Afterbirth (29 page)

Miranda pushed herself up on her elbows and strained to listen to what she could’ve sworn were voices coming through the wall. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but she’d lost enough blood to feel exhausted, lightheaded, and weak.

You have to find Amelie.

Maternal instinct drove her past her own pain and sickness toward a singular purpose she’d die to fulfill. She set Scott’s pistol down on the bed and plucked at the edge of the tape holding her I.V. in place. Her skin burned and the thought occurred to her that pulling the line, discontinuing the medication, might restart the bleeding. It was a risk she was willing to take. She scratched the loose edge until there was a large enough tail for her to yank the tape off. A soft, plastic tube jutted from her skin. She pressed her arm tight to her body as she pulled it from her vein. The momentary pain quickly subsided.

She scooted to the end of the gurney and slid until her feet hit the floor. Blood trickled down her legs, already sticky with a dried layer that made her skin feel taut. The swelling in her ankles had lessened, but the first few steps still hurt. Gravity took hold of her post-partum body. Her stomach sagged in a fleshy half-moon and the now ill-fitting maternity dress hung on her as if she were wearing the clothes of someone larger.

She shuffled to the door and held the knob for a moment to get her bearings before walking into the hall. The moment she opened the door, the voices became louder. Someone else was being held several rooms away and she made her way toward them.

It was Allison, Zach’s wife, and Zach was with her.

Miranda stopped in the doorway and aimed the pistol at Michael, who was washing his hands at the sink. She scanned for Amelie and found only the trunk and a box of supplies.

“Where is she?” she asked. “What did you do with my daughter?”

Michael swallowed and reached for the gun. “Miranda, what are you doing? Give me that.”

Her hands shook and she refused to budge.

Zach stood up from Allison’s bedside and she pointed the pistol at him. “Don’t you dare move, Zach. This doesn’t concern you.” She turned it back on Michael who had taken a step closer. “Stay where you are. Don’t take another fucking step. Where’s Amelie?”

Michael shook his head.

“What did you do with her?” Spit flung from her mouth as she spoke.

“She’s fine. I didn’t hurt her, Miranda. I swear it.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Zach said. “She’s with John.”

Allison moaned. Her eyes rolled open and called Zach’s attention.

Infant cries erupted in the hallway and Michael sighed, seemingly relieved.

Miranda backed out of the room.

John appeared in the stairwell, his messy brown curls covering part of his face and his eyes red from crying.

Miranda lowered the gun and rushed over to him, refusing to acknowledge her pain as she snatched Amelie from him. She buried her face against her daughter’s neck and held her tight. Relieved tears poured from her and she sobbed, vowing to never let her out of her sight again.

“What, did you get lost?” Zach asked John.

John shrugged. “I had to go around a mess in the stairs.”

Miranda adjusted her dress and immediately set Amelie to nursing. She could tell she was starving and the warm milk both soothed her and gave Miranda comfort.

Michael brought out a chair and Miranda sat down.

“I didn’t mean to take her.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “I didn’t know what else to do.” He reached down and moved Miranda’s hand lower on Amelie’s hip. “I had to take a marrow sample.” Miranda immediately bristled and he held up his hand. “I was very careful and she’ll be fine. There’s a needle mark, that’s it.” Zach called for Michael to come into Allison’s room. “She’s saved two lives already.”

“Your son?” Miranda asked.

Michael lowered his head. “It was too late for him.”

“Come on, get in here,” Zach said. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Miranda nodded for him to go and closed her eyes while Amelie ate and drifted off to sleep.

Two lives
, he had said.

If Allison was one, who was the other?

Scott stepped into the elevator at the basement floor and pushed the button marked “1”. His plan was to methodically go through each level, starting at the bottom, in hopes of flushing Reid out.

In a place as large as the center, a search party of one seemed almost pointless.

He had his reasons for wanting Reid dead, Nixon had been right about that much. Miranda and Amelie would never be safe as long as the grudge between them continued.

Finding him, however, proved harder than Scott expected.

The elevator door opened and Scott stepped into the lobby.

The automatic doors slid open and a cross-breeze swept through the first floor. The generator hummed behind the center and Scott wondered if maybe Reid had holed up temporarily in one of the outbuildings.

He kept both hands on his pistol as he walked, slowly, toward Central Receiving. The roll-up door had been warped during the fire and hung partially open. He ducked underneath it and immediately noted the carnage.

Three bodies lay on the pavement, the remains of an undead landscaping crew, all wearing the same brown uniforms. Each had been shot in the head, two of them twice. A lawnmower had been knocked on its side and a pool of gasoline surrounded it. A bloody rake sat in front of the threshold of a white shed whose doors were closed, but not locked.

“Gotcha.”

He slowly pulled the left shed door wide open. The rusty hinge squealed and the thin, wooden floor creaked. Old tools, discarded medical supplies, and equipment were piled on top of each other and the cramped space stunk of moldy grass. Scott took aim at the sobbing mess hiding in the corner. A sliver of skin was visible in the shadows above the collar of a navy blue uniform that was almost indiscernible in the dark.

“Come out,” Scott said. “I see you in there.” He squinted, looking for the telltale tattoos. “Reid, I said come out of there.”

The man turned his face into the light. It wasn’t Reid.  A jagged scar extended from the corner of his eye to his chin and was covered in scratch marks. White spots dotted his cornea, and though Scott couldn’t see a bite mark, it was clear Corey was infected.

“Help me,” he whispered. Scott put his finger on the trigger and Corey held up his hands. “Please, no. Nixon promised me.”

“Promised you what?” Scott asked.

“The cure, if he lived to find it.”

“Lived? What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he be alive?”

Corey shivered. “Because he’s been bit.”

“Shit!” The realization struck Scott that Miranda was in grave danger and he felt sick for not noticing it. He fired a round into Corey’s head, killing him instantly, and ran to warn her, terrified he was already too late. His whole body shook as he ducked under the door and broke for the stairs. He thought about how Nixon had looked, about his bandaged hand, and the half-assed story about cutting it on a file cabinet.
How could he have been so stupid?
He threw open the nearest door and ran as fast as he could toward the second floor. The stairwell put him out at the far end from where Miranda was and as soon as he opened the fire door, Nixon’s guards, Joe and Paul, were on him.

“Stop right there.” Joe, the one who reminded him most of Reid, set his sight on Scott’s chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Paul’s hair fell over his face and he brushed it back. “Following orders,” he said. “Put down your weapon.”

Scott shook his head. “Not a chance. Where’s Nixon?”

“I said, drop your weapon.” Paul moved a few steps closer and a door opened behind him.

Growls echoed from the room, the kind of guttural noise that made the undead sound feral. Reid stepped into the hallway and aimed at Paul’s head.

“There’s been a change in plans,” he said. Scott drew his eyebrows together, confused by the fact that Reid seemed to be on his side. “You got this one?” he asked.

Scott nodded and kept his pistol pointed at Paul.

Reid turned toward Joe and smirked. “Nixon must’ve really missed me.” Even he saw the resemblance.

“You’re really making this easy for us,” said Joe. “Nixon wants you both dead.” He set his sight so that the red dot rested steadily in the center of Reid’s forehead. “And here you are, two for one.”

Reid fired two rounds into Joe’s chest without warning and a third into Paul’s head. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Scott’s mouth fell open. He immediately closed it and wiped the blood from his face.

Reid holstered his gun and stretched the shoulder Scott had shot him in almost seven months earlier. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m sick of Nixon’s orders.” He looked into the room behind him, shrugged, and started to walk away.

Everything had happened so fast it took Scott a minute to make sense of things. “What the hell was that about?”

Reid stood at the stairwell’s threshold. “Call us even. It’s a clean slate. Miranda’s daughter saved my life. The least I could do was give her a father.”

Amelie startled awake and then fell immediately back asleep.

Three loud
bangs
, like gun shots, echoed down the hall.

“Oh my God, Scott.” Miranda covered up and lifted her so that her head rest against her shoulder.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” John said. “Might’ve run into something, but he can handle himself.”

Zach ran out of Allison’s room. “We have to get out of here.” He grabbed a wheelchair from in front of the defunct nurse’s station and eased Allison into it.

Miranda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Michael, we can’t just leave Scott here.”

Michael shook his head. “I can’t leave, period.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Please, we have to make sure he’s all right.” She stood up too quickly and had to wait a second for the temporary dizziness to pass.

“Are you all right?” John asked. “Do you want me to get you a wheelchair?”

“Come on.” Zach pushed Allison, who bordered on lucid, down the hall.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Go with Zach. I’ll catch up.” Miranda stared at Michael, desperate for help. “Please,” she said. “What if he’s hurt?”

“He won’t be. John’s right, Scott’s tough.” He set his hand on the trunk with his son inside of it. “All I have now is medicine and there’s work to do here. Go. Find Scott and leave.”

“Miranda, come on.” John was already halfway down the hall.

“And what about Amelie? What if something happens because of…” She searched for the right words. “Because of where she came from?”

Michael set his hand on the infant’s head. “Then you know where to find me.” He handed her Scott’s gun, which had been under her leg on the chair, and nodded for her to leave.

John waited for her to catch up, and as they moved down the hall after Zach, Scott ran toward them. Blood spattered his clothes and face.”

“Oh my God, are you hurt?” she asked. “What happened?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” He waved for them to follow him.

Zach was the first to the room. He faced Allison’s chair away and stared, in shock. “Holy shit.” He covered his mouth with his hand.

Miranda stepped around Nixon’s two dead guards and Scott held her back from getting too close.

“Is Amelie all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I think so. What’s going on in there?”

Zach moved out of the way for her to see.

Nixon thrashed against the four-point restraints holding him securely to the bed. His lab coat was soaked with blood and one of his fingers was practically a stump. A pile of gauze lay on the bed next to him. He gnashed his teeth and growled, aggressing toward those looking in at him.

“He didn’t cut his hand,” Scott said. “The asshole got himself bit.”

An empty syringe lay on the floor next to the bed.

“And you tried to save him?”

Nixon’s white eyes said he was well beyond saving.

“No,” Scott said. “I don’t suspect it was anything like that.”

“Then you found him like this? What happened?”

When he didn’t answer, she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“The question is what happens next?”

Zach moved Allison a couple feet further and aimed his gun at Nixon’s head. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Zach, wait. Don’t.” Miranda handed Amelie to Scott. 

Zach looked at her, confused. “You want to do it?”

She took a last long look at the man responsible for everything that had happened, a man who had never showed her compassion, and shook her head. “It’s too easy an end. He doesn’t deserve the mercy.” She pulled the blue curtain over the window, locked the door, and pulled it shut. “Let him starve.”