Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord

by Brown, Richard

  Hours later, I was playing basketball in the gym when Peaches ran in with some dire news. She yelled at me from the sideline, saying that she needed to talk with me. I subbed out of the game at the next whistle. My team was losing anyway and my presence on the floor wasn’t exactly helping much. Up to that point, I’d made three of twelve field goal attempts. My jump shot was only slightly better than Shaquille O’Neil’s.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, wiping the sweat off my face with a towel.

  “It’s Craig,” she said in a frightened tone. “Something happened to him.”

  Peaches and I ran into the school, down the halls and up to the front office. Along the way, I tried to get more information out of her, but she couldn’t answer any of my questions. The minute she heard he’d been injured she came to get me.

  Robinson, Jenson, and three other people I didn’t know were standing outside the office talking when we ran up. Droplets of blood made a trail on the floor leading from the front doors to the office.

  “What happened?” I asked, short of breath. My heart was thumping loud and fast in my chest.

  “Craig was shot,” Robinson said.

  I went for the door to the office but Jenson stood in my way. “Can’t go in there right now. They’re taking care of him.”

  “You’ll just be in the way,” Robinson added.

  I backed off, tried to catch my breath. I used the towel in my hands to wipe more sweat away from my face and neck. “How did he get shot?”

  “Jenson was just telling me what happened,” Robinson replied. “Continue.”

  Jenson started the story over from the beginning. The four of them, Paul, Jenson, Zoe, and Craig, had finished rummaging through a few stores for supplies and made their way over to the area where Ray had spotted a couple of survivors the previous day. After driving around for almost an hour, they finally saw someone going inside a corner gas station. So they pulled into the lot and parked the truck in one of the open spaces out front.

  “We figured whoever went inside would have seen us pull up,” Jenson said. “So we kept the engine running and waited outside. After a minute, Paul honked the horn a few times. Waited another minute. But still no one came out. At this point, I suggested we leave, but Paul doesn’t like to give up so easily. He cut the engine and we went inside. The gas station was dark. Dark and quiet. The only noise was from the little bell attached to the door. We checked down each aisle, guns raised, while Paul began his usual spiel. If anyone was there they should come out. We didn’t mean them harm. Not a second after the words left his mouth, an old homeless-looking guy ran out of the back screaming at the top of his lungs, firing wild shots our way from over the counter. He was short with long hair and a long beard. He had on a big brown jacket, if you can believe it—in this heat. I swear he looked like a fucking caveman with a hand cannon. The gun was bigger than him. He must have fired off seven or eight shots before Zoe plugged him in his hairy face. But not before one of the shots hit Craig.”

  “Where was he shot?” I asked, scared to hear the answer.

  “Back of the leg,” Jenson said. “He’d been trying to run for cover down one of the aisles.”

  I immediately felt relieved. Bullet wounds were always serious business, but being hit in the leg at least meant no vital organs were in play. His odds of survival were better.

  “Anyway,” Jenson went on. “We checked around back to make sure there wasn’t anyone else waiting to jump out. But caveman was the only one. From the look of the place, I bet he’d been living there for some time. He probably just went insane—thought we were infected or something. I don’t know. Of course, since he was dead we had no way of knowing for sure. After that, we tended to Craig in the center aisle. He was bleeding out on the floor, though not as much as you’d probably expect. We think maybe the bullet ricocheted off something else before hitting him. The wound was ragged but manageable. Paul grabbed the emergency kit from the truck and we stuffed and wrapped the hole to stop the bleeding. Then we carried him to the truck and drove back here as fast as possible.”

  “Now we’re just waiting on a status update from Dr. Bailey,” Robinson said.

  As we waited outside the office for news on Craig’s condition, a crowd began gathering in the hall. Rumors had spread. Everyone was curious. Jenson told the story to numerous other people who wanted to know what happened, Craig’s crush, Emily, among them. Peaches and I kept her company, tried to ease her mind by telling her everything would be all right, not knowing if that was really true or not.

  It was well over an hour after I’d arrived at the scene, when Paul came out to address the crowd.

  “Craig is in stable condition,” he said. “Dr. Bailey says he’s lost a good deal of blood but should be fine. He’s resting now, so there’s no need for everyone to hang around here.” He paused to check his watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. Please everyone, move away. I’ll be sure to let you all know if his condition changes.”

  Emily and I went back to the front office just before lights out. After some begging, we were able to talk Susan into letting us see Craig. We tiptoed into the nurse’s office, unsure as to whether or not he would be sleeping.

  “Hey guys,” Craig said softly, as we turned the corner. He lay flat on the bed, dressed in only a T-shirt and plaid boxer shorts. His right foot was set atop a pair of thick pillows to keep his calf, wrapped in many tight layers of white gauze, properly elevated.

  “How are you feeling?” Emily asked, squeezing up beside him. I went to the other side of the bed.

  “Better,” Craig replied, smiling up at her. “The doc gave me some pain meds.”

  Emily reached for his hand. “That’s good.”

  “You weren’t supposed to get shot today,” I said. “I told you to watch out for crazy homeless guys, didn’t I?”

  Craig turned and looked over at me. Whatever Bailey gave him for the pain was definitely working. He looked spaced-out, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I think you said…to watch out for infected.”

  “Same thing.”

  We stayed with Craig for another few minutes until he started to fade off, and then we left him to rest. Susan promised to let us see him again the following morning.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said, walking Emily to her room.

  “I sure hope so. I don’t want to cry anymore.”

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  We stopped outside her room and I turned to face her. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying anything…but Craig likes you too. He was going to tell you today…before he got injured. He was so nervous about it.”

  “He was? Aw, that’s so sweet,” she said. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “Don’t tell him I said anything.”

  “I won’t. But thanks for letting me know.”

  The next morning I stopped in to check on Craig. With a full night’s sleep behind him, he looked less drowsy and was in great spirits. The bright smile on his face caught me totally off guard. His positive mood was welcomed but unexpected.

  He told me that Emily had come to see him earlier and that they were now officially dating. The best part, he said, was that he didn’t even have to ask her. She had asked him. Naturally, I said nothing about the conversation I had with her the previous night. I played along with the surprise, pretending I had no idea. I even made a joke about how he’d dodged a bullet. His face glowed with satisfied relief.

  Two days later, Craig had a fever.

  Chapter 113

  “Go ahead. Tell them,” Paul said.

  I stood among a small group gathered together in the principal’s office—a place I wasn’t too familiar with. Robinson, now helping to handle the day-to-day affairs of the school, had been summoned to the front office for an important update on Craig’s condition. Being the nosy person I was, I had tagged along. Paul reluctantly let me inside for the meeting.

  Paul, sitting comfortably behind his desk,
glanced over at Dr. Bailey leaning against the far wall. Susan stood off to the side, fidgeting with her hands.

  “Unfortunately, Craig has developed a bacterial infection,” Dr. Bailey said.

  “How do you know?” Robinson asked.

  “Without a tissue sample or blood test, it’s hard to know for sure. But all signs point to infection. The wound isn’t healing like it should. Over the past twenty-four hours, it’s become very red and tender. Swelling has increased, not decreased. And, most notably, during the night Craig woke up with a high fever that we so far have been unable to get under control.”

  I bowed my head, thinking back to how happy Craig had been only two days earlier, and how upset Emily would be once she heard the news that his condition had worsened. I raised my head back up and asked the question that seemed most pertinent at that moment. “Is he going to die?”

  Dr. Bailey took a long second to answer, which did nothing to improve the uneasy atmosphere in the room. “Infections aren’t uncommon after trauma, and they are treatable, but we don’t have the right medications here at the school to fight it. We need to get to a pharmacy as soon as possible and hope they have what we need. The sooner he gets the proper medication, the better chance he has to beat it. If the infection goes untreated for too long, and continues to get worse, it’s possible we may have to amputate the leg.”

  A cold silence fell over the room.

  Despite all that I had been through over the last month and a half, I felt very fortunate to be standing there in that office in good health and not lying in the nurse’s room sick and weak down the hall. Of all the people I’d met at the school, maybe in my entire life, Craig reminded me the most of myself. Knowing that this infection could possibly leave him without a leg, or even dead, left a hard pit in my stomach.

  “So…” Paul finally said. “We need to set up a run immediately. The closest pharmacy to the school is about three miles southwest of here. Problem is…we’ve been there before, and it’s unlikely to have what we need as it’s been thoroughly cleaned out. I suspect that’s true of most of the pharmacies in the city as well. If it wasn’t the addicts or other looters out to make a quick buck, it was the government.” Paul removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses clean with the bottom of his shirt. “But the doctor has an idea.”

  Dr. Bailey nodded. “I used to work at a hospital in the city. They have a pharmacy that should have everything we need.” He turned to address Robinson. “That narcotic I gave you when you first got here, after I cleaned up your wound…I got those the day everyone went into a coma. I took them from the hospital pharmacy before I left, along with a bunch of other supplies. They were well stocked.”

  “And you’re sure no one could have got in there and cleaned it out since then?” Robinson asked.

  “Anything is possible, but it’s highly unlikely. Even if the backup power eventually went down, most of the entrances should still be locked. You see, I was working the day the virus rolled into town. It was a madhouse in there. We were overrun by people, couldn’t keep up with demand. Eventually the decision was made to lock all the main entrances to prevent the situation from getting any worse. But while that stopped people from rushing the building, things obviously didn’t get any better. By night, just about everyone inside had fallen into a coma. Only a handful of us were unaffected. We left through an emergency exit out back, and then went our separate ways, off to our homes to find our families.” The doctor paused to pull in a deep breath. “I found mine—my wife and two boys—in the living room later that day. All comatose.”

  “How far away is this hospital?” Robinson asked.

  “Twenty miles maybe.”

  “And you said it’s in the city,” I remarked. “The city highways are packed with infected. Can you even get to it safely?”

  My question was directed to the doctor, but it was Paul who answered. “We can. We’ll just take the helicopter.”

  Now I was intrigued.

  I loved it when a plan came together.

  “The rooftop access to the stairs should be open,” Dr. Bailey said. “If not, we may still be able to break in.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Paul said. “Let’s not waste another second. Susan, if you could be so kind to find Ray and bring him here so we can tell him the situation.”

  “I’m on my way,” Susan said, and hurried out of the office.

  Paul turned his attention back to the doctor. “Do you think you could draw up a map of the hospital?”

  Dr. Bailey frowned. “I don’t need a map. I worked at the hospital for over ten years, and I know the floor plan well.”

  “Then you’ll be able to draw a good map. But you’re not going.”

  “What? I have to go, Paul. I’m the only one who knows what medication to get.”

  “You can write that down too, along with any other meds you think we could use on hand.” Dr. Bailey sighed and looked out the window facing the parking lot. “I’m sorry, Tim. You’re just too valuable for us to lose.”

  “Are you at least good with a weapon?” Robinson asked the doctor.

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because the hospital could be crawling with infected. You said the main entrances were locked down on the day everyone went into a coma. Well, if the infected weren’t able to get out after they woke up, they’d still be there, wandering the halls.”

  “Hmm, that’s a very good point I hadn’t considered,” Paul said. “That changes things.”

  Robinson shrugged. “Just means if you’re going in there, you better bring plenty of firepower…and some good shooters.”

  “I’m going to check on the boy,” Dr, Bailey said. “When I get back, I’ll draw up a map.”

  “Thank you,” Paul said as the doctor sauntered off down the hall. “Your shoulder isn’t one hundred percent yet, is it?”

  “No. And it probably won’t be for a while,” Robinson replied. He didn’t have the sling on that morning, but he would still wear it on days when the pain flared up.

  “We’ll find someone else. The helicopter can seat four plus the pilot. Zoe and Jenson will—”

  “I’ll go,” I suddenly blurted out.

  Principal Paul leaned back in his chair, chewing on the eraser end of a pencil. “Are you sure?”

  “I want to help,” I said. “You know I can handle a gun better than most people here. I helped train them. And Craig is my friend.”

  Robinson placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jimmy…it could be really dangerous.”

  “I want to help,” I said again.

  Paul nodded and set down his pencil. “Then it’s settled. You can go. Plan on leaving in an hour.”

  Chapter 114

  The helicopter had two rows of seats. Ray sat in the pilots chair in the right front, with Jenson to his left. I sat in the second row with Zoe and Dr. Bailey to the right of me. After some intense haggling, Paul had agreed to let the doctor come on the mission so as long as he promised to stay up on the helipad—out of the hospital and out of danger. Just in case we weren’t able to follow the map to the pharmacy, he’d be there to consult with. The map Bailey had drawn wasn’t too detailed, which I thought could be a good thing or a bad thing, though I imagined the most challenging part would be locating the correct drugs once we reached the pharmacy.

  I had on a black tactical vest Jenson had set me up with from the armory. The vest had all sorts of compartments on the front and back to hold supplies. Magazines. Shotgun shells. Radio. Knife. My wonderful Sally fit perfectly in the side draw holster. To save space in the cabin, we put the long guns in the helicopters rear storage compartment.

  Dozens of people came out to see us off. Peaches stood between Robinson and Naima, arms crossed, with an anxious look on her face. Like me, she wanted the best for Craig. She understood the severity of his condition. But still she wasn’t happy that I had volunteered to go. I told her it was a simple supply run to a hospital. We’d be in and out in a jiffy. No infect
ed. Nothing to worry about. After seeing how many guns we brought along, she didn’t buy it, and campaigned hard to have me step down and let someone else go in my place.

  Not happening.

  I held steady—kept my resolve.

  I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t a little eager to leave the school, even if only for a couple of hours. Part of it was getting to ride in the helicopter, which I had wanted to do ever since we arrived at the school. I could cross that off my bucket list. But mostly, I think I needed a reminder of the threat that plagued the world. Living at the school, it was easy to become complacent—forget how things were outside the fence. I hoped today would give me a dose of reality—just enough to show me again how good I had it.

  Ray began going through the process of starting the helicopter, flipping overhead switches and checking gauges. “Better put on your ear pro,” he said, glancing back at the three of us in the backseat.

  I brought the large muffs I normally wore while target shooting in the gym. The others all wore foam ear protection. Ray had mentioned earlier that it gets pretty loud inside the helicopter, and he wasn’t kidding. A whining sound accompanied the rotating blades overhead as they quickly increased in speed. Once the engine was fully warm, the sound seemed to level off and become more tolerable.

  The helicopter started to shake just a little right before we left the ground. I waved at everyone below as we drifted upward, wobbling side to side. At about fifty feet, we hovered for a brief moment while Ray pointed the chopper the right direction. The next thing I know we were diving forward and then up, up, and away we went, gliding through the warm spring air.

  It was a beautiful day, blue-skied and sunny, made even more fabulous by our angelic vantage point. I was fortunate to have a window seat, eyes glued on the lush earth below, committing the sight to memory as we coasted over trees and swampland and empty fields. After a few minutes, tall gray buildings slowly began to appear in the distance, growing larger as we crossed miles of open land and drew closer to the outskirts of New Orleans.