“How the hell could they—never mind,” Nick muttered. “Doesn’t matter as long as they get here fast. Good job using the jacket to cushion his head, Angel. What happened?”
“He helped me get the gurney into the van but all of a sudden looked pale. And was sweating buckets. Then bam, he dropped.” I shook my head. “How can he be a cop if he has epilepsy?”
“I don’t think he does, but that’s not the only cause of seizures.” Nick exhaled as Connor stopped convulsing. “His pulse is slow. Really slow.”
Blagojevic shifted from foot to foot in consternation. “I spent all damn day with him yesterday and the day before. He was fine.”
“Maybe it’s from the sun,” I said. “Bad burn and more sun today?”
“Could be,” Nick said. “Get his shirt open and a sleeve rolled up. Paramedics will probably want to start a line.”
I didn’t bother fumbling with buttons and simply ripped Connor’s shirt wide open and the front of his ballistic vest off, revealing a fish-belly-pale chest. I tore his sleeve along the seam to his bicep—and exposed a four-inch square of gauze taped onto his forearm. A tiny spot of old blood stained one side where a scratch extended beyond the edge of the bandage. Cold dread filled my gut as I stared down at the tiny line of scabs. No. There’s no way.
I peeled the gauze up, heart pounding at the sight of three deep scratches trailing from a pair of ugly bruises. Nick glanced over and breathed a curse.
“How did he get this?” I demanded, eyes on Blagojevic.
“Huh? Oh, alligator.” He offered a strained smile. “It was the damnedest thing. Connor was working a drag line, and out of nowhere this fucking gator comes out of the water and goes for his arm. But my boy’s got good reflexes and snatched his hand back before the fucker could bite down. Got grazed instead of chomped.”
“He’s tough,” I managed to say. Leaning close, I took a good sniff and picked up a whiff of the Douglas Horton shambler smell, confirming my suspicion. Shit shit shit. This couldn’t be happening. Judd and Douglas had both been dead and come back to shambler life. Connor was most definitely alive. A whole new and awful pattern.
The ambulance raced up and stopped with a squeal of tires. Two paramedics leaped out, grabbed their monitor and jump bag, and ran to us. I backed away to give them room.
“Good thing Barney wanted to stop and take pictures of that drawbridge,” the driver said.
“Good thing Howard let me,” Barney replied even as Connor let out a weird moan that lifted the hair on my arms.
“Whatever he has might be contagious.” I wished I could come up with a way to say, “and don’t let him bite you,” without sounding weird as hell.
Barney simply gave me a nod and tugged on gloves. In under a minute, the paramedics had IV access and the cardiac monitor hooked up. Howard took a blood pressure then manually checked Connor’s pulse at the wrist and neck. He let out a low whistle. “Bradycardia. Twenty-four beats per minute. BP fifty over palp. How’s he even conscious?”
“Dunno,” Barney said. “But he is, so let’s roll.”
Without warning, Connor lunged and clawed at the paramedics, teeth clacking unnervingly, eyes wild and cloudy.
“Shit! Restraints,” Howard gritted out.
It took all of us to wrestle the slavering Connor onto the stretcher and restrain him, and then both medics and Hoang to get the stretcher loaded.
Blagojevic strode toward to his car, face filled with distress. “I’m going to follow them to the hospital.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said. “Keep me posted if anything changes, please?”
“Will do. Thanks, Angel.”
The ambulance took off, lights flashing, with Blagojevic right behind them.
Fuck. I yanked the van door open then felt a hand on my arm. Nick’s.
“I just talked to Allen,” he said. “Take my car and go to the hospital. I’ll take the van and check the body in.” He held the keys out for me.
“Thanks.” I resisted the urge to throw my arms around him in a hug of gratitude. We exchanged keys, then I paused as a stupid little worry leaped out. “Who’s going to drive Connor’s unit?”
“Sheriff’s Office is sending someone out,” Nick said, voice gentle and reassuring. “Hoang has to stick around anyway until the tow truck comes for the Camaro.”
“Okay. Right.” I wanted to stay right here with Nick, worrying about little shit like minor logistics—things I could handle. But I couldn’t. Not with the horking shitstorm stirred up by Connor’s collapse.
I quick-timed it to Nick’s Hyundai. As soon as I was on the road, I called Dr. Nikas. “We have a problem.”
Chapter 14
The call to Dr. Nikas didn’t last long since there wasn’t much to tell: Connor collapsed and started acting shambly a day after being teeth-grazed by a gator. A few minutes after I hung up, Dr. Nikas sent me a text asking me to meet up with Allen at the hospital to obtain samples from Connor. No words of reassurance or hints at a simple explanation.
Over a dozen cop cars lined the street near the emergency room, and I recognized another half dozen unmarked units in the parking lot. Connor was their brother in blue and they were here for him.
I found a spot for the Hyundai on the last row and hiked to the ER. The instant I walked through the waiting room door, worried deputies mobbed me for details of the accident scene events. I related the shambler-free version, then had to repeat it for Connor’s sergeant and lieutenant, then again for the chief deputy and the sheriff himself. With every retelling, the sick feeling in my gut grew. Was Connor even really alive and himself anymore? I clung to hope since he’d never died like both Judd and Douglas Horton. But if he was alive and mentally whole, what then? We had no “cure” for the normal zombie parasite, much less for a mutated version.
I finally slipped away from the sheriff and found Allen scanning the crowd for me.
“This way,” he said tightly. We ducked through the double doors that led to the treatment area. The noise level dropped away, the worried hum receding to background tension.
“How’d you get access when everyone else is stuck out in the waiting room?” I asked.
“Connor’s mom is on her way here from Longville.” He started down the corridor with long strides, and I trotted to keep up. “I know her, and the ER doc’s a friend. Between the two of them, I wrangled my way in.”
“How’s Connor doing?”
“Restrained. He almost bit a nurse who was trying to put in a catheter. A patient care assistant yanked her back in the nick of time.”
I tensed. “Did Connor get his teeth on her at all?” If it was like his minor gator encounter, any break in the skin would do it.
“Not even close, thank god. That PCA was on the ball. I need to remember to tell his boss.” Allen opened a door to our right. “In here.”
I followed him into a treatment room where Connor writhed on the bed, wrists and ankles bound with padded leather restraints. A lanky black man in sky blue scrubs stood with his back to us as he made adjustments to a torso restraint. Connor’s head swiveled my way, milky eyes fixed on me and tongue lolling. “Uuuuugggguuurraaaah.”
I couldn’t control my startle when the “PCA” turned to face us.
“Angel,” he murmured.
“Dude, I’m so glad you’re here,” I breathed. Kyle Griffin. A former Saberton operative, he was now one of the Tribe’s best and most loyal combat and infiltration specialists. “Allen, this is Kyle. He’s, um, like me.”
Allen gave a soft snort. “No wonder you moved so fast. Good work there.”
Kyle inclined his head in acknowledgment. “The nurse was fortunate I was here.”
I peered at his name badge. It looked totally real, with Kyle’s name and picture. “Connor hasn’t gotten his teeth on anyone, right?”
�
�Not since he arrived,” Kyle said in his usual mild tone, “but his presence is an ongoing threat.”
Allen’s mouth tightened. “He should be in quarantine, but even that might not be sufficient.”
“Maybe we should try brains,” I suggested. “See if that helps.”
Kyle shook his head. “Already did so at Dr. Nikas’s request. Connor won’t eat. Just bares his teeth or snaps. We’re to hold off on any further attempts for now.”
I edged closer to the bed. “We need to get him the hell away from the hospital altogether, but I have no idea how we could pull that off.”
A nurse entered, clipboard in hand. “Any changes, Kyle?”
“No, ma’am,” Kyle said. “Vitals are still depressed. Restraints are holding.”
She gave Allen and me a professional harried smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave while I—”
“Dr. Renley signed off on my staying per family request,” Allen said then casually flashed his badge. “Also, we’re with the Coroner’s Office. I was hoping to have a word with the parish infectious disease doc if he comes down.”
Her brows knitted. “I haven’t seen Dr. Ingram today, but a doctor from the Louisiana Department of Health and Hospitals met the ambulance as it came in. She and her assistant wanted to get samples processing ASAP. They were in here with Mr. Connor but must have left right before Kyle came in.”
Kyle and I exchanged wary glances. How could they have known about Connor in the first place?
Allen didn’t waver for an instant. “Well, isn’t that a crying shame, Miss”—he peered at her nametag—“Patricia. I sure would’ve liked to speak with her. Do you happen to know what samples they took?”
Patricia gestured to the blood draw tube rack on the counter. “Four red tops and a gold, along with an opaque tube they brought with them. Saliva, cheek swab, mucosa scrapings, and even earwax, of all things. I’m not sure what else, but they may still be in the building.”
“Would you be a lamb and see if you can spot them?” Allen flashed a charming smile. I’d never known Allen was even capable of being charming.
Her smile brightened. “Sure thing!”
“You’re the best. And, if you don’t see them, would you mind checking the log for their names? I’d be ever so grateful.”
“My pleasure, Mr. . . .”
“Prejean. But please call me Allen.”
She cast a coquettish look over her shoulder and bustled out.
“What the hell?” I said as soon as the door closed.
“That was awfully fast for the health department to show up here,” Kyle growled.
“No, I was talking about Allen turning into some sort of seductive sex god just now.”
Allen’s mouth twitched. “Let’s get the samples before she gets back.” He unslung his messenger bag and pulled out a syringe and blood vials. “Kyle can help me. Angel, run interference.”
“You got it.” I leaned against the door, hard. “If that doc wasn’t from the health department, I’m betting Allen’s paycheck they’re from Saberton. But how the hell did they know about Connor?”
“Same way they knew where and when to go alligator hunting,” Kyle said.
“A damn bug.” I scowled. “Even with all the sweeps.”
With Connor gurgling and snapping, Kyle and Allen went to work gathering the needed samples—including earwax, in case Saberton was onto something. As they were finishing up, someone shoved the door.
“Out of time,” I said in an urgent whisper, holding the door as whoever it was shoved again. Trusting the guys to scramble, I counted to five then pulled the door open. “Sorry! Dumb place for me to lean.” I made a show of step-stumbling back as a stocky, brown-haired man in maroon scrubs entered and gave me a tight smile. Brad Renley MD, according to the name embroidered above the pocket. At least his attention remained on me, which meant the guys weren’t in an obviously compromising position.
Allen zipped his messenger bag. “Brad, this is the colleague I told you about. Angel Crawford.”
“Ms. Crawford,” Dr. Renley said, face relaxing. “A pleasure. I heard you were with Deputy Connor when he went down.”
“It was pretty awful. Do you know what’s wrong?” Of course he didn’t, but it was the expected question.
“We suspect meningoencephalitis, but don’t know the cause yet. I’m starting him on broad spectrum antibiotics. They won’t hurt anything if the etiology is viral, but if it’s bacterial, better to initiate treatment ASAP. We’ll have more answers after a CT scan and lumbar puncture.”
I nodded, anxiety rising. What would a CT scan and lumbar puncture show? From what I’d gathered while working with Dr. Nikas, the zombie parasite couldn’t be detected with ordinary medical tests. It required specialized equipment, along with a knowledge of precisely what to look for. But what about the mutated parasite? For all I knew it might jump up and down and wave at the microscope, yelling, “Hey, look! I’m really fucking weird and like nothing you ever studied in med school!”
Patricia hurried in, IV bag in one hand, and a handwritten note in the other. “Dr. Renley, the EMR system is still down, but Mr. Connor’s primary care physician called back.” She passed him the note. “That’s the medical history. No known allergies.”
“Thanks. Go ahead and hang the Paxi.” He glanced at Allen. “Pain in the ass. The entire electronic medical records system crashed hard about fifteen minutes ago. Couldn’t even get into our backup.”
“That happen often?” Allen asked.
“First time since this system was installed.” He shook his head. “You don’t realize how dependent you are until you don’t have it.”
While Dr. Renley examined the monitor readings, Patricia cautiously approached the bed. Connor let out a howl and lunged, teeth snapping, but the restraints held, and Kyle stood ready to intervene. Would she dare get so close if she knew she was dealing with a zombie and not simply an unusual case of meningitis?
She hung the IV bag of Paxibiotic alongside the larger bag of normal saline already on the pole, then ran the tubing through the pump. “Mr. Prejean?” Her tone was cool and professional, probably because Dr. Renley frowned upon staff openly flirting with visitors. “The LDHH doctor is Linda Garrison. She was on her way out just now. But she said you can give her a call later.”
“Ah. Okay. I have her number.” Allen glanced my way, forehead creased in puzzlement that echoed my own. Did that mean the people who took the samples really had been from the health department and not Saberton?
“I’ll be right back,” I muttered and ducked into the corridor. Whatever the deal was with Dr. Garrison, we needed to know for sure.
I dug my phone from my pocket as I headed out the ambulance entrance. A black Humvee sat in the physician’s parking area barely twenty feet away. A bald man opened the passenger door for a heavyset woman with a long braid of auburn hair. I didn’t recognize her, but the man was unmistakable. Baldy from the Saberton boat.
I raised my phone and took a photo. Zhu-zhik!
The woman climbed into the vehicle, apparently oblivious to the stupid little sound. But Baldy’s gaze snapped my way, eyes narrowing in recognition.
Busted. He’d very likely seen my face out in the swamp, plus Saberton security no doubt had my picture plastered up on their most hated list. Not that I cared, since he was just as busted.
I scratched my nose with my extended middle finger. He closed the passenger door and sauntered around to the driver’s side, locked eyes with me and grabbed his crotch before climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door.
If there hadn’t been security cameras, I’d have mooned him, so instead I settled for a good ol’ Italian chin flick followed by a full-fisted “up yours.”
Baldy must have realized he couldn’t compete in the obscene gesture game with this white trash chi
ck, and pulled out of the parking lot without a comeback. As soon as he drove off, I called Dr. Nikas and filled him in on the Saberton involvement then sent him the photo. “We have to get Connor out of here.”
“Pierce is looking at options.”
“He’d better look fast. They’re doing a CT scan and lumbar puncture soon.”
“Oh dear. That is unfortunate.”
“And Connor is bitey as hell. The longer he’s here, the more chance of someone else getting infected.”
“I will inform Pierce,” Dr. Nikas said, voice tight and stressed. “Keep me apprised, please.”
“Wait. Sedatives aren’t working on Connor, so that fits the normal zombie model, but they’re starting a Paxibiotic drip right now. Is that bad?”
“Antibiotics shouldn’t cause a problem, even with a mutated parasite.”
“Whew. Thank heaven for small favors. I’d better get back in there. Thanks, Dr. N.”
By the time I reached the room, Patricia and Dr. Renley were gone. Connor still struggled against his restraints but seemed a touch calmer. Kyle and Allen had their heads together in quiet but intense conversation.
“Pierce is working on options to get Connor out of here,” I told them. “But it can’t hurt to brainstorm from this end, too.”
“Removing him from the hospital is one of the options,” Kyle said, voice unusually grave. “The threat may need to be eliminated.”
“Right, that’s what I just said . . .” I trailed off as his meaning sunk in. “You’re saying Pierce is thinking of outright killing him?”
“It’s on the table.”
“Fuck that. Not this table. Connor has a mom who loves him. There are a few dozen cops out in the waiting room hoping and praying that he’s going to be fine. Pierce can’t do that to Connor or to them.”
“I’m with Angel on this,” Allen growled. “No one is killing anyone.”
“Not yet, no,” Kyle said. “It is a last resort contingency, but Connor is dangerous.”
“We’ll figure out how to make him undangerous!” I all but shouted. “We don’t even know if he can infect someone else since it’s a mutated parasite. Surely Dr. Nikas can learn more from a live subject! We can say he’s being transferred to another facility.” I shot a desperate look to Allen, but his gaze was on Connor.
White Trash Zombie Unchained Page 13
