The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two (23 page)

“Me, too, Bertie. I’m so sorry,” Hannah tells her gently and squeezes the other woman’s hand.

“There will be other babies, Bertie. Just because you miscarry doesn’t mean you can’t ever have children,” Grandpa informs her. “Would you like me to speak with Wayne for you?”

“Sure, Dr. McClane. I’d like that. It would be good. It’ll be easier coming from you,” she says softly.

Her grandfather leaves the room to find Bertie’s husband, and a few minutes later Wayne enters to comfort his distressed wife. She and Grandpa leave them to their privacy and join Kelly in the hall. Lenny and Chet have also come upstairs. Grandpa closes their bedroom door and walks with her to the other end of the long, second floor hallway. Kelly joins them, of course.

“I don’t like that she has a fever,” Grandpa says in a hushed voice. Hannah presumes that it is so that the others do not overhear and become worried. “She’s going to need to pass the pregnancy on her own.”

“How’s that, Doc?” Kelly asks. Hannah also has no idea how this sort of thing would work.

“She’ll start cramping pretty badly, and I’ll help her in the bathroom. She’ll simply pass everything that way. In another time I would perform what was called a D&C or dilation and curettage on her. It’s where we scrape the lining of the uterus to make sure that all of the... well, everything is completely cleared away to prevent infection. I don’t have that ability now. We’ll need more buckets full of water to flush their toilet since they don’t have electricity here,” Grandpa explains.

His voice sounds tense, worried. If anyone other than his family overheard him, they wouldn’t recognize it. But Hannah does. The pinched syllables and audible sigh at the end of his last sentence let her know that he is worried. She reaches out and finds his hand at his brow. When she feels around, Hannah discovers lines of stress pressed tightly together between her grandfather’s brows. He takes her hand in his.

“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get her through this,” he reassures her. Hannah’s not so sure. And this poor family has already been through so much.

“I’ll go with the other men and get as many buckets of water as we can, sir,” Kelly says tightly. He is apparently worried, too.

“Good, Kelly. It may take her quite a few visits to the bathroom to pass everything. We’re going to be here a long time. We may need to send you back home for other supplies and probably for food for dinner. It’s not like Bertie can make anything, and these folks are barely scraping by as it is. I don’t want to leave her until it’s over. I also need to get that fever to stay down. A fever isn’t good. It could be a sign of an infection already settled in,” Grandpa says.

“That’s not good,” Kelly agrees.

“No, it’s not. But it could also just be her body’s reaction to the miscarriage. Every woman is different,” he explains.

“I’ll go and get started on the water,” Kelly offers and leaves them.

She hears him explaining to Chet and their cousin, Lenny, what needs done. Three sets of footsteps descend the creaky, wooden stairs again. Kelly’s are discernibly louder.

“Hannah, I’m going to need you in there. Try to keep her calm, relaxed as best as you can, honey. She’s already distressed. There is going to be a lot of blood, and Bertie is going to be very scared, ok?” he asks to which she nods readily. She’s also scared, but she isn’t going to admit it. Her grandfather and Bertie need her, and she wants to help. “Once I feel like she’s done, then I’ll give her some pain medication and some antibiotics to help her rest and fight any possible infection.”

“Ok, Grandpa. I can do it,” she tells him firmly.

Her grandfather squeezes her hand to give her a bit of his resolve and answers, “I know you can, honey.”

It doesn’t take long before Bertie is in the bathroom about every ten minutes for the next three hours. The men pass buckets to her grandpa, and he flushes away the evidence of Bertie’s miscarriage. Kelly is steadfast and just as calm as her grandfather which Hannah appreciates more than she can say. Bertie, on the other hand, is afraid, cries from time to time and is very sad. Hannah does her best to make her feel better by rubbing her back soothingly and talking with her in between her trips to the restroom.

They confer in the hall again with Kelly and Wayne as initiated by Grandpa. Kelly stands next to her, and Hannah would like nothing better than to hold his hand for a little strength but refrains from doing so because so many people are present.

“She’s still fevering. I’m going to be honest; I don’t like it,” Grandpa informs them. She hears Wayne blow out a long sigh of worry. “Hannah, why don’t you and Kelly go home to retrieve some things for me. I’ve made a list. It’s nearly eight o’clock. Everyone is bound to be hungry. Also bring some food and have your grandmother give you chicken broth and some juice. I’d like to see her sip at some broth to stay hydrated. If she gets dehydrated in the next day or so, then I’m going to have to run an IV line.”

“She was shivering when I held her hand, Grandpa,” Hannah tells him. Kelly’s large hand lands softly onto her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before retreating again.

“That is very normal. Her body is going through something very traumatic, everyone. Also, there has been a lot of blood loss,” he explains patiently.

“Will she need a blood transfusion, Doc?” Kelly asks.

“No, no. Not unless something is wrong. The blood loss she’s suffering is normal. But this fever could be a sign of infection or it could just be that she was sick with a cold virus or something of that nature before this all started. She’s been through a lot this summer,” he acknowledges.

“Yeah, that’s true. Bertie hasn’t dealt with what happened to our family very well. She’s always been kind of fragile. She couldn’t even stand it when we had to do butchering around here. I used to tell her to stop naming all the animals- that it made it harder- but she never did. Plus, she misses my mom something terrible. You know her mom died of cancer a few years back, and she kind of just adopted our mom after that. She’s been really depressed. She’s seemed a little sick for about a week now,” Wayne tells them. He does that terrible sigh of exasperation again.

“Women are more resilient creatures than we ever give them credit for, Wayne. She’ll be fine. It’s just going to take her some time. But don’t worry about her. There’s a strength in Bertie,” Grandpa tells her husband with such sureness that it is at once believable.

“Yes, sir,” Wayne answers simply. “Can I go in and be with her?”

Grandpa must nod because Wayne disappears into his bedroom to be with his wife, who probably needs him more than she does anyone else right now.

“You two, go get the things on this list,” Grandpa says and presses a slip of paper into Hannah’s hand. He must have been working on it while he was taking care of Bertie. “There are a few things on there that I’m going to need from the shed. Kelly, take Hannah and get them.”

“Yes, sir,” Kelly says with almost military diction. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Kelly turns her, and they head downstairs and out of the house, back to the truck where Kelly helps her in. They pull away from the Reynolds farm and are about halfway home when Hannah dissolves into a mess of tears. Kelly stops the truck and sets it to park. It doesn’t matter if they are in the middle of the road. It isn’t like there is traffic on their road anymore anyways.

“Hey, hey,” Kelly says as he pulls her into his arms where she cries like a three year old. How embarrassing. “It’s ok, Hannah.”

“I just feel so bad for Bertie,” she cries uncontrollably. “She’s already been through so much, and now she’s losing her baby.”

“It’s ok. She’ll have another. Lots of women have miscarriages, Hannah,” he tries to explain as he rubs her back comfortingly. She goes on another full minute of bawling like a child. “Jesus, don’t cry, Hannah.”

The strain in Kelly’s voice and the way he cups her face in his large hands gives her just tiniest bit of gumption to get herself under control. Good grief, he probably thinks she is such a child. “I’m sorry. I’m a complete wimp.”

“No way. I don’t think any of you McClanes are wimps. Are you kidding me?” he teases which makes her smile slightly. “You’re one tough cookie, Hannah. Trust me on that one. I just don’t like to see you crying.”

She sniffs hard and unladylike and desperately wishes for a tissue. Kelly wipes her tears and cheeks with one swipe of his fingers. Then he keeps his hands there, the thumbs caressing her softly as a hard rain beats down upon the roof.

“Better?” he asks to which she nods. “You’re grandpa is going to take care of her, ok? She’s in the best hands possible. He won’t let anything happen to her, Hannah.”

“I know. It’s just so sad, Kelly. Why do such horrible things have to happen? And why do they have to happen to nice people like Bertie and Wayne?” she asks and blinks a few times on a scowl. Kelly pulls her close and pushes her head against his chest so that her cheek lays flat there.

“I don’t know, baby,” he says and his words melt Hannah’s insides to mush. “You probably have better explanations for this sort of thing than I do. I’ve seen really terrible things happen to good
and
bad people many, many times. I never understand any of it. Just don’t cry anymore, Hannah. I can’t take that.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes weakly and tips her head back.

Kelly surprises her by placing a tender kiss to her forehead. Then he kisses her nose. His arm tightens around her back, and his mouth presses against hers. The kiss is brief, but the underlying sensuality is still there.

“We need to get to the farm,” he says abruptly as he pulls away. Hannah nods and pulls back, as well. She doesn’t return to her side of the truck, however, but sits in the middle- right next to him.

After a minute more of driving, Kelly reaches down and takes her hand in his. It’s comforting and not at all sensual this time. Hannah allows her head to loll to the side against his big shoulder. They ride in reflective silence, holding hands and not speaking anymore. To Hannah, everything about Kelly is comforting and makes her feel secure. She just knows as long as she is with Kelly that nothing, no matter how terrible, is insurmountable. As long as he’s by her side, she’ll always feel this way.

Chapter Fourteen

Reagan

Before they even get to the shopping district of the city, a thunder storm sets in with a ferocious vengeance like God has set his angry wrath against them. They try to take cover in a parking garage to wait it out, but after an hour, the thunder and lightning cease but not the rain. John orders that they return to the cabin. By the time they get there, they are both soaked to the bone just as they were the previous evening. It irritates her to make such a quick retreat before they have everything they need, or even one-tenth of it, but she concedes nonetheless.

With the tack removed from the horses and stowed safely in the cabin to dry out, Reagan prepares food, mostly because she knows he’ll want to eat even if she doesn’t. John checks all of their weapons and loads more ammo into his rifle. She doesn’t believe him that he didn’t kill those people in the hospital, those stalkers of Paul’s family, but Reagan doesn’t argue. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want to tell her about any of the people he’s killed, and it’s not for her to question. Plus, he is a terrible liar. She can see right through it whether he knows it or not.

“If it stops raining, I think I’m gonna go back in tonight,” John tells her as he uses an oiled rag to wipe down the rain-soaked weapons. They’ve both changed into dry clothes and have hanged their wet ones on the line again. “You can stay here, boss.”

“No way!” Reagan screeches. “There’s no freagin’ way I’m waiting here for you and not going back, too.”

“I just think it’s too dangerous. I’d prefer it if you just stayed home on this one, ok?”

“Well, that isn’t happening,” she blurts angrily. “Either I go, too, or you don’t go back!”

John doesn’t answer her, but grumbles something under his breath. Reagan knows that she’s pissed him off by not going along with his directive, but there is no way in Hell she is staying in this cabin wondering whether or not he is killed and never coming back.

“Fine,” he finally spits out. “Let’s just eat and we’ll move back in after dark. It won’t be long now.”

They share a large quart of Grams’s beef stew with potatoes and carrots smothered in a rich sauce. Reagan has no idea how it’s made, but she’s always liked it. She pretty much likes anything Grams and Hannie make, and anything was better than college cafeteria or hospital cafeteria food. They wash everything down with warm cans of soda that John says they should drink for the caffeine and sugar benefits. As a doctor, she doesn’t think caffeine is actually good for anyone, but he tells her that they may need to be up very late into the wee hours of the morning depending on what happens in the city.

At nine p.m. John declares that it’s time to leave, and they both pack up, literally. He’s wearing a white muscle shirt and his camo pants.

“You’re good in what you’ve got on, but I need to change,” he tells her and crosses the room, stripping out of his clothing as he goes. There isn’t a damn shy bone in his muscular, bronzed body.

“We need to be in black or the darkest clothing we have for a night move through the city. Makes us more camouflaged.”

First goes the white shirt, which leaves his sun-kissed skin bare to her viewing pleasure, not that she takes any from it. She has to reaffirm this thought in her mind not once, but twice. Then the pants, having removed his Army boots earlier, get pulled down and folded neatly. Reagan looks away quickly, preferring the view of the wooden door to the cabin instead. She hears the smartass chuckle.

A moment later, John comes to stand directly in front of her in head to toe black. He takes her pistol from her thigh holster, checking it one last time before he extinguishes the lanterns. They both carry tack outdoors to the horses and within fifteen minutes are on their way to the city again. The caffeine wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. Her motor was starting to wear down since they’ve been up since so early this morning. John leads her, as well as the pack horse, to an area that she’d pointed out on a map earlier today. It is more of a tourist’s map, but it had helped her to show John the lay of the city. They dismount, still well within the edge of the forest, where they tie the horses to the branches of fallen trees. This path he’s chosen will take them toward the city center of downtown Clarksville.