I just look at her. That was impressive, but there's another problem.
“I'm impressed,” I murmur with a tongue that feels like it's not totally in my control. “But you probably attracted every Fester within earshot. If you wanted to make that much noise you could have just shot it.”
She smirks at me. “Which is why we need to go inside, fathead. So if you can stop gawking and move, we can get out of the open.”
I get a fleeting impression of the differences between Mira and Ming. Mira is playful, sarcastic, flirty. Ming is just a butt. A relatively nice person underneath, but still a butt. In fact, she reminds me of myself.
I stumble forward, the motion causing a fresh streak of fire through my shoulder, and causing me to stop again.
“Think you can walk unassisted?” she asks with a smart aleck tone.
“Let me shoot you and see how you feel after bleeding out.” She doesn't seem to think my joke is funny. “I think...I can manage,” I say. “Lead the way.”
Despite my affirmation, she walks over and puts my arm around her shoulders again and gingerly helps me across the threshold.
We move deeper into the hospital, Ming leading us past an array of desks and chairs, all covered with a thick film of dust. I worry about leaving the broken window behind us. Festers aren't trackers, but they're drawn to movement and noise. Ming made a lot of the latter and I don't like taking chances.
“They could follow us in,” I say through a pain-induced haze.
“I'll keep my ears open,” Ming snaps, “but right now keeping you alive is my biggest worry.”
We move through the double doors of what used to be the ER treatment wing. It's pretty dark inside, but there's a panel of huge windows to our right providing enough moonlight to move about and see a little. I try to help Ming rummage through the place looking for any surgical supplies that might have been left behind, but end up tripping and falling to my knees. I feel like all of the energy has left my body, but she quickly runs back and powerfully lifts me from the ground, helping me to one of the beds in one of the treatment cubicles.
“Stay here and don’t move again,” she says sternly, and then she’s gone. It takes about ten minutes before she returns, and I’m seeing spots in front of my eyes and my vision blurs in and out of focus. She has her hand behind her back and gives me a funny look. “Okay, I’ve got some stuff to fix you up, but I need your help.”
“Medical supplies? I ask.
“Not exactly,” she says with slight hesitation. I’m not liking where this is headed.
“Ming? What are you planning to do?”
“Don’t worry,” she says, “you won’t be awake for it. I found something that will put you out. Some anesthetic.”
There's something about the way she says “anesthetic” that sends off warning bells in my head. She sets something on the floor that I can’t see, and leans over me, ripping off my shirt and examining the wound in the sparse light. I’m about to ask a question when she speaks again.
“Cray, I need you to clench your teeth together.”
“Okay,” I say now with no small amount of trepidation. I’m not trusting this one bit, but I do as she says. If we can’t get the bleeding to stop, it won’t matter anyway. She stands over me and sudden realization hits me. I know what her “anesthetic” is. “Don’t you dare…” I start to say through clenched teeth right as her fist slams into my jaw and everything goes dark.
Sometime later, I come awake feeling like my shoulder is being detached from my body. I scream, and try to get my eyes to focus, but something smacks me again, and the unconsciousness returns.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but when I come to again, I would prefer to knock myself back out. I don’t know what hurts worse, my jaw, or my shoulder. No…wait. My shoulder. Definitely my shoulder.
Ming is sitting nearby, the smell of cooking meat in the air.
“Sorry,” she says simply. I glance on a nearby shelf and see an acetylene torch sitting beside a small flint.
“Sonuva…”
“It was the best I could do,” she says, immediately defensive.
I groan. “So the cooking smell?”
She breaks eye contact. “Yeah, that would be you,” she responds wincing.
This time, I just moan. She stands up and hands me two small white pills. Here, take two of these and call me in the morning, she says.
I take the pills in my hand. “What are they?”
“Uh…breath mints,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes.
I pop them in my mouth and stifle an agonized laugh. She wasn't joking.
Time passes slowly, and Ming tends to me as best she can. I'm floundering in agony and weakness, but there's an equal amount of mental torment as I think of Mira, and Archer, and Damian. It feels like days, but Ming assures me it's only been a couple of hours. I ask about the window, but nothing has followed us inside. We got lucky there.
“So what are you gonna do?” Ming asks quietly, interrupting my reverie, and voicing the very question I don't have a good answer for.
I lie there for a while before I answer. The desperation I feel is overwhelming, the sense of loss and failure. It would be nearly impossible to find Archer now. I'm sure he's hidden away in a hole so deep the sun will never reach him. And even if I could, I'm sure he's entrenched by so many bodyguards the Hulk wouldn't be able to get through.
“I don't know,” I say. I'm shocked at the raspy sound of my own voice. I think of Mira, her broken body lying helplessly in Damian's power, waiting for me to return, to save her from death. I feel nauseated.
I look at Ming in the darkness, her face obscured by the shadows. If I use my imagination a little, I can almost see Mira sitting there, her dark hair lit by the little moonlight filtering in, her eyes shining, her smile breathtaking; but it's not her, and no amount of wanting can make it so.
But then it is. I see her, whole, unharmed, her body strong and restored. She leans in and places a cool hand on my shoulder. I start to say her name, but as quickly as that, the image of Mira vanishes and I shake off the hallucination.
I sigh and turn my thoughts in another direction. Try as I may, I can't come up with a good plan. There just aren't any good options. “I guess the only thing I can do is lie.” My words come in a slow tumble. “Tell Damian that Archer's dead, pray he doesn't have a way to know otherwise, or that he'll even trust me in the first place. Or maybe I'll just try to force him to do it. I don't see any other way.”
Ming doesn't say anything. I can tell she knows as well as I do that both options are a long shot, and her recognition only strengthens the torture of the situation.
“She's changed you,” she says. “You used to be so insecure around women you could barely speak. And now, look at you, able to hold a real conversation with me. I assume it's because of her. How did it happen?”
I get the sense she's trying to distract me, to keep me from wallowing in the mire of hopelessness and pain, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
I clear my parched throat. “When I met her, I thought she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen.” Ming makes a noise of mocked offense as if I've slighted her. “Anyway,” I continue, “I was a mess around her at first, but then we were so distracted by the mission, and things happened so fast...” I search for the right words. “I guess, in a way, her confidence in me gave me confidence in myself. Once I knew that she liked me, it was...empowering, and then I had no reason to fear. Now that she's in my life, there's no need to be afraid. If she loves me, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.”
Suddenly, I get choked up by my own words. Love. That was it, wasn't it? We'd never used the term, not specifically, but I just know it, as sure as I know I'm alive, as sure as I know I'm breathing air. I love her. I would do anything for her. No matter what it takes, I won't let her die. My resolve strengthens, and with that, I push aside my fears. With great effort, I squash down the pain, the uncertainty, the unknowing. Whatever
I have to do, I won't let Mira die. No matter who or what, she will live, or I'll die in the process.
Ming doesn't say anything, but she's studying me in the darkness. I don't know if she can see the new look of determination I'm sure must be on my face, but after a while she speaks.
“I'll help you,” is all she says.
My reply is equally as simple. “Thanks.”
Chapter 17
A few hours of broken sleep have gone by. What little I've gotten has been filled with nightmares of Mira and Damian. I wake again, but this time's different. Ming is crouched by my side, her hand on my arm.
“Cray, wake up,” she says. “We're not alone here.”
The words are enough to jar me into instant alertness, and I slide quickly off of the bed, my legs nearly buckling as my head swims nauseatingly. She hands me my gun, and I manage to fully stand, albeit shakily. My first thought is Festers, but I become aware of the faint sound of a conversation. Whoever it is, they seem to be going about business as usual with no knowledge of our presence, their talk casual.
I motion for Ming to follow me and she takes my flank, her own weapon drawn and ready. I try to ignore the fiery ache in my left shoulder and slink towards the sound of the conversation. There are three voices, two men and a woman. As we move deeper into the cavernous darkness of the medical center, we round a corner and are able to see candlelight up ahead in conjunction with the people talking.
One of the male voices is speaking. “I think we'll be okay. The crops are above average this season, and I don't think we'll have any problem with the extra strain.”
“Do you think he's a good fit?” the woman says.
The other man speaks now. “Toby's a good kid and all the rest like him. Besides, he doesn't have anyone else. He's only ten years old for cryin' out loud.”
“He'll do fine.” The first man again. “He's a hard worker. He'll pull his own weight and then some. He's been through a lot, Anne.”
“I know,” the woman, apparently Anne, responds. “It's just been a long time since we've had anyone new, and I'm scared of losing what we have. What if he decides this isn't for him six months down the road?”
“Then we take him back. Help him settle. He's got no reason to tell anyone about us, and even if he did, nobody cares. You know that. Besides, what passes for foster care since the outbreak is a sad joke. He's better off with us.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice takes on a wistful sound. “It'll be nice to have some youth around here again.”
Ming leans in close to my ear where we're crouched.
“Outliers?” she says.
I think about the possibility of that. “Maybe,” I say.
Whatever they are, they don't seem to be part of the “general establishment”, and they're certainly not soldiers or lawmen. I make a decision, and stand slowly, Ming immediately following suit. Walking slowly around the corner and into the candlelight, I raise my hands to convey a lack of hostility with my posture.
As soon as I come into view, the group gasps as a single unit, and leaps up from their seats prepared to run.
“Wait,” I say. “Please. We mean you no harm.”
Now they're like deer caught in headlights, their faces a mixture of fear and shock.
One of the men, an older gentleman wearing stained overalls, speaks, and I recognize the voice of the first man.
“What do you want?” he says. He's definitely afraid, and his voice cracks a little, laced with undertones of tension. “We're just plain folk trying to make it out here on our own. Please don't hurt us.”
“I said we weren't going to harm you, and I meant it,” I say.
He eyes us suspiciously, his eyes taking in my bloodstained naked torso and the nasty wound in my shoulder which still hurts like heck.
Something passes across the man's expression. The fear is still there, but when he speaks again, his voice is stronger than before.
“Are you alright son? You don't look so good.”
I give a short snort of laughter. “I've seen better days.”
“You some kinda law breakers?”
I lie. “No.”
“Were scavengers,” Ming chimes in. “We come out to the old cities and try to find goods to sell back home. It's rough work. We ran into some others and got in a little territorial dispute. They attacked my friend.” She looks over at me with concern. I can't tell if it's genuine or put on. “We broke in here looking for medical supplies.”
The old man still looks dubious, but the story is fairly plausible, and I'm impressed with Ming's quick thinking. There have always been rumors of scavengers that go out and find old things for their own use or to trade in the large safe havens. I've never met one myself, but given Ming's involvement in the black market, I imagine she's come into contact with one or two.
“Look,” I say, “I know we're armed, and probably look a little disreputable right now, but if we wanted to hurt you, you'd already be dead.”
The woman, Anne, clears her throat, and the older man looks at her and the younger man, some unspoken understanding passing between them. Finally, the old gentleman speaks again.
“My name's Andrew, but everybody usually just calls me preacher. This is Anne and Scott.” He gestures to each in turn.
Ming speaks next. “Are you outliers?”
The younger man, Scott, responds this time.
“You could call it that I guess. You can think of us as a religious group minus the weird cultish stuff. We're just trying to live a quiet life on our own here.”
“This is your home?” I say.
“Yes.”
“How did you get in?” Andrew asks.
“We broke a window in the ER.”
Andrew casts a glance at Anne. “Run ahead and get some of the men and get down there and patch it up real quick like,” he says. “We don't want any unwanted visitors if they haven't already got inside.”
Anne gives us another appraising look, then heads off down the hallway, taking one of the candles with her.
Andrew turns back to us. I can tell he's still afraid, but he speaks confidently, betraying none of the apprehension with his voice.
“Come with us.” And he moves off without waiting for a response.
After several minutes of walking and a multitude of twists and turns, I'm fighting for consciousness in the wake of my pain and blood loss. We come to an entryway that is obviously not a part of the original construction. It's been pieced together with steel beams and heavy wooden cross ties, forming a type of door, or more accurately, a barrier like what you might expect to see at a castle.
The preacher pauses outside and hesitates. “I need to clear it with my group before you come in.” He looks like he thinks we'll protest, but I nod. Ming stays silent beside me.
“Okay, then.” He bangs on the door, the deep clanging resonating through the empty hallway behind us. The door creaks open slowly. There's darkness beyond, and a face appears in the darkness. I see fear in the man’s eyes, but the preacher speaks before the other man can.
“It's okay, Mark,” Andrew says.
The man cracks the door a little wider and the preacher moves inside, shutting it behind him. There's a massive clunk as some type of locking device is activated. If I wasn't hurting so badly I'd be tempted to laugh. If he is trying to get away from us, he's been completely successful, although he left Scott behind, but after a minute, the door opens again, and Mark and the preacher motion us inside.
We move past the door into the darkness beyond, and Mark re-engages the lock we heard before. At first, I think we're in total darkness, but several feet ahead, I can now make out thin lines of light outlining another double doorway. The preacher moves forward and pushes against one side and the light that before was nothing more than slim lines, floods the makeshift foyer we're in. Beyond, several people mill about. They give us wary looks as we enter.
A long corridor spreads out before us ending in the distance in what appears to h
ave once been a large waiting room, now retrofitted into what I assume is a commons area. The preacher leads us down the corridor, muttering words to a few of the others not to worry about our presence as we pass.
Old patient rooms line the hallway, many with their doors open, each one no longer looking like a hospital room, but rather small apartments with twin beds, couches, even some old televisions. It's a tight fit, but they look homey enough, each decorated differently. Some of the occupants look up at us suspiciously as we pass, but otherwise say or do nothing.
We arrive at the commons area. Another hallway breaks off to the left. The preacher walks up to a red-haired woman with an abundance of freckles who looks to be in her fifties. She’s in a worn recliner, her legs crossed under her, a book open in her lap.
He speaks quietly to her for half a minute then turns. “This is Haley. If you’ll go with her, she’ll tend to your wounds.”
Haley rises from her chair with a kind smile, sets the book on the chair – The Two Towers – and shoos me down the second hallway in a motherly fashion. I peer back at Ming who still stands in the commons.
She gives me a knowing look and a small nod to let me know she'll be okay.
“What's your name?” the redhead asks as she leads me along.
“I'm Cray. The young lady is Ming. And you're Haley.”
“Guilty as charged,” she smiles.
“Your people seem to be very trusting,” I say. “I confess I'm a little shocked that they've let us into their little community on our word alone.”
“Andrew's a pretty good judge of character. He sort of has a sixth sense about people. If he thought you guys were dangerous, he would never have brought you here.”
She leads me to a room on the right. When I enter, I take in the generous stash of medical supplies stored on shelves lining the walls, a long bed in the middle of the room underneath a large light that looks like one you'd see in an operating room.
The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 12
