To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  “Boss, hold tight. We’ll get you to Dr. Jerrod in a few minutes. The bleeding has stopped, and you have some broken ribs. I don’t know if you have a concussion from slamming the back of your head into the concrete floor or if your disorientation is just the flashbang and getting shot,” Tom said.

  “I can finally hear you,” I said. “Anyone else hurt?”

  “No, you win the prize today. Allen only made it a few steps before the guys took him down,” Tom said.

  “Allen?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he showed up here yesterday. Told everyone we’d kill everyone, so they might as well fight to the end,” Tom said. “Not your problem, now. You are out on Medical. Zeke’s calling the shots now. At least until Roger gets here.”

  That felt alright. Even the sharp turns and hard bounces weren’t enough to keep me awake. I suspected Tom gave me something.

  I vaguely remember being carried off the Humvee. Not enough to figure out what was going on. After all, I was just along for the ride. I thought briefly I should get up and help. But not enough to make any effort.

  Then Dr. Jerrod was flashing lights in my eyes, making me blink. People were talking, but it was too difficult to pay attention.

  Someone was taking off my boots and pants. I tried to protest, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 5

  Whatever Tom gave me wore off, and I woke up with a start. I made the mistake of attempting to sit up, but the pain stopped me before I actually budged. My chest was on fire, and the ache was more than bone deep.

  Then my arm brushed against the bandage on my left side. I remembered the flashbang. I remembered being kicked in the chest. I didn’t remember anything happening on my side. Now the pain in my side was trying to out-hurt the pain in my chest.

  I’d been wounded before and knew the drill, pulling on relaxation techniques that helped me sleep in tough situations.

  I was still trying to settle my pain when Dr. Jerrod came in.

  “My boy, I thought you might be awake soon. I wasn’t as familiar with the use of ketamine on battle injuries as Tom. He and I had a nice chat. It seems an inspired choice, especially since we have stockpiles of it in the veterinary supplies too,” Dr. Jerrod said, checking my temperature, blood pressure, and pupils.

  “Your chest X-ray showed one broken rib and a cracked second one. I suspect you also have a bruised lung. I need to keep you here for a while to make sure your heart muscle wasn’t bruised, too. The body can usually work through this kind of thing on its own,” Dr. Jerrod said.

  “I’ll need you to breathe deeply, despite any discomfort to prevent pneumonia. You’ll know before I will when you can return to your morning PT. Don’t lift anything until it stops hurting. You rebreak that rib, and it will take twice as long to heal. Your lung should heal in a week or two,” Dr. Jerrod said. “Once that heals, I’ll let you set your own pace.”

  “What happened to my side?” I asked

  “It was a through and through,” Dr. Jerrod said, dismissively. “It bled a lot until Tom got it stopped. But you are a healthy young man, I’ll give you a few extra meal chits to rebuild your blood. It wouldn’t be a concern, but the bullet dragged bits of your gear with it on its journey. We will have to monitor for infection. Give it 10 days, then we’ll pull out the stitches.”

  About 10 days of downtime was better than I’d feared.

  “I’m going to give you an herbal remedy to help you deal with the pain and sleep,” Dr. Jerrod said. “We need to save the drugs we can’t replace for the more serious cases. Although I’m hoping to get a small field of opium poppies planted this spring. We are going to need it long term.”

  Dr. Jerrod gave me a small cube of chocolate and had me eat it. I loved chocolate, so it was worth it. Dr. Jerrod patted my hand, saying, “If you need help, ring the bell on the table to your right.”

  I was horribly embarrassed, but I blurted out, “I need to pee!”

  “Of course, you do,” Dr. Jerrod said. “I think Tom is still here, I’ll send him right in.”

  I felt sorry for Tom but having him hold the container was a lot better than having Dr. Jerrod or her nurse do it.

  Tom came in with the portable urinal and helped me shift to use it.

  Tom told me Beta was still in Oneida, reinforced by Gamma and holding the Walmart. Our prisoners were on the bus. He’d replenished his medic bag and was waiting for a ride back to Oneida. He also made it clear that if I wanted further details, I needed to talk with my dad.

  “Make sure we get all the coffee, motor oil, brake fluids, antifreeze, oil filters, air filters, fan belts and that type of thing we can. I suspect we’ll be turning the store over to the locals. We need to skim what we can. I also saw a lot of plastic containers. My mom can always use them and plastic bags of every variety.” I don’t know why I was rambling.

  “Coffee?” Tom asked.

  “Yeah, I deserve coffee more than the people in Oneida do. All the tea, too. Some people can’t stand blackberry leaf tea,” I said.

  “Okay, Boss, I’ll let them know,” Tom said.

  “Toys for the kids would be nice. Paper, pens, pencils, art supplies, crossword puzzle books,” I said yawning. Whatever Dr. Jerrod gave me was more effective than blackberry leaf tea. “Be safe,” I said as my mind let me sleep.

  I woke up and immediately saw my mom sitting in the chair beside me. She didn’t notice I’d awakened and I studied her for a moment unobserved. The room was dim, but she was highlighted in a pool of light from the lamp beside her. She was tapping rapidly on the laptop perched on her knees. I realized the past two months had aged her. Why that surprised me, I didn’t know. The crash and its aftermath had aged us all. I only had to look at my two girls to realize that.

  My mom sensed I was awake and raised her head, catching my eye. The smile that lit up her face left me speechless. It also made me realize that my getting wounded had an impact beyond myself and my fellow warriors.

  “How are you feeling?” my mom asked.

  “Better than the last time I woke up,” I confessed. “What day is this?”

  “I hope that is just your wicked sense of humor. It’s just about 12 hours since you were wounded. Amelie said I could take you home to your girls when you woke up. She also warned you would be starving and thirsty when you awoke,” she said.

  “Is dad back from Oneida?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” my mom confessed, pouring a large glass of water, holding it out to me, waiting for me to sit up to drink it.

  I spotted the portable urinal and remembered I was naked under the sheet.

  My ribs throbbed and my side burned, but the pain lacked the sharp stabbing element it had before. I had a huge black bruise nearly as wide as my chest from my sternum to my stomach. I’d be interested to learn just what Allen shot me with. I would also have to mount the plate that saved my life in a place of honor. I’d just joined the plate club.

  My mom stood patiently by the bed holding the glass of water. I took it now that I was mostly sitting. I sipped it and then realized I was parched. I ended up chugging the glass, nearly triggering a coughing fit.

  My mom then grabbed the boxers off the bed and looked pointedly at me. I felt a flush of embarrassment I hadn’t felt in years.

  “Honey,” my mom said in her sweet but no-nonsense voice, “While I have no problem with a nudist lifestyle, I suspect you don’t want to embarrass your daughters. So, let me help you get into these boxers, or I’ll just call Amelie away from much more important duties to help you?”

  I gritted my teeth and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, carefully leaving the sheet strategically placed over my completely shrunken manhood. The rate it was shrinking I’d need tweezers to locate it.

  My mom threaded my feet through the leg holes in the shorts and handed them off near the sheet line for me to finish the operation. She diplomatically turned her back to me as she reached for a pair of sweat pants.
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  “I thought loose would be best,” my mom said, helping me pull them on. I stood up to pull them up the last few inches and swayed alarmingly.

  A sturdy pair of hands held my arms in place, gently guiding me to sit back down on the side of the bed. “I brought a pair of your dad’s slippers. I couldn’t find anything at your house without laces except rubber boots,” She said, sliding the slippers on my feet.

  “Amelie says you won’t be able to raise your arms for a few days, due to your ribs and bruises,” she said. “I thought this flannel shirt might be better for you.”

  She eased my left arm into the sleeve and then helped slip my right arm in place. I wouldn’t want to do that very often. I suspected I’d be sleeping in it tonight.

  “Let’s try standing you up again,” she said, standing next to me to make sure I didn’t fall.

  “It’s cold out so, wrap this blanket around your shoulders, I don’t think we need to deal with a coat just yet,” she said. “I have a golf cart parked at the door. Take your time, we aren’t in any hurry. Your granny won’t make your dinner until you get to the house.”

  “I told the girls that you got shot but were fine. Show them your bruise and your gauze. Nothing you can show them will be worse than what they have already imagined,” my mom said, shadowing me as I shuffled to the cart. “I told them you’d have been home when they got there, but Dr. Jerrod made you take a nap. They have both been put on nursing duties for the next few days, to help you.”

  I was gaining confidence with my footing as my body remembered how it worked. Sitting in the cart tweaked my ribs, but that couldn’t be helped. When I broke several ribs falling off a horse t age 15, I remembered it hurt like hell for weeks.

  My mom drove the golf cart at a sedate pace in my honor. I suspected her return trip would take a fraction of the time. I appreciated it, jarring my ribs was something I preferred to postpone for another day.

  “I’ll go in first,” my mom said, “to remind them not to hurt your ribs.”

  “How long have they been worrying?” I asked.

  “Not long, I told them when they were done with their assignments and headed home. I was worried one of the other kids would hear something and frighten them, but everyone maintained operational secrecy,” my mom said. “If you’d been awake, we’d have pulled them off their assignments and brought them to see you at the hospital room. I wanted to avoid that if we could. It’s much better for them to see you at home, even if you are moving slow. At least that is what convinced Amelie to let you go.”

  We pulled up to the mudroom door. My mom squirted ahead, and I continued to practice my walking skills. I was glad we brought the blanket because I suspected we’d be below freezing before long. We were lucky to have gotten rain and not snow…yesterday? It was hard to believe it had rained yesterday morning.

  I kept my blanket and went into the main house. My mom was sitting on the couch. Melissa and Jennifer were standing by my chair looking very subdued.

  “Hey I’m bruised not badly hurt,” I said. “But I could use a gentle hug.”

  Melissa skipped over and wrapped her arms around me softly. I’d never reveal to her how badly that jolted both the ribs and my bandage. I kissed the top of her head. Jennifer understood the injury a bit better and hugged my right arm, resting her head against my upper arm. That startled me, when did she get so tall? I kissed her and shuffled to sit gingerly in my recliner. I’d sleep here, tonight.

  I wondered where Joe, Billy, and Ellie were but suspected my mom’s machinations had them staying elsewhere tonight.

  When I started to wonder what Granny was doing in the kitchen, she brought in my recovery meal. Eggs, bacon, ham, and sausage, with a pair of corn tortillas and a spoonful of salsa. But no coffee, order of the doctor.

  I was in heaven and starved.

  “Dr. Jerrod said you needed a large high-protein meal to help your recovery,” granny said. “Since you napped through breakfast and supper,” she added for the girl’s benefit. “The girls are hanging around here tomorrow to help your recovery. But there will be no more special meals for you. I’ll expect to see you at breakfast and supper, tomorrow.”

  “I’m leaving the golf cart for you,” my mom said. “Until you can put real shoes on.”

  I didn’t object. It was probably good that granny announced I had to get up for breakfast. It would make it hard to let her down.

  “I forgot, Amelie doesn’t want you to get that dressing on your side wet, so no showers for a few days,” my mom said, nudging Jennifer to pick up my completely empty plate. “Your dad should be here any minute now, to help you with manly things. But,” she paused to make sure I was listening, “He can wait for his briefing until breakfast.”

  Right, keep my girls out of earshot.

  My dad walked in a few minutes later. He hugged all the women first before sitting next to me on the couch.

  “Bruises, a small wound, and some cracked ribs, not much worse than when Hercules threw me when I was 15,” I said. My dad rolled his eyes, remembering the injury quite well, but before he could answer, Jennifer cut in.

  “Daad, I didn’t know you were thrown from a horse,” said Jennifer. “Uncle George says you are an excellent horseman.”

  I wasn’t going to tell her the stunt that got me thrown. I sure didn’t want to give her any ideas.

  “I hear you may need me to help with manly things,” my dad said, struggling not to chuckle at the phrasing. I figured I didn’t need help anymore to pee, and I intended to wear these clothes until I could move my arms.

  I nearly turned him down when it dawned on me, he might not want a full briefing but he sure as hell wanted to talk to me without any youngsters in the room.

  “Yeah, I could use some manly help,” I said, easing out of my chair and shuffling my way to the boy’s dorm.

  “How are you doing?” he demanded seconds after closing the door to my room.

  “I’m good,” I said. “A helluva bruise, a broken rib, another might be cracked and a through and through on my side. I may be on limited duty for 10 days.”

  I could see my dad make an effort not to argue with me. Whether we were making progress or my mom had warned him to leave it, wasn’t clear.

  “What would you do with the ex-cops and their cohorts?” he asked.

  “Give them the school bus and an escort to the state line,” I said. “If you are feeling generous give the ladies who surrendered early a few pistols and a box of ammo for protection and some pellet guns for hunting. Take their pictures and promise to offer a bounty for them if they are ever found in Mecklin County. Hand them a spring seed package and suggest they settle on an abandoned farm.”

  “Do we need to offer a bounty?” my dad asked.

  “No, they just need to believe it, after what we did for Allen, they probably will,” I said. “If we want them to become self-sufficient, give them a few hoes, shovels, Dutch ovens, bricks for a rocket stove, some rice and dried beans, an assortment of food cans, a few knives, a box of matches, blankets, an axe, some gas cans for water, and a tarp. Hell, if they have to, they can find a place and live in the bus until spring.” For some reason, I couldn’t stop babbling.

  “I don’t know Jeremy, I’m not feeling very generous toward them,” my dad said.

  “Talk to those who surrendered early. We could send them off in the bus with some rudimentary survival tools. We could set the others loose with the clothes on their backs at the border. Or we shoot them. They wasted all that food, refusing to share it with the community. Have Roger talk with the firefighters who actually tried to help their neighbors and get their opinion,” I said.

  “Dad, I just don’t know what we should do anymore. Experts could never agree on how many Americans would die in this kind of crash, but the lowest estimate I saw was 50 percent, and the highest was 90 percent. These cops were selfish, hijacking resources that could have helped this community survive until summer. Are we ready to consider that a ca
pital crime? I’m sure some people in Oneida who might have lived, died cold and alone in their homes.”

  My dad rested his hand on my shoulder saying, “I don’t know either, son. I’ll call a council meeting, and we’ll decide the next steps. Heck, we could offer those who surrendered a place at Justice. Unfortunately, I think we just inherited a much bigger territory to help than I am ready for.” He turned and opened the door, “But if we don’t wrap up this manly thing, your mom is going to skin me alive.”

  “I’m told you had a list of things you gave Tom to make sure we took as our share of the Walmart loot?” he asked, joining the group in the living room.

  “Yeah, although I don’t remember the list,” I confessed, settling back in my chair. “I was a bit out of it.”