Cory considered the irony. He was now going to be the savior of humanity. He was the only one left on earth who could, and yet, he still hated people.
“Suffered,” he said to the pleading figure of Christ. “Died. But did you actually save anyone? Did you really? They nailed you to a cross and you died saying it was all for us? Well, were we worth it?”
He stared at the crucifix. He was transfixed by it. A myriad of thoughts and emotions burned in his head, the strongest being the constant, cosmic question of the ages.
Why?
Suddenly, he knew an answer, maybe not the answer, but it would do, for now. It made him want to laugh. He slammed his hand against the wall, and then did so again, grinning broadly.
He waited, staring, thinking, considering.
Then, using the crowbar, he smashed the picture against the wall. The glass in the frame shattered and the picture frame fell. He stepped on it, snapping the wooden frame into splinters, crunching it underfoot.
The rest of the home held little else of use or interest. Water stained the floors and mold grew in the carpet and up the walls. Pots and pans rested on the stovetop, the food in them long desiccated. Everything in the pantries had long ago expired, too, but he did find a Twinkie in a cabinet above the refrigerator. When he opened it, the yellow cake crumbled away and left behind a hard lump that looked like half-melted wax. He laughed and tossed it at the wall.
On his way back to where he entered the house, he went through the hallway again. He stopped to stare down at the destroyed image of Christ.
“If you could only see us now, would you do the same thing? Or would you laugh yourself silly and wish us all good luck?”
He stared at the image a few more seconds, transfixed on it. A flurry of thoughts flashed through his head until he finally landed back where he had started.
Yes, humanity did suck, but it had to survive.
-25-
ASSISTANT
DR. BLAKELY CLAMPED her blood-slicked fingers firmly on the femoral artery of an unconscious man. She shrugged her shoulders and raised her arms slightly, wishing she could mop her brow to get the hair out of her eyes. The sunlight streaming through the greasy brown windows across from her bathed the stuffy room in a muted yellow glow. The cramped workroom offered little in terms of sterility, but it was the best she could arrange on such short notice.
“There… Kate,” she said. “Hold it steady. Steady. Now clamp it.”
Kate clicked the forceps shut to pinch off the bleeding artery. She was also stained with red spatters.
Andrea removed her bare hands from the jagged gash on the man's leg and wiped blood on the only clean part of an already well-soaked bath towel. The man they were working on was unconscious and non-responsive. He had lost a lot of blood already. He had already passed out from shock, and his body was growing pale and cool to the touch. Fortunately, he still had his Army dog tags. And, minutes ago, she had sent one of his companions to find a suitable donor.
Six other men waited in the room. They reeked of sweat and raptor. One man was picking his teeth with his finger. The others had arranged themselves as far away from the man she was working on as they could, as if what had happened to him was somehow contagious.
She looked up at them and crinkled her nose. “Go on. You all need leave. Get out of here. Get. You are in my way. So, scoot.”
“He gonna be okay?” one guy asked.
“I don't know. But he'll die for certain if you don't get the hell out of here and let us work.”
Grumbling, the men turned one by one and left. Kate gave Andrea an empty stare and added a slight uptick to the corner of her mouth.
The wound Andrea had her fingers in went deep into the red muscle of the man's thigh. A raptor's sickle-shaped hind claw had caught him near his groin and had ripped the flesh almost to his kneecap. With as deep as the cut had gone, and as much damage as it had caused, there was little chance of him keeping his leg, but she was not ready to admit defeat yet. She would try to save the leg if she could, if not, he was as good as dead already.
“I hate this backwoods medicine,” she said. “Hand me the…yes, that's it, thank you.”
Kate was sharp. She was a real boon. A smart girl and a quick study. She was already able to anticipate whatever was asked for. Each time she did, Andrea thanked God for delivering such a wonderful helper. She only hoped she could hold onto Kate on a more permanent basis and keep her away from the likes of one Sebastian Cyrus.
She had earlier cut Kate's hair short to make her as unappealing as possible. Kate seemed intuitive enough to understand the reasoning and did what she could to help with the charade. She had also absorbed more knowledge than anyone Andrea had ever attempted to teach, a real miracle child. Kate rarely spoke, but she always listened. She listened almost too well. Once, when Andrea was preparing for bed, she realized she was talking to herself freely before noticing that Kate was in the room with her, absorbing everything. When she stopped and glanced up, Kate had not smiled, frowned, nor shown any reaction to what had been said, which was good, as she had revealed far too much, enough to get her killed if the information was passed on to the wrong people.
Andrea stuck the heels of her hands on her back and straightened to relieve the pressure on her aching spine. She'd been on her feet too long today, hours, six at least. With a sigh and a groan, and with the men now gone from the room, she began today's lesson.
“Injuries such as these are usually fatal. See this?” She pushed aside the torn flesh and muscle to expose the artery held closed by the clamp. “This is the femoral artery. Luckily, it was only nicked. If the damage had been worse, he would have bled out already, and it is possible that he might still do so.” She poked at the wound some more and made a clucking noise. “And… I had thought I could save the leg, but now I'm not so sure. We'll try though, okay?”
Kate nodded and leaned in for a closer look. Andrea marveled at the way Kate so easily dealt with what had caused others faint, or run pale-faced from the room. Kate seemed to fear nothing, except the night for some reason. She seemed to see demons hunting her, which was not too far from the truth.
“Hand me the gauze,” Andrea said. “Now, where are those cretins I sent?” She glanced at the door. “Another…five from my bag, please.”
Kate dug into the bag set on the nearby counter and came back with a pair of five-inch forceps. Andrea nodded her approval as she accepted them.
“Raptors. Raptors,” she said as she worked. “There are many types of injuries they can inflict. Mostly though, if one survives an attack, the issues are with infection. The diseases carried on their claws are too numerous to count. I've seen men die from nothing more than a mere scratch. I've also seen others who have been—” she cut herself off, remembering what Kate had been through. She switched subjects. “When I was a little girl, I spent my time dressing up and playing with dolls. Later, I chased boys. Maybe not that many boys, of course, since they never had much interest in chasing me. You, though. They'd be chasing you if they could. Boys would find you—” Andrea looked up again, realizing she was rambling.
Kate tilted her head to one side as if to say she was intrigued and wanted to hear more.
“Yes,” Andrea continued, “boys are not all there is in life. Mostly, that is, I mean. They one day turn into men, and most men are bad. Though, there are a few good ones out there. You just need to wait for them. And let me tell you, I've been waiting a long, long time.” She stopped, realizing she was still meandering aimlessly and needed to get back on track. “Where's my donor?” she asked absently. “We need to get some blood into this poor bastard, toot sweet.”
She handed a wad of gauze to Kate. “Hold this. Right there. Keep the pressure on it. Okay, good. I'm going to go figure out what's taking them so long.”
Kate blanched. It was one of those rare times she did not appear utterly confident in what she was doing.
“No, it's okay,” Andrea said reassuringly. �
��I'll be back. You'll be fine.”
Kate let go of the gauze and retreated to the corner in the workroom.
“Hey, hey. No. No, child. Let's say I stay here with you. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?” Andrea wiped away the sweat from her forehead and pushed her glasses up her nose using the back of her hand. She wanted a drink. Needed a drink. Ever since Kate had arrived, she had tried to quit—tried hard—but it hadn't worked out so well. Each day was a new challenge, a new horror, and with no way to escape, it was becoming increasing difficult to function sober. One morning after spending the night drinking herself into a stupor, she woke to find Kate hovering over her, stroking her tangled hair and cleaning vomit from the sides of her mouth. It was all so terribly embarrassing. She hated to lose control like that. Each night hence, she tried to resist the temptation, but each day she succumbed. Just a little, she'd think, and knew that whenever she didn't have something to calm her nerves, her hands trembled and shook. Today was no exception. Only an act of determined will was keeping her from grabbing a bottle and running from the room.
She stared at her hands and tried to hold them steady, but could not completely quell the tremors. If she were going to operate on this man, she would need a little something to settle her nerves. She had hoped it wouldn't have come to it, but it had. From her hip pocket, she withdrew a silver flask and unscrewed the cap.
“Just one,” she whispered.
Kate glanced at her. They locked eyes. Andrea looked away first, embarrassed. Her hand shook, and she tried to put the flask down, but couldn't bring herself to do so. Raising the flask to her lips, she held it there. Her hands shook even worse. The smell of the fragrant alcohol was overpowering, the temptation too great.
She tried. Oh, how she tried. But her resolve crumbled. She tilted the flask until she felt the raspy burn of the home-brewed alcohol begin to claw its way down her throat. She took another swig and closed the bottle.
“Medicine,” she said, keeping her eyes cast on the patient.
Kate wordlessly held the gauze in place.
Tomorrow, Andrea promised herself. Tomorrow, she would be stronger.
Footsteps ticked outside the small office. She shifted so she was closer to Kate.
The door burst open, and two men shoved a third through the doorway.
“O positive,” one of the two said.
“Come on, Jackson, man. I don't wanna.”
“You have been volunteered. So, sit the hell down, shut up, and let the Doc take care of everything.”
“No!”
The first man who had spoken, Jackson, leaned forward and punched the reluctant man in the stomach, causing him to ooof and double over.
“Hey, hey. No need for that,” she said.
“Now sit down,” Jackson said to the man. “Or I'll make you a puller next week. Got it?”
The man nodded furiously and sat on a metal fold-up chair.
“We'll be outside, Doc, in case you need us. Make sure they both live. And I don't want to hear any whining or screaming. Got that, Zeb?”
Andrea looked at the man wordlessly. Jackson balled his hand into a fist and threatened Zeb with it before leaving through the open door and slamming it behind him.
“Roll up your sleeve,” Andrea said
Zeb gave her a nasty look.
“You want me to call him back?”
“I don't take orders from no woman, 'specially such an ugly-assed, goat-faced bitch like you.”
“You'll take your orders from me. No choice. Jesus, I don't have time for this shit. Now roll up your sleeve, or I'll cut your balls off.”
“You wouldn't do that, bitch!”
“Try me.”
Zeb hesitated for a moment but finally shook his head and began rolling up his sleeve. On his arm was a poorly rendered tattoo of a topless woman in a hula skirt.
Andrea suppressed a grin.
“Do it, bitch. Jus' get it over with.”
After fetching a needle from her bag, she moved to stand in front of Zeb. She alternated her attention between the grimacing Zeb and the stoic Kate, checking to make sure her assistant was keeping the blood-soaked gauze pressed against the open leg wound.
She addressed Zeb. “Let me have your arm.”
Zeb hesitated again, but after a long consideration, stuck his arm out, drew in a deep breath, and turned his head to stare at the wall.
“Now hold still, because I promise you this is going to hurt. It will hurt real bad.”
Zeb spun his head back to look at her. His eyes went wide. “What?”
“Don't be such a pussy.”
“I'm not. I'm… I'm—”
Andrea ignored his stuttering. She could feel the effects of the alcohol steadying her hand. She tapped the bend his arm until a thick, bulging vein appeared and then stabbed just to the right of it and drove the needle in up to her fingernails.
Zeb flinched and yanked his arm away, slamming it into the back of his chair.
“Owww! You bitch!”
“I told you to keep still.”
“No, you ain't sticking that in my arm again, bitch. No way.”
“Hey out there. I need your help,” Andrea said loudly enough to be heard outside the room.
Seconds later, the door burst open, and Jackson and another man stepped inside. Zeb melted into his chair.
“He's being uncooperative. Can you hold him still for me?”
Jackson and the other man glanced at each other then came over and straddled Zeb.
“Hey,” Zeb said. “I'm cooperating, man. Please, don't.”
The men held Zeb steady. Andrea inserted the needle effortlessly into the largest vein on Zeb's arm. She flattened it against the skin and taped it off with a piece of orange-colored duct tape. Blood began to trickle into a clear plastic tube.
“See, you're a pussy, Zeb. She's good.”
She let the blood fill the tube and force out the air before adding a needle to the other end and jabbing it in the arm of the unconscious man.
“This won't kill 'em, will it?” Jackson asked.
“No, but it will make him lightheaded and woozy.”
Jackson beamed a malicious, knowing smile.
The door opened again, surprising everyone in the room. David walked through, followed by Cyrus, followed by a heavy tension that caused everyone to go rigid at once. David glanced at her and shook his head ever so slightly. She knew trouble had arrived.
“Doctor… Kate. So nice to see you both,” Cyrus said. “I was told you were working, and I wanted to come offer my personal support.” His gaze roamed the room. “Is he going to live?”
“Yes,” Andrea said, swallowing hard. “But I'm almost certain I will have to take the leg.”
“His leg, huh?” Cyrus said. His lips rubbed together, and he folded his hands behind his back.
“I should use some anesthetic for the pain. And I'll need antibiotics, too. I'm sure of that. Or he will risk infection.”
“Anesthetic, antibiotics,” Cyrus repeated, nodding. “Well, you're the expert there.” He bent and stooped to look in her medical kit. He reached inside and came back with a long thin blade she used when a scalpel would not cut deep enough. He unsheathed it and tested it on his thumb then held up the blade and bobbed the tip around as if he were conducting an orchestra.
Andrea tensed further and inched her way closer to Kate. He couldn't just kill the man, could he? Then she realized that was a dumb question to be asking herself. Yes, yes, of course he could. And would. She saw it plain as day and glanced at Kate. Realization dawned on her. This was about her. This was about testing Kate with one of his little games.
The man on the table was already dead. He just didn't yet know it yet.
Still, she had to try to derail Cyrus while not pissing him off. “I think I can save him,” she said. “Maybe we can do this without antibiotics. He's already out, so we can skip the anesthetic. Just some time. And maybe some alcohol to deaden the pain.” She tried to say the la
st part in passing, hoping he wouldn't notice.
Cyrus stroked his chin with a finger. “But it is your time that is so valuable, Doctor. I might need you for something else, something more worthy of your talents. You are critical to all of us. You do know that, right? I consider you one of the most important people here. You're far more important to me than him.” Cyrus indicated toward the unconscious man with the blade of the knife. He then glanced at Kate and grinned. “How's she coming along?”
“Fine,” Andrea replied. “Just fine. She's a huge help. Learns fast. I think in a few weeks she'll be ready. Maybe do a stitch or two on her own, or look after patients.”
“Is that so? Well, then, she was indeed a beneficial addition to our family.” He tapped the flat side of the blade against his other hand twice and then pointed the tip at Andrea. “I don't mean to question your methods, but I do need brother Zeb for something else today. I can't have him giving up his blood for this. So, if the prognosis is bad, it is best to tell me now.”
Andrea said nothing.
Cyrus moved to the left of Zeb and touched the needle and the blood-filled tube that ran between the two men.
She inched closer to her patient. “This man will die if he doesn't get a transfusion.”
Cyrus fondled the plastic tube between his fingers. He lifted it away from Zeb's arm just enough to make the man squirm. “Maybe this is a good lesson for our young Kate. Death is everywhere. If this man is strong enough to survive on his own, then he deserves our praise. If not, well, perhaps he does not deserve to live.”
Andrea started to answer, but stopped and watched instead. Cyrus placed a hand on David's shoulder and left it there. A twitch rippled across Cyrus's lips as he gently shook David, who responded to the gesture with a drooling half-smile.
Cyrus turned back to the man on the table. David's eyes flicked to Andrea in warning, as if to say, Keep quiet.
Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 Page 20
