Blood Trilogy (Book 2): Draw Blood

by Bovberg, Jason

  He wipes at his eyes, gets some grit out of there. “How’s it going with those two?”

  Bonnie voices a weary sigh. She glances in the direction of the two men lying unconscious on the floor in the book-return area. Bonnie and Scott have been attending to them.

  “Not good. I haven’t been able to decrease the amount of morphine I’m treating them with, and I’m going to run out some time in the next week on just these two bodies. It’s not sustainable.” She shakes her head sadly. “The cure works, I mean Rachel nailed it and has every right to put all her hopes on it, but the internal problems are so severe.” She releases a little whimper. “Dislocated shoulders and hips … popped joints … hyperextension … broken jaws … all the internal bleeding and the pain.”

  “Can’t stop the bleeding, outside the hospital?”

  “Exactly.” She considers that. “And even if I had a working hospital at my disposal, I’m not sure I could even figure out what to do. There’s probably some kind of heat probe that would fix them up, some kind of laser machine … chemicals … but let’s face it, their entire digestive tracts are compromised.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Have they said anything else?”

  “There are periods of lucidity just before I administer the injections, but they’re in a lot of pain. Close to delirious. It’s almost like … like their consciousness is still gone, you know? Like whatever was inside them has left something there. The humanity might be back, but they still feel the impulse of whatever took them over.”

  “But what else have they said?”

  “Not much, and it’s really just the older man. I think …” Her voice goes lower. “I think he actually said, ‘Help’.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “Yeah, so there’s that to deal with.”

  “What I keep thinking about is … well, what’s happening inside their heads?” He can’t prevent a grimace from taking hold of his mouth. “Whatever inhabited their skulls—that light, that radiation—what effect is it having on the surrounding tissues?”

  Bonnie is nodding sorrowfully.

  “It obviously isn’t catastrophic, or they’d die immediately after turning back. But it’s got to have lingering effects. Right?”

  “I’ve thought of that, too,” Bonnie whispers. “You remember I was telling you about the motorcyclist back at the hospital? His head was broken open, and we could look directly at that thing. That … sphere. It’s not like I got too close to it, but I got the feeling, almost … that it was protecting the tissues around it. Not damaging them, but using them. A kind of symbiosis, maybe.”

  She hasn’t lifted her hand from his thigh, and Michael glances down at it. “Oh,” she says, noticing his glance and removing her hand.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  She manages a smile and looks away.

  Bonnie is obviously exhausted, and torn apart by grief and stress, but she reminds him of Cassie quite powerfully. It’s not so much physical characteristics that remind him of his late wife—his first late wife, he reminds himself dismally—but the essence of her in this woman’s expressions. The kindness, the earnestness. The comfortable, natural, lived-in beauty.

  “Michael, will you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know we’re practically strangers, but I could really use a hug.”

  “Gladly,” he replies, and turns in her direction, takes her into a tight embrace.

  For long moments they clutch at each other, and in a moment Bonnie is weeping into his neck. There’s a basic animalism to the embrace, all sweat and heat, and Michael loses himself in it. But beyond the physical, it has the effect of grounding him inside his head, of calming the chaos there, of bringing back to him something elemental that was lost since he woke. Humanity?

  “I just … keep waiting for the next thing,” she whispers in his ear. “The next ridiculous thing. The next attack. The next death.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

  Even though she’s speaking almost directly into his ear, he can barely hear the words. He lets a few beats of silence hang there as he thinks of the best way to answer. Is she asking about the two of them personally, or humanity in general? And in either case, should he go for honesty or deflection or a kind lie? He goes for the latter.

  “I do,” he says.

  She makes a grateful sound. “I hope so.”

  “All we can do is take it one moment at a time. We’ve made it this far.”

  “You’re right.”

  She finally pulls away, and there’s a moment when she’s staring at him, inches from his face, and they nearly kiss, but the moment passes, and they separate.

  “I’ll try to get some sleep,” she says. “Thanks Michael.”

  She disappears into the shadows, and Michael is left alone. He’s not surprised to find that he is aroused. And wide awake now. He repositions himself and takes a long look outside, squinting to find any threats in the darkness. There’s nothing.

  For the next two hours, Michael strains his eyes mostly for naught, catching glimpses of only two bodies in the distance, dragging themselves south on uncooperative limbs. But he does see something else. To the southeast, in the approximate direction the bodies are heading, he thinks he sees a column of red luminescence drifting skyward. He can’t be sure if it’s a tangible thing or some kind of residual glow from what’s happening to the west. He can see it best when he doesn’t look directly at it but rather looks at it in his peripheral vision. He decides not to inform anyone about it, as it doesn’t constitute any kind of threat.

  Over the course of those two hours, he also hears several faraway explosions, and he wonders about their origins. Surely no aircraft can still be falling from the sky. These must be structure blasts in the spreading fires in the foothills.

  Around 5:30 a.m., the sun peeks over the suburban horizon, backlighting everything in his line of vision, revealing a spare, quiet neighborhood, peaceful and yet full of foreboding.

  Fifteen minutes later, Joel walks into the lobby.

  “Yeah, I really stink now,” he announces.

  “I think we all do.”

  “Listen, Michael, I’m thinking I need to take the chance, get over to the precinct and grab some weapons.”

  Michael considers that. “You want to leave?”

  Joel pauses. “Yes, going to the precinct would require leaving.”

  Michael swallows. “Sure it’s safe?”

  “Maybe as safe as it’s gonna get. You proved yourself that those things don’t really have eyes for us right now. Early morning, get in, get out, before those things even realize it.”

  “How far is that from here?”

  “Other side of College, off Howes.”

  “Hmm,” Michael says, “can I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course.”

  “A shorter trip first. Test the waters. And at the same time, get something even more vital than weapons.”

  “You’re talking about food. Where are you thinking?”

  “The Safeway. See what we can forage.”

  “That’s south. Right where they’re headed.”

  “True. How about the Food Co-Op? Straight up Matthews, left on Mountain. All of a quarter mile from here. I used to go there all the time with Rachel, actually.”

  “Okay, fair enough. A quick trip. See how the land lays. And that’s the right store. Especially since you know it so well. What do you say? Want to just get it done?”

  Michael stares at him. “Now?”

  “Let’s go.”

  “We’ll let everyone know, right? Arm up as well as we can?”

  “Goes without saying.”

  Michael takes a breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  Joel looks contemplative. There are sounds of others stirring around the library, quiet voices coming from other areas. Michael stands up and stretches, yawns expansively, watching the policeman.

>   “Listen, Mike …” Joel says, searching for words as he steps closer. “This situation … I don’t have to tell you things are out of control. It’s basically been chaos for four straight days. Nothing has been predictable.” He glances around, makes sure they’re alone. “We’re backed up against a wall here. I’ve just been counting everything off in my head, and it’s not looking good. We are unarmed. Un. Armed. If we can get to the store successfully, then I might try to get to the precinct immediately and arm up, but that’s thinking two steps ahead. I mean, these things are aggressive. And there are thousands of them. Hell, hundreds of thousands.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Christ, I don’t know—maybe I just want to make sure you’ve got my back.” He laughs mirthlessly. “I never had an assigned partner, well, except for when I was a rookie. I just had a one-man car for street duty, but I never really needed a partner, right? I mean, it’s Fort Collins. Nothing ever happens here. But … the fucking apocalypse? That’s a different matter.”

  “I guess it is.”

  “So can I count on you?”

  “I’m your man. I mean, I’m also watching Rachel’s back. My little girl. But I’ll do what I can.”

  “All right, let’s get this thing going.”

  Within twenty minutes, the entire crew is assembled in the lobby, and their collective reaction to Joel’s idea is a study in conflict. It’s undeniably true that the level of hunger among the survivors is tilting toward a crisis point. For days, most of them have failed to consume decent food—most recently, they’ve persisted on pilfered crackers, spoons of peanut butter, half-consumed Pringles cans, the occasionally discovered apple, and quickly spoiling hospital food.

  During the conversation in the lobby, Michael comes to the realization that he didn’t eat anything at all yesterday. He chooses not to share that fact with anyone, least of all Rachel or Bonnie, who would definitely get on his case about the oversight. The upshot is that there’s a noticeable decrease in the level of energy among them, and that’s unsustainable.

  However …

  “Daddy, you can’t go out there!” Rachel already has tears in her eyes.

  “It’s too dangerous, isn’t it?” Bonnie puts in, glancing around. “Right?”

  “That’s the thing—I don’t think it is,” Joel says. “Not at the moment.”

  “Um, did you see what happened yesterday, when he went out there?” Rachel asks. “That thing was barking at him.”

  “It wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t stumbled right into it, like a moron.”

  “That’s right,” Joel says. “These things are programmed now to just drift south. They’re going somewhere, and it ain’t here.”

  “But that could change at any moment, couldn’t it?” Rachel asks. “In an instant!”

  “She’s right,” Ron offers. “From what we’ve seen, their instincts—for lack of a better word—can change at any moment, determined by that sound we’ve all heard more than once.”

  “We go in quick and fast, armed with tranq guns and water rifles,” Joel counts off with his fingers, “barricade ourselves inside, leave the Hummer idling. In and out within five minutes, fill bags with food and first aid, whatever else. Back here within twenty minutes.”

  “And if those things suddenly turn on you?” Rachel asks, near hysteria.

  “The moment we hear that noise, we sprint back.”

  Rachel is shaking her head worriedly, and Michael notices Kayla comforting her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He finds the gesture deeply affecting, and he can’t take his eyes off it. It’s a small movement, but it speaks emotional volumes. He contrasts the moment with what he knows he’s about to do—the danger he knows he’ll face—and it brings him an unexpected sense of calm.

  “Well, I’m all for it,” Kevin says. “I could use a goddamn Ding Dong.”

  “Don’t think it’s that kind of store,” Joel says, “but we’ll do our best.”

  “You want company?”

  “I think Michael and I can handle it. Easy in, easy out. I want a full crew barricaded here in case something happens.”

  Bonnie is reluctant about the whole endeavor, but she ends up taking tallies of anyone who might need medicine or supplements, in addition to a first-aid list that she scribbles out for general purpose. Soon, most of the survivors are knotted around Joel and Michael, adding their needs to the community list until the idiosyncratic requests become too much to bear.

  “Whoa, whoa, people,” Joel says, “all I can promise is that we’ll focus on protein and try to find all the fresh food that’s still viable, okay? We gotta be smart.”

  “And we gotta get moving,” Michael adds. “I want to get this done.”

  At that moment, he catches Rachel’s eye. At the edge of the group with Kayla, she’s watching him sadly. He gives her a wink, trying to effect an unworried air, but he’s pretty sure he has failed at that.

  By 6:30 a.m., they’re armed and at the front doors, poised to break for the Hummer. Joel has the weapons—two tranq rifles and a single Super Soaker filled with O-negative—slung over his shoulder, and Michael has the vehicle’s key in his fist. Not a single body has been spotted in the vicinity of the library in the past hour. In fact, nothing of any consequence has been seen for perhaps seven hours.

  “Clear?” Joel calls behind him.

  Mai’s voice comes from the north side of the library. “All clear!”

  “Scott?” Joel yells after a moment.

  “I don’t see anything!” Scott says from the south.

  “Ready?” Joel whispers to Michael.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Michael takes a last look behind him at the clutch of survivors who are watching them, nods, then pushes his way outside. Joel falls into step right behind him. As they make directly for the Hummer, a thin layer of ash breaks from Michael’s footfalls in rhythmic drifts. He wonders—in a sickening moment of clarity—whether there are human remains in there. He’s sure there are.

  The morning is comparatively cool, but the sun already has a thin hardness, streaming through the high smoke. He reaches the vehicle and pulls the front door open, climbs up. In a few seconds, Joel is seated next to him, the tranq rifles secured at his feet and the Super Soaker cradled in his arms.

  “Let’s do it,” he says. “Still clear.”

  The Hummer rumbles to life, and he shivers violently for a split-second. He’s looking in all directions, anticipating a rush of bodies from all corners. The demise of young Danny, through the window directly behind him, is far too fresh. The shattered remains of that safety window are still scattered across the back seat. But the entire area surrounding the library is deserted now.

  Michael maneuvers the Hummer to the street. In a few moments, they’re out of sight of the library’s front entrance, moving toward Matthews, and their collective breath is taken away by the sight on the western horizon—a view unattainable from inside the library.

  The burning continues unabated and appears to be at the edge of the city limits, at the foot of Horsetooth Reservoir. Michael wonders seriously now if a fire like that could actually jump into town and begin crawling through subdivisions. Depends on the wind, he guesses, and thankfully there’s none of that. But the fire is the less remarkable phenomenon. All along the Front Range, wide columns of throbbing luminescence reach from the ground into the sky, and beyond. The crimson light is clear even in the bright of day.

  “Fuck me,” Joel whispers.

  “Yeah. It’s stronger. It’s everywhere.”

  Michael watches the columns, horrified but curious. It’s as if light is stabbing through the smoke—well, not light, but a physical manifestation of light: solid things in the midst of the ephemeral smoke. They don’t look like anything he’s ever seen in his previous life.

  “What the hell is it, man?” Joel says, voicing Michael’s own confusion. “What are they doing?”

  Michael can only shake his head. He tears h
is gaze from the skies and makes the turn onto Matthews.

  “Hate to think of what happened to those damn Thompsons,” Joel breathes.

  “Those are the brothers? The hunters?”

  “Right—up there in the foothills, last I talked to them. Couple of assholes armed to the teeth, even before this fucking thing happened. They probably started most of those fires. And believe it or not, they’re on our side.”

  Matthews is deserted. There’s still white, smoldering smoke coming from College, but no active flames. Joel watches the area with regret slashed across his features.

  “Goddamn jet crash,” he mumbles.

  “No kidding? My god. Right into Old Town?”

  “A FedEx cargo plane. Took out a few blocks before we commandeered a firetruck from the station on Remington. I only knew some basics, but we got the water flowing.” He sighs. “Where it all started for me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Met your daughter right over there.”

  Eyes darting left and right for any sign of danger, Joel tells Michael his story: from when the world stopped in the middle of his early-morning shift, through the crash of the cargo jet and the fruitless attempts to save the businesses there, to the hospital, where it seemed they’d make their final stand—only to discover that nothing was as it seemed. The bodies wanted something very different than human flesh.

  “We thought they were zombies, you know, like in the movies—fuckin’ zombies, man. It’s like, that’s what we were programmed to expect, somehow, by TV shows, movies. Hell, I’ve even read a few zombie books in my time, although I’m more of a sci-fi guy. I don’t know, maybe anyone who saw those bodies twitching back to life would jump straight to ‘Braaaaains.’”

  Halfway up Matthews, on the east side of the street, they come upon a VW bus. A body is trapped inside it.

  “Look, look,” Michael whispers, slowing the Hummer.

  He and Joel watch it curiously. The vast majority of the bodies that were stricken in their vehicles or in their bedrooms were able to maneuver themselves out of those spaces, to somehow manipulate door handles and escape. To disengage from seatbelts, even. But this one, for whatever reason, never did.