by M. K. Dawn
“Ding, ding, ding.” Archer rubbed his brow. “Can we go?”
“We’re ready, sir,” Smith said. “Half the soldiers will lead the way. The other will bring up the rear.”
“Thanks, Corporal.” Then Archer turned to address the rest of the group. “It’s a two-floor jump up then through the dining hall, towards the kitchen. We stay together. Don’t stop moving.”
A young woman raised her hand. Sloan watched as Archer did his best to control his annoyance.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What about the elevators? We won’t all fit.”
Archer’s nostrils flared. “I was just about to cover that.”
Sloan felt sorry for the scared woman as she blushed; she was just trying to get a handle on the situation.
“We’ll split into two groups. The elevators can hold a capacity of fifty men, so there shouldn’t be an issue with weight. First group will go up and head straight for the fallout shelter. Second group will follow.”
“The second group could take the elevator on the next hall,” Brizzi suggested. “That way we’ll all arrive close to the same time. Safety in numbers.”
“That’ll work.” Archer quickly split them into two groups. “My group will head for the second hall. Brizzi, Smith, you’ll take the first up now. I don’t think there’s a need to wait. We’ll be right behind you.”
Smith swiped her wrist on the panel and Brizzi began ushering people inside.
“Let’s go.” Archer sprinted down the hall with a soldier on either side of him while his group struggled to keep up. Sloan and Evelyn were among the fifty. Travis and Vicky ended up in group one. Behind them the three remaining soldiers followed.
As their pace increased, Sloan wasn’t able to get a clear look into each room they passed. What she did see made her stomach turn sour. All were either unconscious or dead—even those who hadn’t presented any symptoms aside from the bite. That had only been a few hours ago. It had taken Martinez and Jones days—as far as she knew—to progress as much.
They had just turned the corner when a crash reverberated off the walls. The barrier had failed.
“Elevator! Now!” Archer screamed and picked up the pace. He reached the elevator first and opened the doors.
Behind them, another crash, this time much closer. Sloan didn’t dare look back. She knew what that noise indicated. A few people screamed. One lady fell to the ground but was promptly scooped up by two men and half carried the rest of the way.
A few feet left and she’d be through the door. There weren’t many behind her so there would be little wait time until they were able to close the doors.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Archer ordered.
A shot was fired followed by a dozen more. Sloan flinched at the unexpected pop but still didn’t look back.
When she crossed the threshold, she nearly fell to her knees. Out of breath and scared, she wanted nothing more than to push the button to shut out the horrors that awaited them in the hall. Instead, she straightened herself and scanned the crowd for Archer.
Her pulse raced as she struggled to pinpoint his location. Had he not gotten on? Was he the one firing the gun?
“Shut the door!” His voice pierced through the chaos. A few more rounds went off. And then he was on and the doors were closed.
The elevator rattled and whined as the infected collided with the door the same as the had when she escaped them just this morning. They were one step closer to the promise of safety.
Seconds later, the elevator stopped.
Archer lifted his gun, ready to fire as the doors slid open. He and two others stepped into the hall then waved the rest of the group out.
The hall was empty, silent. It hadn’t taken them more than a couple of minutes to reach the second elevator. Enough time for the first group to get a head start.
Archer crept forward towards the doors that led into the dining room.
If the other group had already passed through, Sloan would have assumed the path was clear, but that wasn’t the way Archer operated. He would take each corner and turn with caution, ready for anything.
From the middle of the group, Sloan couldn’t quite tell what was going on between Archer and his men. Some sort of nonverbal communication.
The first door eased open. Then the second. They were led inside the massive, but thankfully empty, room.
“Lock the doors behind us,” Archer ordered.
Sloan pushed through the crowd and hurried to Archer’s side. She didn’t want to argue with him in front of the group. “What about the message?”
He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. It was clear he didn’t want to go through this again.
“You promised. Thirty minutes. It’s only been,” Sloan checked her wristband, “ten.”
“Fine. Keep the doors unlocked in case others show.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever.” Archer then yelled, “We have to keep moving. It’s not far now.”
They crossed the room and headed for the double doors on the opposite end of the dining hall—those that led to the rearmost section of the floor.
This time Sloan stayed close to Archer and the front of the group. She was anxious and needed to see what they were walking into.
Archer inched open the first door and peered in. There was a muffled noise coming from down the hall, but Sloan couldn’t identify the familiar sound so far away. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she whispered, “What is that?”
The soldier to her right glanced at Archer and shook his head. “Gunfire.”
Sloan gasped. “It’s so quiet.”
“It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen; maybe inside one of the storage rooms.”
“We have to help them,” Sloan pleaded.
The soldier lowered his head. “We don’t know how many they’re up against.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re not going to help them? Archer? Please!”
He clutched her elbow and guided her out of earshot from the others. “There are fifty people in here. Forty of them couldn’t defend themselves even if I handed them all a gun and endless ammunition. I can’t leave them and I can’t send a couple of my soldiers to check things out. They would be ambushed.”
Her heart shattered. Travis and Vicky were with the first group. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“There are six highly-trained soldiers out there. If they were up against a few, they would have been taken care of by now and signaled the coast was clear.”
Hot tears burned her eyes. How could this be happening?
“Help!” A door slammed against the wall. Smith and Brizzi stumbled in, their arms wrapped around a limp Travis. Close to a dozen others followed, bloodied and pale. “He was knocked unconscious. All the others…” She choked back a sob. “I managed to lock them inside storage room A. The whole place is overrun. They’re strong. It won’t take them long before they break free.”
Archer’s eyes flicked to Sloan. She nodded in understanding of what needed to be done. There were only a few minutes left anyway before the entire Bunker would be on lockdown.
“Check the hall by the elevators then set the locks,” Archer ordered. “For the doors leading to the back, barricade them. That goes for the doors behind the counter where the dishwashers are.”
The soldiers and a group of civilians got to work moving and stacking tables in front of the doors.
Sloan and Smith found a spot out of the way to lay Travis. His head wobbled to the side, a large gash spanning from temple to cheek oozed blood. “I need to examine him for other injuries. This will need stitches.” Unfortunately, she had no medical supplies which she’d considered packing, but Archer insisted they had everything they needed in the fallout shelter. Against her better judgment, she’d conceded.
“Each floor is equipped with several first aid stations,” Smith said. “I’ll see if I can find one.”
“Thanks.”
“Is he okay?” Evelyn knelt beside them.
Sloan peered down at their unconscious friend. “I need to check him for other injuries.”
“Let me help.”
They started at his head and scanned downward. Sloan saw nothing, but Evelyn’s face told her she hadn’t been so lucky. “What is it?”
Evelyn lifted his hand, flipped it over, and pointed to the tip of his pinky finger. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
A single tear trickled down Sloan’s cheek. “He’s been bitten.”
***
Sloan stood there staring in disbelief, watching the rise and fall of Travis’ chest. A tiny black line had begun to creep its way up his finger, leaving no doubt that he had in fact been bitten by one of the infected.
“Hey.” Archer pulled her into his chest. “How you holding up?”
She shrugged. There were no words left to say.
“Has he come to?”
“No,” she mumbled and wriggled out of his embrace.
“You’re sure he’s been bitten? That it’s not just a scratch?”
Sloan lifted Travis’ hand. “You can see the…infection or whatever the black stuff is moving up his finger.”
Archer traced the thin line. “Do you think that’s as far as it’s spread?”
Why bother with insignificant questions? “Does it matter?”
“I don’t know, Slash. You tell me. You’re the brilliant doctor.”
“We know so little. I couldn’t even assume—”
“What if we took the hand?”
Sloan cocked her head, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“Cut his hand off,” Archer repeated.
She would have laughed if it wasn’t for the tone of his voice. “You can’t be serious!”
“I don’t know what else to do. It worked on the damn TV show!”
Sloan barked out a laugh that she couldn’t contain. “TV show? Are you kidding me right now? I can’t even begin to explain how asinine that idea is.” A hundred reasons bombarded her at once from lack of medical supplies to infection to—
“Do it.”
Sloan whipped her head around.
Travis lay awake, eyes vacant from the concussion he surely obtained when he hit his head.
“You don’t know what’s happened. What Archer is suggesting.”
“I was bitten on the hand.”
“The finger, yes.”
Travis attempted to sit. “He wants to cut it off.”
“Lie still.” Sloan gently pushed him back to the ground. “And yes, that is what Archer thinks is best.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“We’re in the dining hall. I have no medical equipment other than a small first aid station. You’ll likely die from blood loss in a matter of minutes.”
“I’m already dead. Do it. Now. Before it spreads.”
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It was madness. “We don’t even know if it will work.”
For the second time in an hour, Archer pulled her aside. “You have to do this.”
“No.” She turned away from him. “It’s crazy. I’ll kill him.”
“Slash, look at me. Please.”
Sloan ran the palms of her hands over her eyes and down her face. It was all too much.
“Sloan.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and rotated her around. “He’s already dead. If you don’t try, the infection will kill him.”
“So will cutting off his hand in here.”
“Probably. But his odds of surviving are better if you try.”
A percent, maybe. “I have no way to sedate him. No instruments to perform the amputation.”
Evelyn joined them. “I found a cleaver in the dishwasher. And a bottle of whiskey under one of the cabinets.”
Sloan gawked at her friend. “You can’t be on board with this.”
“It’s what he wants.”
“He has a concussion!”
Evelyn gave the bottle of whiskey to a nearby soldier and instructed him to pass it along to Travis. Then she held out the cleaver to Sloan. “If you don’t want to do it, I will. All those people we left. Those we couldn’t save. Maybe this could be the miracle amongst the cataclysm.”
Sloan’s head pounded as she cracked her knuckles and tried to think of another reason this shouldn’t and couldn’t be done. Then she peered over at Travis, who’d already taken down more than half the liter of whiskey. “That’s enough!” Too much alcohol could thin his blood and make it impossible to stop the bleeding. “Has the cleaver been sanitized?”
Evelyn glared at her; it was a stupid question to ask a surgeon but it was Sloan’s way of indicating that she would perform the procedure.
“Sorry. Are there gloves in the first aid kit?”
“Yes.” Smith retrieved them.
Sloan slipped them on, careful not to contaminate them any further. “Pour some whiskey on my hands as well as the cleaver.”
Travis’ eyes fluttered then closed. The trauma to the head combined with the alcohol and they’d be lucky if he woke again. “Towels?”
A woman came up behind her, arms full. “They were in a cabinet labeled ‘clean’.”
They would have to do. “Okay.” It was a simple amputation in the OR. But here? God help her. She took four or five deep breaths.
Then Sloan swung the cleaver with all the strength she could muster.
***
“Sloan.” the voice tickled her ears and crawled its way into her subconscious. It was a nice voice. Warm and comforting. Almost like a song. A pretty song that made her heart sing with a joy she’d never known. Then it was gone, replaced by the cold and the darkness where the monsters hid.
“Sloan.” Her body jerked and her eyes shot open. The room was unfocused and bright. Too bright. Where was she?
“He’s awake.”
Who? Her mind was heavy with sleep.
“Sloan,” the voice said again. “I’ve brought coffee.”
“What?” she mumbled.
“Take a drink, honey. You told me to wake you when Travis regained consciousness. Made me swear.”
Travis. The cleaver. She’d cut off a man’s hand with a cleaver. Bile rose in her throat. What the hell was she thinking?
“He’s awake,” Archer—that was the voice—repeated. “It’s been about four hours. He’s not experiencing any flu-like symptoms.”
“What?”
“We think the amputation worked.”
“Don’t say that.” She pushed out of her chair and teetered towards her patient.
“Careful there. You might still be half asleep.”
Sloan ignored his concern and knelt beside Travis. “How are you feeling?”
He yawned. “Like my hand’s been hacked off.”
His flippant remark caught Sloan off guard. “See you’ve retained your sense of humor.”
“Aww, Slash.”
Her body went rigid. “Don’t call me that.” The only person allowed to use that nickname was Archer and only because she was tired of fighting him on the issue.
“Sorry. Sloan.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or is it Dr. Egan? Since I am now officially your patient.”
“Archer said you have no symptoms. No body aches? No slowed heart rate?”
He lifted his crippled arm and winced.
Sloan stopped him before he could open his mouth. “Please refrain from any smart-ass remarks about your severed limb.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Please, Travis.”
He rolled his eyes. “No symptoms. I don’t feel ill.”
“Good. I need to examine your arm. Ensure there are no black streaks we missed earlier.”
Travis took the examination well. It had to have been painful, Sloan poking and prodding so close to the fresh wound. But in the end, she saw nothing that suggested the infection was still present. Of course, time would be the ultimate deciding factor. “So far, so good.”
&nbs
p; “Thanks, doc.” He yawned again. “Have you heard from Rebecca?”
Sloan looked up at Archer and he shook his head. No one had shown after the announcement and it appeared no one had shown after she’d fallen asleep as well. Either they were all dead or they were trapped. Both scenarios were devastating. Travis wasn’t strong enough to hear the news.
“Dr. Egan?” Sherry, an OR nurse, broke the silence. “Colonel Archer would like to speak with you. I’ll keep an eye on Dr. Morrison.”
“Thanks.” Normally, Sloan wouldn’t be so quick to leave a patient, but this time she welcomed the break. It would give her time to decide how to best handle his question. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Archer was in the far corner of the dining hall, huddled with the rest of his soldiers. Seven of them left. Less than seventy people total. An impossible amount of lives lost in such a short period of time. “You asked for me?”
“We have a problem,” Archer said. “There’s plenty of water, but the little food we found is almost gone. The rest is locked in with the infected. How many, Smith?”
“A hundred, at least. Will be more with our fallen.”
Archer sighed. “We can’t fight that many with what we have left. They’re too fast and too smart.”
“Why are you telling me this and not the others?”
“They respect you,” Smith said. “See you as a leader. And after what you did for Travis, they think you’re a bad-ass.”
Sloan didn’t see herself as any of those things. “What’s the plan?”
All heads turned towards Archer. “We’re working on a couple of alternatives to present to the group.”
“You’re going to have them vote?”
Archer crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “Yes. I may be the highest-ranking officer but in no way feel comfortable making a life or death decision on behalf of these people. I did it once and we all saw how well that turned out.”
Sloan wanted to comfort him, reassure him that he did what he thought was best, but this wasn’t the time. “What are the options?”
“Just two,” Archer said. “Stay in The Bunker. Find somewhere safe to hide until we can rid ourselves of the infected.”
That didn’t sound like much of an option. “What’s the other?”
His jaw clenched. “We leave.”
