The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (10 page)

“Stop where you are or I’ll shoot you dead!” The deadly intent and warning shot are enough to stop the men and children in their tracks. John thinks she looks like some sort of female Viking warrior. With a very large gun.

Her horse stomps back and forth in place as if performing in a weird sort of horsey ballet. The girl whips her leg over its neck dismounting in one fluid motion. She stalks toward them and stands within fifteen feet of them. She’s wearing a beat up pair of Converse, and she’s strikingly beautiful and petite.

“Hey, hey, don’t shoot us, lady!” Kelly pleads.

“Drop your weapons,” she shouts mercilessly. Kelly instantly drops both weapons into the dirt and gravel. John has nothing to drop.

“You, too,” she elicits her order directly at John who is still holding Derek on his shoulder which is ready to give out.

“I’m not... I’m not armed,” he pants out. She squints her eyes at him distrustfully.

“Oh really? What’s that on your hip, shithead?” the girl barks and takes two steps forward, not lowering the rifle. John notices a .45 strapped to her thigh. She’s outgunned them and shows no fear of shooting them where they stand. This is what the world has come to. A small, beautiful woman like this should be protected, cherished, not brandishing rifles at people and cursing.

“Hey, we’re looking for the McClanes, ok? Maybe we got the wrong place so don’t shoot us, damn it!” Kelly shouts back at her.

“What do you want with the McClanes?” she yells back, taking another tentative step toward them. John is sure he is about to die on someone’s farm, buried in their backyard and failing in his mission to get his brother home to his wife and kids.

“Listen, is this their farm or what, woman?” Kelly barks. He’s losing his patience, making the situation more dangerous by the second. He can be kind of a Neanderthal sometimes.

“And I asked you why you wanna’ know, asshole?”

Suddenly, the weight of his brother, the weight of the world is too much for John and he falls to his knees. He doesn’t drop Derek, but John hangs his head in defeat and exhaustion.

“Derek?” a woman’s screech can be heard in the distance. “Derek? John? Johnny, is that you?”

Her voice is getting closer, and he can hear multiple sets of footsteps on the gravel drive. He just doesn’t have the energy to lift his head.

“Reagan, don’t shoot!” the other woman screeches again. She’s in a panic, screaming. “Don’t shoot! It’s Derek!” Sue’s voice is the last thing John hears before he falls over, collapsing and blacking out.

Chapter Six

Hannah

Derek’s screams from the day before are still echoing in her brain. It had been enough to cause Hannah to place her hands over her ears for just a moment. She didn’t want to be caught seeming weak in front of anyone and stopped her childish behavior as quickly as she’d started it. Now she is standing in the kitchen waiting once more for more water to boil. Grandpa had needed to operate and sew Derek’s wound closed and, with limited medical equipment and only a small amount of local anesthesia, the poor man had endured more pain than Hannah can even comprehend. Thankfully, he’d passed out soon after it had started.

The early morning breeze blows through the long row of open windows above the back counter and the sweet smell of late season lilacs wafts through. This is her sanctuary; this is where she is most comfortable. Her and Grams’s kitchen is the one place that Hannah always feels happiest.

“Miss Arianna, you know better than to sneak up on people,” Hannah says to her niece who has come to perch on a stool at the island.

“Sorry, Auntie Hannah,” her lovely, angelic voice answers. Hannah holds out a welcoming arm.

“Come here, honey. Are you alright? Are you worried about your daddy?” she asks as she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulders. She gently squeezes and feels her tiny head bobbing up and down.

“You listen to me, Ari. Your daddy is so strong and such a fighter,” Hannah tells her. She squats down to be level with Arianna and grasps her slim shoulders. “Grandpa is the best doctor in this whole county, probably the whole state. So don’t you worry. You go on back outside and play with your brother. Grams will call you, or I’ll come and get you when you can go in and see your daddy, ok?”

Arianna flings herself into Hannah’s arms and squeezes so tightly that Hannah actually has trouble breathing. She surely has a lot of strength for just a teeny munchkin.

“I love you, Ari,” Hannah says as she breathes in the girl’s sweet-smelling scent.

“I love you, too, Auntie Hannah,” her high-pitched response comes. She breaks free, runs from the kitchen, and the screen door slams.

Running her hand along the counter, she comes to a divot in the marble and reaches her other hand out until she finds the handle of the pot.

“Do you need help, ma’am?” a deep voice asks. His heavy footsteps have already alerted her to his presence.

“No, thank you. I’m just going to take this pot to Grandpa. He may need more hot water for sterilizing.” Hannah hefts the pot, careful to keep it level and steady so as not to burn herself or spill.

“Please, let me help. I’m going crazy here. I need something to do,” the big man pleads. Without waiting for an answer, he takes the pot from Hannah.

“Oh, ok. Thank you, but I could’ve managed,” she says stiffly. She doesn’t like to be babied. Collecting a pile of fresh linens that Grams has brought from the upstairs linen closet off of the back counter, Hannah is ready to return to her grandpa.

“I’m sure you could’ve. You are a McClane, right?”

“Yes, I’m a McClane,” Hannah answers in confusion. She realizes that he’s turned to leave from the directional change in his voice. Putting her hand out until she reaches the eight foot island in the exact center of the kitchen, she follows him from the room. He wouldn’t be hard to follow anywhere. He makes a lot of noise.

“Well then, there’s not a lot you people don’t seem to be able to do, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he answers. He also hasn’t showered since coming to the farm yesterday, and she could follow him by stench alone.

“I guess you can say we’re an efficient sort,” Hannah agrees with a smile. Hannah has learned that his name is Kelly. Doesn’t seem right, a man his size with a woman’s name. She’s not sure how large he is exactly, but he lumbers heavily when he walks and his voice is very deep.

Together they leave the kitchen and cross through open space and turn left. They descend three stairs into the hallway that will take them to Hannah’s bedroom suite, which has become a makeshift hospital room. Her hand glides along the railing that Grandpa installed for her years before. She’s counting off the four foot markers that are carved into the otherwise smooth wood.

“Ha, efficient? I don’t thinks so. If the McClane clan was in charge of the Army, we’d still have a country. Not this mess we’ve got now,” he explains.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Hannah answers quietly. He stops abruptly, and she rams face first into his back. “I... I’m sorry.”

“Um, oh shit. No, I’m sorry. I... I forgot you... well, you’re...” he stammers uncomfortably.

“Blind? Oh my, I hadn’t realized. Guess they’re going to take my driver’s license now,” Hannah jokes. It’s the usual tactic she uses to deal with people when they are uncomfortable with her disability. He only manages a single chuckle. “And don’t swear. The Lord doesn’t like it and neither does Grams of whom you should be more afraid.”

“Um, I’m sorry. I should’ve...”

“It’s alright. You aren’t the first thing I’ve ever run into,” she quips lightly.

A commotion at the end of the hall alerts Hannah that someone is coming toward them.

“Hey, Hannie,” Reagan says very quietly as she approaches. Her sister touches her shoulder and then takes the linens from her.

“What is it, Reagan?” Hannah asks. Reagan takes her hand into her own; Reagan’s are very cold. Her sister has been up all night with Grandpa keeping watch over Derek. And Hannah and Grams have been taking turns with keeping watch over the children and Sue. She is not receptive to leaving her husband’s side for more than a few minutes at a time. But Grams had convinced her to go up and sleep for a few hours with the children before dawn.

“He’s not getting better,” Reagan clarifies as she rubs a hand roughly against her forehead, not letting go of Hannah. It’s a thing her family has learned to do. She can’t see them making bodily gestures, and it was something that Grandpa had come up with when she was young so that she could better understand emotions. If one of them smiled, they would put Hannah’s fingers to their mouth to feel their smile. If they were crying, then the same thing. And now Hannah can literally feel Reagan’s stress.

Another noise comes from behind her and she half turns to ascertain who it might be. By the smell, it’s Grams- ever sweet like cinnamon and sugar- and by the heavy footsteps, it’s also John. He’d passed out in the drive, and the big guy had carried first Derek and then John into the house. John had awakened three hours later, and Hannah and Grams had fed him a big bowl of biscuits and bacon gravy. He had followed that by a long hot shower with extra, extra soap. It had been a necessity. As a person with heightened olfactory senses, it had been very necessary! And she has news for Kelly, he is next. She just prays they have enough soap.

Grams and Kelly had forcefully sent John back to bed, assuring him that his brother was in good care and that he needed to rest and so did Derek. Luckily, he’d slept through his brother’s stitching and all of the screams. Grams had insisted on having John put in Reagan’s room in the attic so that he could sleep peacefully. Kelly has not yet been to bed or showered or eaten as far as Hannah knows.

“What do you mean he’s not better?” John barks roughly and brushes past Hannah.

“John, they’re doing all they can for him. The docs have been with him every second,” Kelly quickly jumps in. There is underlying anger in John’s voice, and it’s pointedly directed toward Reagan. He is obviously still carrying a grudge for the attempted assassination in the driveway.

“I want to see him,” he says tightly.

“Fine, that’s fine. Just don’t go in there and get disruptive. He’s in and out of consciousness, and I don’t need you...” Reagan retorts, her voice more hoarse than usual, probably from lack of sleep.

“And I don’t need you telling me what to do, so move it, shrimp!”

Hannah can tell that John’s barged past Reagan because she is jostled into her. Reagan is clearly angered, frustrated and upset because she swears under breath, calling him an indecent curse word. She simply stalks off in the opposite direction, not before she receives a quick scolding from Grams for the swear, of course. But even Hannah isn’t convinced because Grams’s voice is softer than normal.

Hannah and Kelly finish their trek the last fifteen feet to her bedroom, and she follows Kelly into the room. It is quiet, eerily so. And then Grandpa starts to speak.

“Look, son. I’m not going to lie. This isn’t good,” he explains to John, who is obviously distraught at what he is seeing. Grandpa’s voice is so grave and hushed like he’s delivering news to a terminal patient. There is a broken sob that comes from John. Hannah’s heart aches for this man that she does not know very well.

“Yes, sir,” John replies. “What can I do?” His voice is desperate.

Grandpa doesn’t immediately answer but takes a deep, ragged breath and sighs. Hannah can hear the clink and clanking of medical instruments on the metal cart Grandpa has moved into her room. She doesn’t step any farther into the room because she doesn’t want to trip over anything important that could be hooked up to Derek. Reagan and Grandpa had brought quite a few medical items into her room yesterday, and now it is unfamiliar territory to her.

“He’s lost too much blood. His heartbeat has slowed considerably. We were able to close the wound and luckily Reagan found that small piece of metal in it. These old eyes of mine would’ve missed that. Then he could’ve got an infection. So that’s one good bit of news I suppose. But he is fevering. It’s still low-grade.”

Hannah can hear her grandfather moving about the room. There is the pumping air sound that the blood pressure cuff makes, then the air being expelled again.

“His blood pressure is dangerously low. Another bad sign, I’m sorry to say. He regained consciousness last night for about an hour, and we were able to get a little water into him. I’ve got an IV line in. We’re giving him antibiotics and fluids, but it’s not doing much. I wish I could tell you better news.”

“Is he... is he gonna die, Dr. McClane?” John whispers raggedly as if by saying it in softer tones will make it not come true.

“Son, I just don’t know. I think if we could do a blood transfusion, then maybe... I don’t even know then. I can’t see any of the tell-tale signs of infection. Kelly told me you guys did your best to clean him up, so he may not have an actual infection,” Grandpa says. Hannah can feel the pain in his voice.

“Hey! Why’s he shaking like that?” John questions with panic.

“It’s the blood loss. Probably a combination of shock... trauma to his body. Plus, his body temperature is falling. I think he’s fevering, but again it’s not too high that I’m worried as much about that.”

“Can you do a transfusion? Can you even do that... here?” John asks with skepticism.

“Yes, I can do the transfusion. But we’d have to have his blood type and someone here at the farm would have to match. It’s not that simple. Even if there was someone here who matches, sometimes allergic reactions can occur,” Grandpa explains. There’s a lot of doubt in his voice. “We don’t have any way of knowing what his blood type is.”

“Yeah, we do. It’s on his dog tags. It’s on all our dog tags, doctor,” Kelly speaks up. “Here, look.”

Kelly is still at her side. As he steps into the room, she can hear the jingling of his necklace as he pulls it out of his shirt.

“Well, I’ll be, it sure is,” Grandpa says. “Let me get a look at that,”

“Where’s Derek’s?” John asks from the bed area.

“Oh, we had to remove all his clothing. Too much risk of contaminates. My wife took the clothing to be laundered, and I think Reagan put his personals in a box over there in the corner,” Grandpa answers. “Ok, so Kelly you’re a Type AB negative.”