Читать книгу Till The World Ends: Dawn of Eden / Thistle & Thorne / Sun Storm - Julie Kagawa, Ann Aguirre - Страница 9

Chapter Two

It seemed only a few minutes had passed before someone touched my shoulder, jostling me awake. Blearily, I opened my eyes and glanced up at Maggie, who stood over me with a half-worried, half-reluctant expression.

“Yeah?” I mumbled, struggling to sit up.

“Sorry, Miss Kylie.” Maggie bit her lip. “But, I wanted to let you know, Mr. Johnson just passed away.”

I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my eyes, grief and anger and disappointment flaring up momentarily. “All right, I’ll be right out. Thank you, Maggie.”

She nodded and scurried away. Standing, I put my fingers to my temples, massaging the headache pounding behind my eyes.

Dammit. Another one lost. Another life taken by the plague, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Eric had been right; this was futile. Those people out there, coughing and gagging and fighting to breathe, they wouldn’t survive. Not at this stage of the virus. But I couldn’t abandon them. I’d promised my patients I would fight to the end, and that was what I was going to do.

Grabbing my coat, which I’d tossed on the desk before falling into unconsciousness, I walked out of the office.

And ran smack into a large, solid chest as I emerged, yawning and rubbing my face. With a yelp, I stumbled back, looking up into Ben Archer’s worried brown eyes.

“Sorry.” His deep voice held traces of alarm, and I gave him a wary look. “I need to talk to you. Something is wrong with Nate, and I don’t know what to do for him.”

My head pounded. The stress, disappointment, and looming sense of pointlessness were starting to get to me, but I put my feelings aside to focus on what I had to do.

“Walk with me.” I started down the hall, and he followed at my side. The clinic was dark now, as evening stole in through the door and cloaked everything in shadow. I could hear the generators out back, humming away, but we were running out of gas, and not much power was left for lights.

We reached the spot where Nathan was being kept, one of the smaller rooms that was separated from the main wing, away from the sick. A chair stood in the corner, probably where Ben had been sitting. Jenna hovered next to the patient, looking grim.

The man on the bed groaned, sounding delirious. He was definitely paler, and blood had soaked through the bandages on his arm. But what was most worrying was the red fluid seeping from beneath his eyelids. It oozed slowly over his cheeks, cutting two crimson paths down his skin, and it could be only one thing.

I swabbed it with a cotton ball, just to be sure. Yes, it was definitely blood. Ben came up behind me, peering over my shoulder.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I...don’t know.” Though I hated admitting it. Peeling back his lids, I shone a light over his pupils, checking for wounds or scratches. Nothing. “The only thing I can think of is a subconjunctival hemorrhage, or Ebola, as unlikely as that is. Sadly, the only way to know for sure would be to conduct blood tests, but we don’t have any way to do that here. We’ll just have to keep him under surveillance and see what happens.”

I caught a whiff of something foul, rotten, like the stench of a decaying animal, and my heart sank. Frowning, I shooed Ben out of the way and bent over the wounded man, gently unwrapping the gauze to see the wounds on his arm.

The wounds were clean. The skin around them was still puffy and red, but the bites themselves looked fine. Or at least not infected. And yet, I could still smell the faint stench of rot and decay that suggested gangrene or wounds that had gone septic.

Then I realized it wasn’t coming off his arm, but the body as a whole.

Puzzled, I cleaned and rebandaged the arm, feeling Ben’s worried eyes on me the whole time. Nathan groaned and tossed restlessly, and I finally gave him a shot of morphine to calm him down. As his tortured thrashing stilled and he drifted into a drugged sleep, I heard Ben take a ragged breath.

“He’s getting worse.”

I turned to face him, wiping my hands. “There’s no infection, as far as I can see. His fever is getting worse, yes, but we’ve done all we can for him now. We just have to wait and see if he pulls out of it.” Ben sagged, looking lost and hopeless, unsure what to do. Sinking into the chair, he ran both hands over his face and sighed.

I hesitated. Then, not really knowing why, I walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not giving up,” I told him softly. “And you shouldn’t, either. Why don’t you get some sleep? There’s an extra cot in the office if you need it. I’ll let you know if there are any changes.”

He looked up with a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he murmured. “But, if it’s all the same, I’d like to stay. I should be here if...anything happens to him.”

“Miss Kylie.” Maggie walked into the room. The petite intern smiled shyly at Ben before turning to me. “Sorry to interrupt, but Jenna wanted to know if you’d like us to move Mr. Johnson’s body to the back lot now or down to storage.”

I stifled a groan. “I don’t think Mr. Johnson will fit in any of the storage units we have down there,” I said, aware of how morbid this must sound to Ben. It had become so commonplace to us now, we didn’t even think about it anymore. “If you and Jenna will get him on a gurney, I’ll take him out back.”

She nodded and padded away, and Ben gave me a worried look. “Out back?”

“There’s an empty lot we’ve been using for body storage,” I said tiredly. “When the freezers downstairs get full, we move them outside. This place was set up pretty fast, so it didn’t come with a proper morgue. We’ve had to improvise.”

“You’re going outside? Now?”

“I can’t leave a cadaver lying on a bed all night.”

He rose swiftly, his gaze narrowing. “I’ll come with you.”

I frowned at his sudden change of mood. “There’s no need. I’m capable of handling a dead body by myself. Besides—” I glanced back toward the bed “—I thought you wanted to stay with your friend.”

“Please.” He took a step forward, not intimidating, but intense. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do.”

There was more to it than that, I thought. I wasn’t stupid. He was still hiding something, and I was going to find out what. Just not tonight. I was tired, my head hurt and I didn’t want to fight him. “All right,” I sighed. “If you think you can stomach working with a dead body, then I’ll put those muscles of yours to work. Follow me.”

We walked back to the main room, where Maggie and Jenna were struggling to load the body onto a gurney. In times past, I’d had a couple of the male interns perform this task. But they were gone now; it was just the three of us left.

Plus Ben. Who didn’t flinch as he hefted Mr. Johnson onto the cart, handling the body like he might a sick calf. His face remained businesslike as he laid the corpse down gently, and Jenna and Maggie gaped at him.

As I covered the body with a sheet, I caught a faint hint of rot coming off the corpse. What the hell? It hadn’t even been an hour since Mr. Johnson had passed; there was no way the body would start to decompose so quickly.

“What is it?” Ben asked quietly. I shook my head.

“Nothing.” I flipped the sheet over the body’s head, and the smell vanished. Maybe I’d imagined it, or maybe I was smelling something else: a dead animal outside. I maneuvered the gurney around him and the interns, ducked through the curtains surrounding the bed and headed out the back door. Ben followed.

Outside, the temperature was cool, chilly even. Which was a good thing, given the number of dead things lying everywhere around us, hidden away in houses and beds; the ones who had died alone and forgotten. As it was, the stench coming from the back lot was always there, drifting in the clinic when the breeze blew just right. If it had been high summer, the smell would’ve been unbearable.

As we made our way down the sidewalk, I was struck again by how quiet everything was. Not long ago, the sounds of sirens and cars, screaming, gunshots and breaking glass, had been constant. Just across the river, in monument D.C., the city had been a war zone. Now, an eerie silence hung over everything, and the buildings around us were dark. Of course, our small clinic was located just outside the city limits, so I didn’t know what was happening closer to downtown. Occasionally, I heard screams or the roar of a distant car engine, signs that there was still human life somewhere out there. But the city seemed abandoned now, left to the desperate and the dying.

I sneaked a glance at Ben, walking beside me, one hand on the corner of the gurney. His gaze scanned the buildings and the shadows around us, every fiber of his body on high alert. The same look he’d had in the clinic when night was starting to fall, only amplified a hundred-fold.

He didn’t come out here to help me, I realized with a cold feeling in my stomach. He’s afraid there’s something out here now. I pulled the gurney to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Ben...”

Something big slipped from the shadows into our path, making us both jump. I flinched, but Ben lunged forward and grabbed my arm as if prepared to yank me behind him. A stray dog, big and black, drew back when it saw us. It dropped what it was carrying and darted out of sight between two cars, its tail between its legs.

Ben relaxed. Quickly, he dropped my wrist, looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmured, staring at the ground. “I’m not usually this jumpy, I swear. Are you all right?”

I rubbed my arm, wincing from the strength in those hands. “I’m fine,” I told him, and was about to ask him why he was so twitchy. But then I noticed what the dog had been carrying and stifled a groan.

“Is that...an arm?” Ben asked, peering past the gurney.

“Yeah.” I sighed, knowing where the dog had probably gotten it. As we got closer to our destination, the smell began to permeate the darkness around us. That familiar knot of dread, guilt, sorrow and anger coiled in my stomach. “Just a warning,” I told Ben, “this isn’t going to be pretty. Steel yourself.”

“For what?”

I smiled humorlessly and turned the corner of the alley.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ben straighten, though he didn’t say anything. The drone of insects was a constant hum over the hundreds of bodies lined up in neat rows up and down the empty lot. Most were covered with sheets and tarps, but several covers were torn off or had blown away, leaving the corpses to stare empty-eyed at the sky. And, from the looks of the older, “riper” corpses, the scavengers were already gathering en masse.

Ben made a sound in the back of his throat, as if he was struggling not to gag. For a moment, I was sorry for bringing him out here, letting him see the stark reality we faced every day. But he set his jaw and walked with me to the edge of the last row, where I’d laid three people—a mother and her two sons—side by side last week. I tried not to look at them as we lifted Mr. Johnson’s body up in the sheet and set it on the pavement. But it was hard not to remember. I’d stayed up countless nights with that family, trying desperately to save them, but the virus had taken the mother first and the boys hours later, and that failure still haunted me.

Ben was quiet as we left the lot and pushed the empty gurney back to the clinic. He didn’t say anything, but instead of scanning the streets and shadows, he appeared deep in thought, brooding over what he had just seen. It was pretty sobering, when you realized how much we had lost, how insidious this thing was: an enemy that couldn’t be stopped, put down, reasoned with. It made you realize...we might not make it through this.

“How do you do it?”

I blinked. I’d gotten so used to his silence; the question caught me off guard. Strange, thinking I knew a man after only a few hours with him. His brown eyes were on me now, solemn and assessing.

“Because you have to,” I said, ducking through the back door with him behind me. “Because you have to give people hope. Because sometimes that’s the only thing that will get them through, the only thing that keeps them alive.”

His next words were a whisper. I barely caught them as we moved through the main room into the dark hall beyond. “What if there is no hope?”

I shoved the gurney against the wall and turned, pinning him with my fiercest glare. “There is always hope, Ben. And I will thank you to keep any doom-and-gloom observations to yourself while you’re here. I don’t need my patients hearing it. Or my interns, for that matter.”

He ducked his head, looking contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s just...it’s hard to keep an open mind when you’ve seen...what I have.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he had the grace to wince. “And...you’ve seen a lot worse, I know. My apologies. I’ll...stop whining, now.”

I sighed. “Have you had anything to eat lately?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Come on, then. We don’t have much, but I can at least make you some coffee. Instant, anyway. You look like you could use some.”

“That would be nice,” Ben admitted, smiling, “but you don’t have to go to the trouble.”

“Not at all. Besides, I could use some, so keep me company for a while, okay?” He nodded, and we headed upstairs to the small break room and dining area that hadn’t seen much use since the clinic opened. The fridge and the microwave hadn’t been used since the power had gone out and we’d switched to the generators, but the gas stove worked well enough to heat water. I boiled two cups of bottled water, spooned in liberal amounts of instant coffee and handed a mug to Ben, sitting at the table.

“It’s not great, but at least it’s hot,” I said, sliding into the seat across from his. He smiled his thanks and held the mug in both hands, watching me through the steam. Taking a cautious sip, I scrunched my forehead and forced the bitter swallow down. “Ugh. You’d think I’d get used to this stuff by now. I think Starbucks ruined me for life.”

That actually got a chuckle out of him, and he sipped his drink without complaint or grotesque faces. I studied him over my mug, pretending to frown into my coffee but sneaking glances at him every few seconds. The haunted look had left his face, and he seemed a bit calmer. Though the worry still remained in his eyes. I found myself wishing I could reach over the table, stroke his stubbly cheek and tell him everything would be fine.

Then I wondered what had brought that on.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, setting the mug down on the table, suddenly giving me his full attention. “No offense, but you’re awfully young and pretty to be running a clinic alone. And you don’t wear masks like the others. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick, too?”

Absurdly, I blushed at the compliment. “I caught Red Lung early,” I told him, and his eyebrows arched into his hair. “From one of the patients at the hospital where I worked. Kept me in bed for three days straight, and everyone thought I would die, but I pulled out of it before my lungs started disintegrating.”

“You’re a survivor?” Ben sounded shocked. I nodded.

“One of the lucky sixteen percent.” I looked down at my hands, remembering. Lying in a sterile hospital room, coughing bloody flecks onto the sheets. The worried, bleak faces of my colleagues. “Everyone was surprised when I pulled through,” I said, taking another sip of the stuff that claimed it was coffee. “And afterward, I felt so grateful and lucky, I volunteered to help Doc Adams when he set this place up. Especially after...” I trailed off.

“After?” Ben prodded.

I swallowed. “After I found out that my family all passed away from the virus,” I muttered. “They got sick when I was in the hospital, only they never recovered. I found out when I was released and planned to go home, only I didn’t have a home to go back to.”

I thought of the little home in the suburbs, the place I’d spent my childhood, with its tiny front yard and single-car garage. My mom’s small but perfect flower garden, my dad’s ancient leather armchair. My old room. It had just been the three of us; I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but I’d never been lonely. I’d had friends, and my parents had filled whatever void was left, encouraging me to chase my dreams. Dad had always said he knew I would become something big, either a doctor or an astronaut or a scientist, and pretty much let me do whatever I’d wanted. I’d left for college as soon as I’d graduated, eager to see what was out there, but had always come home for breaks and holidays. Both Mom and Dad had been so proud, so eager to hear of my life at school. It had never crossed my mind that one day they would just be...gone.

When I’d returned to the house after my parents had died, I’d stood in the living room, with its empty armchair and ticking clock, and realized how much I had lost. Curling up in my Dad’s old chair, I’d cried for about an hour, but when it was over, I’d left the house with a new resolve. I couldn’t save my parents, but maybe I could save other people. Red Lung, the silent killer, was my enemy now. And I would do whatever I could to destroy it.

Across from me, Ben was quiet. I kept my gaze on the table between us, so I was surprised when his rough, calloused hand covered my own. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as I looked up at him. I smiled shakily.

“It’s okay. They went quickly, or at least that’s what the doctors said.” My throat closed, and I sniffled, taking a breath to open it. Ben squeezed my palm; his thick fingers were gentle, his skin warm. A shiver raced up my arm. “What about you?” I asked, as Ben pulled his hand back, cupping it around his mug again. “Where’s your family? If it’s not too personal?”

“It’s not.” He sighed, his face going dark as he looked away. “My family owns a big farm out west,” he said in a flat voice. “Nathan and I were on our way there, to see if anyone survived. They’re pretty isolated, so we were hoping the outbreak hadn’t reached them yet. I don’t know, I haven’t seen them for a while.”

A farm. That fit him, I thought, looking at his broad shoulders and calloused, work-toughened hands. I could imagine him slinging bales of hay and wrestling cows. But there was something else about him, too, something not quite so rough. “What were you doing in the city?” I asked, and his face darkened even more. “You said you haven’t seen them in a while. How long has it been?”

“Four years.” He set his mug down and put his chin on his hands, brooding over them. “I moved to the city four years ago, and since then I haven’t even talked to my folks. They wanted me to take over the farm, like everyone before me, but I wanted to finish school at Illinois Tech.” He gave a bitter snort. “My dad and I got into a huge fight one day—I even threw a punch at him—and I walked out. Haven’t seen them since.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.” I thought of my family, my dad who had been so proud I was going into medicine. My mom who always told me to dream big. “That has to suck.”

He hung his head. “I haven’t spoken to them in years. Mom always sent me Christmas cards, telling me how the farm is doing, that they miss me, but I never answered. Not once. And now...” His voice broke a little, and he hunched his shoulders. “With the plague and the virus and everything going to hell, I don’t know how they’re doing. I don’t...I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

He covered his eyes with a hand. I stood, quietly walked around the table to sit beside him, and put my arm around his shoulders. They trembled, though Ben didn’t move or make a sound otherwise. How many times had I done this; comforted a family member who had lost someone dear? More times then I cared to remember, especially with the rapid spread of the plague. But it felt different this time. Before, I had been there to offer support when someone needed it, not caring if it was from a virtual stranger. With Ben Archer, I truly wanted to be there for him, let him know there was someone he could lean on.

I still didn’t know where this was coming from. The man was a virtual stranger himself; I’d known him only a few hours. But I stayed there, holding him and saying nothing, as he succumbed to his grief in the small, dirty break room of the clinic. I had the feeling he’d been holding this in a long time, and it had finally broken through.

Finally, he took a ragged breath and pulled away, not looking at me. I rose and went to refill our coffee mugs, giving him time to compose himself.

“Thank you,” he murmured as I handed him the filled mug again, and I knew it wasn’t just for the coffee. I smiled and sat down, but before I had even settled myself, footsteps pounded outside the door, and Maggie rushed into the room.

“Miss Kylie?”

I stifled a groan even as I rose quickly to my feet, Ben following my example. “Yes, Maggie, what is it?”

“It’s Mr. Archer’s friend,” Maggie said, and Ben straightened quickly. The intern shot him a half-fearful, half-sorrowful look and turned back to me. “I’m so sorry. He slipped into a coma a few minutes ago, and we can’t wake him up.”