Afterbirth (18 page)

Nixon approached the boy carefully, a lesson he neglected to give his guards. “Miranda’s child, you say?”

The boy snapped at Nixon’s hand and his needle-like teeth caught only air.

Wayne, the overweight cook, backed away.

“Tell me what happened to Nate.”

Corey scratched at the jagged scar on his cheek. “The boy bit him.”

Nixon shook his head. “I was talking to Reid. You’ve been around this boy how long now?” He peeled away the blanket. The boy fussed and then started to cry.

“Two, maybe three days. Long enough to be exhausted and lose track.”

“And yet you managed to handle him without getting bit. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.” Nixon grinned and glanced at Corey. He raised his eyebrows and turned back to Reid. “How long, Max, after Nate was bitten did he turn?”

Reid’s palms began to sweat. “Almost instantly,” he said and cleared his throat.

“And that’s when you shot him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see. Here,” he said. “Since you’re so bonded with this boy, why don’t you come hold him? I need a blood sample.”

Joe, the largest of Nixon’s guards, sneered and watched intently as Reid stepped up and re-swaddled the infant.

Brett and the others kept their distance.

“You’ll have to hold him still.” Nixon eased one of the boy’s arms out from between the snugly wrapped blanket and examined his flipper-like hand. The boy’s cries, though they were splitting Reid’s head, didn’t appear to faze Nixon. He withdrew a tiny, butterfly needle from his lab coat pocket and nodded for Joe to come over. “One man lost is enough for today. See to it that Reid, here, doesn’t get any smart ideas.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” Joe leveled his pistol against Reid’s temple and smiled.

“Hold him still, you hear me?” Nixon’s steely stare said he meant business.

Furious as Reid was, he had no intention of taking Nixon on with so many men to back him up. “I got him.”

Nixon tied a tourniquet around the boy’s arm and attempted to find a vein.

The cold muzzle warmed against the side of Reid’s head. A slight tremor shook his hands as he fought to keep full control of the boy’s head and body without snapping his tiny neck.

“There we go.” The boy’s screams climbed several octaves when Nixon inserted the tip of the needle into his vein. He thrashed and gnashed his teeth, trying desperately to turn his head. Nixon untied the tourniquet and the blood flowed freely. “Almost done.” He took out the needle and tucked the boys arm back out of reach.

“You want to let off me now?” Reid locked his gaze on Joe and scowled.

“It’s okay, Joe. Why don’t you have a seat by the door?” Nixon waved the rotund cook out of his way. “Excuse me.” He bent down and slid a tray of chicken eggs from behind the wood stove. “You have no idea how many of these were cooked before I found the right spot that was just about incubator temperature.”

He set the tray down on the counter and sliced the top off of one of the eggs with exacting precision. Albumin glistened in the sunlight and was tinted a slight pink. Reid watched as Nixon released a small amount of the boy’s blood into the egg with a pipette. “I’m without the luxury of my research equipment so there’s been some amount of trial and error.” The faint lines around his aging eyes folded into each other. “I’m also woefully short on test subjects.” He swirled the egg around, blending its contents. “Seven months, Reid. That’s how long you’ve been running from me and when I finally catch up to you, you have this gift, this boy, who is exactly what I needed. That’s a stroke of luck for both of us, really.” He nodded and the guards, all except for Joe who blocked the front door, moved in.

Reid drew a deep breath and tried not to panic as he stood in the center of the hornet’s nest. “I wasn’t running. I knew you wanted Miranda.”  He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The boy continued to cry and Nixon shouted over him.

“And you aimed to find her. Where is she now, Max?”

“Dead. Died during childbirth.” He regretted it as soon as he said it.

Nixon raised an eyebrow. “Which was when, exactly? You said two or three days ago?”

Reid nodded. “He’s hungry.”

“Never mind that right now. Reid, where’s the body?”

“The one I’ve been feeding him?”

Nixon’s eyes went wide. “You’ve been feeding him a body? No. I meant Miranda’s. Where is she?” He took several empty syringes from a drawer and drew up the liquid in the egg.

Corey, the small guard who perpetually scratched his raised, red scar, reloaded his pistol.

“Reid?” Nixon called his attention.

“I left her at the center. You have the boy. That’s what you wanted.”

Nixon shook his head. “And that’s why I’m the scientist, Max. I need the stem cells. They’re like programmable genetic blanks and you left them to what, rot? Cord blood and placenta, that’s what I need. And assurance.”

Corey and Brett flanked him. Reid tried to look unshaken, but there were too many hazards, and seeing Nixon with a needle frightened him more than a bullet or a bite.

“What kind of assurance?”

“A guarantee that this child is who you say he is.” Nixon flicked the tip of the syringe.

“Who else’s would he be?” Reid stepped away from the butcher’s block and onto one of Brett’s feet.

“Hey, watch it.” Brett shoved him forward.

“Miranda wasn’t the only one pregnant, Max. I’ll give you the timeline is close, but…well…I just don’t trust you. Give me your arm.”

“What?” Reid shook his head, terrified of what was about to be put into him. “No.” The exit was blocked and he was surrounded.

“Give me your arm, Max. I’ve been incubating a strain of virus in those eggs to make a vaccine. It’s weak, but strong enough to infect you. If this is Miranda’s child, he carries a deficient gene which blocks the virus from replicating. Your immune system will do the rest and you’ll be the first person inoculated against the virus. I’d almost call that a gift, except you’re essentially the guinea pig. If he’s not Miranda’s son, then it’s a 50/50 shot and honestly, maybe not even that. I can think of at least two people in this room that would love to be the one to have to shoot you in the head.” He shrugged. “Give me your arm.”

Reid’s heart pounded and sweat dripped from every pore.

Nixon clamped his clammy hand on Reid’s wrist. “Unless you want to confess. This is Miranda’s child, as you say, is it not?”

Reid turned to see Corey’s gun aimed at his head. It was certain death, almost as certain as the virus infecting him. He stammered and hoped the injections he’d taken would have some effect. “He is, I swear.”

“Hold him!” Nixon shouted and Brett applied a full nelson. Nixon rolled up Reid’s sleeve and swabbed his skin with an alcohol prep pad.

The baby wailed and the room spun. Reid’s body tensed, and for the first time, his fight or flight response was crippled. “Wait, no.” He wasn’t sure if he’d said the words or just thought them. The needle broke through his skin and whatever was in the egg burned as it was injected into his muscle.

Brett let him go and he nearly collapsed.

“Now,” Nixon said, smiling, “bring me what’s left of Miranda.”

“Dammit, Nixon. Get in here!” Zach pounded on the door until the knuckles on his right hand split and bled.

An infant wailed and Nixon shouted orders for it to be dealt with.

Zach kicked the door furiously, alternating feet until his legs ached.

Keys jingled, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Allison’s seizure had stopped by the time Nixon got to her.

Zach rushed over to the bedside, the light from the common room making Allison look that much worse. A spot of blood dotted the wall behind the cot and he looked for the source. There was a small cut on the back of Allison’s head. The spasms had thrown her against an empty hanging nail now sunk into the wall.

Nixon pulled a pen light out from his pocket and examined the wound. “It’s superficial, a scratch, but she’s burning up.” Zach reached for Allison’s hand and Nixon pushed him away. “Stay back. I need room to work.”

Zach looked out into the common room. The dark-haired guard with the slicked back hair was gone. Corey and Joe stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the exit. Reid was missing.

“Tell me exactly what happened.” Nixon lifted Allison’s eyelids one at a time and shined the light in her eyes.

Her body was limp and she appeared fast asleep.

“She cleaned herself up, changed, and we were talking. One minute she’s fine, the next, she was stiff as a board. Her teeth locked up and she shook all over. I pounded on the door and she’s been like this since.”

Nixon looked inside her mouth. “Lucky she didn’t bite her tongue off. Was she acting unusual beforehand?”

Zach shook his head. “She kept putting the blanket on and off and she was sweating.”

Nixon tossed the blanket aside and systematically looked her over. “Help me lift her,” he said. “Ben’s no longer with us, so you’ll have to do.”

Anyone else and Zach would have refused, but Allison needed him. Nixon lifted her by her arms and Zach took her feet.

“Where are we taking her?” Zach asked.

“Out there. I need more light. Wayne, clear some room.” The overweight man in the black and white checkered pants wiped his thick arm across the counter. Utensils, trash, and egg shells fell to the floor, and he stepped back. He kept his head down and rarely, if ever, spoke. “Set her down.”

They hoisted Allison onto the counter and Nixon continued his examination. He lifted her shirt and rolled her onto her side. She groaned, quietly, but seemed genuinely unaware of her surroundings. Corey scratched at his face and looked around Nixon at Allison’s exposed breasts. He started to grin and stopped when he looked up at Zach who stared back with his most threatening look.

“Mind your business,” he said and covered Allison back up.

“What the hell am I missing?” Nixon ran his fingers through his gray hair. He moved past Zach and bent Allison’s legs, which had previously been dangling over the edge. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?”

Nixon peeled back the cuff of Allison’s oversized pants and shook his head.

Though it made him feel sick to look, Zach stared. Two of the toes on each of Allison’s feet appeared dusky gray. The tips were bloody, black, and eroded, in one instance, to the bone.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Frostbite. Extreme frostbite. She should’ve never gone outside.” Nixon turned around, shaking his head. “There’s only one option.” He examined each of the cook’s knives and settled on a fairly large cleaver. “Sharpen this.” He handed it to Wayne, the cook, who skillfully honed the blade against a rod of sharpening steel, making several passes on each side until he was satisfied. Nixon thumbed the edge and seeming pleased, repositioned Allison who was still barely conscious.

“What are you doing?” Zach’s heart beat so fast and loud that it echoed in his ears.

“Hold her down,” Nixon said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Hold her down, Zach, or I swear I’ll let Corey do it.” A moment passed and Zach adjusted his grip. “See this?” Nixon held up Allison’s foot and pointed at the blackest part of the tip. “It’s the start of gangrene. If I don’t amputate these toes, the infection will spread and she’ll die. Now hold her!” He pulled on a pair of gloves and held Allison’s bent leg so that her foot was flat against the butcher’s block. “You have her?”

Zach moved to her head and locked his arms through hers. He pulled her toward him and felt the heat of her feverish skin through his shirt. She was in a half-sitting position when Nixon dropped the blade with impressive accuracy, cutting away the last two toes on her right foot. The digits scattered and blood spilled onto the light oak, staining it as the wood drank it in.

Allison’s eyes flung open and she screamed so loud that both Corey and Wayne covered their ears.

“Joe, get over here.” Nixon wrapped a bandage around the wound and squeezed. “Hold pressure on this,” he said. “Corey, find the toes.”

Allison fainted, all of her weight resting against Zach. He pressed his head to hers and fought the urge to cry. He was sure he’d break down later, but right then with Nixon and his men surrounding him, he refused.

Nixon put Allison’s other foot into position and amputated the same toes with similar precision. He bandaged those, as well, and set the amputated digits in a bowl. Joe maintained pressure.

“Take these to Paul for the boy. He’ll know what to do.” Nixon handed the bowl to Corey and Zach’s stomach flip-flopped. The grotesque memory of feeding microwaved body parts to the infected held in the center’s basement threatened to make him vomit. He wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve and drew a shallow breath.

His suspicions about the infant whose crying he heard were confirmed. One of the hybrids had lived. He could only hope that meant that a cure wasn’t far off.

Allison came to, shivering.

“We need to keep her from going into shock.” Nixon wheeled over a plastic supply cart and drew up two different syringes. “Corey, help Zach get her to the couch. Keep her legs elevated. Wayne, go out back and bring in some of the cold water from the jugs outside. I have to get this fever down.”

“Ready?” Corey stared at Allison’s breasts, surely to aggravate Zach.

Zach scowled. “Yeah, come on.” The sooner he could get this pervert away from Allison, the better.

They carried her over to the couch and Zach put a pillow beneath her calves, which rested on the threadbare arm of the red and green plaid sofa.

“What happened to me?” Allison’s distant stare said she was delirious with fever, but not so much that she didn’t protest when she saw Nixon with the syringes.

“They’re for the pain and the fever,” he said.

Wayne brought a basin of water with small chunks of ice floating on top of it.

Nixon soaked a kitchen towel and placed it to Allison’s forehead.

Zach knelt next to the couch, and as the medicine lulled Allison to sleep, he held her hand to his lips. “Is she going to be all right?”

Nixon shrugged. “Too many variables to tell.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Now that we’re out of the woods, so to speak, why don’t you tell me how you found me?”

Zach considered lying, but Nixon wasn’t stupid and it’d be one hell of a coincidence to stumble on this exact mountain. He looked down at Allison, her chest rising and falling with strained, ragged breath. Her life was, as it had been for too long, in Nixon’s hands. Even if she wanted to die, Zach couldn’t bring himself to want it for her. “Photos you left at the center.” He cleared his throat. “Notes, too.”

“Does anyone else know our location?”

Zach shrugged. “I honestly have no idea.”