V Plague (Book 17): Abaddon

by Patton, Dirk

“What the bloody, fucking hell were you thinking?” Smyth asked, some heat behind the question.

  “He was thinking about his family,” I said calmly.

  Smyth looked at me for a couple of beats then lowered his eyes and nodded.

  “Sorry, mate. Aye, I get it. Hope it was worth it to get inside. We’re runnin’ out of air.”

  I hadn’t consciously noticed, but the air was humid and heavy. It was hard to take more than a shallow breath. That didn’t make sense as there weren’t that many people inside. Then I glanced up at the ceiling when it dawned on me. Not only were the bats piled on thickly enough to prevent any fresh air from making it through, they were also breathing in the oxygen we needed and exhaling the carbon dioxide that was fouling our air.

  Ignoring Smyth who sank back onto the couch with Natalie, I walked over to Mavis. Lucas’s kids were all snuffling but listening close as she told them a children’s story about a wallaby and a field mouse. Hearing Ziggy’s feet pounding on the stairs, I quickly bent and kissed Mavis on the forehead. She looked up and smiled without interrupting the tale. Ruffling Dog’s ears, I turned as Ziggy burst through the door.

  “Here!”

  She shoved a large bag at me that I recognized as a military issue field medical kit.

  “John.” She stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Is he okay? Will he be okay?”

  “Rachel’s the best,” I said, not wanting to voice my fears that Lucas was too severely injured to survive. “She’ll do everything she can.”

  Thankfully, Natalie stepped forward and wrapped Ziggy in her arms. I hurried back to the kitchen, nearly faltering when I got a good look at Lucas with his clothes removed. It would have been difficult to find a single square inch of his body that wasn’t injured. A large puddle of blood had pooled on the floor beneath the table.

  “He’s bleeding out,” I said, thrusting the med kit at Rachel.

  She grabbed it, plopped it onto the kitchen counter and ripped it open. There were several large packets of powdered blood clotter and she tore all of them open with her teeth and began sprinkling the contents into the worst of his wounds. He was out cold, not reacting in the slightest as the clotting agent hit his raw flesh. I knew from experience it hurts like hell on just one small area and he was getting the royal treatment.

  As Rachel worked, I drifted around the table, looking on in amazement at the amount of damage the bats had inflicted. Lucas’s men stood back, looks of horror on their faces. I started to take a deep breath and nearly coughed, reminded of the other immediate danger to all of us. We needed air before we slowly suffocated.

  “His BP is dropping and he’s going to go into hypovolemic shock. If that happens, his organs shut down and he’s done.”

  Rachel had spoken softly and was looking directly into my eyes.

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s bleeding out,” she said. “It’s coming from too many wounds all at once and I can’t control it. He needs blood to buy me some time to work on stemming the flow.”

  “O Neg,” I said, extending my arm. “Universal donor.”

  “No,” she said immediately. “You’re infected, or something. We’re not passing that on to him.”

  “What’s your blood type?” I asked, looking directly at the two men leaning against the counter. Both shrugged.

  “Know we’re not universal, mate,” one of them said.

  “You?” I asked Rachel.

  “AB positive.”

  I turned and hurried into the living room. Ziggy had no idea what Lucas’s blood type was, nor did anyone other than Smyth know their own. And he wasn’t a universal donor.

  “No choice,” I said to Rachel when I returned to the kitchen. “And we don’t have time to argue about it. We’re running out of air, fast, and I’ve got to figure something out.”

  I thrust my arm out, holding her eyes until she finally reached a decision and nodded.

  14

  “This is a really, really, really bad idea,” Rachel muttered as she inserted a large bore needle into me.

  I was seated in one of the kitchen chairs, arm resting next to Lucas on a pile of towels so it was elevated slightly above his body.

  “Better than watching him die,” I grumbled, growing impatient with her resistance.

  “I’m talking about in general.” She taped the needle in place and quickly inserted another into Lucas. A short length of surgical tubing connected us. “Just because you’re a universal donor doesn’t mean this will work. And I just poked a hole in one of your arteries. What if it doesn’t seal back up?”

  “What about his artery?”

  “Your artery, his vein,” she said, peering at the tubing as blood began to flow from my body into Lucas’s. “Now, just sit there until I tell you and do not move your arm. You could tear the artery and things will go from bad to worse.”

  She looked me in the eye and for the first time started to give me a smile, but it melted off her face and she stumbled slightly before catching herself on the edge of the table.

  “Rachel!”

  “Don’t move!” she shouted when I started to reach for her. “I’m okay. Just a little light headed.”

  “It’s the air in here, mate.”

  I looked around to see Smyth standing in the kitchen entrance. He was looking at the tubing running from my arm to Lucas’s.

  “Don’t suppose Lucas has a CO2 scrubber squirreled away in his basement,” I said.

  Smyth just shook his head without answering.

  “What about the fire?” Rachel asked as she started suturing one of Lucas’s deepest wounds. “Open the door and keep them back while fresh air comes in.”

  “Fire consumes oxygen,” I said. “We’d be no better off, and possibly worse.”

  I was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache in the back of my head. Was it from the air or did it have something to do with my blood being drained. There was nothing I could do about the latter, but I sure as hell had to figure something out for the former.

  “No escape tunnel in the basement, I suppose.”

  Again, Smyth just shook his head.

  “Ohhhhh. What are you doing?” Mavis asked, slipping past Smyth and looking at the blood-filled tube stretched between me and Lucas.

  “Blood transfusion,” I said. “Aren’t you watching the kids?”

  “They’re with Ziggy, all curled up on the couch,” she said, coming forward and standing next to me.

  Her eyes traveled over Lucas’s injuries then she moved for a better view of Rachel’s efforts to repair them.

  “Cool,” she said quietly. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Someday, yes. Want to help?”

  “Yes!”

  “Go over to the sink and wash your hands. Lots of soap and hot water and keep scrubbing for a long time.”

  Mavis didn’t hesitate and was soon soapy all the way to her elbows. I turned back to Smyth.

  “What’s in the house we can use?”

  “Got me. I’ve been through it half a dozen times. Nothing to fight them little bastards with and nothin’ to make the air better. Thinkin’ maybe it’s time to use that flamethrower of yours and burn our way out.”

  I looked at him for a long beat before pointedly looking at Lucas. He followed my gaze then shook his head and threw his hands up in frustration.

  “Why not just stick one of those pipes outside?” Mavis asked, still scrubbing at the sink.

  Smyth and I traded looks.

  “What pipe?” we asked simultaneously.

  “In the basement. There’s a whole stack of them inside that room with the noisy motor.”

  “Noisy motor?” Smyth asked in confusion, then understanding dawned on his face. “Bloody hell! The pump room!”

  He ran off and I could hear him pound down the stairs. A minute later he was back, holding several two-inch diameter PVC pipes. Each was about eight feet long and a bag of fittings to connect them swung from his wrist.
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  “Lucas was gonna add some pipe from the well so there was water by the grill,” he said, grinning.

  “Get to work,” I said. “You’ve got a four-foot-thick layer of bats all over the house before you reach clear air.”

  “Plenty of pipe,” he said, looking around at the walls.

  “Up, not out,” I said. “You push it out horizontally, it’ll start sagging and you won’t be able to keep it off the ground. Bats’ll just cover up the end.”

  He nodded, tilting his head back and looking straight up. Fortunately, Lucas’s house had a low ceiling, a concession to the blistering heat of the outback. Less interior volume meant it was easier to keep it cool.

  “Need a drill and a saw,” he said, still looking at the ceiling. “Tools are in the shed.”

  “Shoot it,” I said, nodding at the rifle slung on his back.

  “What?”

  “Few rounds should do the trick. Punch through the ceiling and on through the roof. Then you can force the pipe through.”

  “Bullets ain’t gonna make that big of a hole,” Smyth said.

  “Didn’t say it was going to be easy,” I said. “Sooner you get started, sooner we’ve got air to breathe.”

  Smyth stared at the ceiling for a few more seconds then called the other two men over. Unslinging his rifle, he fired a burst that shredded a small hole through the plaster.

  While they labored, I turned back to watch Rachel work. Mavis, freshly scrubbed, was wearing a pair of gloves and was on her knees in a chair for a better view. As she sutured a particularly long and deep gash in Lucas’s chest, Rachel explained what she was doing and why. Mavis was paying rapt attention, apparently completely enthralled with the whole process.

  Watching them, something inside me released. I don’t know what it was. A ball of anger or guilt or perhaps both that I’d been carrying since Katie died. Whatever it was, it was like that first hint of warmer spring air after a particularly brutal winter. Both a physical and psychological relief.

  Smyth and the guys were working away, no small amount of cursing accompanying their efforts to force the pipe through a makeshift hole. I ignored them, unable to take my eyes off Rachel and Mavis. Eventually, they felt the weight of my stare, glancing up and pausing.

  “What?” Rachel asked, puzzled by the expression on my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll find a way to get to Hawaii. To have Joe check me over.”

  She held my gaze for a beat then her eyes turned moist and she smiled.

  “We will,” she said softly, conveying so much more than those two words.

  “Geez,” Mavis said, rolling her eyes.

  15

  Smyth finally succeeded in ramming several lengths of the pipe up through the roof and into fresh air. It hadn’t been simple, but with the help of the other two SASR troopers, he’d gotten it done. Only it didn’t help. Thirty feet of two-inch pipe is simply too narrow for any appreciable airflow, especially with all the people, a million or so bats and one dog consuming the available oxygen in a small space.

  “Enough for now,” Rachel said, disconnecting the transfusion tube that connected my arm to Lucas’s.

  She looked like hell. Pale and drawn with sweat-soaked hair hanging lankly around her face. But we all looked that way as the humidity continued to shoot up inside the house. It condensed on every hard surface, fogging the interior of the windows. Dog had joined me in the kitchen and lay on the floor at my feet, feverishly panting in the foul air.

  “We’ve gotta open that door, mate,” Smyth said.

  I wasn’t certain, but it sounded as if he were slurring his words. I had a headache of my own that was crushing my skull in an iron vise.

  “We’re dead either way,” I mumbled, afraid if I spoke too loudly it would cause the top of my head to blow off.

  “Gimme the flamethrower, then,” Smyth said. “Rather die on my feet than suffocate.”

  “Another pipe,” Rachel offered without looking up.

  She was still suturing Lucas’s wounds. Some time ago she’d depleted the med kit and was now using sewing thread that had been soaked in alcohol.

  “Won’t make enough difference to be worth the oxygen I’ll use to get it done,” Smyth grumbled.

  He leaned back against a wall and slowly slid down to a seat on the floor. I looked at him for what seemed a long time, then turned my head to watch Rachel work. She had taught Mavis how to take blood pressure and pulse readings so she didn’t have to stop stitching every five minutes.

  “How’s he doin?” I asked.

  “He’s stabilized some, but he’s got a long way to go. If he doesn’t get a massive infection from this many wounds, it will be a miracle. Bats are nasty creatures. But that’s not all I’m worried about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rabies. Bats are one of the most common carriers of the disease. The chances of him receiving this many bites and at least one of the bats not being infected are just about nil.”

  I absorbed what she was saying for a moment, then as it often does my brain came up with an idea for another problem. Lurching to my feet, I swayed a moment as my head caught up with the rest of me. Dog was sprawled across the floor and his panting seemed to be shallower and faster than it had been. We didn’t have long and I needed to try something before it was too late.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

  I looked at her and saw the raw exhaustion in her eyes. She was still treating Lucas, but it was only sheer determination on her part that was keeping her going. The most recent wound she’d sutured, a long slash on his abdomen, caught my attention. Most of the stitches she’d done were neat and uniform in appearance, but not this one. It twisted and turned like a snake and the flesh she’d pulled together was puckered the full length of the wound. Frankenstein came to mind.

  I thought I should say something, but it was more important to try my idea before I lost consciousness. Stepping over Dog, I shuffled into the living room. Ziggy and the kids were sprawled on the couch, either sleeping or unconscious. I ignored them and went to an overstuffed recliner in the back corner. Lucas’s chair.

  On the table next to it was a small diameter, high velocity fan. Like me, he ran hot and could never keep a house cool enough in the summer to not need some air moving. Grabbing it, I returned to the kitchen and stared dumbly at the end of the pipe for several seconds. Smyth watched me but didn’t offer any commentary or try to rise off the floor.

  Pulling cabinets and drawers open, I found a large funnel and cut the tapered spout back to a point where it would just slip over the outside of the pipe. The fan fit neatly inside its mouth.

  “Duct tape,” I mumbled.

  I looked through some more cabinets but didn’t find any.

  “Smyth! I need duct tape!”

  After a long stretch of silence, I turned slowly to find him with his head slumped on his chest, eyes closed.

  “Smyth!” I shouted, moving to him and kicking the bottom of one of his feet. “Get your ass up, soldier!”

  His head bobbed a couple of times, then he raised it and looked at me with unfocused eyes.

  “Get up! Find me some duct tape!”

  It took him forever to start moving, then in slow motion he got onto his hands and knees before finally making it to his feet. Without a word, he stumbled out of the kitchen, only a wall that he rubbed against preventing him from falling.

  Turning, I saw Rachel passed out on top of Lucas. Mavis had slid out of her chair and was unconscious on the floor. Dog’s eyes were closed and his side was barely rising as he struggled for air.

  There was a crash from the living room and I made my way across the kitchen. Smyth was sprawled in the wreckage of a coffee table. But he’d come through! Tightly clutched in his hand was a thick roll of silver duct tape.

  It seemed as if I were submerged in water as I retrieved it from him. Every movement was painfully slow and difficult. Returning to the kitchen, peeling the t
orn edge on the roll of tape was an exercise in futility. No matter how hard I tried to control my hands, I couldn’t make them perform the fine motor skills necessary.

  The knife I’d used to cut the funnel to size was still on the counter and I struggled across ten feet of floor to get it. And promptly dropped it. Cursing, I bent to retrieve it and wound up on my face.

  It was amazingly comfortable on the floor. I wanted to stay where I was. Take a nap. I was so damn tired. And maybe I did close my eyes. Perhaps not. I don’t remember what happened. Don’t remember anything until I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, taking deep breaths of sweet, fresh air.

  I was surprised to see the fan attached to the funnel and the whole thing tightly duct taped to the end of the pipe. The fan was plugged into an outlet and roaring away on its highest setting, pulling fresh, outside air into the house.

  With every breath, the fog in my brain lifted and the headache receded. It wasn’t long before I saw Dog’s eyes open. He didn’t get up but did take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. One by one, based on their proximity to the fan, the others began regaining consciousness.

  “Good idea,” Rachel said, looking at me with bloodshot eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Better,” she said, looking down at Lucas and frowning at the line of sutures I’d noticed earlier.

  “The baby?”

  I was terrified to ask but had to know.

  “Don’t know,” Rachel said, not meeting my eyes. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  I nodded, wanting to ask a thousand questions but knowing there was no point.

  “My head hurts,” Mavis said, slowly sitting up and looking around.

  “You hit it on the floor when you passed out,” I said. “See the dent in the tile?”

  She looked down for an instant before giving me the evil eye for having teased her. Without Rachel having to ask, she climbed back into the chair and set about taking Lucas’s vitals.

  “We discussed Rabies, right? I think,” Rachel said.

  “What do we do?”

  “He needs treatment and I don’t know the proper protocol. And I doubt we’re going to find it anywhere.”