The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  “Forget it,” Holly said. “We need a doctor.”

  “Okay, come with me.”

  As we made our way to the elevators, more draggers gathered at the doors, lowing and scraping at the glass.

  The orderly let us out on the second floor, then disappeared. The floor was clear, but from far off, we heard music. Had someone left a radio on?

  The music came from a nurses’ station. There we found a young Asian man in a white doctor’s coat at a computer. When he saw us, he startled and reached for something. He pointed a handgun at us.

  “Easy,” Vincent said, lowering his weapon.

  “Who are you?”

  “Black Dragon Security.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Holly said. The man nodded. “This man was shot—he’s lost a lot of blood. And I think my husband’s leg might be broken.”

  The man glanced around, as if assessing whether this was a setup. Then he rose, put the gun down and came around.

  “Okay, I’ll treat the gunshot wound first. We still have a surgeon on staff.”

  He made a call. Another orderly showed up, and he and the doctor put Warnick on a gurney and took him to an operating room. The other soldiers went with them, leaving Holly and me alone with Greta.

  The floor was ghostly. Holly leaned against the nurses’ station and slumped to the floor. Tears streaming from her eyes, she clutched my hand.

  “We should have never let her come with us,” she said. “He’ll kill Griffin.”

  “Holly, she’s a good soldier. It’s not your fault.”

  “But she’s with that monster. We have to get her back.”

  “We will. But we have to take care of Warnick.”

  She nodded sadly. “And you.”

  The doctor returned. “I’ll examine you,” he said to me. “We need to get some X-rays. My name’s Vinh Tran.”

  We introduced ourselves, then followed the doctor to a hospital room.

  “Are there others here?” Holly said.

  “Yes. We’re scattered throughout the hospital.”

  “Any patients?”

  “Only a few left. We tried saving the critical ones, but it was no use. When all this started, your guys managed to secure the building, but we haven’t seen you since.”

  “So you have no protection?”

  “The Red Militia. For a long time they checked on us and sometimes brought us food and water. In exchange, we agreed to treat their injured.”

  “What about the infected ones?” I said.

  “They never brought us those. What’s going on out there?”

  Holly shook her head. “It’s a war zone.”

  Against searing pain, I stripped to my underwear as Holly waited outside with Greta. Vinh made a thorough examination, commenting on the severity of my injuries.

  “Somebody worked you over pretty good,” he said. “That eye looks bad. Can you still see?”

  “It’s blurry.”

  “Okay, lie down so I can look at your leg.”

  “Do you have family here?” I said.

  “They’re all in LA. I have a girlfriend but …”

  “Yeah.”

  The swelling was bad. My lower leg was discolored, and I was concerned that, whatever the injury, it had gone too far. As he palpated me, I winced with pain.

  “I think it’s broken,” he said. “The X-rays will tell us for sure.”

  He ran back to the nurses’ station. A couple of minutes later, he returned. “I found us a radiologist. He’ll be here shortly. We need to put you on a gurney. You shouldn’t be walking.”

  As Vinh and the radiologist rolled me towards radiology, I learned that in the beginning a stream of injured nailheads came through each night. With them came food and water. Several nailheads had broken into the pharmacy and stolen prescription medication. When Ormand found out, he had them executed. Then he sent the drugs back with an apology.

  But no nailheads had come for days, which meant no more supplies. Lately, the few doctors, nurses and technicians had survived by eating everything in the cafeteria. They were down to rice, pasta, a few canned goods and bottled water. With no protection, they spent their nights in fear of being overrun by draggers.

  The radiologist took a series of X-rays, including some of my rib cage. We viewed the images on the computer screen and found that no ribs were broken.

  “What about the leg?” I said.

  “The X-rays don’t show anything,” the radiologist said. “I’m thinking it’s a stress fracture.”

  “How do we find out?”

  “We’ll have to do an MRI.”

  * * *

  The white machine took up most of the scan room. It was huge, with a hole in the middle big enough to fit a human body. As they prepared to slide me in, the radiologist handed me a set of earplugs.

  “Sorry, I don’t know where our headphones went. I don’t normally operate this machine.”

  “No offense, but do you know how to work this thing?”

  He grinned. “There’s a series of menus on the screen. It’ll be fine.” He turned to Vinh and Holly. “You may want to wait outside. It can get pretty loud.”

  “How long will it take?” Holly said.

  “Well, we’re only doing the leg, so ten minutes?”

  “I’m going to check on Warnick,” Holly said. Then to Vinh, “Can you take me to him?”

  As she and the doctor left with the dog, the radiologist said something to me. I took out an earplug. “What?”

  “I said, be sure not to move a muscle, or we’ll have to start over.”

  The noise was deafening, even with the earplugs. The radiologist set the machine to do an automated scan. After ten minutes, the noise stopped. Since I had gone in feet-first, I had to crane my neck to see. I was alone. Then, upside down, I saw the radiologist enter. And behind him was a stranger with a gun.

  “Get him out of there,” the stranger said. He was dressed in jeans and a bright shirt, and I assumed he was a nailhead.

  The radiologist freed me, and as I rose, Greta appeared in the doorway. Growling, she leapt onto the man, tearing at his gun hand. He screamed and fired. The bullet ricocheted off the machine and into the ceiling.

  Running footsteps now. Holly and the other soldiers came in. Fyffe pulled Greta off the man while Vincent disarmed him.

  “Please don’t kill me,” he said. “It’s my daughter.”

  * * *

  The MRI images on the computer screen confirmed a stress fracture. Most of the swelling and bruising on my lower leg had come from the actual beating. Vinh found a brace and advised me to stay off the leg.

  Perry was the name of the man who had attacked us. Limping but at least able to walk, I found Holly standing alone with Greta next to the nurses’ station.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “That guy’s daughter is really sick.”

  “Where are they?”

  She nodded towards one of the hospital rooms. I followed the dog and her and found the soldiers standing off to one side as Vinh made an examination. The girl couldn’t have been more than three or four.

  Perry told us a horde attacked their neighborhood and they barely escaped in their car. The other neighbors had fled, but Perry’s wife was bedridden. So they stayed.

  “She begged me to leave with our daughter. I couldn’t, but she made me. So I barricaded the bedroom door and we left her there.”

  No soldiers had come to help them. While escaping the horde, the girl was bit. By the time they reached the hospital, Perry was half out of his mind.

  “I can try to make her comfortable,” Vinh said. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”

  Vinh gave the little girl morphine to lessen the pain from the bite. Soon her pupils contracted and her breathing became regular. Her father went to her and, taking her little hand, sat beside her.

  “Daddy,” she said, and smiled.

  “Hi, kitten.”

  “I need to check on another patient,�
�� Vinh said, and left.

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The radiologist came in, holding a stuffed animal—a blue bear wearing a T-shirt with the words I can’t bear it when you’re sick.

  “Hey, bro,” Perry said. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Forget it.” The radiologist gently placed the bear in the girl’s arms. She hugged it sleepily. Then he left.

  As the rest of us went out of the room, Perry grabbed Vincent’s sleeve. “I need my gun.”

  Vincent looked at the dying girl, then at Fyffe. I could see in his eyes that he was hesitating, not sure whether this guy was going to lose it again and start shooting up the place. After another moment, he handed the gun to Perry.

  The man held the weapon without looking at it. “I never grew up around guns,” he said. “Guess it’s time to learn how to use one.”

  “The safety’s on,” Vincent said. Then we left.

  The two soldiers went in search of food and water, and Holly stayed with me at the nurses’ station. She seemed nervous around me, so I took her hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. Then I stroked her hair. That seemed to make her feel better.

  “How did you find me?” I said.

  “Springer.”

  “What? But he was killed. I saw it.”

  “You saw him get shot. Fortunately the bullet didn’t sever the artery. He lay there completely still till those nailheads left. Then he went back to the vehicle and returned to base.”

  “But how did he know where they’d taken me?”

  “Before they left, one of them took piles of empty Lucky Moon beer bottles out of their vehicle and threw them into the dumpster.”

  “How were you able to get inside?”

  “Everybody in there was drunk. When we got there, we found a horde milling around outside. One of the nailheads came out, and we made sure he never made it back in. Then we left the door open and pulled his body back inside to attract the draggers. While the nailheads were dealing with them, we entered through another door.”

  “Thanks for saving me. How did you make it back?”

  “Tell you later. Dave, what are we going to do about Griffin?”

  “As soon as we get back to Arkon, we’ll figure something out.”

  “But we don’t even know where he’s taken her.”

  “We’ll find her, I promise.”

  I was leaning in to kiss her when a gunshot rang out from the direction of the hospital room where Perry and the girl were. We ran to the room to see if we could help Perry, but another shot stopped us.

  As we rushed in, we found Perry sprawled across the girl’s body, protecting her. The back of his head was blown out, bits of brain, bone and blood slithering down the white plastic curtain.

  He was still holding his daughter’s hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Zombie Weather

  Griffin had been missing a week. During those last days when I was a prisoner Warnick and Estrada located more Black Dragon soldiers holed up in other buildings around Tres Marias. Though still in pain, Warnick remained in charge, with Estrada as second in command.

  We didn’t know why reinforcements hadn’t been sent in. All communication with the higher command had been severed, and Internet service was nonexistent. Though I felt better about Estrada, I still didn’t know where her loyalty lay. Warnick assured me that she was back on the reservation. What concerned me most was that she was a follower. At present, she was happy to follow Warnick.

  When I looked in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. Though the beard hid most of the cuts and bruises, what I saw in my eyes was something older, a weariness belonging to someone else.

  Holly looked amazing, lean and ripped. And though she’d always been responsible, there was a new maturity about her that made me believe she could lead her own troops into the Valley of Death. And they would gladly follow.

  The Arkon building was secure, and with Holly’s help I made a good recovery. The other survivors were doing better too. They’d been eating and putting on weight, and their spirits were up. The soldiers trained them not only to survive but to fight.

  I checked on Nina Zimmer and her daughter, Evan. Both were doing well. Warnick’s men had brought her more baby formula, bottled water and diapers.

  Warnick kept the troops focused and motivated. Though finding Griffin was a top priority, he decided that Tres Marias wouldn’t be safe till we located Ormand and took him out by any means necessary. But we didn’t know where he was, and his men at the brewery refused to tell us.

  After the fighting, the soldiers gathered the nailhead survivors in the room in which I had been imprisoned, intending to interrogate them. What they didn’t know—and what I never guessed the whole time I was in there—was that weapons had been hidden inside. At the sound of gunfire, the soldiers burst through, only to find the prisoners dead from gunshot wounds. They entered as the last one put a handgun in his mouth and fired.

  Warnick felt they’d significantly weakened Ormand’s organization and it was time to finish what they started. Daily patrols went in search of the command center. As time went on, they met less and less resistance. Soon there was no sign of the Red Militia in the streets.

  Sometimes I heard skirmishes outside, setting me on edge. Mostly it was dragger hordes. Because I was not permitted to help till my leg was better, I waited for Holly to replay what happened. “We took out a nest of draggers.” “A couple of nailheads tried to break in and we had to kill them.” I didn’t like that she’d volunteered to help defend our base, but there was no denying she was good.

  “I fired a grenade launcher today,” she said.

  “Wish I could’ve been there.” If I sounded hurt, I meant it that way.

  “You need to rest, honey.” I couldn’t remember the last time she called me that.

  “You never told me how you made it here,” I said.

  She told me everything. Holly and Griffin hid out with Greta in a small apartment above a neighborhood grocery store in the middle of town. They were close to the daily nailhead patrols, yet no one knew they were there. One time Greta heard something and barked. They thought they’d had it, but no one had heard. Draggers tried to break in from time to time, but all the doors and windows had been fortified by the previous occupant.

  During that time they had everything they needed—food, water and medicine. Holly eventually found a cell phone and charger and transferred her SIM card to it. When she received my text containing the address of our base, she and Griffin planned how to make their way there. But by then I had been captured.

  Several times they were almost discovered. Before reaching the base, a firefight broke out with a group of nailheads. Warnick’s men were out patrolling the area. They killed off the nailheads and rescued the two women and, of course, Greta.

  * * *

  Vinh had shown me how to do my own physical therapy for my leg. The exercises were painful, but I wanted so much to get back to the fight, I did them every day. One day as I stretched, Holly came into the office we had converted to sleeping quarters. She was excited.

  “We think we know where Griffin is,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “The high school.”

  “But there’s no one in that place except draggers.”

  “That’s what we thought. Some of the men were out patrolling this morning, and they found a nailhead in an alley. He’d been bitten, and I guess his friends left him there to die.”

  “They didn’t shoot him?”

  “He didn’t even have a weapon. When the soldiers found him, he was nearly gone. He told them that Ormand was at the high school. They were protecting civilians. The men asked about Griffin, and he said that she was alive.”

  I was happy to learn about Griffin, but I was worried too. Ormand’s whole approach had been cold and calculating. He wanted to win, and he was willing to sacrifice anything—and anyone. I asked Warnick to call a meeting.

  Holly and I met with War
nick and Estrada in a conference room.

  “Ormand’s not protecting those civilians,” I said. “He’s using them as human shields.”

  “How do you know?” Estrada said.

  “Because it’s all he’s got left.” Then to Warnick, “Look, his plan all along was to show that while some of you guys freaked out—”

  “Dave,” Holly said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Estrada, “but you know what I’m saying.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.”

  “He wanted to show that, in all this craziness, he and his group were the sane ones, the ones who cared. And the deaths of some soldiers were necessary to save Tres Marias.”

  “Right,” Warnick said. “That means he’s keeping the civilians—and Griffin—very close. If we attack and some are killed, he can say it was our fault, not his.”

  “I don’t understand,” Holly said. “So we don’t attack?”

  “Do we know how many men are defending the high school?” Warnick said.

  “I’m guessing not more than a hundred,” Estrada said. “We’ve pretty much decimated them.”

  “They haven’t patrolled in a long time,” Warnick said. “I think they already know we’re coming.”

  “So what do we do?” I said.

  “We don’t keep them waiting. How’s your leg?”

  * * *

  We had no choice but to use force. We knew that Ormand would never come out into the open. We also knew that Griffin and the other civilians were as good as dead if we waited. Their only chance was for us to storm the place.

  Though my leg hurt, I made sure everyone knew I was ready to be a part of this. The plan was to leave a small group of soldiers at Arkon while we deployed everyone else to the high school. We had more weapons and vehicles and would make an impressive showing—impressive enough that many of the nailheads might choose to surrender rather than to fight.

  Though Holly wanted to go, both Warnick and Estrada forbade it. She had become a valuable asset to Black Dragon, and they didn’t want to lose her. To soothe Holly’s ego, Warnick put her in charge of the troops in the building. She would see to it that the civilians were protected—especially Nina and her baby. And she wouldn’t be alone. Many of them were strong enough to help defend the building.