Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  She wheeled herself past Thierry, who was still fast asleep, and over to where Charmin and Frenchie sat. “Do we have anything to eat in here?”

  Charmin nodded. “Bottom cabinet on the left. You should find some MRE’s and other dehydrated food.”

  Lola’s abdomen tightened. She’d eaten MRE’s before at a few of the government and military training exercises she’d been to. A Styrofoam cup would taste better, so she selected a Cup of Noodles, hoping that the nutrition-less meal would help settle her stomach.

  “Any progress?”

  “Nope.” Charmin shook her head. Deep bags hung underneath her red eyes as if she’d pulled a few too many all-nighters. “Not unless you count the progression of the disease. Thierry over there has already surpassed where his sister was at her worst. Chances are he may never wake up.”

  All three girls sat in silence. This is what was going to become of each of them. Trapped in a room. Consumed by an unknown disease. Lola swallowed. The fiery pain in her throat brought her back to reality. Her meds were wearing off.

  She took the throat spray, chased it with an orange beverage from Charmin, and then ate her soup.

  Charmin opened a cabinet, set a can of Ensure in front of Lola, tossed one to Frenchie, and opened one for herself. “Drink up. We’ve got to keep our strength.”

  What did they need to save their strength for? She hacked and coughed until she was almost out of breath. Finally a tiny bit of phlegm came out and she could breathe again.

  “Juliet will be back soon. She may have found something that will help,” Charmin said.

  Lola rolled her eyes. It was a pipe dream, and she knew it. Charmin knew it. And so did everyone else in this forsaken room. There was no escape. She downed the Ensure, then turned and set her empty can on the counter.

  Her belly cried out in complaint of the nasty protein shake. A gush of water splashed down into her wheelchair. “Owe,” she blurted with a sudden increase in pressure as the baby slid into her pelvis.

  The wheelchair’s handles felt like they were going to come off in her grip. The contraction built up to where she thought she was going to be turned inside out. Just when she felt she couldn’t take anymore, the contraction started to fade away.

  She took a cleansing breath and decided that she had to get out of the puddle that the baby’s water left behind. She grabbed onto the counter and stood. Her clothes were soaked.

  Frenchie giggled like she was high. “Your pants. They look like they’ve been in a bloody show.”

  “That’s because they have,” Charmin said. “She’s in labor.”

  A smile and then a smirk from the inebriated Frenchie seemed to amplify the next contraction that just about took Lola’s leg out from underneath her. She gripped the counter and held herself up until Charmin came over to stabilize her. The contraction seemed to last forever. She tried counting and envisioning the sun setting behind her parent’s house. But it wasn’t until she realized that she was holding her breath that she got relief.

  She varied her breathing as she’d learned in an early Lamaze class all those months ago. Focusing on the breathing patterns seemed to take the edge off the pain. The contraction dissipated.

  “Come on sweetie. We have to keep you moving. Your contractions are still about five minutes apart.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Lola said. “You want me to go for a walk. I’m a cripple with a pelvis that’s on the verge of bursting.”

  “It’s too late for an epidural. We need to help open up the inlet. It won’t be long now until you have the baby.” Charmin’s soft grip on her shoulders soothed her as did her voice.

  Lola leaned on Charmin and helped her walk around the room.

  Chapter 16

  The volume was up and thanks to some old red drapes the lights were dim. Shinal glanced at the television and memorized the footwork and hand motions of the latest hip-hop artist. A few seconds later she performed the exact same moves as if she’d rehearsed them for a lifetime. Then she incorporated the moves she’d been learning since morning: hip-hop, break-dancing, jive, and even Tahitian. Everything seemed to go with this music.

  When the song was over, Shinal grabbed a water bottle and collapsed into a chair facing the surveillance monitors. The same black and white feeds she’d been watching all week reflected back at her: empty rooms and corridors, the stairwell was empty, the warehouse undisturbed, and the street looked like it hadn’t been driven on for a few months. Everything was in order. The only sign of life was in the infirmary, where an unusual amount of injuries had the place at maximum occupancy. She watched as Charmin helped Lola limp over toward a bed.

  The work was tedious. Thank goodness her week of playing security guard would be over soon. Another day and a half and someone else would be stuck in the closet watching closed circuit television of Leave it to Beaver. Shinal went to turn the music back up when the new camera panned around to the stairway entrance. The door was wide open.

  Shinal froze the image and turned on the police scanner.

  Why was the door open? She reviewed the screens once again and had the cameras sweep across the different areas. The stairwell was clear as was the warehouse. But the secret hatch that opened into the warehouse’s office lay open. She continued to look for activity. It wasn’t long before she found the odd pile of ice in front of the second warehouse, followed by a topless Jared weeping next to the infirmary with a shirt full of medical supplies.

  What the hell was going on? Where was Juliet? And why did Jared leave the entrance open? At least when he snuck out the other day to catch a breath of fresh air, he bothered to cover his tracks. She almost laughed as she remembered him scuttling away from the girls when they came back from a grocery trip.

  The police scanner dispatched a cop to the neighboring garage. But no officers or police vehicles were in sight, other than the officer in the neighboring warehouse.

  A motion on one of the other screens caught her eye. Shinal spun around and saw nothing. She scanned the road, the sidewalk, and reviewed all twelve cameras. She was about to write the motion off when one of the cameras panned across their warehouse. A twelve person commando team dressed in all black rushed toward the open hatch.

  Shinal slammed her fist down on the alarm button and ran out of the room.

  Chapter 17

  Lola lay on the bed. She’d lost all sense of modesty and was drawing on her belly and talking to her baby while resting between contractions.

  Charmin pulled the stirrups out of a drawer and mounted them on the bed’s side.

  Lola shook her head. Unwilling to speak or take her mind off her breathing until the contraction ended. “No stirrups.”

  “But how? It’s the only way I know-”

  “No stirrups!” Lola demanded. The only position more difficult to deliver the baby in would be a headstand.

  She’d planned the birth since conception. And no, giving birth in a mine surrounded by the plague had never been a part of it. One of the few things she could control was how she was going to deliver the baby.

  An alarm sounded. The red lights on the wall swirled.

  Charmin glanced towards her computer to see what was wrong. She hesitated as if trying to decide is she should stop her examination.

  “Shut up!” Frenchie screamed at the top of her lungs. Her hands clamped over her ears.

  Another contraction began. But this one was slightly different than the others. Lola had an irresistible urge to push. She gritted her teeth.

  “Wait,” Charmin screamed. “Not yet. I can feel the baby’s arm. It’s up above her head. We need to see if we can move it.”

  Lola went from straining her perineum to trying to blow out an imaginary candle within a matter of seconds. The contraction seemed to last over a minute. Her head was light. She felt faint.

  She took a few deep breaths and then her body melted into the bed like warmed Jell-O.

  Charmin was feeling the baby’s head and stretching the per
ineum.

  Lola could feel the baby’s heartbeat. It was slightly depressed, but stable. She was in no immediate danger.

  “I’m coming mama,” the baby said through its rhythms and movements in utero.

  Lola smiled. The baby was almost here. A dream come true even if it was in these circumstances. Power surged through her. The pain and burning washed away.

  She wanted to hold her little one, the one part of her life the government hadn’t been able to take away. She pictured her baby and asked, “Can pull your arm back in? If you can, you can come out sooner.”

  The baby wiggled. A moment later the baby told her it was too tight.

  Lola waited for the contraction to pass and then flipped over to her hands and knees. She felt the baby’s head disengage for a moment.

  “That’s it,” Charmin said. “I got the arm back in.”

  As soon as the baby’s head re-engaged, Lola’s uterus contracted.

  “Help me to my feet,” Lola said.

  “But...”

  “Just do it,” Lola demanded as she struggled to kneel on the bed. The contraction was becoming too powerful. She would have to push soon.

  Charmin grabbed her by the armpits and lifted.

  Lola got her good foot underneath her and then balanced on her opposite knee. She threw her elbows around Charmin’s shoulders and bore down.

  Her body was trembling. The ring of fire in her perineum threatened to consume her. She thought of her baby. Of her husband. Of the future, no matter how short it would be. And then she pushed.

  “Just another push or two,” Charmin called up from the bottom of the bed.

  Feeling the rhythm of the contraction, Lola pushed again. This time she birthed the head. She placed her hand down below to welcome her little one. She was almost done. Much of the pressure had dissipated.

  She pushed a final time and baby expelled from her uterus. Charmin caught the newborn.

  Lola put her hands behind her and lowered herself back onto the bed. Moments later, cord still attached, the baby was nursing in her arms.

  Chapter 18

  Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairwell. Instead of risking a look up the stairwell, Shinal slammed the door shut and slid two heavy boards across the entrance.

  Where was Juliet? No, it didn’t matter. She knew the drill. Take the tunnels and meet at the state fair-grounds in three days.

  She could hear the intruder’s feet. The stairway was rattling so bad it sounded like it was going to collapse. Shinal ran to the infirmary to help the others.

  Jared was still on the ground, head bowed, eyes covered with his arms. Before she could ask what he was doing, Shinal saw the thick bulletproof glass that separated him from his daughter. The infirmary’s doorway had been sealed shut. There wasn’t a door handle or any other way of opening it. She could see Charmin and Frenchie gathered at one of the beds. Lola was holding a baby.

  Shinal slammed her fists on the glass three times. But there was no response.

  “What’s going on?” she screamed. “Why is this locked? We have to get out of here.” She might as well have been a damn mime.

  An explosion echoed down the corridor. This time Charmin’s head snapped towards the doorway. And she was running toward Shinal.

  “They’re here. We have to go,” Shinal screamed as she motioned to the east tunnel exit.

  “We can’t,” Charmin screamed. She scribbled something down, and pressed the writing to the window.

  Isolation. The Plague is here. Only Juliet can open the door. Run. Save yourself.

  Shinal swallowed hard. The inconsolable Jared, the blockaded door, it all made sense. There was no way to save them.

  Gunfire racked the hallway and rooms next to them.

  There was no time. Shinal kissed her fingers and placed them on the door before reaching down and pulling Jared to his feet.

  “Let’s go, Jared. We have to go now.”

  He looked through the glass and slumped back down to the floor. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without my Caroline.”

  Shinal eyed the exit doorway, glanced at Jared, and then back toward the sound of the gunfire. She had enough time to make it if she ran now. “I’ll come back for you all,” she said as she ran down the hall.

  She threw open the door, leapt inside, and started down the pitch black eastern tunnels.

  She’d only made it twenty feet when she was clotheslined. Shinal scrambled to her feet and looked into the blackness. What had she hit? She reached her arms out and squinted into the darkness.

  A dim headlight turned on, and then another. Soon she found herself surrounded by five men.

  There was no white flag of truce and no notification they were police. Instead they attacked.

  Shinal dodge the first kick. Spun around grabbed the second assaulter’s wrist and judo-threw him into his comrade. She stayed low to the ground, searching for a weapon, but there was nothing.

  Something smacked the back of her knees. She collapsed and then sprung back to her feet almost as fast. Her mind flipped through different martial arts movies: BloodSport, Drunken Masters, Kung-Fu Panda, and Gymkata. She could repeat the moves of anyone, but nothing would help better sense her opponent in the dark.

  The butt of a large assault rifle came at her again. This time she stepped into the thrust, knocked the weapon away from the assailant, and gave him two punches to the groin.

  Shinal grabbed the weapon and sparred with the fourth man, learning his moves, his tendencies, and his weaknesses. The weapon’s trigger remained locked after it didn’t recognize her fingerprint, so instead of leveling the group with a spray of bullets, she waited for the assailant’s uppercut before putting him down with a blow to the chin.

  That left the fifth man. She looked around, hoping to find his dull light still mobile enough to give away his position. A bright halogen light flashed on. Reflexes shot Shinal’s hands up to shield her eyes.

  A heavy foot caught her in the chest.

  “Looking for me?” he asked. He took out a Taser and sent 10,000 volts through her tired, withered frame. “One down and seven to go,” the man said into his radio. “And Shinal here came as projected.”

  Chapter 19

  The annoying alarm blared again, and the lights flashed across the infirmary. Frenchie wanted to bury her head under a pillow. But if she did, she was sure she would miss it. She’d almost missed Shinal booking it out one of the emergency exits.

  Jared still sat on the floor. And then she noticed the tiny red lights dancing from one wall to the other. Their movements were coordinated and well-rehearsed.

  Near a dozen commandoes stormed down the hallway. They stopped at each door and searched each room. No bullets were fired. It looked almost peaceful, except for the fact that they were wearing black-ops outfits and carrying AK47’s with laser sites.

  Jared uncovered his face and peered at the commandoes as they surrounded him.

  He stayed on the ground, hands held high, talking. Occasionally his hands flapped around like he was telling a story pointing to the infirmary, to the stairwell, and to a bandana or something else in his hand.

  A commando slapped Jared’s hands away and smashed them into the window.

  Frenchie tried to help him. She tried to engage the commando’s hair follicles and help, but the glass was too thick. She couldn’t make the connection.

  The commando flipped his rifle over his shoulder and onto his back, extracted a Colt 44, and put two slugs into the infirmary’s glass door.

  Frenchie ducked. After patting herself down, she looked at the barricade. The glass wasn’t even scratched. She crept back to the doorway.

  Jared was still slumped against the glass. His leg was hemorrhaging. One of the bullets must have ricocheted off the glass and landed in his thigh. But he wasn’t screaming in pain. He was just staring at Frenchie with huge, droopy, red eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. “Tell Caroline. No, tell everyone, I’m sorry.”

  Fren
chie wanted to reach out to him, comfort him, and bandage his wound. She wanted to beg the three men out there to help him. But they were busy with something else. They were unloading something from their backpacks. Their movements were efficient and professional, but they didn’t appear to wear a police badge or the typical military garb she’d seen on TV. The black on black emblems on their shoulders were unlike any insignia she’d ever seen. S.R.T.F. was embroidered along the edge.

  The lead commando caught her eye. His stoic face frowned in disappointment. She read his lips as he spoke into a walkie-talkie. “The plague. We came all the way down here for the flickin’ plague?”

  A few seconds later, the commando shouted, “Seal it up. I guess these ladies won’t be coming with us.” He withdrew his Colt 44 again and emptied the rest of its clip into Jared’s forehead.

  Jared fell to the floor, motionless, blood oozing onto the ground, his dead eyes staring forward.

  Frenchie collapsed, unable to speak. After a few moments, she reclined her head, hiding the body behind the door frame. The maniac shot Jared point blank in the face. With any luck, she was the only person that had seen it.

  “Would someone stop the bloody siren?” Janice yelled.

  Frenchie glared at the girl, desperate for a break in connection from the carnage that filled her mind. From her peripheral vision, she saw Charmin run to Janice’s side, check her vitals, and her IV.

  “Where’s Thierry?” Janice asked.

  “He’s in the bed next to you. But he’s not doing quite as well.”

  Janice stared at her brother. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “We’ll see. Right now, we all need your help.” Charmin stuck a needle into the port on Janice’s arm and took a blood sample, and then she tossed the sample into her mouth, and swished it around.

  “It’s clean,” Charmin said. “Your blood’s clean. No trace of the virus. Your immune system’s found a way to beat it.”

  A few days ago she was the sickest among them and now she was the only one that resembled an entire person. Frenchie coughed and reminded herself to clear her own lungs and everyone else’s.