Desolate - The Complete Trilogy

by Robert Brumm

  After about an hour or so of driving, my abdomen was really starting to concern me. It was worse than ever. I tried to write it off as aggravation from all the earlier stress, but riding in the back of the truck wasn’t helping. The six ibuprofen tablets I’d scrounged from the clinic didn’t touch it either. I tried my best to keep it to myself, mostly for Emily’s sake, but pretty soon I couldn’t hide the pain.

  Ann, of all people, noticed it first. She broke from her daze and scowled at me. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

  Dave, who had been watching the road behind us, looked over in my direction.

  “You okay there, Howard? Not looking too great.”

  I exhaled and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. It was hot of course, but everybody else seemed comfortable in the open bed of the truck. I was sweating bullets.

  “I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth. “God it really hurts.”

  Emily looked at me with concern, but didn’t say anything.

  I lifted my shirt and looked at the wound site. I almost expected it to be throbbing, on fire, or spewing blood, based on the pain, but it looked fine.

  Dave crawled over to my side of the truck and inspected the scar. “Jeez, what happened there?”

  “I got…stabbed a while back. It wasn’t hurting too bad until today.”

  He pushed on my abdomen slightly and I screamed so loud Tre and Minnie heard. The truck slowed and Tre shouted out the back window, “What happened?”

  “Just keep driving,” Dave commanded. “I’ve got it.”

  The truck accelerated and Dave put his hand on my forehead.

  “Sorry, bud. Man, you’re burning up.” I caught him glancing at my nose which probably had dried blood all over it from the shovel sucker punch. I knew what he was thinking and I shook my head.

  “I’m not sick,” I stammered. “I…this is different, I don’t know.”

  Ann handed me a bottle of water from the stash of supplies. I reached for it and was struck with such an intense wave of pain, I almost blacked out. My head felt like it was in a vice and I could feel the blood pounding though the arteries in my neck. I heard a crazy high pitched scream that I mistook at first for a woman until I realized it was me.

  My last memory was my view from the floor of the truck bed. I was lying on my side, screaming. Dave was shouting at Tre to drive faster. Ann looked scared. Emily sat in her usual position, knees to her chin, hugging her shins tight. I could tell she was trying hard not to cry.

  It was at this point that God finally took mercy on me, and darkness crept into the corner of my vision. My world turned to black.

  21

  Secondary Road B8

  Eight Miles Southwest of Montego Bay

  Jamaica

  “All I know is we were doing juss fine till de showed up,” Tre muttered.

  He checked the rear view mirror again. Dave and Ann were still crouched over Howard and the little girl was still crying. At least he’d stopped screaming.

  “And what do you propose we do?” Minnie asked. “Dump ’em on the side of de road, I suppose? What’s another body, right? We’ve already seen tousands.”

  Before Tre could make a comeback, he slammed the steering wheel with his fist in frustration when a bend in the road revealed yet another obstacle. A tourist bus and a box truck had collided and the wreckage now blocked most of the road.

  He slowed down and weaved his way around the accident on the soft shoulder of the road. Several bodies were scattered among the wreckage, their shiny bloated skin covered in flies. Tre barely noticed.

  The good news was, they were finally on the outskirts of town. Dark smoke rose from several parts of the city, a bad reminder of the chaos of Kingston they’d left behind, but a few fires were to be expected.

  As they got closer to the city center, they spotted survivors here and there. Some walking in groups, others sitting alone, staring into space. Most of them barely gave the truck a second glance.

  “Hey!” Dave shouted through the back window. “Check it out,” he said, pointing to a message on the water tower. It was handwritten in black paint. SURVIVORS: OSWALD REGIONAL HOSP.

  “Oswald Regional Hospital,” Dave read out loud. “Y’all know where that is?”

  Minnie scoffed in a rare show of cynicism. “Dey only show de TV commercials bragging about it effrey five minutes. Of course dey build de so-called world-class hospital in Mo Bay where all de money is.” She pointed at the gleaming white building in the distance. “I’ve seen enuf pictures to know dat’s it.”

  Tre nodded his confirmation.

  “Great,” Dave said. “Might as well do as the sign says. Hopefully there are a few doctors around.” He turned his attention back to Howard. He was still unconscious but stirred and moaned slightly. His face was covered in sweat and he looked paler by the minute. “I have a feeling this poor bastard is going to need more than a couple Band-Aids.”

  Ann shot Dave a vicious look and nodded at Emily, who wouldn’t take her eyes off Howard. Ann scooted over to the girl and put her arm around her. “It’s okay, honey. Did you hear that? We’re going to a hospital. There’s going to be some doctors there that will help.”

  As if answering for Emily, Howard let out a loud groan. His eyes fluttered open a moment before he lost consciousness again.

  Dave felt a little better there were signs of other survivors and some sort of organization, but he was starting to get a bad feeling about something else. At first, he just assumed the epidemic didn’t leave the shores of the country and it was unique to Jamaica. As they drove through town, it concerned him that he didn’t see any evidence of outside help yet. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what he expected to see, but he didn’t find any indication that the rest of the world was coming to their aid. At the very least, he was hoping to see a US aircraft carrier off the coast, or red cross planes flying overhead, or something.

  He tried to convince himself they were coming. They’d have to be getting there soon. He wasn’t ready to admit that maybe the rest of the world was just as bad and they were on their own. Not yet.

  Dave Penske had seen his fair share of refugee shantytowns over the years while serving in the Corps. The parking lot in front of Oswald Regional certainly fit the description. It was hard to tell, but he guessed there were at least a hundred people milling about with more on the way in by car or on foot.

  Smoke from dozens of cooking fires and barbeques rose above the tents, campers, vans, and buses scattered about. Many of the survivors wore new clothes from the Montego Bay shopping district. Shopping carts overflowing with looted goods, much of it useless, were everywhere.

  Dave wiped the sweat from his eyes and scanned the crowd looking for any sort of threat. Everybody seemed content enough for now with their looted goods and food supplies. Hopefully, there wasn’t any reason that his group would be in danger from the rest of the survivors.

  Tre slowly weaved the truck through the crowd. Minnie asked several people for a doctor and they all pointed at the hospital. Parked in front of the building was a large RV and what appeared to be a military command vehicle. A small group of people gathered around a couple of tables in front of the RV.

  “Everybody stay put,” Dave said. “I’m going to see who’s in charge.” He hopped out of the truck and approached the table.

  “Sir,” a man wearing a tiger-stripe camouflage uniform approached him, his hand on his holstered side arm. “No weapons here.”

  Dave looked down and realized he was still holding his AK. “Sorry,” he said. He cleared the action on the rifle, removed the magazine, and shouldered the AK using the strap. “Good enough?” he asked. “I was a United States Marine if that means anything to you. I know how to handle it.” The soldier eyed him and then his group in the truck.

  “Are you in charge here?” Dave asked the soldier. “We need a doctor for our friend.”

  “I’m Colour Sergeant Arscott. Second Battalion, Jamaica Regiment. So fa
r, I’m the highest ranking member of the JDF here.”

  “So you’re in charge?” Dave asked.

  Arscott pointed at the RV. “There’s a member of the house of representatives here as well. Doctor Marshall of the Westmoreland Central. We’ve been working together, trying to help the people and keep order best we can.”

  “Is he a medical doc or book doc? Like I said, my friend…”

  “Inside,” Arscott cut him off. “You can find help inside, but first we need everybody’s names. We’re trying to keep a record.”

  From the back of the truck, Howard must have gained consciousness and started moaning loudly. “Look, that can wait,” snapped Dave. “We need help now!”

  “Fine,” Arscott surrendered. “Take him to the front door.”

  Dave ran back to the truck to find Howard awake and bent over in pain again. “Tre!” he shouted. “Pull up to the front doors. There’s help inside.”

  Dr. Jake Wilson leaned back, shook his head, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What? What do you mean, you don’t know?” Dave asked. “You don’t know what’s wrong? Don’t know how to treat him? What?”

  “Hey, man, I already told you. Yeah, I’m a doctor but I’m only an intern,” Wilson snapped. “Christ, I’m only here because my girlfriend talked me into going on vacation before my internship started. Which was supposed to be yesterday, by the way. Now she’s fucking dead in our hotel room, so stop giving me shit!”

  “Let’s all calm down, aright?” Minnie cooed. “Doctor, Dave didn’t mean no harm. We’re juss trying to help our friend.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Wilson said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Well, the good news is we were able to dope him up pretty good and manage the pain for now. I’m just not sure what’s causing it though. You said he was stabbed?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he told me,” said Dave.

  “I don’t see any problems with that incision in his belly. Whoever patched him up did a solid job.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” asked Minnie.

  “Lady, I can’t even do a simple blood workup on him. I’ve got plenty of supplies to work with, sure, but no nurses, barely any power thanks to that little generator outside, and the Internet is down so I can’t even do any research.”

  “What about an x-ray or CAT scan or something? Maybe you’d have a better idea if you could see inside,” Dave suggested.

  Wilson shook his head. “No way, not with that little genny out there. We barely have enough juice to run the lights in this corner of the ER. Besides,” he said, looking embarrassed. “That stuff isn’t really my specialty.”

  Dave looked at Howard. He looked peaceful on the gurney but he knew it wouldn’t last unless they could keep him knocked out. He barely knew this guy and didn’t owe him anything. He could easily leave him for dead. But he’d been a Marine NCO long enough that he just wasn’t wired that way. Howard and the little girl had only just joined their group that day but he still felt responsible for their safety. Dave took great pride in always putting his men first, and he’d be damned if he let that part of him die along with the rest of the world.

  “Well,” he sighed. “I better go check on the others and let them know what’s going on. Thanks, Jake. If there’s anything we can do…”

  “Hey!” Wilson perked up. “You know what we could try? Ultrasound!”

  “What do you mean?” Minnie asked.

  “You were right,” he told Dave. “If I could just get a look inside I might have a better idea what’s going on. The ultrasound machines are portable. Hell, some of them are even set up to run on battery packs.”

  “And…you know how to use one?” Dave asked without trying to sound too condescending.

  “We covered them a little in med school. I think I know just enough to be dangerous,” Wilson said with a smirk.

  He darted from the room and Dave noticed Ann and Emily standing in the doorway.

  “Hey,” Ann said. “She wanted to see how he’s doing.”

  “C’mere child, it’s okay,” Minnie said.

  Emily walked over and stood next to her. She stared at Howard but said nothing.

  “All right, here we go!” Wilson came back into the room pushing a portable ultrasound machine. “Let’s fire this bad boy up and see what we can see.”

  22

  Dr. Wilson squirted a healthy amount of gel on the ultrasound wand and spread it around on Howard’s abdomen. He groaned when the wand made contact and Wilson eased up on the pressure a little.

  Dave, Minnie, Emily, and Ann stood on the other side of the bed, watching the fuzzy image on the screen. Wilson was secretly relieved he figured out how to get the machine going. Once the screen came to life, he was starting to feel more confident. He doubted he’d find anything significant, but at least the group would know he tried his best.

  Wilson slowly dragged the transducer across the skin, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “That army guy outside was asking what we were planning on doing,” Ann said quietly to Dave.

  “What do you mean? Planning on what?”

  “I don’t know. Like, if we’re going to stay here with everybody else or what?”

  “Oh,” Dave muttered. “Where else are we gonna go? Besides, it all depends on what happens with Howard.”

  “Whoa!” Wilson shouted. The wand slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. He looked at the group with wide eyes. “Did you guys see that?”

  “See what?” Minnie asked.

  Wilson bent over and picked up the wand. “I dunno. Just…hold on a sec.”

  He put a little more gel on the end of the wand and placed it back at the same spot.

  “It was right…right around…here.” The image came into view and Wilson pulled the wand away. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  “What in the hell was that?” Ann asked.

  “Put it back,” Dave said.

  Everybody leaned forward, getting as close to the small monochrome display as possible. Wilson once again pressed the transducer against Howard’s skin. He moaned in pain. The image came into focus. Emily screamed. Minnie put her hand to her mouth and took a step back. Wilson simply shook his head, unable to comprehend what it was he was looking at.

  “Are those?” Dave asked. “Are those what I think they are?”

  “Yeah, it…” Wilson said. “They look to me like…”

  He moved the wand around, bringing into focus each individual orb among the dozens on the screen. In each perfectly round sack, a tiny creature, not unlike a tadpole, wiggled around and danced in its tiny womb.

  He cleared his throat. “They look to me like eggs.”

  Part Three - Redemption

  Prologue

  Senior Medical Officer Maylew inspected his patient’s wounded foot. Despite the thirty arsects injection of Pfilison, Junior Crew Enlistman Furlon still wailed in pain. The very potent pain retardant seemed to have no effect.

  “Come now, Furlon. You carrying on only makes my job more difficult. Please try to remain calm.” Maylew sprayed disinfectant into the wound causing Furlon to howl even louder.

  Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer appeared in the medical bay doorway. Furlon fell silent at the sight of his superior. “What is it now?” Lanmer said. “Why is it every time I lay my head to rest some problem occurs?” He turned his gaze to Furlon’s bloody foot. Besides a significant gash, the normal gray skin of the foot had grown to a darker, almost green, tint from cell damage. “What in hellfire happened to him?”

  “It was Specimen Six, Mr. Lanmer.” The pain retardant slowly became more effective but Furlon still winced as the doctor began to close the gash in his foot with sutures. Furlon tried his hardest to mask the pain in front of Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer. Mr. Lanmer thought pain to be a sign of weakness and made no effort to hide his disgust when one of his crewmen showed any signs of discomfort. “I merely passed through the
laboratory and it lashed out at me.”

  “Did I not inform the entire crew to keep at least six fills from its cell?”

  “I swear I was at least twice that, Mr. Lanmer. The reach of that beast is deceptive. I fear nowhere in the hold is safe from its attacks.”

  Lanmer ignored him, all too familiar with Furlon’s tendency for exaggeration. “How will this affect his mobility, Mr. Maylew?”

  Senior Medical Officer Maylew finished the last stitch on Furlon’s foot and removed his gloves. “I recommend he spends the rest of the cycle in his bunk. The Pfilison will affect his judgment and cause drowsiness. He should feel significantly better next cycle.”

  “Curses!” Lanmer tipped over a tray of Maylew’s instruments. Both the medical officer and young enlistman were taken aback by Lanmer’s sudden outburst. He was gruff by nature and often lost his temper due to impatience, but neither man had ever seen him lash out in a physical way before.

  “Curses to this mission and curses to this blasted vessel,” he roared. “Capturing that beast was the last straw. Look at what the captain’s blatant disregard for the law has gotten us. Furlon could easily have been killed. Am I not right, Mr. Maylew?”

  Senior Medical Officer Maylew cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to the deck.

  “Answer the enlistman, Maylew.”

  The deep voice resonated from the passageway behind Lanmer, who remained silent and straightened his spine to attention. The action was pure muscle memory, a subconscious decision due to many yarwens of military conditioning.

  Captain Sekwee strolled into the quiet medical bay. His heavy bootsteps sounded like hammers in the small room. “Our young enlistman Furlon could have been killed by our new guest. That much is obvious, judging by the nasty wound in his foot.” The captain made a soft hissing sound with his mouth.