Once she was sure that it was clear, she ran back inside, checking the damage. The IV poles sucked up next to the machine, the skeleton maintained its location, and the gurney had only budged a bit. The plan was shaky, but it was all she had.
Fourteen
Lito
Lito and four others entered the hospital via the stairs to the south elevator. With all the other entrances blocked, they had no choice. He had heard the shooting match ring out from the parking garage, but they had all been instructed to stay put regardless of what they heard. Silently, it ate at him—the not knowing who was winning.
Truthmore and his sharpshooter quietly approached through the doors to join them. There was a muffled clang with each step as they paced across the decrypted tile floor.
Truthmore had been watching the hospital all day, and no one inside had been the wiser. Lito had told him everything, and because of that, there would be no hiding place that Truthmore hadn't already scouted from afar. No one from the OSHU was safe—not even those in the morgue.
“That’s one down, just sixteen more to go,” Truthmore said happily, “Luckily, about ten of those souls will be like shooting fish in a barrel.” The sinister man let out a wheezing laugh, cracking himself up over his own jokes. Truthmore wasn’t unattractive; on the contrary, he was quite handsome, but his leathery skin and deep crow's feet around his eyes conveyed an age he hadn’t actually achieved. He was as young as or younger than most everyone in the group.
His age lines face wrenched into a scowl as soon as he noticed no one had laughed with him. Quickly the group chuckled, hoping to ward off his ire.
“I’m going to need one of you to stay behind and figure out a way into the morgue. You have permission to use any means necessary. Just don’t blow yourself up.”
“Leave Bryson,” the female voice behind Lito said, “The kid will figure it out, eventually.”
“No, you aren’t leaving me behind just because she wants you to,” Bryson said, “She’s only jealous that I’m a better shot than everyone else here. Especially her.”
A mighty grunt came from behind them, “Okay, almost everyone.” Bryson raised his hands in mock surrender, “My apologies Artem.”
“You shouldn’t have poked the bear,” the female said.
The woman dressed in Operational Camo fatigues raised a hand in a single finger salute and turned her back. Her short black hair was slicked back against her scalp. She paused and stood up straight, slipping a hand to her sidearm.
“I’ll stay,” Lito said from behind everyone else. His black hair halfway down his back hid kind eyes, the type you could trust. “I’m good with locks, and I just might be able to talk them into doing what we want.”
“Lito,” the woman said his name like it was poison she wanted to flick off the end of her tongue.
“You?” Truthmore asked skeptically.
“You and Artem seem to have thrown caution to the wind. I don't really want to get shot because you let the enemy know our location, so I'll gladly take the lock,” Lito explained, shrugging his shoulders.
“Are you saying you would have done it differently? I suppose you think you could do better,” Truthmore scoffed, staring straight through Lito. It was that look that put the fear of God into his followers. It was a look that made you question whether or not he would snap and murder for fun, or commend you on your excellent work.
Lito gulped hard, hoping that there would be an 'Atta Boy' coming and not a bullet to the face, “No, sir. Your plan is the best way forward, I'm merely here to help carry it out."
Truthmore's head snapped to the side, “James,” he said sweetly. His countenance softening, pointed to a red-haired man with green eyes, who oddly enough, was missing an ear. Supposedly, he had lost it in a fight over bread, but the other guy ended up looking far worse when he was finished with him. “You hang back and watch Lito’s attempts at negotiation—”
“Seriously?” Lito shot back, “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve got this. I’ve done plenty to prove my loyalty to the cause. I want them taken down as much as, if not more, than all of you. I was the only one to take a bullet just a few months ago.”
Truthmore looked to the raven-haired woman, raising an eyebrow as he stuck his bottom lip out, a frown hinted at the corners of his mouth. They both understood; Truthmore nodded his head.
“You make a good point. Don’t make me regret this.” Truthmore reached a hand up to flick the patchiness on Lito’s face, “I already regret letting you keep that sad excuse for pre-pubescent facial hair.”
Lito attempted to jerk back, but brushed a hand down the side of his hair, “You won’t. I can have that door open in no time.”
“I know you can. Let's just see if you can take care of your job when the time comes. I would hate to have to...replace you,” the man's eyes scanned Lito's body, giving him a once over. It made him want to crawl out of his skin. Lito picked up his pack and began a slow jog back to the stairwell, but before he could open the door, he heard Truthmore’s voice again, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around.
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t need much to open an old door.”
“And once you get the door open, do you really plan on finishing the job with a pistol? There are ten people in there; just a simple oversight, I assume,” Truthmore’s words were dripping with condescension.
“Guess not, but it’s all I’ve got,” Lito said, turning around to face him.
“James, give him the AK. Spray and pray.”
James handed the rifle over, and Lito, in turn, his pistol, “Are you going to need me to show you how to use it?” James whispered.
“Shut up,” Lito retorted, jerking the rifle from him.
Now off of Truthmore’s radar, he quickly made his way down the stairs, picking up the pace with each step. He disappeared through the pitch-black doorway and down into the belly of the basement.
James
As soon as Lito disappeared from view, and out of earshot, Truthmore began, “I know you all aren’t sold on him, and honestly, I don’t care. He got us intel and has more reason than all of you put together to burn this place down. Everyone understand?” They all nodded.
“We’ve got five more people to find in this place, and I want you to comb through every nook and cranny. I need everyone to stick together unless I say otherwise. Let’s go,” he said, with a flick of his wrist, the group moved out.
They all began in a diamond formation, with Artem taking the rear. Slowly and methodically, the group climbed each flight of stairs. They would split into groups to clear each floor, each time coming up empty. As they approached the sixth floor, they noticed the door had been left wide open. It was dark, almost pitch black except for the small amount of light that trickled onto the platform. The Raven-haired woman flicked on her lighter to see. The front lobby was far smaller than all the other floors they had combed through so far. This one would take some time.
“Hey James, why don’t you take this one,” she said, tearing a hospital pillowcase into strips. Her boot crunched down on the leg of a chair, splintering the wood. She wrapped the strip of cloth around it to make him a torch. With another flick, there was light.
“Are you crazy, Polina? What happened to us sticking together?”
“There are two of us for each level and Corbin is down below, still searching. Suck it up,” Polina said, handing him the torch. “Quit whining and do what you can,” with that, she was off, taking the stairs two at a time with Artem lumbering behind.
We are stronger in pairs. I don’t know why Truth agreed to take her when she pulls this—
The wind howled and James stepped gingerly into the front room. The torch’s flame danced in the gentle breeze that blew through the broken windows. He went left and through the first set of double doors. The sign above presented him with choices. The left was the waiting room. It was bound to be empty; no one wo
uld be dumb enough to hide out in such a small space. Recovery was ahead, so he quickly stepped through.
The breeze picked up, nearly blowing out his torch. He could see that the large room was sectioned off with a myriad of curtains—another lousy hiding spot. Returning to the previous room, he could feel the heat from the torch growing closer to his hand with every second. He didn't have much time until he would be in the dark. As he swung his torch to the right, he could see the right door stood ajar. Pushing it open, he took a few steps inside as a large gust of wind blew the flames back into his face, causing him to drop the torch. He reached down, but the wood was already out, and he had no way to relight it.
Fifteen
Marisha
She looked up to the faded red and silver sign in the stairwell that hung next to the door that led into the floor. The number had fallen down and now looked like a nine. She flicked the metal and watched the number swing back and forth, eventually falling to the ground.
The sixth floor? Really? What did I do to deserve this? I’ve been there for her since the beginning, and she demotes me to literally the lowest level.
Marisha scanned the area. She had to admit Colleen was right; if you wanted to get someone turned around, the sixth floor was definitely the place to do it. Most of the outside windows were boarded up, and the layout had created an intricate maze. She remembered getting lost in the rooms not long after she had woken up from surgery. Admittedly, her mind had been in a fog of sedatives and pain while searching for Colleen.
To her left and right were the entrances to the surgery center. Like all the other floors, the lights were off to preserve what little power they made from a crippled hydroelectric dam and solar panels. Once you enter, the hallways peeled off into a veritable maze of rooms, dead ends, and more hallways. Even those more senior people like Dr. Vasquez would be lying if they said they knew this floor well.
Marisha entered the swinging doors and counted her steps. For once, maybe her ‘tics,’ as her mother had called them not so many years ago, would come in handy instead of being a distraction when she got nervous. When she had been just nine years old, she had forgotten to lock a door, and a possum had crept into their room at night. It had rummaged through all the food, destroying most everything, and her father had nearly hit her out of frustration and anger. The fear had awoken something inside of her; the next day she began repeating simple tasks seven times. When walking, she counted her steps, only starting out on her left foot. Over the years she graduated to other numbers and habits she could never kick, only push below the surface.
On the left side of the hall, there was a three-way fork of hallways. Above her head hung a sign holding on by a single screw. She cocked her head to the right as if that would help her read the slanted words.
Left—Surgery Waiting Room
Straight—Out-Patient Recovery Rooms
Right—Surgery Prep
“The waiting room won't have many places to hide and would have no alternative exit. Recovery is just a huge open room, which poses the same problem. I guess right it is.”
She pushed against the crash bar expecting resistance, but the door swung open easily and yanked her feet out from underneath her. Unable to get her hands down fast enough, Marisha hit the ground hard. She tried to catch the breath that was involuntarily knocked free from her lungs, but when she tried to gasp, her lungs didn’t fill. Marisha panicked, clasping her hands around her neck. She tried to suck in harder, but each attempt to draw in air was in vain. Her head filled with fog, and her limbs slowly lost their strength. Blackness closed in around her vision. Her eyes fluttered in a weak attempt to stop it, but once it finally stole it from her, she was left immobile. She could hear the faint sound of footsteps from down the hall moving toward her. Thump, thump, thump—then nothing.
Marisha opened her eyes and shook her head. It pounded between her ears like she had just gone a few rounds with Colleen; at least this meant she was alive. Propping herself up on her elbows, she tried to survey her surroundings. Everything was pitch black, and only a sliver of light slipped under the door ahead of her. Once again, another good thing; she wasn’t blind.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been out. A few seconds? A minute? Longer? The last thing she heard was the sound of footsteps, but where? A swift breeze skated across the top of her head as the sound of a door opening creaked behind her. Every nerve in her body sprung at once and froze her in place.
Thunk! Whoosh! Something hot burned through the side of her jeans. The pain increased, and felt like a hot poker was digging into her flesh. She bit her lip and remained still; any movement would give away her position. It might be futile to play dead, but it would be her only option.
“Hello?” whispered an unsure voice. A hand searched the ground next to her. Moving all around her but never making contact. Marisha pulled her legs into her body slowly.
“Huh? What was that?” the male voice said, “I know I heard something in here.” The hand frantically continued to search; it was only a matter of time before it would clasp around her leg. Every sound securely within the walls; any action she took would need to be swift and sure.
Click. The unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked back. Marisha exploded her leg down, making contact with something hard. A faint crack echoed throughout the room. She heard a soft gurgle and gasp.
She reared back and kicked with the other leg, but this time she mostly missed. A crushing hand pulled her down and across the floor. The pain in her chin detonated throughout her jaw as it slammed and scrapped across the tile. The man pulled her towards him and Marisha tried for another kick, but his other hand clamped down. She wriggled her entire body, but it was useless.
“Got you!” the man yelled as he pulled harder.
Sheer strength like this was something she had never been up against. He let one hand go momentarily to grip up higher on her leg, right behind her knee. As he pulled himself further up her body, she brought her elbow down, praying she would connect with his head but missed.
“Give up; you aren’t getting away,” he seethed, wiping his mouth, “I promise, I’ll make it a quick and easy death.”
“You are going to have to work for it,” Marisha sneered.
His grip lessened just enough as he tried to move higher. Within the split-second window, she pulled her legs up, planting one into the ground. With all her strength, she tried to turn over, making it only halfway onto her side before he had her locked down again. It didn’t matter, though. This was a position she knew to her advantage. With only one leg locked down, she wedged her elbow in between the two of them.
He squeezed harder, and she coughed. She couldn’t breathe. In one rapid motion, she rolled over and had him on his back. Before the attacker could recover from the disorientating move, Marisha brought an open palm down onto his brachial artery, stunning him. Instantly, his body went limp. Crawling around, she whipped her arm around his neck, but before she could squeeze tight, his fingers dug into her flesh. Nails cut at her as he tried to pull her away. Moving her mouth to his ear, she bit down.
“OWWWW!” the man yelled out and tried to push her head away.
He threw his head back, connecting with her cheekbone, but Marisha already had him. She flexed her biceps, and within seconds, he was out. Without wasting a second, she shot up from the ground and rushed out the door. It closed with a resounding thud, and she used a chair to wedge the handle shut. He wasn’t going anywhere. Even when the man woke up, he would spend hours trying to navigate the lightless maze.
Colleen had to be warned. She didn’t have a clue what they were dealing with. Once out to the stairwell, she peeked around the corner, and with no one in sight, she sprinted up the stairs to the fourteeth floor.
Sixteen
Chenoa
They had played many rounds of war games in the few months since Colleen and Marisha had shown up. You were never too old for an elaborate game of hide-and-seek. They were fun, if not also i
nformative, but Chenoa had never really taken them for anything beyond face value.
Cooper, for as masculine as he was, still leaned toward the old-fashioned and would do anything to keep her safe. It was part of what had drawn them together in the first place. She had been an only child. Her mother had passed when she was just a baby, leaving her and her overly protective father alone in a world ransacked by The Terror.
For fifteen years, the two of them lived on the farm in harmony, until bandits destroyed her life. They killed her father and burned down everything in a matter of hours. She was left alone, and for the first time, experienced what bad people were like—those that weren't concerned with survival and instead wanted to watch the world burn.
Cooper had found her four days later, sleeping on the steps of a cathedral in downtown Helena. Clothes tattered, face bloody, and dehydrated. They had been nearly inseparable since. Today was another story.
It was nice to be included, but when it came down to reality, she would have been just as happy, if not more so, to be inside that room bunkered down with everyone else. She tried to calm her nerves with the usual tricks, taking deep breaths, and counting to ten. Nothing had worked as the pistol still shook in her hand. She couldn’t believe that all it took was just a semblance of danger, and all the training she had endured had flown out the window.
What was that? It sounded like it came from above. Had they already made it past her? There is no way they could’ve gotten that far.
After finding her hiding spot in the pharmacy in the southwest corner, Chenoa had decided to stay put. If they weren’t going to come and find her, then she wasn’t going to do anything to make herself known if she didn’t absolutely have to. The medicines had all been picked through long ago, but the rows of collapsed shelves remaining would create an excellent and challenging labyrinth to navigate. If they were going to search for her, they would have to climb over everything; in the end, she hoped it would be too much for them to bother.
The Maddening: Book 2 in the Terror Saga Page 8
