“That would be nice,” Cassidy replies, oddly comforted by the man’s concern. She slows the jeep to avoid crashing into the pavilion, her head swimming from an anxiety attack. “They’ll clean the car and any contaminated gear. Good thing I put the food in sealed bags, so that stuff is safe. Might lose the opened water containers though. As for me . . . I take your suit to keep myself isolated and you find out where the nearest hospital is. After that, you drive me there as fast as you can and-”
“And what?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Please finish what I started.”
Before he can answer, the jeep stops and men in biohazard suits hurry to get Cassidy through the nearest door. Smoke billows out of a chimney on that side of the building, making Lloyd wonder if his friend is about to be incinerated. A brief view of Cassidy passing a window while being checked by mask-wearing doctors puts him at ease. Bringing his attention to his own situation, he realizes that a group of cleaners are shouting for him to get out of the jeep. He is quickly taken to a room to strip down to his underwear before being sprayed by a foul-smelling chemical. There he waits for someone to bring him clean clothes and the only thing he can see through the single window is a black door that says ‘Quarantine’ on it.
*****
A single route leads to the large island that has been created by strategic flooding of Lake James. Four drawbridges are along the long road to allow ships to pass through and contain any epidemics that might occur. Most of the area is covered by a forest with wooden sheds placed in small clearings, each structure stocked with medical supplies and food. The large building in the center of the island has a red plus symbol on the roof and a sign down each corner that states the place is a hospital in several languages. A simple pier with two recreational paddleboats is on the eastern shore, the vehicles not having been used in months. The island is peaceful and calm, but there is still a sickening undercurrent of tension. If one wanders far enough into the forest, they find small markers with the names of those who could not be saved. Sadly, at least half of the gravestones are marked only with a date of death because the patient passed away before revealing his or her name.
Lloyd can see one of the makeshift cemeteries through the window of the waiting room, which is on the twentieth floor of the main building. He repeatedly taps the arm of the chair with a knife, leaving a collection of marks in the wood. Only a one-armed woman and three unsupervised children are in the badly lit lobby, which is fine for the killer because he is not in the mood for human contact. The memory of Cassidy repeatedly vomiting into the biohazard suit is still vivid and clear in his mind. He rubs his arm where they drew his blood for some simple tests, the doctors assuring him that it is only a precaution. Being a suspicious man, Lloyd argued the point until he noticed that all of the staff members had gauze on their arm from getting tested every couple days.
“Can’t say they aren’t paranoid and thorough, which I can respect,” he whispers, etching the crude image of a demon with a halo into the window. A flicker of the lights causes him to pause and stare at the sliver of sun on the horizon. “Would be just our luck to find a haunted hospital and Cassidy comes out of this possessed. Then again, she might be able to take out that Half-Dead while being jockeyed by a ghost. Wait, do the blinking lights mean ghost, demon, or a half-assed electrician? I knew I should have paid attention to those episodes instead of staring at crazy babe’s rack. Priorities . . . have never been my strong suit and I’m talking to myself like back at prison. Now I want cantaloupes and baby back ribs.”
“Excuse me, sir. I’m Dr. Rufus Fornio and I just finished examining your friend,” a neatly dressed surgeon states while approaching Lloyd. The brown-haired man stops to hand some candy to the three kids, who greedily devour the snack. “Don’t worry about the specialties listed on my badge. We didn’t have to operate on your friend. You’ll be happy to know that we have her on fluids, but she has to remain in quarantine. We also have her sedated because she was having trouble sleeping.”
“Not sure why any of that should make me happy,” Lloyd replies, standing to tower over the shorter man. His nose twitches at the faint smell of cheap soap that wafts off the doctor, the odor reminding him of the tests in Rikers. “There are so many doctor jokes I want to make, but now isn’t the time. Did she get infected by the Half-Dead?”
“The biohazard suit she was wearing during the attack and the decontamination pavilion’s procedures protected her from the radiation,” the surgeon explains while taking a seat across from the window. Gesturing toward another chair, he waits for Lloyd to sit down before continuing. “Cassidy’s exposure to the plague swamp is what caused the infection. Before I forget, putting her in the other suit is what prevented you from catching the same disease. This is good because it’s harder to cure two people than one due to limited supplies. Now, your friend has a really bad strain of influenza. To be honest, most people get something much worse when exposed to a plague swamp. I’d say if she was out there for any longer then she’d have a secondary disease.”
Feeling relieved at the news, the serial killer slumps in his chair and grins. “Then give her a shot and we’ll be on our way. I’ll take a vaccine too. Sure we can make a deal for services. I have a pretty big shirt collection and some movies. Maybe a Geiger counter with a face-shaped dent in it? The hazmat guys made sure all of the Half-Dead’s flesh was cleaned off the thing and it smells like new.”
Dr. Fornio runs a hand through his hair and pops a sucking candy into his mouth before getting to his feet. He points at a door down the hallway and leads Lloyd there, stopping to instruct a nurse to take the children to their mother. Seeing a worried scowl on the one-armed woman’s face, he quickly sticks his head into another room to ask an orderly to change her bandages. She laughs when Dr. Fornio gives her a lollipop, the candy having been made with a mild drug to help her relax. Satisfied that everyone is being cared for, he goes back to Lloyd and ushers him into the barely furnished office.
The two men take seats on the opposite side of a desk, but remain quiet as the sound of screaming carries through the solitary vent. Crying joins in the terrifying racket that originates from the next floor up. When a screeching saw is turned on, Dr. Fornio hurries to an intercom and presses the red button a few times. The signal tells the surgeons above to turn on the sound dampening devices installed to ensure privacy. Disturbing noises can still be heard beneath the awkward droning, but the men find it easier to ignore whatever is going on upstairs.
“First, I will assure you that we do not take payments from patients. Every person we save brings us one step closer to recovering lost medical knowledge,” Dr. Fornio explains, leaning back in the creaky chair. Reaching into a drawer, he pulls out a pinch of flakes to sprinkle into a bowl where a lone goldfish lives. “That brings me to Cassidy’s unfortunate situation. Currently, we don’t have vaccines or even the medicine to combat influenza. Even if we did, I wouldn’t know if our supplies could affect the specific strain. There is the chance that she can survive since she’s young and healthy, but this disease has become one of the Shattered State’s biggest killers. Not to mention we aren’t like the pre-collapse hospitals. We’re still working on developing proper safeguards, so there’s always the chance of her catching something else before she gets better. This is another reason we have her quarantined, but not every nurse and orderly are professionally trained. I’m sorry, but these are all excuses. You want solutions and I only have one.”
Lloyd holds up his hand and takes a few moments to decipher the hurried explanation that the surgeon has fired at him. “You hinted that the cure exists, so I assume you do want some kind of deal. Do you want me to gather up some organs for transplants? I’m not as neat with a blade as you, but I can get the job done. There’s a cooler in our jeep, which can hold a few livers with ice. I assume a sandwich bag can protect them from freezer burn. What am I saying? Hearts are probably a b
igger necessity. That’s the type of bargain you’re trying to make with me and I’m willing to pay.”
“That is not what I’m suggesting.”
“Do you need me to get some organs back from people who crossed you?”
Instead of answering the question, the doctor writes names and directions on a piece of paper. He frowns at his own sloppy handwriting, years of trying to shed the stereotype falling apart due to his stress. Sliding the instructions to the other man, Dr. Fornio searches his pockets for a blank identification badge to toss onto the desk. He pulls a Polaroid camera out of a drawer and takes a picture of Lloyd, catching the confused serial killer by surprise. A few minutes of silence pass as the surgeon creates the temporary pass with the help of a hand-operated lamination machine.
“This will make the Blackwells and Jenards believe you work for the hospital,” he says, handing the badge over to Lloyd. Popping another candy into his mouth, the tired man begins writing a list of supplies. “The families live in South Bend and control the biggest medical labs and factories in the north. Part of the deal we have with them is that we test new cures on willing patients, but they recently tried to turn us into a front for their more illegal activities. We refused and they froze all shipments as of two weeks ago. The only way to save your friend is to get them to send us more medicine and revive the deal. Not with us becoming accessories to their crimes, but for things to go back to normal. The country needs hospitals like this one if it ever intends to fully recover.”
“So you want me to drive to this place and get them to play nice,” Lloyd states, clipping the badge to his shirt collar. He leans back and gazes at the ceiling, which has several yellowed spots of water damage. “This sounds boring and tedious, which means something will probably go wrong. Doubt this is going to end with a thrilling contract signing. If it does then I might have to be creative with the pen to keep the audience entertained. You probably don’t want to hear me talk about what I’m planning.”
“It would be best that I remain ignorant of such things.”
“Now you sound like my guidance counselor.”
“Here is a list of what the hospital needs and you can take one of our vans to maintain your cover,” Dr. Fornio says, unsure if he should trust the man. All he can do is depend on Lloyd’s loyalty and friendship with Cassidy, but it does not put his mind entirely at ease. “Make sure they give you the most recent batches. The twins have a habit of switching fresh labels to expired medicine, so you have to watch them pack the supplies. Not that we can’t test everything here, but I’d rather administer the medicine to our patients immediately. Is there anything else you need?”
With a wide grin, Lloyd takes the list and carefully folds it into a neat square. Tucking it into the back of his badge, he heads for the hallway and whistles the theme song of a medical show he remembers watching in prison. He stops at the door to Cassidy’s room and peeks through the small window. The young woman is shivering under the white sheets while her arm is strapped down to prevent the intravenous needle from coming out. A pang of almost familial concern strikes the serial killer, the unfamiliar emotion swiftly replaced by a murderous rage that he knows will come in handy.
“The two of us will probably have to talk after this,” Lloyd mutters, the distant ping of an elevator claiming his attention. “But first, big brother hasn’t killed anyone in a long time. Not with his bare hands anyway. Time to get my kill on. Eh, that catchphrase will work for now. I’ll work on it during the commute.”
*****
“Does every place in Indiana have a fucking waiting room?” Lloyd shouts as he steps through the door and startles the mousy secretary. The young woman remains under her desk where she peeks through a hole and clutches a pistol in shaking hands. “Sorry! Been a long drive from Lake James Hospital. I’ll just grab a decade old magazine and take a seat. Probably this one with the comedian whose movies suck on the cover. Let’s see people figure out who that one is without a reference.”
In contrast to the drab waiting room at the hospital, South Bend Labs’ lobby is beautifully decorated. The chairs are soft and show no sign of their age, the smell of roses striking Lloyd’s nose when he sits down. Every glass surface has been cleaned to perfection and there are only a few barely noticeable dents on the wooden legs. A gold-framed picture of knights battling a dragon covers the longest wall while the others have portraits of famous scientists, most of who were chemists. Behind the secretary’s desk is a landscape painting that Lloyd is surprised to see is on an easel. He figures out the reason when the young woman crawls out of her hiding place and reveals to have a paintbrush behind her ear.
As the minutes pass by and the impatient serial killer finds that every puzzle in the magazine collection has been finished, he sets his sights on the office door. Heavy oak and adorned with silver handles, he wonders if the owners of the company are even here. The thought of having wasted his time makes Lloyd angry and the only target for his rage is the secretary. Admiring her unfinished painting, he knows it would be a shame to kill her now. At least that is what he tells himself, but he is really not sure why he is hesitant to take her life. It has never been a problem before or during his imprisonment. Even after his escape, the murderer has had no difficulty rationalizing a kill. Scratching his head, Lloyd fails to realize that he is staring at the nervous woman. A dainty cough snaps him back to reality, which he is annoyed to find is still the pristine waiting room.
“Uh, are you expected?” the secretary asks, finding the courage to speak in a fear-tinged voice. She takes a drink, shuddering when she realizes it was from the glass she uses to clean her paintbrush. “Mr. Jenard and Mrs. Blackwell should be back any minute. They had to attend to something with their spouses and that is usually done in an hour or two. If you tell me your name and reason for visiting then I can page them.”
“Anything to make this go faster,” Lloyd mutters while approaching the heavy desk. He smirks at the sight of several weapons that surround the secretary, his eyes eventually falling on her nametag. “You see, Tina, I came here from Lake James to convince your bosses to send me back with medicine. This is for personal reasons and a deal I made with the head surgeon there, but the most important thing is that time is of the essence. Oh, I almost forgot to show you my card. It has my face and name along with what is either Dr. Fornio’s signature or a very lewd doodle.”
“Is that ketchup on your badge?” Tina asks, pointing at a red smudge.
“No . . . Wait . . . Uh . . . Yes it is.”
“Here’s a tissue to clean it. I’ll call right away.”
“Thank you. Sorry to interrupt your painting. Love the trees.”
Before the secretary can finish dialing, the front doors open and two blondes walk into the lobby. The woman is pretty with a cherubic face, perfectly maintained hair, and a pair of glasses that dangle from a chain around her neck. Wearing a dark red pantsuit, the corporate-looking twin is still tucking her white shirt into her waistband. Her clothing is back to being flawless before she gets to the Tina’s desk and begins tapping a manicured finger on the recently polished wood. Pausing for a second, the woman takes a walkie-talkie off her hip and urgently whispers into the device. Satisfied with the garbled response, she stretches to steal a pen and scrap of paper from the secretary.
Yawning and trudging behind his sister, the male twin searches his lab coat, jeans, and t-shirt pocket for an elusive cough drop. He shows no signs of being sick, but the rush of fake cherry flavor helps to wake him up. It is clear that he spends most of his time in his lab and might not have had a full meal in weeks. His body is scrawny compared to his athletically toned sister, which seems to suit his knotted hair and the deep circles under his eyes. Perhaps the only attractive things on the young man are his perfect teeth. He leans on the desk a few inches away from Lloyd, but is unable to acknowledge the stranger before he starts to fall asleep.
“Get me the release forms because all of the guards out front have left thei
r post,” Angela Blackwell says, snapping her fingers at Tina. The businesswoman puts her glasses on and tucks an extra pen behind her ear before snatching the papers from the secretary. “We give these people jobs, food, and places to sleep. Even free medicine and recreational drugs when they earn a bonus. Can’t believe five of those lazy bastards abandoned us, especially now. That mobile cartel is breathing down our necks and I refuse to make those violent nomads partners in our company. How were the new caffeine pills, Tina?”
“They tasted good and gave me energy, but I had some bleeding issues,” the brown-haired office worker replies, smiling at Derek Jenard. She blushes when he checks her pulse and fumbles with a tiny light to check her eyes. “There’s no dilation, insomnia, or painful crash this time. Maybe putting a gastrointestinal bacteria culture into the mix will make it easier for the intestines and-”
“I’m the scientist, so just leave that to me,” the young man says while gently moving Lloyd out of his way. He stops with his hands on the serial killer’s shoulders, noticing their guest for the first time. “Can we help you?”
Clearing his throat and grinning, the amused traveler claps his hands to gain the twins’ full attention. “My name is Lloyd and I’ve been sent by Dr. Fornio of Lake James Hospital to convince you to revive the deal. He still refuses to be involved in your drug running, but his patients need meds and you’re the best supplier in the area. Guessing you’re also the only one, which means you are running unopposed and should consider this a hollow victory. More importantly, my friend has the flu and she needs medicine. You seem busy, so I’ll just take my list and pilfer your supplies on my own. I can read bottles and expiration dates, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Oh, and as a way to prove I’m an honest person, I’m the reason your guards are missing.”
Crossing Bedlam Page 14
