Edge of Survival Box Set 1

by William Oday

  The precious little body kicked and then coughed into her mouth. She drew back and spat the foul-tasting gunk onto the floor.

  Soft cooing escaped his perfect little lips.

  He was alive!

  Beth’s heart exploded in her chest.

  One more to go.

  She gently set the baby boy next to his mother, thinking that if these were to be Jane’s final moments, she should spend them with her babies.

  Beth noticed the soft whoosh sound missing and swung the light toward Diana.

  She stood stone still, staring at the little chimp as it tried to nuzzle into Jane.

  “Don’t stop pumping!”

  Diana snapped to attention and resumed respirating Jane.

  Beth put the flashlight back in her mouth and ignored the pain. She slid her hands back inside Jane’s cavernous abdomen and located another tiny body. She cupped it and gently pulled it out. Blood spurted from the wound as it emerged.

  She rubbed the little body up and down, trying to draw life into a frail and fragile home. She cut and clamped the cord and continued rubbing.

  Again no response.

  This one was noticeably smaller than his brother.

  Beth set the flashlight down and breathed life into him. She knew he would wake up, just as his brother did. He would be fine.

  Small puff and exhale. Small puff and exhale.

  No response.

  She alternated between breaths and scrubbing.

  Still no response.

  “Come on little guy!”

  Fury boiled up inside her. She needed this baby to live. She needed it to survive for all the other babies that didn’t. Mostly for the one that didn’t.

  “Fight!” she screamed as she scrubbed his tiny back and belly. Tears and snot dripped down her face, pooling at her chin.

  She kept at it, unable to surrender.

  “Dr. West, it’s dead,” Diana said.

  The pronouncement stabbed into Beth’s chest like a spear.

  She stopped.

  The little brother was dead. Died in utero, probably lacking sufficient oxygen.

  Beth held him to her chest and tears streamed down her face in a river of anguish. Jane’s blood seeped off the edge of the operating table and made a wet sound as it dripped to the floor.

  She was gone, too.

  Only the soft cry of the remaining baby boy kept Beth from complete collapse.

  She gently set the lifeless infant next to his mother. They were together. No longer in this world, but together. She picked up the bigger one and nuzzled him to her neck. His tiny mouth prodded and poked her skin, searching for a nipple that wasn’t there.

  Beth cried. She’d only saved one. She prayed Jane would forgive her. Would somehow know she did her best.

  The sound of softly whooshing air drew her attention. She bounced the light over toward Diana.

  Her boss dutifully squeezed the air bladder then expanded it to gather more for another breath of air.

  It no longer mattered.

  “You can stop.”

  Diana released the respirator and wiped her face. She squinted into the darkness. “Is that one going to live?”

  Grief and joy clashed in Beth’s heart. A terrible, wonderful, sacred concoction that reflected the ending of two lives and the beginning of one more. The miracle of life tinged with the bitter tears of death.

  She’d saved one. That had to be worth something.

  “Yes.”

  32

  MASON stood in the entry hall of the suite and tapped his toe as if an imaginary pedal might accelerate their departure.

  “Coming!” Iridia called from the bathroom.

  About time. He’d been standing by the door for the last thirty minutes while she attended to a thousand meaningless things that served to do nothing but delay their departure.

  Iridia swept into the hall like a goddess descended from Olympus. A sheer black dress that ended well above her knees. Strappy black heels that made her nearly as tall as him. Sandy blonde hair gathered up in a careless bun that probably took that half hour he’d been fuming.

  She was stunning. The involuntary response in Mason’s body surprised him. His pulse quickened. He noted the subtle tension that signaled a rise in blood pressure.

  Man truly was a beast aspiring to greater things. He succeeded in many. But the animal remained.

  “How do I look?”

  A girl like this knew full well how she looked. The question was merely an opportunity for a mortal to affirm her divinity.

  He’d never been good at prayer. Besides, his job wasn’t to worship her. “Your lipstick is smudged, and I see your panty line.”

  She narrowed her eyes and gave him a dirty look.

  “Liar. I’m not wearing panties.”

  Mason swallowed hard. “I’m sure the director will think you look fine. Let’s go.”

  She grabbed a minuscule, silver-sequined purse and checked her lipstick in the hall mirror. She had to check. The insecurity of the totally secure. She straightened a thread-like gold necklace and dropped the attached locket between her cleavage. The letters IR were embossed on it.

  She turned back to him with a pout puckering her full lips. “I’m asking you. How do you think I look?”

  “I’m not here to placate your ego.”

  He wasn’t going to play that game.

  “Fine. Be a sourpuss.” She breezed by him. “What are you waiting for?”

  He bit his tongue as he reached ahead and opened the door to the exterior hall. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t do surprises. It’s in the job description.”

  “Are you trying to ruin my fun?”

  Was she trying to ruin his life?

  The elevator door opened and they stepped in. He waited for her to press the lobby button so they could pick up her suitcases on the way out. Instead, she hit the button labeled Bar. The doors closed and the elevator started up.

  Up toward the bar on top of the hotel. The one place he had no personal desire to revisit and every professional reason to avoid. This was getting better and better.

  In the silence of the ascent, Mason wondered if she’d heard the news about her previous boyfriend. The news that he had been a part of creating. She hadn’t mentioned anything and she clearly didn’t seem concerned about anything more than this big meeting with Mr. Hollywood Director.

  It wasn’t his business to get involved with the personal affairs of a client, especially a brand new one. And double that for one he had no intention of ever working with again. But the afternoon ate at him, whether in a conscious thought or back behind the focus of moving forward. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “Did you hear what happened to your old boyfriend?”

  She turned to him with an angry glare. “Are you trying to ruin my evening? Do you want me to break into tears right before the biggest meeting of my professional life?”

  “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “You’re right. It’s not. But since you asked, he was a lying cheater who deserved worse.” She pointedly looked back at the reflective metal elevator doors and checked her lipstick.

  Mason had no idea what kind of person the kid was, but he didn’t deserve what happened. He also knew that getting what you deserved was a principle that only consistently worked in fairy tales and fables.

  The doors opened and Iridia took his arm in hers. “Play along, Mason. I don’t want any of these desperate ruffians to think I’m single. Consider my safety. It’s in your job description.”

  Mason shook his head, but understood the logistical advantage. He didn’t pull away. Beth was going to kill him.

  33

  Iridia pulled him along and out into the open night air of the rooftop bar and club. Swanky didn’t cover it by half.

  A bar lined the wall to the right. A DJ beyond that cranked out beats loud enough to require you to shout to anyone more than a
couple of feet away. A sparsely populated dance floor occupied the space directly ahead. A large rectangular pool was surrounded by modern white couches and chairs with low backs and firm cushions. A few swimmers in skimpy suits lounged in one corner of the pool. Sugary looking mixed drinks held up above the water. A rainbow of colored lights from underwater LEDs reflected off their perfectly golden skin.

  Beth was going to kill him for not bringing her along. Both to keep an eye on Iridia and to take in this view. She had a posh side that ate up this kind of thing. Besides, she looked great in a bikini.

  Surrounding the rooftop on all sides were other skyscrapers. One taller than the rest. What used to be the US Bank Tower was now the Milagro Corporation Tower. A cylinder of glass and white concrete that stretched into the clouds, if Los Angeles ever had any. At one thousand feet tall, it was the highest building west of the Mississippi. A titan among giants.

  The crown glowed purple and gold. The Lakers must’ve had a big game coming up. Circling the crown, glowing white letters read MILAGRO, a reminder to the city of who held the highest perch. A chopper on the helipad at the top blinked red and green lights. Its rotors spun up and it lifted off, banking right and heading east.

  Maybe it carried Gabriel Cruz, the charismatic owner and CEO of the company. Mason didn’t know much about the richest man in the world, but anyone with a TV had seen his philanthropic pursuits in Africa and other destitute regions of the world.

  They had a catchy corporate slogan. Miracles for the masses… or something.

  A kaleidoscope of lights adorned the various surrounding buildings. It was Christmas without all the goodwill. The faint smell of smoke scented the air. He looked north and almost stumbled at the apocalyptic scene in the distance. In glimpses between taller buildings, the horizon burned orange. The fires from this distance appeared to be a solid mass of burning brilliance. He followed the glow right and it stretched off to the horizon, eventually lost to the smoggy distance.

  A pinpoint of brighter flame flickered closer to the northeast. Several of the white letters of the Hollywood sign roared with yellow licking flames. Only a few still stood.

  H L L

  How appropriate. The gates of hell were about to admit all of Los Angeles.

  Iridia strode forward like she owned the place. For all he knew, she did.

  She pulled him right and up a few steps to another level. The chill zone apparently. Enclosed beds like space pods lined the perimeter. Drawn back curtains revealed hipsters reclined and toasting the start of the weekend. A few beds had their curtains drawn and Mason tried not to imagine what sounds might emerge from them if the music didn’t drown out everything quieter than a jet engine.

  A thick, clear plastic barrier lined the perimeter of the roof. It had likely saved more drunks from death than the seatbelt.

  “There he is!” Iridia said with a shout as she tugged Mason toward one of the beds. A man reclined on the mattress, passed out or asleep. He looked twice Iridia’s age. Older than Mason by a good span of years. A short glass of amber liquid in his still hand. Whiskey on the rocks if Mason guessed right.

  Iridia wiggled his loafered foot. “Bryce, dear! Wake up!”

  He shot up like a cattle prod touched his nuts. “What? Who?”

  “It’s me, Iridia. Hello? We had a meeting tonight. To discuss my part.”

  His eyes focused, or at least got a little less unfocused, and he glanced at his watch. “Almost two hours ago.”

  “You can’t hurry a girl. You don’t think this just happens, do you?” she said as she twirled in a little circle.

  Bryce’s eyes swept up and down her lanky limbs and whatever anger he harbored melted away. Or was subsumed by a stronger passion.

  She finished her turn and extended a hand. Not a hand shake like normal people might do. She extended it like a queen, expecting a kiss of patronage.

  Bryce obliged. He knew how to work in royal circles. “You are a vision.” His eyes hungered for her. It was painfully obvious. He turned to Mason. “Is this guy a cop?”

  Iridia laughed, a little too loudly. “No. He’s my bodyguard.”

  Bryce narrowed his eyes at Mason and then nodded like that settled the matter. He picked up a small, clear vial from the bed and held it for Iridia. “Care for a bump?”

  “Sure—“

  Mason dropped his arm between them. “No thanks. She has a flight leaving later.” Mason didn’t want to get involved in Iridia’s personal life and whatever decisions she might make. But there was no way he was going to drop her off coked up out of her mind.

  “So?” Bryce shouted with a skeptical look. “I fly to Vegas lit up all the time.”

  Mason wanted to punch this jerk’s face in so bad his fist twitched. He uncurled his fingers and took a slow breath. Caving this guy’s head in wasn’t going to help.

  Seeing that Mason wasn’t going to come around, the director shook his head. “Whatever, man.” He measured out a crude line on the back of his hand and proceeded to suck it up his nose. His head snapped back and wild light gleamed in his eyes. White powder clung to his nostrils and upper lip.

  “You got a little,” Iridia said as she motioned to her own nose.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said and wiped a sleeve across his face. The powder streaked over to his cheek.

  Mason almost laughed out loud. Try walking through airport security like that. See how fast you get rewarded with your own personal cubicle and a strip search. He turned Iridia toward him and shouted in her ear to be sure she heard him.

  “I’ll be at the bar over there.” He motioned to the upper deck bar a short distance away. “Fifteen minutes.”

  She frowned. “That’s not enough. An hour.”

  “Twenty minutes. Should we call your father and see what he thinks about this meeting?”

  She pursed her lips, the taste of defeat unfamiliar in her mouth. The green in her eyes iced over. “Fine.” She turned back to Bryce and flashed a million dollar smile. Literally.

  His eyes glinted with wild, intoxicated abandon. He looked dangerous. Like a feral dog. Mason decided to stay nearby. Far enough to get a good view of the televisions above the bar and close enough to mangle this jerk if he crossed the line.

  Maybe it was the frustration talking, but Mason really wanted him to cross the line.

  34

  Minutes ticked by as Mason caught the odd word here and there of Iridia and Bryce’s conversation, only when the music paused before picking up again to continue the hypnotic beat.

  He took in a nearby skyscraper. It was all black glass, reflective where the interior lights were out and little dioramas of late night office life where the lights remained on. He could just make out a man seated at a desk in a dim office. His face illuminated by the screen in front of him. He scanned the face of the building, wondering if these people had any idea they were so visible.

  His gaze paused on a pane of glass that answered the question. A man and a woman either wore skin-colored, skin-tight business suits or they were in their birthday suits. The details were difficult to make out at this distance, but they were clearly engaged in some very intimate negotiations. She was bent over a conference table, maybe reaching for a pen she’d dropped. He was behind her, urgently pushing her forward to find it.

  Only in Los Angeles. They probably wanted people to watch.

  Mason shook his head and checked his watch. A few more minutes and he’d drag Iridia to the airport if he had to. The local news station ran on one of the TVs above the bar. It replayed footage of the fires up north and FEMA trucks and personnel scurrying around like a colony of ants under attack.

  He glanced back toward the bed and noticed Bryce’s hand unmistakably high on Iridia’s thigh. His fingertips just under the hem of her dress, which had already ridden up a ways from her sitting down. He said something and laughed. His hand moved higher, disappearing under the black fabric.

  Iridia grabbed his arm and tried to push it away. His smile wavered an
d he pushed to keep his hand in place. She again tried to back him off. He frowned and shouted at her. He jerked his hand back and then laid out another ragged line of white powder. An instant later, it vanished up his nose and his head shot back like a wolf howling at the moon.

  He scooted closer to Iridia and slithered an arm around her, whispered something in her ear.

  She backed away.

  This idiot couldn’t take a hint.

  Mason edged closer. Not wanting to intrude, but wanting to be close in case he was forced to intervene.

  Their words carried over the music.

  “I’m not doing that to get the part. I’m a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue model!”

  “Honey, did you really think I wanted you for the lead role? You’re gorgeous and stupid. Your lead role is riding my pole.” He pointed at his crotch like it was the Holy Grail.

  Iridia slapped him with a crack loud enough that people in surrounding beds looked over.

  Bryce glanced around, seeing that he was the focus of unwanted attention. “You whore! You’ll never get a part in my movie. I’ll make sure you never get work in this town!”

  “Screw you, Bryce. Go force your little dick on ignorant interns who don’t know better.”

  Mason smiled, happy to see she had some standards, and the strength to keep them.

  The director clearly wasn’t used to being told no. “You worthless bimbo!” His face contorted as his hand raised above his head.

  Iridia flinched, bracing for the impact.

  Mason moved in.

  Just as Bryce’s hand dropped, Mason wrapped him in an arm lock and yanked him up off the bed. The director gave him a furious glare. As if he couldn’t believe anyone would interfere.

  After regaining his balance, Bryce squared up to Mason and swung a wild roundhouse. It was slow, poorly aimed, and laughable at best. But it crossed the line in no uncertain terms.

  Mason almost grinned as he stepped forward and delivered a vicious blow to the solar plexus. It was a hard strike. The bastard would be sucking wind for the next few minutes. Most importantly, it wouldn’t leave a mark. Nothing for this clown to show a jury with an accompanied demand of millions of dollars in punitive damages.