by Adams, Lucia
Kyle nodded and stood to leave.
Before he left the room, I said, “And it wouldn’t be remiss for you guys to clean up a bit, scrub some of that stink off. We wouldn’t want them to think we were some kind of savages, would we?”
*
Before arriving, I had all but five of the boys go below deck. I’d told the man six, and that’s what they’d see when we got there. If things went well, I’d call them up on deck and we could all have a good laugh about it later on over dinner. My father never imparted any sage advice to me, but I sometimes pretend he did. A saying my fictional guru father would have approved of is: fortune favours the prepared.
I really hoped my gut was wrong.
The dock the old preacher had given us the coordinates to was lined with boats of all shapes and sizes. He’d apparently been at this shepherding gig for a while. I idled the engine down, but instead of coasting in close to the boats surrounding the small dock, I let us drift past. The old man said there would be someone here to meet us, but unless they were aboard one of the boats tied off to the dock, his welcoming party wasn’t here. Maybe we were early. Hell, maybe they were late. It’s even possible—and very likely, regardless of the assurances of the old preacher to the contrary—that whoever was supposed to meet us could have met up with a herd of infected. Whatever it was didn’t calm the queasy feeling building up in my guts. I also couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.
“Justin,” I whispered to my former paperboy, “grab the binoculars for me, would you?”
“Sorry, Mr. Johnston. They got lost in the water back near the last place we fueled up.”
“Fine, then hand me that rifle—the one with the scope.”
I swept the rifle across the tree line, pausing occasionally to adjust the sight. It was impossible to hear anything over the boat’s rumbling idle, so I killed the engine and continued searching the forest. After a few minutes, I began to feel silly for thinking there was anything out there watching us. Just as I was about to call off my scan, I picked up a tiny movement on the branch of a tree. Then I saw them. Lined up like a murder of crows, ten or more green-clad people, all with weapons pointed at our boat.
My heart lurched, but I held my panic in check. If I moved too fast, those people might shoot.
I let my arm holding the rifle drop to my side. “Man, do I feel stupid,” I said, louder than needed. “Let’s dock and go see what’s keeping our new friends.”
As casually as I could muster, I fired up the boat and slowly turned in toward the tangle of boats.
Kyle was grinning, but he could sense there was something wrong. “Everything all right, Gerry?”
“Couldn’t be better, my man.” When my back was to the shore, I dropped my voice to a whisper, “Go tell everyone to grab a weapon, but don’t move too fast. When I punch it, shoot the fuck out of that tree line. Got it?”
The colour drained from his face, and I could tell it was taking all the control he had to keep the smile stretched across his face. “You know we don’t have enough fuel to get very far, right?”
For the sake of our watchers in the trees, I laughed and slapped him lightly on the back, then said, “I know. We’re fucked. But we passed a dock a few miles down the coast. That’s where I’m heading.”
“If we make it away from here.”
“Yeah, if. Now stop being a pessimist and do your job.”
I waited until he’d walked from one boy to the next, telling them what was expected of them, then I cranked the wheel and slammed the throttle open.
As plans go, it wasn’t a very sound one, but it’s not like there was time to make up a good one. When the boat lurched forward, the boys all tumbled to the deck. Seconds later, bullets rained down from the trees, cutting a swath across the bow and tearing holes in the motor. I left the steering wheel, grabbed the first gun I could find, and joined the boys at the bow as they returned fire for fire. All around us splinters of fibreglass and wood flew, the boys both below deck and above screamed, cordite and fear filled my nostrils, and bullets tore the boat apart.
But we were alive.
The dock shrunk into the distance, but the gunfire kept up (at least on our end) until I yelled for the boys to stop. After checking everyone over, I was relieved to see that the worst of the injuries were splinters from the torn-up decking. Apparently the preacher’s buddies were shit shots. Good to know. We, on the other hand, capped at least two of the fuckers. Hoo-ah.
The motor coughed and sputtered, sending smoke billowing out in our wake. We’d be lucky to make it back to the dock I’d seen on the way in. As bad as that sounded, I couldn’t keep the grin from my face. Some of the boys were crying, some blanched as they stared a thousand yards away, some were grinning back, but they’d all held the line and done what needed doing. I felt like a proud father. “I’d play paintball with you little bastards any day. Good job.”
One of the boys—Simon (a.k.a. thepieman), I think—said, “What are we gonna do now? We’re almost out of fuel.”
Kyle jumped in, “Don’t worry about that, Si. From the sounds coming out of the engine compartment, it’s gonna die long before we run out of fuel.”
Off in the distance, still only a speck on the horizon, was our destination. “Hey.” I pointed. “Things are looking up. There’s our dock, right where I said it was.”
And then the engine caught fire.
CHAPTER 19
Montana, United States/Canadian Border
Lucia
We felt lucky in unlucky times. Just after crossing out of Anaconda, we found a zombie-free, barely looted gas station. We stocked up on gas, food, and water. We figured we had enough gas strapped to the roof of the truck to make it to British Columbia.
“You know… we could stop looting and just make everything last until we get there,” I said.
Fred smiled; cherry rope licorices dangled from his mouth. I was staring at him when I saw the grin leave his face. I turned my head and looked out onto the road. Up ahead, a tree lay across the highway, blocking our way.
“What is that? A tree fell?”
“No. It has to be looters; the tree has been cut.”
“Stop and turn around.”
Fred slowed to a stop and a man stepped out onto the road with a shotgun.
“Fred, please leave.”
“I can’t. He’ll blow a hole in our radiator. Let’s just see what he wants.”
The man approached the truck, his gun pointed at us, and mine at him. Fred rolled his window down a little bit and the man stopped.
“Where ya goin’?” the man called out.
“Canada,” Fred answered.
“Yer’ in Canada.”
We both knew that wasn’t true.
“How can I help you?” Fred asked.
“Oh, we’ll just take everything you got,” the man said in a calm, matter o’ fact way. Five more men emerged from the woods with guns pointed at us.
“How about we give you half of what we have and you let us go on our way?” Fred asked.
I looked at the other men with guns pointed at me, but I refused to lower mine.
The man didn’t hesitate. In a flat tone, he retorted, “Yep. I said everything. That includes the truck… and the girl.”
My face twitched.
“We have lots of gas and food and water. You can have all of it, just let us be.”
“There won’t be any bargaining today. Just come on out of the truck and we’ll take care of the rest.”
Fred put his hand on his door handle.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Fred. Get your fucking hand off of that door.” I murmured through my teeth.
“Lucia, we’re surrounded. Put your gun down.”
“Don’t fucking do it. I’m not putting my gun down. Zombies, I’m afraid of— men, I’m not.”
“Don’t be afraid, ma’am; we’ll treat you good here.”
“Don’t get out,” I whispered as I opened my door. “T
ell your men to stand back, or I’m not putting my gun down,” I yelled.
I had it ready—my rigged toilet bomb had sat on the floor next to me for weeks, regularly refreshed. Inside of a two liter bottle was a bed of aluminum nails with a smaller bottle inside filled with toilet bowl cleaner. I held the bottle still between my two feet as I reached down slowly and tightened the lid. I opened my door wider, keeping my gun aimed at the man closest to the truck. The other men had backed away, as directed, waiting for further instructions. I stepped out of the truck, grabbing the bottle as I exited. I gave it one good shake and the hydrochloric acid in the cleaning fluid splashed onto the aluminum. Instantly, the bottle started to expand with the gas from the two compounds mixing. I threw it like a bowling ball towards the group of men and jumped back into the truck. Within seconds, it exploded. The sound cracked through the woods, spitting out the nails like shrapnel. Fred threw the truck into reverse. The man nearest to us aimed and fired.
Fred turned the truck around and we barreled down the highway.
“Fuck, that was close,” I said.
Fred scowled.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fucking hit, Lucy.”
Fred’s shirt was turning red at his gut.
“We gotta pull over.”
“Nah, it’s not that bad, we need to put some mileage between us and those rednecks.”
“Let me drive then.”
“I’ll be okay, just sit tight.”
I jumped in the back and started sorting through our stuff. I found our stash of medicine, dumped a small pill into my hand, and climbed back up to Fred. I opened a bottle of water, pushed the pill into his mouth, and held the bottle of water to his lips. He drank.
“What was that?”
“A roxy.”
“Fuck, Lucia. It’s gonna make me puke.”
“It’s the best thing we have for pain.”
I returned to the back and laid out every blanket and towel we had, making a bed for Fred. I started ripping open gauze and then returned to the front.
“As soon as you think it’s safe to pull over, I need to look at that wound.”
“Just a few more miles. I don’t think they followed us.”
“I don’t think so either. How is it?”
Fred looked at me. “Painful as fuck.”
He was sweating and pale. After several minutes, he stopped along a desolate road.
“Can you climb into the back?”
“I think so.” Fred winced. He stood up and I saw the blood had puddled on his seat.
He lay on the makeshift bed and I lifted his shirt, pressing gauze to the wound. The edges were burnt and the hole gurgled blood like a tipped-over bottle of wine. It was worse than I thought.
“Fred, whatever the bullet hit, if it doesn’t get fixed, you’re going to die.”
“Perfect. Just find me a doctor.”
I pulled my lips into my mouth and bit them. “There’s no doctor.”
“A veterinarian?” Fred joked weakly.
My eyes overflowed with tears.
“Tell me you’ve been to vet school, Lucy, and that FurCon business was just about your love for animals.”
I was crying silently. “I can’t tell you that,” I whispered.
Fred turned his head and stared at the wall of the truck. I felt guilty, like if I had only just cooperated, this wouldn’t have happened.
“Don’t think what you’re thinking, Lucy. Those men would have killed me, no matter what we did. If they didn’t kick me out of camp without weapons or food, I would have died getting you out of there anyway.”
“I—I worked in an ER once as an intern. I was pre-med. I could try…if I found the right things.”
Fred looked at me, “What do you mean?”
I inhaled deeply. “The blood—it’s coming out too fast. If the bullet hit a minor artery, at best, you have a few hours to live. I—in no way—am skilled or trained to open you up, but it might be the only chance you have.”
“Do it!” Fred smiled. “I trust you; just do whatever you can.”
“It’s only if I can find everything, and even then, you might get an infection and die anyway. Or what if you need intubated? I can’t do that.”
“It’s better than my other option,” Fred smiled.
“We’ll have to find a hospital…”
“No, the hospitals are too full of the infected. You’d never make it in and out alive.”
I grimaced at the thought. “I got it. In Anaconda, we passed a plastic surgery center. They would have everything we need. We have to go back.”
“Can you go it alone?”
“I have to. Keep as much pressure on your wound as possible.” I piled more gauze on the injury and pressed his hand on top of it. “Can you hold that there?”
“Yeah.”
The drive back to Anaconda seemed quick, but once in town, I had trouble navigating around the burned-out vehicles as well as remembering exactly where I saw the plastic surgery center. Fred grunted when I drove over bumps. He was quiet as I pulled in front of our destination. Armed with two guns and an axe, I said, “I’ll be back,” and didn’t give him the chance to say goodbye.
Like most of Anaconda, the place was quiet. I was greeted early on by a woman with an exposed chest cavity. Her left breast had a sagging void where the other side revealed a silicone implant. I wanted to stay as quiet as possible, so I separated her head from her body with two axe swings. Rotting flesh gave way easily and zombie bones seemed more brittle, thus more likely to snap when struck.
I located the operating room and began filling my backpack with bottles of saline, suture kits, sterilized tools, IVs, and at the end, I busted the lock off of the medicine locker and took what I sought most.
I exited the building to find a crowd limping towards our truck. Thankfully I had parked as close to the door as possible, so I had time to unlock my door and climb inside before they were too near.
“Lucia!” Fred exclaimed.
“I’m okay, but we have a herd of them coming this way.”
“They can probably smell me more now.”
Indeed, the entire cabin of the truck was thick with the scent of iron. I started the truck and pulled out as they approached.
“You’re a lucky girl,” Fred joked.
I didn’t respond. I thought, Lucky to be alive, or lucky to have not been eaten? How fortunate I’d feel with a mortal wound right now.
I drove until I found a spot—chosen with consideration for the need of safety, but also the urgency of the situation. I parked, crawled in the back, and prepared the items I’d need. A list of instructions ran through my head, but I must have murmured part of it because Fred repeated, “Bevel up.”
I smiled nervously. “Yes, bevel up. I won’t lie, this will hurt. I’ve started an IV before, but I’m not very good at it. Okay? Here I go.”
Bevel up, thirty degree angle, the length of the needle back from my desired position. Don’t blow the vein… Okay. There’s the flash. I’m in. Holy fuck! I’m in! Now, cath in, needle out. Tape it down. Flush it. Heparin. Where the fuck is the Heparin? Wait, there. Oh, I bet that burns. Heparin burns. I remember the burn from before… Okay, start the saline drip.
“How’s that? Do you feel it? It’s just saline, but I’m going to start the medicine now that will put you to sleep.”
“It was fine. You did a good job so it barely hurt.”
I tried not to cry. “What if I kill you?”
“Impossible to kill a dead man. Remember that.” Fred’s color was completely gone now and his words slipped out of him weakly.
I hung the bag of Versed on one of the truck’s interior hooks and connected it to the saline. “I’ll try to remember that. When I open this line up, you’ll fall to sleep.”
“I’m ready. But, Lucy…”
“Yes?”
“I believe in you. Even if I don’t live, you can do this on your own.”
“Ssshh.
Neither of us is dying today.” I opened the line and let the Versed drip into the saline that flowed into his vein. I wasn’t sure how fast I should set the drip rate, but I started slow, knowing I could increase it as I went along. With a slight exhale, Fred closed his eyes and began to sleep.
I was alone.I could just keep him asleep—keep him comfortable until the end, I thought as I held the scalpel above his abdomen. I shook the thought away.
Six inches, vertical, running the incision along the outside of the wound. Three inches downward, and to the left. Counting ribs… one, two, three, four—it must be the spleen. Oh, fuck, I hope it’s not the stomach. If it’s the stomach, I know he’ll die. Flush it out with saline. Fuck, why didn’t I open the bottle? There’s so much blood. Okay, here we go. Oh, fuck, what if this goes back the whole way to his spine? No, he moved back here. Okay, find it. Separate the abdominal walls. Careful! Follow the direction of the muscle fibers… like filleting beef, but it’s not a cow. Fuck me! Don’t think that. Okay. Is that it? Yes, it has to be! The bullet! Get the tweezer thingies. Slowly, slowly, pull it out. Fucking evil thing! Oh, that’s the spleen. The bullet had blasted a hole through one of the branches of the splenic artery. It’s pumping out blood. Fuck, clamp both ends. Shit! Now what? Do I tie them shut, or do I tie them together? Thinkthinkthink. Hurry. Okay, tie them shut. It isn’t that big. I know I can’t repair it. What was I thinking? Even mediocre surgeons wouldn’t attempt it, not to mention my fucksquat operating skills.
I reached for the suture kit and just started sewing. When I was done, I flushed the abdominal cavity out. The water was more pink than red this time.
Did I do it? I hope! I think I did. The bleeding’s stopped. Okay, I got to get him closed back up. I’ll do it in layers. Fucksmacks, what if there’s an infection? No, close it. I’ll open him back up if I have to and wick it out. I’ll just close it.
In my head, I hummed…loop, loop, pull; loop, loop, pull; snip…for each single stitch that I made. Finally, he just had a neat black X of railroad stitches on his belly.I’m a better seamstress than I am a surgeon.I dressed the wound, took my gloves off, and felt for his pulse. It was still strong.He probably needs a transfusion. But where could I get blood—refrigerated blood?I gathered everything I could that was bloody—towels, gloves, and gauze. I put it into a plastic grocery bag and tossed it up front for me to get rid of as soon as possible. We were like a swimmer with a severed arm treading water in a shark-filled sea—they were bound to smell us. I slowed the drip on the Versed considerably and crawled up front, careful not to disturb Fred. I knew he needed to be kept still, but I had to move, or we’d be swarmed with zombies.
