by D. J. Molles
Lee breathed deep, trying to rid his stomach of that leaden feeling. “I guess we have to wait until dark.”
LaRouche opened his door. “That would be advisable. In the meantime, I’ll introduce you to Deputy Shumate and maybe we can talk about helping each other.”
Lee felt strange to simply dismiss the situation like that. But he could see the sergeant had a point. As Harper and Miller and Lee had just witnessed, the hordes were too large to contend with. It would be impossible to kill them all. The only present solution was to wait until dark and sneak out to check on Doc and Josh.
“Okay,” he opened his door and stepped out.
Reluctantly, Harper and Miller followed.
LaRouche pointed to their rifles. “Let’s go ahead and leave those in the car for now. I’m sure Deputy Shumate won’t mind you guys havin’ them, but he likes to have the say-so. You don’t want to start on the wrong foot with him.”
The other two men looked to Lee for approval.
Lee nodded, depositing his own rifle in the front seat.
When all the rifles were secured in the car, Lee realized he was tense, expecting LaRouche to use that moment to betray them, pull his sidearm, and capture them. But LaRouche only nodded. “Alright, come on in.”
CHAPTER 14: THE HOSPITAL
They followed the sergeant to a steel door where he knocked twice.
“Who is it?” a muffled voice demanded.
“LaRouche, asshole.” The sergeant leaned on the door frame. “Grapefruit.”
The door clanked open. Lee assumed “grapefruit” was some sort of code word. The man on the other side of the door was a tall, rat-faced man, with strangely long fingers wrapped around a shotgun. He looked at the men from Camp Ryder with narrowed eyes, still standing in the doorway.
“Who’re they?” His voice was gravelly.
LaRouche threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Couple more survivors.”
“More mouths to feed,” but it sounded like mo mahths.
A Cajun accent, perhaps?
LaRouche just stared for a long moment. “So, can we come in?”
Still staring at them with his beady rat eyes, the man stepped out of the way and allowed them to pass. They entered a stairwell where the air was slightly dank and cooler than it felt outside, almost like a cellar should be. The party descended two floors and stopped at a door marked with the number 4. Beyond that landing, the stairwell below them was blocked with jumbles of concertina wire, ostensibly to prevent anyone from coming up.
LaRouche opened the door and they all stepped inside the hospital.
It was dim inside, but not dark. They were on the floor of a nondescript ward, the outer walls bearing large windows that let in the diffused light from the cloudy day outside. Adding to the muted glow were red emergency lights, the kind that popped on when the hospital was completely out of power.
“Did your genny run out?” Lee asked, looking at the emergency lighting.
“Not just yet.” LaRouche led them to a nurses’ station. “One of the guys here is an electrician. He rigged up the wiring so we wouldn’t use so much fuel burning lights and bullshit like that. Now these fucking emergency lights are on all the time. They’ll start to get on your nerves.” LaRouche sneered. “But we only use the genny to keep electricity running to the sliding doors on the bottom level. They’re designed to open in case of a power outage, so we have to keep a current running through them at all times or we might get some unwanted guests.”
It finally made sense why LaRouche had decided to risk a day trip to get the diesel fuel. The alternative was to run raggedly close to the “E” line and possibly lose power to the doors. What didn’t make sense was why LaRouche had ventured out on his own? Lee thought about what the sergeant had said about his fellow survivors. It seemed that maybe LaRouche just didn’t trust any of them enough to accompany him.
At the nurses’ station, LaRouche put his hands on the countertop and nodded to two men on the other side. They were both middle-aged men with pistols stuck in their waistbands. One was a little shorter than the other with dark hair, and the other was taller and leaner looking, with a mop of straw-colored hair. They both looked less than enthusiastic, and Lee guessed that they were on guard duty.
LaRouche raised two fingers as a greeting. “Gentlemen. Where’s Shumate?”
The short, dark-haired guy eyeballed the three newcomers and then jerked his head back behind him. “He’s down the hall with Darryl, tryin’ to figure out the power situation.”
“Diesel fuel, right?” Lee asked, giving a sidelong look at Harper, who returned a discreet nod.
The short man quirked his brow. “You say that like you know where to find some.”
Lee plastered on a dimwitted smile. “Can we speak with Deputy Shumate?”
The tall man and the short man exchanged a look, and then they both shrugged.
“Sure,” the tall man said. “I’ll get him.”
He turned and walked down the hall, his movements like that of a stork.
Lee stretched his tired back and shifted his weight, leaning on the counter with one arm. He learned the name of the shorter man was Javier. For the most part, the people seemed accustomed to new faces. There was a slight level of interest in Lee and the other newcomers, but nowhere near the scrutiny he’d received at Camp Ryder. Perhaps they had survivors joining their ranks with more regularity than Camp Ryder did, or perhaps they had a lot of people pass through.
To Javier, Lee said: “So, do you know most everyone in your group?”
Javier placed his palms on the counter and smiled. He was affable, but he also wasn’t volunteering much information and when Lee asked for it, he became guarded. “I know a few.”
“I’m looking for a specific person.”
Javier’s face remained stolid.
Lee continued, cautiously. “There’s a woman in the group I came from. Her name is Marie and she thinks her sister Julia is here in Smithfield.”
Rather than answering, Javier looked to LaRouche. “These guys straight?”
LaRouche looked at them and shrugged. “They seem okay to me.”
Javier looked back at Lee. “Yeah, we got a Julia, but I don’t know if she’s the one you’re looking for.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll talk with her.”
From around the corner came a man in a dirty white t-shirt tucked into brown pants with a gold stripe that immediately pegged him as a Sheriff’s Deputy. He wasn’t wearing a gun belt, like Lee had expected, but instead just had his service pistol shoved in the front of his waistband like the others. At first glance he seemed like an okay guy, perhaps a little young, maybe somewhat naive. But as he got closer Lee could see into his eyes and didn’t like what he saw there. It was the look of scared prey, the look of someone barely holding it together. Someone on the verge of cracking.
He walked up and put his hands on his hips, not bothering to greet them. He made eye-contact with each of them and started nodding the type of nod that says, okay, I see how it is. The man’s upper lip quivered like he was barely controlling a snarl. Then he turned his gaze on LaRouche.
“These some friends of yours?” The words were spat out.
LaRouche stared straight ahead, blandly. “Yeah. Old army buddies.”
Lee decided to step in, since it seemed there was bad-blood between LaRouche and Deputy Shumate. Whatever was between the two of them, he didn’t want it to affect his relationship with Shumate. He extended his hand. “Sir, I’m Captain Harden of the United States Army and these are my friends from another group of survivors.” Shumate took Lee’s hand somewhat reluctantly while the captain continued. “I’m here to see what type of assistance I can render to your group.”
That gave Shumate pause. He released Lee’s hand and retracted it back to his hip. His eyes squinted with suspicion. “Yeah, that’s what the last guy said, and that ain’t been nothing but trouble since.”
Lee’s brow furrowed. “The last guy?”
<
br /> Shumate looked like he was calculating an answer, but LaRouche took over. “Captain, you were asking about our diesel fuel situation. Are you just curious, or do you have something to offer us?”
Lee took a small step back so that Harper was by his side. “Well, that’s not my deal to make. This is Harper, he’s kind of the second in command at the other camp.” Lee looked at him. “Harper?”
Harper took a moment to think, and Lee hoped he would choose his words carefully. They still didn’t know how this group operated, and there was always the possibility that once they learned that Camp Ryder had diesel fuel, they would just attempt to take it by force.
Harper finally spoke. “We may have a way of getting a significant supply of diesel fuel to you.”
Shumate’s jaw worked back and forth. For a group of survivors like this, the hospital likely had stores of food and water and medicine. That made finding diesel fuel their biggest survival priority, and Lee could see that even the mention of a “significant supply” of diesel fuel was enough to make Shumate more cordial.
“Diesel fuel, huh? You want to trade diesel fuel.” The deputy rubbed his stubbled chin. “How much do you have?”
Harper shook his head. “We’ll talk numbers when you put something on the table.”
Lee leaned into Harper. “Talk to you real quick?”
They took a few steps away and huddled together, conferring in hushed tones. Miller was excluded from the deals, but he didn’t seem to care and was just leaning against the counter, looking about as bored as LaRouche.
Lee whispered first. “How do you want to work this?”
Harper grimaced. “I don’t like making a deal without Bus.”
“Too bad,” Lee said simply. “Bus ain’t here and you are.”
Harper hung his head. “Shit, I’d just as soon pay it forward. We’re getting loads of supplies from you, so there really isn’t anything they can give us that we can’t get from you.”
“True, but that’s not advisable.” Lee took a glance over his shoulder where Shumate and LaRouche stood, staring at them. Javier and his friend were no longer there. “We’re trying to make a deal here, because no one wants to feel like they owe someone else. Mutual support is what you want. A fair trade.”
Harper looked lost. “But what do we need?”
“How about a safe place?” Lee suggested. “We’re going to be making supply runs back and forth for a bit until Camp Ryder can get on their feet. Smithfield could be very useful if we were welcome to crash here any time. They’re very secure from what I can tell, and they seem to have their shit together for the most part. In the long run, if we can power this place, we might be able to actually use some of the medical equipment here.”
“The diesel tanker in exchange for safe lodgings whenever we need them,” Harper clarified.
“It’s up to you, but I think it’ll be a good deal.”
“Okay.” Harper seemed resolute now. “We’ll do it.”
The two men stood and walked back to the nurses’ station. Shumate tapped his foot impatiently as they stepped back up. “So? What’s going on? How much fuel can you get your hands on?”
“The getting will be the easy part,” Harper said truthfully. “Basically, we want our groups to be friends. We want to give you some communication equipment so we can talk back and forth. And we can supply you with plenty of diesel fuel. In exchange, we would like to be able to use Smithfield as a stopover point whenever we need to.”
“How much diesel?” Shumate repeated.
Harper clearly did not want to be pinned down to a number, because if he just blurted out that they had 7,000 gallons of diesel fuel, it would be obvious that it was in one location. Then all Shumate would have to do is find out where. Instead, Harper put it in terms of time. “Let’s just say we can get enough to keep you going indefinitely.”
“Indefinitely is a big word.” Shumate’s face pinched up. “Can you be more specific?”
“Two years,” Harper said finally. “Give or take some.”
It was obvious that Shumate would have liked to say something about that, but he didn’t want to reveal how ecstatic he was about even the possibility of getting enough fuel to last for two years. Finding supplies of diesel fuel could not have been easy for the Smithfield group. Having such an enormous amount just dropped on their lap was like winning the lottery.
But Shumate played it cool. “Two years, and you want to just drop in unannounced anytime you want and receive a warm welcome?”
Harper shook his head. “If you take some radio equipment, we’ll be able to maintain contact, so there won’t be any dropping in unannounced. And we won’t come in to clean out your food and water. We just want a safe place to stay if we need it.”
Shumate pretended to consider it further, but Lee could see in his eyes that the decision was already made. He couldn’t give a shit about letting people stay here, as long as they were bringing him that precious liquid gold.
He was extending his hand to shake on the deal when Javier reappeared around the corner. The shorter man’s eyes darted to Lee and gave him a look that Lee didn’t like, causing his stomach to tighten. “Hey, Shumate...”
“What is it?” Shumate turned, annoyed.
“Yeah, um...” Javier mumbled, still staring at Lee. “Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”
Shumate followed Javier’s eyes and looked the three newcomers up and down briefly, as though sizing up whether they were a threat or not. Then he shrugged and followed Javier partially around the corner. Lee could still see Shumate’s back and hear the hushed and urgent tones, though he couldn’t make out the words.
Harper raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
Lee kept his words quiet. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
Lee cleared his throat and looked around the room, breathing evenly to maintain his calm and trying to keep a look of neutrality. He counted six men with guns, including LaRouche, Shumate, and Javier. They all had pistols. Two of the others in the room held shotguns, and the last a hunting rifle. They were all staring at Lee and his two companions.
LaRouche turned and rested his elbows on the counter, paying more attention now to Shumate and Javier and their whispered conversation. The sergeant inclined his head as though trying to eavesdrop.
Be calm, Lee told himself. It’s probably nothing.
But to Harper, he murmured casually, “Still got the 22?”
Harper spoke casually. “Yup. You?”
Lee nodded. He’d almost left the pistol in the truck, but decided it might be a nice backup weapon, so he squirreled it away underneath his tactical vest. Of course, they were still woefully outnumbered and outgunned. If it came down to that.
It won’t come down to that, Lee told himself.
Then why is my pulse skyrocketing?
Lee watched Shumate as the deputy leaned back around the corner, just slightly, and glanced at Lee. They were giving an awful lot of attention to him, and not Miller or Harper. Lee thought about the GPS device he’d stowed deep in his backpack. Protectively, he cinched the straps of his pack a little tighter. The tension in his gut became a sick feeling. That feeling of knowing what is about to happen but stubbornly hoping that it won’t.
Maybe it was just paranoia.
It appeared the conversation between Shumate and Javier had ended. Shumate seemed to stand there, as though he were weighing his options. Finally, Shumate turned and began walking back to the nurses’ station, his head down as though still deep in thought. Lee watched him closely as he approached and saw the movement of his eyes, glancing to the men with shotguns that sat behind Lee. That little look was followed by the slightest of nods, and Lee knew that it was not just paranoia.
Lee’s hand swept to his vest, but Shumate was quick with his service pistol and in a flash Lee was staring down the barrel.
“Put your hands up!” Shumate yelled.
Lee
complied, because he could see the deputy’s finger tight on that trigger.
“What are you doing?” Lee tried to keep his voice even. As he spoke, he thought about snatching the gun away from the deputy. But Shumate was no fool and had distanced himself so that Lee was just outside of arm’s reach. Behind him, Lee could hear the other men approaching quickly, and Lee recognized that his options were rapidly dwindling.
He couldn’t just lay down without a fight.
He felt a rough hand grab him by his arm.
Lightening quick, Lee seized hold of whoever had grabbed his arm and then swung around so that his attacker was between him and Shumate. He reared back and planted a boot in the man’s chest, sending him sprawling into Shumate. The two men cried out and tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
The force of the kick set Lee off balance and he had to turn and plant his feet to recover, but then the momentum was already carrying him towards the door. Trying to keep his feet under him, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Harper and Miller were standing stock still.
Why weren’t they moving?
Why weren’t they moving?!
He twisted to see as his hand reached out to throw the stairwell door open. Harper’s hand was hovering over his hip as he looked to his left. There, LaRouche held Miller firmly by the collar, the muzzle of his Beretta touching just behind Miller’s ear, and the sergeant looked at Lee, his lips moving rapidly.
“Stop or I blow his fucking brains out!”
Lee’s hand wavered in empty air where the door should have been, eyes still locked on LaRouche. The sergeant’s expression was born of both confusion and determination. Hanging there in that split-second, still waiting for his hand to hit the door, Lee wondered to himself, Is this for real? Is he really going to shoot Miller?
What his hand finally found was someone’s chest, and then it was sliding off and Lee felt his feet go out from under him and his vision turned briefly gray. Strange how even as he could only see sparkling whorls and eddies in his vision, he could still hear someone shouting.
“Don’t kill him! We need him alive!”
