Hurry!” Michael herded them into the rear door and climbed in, slamming the door behind them.

Randy moved back inside and Earl closed the windows. “Hang on!” He revved the engine and Miranda braced herself for the inevitable lurching forward that came when he let off the brake, plowing through and over the undead bodies.

She closed her eyes, breathing to calm her nerves.

“We need to take our truck,” Scott said. “Pull up to it,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” Michael asked. “We can’t just let you out.”

Randy chimed in. “We nearly died back there. If we stop, who knows what’ll happen?”

Scott insisted. “And if she goes into labor? The truck is full of the baby’s things. We need them unless you have supplies for a newborn infant somewhere.”

“Pull up to the truck,” Michael said. “I’ll cover you.” He took a pistol from under the seat and lowered the window enough to shoot.

The Yukon stopped less than a foot away from the Ford. Scott flung open the door and hurried Miranda between the vehicles.

The pain in her ankles nearly had her collapse, but Scott lifted her into the truck and locked the door. The Yukon backed up, and as Scott ran around the driver’s side, Michael picked off two more infected. One landed behind the Ford’s rear tire and Scott backed over it as he took off after the others.

“Are you all right?” Scott reached for her shaking hand.

“I’m fine,” she said, but as they drove away from the chaos, heading toward Strandville, she wondered for how long she would be.

Foster pulled into the desolate parking lot of the abandoned Nixon Center and an unsettled feeling gnawed his gut. It’d been months since he’d last been there and, even though he expected the worst, the deterioration was startling. Bodies hung from the lighting, warning him to keep out. The fall breeze carried the smells of smoke and decomposing flesh through the automatic lobby doors, which had been propped open and stayed that way for a lack of power. He took a last deep breath before walking inside. A fetid odor filled his nose and remained trapped, even after he blew snot from either nostril. Gray ash covered the floor, and in it, were dozens of footprints and black swirls he couldn’t immediately identify. Crimson and brown droplets of blood, some dried and some fresh, dotted a trail that indicated dragging.

He prayed the blood wasn’t Penny’s, but even if it were, there wasn’t enough to indicate her wounds had been mortal. 

“Penny?” He swept the pistol back and forth and waited for Reid to show himself.

No one else would be sick enough to haunt these halls.

Foster walked past Ambulatory Surgery and wrinkled his face, disgusted by the pile of bones and incinerated flesh from the sub-human bonfire he assumed was Reid’s attempt at dealing with both the virus and the stench.

“Penny?”

The blood trail led him through the glass atrium and to a closed examination room door. He set his hand on the lever-style knob and he paused, fearful of what was on the other side.

“Penny, are you in there?”

He pushed the handle down and the door swung open, releasing a cloud of stench so thick and terrible that it made him vomit. A half-naked female corpse with a strangely familiar face sat slumped against the wall. The amount of blood made it hard to tell what had happened to her, and the smell made it impossible to look too long. He pulled the door shut and backed away, smacking his mouth at the sour taste which coated his tongue.

“Penny?”

He followed the most travelled path to the open elevator shaft and looked in. The basement was nearly dark except for a small puddle of light that leaked down from the atrium and gleamed off the silver metal of an extension ladder, which had been knocked or intentionally taken down.

“Penny, are you here?”

Other than the footprints, there was no sign of Reid or anyone else. Foster began to wonder if maybe Penny had been taken elsewhere.

“Hello?” He tilted his head and listened, wondering if he had heard a faint noise in return, or if the silence was playing tricks on him.

He assessed the depth of the hole and the likelihood of Penny being down there. The chances seemed good, considering the ladder. Dropping down all but guaranteed an injury he couldn’t afford and he looked for another way.

He went through Ambulatory Surgery to the recovery unit at the back. Gurneys, once lined up in neat rows behind the privacy curtains, littered the room, some knocked over. Blood spattered the walls and a few spare body parts rotted on the floor. He kicked a finger aside and pressed his ear to a supply cabinet door, listening for noise before opening it.

He turned the handle and grabbed an entire stack of bed sheets, which he knotted together. He carried the makeshift rope to the elevator shaft and dropped the line down the hole, testing to make sure it was long enough. To the left of the elevator, a metal bench was anchored to the floor with bolts. He tied the rope off, and though it shortened it some, it was enough to get him to within a safe dropping distance. He tucked his pistol away to free up his hands and slid a flashlight into his waistband. He slowly descended, and when the floor became visible, let go. His boots hit with a loud clap that echoed up the shaft and down the hall. He waited for the echo to stop, and when no one appeared to attack him, he turned on the light and moved down the hall toward where the infected were once held.

A padlocked door immediately caught his attention and he shined the light through the window. Penny was asleep inside, strapped down to a gurney. A jagged wound, crudely sutured and caked with dried blood, extended down her bare thigh. Her clothes lay cut away on the floor and a gauze gag was tied in her mouth which hung slightly open.

“Penny!” He pounded the door and her eyes popped open. She pulled at her restraints and he held up his hand. “I’ll be right in.”

He looked around for something to pry the hasp, and finding nothing, stepped a safe distance away to shoot it. He took a well-placed shot, pressed his hand to his ringing ears, and ran inside to free Penny.

“Thank God,” he said. “When I woke up and you were gone, I was sure…” He took out his pocket knife, cut the gag, and tossed it aside.

Penny sniffled and started to cry. She turned her face away from him as he unfastened the first wrist restraint. A scarlet pink, deeper than that of her bra and underwear, blushed her cheek. He unfastened her other wrist, helped her sit up, and looked around for something to cover her with. Finding her clothes destroyed, he picked up the blue and white cotton gown pooled at the foot of her bed. “Here,” he covered her up. “You look like you’re freezing.” He started to take off his sweatshirt to give to her and she drew him close.

“I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs.

“For what?” He rubbed her bare back and rested his head against hers.

The question seemed to make her cry harder.

“I was awful to you. I’m so sorry. I was afraid I wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you.”

He pressed his lips to her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears, and stroked her hair. “You weren’t
that
bad,” he said, jokingly. “I came looking for you, didn’t I?”

She let out a chuckle, sniffled, and wiped her nose on the gown.

He waited until she was calm before letting go of her, and then freed her ankles. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?” He helped her to her feet, and then into the gown which he tied in the back.

“Yes.” She put on her socks and used the cut away sweatshirt as a jacket.

“Stay behind me.” The door creaked as he pulled it open and looked into the hallway. “Where’s Reid?” he asked. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “I don’t know where he went. Some men came and took him, I think, and the baby.”

Foster tilted his head. “Baby? What baby? And what men?”

Penny shrugged. “I could only hear. I don’t know. I just don’t think he’s coming back, at least, not anytime soon.”

He went to the elevator shaft and extended the ladder. “Can you climb?” He shook the ladder to test the sturdiness of its position.

“Do I have a choice?”

Really, she didn’t.

He reached up and placed his hand on the small of her back to keep her from falling. Every other step was incredibly slow. “Are you all right?”

She stopped for a minute at the halfway point and took a deep breath. “I will be.” She climbed out of the hole and he came up behind her.

He reached for her hand, and to his surprise, she took it. The two didn’t say a word as they walked through the atrium and out the lobby doors. Foster unlocked the Jeep, and just as he opened the door for Penny to get in, a white Yukon and a junky, old Ford pick-up pulled alongside them.