Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  Even after the cocktail of sedatives is injected the man on the bed continues to fight for his freedom. His hands have once again found Luke’s arm, his vacant yet fixated eyes are locked onto the limb he holds painfully tight. The retired cop can feel the patient trying to lift himself to his arm while also trying to pull his arm down to his mouth. The sick man exerts surprising strength in his resolve.

  Susan stands off to the side, she is holding several towels but isn’t ready to undermined her husband’s objection to their use just yet.

  “Susan,” her husband says calmly, “can you bring the four-point restraints, please?”

  She is off and running. Luke isn’t sure how much longer he can hold the man down, the combative patient’s arms work like hydraulic pistons that just won’t quit.

  Aside from the required annual training the doctor and nurse team don’t get much practice using the restraints. They bungle with the buckles and thick plastic straps starting with the man’s arms to give Luke a much deserved rest. Free of the patient’s grasp Luke rubs the spot he had his hands on. Gonna be bruised for sure tomorrow. Guy his size shouldn’t be this strong, he considers the skinny, middle aged man on the bed that fights against the straps, still fixated on the three of them. The bed rattles and clangs.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Susan asks he father.

  “Just seeing if you’re all right,” he tells her. “Boys fine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s with ‘em?”

  “Our neighbor, Mrs. Krantz, said she’d look in on them. They were asleep when I got called in.”

  “Don’tcha have caller ID?”

  “Susan and I enjoy helping people,” the doctor says in a snotty tone. He puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  Luke doesn’t like this man much, not even remotely. He liked the previous husband a lot more, he said as much in his toast at their wedding.

  “God, Josh!” Susan takes her husband’s hand with concern. “You’re hurt!”

  “The patient,” he plays off the bloody bandage he now has wrapped around his hand, “he bit me.”

  “Come to the treatment room!” Susan orders him, not liking the looks of the avulsed wound beneath the gauze when she steals a peek. She has to clean it out very well knowing how bad human bites can be.

  The hospital’s PA has been directing staff almost nonstop since Luke arrived, he had ignored it until now. “Code green, Labor and Delivery. Code green, Labor and Delivery.”

  “That’s a restraint, isn’t it?” he asks his daughter. “Who gets restrained in L&D?”

  “Don’t know,” she answers, more concerned with tending to her husband’s injury. “All available staff have been pulled from us and the other wards to help out in the ER.”

  “It’s a real mad house down there,” Luke confirms.

  “Thanks for your help, but you should go,” Susan has Josh’s hand cleansed and re-wrapped. She walks her father out of the treatment room.

  “I’d like to watch this prick bleed some more,” he snickers.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” she implores.

  “Because you had it good before you met him.”

  “It wasn’t all good,” she corrects.

  “He was a good man, Suzy. Oz didn’t deserve what you did.”

  The truth hits her like a punch that robs her of her breath. “You need to leave.”

  “Can’t we talk?” Luke feels bad that the conversation has gone this route yet again. His disapproval of Susan’s choice to leave her ex-husband in favor of her current, bringing their son in tow back to her hometown of Breckinridge, has caused a great rift between them.

  “There’s nothing to say that you haven’t already, every time I see you, tonight, at my wedding.”

  He is unable to let it go, his pride won’t let him lie and say he is wrong or even sorry. All Luke can do is utter the same words he ended the wedding toast with, “It needed to be said.”

  “Leave.”

  The man turns away, he’s exhausted all of a sudden. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll swing by and check on the boys.”

  The elevator ride to the ground level lulls Luke to sleep once more for the brief time he is inside, but when the steel cocoon opens he is snapped to attention by the chaos that has only gotten worse.

  Running on his second, second wind of the evening, the man in the Santa suit skirts the ER opting to exit through the main entrance. The line of people waiting to be seen has grown, spread throughout the lobby. People moan and groan, clutching bloody rags to stem bleeding wounds. They tell the staff taking triage similar stories of being bitten.

  Luke slows his pace to eavesdrop on the details. Only one recount differs, a girl with an injured leg, trampled during a hotel fire. He also hears yet again this night a phrase that connects it all as he pushes the glass doors open.

  “You said she was dead!”

  He thinks of his grandkids, home alone, relatively. Just old Mrs. Krantz to keep an eye on things. Old, old Mrs. Krantz, with all her medical concerns, he adds.

  The buses aren’t running. He knows he won’t be getting a cab tonight. The only vehicles he sees on the road are emergency responders. He needs to get to the boys, his eyes survey the area in desperation.

  He rushes to a large bus, on its side is a giant logo of a derby girl wearing pads and band aids that announces in a word bubble “Make way for Man’s Ruin”. The door is shut and he can’t see through the tinted windows if there is anyone onboard. He knocks on the steel with urgency several times before giving up and searching for another means.

  The lot is jammed packed with cars, people have even parked where there are no spaces. The automobiles spill out onto the street, abandoned by their owners’ desperation. Luke sees a vehicle among the many that he knows he can use and won’t even have to worry about having the key.

  He climbs into the open ride and slides across the plush leather seats. Many cities, including Waterloo to the north, have been getting rid of their Handsome Cabs, Breckinridge has been debating it for years. The white mare before him dances nervously, it tries to see Luke though the blinders prevent it from succeeding.

  “Shh,” the man soothes. “I’m not going to hurt ya. I just need you to take me somewhere.”

  The horse’s nerves calm down, though this is not the driver it is used to, something about him is reassuring. Luke inspects the reigns, he’s ridden horses before but he has never driven a carriage. From the top of the chimney, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away, dash away, all. “Yah!”

  13

  “What’s all the noise?” grumbles a woman who is generally cranky when wide awake, let alone when her slumber is disturbed. “Those bitches done yet?”

  “It’s only been an hour, Rocky,” Killer B reports, still shaken from the sight of the grizzly Santa that came knocking on their door. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Rocky mumbles softly as she drifts away. As soon as she claimed a spot behind the driver’s seat she spit out her hard candy and let the alcohol in her system take over. A question needs to be asked before she can let her mind go. “So, what was all the banging?”

  “Ever see that Tales from the Crypt with the serial killer that dresses like Santa?” she tries to explain.

  “Shut up, KB,” Rocky slurs. She only needed to ask the plaguing question and wasn’t concerned about the answer.

  Killer B is glad to see the bloody Santa leave the lot, she hopes her teammates won’t be too much longer, but considering the looks of the ER when they had tried to find parking she just knows it will be. The Emergency Room’s lot is packed, Rocky would have had trouble fitting in a car let alone the behemoth tour bus. She had to circle around and settle for stopping in a no parking zone on the street, the police seem too busy to worry about handing out citations.

  Killer B watches her comatose captain sleep, all curled up and peaceful. With Jan Slaughter more than likely out
of the competition tomorrow, they’ll have to rely on the bare minimum number of players, five. Jan will have to sit the match out as an alternate they won’t be able to use either even if they need to. It will be Rocky’s last brawl and she’ll actually have to try not to get penalized, a fate worse than death.

  14

  Once most people quit smoking they begin to contemplate how they will live, or even function, without the habit. It’s as if the act was sustaining their life rather than robbing it from them bit by bit. Gil Price has attempted to give it up many times, his most recent stint has been three months as a non-smoker. He was just beginning to forget ever being classified anything else.

  “Let me get this straight,” the man behind the counter says to him having heard similar requests before just not worded as such. “You want ‘the cheapest, nastiest’ smokes I’ve got?”

  “That’s right!” The night has been stressful to say the least, he had a hell of a time getting here in all the stalled traffic and blocked roads. But, now as he stands in the mini-mart just outside the industrial park where his lab is located, he is absolutely jubilant. The prospect of discovery is what he loves about his job, though the discovery has already allegedly been made, and his sample was gained by unseemly means, he’s still very excited. “I need cigarettes so horrible I won’t be able to finish the pack.”

  “I’ve got Choice,” the man tosses a pack to his customer. “It’s under four dollars, and I hear nothing but complaints about ‘em.”

  “You won’t hear any from me. They sound perfectly dreadful, I’ll take them.”

  Outside in the cold air Price pauses to tap the pack against his palm. He pulls the cellophane tab around the pack but the perforations don’t tear properly. He has to yank the clear plastic wrap away. He tries not to think about the dead man in his car, the money, or even the sample. His nerves have had a work out tonight, he stands at the precipice of taking his company to new heights. All he wants at this moment is the cigarette he lights with the complementary matches the jaded clerk had included.

  The first drag of the dusty tasting smoke makes his head swoon. Price staggers to his car needing to hold onto it for support. His watering eyes clear after a moment behind the wheel. He wishes he could just go home, crawl into bed with his wife and make up for all his trespasses, but there is far too much to do. At some point tomorrow he will need to get the money back into their account and hope she hasn’t noticed its absence. He must destroy the compromising photo, and of course ditch the body he has stuffed in the suitcase behind him.

  The bag in question shifts in the backseat when the engine turns over, sliding from the seat and getting stuck behind the backrests. Price looks at the luggage, knowing he had laid it squarely on the seats but realizes with all the stop and go traffic and detours it undoubtedly shifted. He avoided the flashing strobes of the police as much as he could on his way here, not wanting to get caught with the mobster’s corpse in the back of his car. He can’t wait until he has a chance to dump the bag in the Charles River. He tries not to feel too bad for the man he will be discarding like trash, he didn’t exactly choose a line of work known for having the best of retirement plan.

  Price pulls onto the street, seeing red and blue flashing lights in the distance the way he had come. The industrial park is relatively calm, coming in and out at all hours as he normally does, there typically isn’t too much excitement aside from being caught in the crossfire of change of shift for the numerous factories. When these people get off of work they fly out of their respective lots as if they can’t get away from work fast enough. Tonight is odd, he doesn’t pass any cars just people. Workers he figures as many are in matching or similarly drab uniforms, they look tired as they lazily saunter towards the city. Slack, tired looking faces eye Price as he cruises towards his lab, he figures they are just trying to catch sight of all the ruckus, men and women taking a break from their monotonous toil, probably hoping to see what’s going on before grabbing a bite to eat.

  15

  Dashing through the city, on a one horse open sleigh, Luke once again must pull back on the reigns to halt his ride. Handling the horse drawn carriage is much harder than he ever could imagine, it takes some coaxing to get the thing turned around so he can detour whenever the road ahead is blocked. What should have been a quick jaunt uptown is taking him longer than he likes. Gunfire pops off, echoing in the night. The constant strobes of the responding vehicles is joined in the night sky by the glare of fires that light up the plumes of smoke they cause as they devour buildings. The city seems to be at war with itself and all Luke can think about are his grandsons, hoping to get to them before it’s too late and the battle spreads to where they are.

  ####

  “Did you hear something?”

  “That was me. I need to use the bathroom,” assures a voice in the dark.

  “Not you,” the younger of the two dismisses. “From downstairs.”

  “Probably just Mrs. Krantz. Go back to sleep.”

  Half-brothers, separated in age by five years, share a room in their suburban home. Though the house has three bedrooms, their father claimed one as his office. He insisted that sharing a room would build character. Neither boy has complained much yet, but Killian is twelve, getting to be that age where he wants a little more privacy. He’s going through changes and has urges he’d rather not talk about let alone be witnessed.

  “Wait,” the youngest, says. “I gotta go too.”

  “Hippo,” Killian groans his brother’s nickname in protest, hunching over as if his stomach hurts to hide his need to be alone. “Can’t you wait?”

  “No, it’s dark.”

  Killian would protest but the longer he stands the less urgent his need for privacy becomes until he’s left with only the need to pee. “Come on,” he tells his brother.

  It was Killian’s biological father that had first coined the nickname the youngest goes by, short for Hippocrates. The child hated it at first, almost as much as he dislikes the longer version, until Oz told him that hippos are actually the most dangerous animals in the Amazon, taking more lives than lions and crocodiles combined. The hall the boys enter is dark except for the light coming up from downstairs, Hippo places a hand on his brothers back and stays behind him as they creep towards the bathroom together.

  16

  The Physicians’ Desk Reference is a formulary, every known pharmaceutical is listed within the thick tome’s pages along with the indications and contraindications for prescribing each drug. All the legally mandated information needed when prescribing each entry from its possible side effects and adverse reactions, even the chemical structures is included.

  “Mechanism of interaction not fully understood,” Price reads yet again and begins his search for the next Wilkes Pharmaceutical. “If we don’t even know how or why our stuff works, how can we expect people to take it?”

  The pages of the book are exactly what a consumer receives as an insert when they pick up their prescription, the tightly folded bundle of paper they often ignore. Price is frustrated by having no clue as to how the Wilkes drugs work so miraculously, though entries from his own company often only offer the same vague reasoning. The PDR is financed and annually updated by the drug companies, they only share what they have to by law, or what they know. Oddly, there are countless medicines that science has no clue as to why they do what they do, often the drugs are manufactured for another reason and it’s their side effect that leads them to use for another ailment.

  “Good evening,” a voice says again in the dim space.

  “Oh, Nina!” Price is surprised by the arrival of his lab assistant. “You’re here.”

  “You called me,” she chuckles.

  “Right. I have something to show you,” he says. “I made coffee.”

  “I can see that.” About to set her purse on the counter near the lab’s entry she is glad she looked first. Her boss had indeed started the coffee machine, he added water and grounds, but neglec
ted to remove the old coffee from the pot. The result is a mess that runs down the counter’s edge like a waterfall. He’s in ‘Absent-Minded Professor’ mode, she realizes. I hate ‘Absent-Minded Professor’ mode.

  Price runs to a counter of microscopes those in his employ usually use during normal work hours. Nina finds a dry place for her things at the end and ventures slowly to him. “Aren’t you going to say ‘You didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account’?”

  So engrossed in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized until that moment that she is wearing a very flattering evening dress that leaves her olive arms bare, displaying the tattooed lines of archaic alchemy symbols that run from her wrists to her shoulders. “Sorry if I ruined your night. This is important.”

  “My date didn’t like my dress much either,” she says. “He might have if he was feeling better. He groaned all through dinner, and then keeled over just before dessert taking the table and my tiramisu with him. Actually, you saved me the pain of waiting at the hospital.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gil replies with disinterest as he peers down the twin eyepieces of one of the many microscopes. His focus is on what he searches for on the slide and not the slender exotic woman that leans on the counter close to him.

  “It was hell getting a cab,” she goes on. “Have you seen what’s going on out there? You owe me forty bucks and an amazing tip, the driver had to take pretty much every turn and every street just to get me here…” Price has stopped pretending to listen. “All right, out with it. What’s eating you?

  “Huh?” A jab from Nina sits him up right, the man stares into space while his eyes adjust to the poorly lit world around him. “Nothing’s ‘eating me’.”

  “Something’s up,” she insists. Around the man are the Wilkes Pharmaceuticals that Mercott & Price secretly keep on hand for comparison. “You can’t just be here, at this hour, trying to see why choosy moms choose Jiff.”