Chapter 73
Oh my God, that fucking hurts!
Abbie sat on the floor in the pharmacy behind a tall shelf with a large hole in her shoulder. The volume on a cable news channel from the TV mounted in the corner was audible but was mostly droning background noise.
A kneeling pharmacy technician assessed Abbie's wound.
“Shit,” Abbie said. She winced, squinted her eyes, and bit her bottom lip hard. A salty iron taste surfaced in her mouth as tears mixed with sweat and blood ran down the side of her face and into the corner of her mouth.
Abbie quickly blew out several long breaths to cope with the immense pain that came from her shoulder.
The news anchor’s dull, annoying voice was not making her feel any better. She flexed her throat muscles to cope with the wave of nausea that overcame here. Subtle, uncontrollable shakes covered her body.
“Hey, you’re not allowed behind—” said the pharmacist by the entrance. His voice interrupted by a loud, abrupt gunshot.
Abbie watched the pharmacy technician stand, briskly jogged down the long aisle of towering shelves and stopped at the end.
The technician looked down and saw the pharmacist motionless on the floor with the back of his head missing and leaking brain matter and blood onto the white floor.
Abbie watched the technician at the aisle. The technician turned and reached for the phone on the counter. Her fingers began dialing buttons on the phone when bullets ripped through her chest, destroyed the phone, and decorated the wall with her DNA.
Abbie heard several clicks followed by the slide of a handgun chambering the first round of a new magazine.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Vogel said in a weird voice followed by a small chuckle. “Not my best De Niro, but it’ll do.”
Abbie’s trembling increased. She covered her mouth to silence her hyperventilation.
“There’s only so many shelves you can hide behind before I find you.”
Abbie heard the deadbolt of the pharmacy door latch. Usually, that would frighten her, but her body was on a course of its own after its first experience with a gunshot wound. She hurt. She ached.
Mentally, Abbie was trying to keep her wits about her, but the pain in her shoulder overrode any thinking. She glanced at her shoulder.
I’m losing too much blood. I need to stop the bleeding.
Abbie scanned the shelves of vials and pills. She did not have time to read them all now.
Grab and go.
She dumped assorted vials, pills, syringes, and trauma kits into her purse. Abbie moved her position a few aisles down by quietly scooting her butt across the floor.
Vogel stepped over the dead pharmacist, peered down the long aisle. He took another step and another. The next step was over the dead pharmacy technician. He tilted his head and looked down the next aisle. The shelf at the end aisle showed the telltale sign that Abbie was there as she left behind a sizeable bloody mark on the shelf.
“You’re hurt. You should get that looked at,” said Vogel. “I can recommend someone. The sooner I get my drug, the sooner you can get that fixed.”
Abbie was now positioned behind another tall shelf a few aisles away from Vogel. She dug through her purse and pulled out the trauma kit. Using her teeth, Abbie ripped off the plastic wrap. She dumped out the contents and searched through it until she found what she was needed.
She picked up the sachet of hemostatic granules and package of 4x4 non-stick gauze patches. Abbie pulled the collar of her shirt below her shoulder, which dislodged her shirt from the large bloody wound in her shoulder. She opened the gauze patches and divided them into two stacks. She took the first stack and folded it in half longways. She shoved the long stack of gauze in her mouth and wedged it between her teeth.
Abbie took the remaining gauze patches and rested them on her knee. She dumped a good portion of the granules directly in her open wound. Her teeth clenched hard on the gauze. She squeezed her eyes closed tight to absorb pain as she slowly rocked back and forth.
Abbie leaned back and poured the remaining granules into her wound that was already starting to clot. She slammed the gauze patches over the granule-filled bullet wound. Against her better judgment, she pressed the gauze hard against her wound.
Her eyes squinted tighter and released a trail of tears down her cheeks. She exhaled a soft groan as she continued to bite hard on the gauze sandwiched between her teeth. Abbie’s shoulder felt like someone impaled her with a hot fireplace poker. The heat was intense, and the pain radiated down her arm and through her chest.
Vogel continued his slow and cautious pace through the tall pharmacy shelves of drugs as he searched for Abbie.
“I dreaded the day this would happen. When I would need to make a decision about your father. He wanted to give Armageddon away. He said he would have felt guilty if he made people pay to live.”
Abbie leaned back against the shelf. The heat from her shoulder subsided, but the pain remained fresh and vivid.
“I’m glad the Ukrainians got to him first. He was a good friend. I would have hated killing him, but I would have done it.”
Abbie bit off two strips of medical tape and secured the large gauze pad over her wound. Vogel’s voice got louder. She was tired and on the verge of not caring. She ached all over.
This must be what John McClain felt like at the end of Die Hard.
The throbbing pain that initially came from her shoulder was flowing across her entire body. Abbie contemplated taking something for the pain. She considered her options as she dug through the small pharmacy in her purse.
Time slowed down for Abbie.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
She began to reminisce about her mother, her father, Emma and David. She smiled at the thought of her family and friends. She let out a small laugh under her breath.
It probably won’t be long before I’ll be seeing you guys.
She thought a few seconds more.
Sorry to disappoint you, Daddy. You probably should have asked me about this.
Her thoughts shifted to Josh—the circumstances of their meeting. How he put his ass on the line for her—a total stranger.
Wherever you are, Josh, I hope you are alive, and I hope your plan works. I’m fresh out of options, and I really don’t think I give a shit anymore.
Chapter 74
“You now face the same paradox, Abbie,” said Vogel as he continued to slowly patrol the aisles. “I’m willing to kill for Armageddon.” He chuckled. “Obviously. Are you willing to kill just to give it away?”
The room fell silent except for the television news anchor rambling about the stock market.
“How about it, Abbie? Can you do it? Your father wouldn’t."
I’m done with this asshole. Whatever.
Abbie slowly emerged from behind one of the tall shelves. Her gait was slow and fatigued. The shoulder area and below of her shirt looked like a Jackson Pollock painting—exclusively in blood red. She continued her labored, slug-like approach toward Vogel.
Vogel raised his weapon and aimed it at Abbie.
Abbie reached Vogel. She dropped her bag on the floor at his feet.
Vogel smiled pompously. “Wise choice. I gather that Armageddon is in there and not in some briefcase across town.”
Abbie gave a depressed nod.
“Give me Armageddon.”
Abbie knelt to the floor and picked up her bag.
Vogel quickly placed the barrel of his gun into Abbie’s shoulder wound. He pressed hard.
Abbie froze as the pain from her shoulder traversed her entire body. Another small wave of nausea passed over her. She winced.
“Slowly,” Vogel clearly enunciated.
Abbie leaned forward and pulled the zipper open on her purse. She reached inside and pulled out three vials of clear liquid, clutching them in her hand, Abbie hesitated.
Vogel gestured with his weapon for Abbie to continue. “C’mon. Hand them over.”
Abbie reluctantly extended her hand to Vogel.
“Just like your father,” he said as he cupped his free hand under Abbie’s. “Couldn’t kill for your cause.” Again, he gestured with his pistol for Abbie to give him the vials.
Abbie dropped the vials into his hand.
Vogel quickly wrapped his fingers around the vials to prevent any of them from falling. He used the side of his gun hand to brace the vials while keeping it aimed at Abbie.
Abbie expected and feared the vials would capture Vogel’s undivided attention. She looked up to find Vogel was not looking at the vials. No. He snapped his attention to the television in the corner.
The monotonous news anchor’s voice stole the room.
“This just in at the news desk. An alleged cure for cancer has gone viral with over one million views in the last thirty minutes.”
The camera angle on the news anchor changed.
“A Github account belonging to Joshua Richards, a former computer science student, published over ten thousand pages of research allegedly from the recently deceased Dr. Anthony Talbot.”
Abbie watched Vogel stare wide-eyed at the television.
The news anchor continued. “As we mentioned, this news is just developing. Early review of some of the documents suggests it was Dr. Talbot’s desire to donate his medical breakthrough to the world of victims and their families who continue to battle this terrible disease. In one of the files, Richards claims he published the research with permission from Abigail Talbot, Dr. Talbot’s daughter, and sole beneficiary. It will take researchers some time to validate these findings. We’ll keep you posted on this potential world-changing event.
Vogel slowly returned his attention to Abbie.
Abbie read the anger on Vogel’s face. His eyes were wide and dilated. They glared at her. Sweat beaded on his brow. Abbie watched Vogel’s nostrils flare with rage. If his eyes were lasers, they would have sliced through Abbie.
Vogel held his vicious glare until Abbie disrupted his laser-like vengeful glare by slamming a twenty-gauge syringe she hid in the ball of her fist into the side of Vogel’s neck.
Abbie extended her thumb and pushed the plunger of the 20cc syringe that was embedded into Vogel’s carotid artery.
Vogel’s neck burned as the fluid injected quickly. It ripped through his skin and into his system. He used his weapon hand to remove the syringe sticking out of his neck.
“You bitch!”
Vogel aimed his weapon at Abbie when suddenly his hand began to tremor and shake uncontrollably. His eyes bulged from their sockets.
Abbie read the terror and extreme pain that overwhelmed Vogel’s expression.
Vogel looked down at the trembling hand that gripped the vials. It shook viciously to the point where it could no longer hold the vials. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor. The last vial rolled, empty, toward his fingertips. Vogel read the label as it rolled off his fingers and hit the floor—atropine sulfate.
Vogel dropped his gun. He raised both hands to his chest and covered his heart. He squinted his eyes to absorb the pain. He opened his mouth like he was going to yell, but all that came out was an exhale of pure agony. He dropped to his knees, his arm latched to Abbie’s arm.
Abbie watched Vogel’s eyes continue to bulge from the excruciating pain of his heart pounding through his chest.
Abbie leaned in and looked Vogel in the eyes, “Cancer didn’t get ya, Bastard!” She felt Vogel’s grip release instantly. She watched as his entire body stiffened for a second and then went limp all at once as it fell to the floor.
Chapter 75
A nurse pushed the wheelchair the held Abbie Talbot. It zoomed through the hallway, taking lefts, rights, and dodging the absurdly crowded hospital now that the aftermath was over.
The nurse slammed the large button on the side of the wall that automatically opened the wide doors that read “Emergency” on them. Abbie passed a few FBI agents being attended to, one of Vogel’s men who was handcuffed, and a few others that looked like hospital employees that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The nurse brought Abbie’s wheelchair to a still in a room converted into an emergency triage. Curtains draped from the ceiling every few feet to provide some sense of privacy as the hospital staff visited each partition, evaluated the patient, and prioritized accordingly.
“What do we have?” asked a doctor as he approached Abbie and the nurse who brought her in.
“White female, mid-twenties—”
Abbie interrupted. “White female has a name—it’s Abbie.”
The doctor smiled at Abbie and then returned his attention to Abbie’s nurse. He gestured for her to continue.
“Vitals are good. She has a single G-S-W to the shoulder. No exit wound. She stopped the bleeding with hemostatic granules.”
“That was some smart thinking, Ms. Talbot,” said the doctor approvingly as he took a clipboard from the nurse and read Abbie’s medical chart.
“I’m sorry, it’s been a shitty day. How do I know you?” asked Abbie.
“You don’t. But I recognized your face from the photo your dad kept on his office desk.” He smiled.
The nurse continued, “She’s banged up pretty good—bruising and some superficial lacerations—otherwise stable.”
“Abbie, I’m going to start you on an IV and give you something small for the pain while we get a handle on this. Then we’ll pull that bullet out of your shoulder. Okay?”
Abbie nodded as the nurse went to work preparing Abbie’s IV while the doctor left.
“I told you they called them G-S-Ws,” said a familiar voice.
Abbie turned to her left.
Her neighbor slid the curtain open.
A warm tingling sensation overwhelmed Abbie so much that she failed to feel the needle go into her vein. All she felt was the elation of seeing Josh… alive.
Josh, laying on a gurney, beamed her a smile, his white teeth peeked through his shaggy French cut beard. The gash on his forehead was clean and taped together. His chest was bare. Abbie saw new sutures in his gunshot wound. She saw the bruises on his chest and abdomen from where Daniels’ men kicked him.
Abbie’s warm sensation transitioned to guilt. She felt responsible for everything that happened to him.
“How are you?” she asked. Oh, my God. What a dumb-ass thing to say. Look at him, Abbie.
“Peachy,” responded Josh. “They gave me this little button to push for the pain. Let me tell you—it works. I heard you got the bad guy.”
“I did, but not before he got me.” Abbie twisted and showed her bloody shoulder to him.”
Josh smiled. “You know it’s only right that I take that out for you.”
“You?”
“Sure. Why, not?”
“You’re on morphine, and you have no clue what you are doing.”
“It’s okay. I saw it done on TV.” Josh winked, gave out a small chuckled that cause him to support his stomach and ribs with forearms.
“Josh Richards.” a familiar voice called out.
“Yeah.”
Josh and Abbie looked toward the voice that came from the other side of Josh’s partition. A hand slowly pulled the curtain back. Agent Walker stepped into his make-shift room and closed the curtain behind her.
Agent Walker looked at Josh and then panned to Abbie. “Wow, you two look like shit.” Walker looked at the bandage tape on his chest by his right shoulder and then at the large circle of blood on the front of Abbie's left shoulder. “Awe,” she said an over-dramatic cute tone, “You got matching ouchies, too.”
“I never pegged you for the mushy type, Agent Walker.”
“Really, Richards? What then?”
Josh turned his head and looked up as if he watched his brain organize a response.
Agent Walker unfolded her hands and placed them on her hips, her elbow pulling back the front of her blazer that revealed her holstered weapon.
The gun handle quickly caught his a
ttention. “I,” said Josh. “I’m not gonna… not gonna answer that.” He smirked, “Nope, not gonna I…I’m good.”
“You’re a real pain in the ass, Talbot.” Agent Walker directed at Abbie.
“Not… Sorry,” answered Abbie.
“At minimum, you could have told us it was not a bioweapon.”
“I didn’t know how much I could tell you.”
“What can you tell me, now that you know I’m one of the good guys?” Walker asked.
Abbie and Josh filled Agent Walker in on the lies her father told to Sayid, Dimitri, and Vogel. Abbie’s heart fell heavy when she had to admit her father was responsible for his own death.
“Why the hell did he do that?” asked Walker.
“To keep a promise,” Abbie answered.
Josh asked, “What promise?”
“A promise he made when my mother passed away. I watched my dad take my mom’s frail face in his hands. He bent in the most awkward way to look her into the eyes. His face was red and wrinkled from tears as he willed himself to maintain his emotional composure. He worked his way through the hoses and tubes. He kissed her lips softly and then tenderly rubbed his finger across them.”
Abbie’s eyes glisten from the florescent lights, and her pupils were underwater in the pool of tears in her eyes. “He said, I’m sorry I failed you.” Abbie had to take a moment to rub away the tears. “My mom raised her weak hand, brushed his cheek, and used her last breath to tell him, I love you.”
Abbie just held a stare for a moment before she was aware she had stopped talking. “My dad placed my mom’s head gently on the pillow. They muted the steady beep of the heart monitor. He walked over to me. He squatted and looked me in the eyes. He promised me that he would kill the thing that took her away from us. And then instantly, he stopped crying. He was composed as if nothing happened.”
“That’s messed up, Talbot,” said Walker.
Abbie nodded. “Yes, but that’s who Anthony Talbot was. And that’s how much he loved my mother.”
Project Armageddon Page 18
