Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (39 page)

Cade stuffed the remaining cylinders containing the Omega
antiserum inside, zippered the bag, and clipped it around his waist. He patted
Lasseigne’s leg. Then he looked at one of the few remaining members of SEAL
Team 6 and said, “I owe you one, Griff.”

Carbine in one hand, rucksack in the other, Cade motioned
for Skipper to help him with the door. In the next beat he was on the ground
and running full on toward the Osprey and not looking back.

By the time he had drawn to within thirty yards of the black
tiltrotor aircraft some kind of a decision must have been made. The rotor wash
suddenly seemed less ferocious and the rear ramp on the big bird cracked open
and started a merger with the slick red rock. Cade imagined one of two things
happening. Either he’d been deemed crazy by his contemporaries in Jedi One-One
and would be greeted by a few leveled rifles brandished by confused Rangers
waiting with zip-ties to restrain him. Or he’d be welcomed aboard, no questions
asked, and might just make it to the compound in time to deliver what he hoped
to be life-saving measures.

In the end the latter had been the case. The ramp stopped at
full open and the soldiers welcomed him. Within a matter of seconds, the girls,
wearing confused looks on their faces, were being led back to the waiting Ghost
Hawk by a pair of Rangers.

Cade buckled in and nodded to the loadmaster and then
exchanged knowing looks with the remaining ten Rangers of the 75th. The same
regiment he’d hailed from so long ago. And like him, they’d been conditioned to
expect the unexpected.
Hurry up and wait
should have been the United
States Army’s mantra. Not:
Be all you can be
.

Five minutes after negotiating the tight left turn onto
State Route 39 West, and with the reverberations of palms slapping the doors a
thing of the past, Brook was attacking the road like Danica Patrick—about
thirty miles above the posted limit.

As the quarry entrance blazed by on the right, she hit a
straightaway and between a break in the trees saw the blue and gold DHS chopper
tracking for the compound on a more or less northwest heading.

After another five long minutes of negotiating the twists
and turns and rollercoaster-like undulations of 39 at breakneck speed, the
clearing and gentle arc of the two-lane near the compound’s hidden entrance
came into view. And there beside the road was a head-high pile of unmoving Zs
and a black Chevy pickup sitting broadside to their approach.

Behind the efforts of a gun-wielding Ichabod-Crane-looking
form that could only be Phillip, the gate swung open, allowing both charging
vehicles entrance to the feeder road.

Inside the compound, at the security desk, Seth watched the
F-650 barreling toward the camera providing the feed gracing the top left
corner of the monitor. Like a bull elephant charging through the Serengeti
bush, the running boards and mirrors on the lead truck churned the just-turning
leaves and thistle and reaching branches of the ground-hugging undergrowth into
so much colorful mulch. And hot on the black Ford’s tail was the white Raptor, spewing
a turbid contrail of like-colored foliage in its wake.

Over his shoulder, Seth hollered, “They’re back,” and
returned his attention to the monitor. But this time he was staring at the
panel on the monitor’s right lower corner showing the image of the clearing.

In seconds the trucks were past the feeder road’s blind spot
and bouncing into the clearing. Both trucks came to a juddering halt and in
less time than it took for the doors to open, Damon and Lev and Jamie were
hustling from the Black Hawk towards the F-650.

Seth watched three of the Raptor’s doors spring open and the
Kids and Max exit in a flurry of arms and legs and move as one toward the
bigger Ford.

Like it had just cruised to a stop in an Indy 500 pit, the
F-650 was surrounded by bodies and Chief was hauled out and being carried
towards the compound.

In the clearing Brook stopped for a beat and spoke to
Duncan, bringing him up to speed on Chief’s condition and Cade’s impending
arrival with the dose of antiserum. To which he said, “Is Raven OK?” She shook
the bag’s contents and said, “That’s where I’m headed right now. When Cade gets
here, have him see to Chief
first
.”

Fatigue showing on his face, Duncan nodded and picked up his
end of the litter. He looked down on his friend’s face and didn’t like what he
saw. The gray-white pallor and the veins made him look like what he was slowly
becoming: a living corpse.

Seth jumped a little from the resonant bang of the compound
door blasting open and pranging against the wall. He craned and swiveled his
head in time to see Brook, her ponytail bobbing to and fro, take a sharp left
towards the Kids’ billet where she’d left Raven hours earlier.

Then the two-way came to life on the table in front of him.
He took his eyes from the monitor to fetch it. He spoke briefly with Duncan
then tossed the radio aside, stood up and pushed his chair under the plywood
sheet passing for a desk. He moved his rifle and a couple of other things out
of the way in order to make a path wide enough for two men carrying a litter to
transit the space. Satisfied there was ample room, he stood with his back
pressed to the metal wall and held the lone sixty-watt bulb up and out of the
way. A few seconds passed and footfalls echoed in the entry and Lev and Duncan
hurried by with the makeshift litter nearly scraping the floor.

In passing, Seth caught a glimpse of Chief, who looked like
dog shit warmed over. Suddenly he felt a sudden and uncharacteristic urge to
puke. With his jaw trying to lock open and saliva filling his mouth, he sat and
put his head between his knees and willed the sensation to pass.

Brook checked her rapid stride at the turn, took a couple of
measured paces and stopped and stood in front of the metal door. She breathed
deeply, a half-dozen calming breaths, then rapped lightly and took a step back.

Someone from the other side said, “Come in.”

Brook tried to place the soothing, motherly voice. Coming up
blank, she nudged the door open and cast her gaze around the room’s dimly lit
confines.

Raven was on the lower bunk right where Brook had left her.
A neatly folded washcloth was draped across her forehead, partially concealing
her eyes. The person whose voice Brook had heard was sitting, back to the door,
on a folding chair and turned as soon as the door hinged open. Seeing the lady
up close for the first time, Brook pegged her as late fifties or early sixties.
Born when fins on cars were big and families were bigger. The lady nodded and
Brook saw a twinkle in her gray-green eyes and a softness to her wrinkled face
that instantly set her at ease.

Without bothering to stand or offer her hand, the lady said,
“I’m Glenda Gladson. Your daughter has been in good hands. Heidi is wonderful
and Tran is no slouch either.”

A cold chill coursed Brook’s spine. She said, “Where are they?”

“Heidi went to see her boyfriend who arrived a few minutes
ago. Guess he’s been gone all day.”

Brook nodded, confirming the situation. She set the bag on
the floor and sat on the bed next to Raven’s thigh. She looked Glenda straight
in the eyes and asked, “What kind of nursing?”

The lady chuckled. “There weren’t as many titles in my day.
Don’t worry ... I took care of your lovely girl in their stead.”

Brook said nothing. She touched the bump on Raven’s
forehead. Determined the goose egg hadn’t gotten any larger. Then she pulled
the thin sheet to Raven’s knees. Leaning over, she saw on her bare chest angry
purple bruising that started low where her back touched the bed and spread
upward, encompassing most of her ribcage on the right side.

“We cut her shirt off,” said Glenda matter-of-factly.

Brook touched the back of her hand to Raven’s forehead. It
was cool to the touch. Which was a good thing.
No fever.
But her lips
were still tinged blue. Which wasn’t. “She has a right side pneumothorax from
blunt force trauma,” Brook said, all business. “And a couple of broken ribs, I
suspect.”

“I took a listen. Sounds real bad in there,” Glenda said
while she removed Brook’s stethoscope from around her neck and handed it over.
“I heard wheezing too. Does she have asthma or allergies?”

“I’ve got my suspicions.”

“The crash must have been horrible.”

“I heard it. It sounded hellacious.” Brook shook her head
and shot a pained look Glenda’s way. “The aftermath looked no better.”

“You look a little peaked yourself,” said Glenda. “How are
you feeling?”

Brook ripped open a foil packet and unfolded an alcohol
wipe. “I’m OK to do this.”

“I wasn’t questioning that,” Glenda said. “It’s just ... the
bandage there on your face. And there’s the scratches on your wrist and neck
...”

“I’m
fine
,” Brook said. “Has Raven been awake much?”

“Off and on. More off, though. Last time she opened her eyes
was about fifteen minutes ago. She asked about you and tried to sit up and then
it was lights out again.”

Brook grimaced. Looked at Glenda and stated the obvious.
“She’s in a lot of pain.” Then she leaned in close, kissed Raven’s cheek.
Whispering, she said, “Mommy’s here,” and though her daughter probably wasn’t
listening, let alone able to comprehend the fix she was in, Brook went on to
explain what had happened and what she was going to do to make it all better.

Raven stirred a little. Her eyes fluttered and opened and
seemed to focus. Then she smiled and whispered, “I love you, Mom.” A coughing
fit came and went and tears streamed from her eyes and wet the pillow.

“I’ll get us some gloves. Where are they?”

Brook was about to direct Glenda to the dry storage to get
two pair but remembered Chief was in there. Not knowing his state, she decided
to chance it. Said, “We’ll have to do without.”

Shaking her head, Glenda replied, “If you insist.”

Ignoring the connotation and inflection in Glenda’s voice,
Brook pulled a syringe from the bag and ripped off its sterile wrapper with her
teeth. Took the safety cap off the large needle.

“We could use a local—”

“We could use a lot of things. These—” Brook motioned to the
handful of supplies spread out on the bedspread. “—are for use on animals. But
I’m going to have to make an exception and go with what I have.”

Glenda said nothing.

Brook took the bottle of sterile solution and drew a few
inches of it into the syringe’s chamber. She felt Raven’s dainty chest,
searching for the second and third rib. Traced a line down from the center of
her right clavicle to find the second intercostal space. Keeping her finger near
the point of insertion, she asked Glenda to restrain Raven. Acting quickly,
Brook inserted the needle an inch or so above the chosen rib, looking for a
pleural space and the telltale bubbles indicating the needle was in the pleural
cavity.

“Bubbles,” said Glenda.

Brook pulled the plunger to aspirate the space. Without a
catheter or specialized tubing called a stopcock, she had no choice but to
evacuate the air a little at a time with only the syringe.

While Raven fought to move under Glenda’s weight pressing
down on her shoulders, Brook extracted the needle, expelled the air, and
repeated the process two more times.

Glenda said, “Wish we could send her to x-ray.”

Brook answered, “We’re going to have to let time tell the
tale.” She ripped open another alcohol swab and wiped the puncture site. She
kissed Raven again and dabbed some sweat from her brow, smoothed her dark hair
back and rose. Said, “I love you, bird.”

Glenda looked up at Brook. Saw sweat beading on her brow and
upper lip. Passed her the remnants of Raven’s T-shirt and said, “Are you sure
you’re OK?”

Brook turned and covertly swiped away a tear. She nodded and
said, “Will you watch her for a little while longer?”

“I’d be honored,” answered Glenda. “I’ll treat her like my
very own granddaughter.”

“If my husband, Cade, comes looking for me here. Please send
him to the dry storage. If I’m not there, I’ll be in our quarters ... resting.”

“This place can’t be that big. Wouldn’t he find you
eventually?”

“There’s a method to my madness, Glenda,” conceded Brook.
She looked down on Raven and, though it might just be attributed to wishful
thinking, swore that the normal healthy color was returning to her lips.

“Oh yeah,” Glenda said. She plucked a plain blue book with
gold lettering on the spine off the floor and handed it to Brook.

Brook took the book and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s a book I think Duncan is going to find very useful
when he returns.”

More tears were forming so Brook avoided eye contact with
Glenda. She said, “I’ll make sure he gets it.” When she opened the door a blast
of cool air hit her face. When she closed it at her back she felt all alone in
the world. She stood there wiping the tears and looking at the book. Read the
title: Alcoholics Anonymous. She dried the rest of the tears, tucked the book
under her arm, and stalked off towards the entrance.

Once there, she stood in the anteroom in front of the closed
door and listened hard.
Nothing.
There was no whining jet turbine. No
thumping of rotors carrying up and down the valley. Then the door hinged open
and before she could react Heidi entered the gloom and ran head on with her.

All Brook could do to keep from hitting the deck was drop
the book and clasp the taller woman’s forearm, and then right there in the
tight confines they did a clumsy little dance.

A little startled, Heidi said, “Thanks. I guess I was in a
little bit of a hurry. How’s Raven?”

Brook released her grip and said, “She’s stable for now.”

“I only left her for a second—”

“No need to apologize.” Brook paused for a beat. The sounds
of excited voices filtered in through the cracked door. Nothing else, though.
She scooped up the book. Then, after a pregnant pause, she said, “I’m the one
who owes you an apology for my attitude earlier. Life’s too short to sweat the
small stuff.” She rooted in her cargo pocket and handed over the sample packets
of Celexa and pantomimed zipping her lip and tossing the key away.

A little taken aback, Heidi looked at the offering and said,
“What’s this?”

“Something that might help.”

“I’ve been an asshole ... why?”

“I
know
that wasn’t the real you. Besides ... I owe
you for watching my girl.”

“You and Cade were instrumental in me and Daymon reuniting.
And for that I figure I still owe you.”

“Cade ... yes. Me? No effin way. I just let him go and do
his thing. It’s easier that way.”

“So if you’re back and Glenda is with Raven ...”

“Go,” Brook said, pointing at the door. “Be with your man.
But wait ... give this to Duncan first thing.”

Heidi looked at the book. Turned it on its side and read the
spine. She looked up and smiled and stuffed the blister packets in her back
pocket, then opened her mouth like she had something more to say. But no words
came out. Instead, a tick later, she pursed her lips, did a little pirouette
and was out the door.

Brook watched her go and stayed in the foyer until she heard
the door open and close again. She turned on her heel and, passing through the
security container, she peeled a sheet from the rapidly thinning legal pad and
asked Seth for a pencil but got a black Sharpie instead.
You’ve got one shot
at it, Brooklyn. Better not screw it up
. With a steady throbbing starting
up behind her eyes, she thanked the man and padded off to the Grayson billet.