Broken Chain

by Lisa von Biela

  And they’d left no one alive to reveal what had taken place.

  CHAPTER 54

  Daphne awoke, her head pounding like something was fighting to smash its way out of her skull. The sliver of morning light sneaking past the bedroom curtain gouged her eyes like a dagger. She squinted and turned away. Every muscle burned without mercy, and she felt so weak. And so thirsty.

  Agnes crept over onto the pillow and tried to nuzzle her, as if she knew something was wrong. She’d have loved to roll over and cuddle, to enjoy the comfort she usually took from Agnes’s deep purr, but she had to get to the bathroom to take something for her headache. Now.

  She tried to push back the covers, but only managed to partly free herself. Even that small effort drained her today, worse than usual through all the pain. She struggled to a sitting position and tried to swing her legs over, but the covers caught her and she toppled onto the wood floor. She landed hard and bit her lip. Warm blood seeped into her mouth, the taste of it nauseating. She wanted to go hang her head over the toilet until the feeling passed. Too weak to get to her feet, she started to crawl toward the bathroom. Agnes followed her closely, sniffing at her and yowling in alarm.

  Daphne had closed the café entirely a couple of weeks ago because of her rapidly deteriorating condition. Cooking, serving the customers, sourcing the ingredients, and generally running the business took far more strength and energy than she had to give anymore. It was all she could do to cook for herself and Agnes these days.

  When she’d noticed herself getting so much worse, she’d asked Dr. Adams what to try next. He’d told her as humanely as possible that he could do no more for her, and that she should start preparing herself for what now appeared inevitable. He’d offered to hospitalize her so she could be cared for in some degree of comfort and safety, but she’d refused. If these were her final days, the last place she wanted to spend them was alone in a cold and sterile hospital, without Agnes.

  Now she began to doubt the wisdom of her choice as she dragged herself across the floor, inches at a time, desperate to get to the bathroom before she lost control and threw up—or worse. She reached out her right hand and tried to get some traction on the smooth wood floor. She pulled with all her strength. Nothing happened. Her body didn’t budge, even as thin and light as it had become these days. She tried again, grunted, moaned. No closer.

  Daphne glanced toward the bathroom door, so close and yet so far. She raised her head slightly and looked back. Her cell was on the nightstand. Unreachable. It might as well be on the roof. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed as she realized how utterly helpless and trapped she was. Too weak to hold up her head any longer, she lay face-down in a small pool of blood from her lip, mingled with tears.

  A shattering pain ricocheted through her head. Dark spots danced in her line of vision and she felt light-headed, like she was going to faint. A searing pain shot through her chest and she gasped, suddenly unable to take in enough air. She tried to pound on the floor in case anyone might hear, but she couldn’t even lift her arms.

  Agnes snuggled gently against her and began to purr. Daphne closed her eyes and let the purring soothe her until it faded off into the distance along with the pain.

  CHAPTER 55

  Ted Warner steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair as he considered what his department’s medical expert had told him earlier. The food chain crisis had a public safety component that remained unresolved.

  The CDC’s epidemic investigation unit had done an admirable job in tracking down the root cause and pathology of the wave of violence that had plagued the Homeland. He smiled. Whoever had accomplished that was quite the investigator. But one problem remained: what to do about those persons who were affected?

  From what he understood, these individuals formed two classes: those who’d already become violent and had been apprehended by some law enforcement agency—and those who would become violent. It was that latter group that had to be addressed, and quickly. It was the only way to stem the tide of violence and return the Homeland to relative peace and security.

  No doubt any program to address that latent group of violent offenders would be costly. After all, as his medical expert told him, nearly half the population carried the specific gut bacteria that was critical to the causation chain. But given the stakes, he was certain he’d overcome any resistance to the cost.

  The more difficult problem would be getting past resistance to the nature of what he would have to do. The liberal press and those civil libertarians would undoubtedly object and try to block the program.

  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Anyone who’d try to stop him from doing his job obviously wasn’t a true patriot. He’d do whatever it took to protect the Homeland. Nothing was more important.

  CHAPTER 56

  Jenna Ames leaned against the hallway wall outside Lakeside State Hospital’s main ward and tried to steel herself for the day ahead. If the past weeks were any indication, it would be another shift of pure hell on earth. She knew when she took the job several years ago that the place wasn’t lavishly funded, and the residents were often abandoned, distrusted—even hated—by their families. But she believed their mental health issues were not their fault, and that they deserved humane treatment.

  But that was then. The powers that be had made the hospital the dumping ground for all the violent offenders who didn’t fit in the local jails. It made for a bad combination. Now the place was jammed to well beyond its intended capacity with both extremely dangerous offenders and actual patients. Beds lined each side of the wards, two deep.

  For the sake of everyone’s safety, the offenders were heavily medicated and restrained in their beds. The place had taken on the air of some medieval bedlam. Armed guards of questionable training and background had been quickly rented and stationed throughout all the wards. Jenna felt more like a prison assistant than a nurse specializing in the care of patients with significant, though treatable, mental health issues.

  To make matters worse, the ban on animal-protein- and soy-based foods had severely affected the diet they could provide on an institutional scale. It was woefully inadequate in complete proteins and B-vitamins, and the effects were beginning to show in the form of muscle weakness and pain, headaches, sleep disturbances, and hair loss. Though she couldn’t do anything about the poor nutrition, treating the resulting symptoms kept her all the more busy passing out additional medications.

  She wondered how much more she could take. It was hard enough to face each day under such conditions, but it was made even harder because she, too, wasn’t getting sufficient protein in her diet and had to fight through her own weakness and malaise to do her job.

  Jenna sighed, then entered the ward before she could change her mind. She saw Katie Finch, the rookie nurse who shared her shift, already hard at work trying to get an elderly patient back into his bed. She hurried over to help.

  Katie flashed her a quick and weary smile. “Hey, thanks, Jenna.” Then she turned to her patient. “Now, Mr. Morgan, you need to get back in bed. You’re not strong enough to be up and around.”

  “Those men have guns! Can’t stay here!” Mr. Morgan spoke with the rasp of a long-term smoker. His eyes bulged, the whites tinged with yellow.

  Katie turned her head and whispered, “Those guards. Just having them here scares the crap out of the regular patients, and only seems to goad the violent ones they’ve parked here. I’m not sure I feel any safer with them around, either.”

  “I know what you mean.” Jenna scurried to the other side of the patient’s bed to block his view of the guard. “It’s all right, Mr. Morgan, you’re safe here. Lie back down. You need your rest. Let Katie give you your medicine.”

  The frail man lay back on the bed, his bony hands and withered forearms raised over his chest in a protective position. “I’m not so sure. Reminds me of the war. Never safe in war, never be safe again.” A single tear slipped down the side of his creased face.

&nbs
p; Katie gently cradled his head and raised a tiny paper cup to his lips. “Here you go. Drink this little bit down. You’ll feel better.”

  Jenna watched as Mr. Morgan turned to Katie with a cautious look and accepted his medication. She hoped he would rest and find a little peace once the mild sedative took effect.

  A sudden noise changed everything. Jenna turned in time to see the guard drawing his gun on the last patient in the row.

  “What did you say, you sonofabitch? You lay back and shut up!”

  His eyes wild, Mr. Morgan swatted away the paper cup. “I told you! Let me out of here!”

  Katie flung her arms around her struggling patient in a desperate attempt to restrain him, even as she glanced over at the confrontation. “Oh my God, it’s one of the guys the cops brought in.”

  Jenna couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The guard stood there, legs planted, gun drawn. The patient, one of their more violent ones, was bound to his bed by both wrists and ankles. He raised himself, strained at the bindings, and screamed something unintelligible at the guard. “He must have palmed his meds or something. What the hell did he do to make the guard pull his gun?”

  “What do we do?” Katie almost had Mr. Morgan wrestled down to the bed.

  “I don’t know!” Jenna tried to think of whom to call for help, and how to do it without escalating the situation.

  Bang!

  Jenna grabbed the bed rail for support.

  Katie screamed. “He shot him—right there in his bed!”

  Every patient in the ward reacted at once. Those who were restrained fought and writhed in vain to escape. Those who were only sedated struggled to get out of bed, many of them falling to the floor and howling in pain. A general melee broke out, with a chorus of panicked screams, from the patients and from Jenna and Katie.

  The guard swept his gun from side to side, firing indiscriminately into the ward. He hit a number of patients, triggering more screams of terror, as he made his way toward where Jenna and Katie stood. Mr. Morgan cringed in bed in the fetal position, covering his head with his arms and whimpering.

  He spotted them and halted. A hateful leer spread across his face as he took aim. Bang! Katie went down, an enormous puddle of red blooming around her on the linoleum. Jenna turned, slipped in the blood, and barely got out the ward door before she heard another round of shots. She ran as fast as she could to the nurses’ station to call 911.

  CHAPTER 57

  A farm field lay before him, stretching into the distance as far as he could see. The vista was etched in stark black and white, not a hint of color anywhere. Even the sky cloaked itself in a toxic shade of gunmetal gray.

  He glanced from side to side. Soybean plants, all in neatly arranged rows, starting in front of him and running off into the infinite distance up to the horizon. Nothing but the soybean plants. No houses, no buildings, no people, no animals.

  All blackened and withered, as if charred from fire and left in place as silent witnesses to ultimate death and destruction. Poisonous, death-dealing black. The color of hopelessness.

  Kyle jerked awake, gasping and drenched in sweat. His heart hammered so hard he could hear it beating inside his ears. He lay still and tried to calm his breathing so he wouldn’t wake Gretchen. She hadn’t felt well all day and needed her rest. He rolled over, adjusted his pillow, and tried to erase the nightmare from his mind.

  Then he heard her moan. Softly at first, then she startled herself awake and let out a cry.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh God, it hurts.” Gretchen spoke in a low, tight voice, strained by pain.

  Kyle sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. “Gretchen, what is it?”

  She grimaced. “Cramping. I think it’s contractions. Too soon.”

  Kyle had expected this to happen, given the side effects of the potent antibiotic he’d put her on. But the abstract concept of losing the baby was sterile and benign compared to the reality of watching Gretchen begin to experience it. A pang of guilt sliced through him with every sound she made, even though he knew full well he’d had no choice but to prescribe the drug.

  She turned away from him, crumpled into the fetal position and barely stifled a cry of pain. “Something’s wrong. I know it is.”

  “Let’s get you to the ER.” Kyle gently pulled down the covers and clenched his jaw when he saw the blood.

  “I’m going to call ahead and get the car ready. I’ll be right back for you.” Kyle finished buttoning his shirt and left the room.

  Pain like hot, vicious pincers gripped her abdomen, then released, in shorter and shorter cycles. Gretchen clutched her belly and held her breath when it hit, then panted for air in between the contractions. That had to be what it was. Premature labor, just like with Lara. Only earlier. Too early.

  Kyle rushed back into the room and grabbed her robe. “Here. Let me help you into this, and we’ll go.”

  “What about Lara?”

  “I put her seat in my car, but I want to get you in the car before I wake her.”

  Gretchen clenched her teeth through another searing pain as Kyle gently helped her up and into her robe. “It’s happening again. I know it. The baby’s coming.”

  Kyle’s mouth formed a grim, straight line. “Let’s try to stay calm and get to the hospital as quick as we can. Walk with me.”

  Gretchen leaned on Kyle for support, one arm around his waist and the other arm across her belly. They made their way out of their suite and to the elevator, stopping every so often for her to breathe through the pain.

  “All right. You rest there while I get Lara.” Kyle shut the passenger-side door and trotted back to the front door of the hotel.

  Gretchen leaned back in the seat, hands on her belly, and tried to take deep, calming breaths, but the jagged, recurring pains seemed determined to spin her into a panic. She clutched the door handle in a death grip and glanced around. The car was parked outside the bright pool of light coming from the hotel entrance. Something about sitting in the dark in a rented car, outside a hotel in a strange town, made her feel even more helpless and doomed.

  A few minutes later, Kyle emerged from the hotel, cradling Lara in his arms. He opened the rear passenger door and strapped her into her kiddie seat.

  She rubbed her eyes and fussed like she was about to cry. “Where are we going?”

  “Just for a little ride, Lara. Mommy’s not feeling well, so I need you to be quiet, okay?” Kyle put his finger to his lips and made a shushing noise.

  “What’s wrong with Mommy?” Lara’s voice quavered with fear.

  Gretchen turned in her seat as best she could. “It’s okay, I just feel a little sick right now. You be a good girl for me, all right?”

  “Ooookay.” Lara yawned.

  As they drove to the hospital, Gretchen gritted her teeth and forced herself to be silent each time the pain came, to try to keep from panicking Lara. She was glad it was only a short drive; she didn’t know how long she could keep up the pretense.

  They pulled up to the ER entrance, and then things started moving fast, everything whirling out of Gretchen’s control. Kyle got out and ran inside, returning only moments later with an orderly and a wheelchair.

  The orderly lifted Gretchen up and into the chair with amazing ease and whisked her to the ER, leaving Kyle and Lara behind. Just as quickly, Gretchen was scooped up and onto a bed. A nurse came, took her vitals, and fired questions at her. Someone started an IV in her arm. It all became a blur. Time had no meaning, but at least the pain had receded some, like a wave on the beach.

  Later she realized she’d somehow been taken into another room somewhere else in the hospital. Bright lights hurt her eyes as she lay flat on her back in the bed. She felt like she’d lost track of something, like she’d been out for at least a little while.

  A man dressed in green scrubs stood over her. He pulled the surgical mask from his face, letting it hang from its straps. He placed a hand on her shoulder and peered down at her wi
th a face filled with sympathy.

  “Mrs. Sommers, you’re going to be okay.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and forced herself to ask the question she feared she already knew the answer to. “What about the baby?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He straightened up. “I’ll have your husband come in.” He left before she could say anything more.

  Kyle walked in and took her hand.

  She snatched it away and glared at him. “It’s your fault. I told you I didn’t want to take that drug. I’ve been worried the whole time I’d have another preterm birth, like with Lara.” She turned away from him. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into taking it, no matter what. Now our baby is dead! Leave me alone.”

  “Gretchen—”

  “Get out of here! Now!”

  Gretchen clenched her jaw until she heard the hospital room door close, then she pressed her face into the pillow and sobbed.

  CHAPTER 58

  Kyle slumped in a molded plastic chair next to Gretchen’s hospital bed. After her angry outburst last night, he’d requested they give her a sedative so she could get some sleep and start healing. Thankfully for both of them, she remained asleep now. He hoped they’d both get a chance to rest and recover before picking up where they’d left off in the blame game.

  He pawed at his eyes, scratchy from lack of sleep, then checked his watch. Seven o’clock. He had no appointments today, so he could concentrate on his family without having to make calls and rearrange things.

  The night had been a horror for them all. Lara didn’t grasp what had happened, which was just as well. When they’d arrived at the hospital, he’d had to leave Gretchen’s side for a while so he could make arrangements for Lara. Fortunately, there was an empty pediatric bed she could use. A kind nurse and a mild sedative, and Lara at least had a safe place to be so he could focus on Gretchen.