Escape from the Damned (APEX Predator Book 2) (15 page)

Ms. Hebert took the news relatively well.  She put up a fight, but in the end, she saw the wisdom in it.  She grudgingly agreed to travel with the soldiers.

Day 23

The fire station

Jen and Mike were up early, sitting at the table in the kitchen.  The table was more like two metal picnic tables, covered with a blanket.  There were several firemen at the table drinking coffee.  They were talking amongst themselves and paying Mike and Jen no attention.

Mike couldn’t blame them.  After Theresa’s little stunt yesterday, most of the people in the firehouse didn’t seem to trust the group of newcomers.  There were the sideways glances, the hushed whispers and the stares as they walked past. Mike had to admit he definitely didn’t feel welcomed at all.

Just as he was thinking this thought, Captain Sam Reynolds walked in.  The firemen turned as one and greeted him.  He answered each one by name, shaking a hand here and patting a shoulder there.  It was obvious that these men respected him.

After the pleasantries were finished, he sat down next to Mike, and across from Jen.  “How are you two doing this fine morning?”

Jen was too busy actually enjoying her first hot cup of coffee in almost a month.  She simply nodded at the fireman and let Mike do the talking.

“Wonderful,” he answered.  “Kind of enjoying having a couple of nice hot meals.”

“How long has it been?”

“Well, we had a few warm meals last week, nothing great; instant oatmeal, warm MRE’s, and we did have some instant coffee a few days ago.”

Both Jen and Mike felt a wave of depression hit them as Mike mentioned Father Albright and his instant coffee.  Sam could see the look on their faces and knew something was wrong.  Jen told the story.  They had rescued Lt. Cruzan and his men, Sgt Procell being one of them.  They had also found a priest who had apparently been infected.  He soon died and unexpectedly attacked the Lieutenant.

Just as they were finishing the story, Pvt. Jackson came into the room.  To Jen, he looked sick.  The young soldier poured himself a cup of waterand sat down next to Jen without getting breakfast.  Jen could feel the heat coming off of the young trooper.  Damn, she thought.  He’s got a fever.

She touched the young trooper’s head with the back of her hand.  Wow!  His head was hot!

“Jackson,” she asked in her best nurse’s voice.  “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Not good Mrs. Jen,” he answered.  “My arm is killing me.”  He tried to raise his arm but he couldn’t.  Jen could see a large dark stain forming under his armpit.

“Sam, do you have somewhere I can take a look at Private Jackson’s arm?  He injured it a few days ago.  I’m afraid it might be getting infected.”

The Captain led them to an office that had been converted to a treatment room by one of the paramedics.  His name was Shane.  He and Captain Reynolds were the only two firemen in the station who could actually save a life, the man bragged.

“He means he and I are the only two paramedics here.  The rest of these guys are either straight fire eaters or only have EMT training.”

Shane was shorter than Sam and his short dark hair made him look decades younger than his Captain.  His face brightened up when he was told Jen was an ER nurse.  If there are two groups in the world who tend to get along better than any other, its paramedics and ER nurses.  After only a few minutes, Jen had the same feeling of long lost camaraderie

Jackson had his shirt off and the trio could see the long streak of foul-smelling bloody puss draining from the wound and down the young man’s side.  Jen had been correct, the wound was definitely infected.  The entire armpit was swollen, red, and hot to the touch.

“Holy hell!” the young paramedic exclaimed.  “What the hell happened?”

Jackson looked down in embarrassment, “I stuck myself with my own bayonet a couple of days ago.”

Jen looked to Shane.  “I need some gauze, a clean knife or scalpel, and something to numb it up or some pain medicine.  Then I’m going to need some antibiotics and something to keep it open and draining for a few days.  Don’t suppose you have any iodoform gauze do you?”

“Ma’am,” he began. “We don’t have any scalpels, iodoform gauze or antibiotics.  I can get you lots of gauze and a good sharp knife.  That’s really about all I can do for you.”

“How about something for pain?” the young trooper interjected.  “Ya’ll talking about cuttin’ my arm and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.  Can you numb it up or something?”

Jen looked at the younger fireman.  He, in-turn, looked to the older man.

“Go ahead,” he told the paramedic.  “Give it to them”

Shane reached into the desk and produced a small vial of medicine.  The label read Fentanyl.  He handed it to Jen.  He reached into another cabinet and pulled out a large needle and syringe.

“Don’t you have any IV’s,” she asked.  Fentanyl is a powerful pain killer and is generally given into a person’s IV.

“Only have a few and we save those for emergencies,” Sam replied.  You can either go IM or we have insulin needles if you want to go into the vein.”

She thought about it for a second.  Jackson was young and healthy.  His veins looked pretty good.

She administered about half of the vial of Fentanyl to the trooper into one of the veins in his right arm.  The effects were pretty fast.  Jackson could feel warmth spreading over his entire body.  He was tired and relaxed at the same time.  His breathing slowed, but not dangerously.  He lay back with his left arm above his head.

“Ok, Jackson,” Jen began.  “This is gonna hurt a bit.  Just hold still as best you can.”  He nodded his head and continued to smile.

She made a large incision into the top of the swollen area.  More brownish-pink pus gushed out of the wound.  It smelled bad.  Shane had to step away from the table as he fought back a gag.  Jackson winced once, that was it.

Jen continued to apply pressure to the base of the wound in order to squeeze out as much of the vile pus as she could.  At one point she asked Shane to get her a towel.  There was just so much of the foul fluid draining from the wound that she couldn’t contain it with the little gauze pads.  Finally the fluid that emerged when she squeezed became a deep red.  She decided that she had finally drained as much of the pus from the wound as she was going to get.

The swelling had gone down significantly and now the wound was draining blood.  She took a piece of gauze and stuffed it into the wound.  This would keep it open and allow the wound to continue to drain the pus out.  She covered the entire area with a stack of gauze pads and taped everything in place.

Satisfied she had done all she could, she told the others in the room that this was a temporary fix.  She advised them that he was not fit to travel, and that she needed antibiotics, or he may not survive the infection that had set into the wound.  She knew he was supposed to travel with SSgt Brown, but that was not possible now.  He would have to be replaced.

She found Mike in the same spot she had left him.  He was talking with SSgt Brown and Sgt Procell.  She sat next to her husband.

“We have a problem,” she announced to no one.  “Jackson can’t leave.”

SSgt Brown stopped chewing.  “Why not?” he asked with a mouth full of scrambled eggs.

“His wound is infected and he’s spiked a fever.  I just gave him some pain meds, and he’s pretty much zonked right now.  He’ll be ok in an hour or so but his fever isn’t going anywhere.  He needs medical attention.  He does  not need to go trucking over half a hundred miles of zombie infested roads.”

SSgt Brown’s face turned into a scowl.  He didn’t like going anywhere without Jackson.  Jackson had been a rock steady trooper since Iraq.  He had stepped up and been SSgt Brown’s inner source of strength.  He was always there doing the right thing.  He never had to worry about his back if Jackson was there. 

But, SSgt Brown thought, it was something more.  Jackson was the only one of his troops who was still alive.  He still had one trooper he could bring home alive.  He didn’t relish the thought of not being able to take care of him.  He felt that paternal instinct that all good NCO’s have over their troops.  He couldn’t stomach the thought of being the only survivor of his unit.  He was the squad leader.  His two responsibilities were to the mission and to his men.  Jackson’s death would somehow mean that he was a complete failure.

“You sure he can’t travel?”

“I never said he can’t travel,” she replied.  “I said he can’t leave.  He needs medical attention and should therefore stay here.” She could see the look of concern on his face.  “Don’t worry Sergeant Brown; I won’t let anything happen to him.  I’ll treat him like he was my own husband.”

“In that case,” Mike interjected.  “You might want to take him with you for his own safety.”

The group shared a collective laugh.

Shane walked in about that time, followed by Sam.  They sat down next to SSgt Brown and Sgt Procell.

“So, you about ready to hit the road,” Sam asked.

SSgt Brown reported that they were not and explained the Jackson situation.  Shane volunteered to go with the group.  He reminded them that he was a paramedic.  As Jen would be staying to care for Jackson, then he could go with her guys and take care of them.  They all agreed.

“Great, get some breakfast and meet me in the bay in thirty minute,” he ordered.  To Sam, “Tell Ms. Hebert we’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

Thirty minutes later, his little group was assembled.  All of them had at least one gun and a knife. Shane carried an AR-15 style rifle and a large framed black pistol of some kind.  SSgt Brown didn’t ask.  Mrs. Hebert had a chrome and black semiautomatic pistol in a shoulder holster.  They each had a rolled up blanket or sleeping bag.  Inside, they each had a couple of pairs of socks, toothbrushes, and an extra shirt.  Mrs. Hebert also had an extra sports bra.

SSgt Brown let his mind dwell on that for a moment.  Ms. Hebert was short, barely 5 feet tall, and her red hair that he knew to be about shoulder length and slightly curly, was pulled into a pony tail for this trip.  Her breasts were the best he’d seen in at least a month.  He was sure the bra she was wearing would have trouble holding them in place.  He shook that thought from his head.

Each person had at least 200 rounds of ammunition already loaded into magazines, except Theresa who had 50 rounds plus a few extra for her shotgun.  He and Sgt Procell each had 360 rounds in their load bearing equipment.  Shane and Sgt Procell each had a case of water to carry to the HMMWV and Theresa had a gym bag filled with food.

The plan was simple.  Next to the giant garage doors, there was a normal sized door.  Three firemen in full bunker gear would pop through the door. The firemen had taken to wearing their bunker gear outside a week before.  They had had several attacks, but the bunker gear had protected the wearers from the teeth of the zombies. 

The hose team would then turn the hose on full and sweep the area.  This would immediately knock any zombies near the door off their feet.  They would continue to clear the path to the HMMWV.  Once in the vehicle, the firemen would retreat to the safety of the fire station and await rescue.

The door burst open and the three firemen began knocking zombies down in a sweeping pattern.  SSgt Brown could not believe how easily the zombies fell to the power of the water.  Although they were getting up, they were now 30 or 40 feet away from where they fell.

The firemen continued to advance through the door.  As a group of zombies would begin to close in on the firemen, they would slowly turn the water hose on them and send them sliding backwards on their backs.

When the third man in line on the hose turned and waved them on, the group ran at a full sprint to the HMMWV.  SSgt Brown was amazed.  He would have had to waste a ton of ammo, and surely lost people in order to cover the 25 meters to the HMMWV.  Instead, he wouldn’t even have to point his weapon at a zombie, much less fire it.

After the group was in and the firemen were back inside, SSgt Brown used the HMMWV in the pied piper role again and led the zombies away from the front of the fire station.  He hoped this would at least help to guarantee safety for Jackson and the others.

SSgt Brown remembered why he hated the rain.  He’d been riding in the turret ring of the HMMWV for about an hour now.  It had been raining the entire time.  It was the first rain he’d seen in weeks and it was cold.  The drops stung his face as they traveled.  The sky was gray and there was a thick haze wherever he looked.  He guessed that visibility was about 500 meters.

They had been traveling on I-20 for about 3 hours.  They had navigated traffic jams.  None were occupied by either the living or the dead.  SSgt Brown figured they were maybe an hour or so from the river.

They would already be there by now, had it not been for Ms. Hebert.  She was adamant about having them drive on the correct side of the road.  She reminded them several times that the reason they were all in this predicament in the first place was because SSgt Brown had ordered them to drive on the wrong side of the road, thereby causing an accident with fatalities.

SSgt Brown was beginning to understand why Captain Reynolds was so eager to accept his deal.  She was turning out to be a real nag.