The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (5 page)

Not wanting to, but knowing she has no choice, she goes back by Uma’s lifeless body and steps over her friend. Reagan’s stomach wounds are bleeding profusely, dripping all over the white marble floor in some kind of psychotic rip-off art of the late Jackson Pollock. She is literally creating a forensic scientist’s wet dream of a blood splatter study project in her current state. Reaching the glass cabinets again, she sees that they have already been broken, likely looted by the attackers. Pills are scattered on the floor and inside the cabinet. They obviously had been looking for something more than just everyday pain meds and antibiotics. She reaches through the broken glass, ironically careful not to cut herself, and pulls out a bottle of pain killer. Pushing aside pills for which she has no use, Reagan digs around until she finds a strong enough dose of antibiotics, a vial of morphine, and two shot vials of numbing solution for the stitches she knows she is going to have to give herself. She can’t even think right now about what possible blood borne diseases and pathogens her first would-be rapist had sprayed all over her. Luckily she’d been vaccinated for many of those known pathogens when she entered med school as an added precaution for dissections and blood draws. She also takes three bottles of pain and inflammation reducers. Her face feels like it is on fire, and her abdomen is finally starting to register that there is pain there.

There is no way she can tend to herself in this darkness, so she moves past Uma again, but not before she closes her friend’s eyes and pulls down her skirt. As she passes Dr. Krue she absentmindedly comprehends that she will need his car keys. It feels wrong to steal his car, but she knows that she can’t think of it this way. In her condition and the obvious state of the university, she’ll never make it back to her own Jeep on the other side of her dorm building. His car is closest, packed and ready to go. It may just be her only hope of getting home. And so, as much as it sickens her, Reagan pulls Dr. Krue’s car keys from his front pants pocket and puts them in her own which are soaking, becoming saturated with her own blood down the front almost to the knees.

Once back in the lab room, she is able to catch a bit more of the last of the day’s light, as well as light from the multiple fires outside. For what she intends to do, Reagan needs more light than what is coming through the windows alone. She sets the flashlight on one of the lower lab tables near the windows and pulls all of her medical loot from her hoodie pocket, tossing it on the table. Reagan realizes that she’s still unsafe and unprotected in the room and quickly crosses it to lock the door, not that it will probably do much should someone decide to force themselves inside. She rushes back to the makeshift surgical area and pulls off her hoodie. It is very wet with her blood, and she knows enough about infection to know to get it away from her skin. Her undershirt is also soaked, so she removes it, as well. Standing in her bra and pants, she can better see the damage that Cold Eyes has done.

There are two actual stab wounds, one near center mass and one over to the right lower quadrant of her abdomen. They are very slowly leaking blood, which is good. He must’ve sliced or missed a full on stabbing of her at least three other times from what she can tell, but those wounds are also still bleeding. Somehow there is a deep cut near her right shoulder blade, as well. She definitely doesn’t remember that even happening. But it is gushing blood and needs dealt with quickly, too.

She unscrews the lid of an antiseptic liquid and pours it onto cotton pads, making quick work of cleansing her wounds through gritted teeth. This done, she shakily threads a needle and sets it aside. Then she unscrews the numbing vial and attaches a hypodermic needle with which to administer her own pain blocking shots. Without hesitation and with clear, concise ability she plunges the needle deeply enough to hit tissue that will take the solution. Instantly the medicine takes hold, enabling her to begin stitching. She makes a half-assed attempt at stitching her two stab wounds and gives up on winning any future beauty queen competitions. Her hands are shaking so badly that she has a difficult time of it. She’s a mess. It’s impossible for her to administer any stitches to her shoulder/collar bone area because of the difficult slant. It is near her right shoulder area and as she is right-handed, there is just no way that she can stitch it with her left hand. Reagan globs the clotting powder onto all of her lacerations, including over the fresh stitching. She finishes with applying bandaging as best as she can.

Her hand is still covered in blood even after using the cleansing antiseptic, so she wipes it again. But then she notices that there are small incisions on her palm. Knowing that she’s right-handed, Reagan deduces that her hand is cut from her own knife which she’d used to stab her victim. It is likely self-inflicted from slipping in her grasp or sliding forward with the force of the stab. Working fast, she sprinkles on more clotting powder, presses on a gauze pad and wraps tape all around her entire hand so the bandaging doesn’t fall off.

Satisfied with her work, Reagan takes the flashlight to search out her backpack. Giant Pupils had kicked it earlier and now she has actual need of the items inside. She spies it near a front row desk on the floor and retrieves it. She unzips it and pulls out a clean, long-sleeved, black t-shirt which she’d packed and had no intention at the time of ever needing. She’ll be cold, but she can turn on the heat in Dr. Krue’s car once she gets to it. She pulls it on overhead, careful not to disturb her newly applied bandages. She can see where some of the white pads are already spotting with red. Reaching into her backpack again, she pulls out three of the feminine napkins she had packed. She presses them to her abdomen under her shirt and tapes them down to further absorb the bleeding. Next she grabs clean underwear and gray sweatpants and pulls those on. Using the round ring, she hooks Dr. Krue’s car keys on her thumb and then re-zips the pack. Gun back in hand, Reagan opens a bottle of antibiotics and the pain medicine. She opens her one solitary bottle of water, wincing at the pain in her sliced hand as she does so and swigs enough to take the pills. The numbing shots have not yet worn off in her abdomen, but she knows they aren’t meant to last for more than an hour or so. Next, she puts all of the remaining medical supplies, pills and water back into the bag. She glances at her watch and sees that it’s 10:30 already. They should have left three and a half hours ago. Time is rapidly ticking along while the world is going to hell.

Looking out the window for the first time since coming into this nightmarish scene, Reagan can see multiple buildings are on fire while violent bedlam is occurring everywhere. The sun has set completely, and she’ll need the flashlight just to find her way back out to Dr. Krue’s car. But first she is going to get her grandfather’s knife back.

Slinging her backpack over her uninjured shoulder, she goes back into Dr. Krue’s office, careful not to look at him again. She scans the floor with the dim light and finds her blade near her victim’s body. As she bends to retrieve it, she also wipes it off with an antiseptic, pre-soaked pad. She turns to leave and something catches her eye on the floor by Dr. Krue’s desk. It’s his medical bag. She grabs it up and decides to take it with her, as well. She isn’t sure what is even in it, but it could prove helpful.

Reagan descends the outside cement stairs of the Medical Lab Building and takes cover behind a low wall, normally covered in lovely pink thyme in the summer. She can hear people talking, but she can’t tell where they are. No back-up generators are working anywhere on the campus, and there are no lights on farther away in the parking lots, either. She has to get to that parking lot and to her awaiting getaway vehicle.

Upon her exit from the building, she’d turned off her flashlight so as to not give herself away to anyone who might be up to no good like her would-be murderers. Now she is in the dark like everyone else. Occasionally she catches a flash of light here and there, but she can’t be sure if it is from a flashlight light or from a fire. But she isn’t taking any chances. The voices fade and, seeing her opportunity, she low sprints to a hedgerow where she stays a few moments listening again. When she hears nothing, she continues on until she makes it to the faculty parking lot.

It is considerably easier to see in this area because there are a minimum of at least four cars on fire. Reagan uses the manual key to open the car door, not wanting to draw attention to the flash of the headlights the keyless remote would activate. Once inside the car, she sets the locks and scans the parking lot around her. It doesn’t seem as if there are any large crowds of people or even stragglers loitering around anywhere. She speedily stashes her bags beside her on the passenger seat and takes out the pills, water and the few snacks she’d grabbed. Reagan knows that soon the trauma of what she’s just gone through is going to set in, and she’s going to need food, sugar, carbohydrates and fuel to keep her system from going into full-blown shock.

Once done, she pulls on her seatbelt and starts the car, manually turning off the headlights. She knows the chance of her making it off this campus and out of Ohio alive is going to rely solely on being as stealthy as possible. She also turns off the airbags. The last thing her wounds need is to be broken open anew with a damn airbag.

Slowly, taking care not to bump into vehicles, bicycles, debris and what looks to be the occasional dead body, Reagan is able to make it off of the campus and out onto the main drag of town. There she sees more of the same. Murder, fires, destroyed property, wrecked cars and mass crime has spread everywhere. She can see the congested mess of chaos that the freeway has become from where she is. Gunfire in single and short, rapid bursts can be heard sporadically through the closed windows of her vehicle. Police and other emergency vehicle lights seem to be coming from all different areas of the big metropolis. Buildings have been graphitized with crude messages about anarchy and oppression. Traversing down side streets, Reagan finally makes it to a county road and turns south onto it. The houses in this area are sparse, mostly farms and rolling country hills lined for miles with fencing. Some of the homes even have a light or two on inside, likely being powered by generators. A part of Reagan is torn between going to one of them for help and keeping to the road for fear of her safety. She’s not so sure who can be trusted anymore. Just because these people live on farms like her family, doesn’t mean they are anything like her family. Those men back at the university could’ve come from one of these farms. Dr. Krue had been so right. There are people in this new world who will take, who will rob and who will pillage and murder. She’s already run into a few of those and has no wish to do so again. Reagan doesn’t think she can survive another one of those encounters. And so she pushes on through her fatigue.

Reagan only passes one other car in the hour that she has been on the back road and finally feels safe enough to turn on her headlights. Her hands begin to shake and then the shaking spreads up her arms and into her torso, and she knows the shock is setting in. Her stomach turns into a mass of raw nerves which jiggle and tremble from apprehension and tension. Her legs begin to tremor. She needs to stop. She knows from experience that there should be plenty of oil well access roads around this area. There aren’t many rural areas anywhere in America that don’t have natural gas wells situated on them. Whichever farmers declined the fracking and large payouts offered by the oil companies back in the early 2000’s, the government had simply claimed their land anyway under Imminent Domain laws. It was for the “greater good.”

A few miles farther down the county road Reagan sees exactly what she’s been looking for and pulls off the main road onto one of those sparsely-graveled, muddy access roads. She puts the car in park and turns off the engine to conserve gas. When she had first found Dr. Krue’s car in the faculty parking lot she’d seen grocery bags through the large rear window to the hatchback. She goes around back to rummage in the trunk for food and water. There, beside what appears to be camping gear, are two full bags of groceries including energy bars, sports drinks, soda cans, candy bars and pre-made sandwiches in plastic bags. Dr. Krue had thought of everything. Reagan has to push down the tears that are threatening to dissolve the last vestiges of her sanity which are barely hanging on by a tight, thin thread. There will be time for mourning later. She’ll crumble if she dwells on the charitable goodness of Dr. Krue or the fact that he bought her and her friend soda and sports drinks- which she doubts the doctor would have drunk- and had thought to make them sandwiches for the trip.

Reagan tears open a candy bar and bites off a large chunk, letting the sugar calm her nerves. It is difficult to swallow because her throat is sore and her windpipe feels deflated from being choked, although she knows it’s not. When she is finished inhaling the candy, not tasting a single bite, she drinks half a can of soda. The sugar is keeping up with her adrenaline and the shaking is starting to subside. While she sits on the tailgate of the station wagon, she notices Dr. Krue’s overnight bag has a map sticking out the top. It’s been a while since she’s even seen a physical map, but she knows how to read one. Grabbing a sandwich and another soda, Reagan closes the hatch and goes back to the driver’s seat. Once inside, she turns on the dome lighting in the car and studies the map. Dr. Krue has drawn their route in red, and it leads directly back to the valley where McClane Farm is located which he has marked with a red dot. The roads are not ones that are familiar to Reagan other than the one she is on. Thankfully, she has taken the first state route he has marked, and so far she seems to be going the route he has outlined on the map purely by accident. But in another five miles or so she would’ve missed an important turn-off. Reagan does her best to memorize the road names and numbers.

Setting the map on the passenger seat, trying not to notice how badly she is staining the supple, beige leather interior of the luxurious automobile with blood splatters and drips, Reagan sees another flashlight in the center console, something she missed in her dark escape from the university. Instinctively, she stretches across her seat and opens the glove box, finding a .38 caliber revolver and a compact 9 millimeter semi-automatic pistol. Both are fully loaded and there is an extra clip for the 9 mill. Apparently Dr. Krue in his foresight and maturity was much more prepared than she ever dreamed they would need to be.