The Hunted (9 page)

It took even longer to climb down the other side of the collapsed freeway, but as Shy half carried Shoeshine through the first major intersection, he spotted the hospital. The pastor was telling the truth. Shy felt relieved. And he was anxious to link back up with Carmen and Marcus. This was the longest they'd been apart in over a month.

His first thought was to go directly to the hospital and look for a doctor. Shoeshine was in even worse shape now. He could barely keep his head up. And he no longer answered when Shy tried to get him talking. But then Shy noticed the psych ward across the street. And he remembered the pastor saying he was using it as a safe haven. Maybe someone inside would know what to do.

Shy struggled to get Shoeshine across the wide, vacant street and then sat him down against the side of the building. “You're gonna be okay,” he said, trying to catch his breath. He cupped his hands against the glass doors and peered inside. The reception area was empty, and both doors were locked. He pounded the glass, calling Carmen's name, then stood there waiting, his left hand wrapped tightly into the duffel bag straps.

They were on an industrial street, where the damage didn't seem quite as bad. The psych ward had suffered only a few busted windows on the upper floors. The hospital across the street looked okay, too. Only the far right side had caved. Then Shy noticed all the red circles spray-painted on the outer walls of the first floor. There were sick people inside.

Shy pounded the glass again. “Carm, come on! It's me!”

A few seconds later, he saw her through the glass, coming toward him. His chest swelled.

She paused to undo the lock, then flung open the door and hugged him. He was about to ask if everything was okay when Carmen pushed away and slapped him across the face. Hard.

Shy reached for his tingling cheek. “What the hell?”

“Don't you ever bail on me like that again,
pocho,
” she said, waving a finger in his face. “I'm not playing.”

“Jesus,” Shy said.

“That's
pura miedra,
and you know it.”

“Fine,” he said. “But you don't gotta slap me.”

“That's the thing, I
do.
” Carmen pulled Shy toward her for another short, firm hug, before shoving him away again. “Or else your dumb ass won't listen.”

“I had to help Shoe,” he said.

They both looked just as the man began sliding down the wall, onto his side. Shy reached out quickly and grabbed Shoeshine's head before it cracked against the sidewalk.

Carmen covered her mouth. “What happened?”

Shy sat Shoeshine back up and held him there. “He got shot.”

“Shot?” Carmen kneeled down in front of the man, trying to balance his head straight against the wall. “Shoe, can you hear me?” She shook him by the shoulders, then gave him a little slap on the cheek.

Nothing.

“Why you keep slapping everyone?” Shy said.

“I'm trying to wake him up, asshole.”

“I'm saying, there's better ways to approach shit.”

Shoeshine's eyes had rolled back in his head. His hand had fallen away from his thigh, too, and through the rip in the blood-caked jeans, Shy could see the nasty bullet wound, the jagged flesh around it clotted with dark blood. He reached down quickly to cover it up, but he could tell by the look on Carmen's face.

She'd already seen it.

After stashing the duffel, Shy paced back and forth in the crowded conference room, studying the group of random strangers hovering over Shoeshine. Some were from the other side. Do-gooders who'd crossed over to try to help Californians. The others were people the pastor had “rescued” after finding them wandering the streets without an established zone.

The pastor claimed they were treating Shoeshine's wounds to prevent infection, before removing the bullet from his leg. But Shy didn't feel very confident. Of the eight people spread out around Shoeshine, none were actual doctors. The closest was the large bearded man who claimed to have been a vet assistant back in Colorado.

Shy stopped pacing long enough to look over the bearded man's shoulder. He was now pushing a needle into a small vial. “What's
that
?” Shy demanded. “I thought you were getting the bullet out.”

An older Asian woman turned around. “He has to numb the leg first.”

“Everything we're using comes straight out of a package,” the pastor tried to reassure Shy. “There's no threat of Romero Disease. It's all perfectly sterile.”

Carmen tugged at Shy's arm. “Come on. There's nothing you can do.”

But Shy didn't want to leave until he knew Shoeshine was going to be okay. The man looked so vulnerable lying there on the long wooden conference table. His wild hair partially burned. Eyes rolled back. Shoeshine had been their rock, the one they'd looked to since back on the island. What if he didn't make it?

Then a more selfish thought occurred to Shy.

Who would take the vaccine to Arizona?

The pastor held Shoeshine's legs as the fake vet drove the long needle into the man's dark skin, just above the knee. “Jesus,” Shy said, turning away.

Carmen tugged on his arm harder now, guiding him away from the crowd. “I'm taking you out of here,” she told him.

Shy looked back at Shoeshine one last time before allowing himself to be led out of the room.

In the small office kitchen Shy wolfed down pretzels and cookies out of huge Costco bags, washing each mouthful down with long gulps of bottled water. He felt guilty feeding his face while Shoeshine was laid up with some vet assistant digging around in his wound, but he couldn't stop. It felt too good to eat and drink as much as he wanted.

“They know the disease is spreading through water now,” Carmen said. “But here's the freakiest part. According to what we just heard on Marcus's radio, scientists think it could eventually go airborne. And if that happens…
everyone
could get it. Even people outside of California. We'd be the only ones left.”

Shy pictured a strong wind blowing the disease across his street back home, into his building, into his mom's lungs.

“Marcus is in the tech room,” Carmen said. “He finally got batteries. They're all sitting around his radio, listening to some DJ.”

Shy nodded.

“It all comes down to the vaccine, Shy.”

Shy pushed away the pretzels. “We're still going home, Carm.”

“I know, but how?”

Shy shook his head, thinking about the vaccine. And the letter. Shoeshine. “Those people working on Shoe,” he said. “They're here to help, right?”

Carmen nodded.

“ 'Cause here's what I'm thinking. If Shoe can't go on—”

“It doesn't automatically have to fall on us,” Carmen interrupted. “Right?”

“Exactly.” Shy took a last sip of water and re-capped the bottle. He didn't want to acknowledge that Shoeshine might not be able to continue. But he'd also seen the man's wound up close. And it's not like he was being worked on by a real doctor. “If a group of them agrees to do it, we're free to start heading for SD. No matter how long it takes.”

Carmen nodded, but she looked concerned.

“What?” Shy said.

She shook her head. “When you went over the freeway, you saw the city, right?”

Shy uncapped the water again but didn't drink. “It's bad, I know.”

“What if it's like that back home, too?” Carmen said, her eyes glassy. “What if everything's gone?”

Shy pictured a massive pile of rubble where his building used to be. He knew there was a possibility the whole trip was pointless. That there was nothing left. But he couldn't think that way.

Just then he heard shouting coming from down the hall. He slid off the table and pushed open the door to listen.

“Get off me!” a man shouted.

Shy spun back to Carmen. “That's Shoe! Come on!”

Shy cringed watching Shoeshine bite down on a thick leather strap and reach a pair of metal tongs into his own bloody thigh. The man growled in pain as he dug around for the bullet, the veins in his neck bulging, spit bubbling between his lips.

“Why's
he
doing it?” Carmen shouted.

The bearded vet assistant spun around, pointing at the bloody gauze shoved up both his nostrils. “This is what I got for trying to help.”

“He just slugged Bill,” someone else said.

Shy pushed through the crowd and went to Shoeshine. “What are you
doing,
man? They're trying to help.” When Shoeshine didn't acknowledge him, Shy turned to the pastor. “I thought you numbed his leg.”

“All we had was Novocaine,” the pastor said. He squirmed, watching Shoeshine continue digging. “And that's a bullet wound.”

“Yo, he needs a
real
doctor!” Marcus was now in the conference room, too, holding his radio. He went and stood near Carmen.

“They're all at the Sony lots,” a blond woman said. “But they're not letting anyone else in.”

“Unless you have a lot of money,” someone called out.

“What about the hospital?” Carmen asked.

“The last doctor fled
weeks
ago,” the pastor answered.

As people continued talking over each other, Shy turned back to Shoeshine, who was in so much pain sweat was pouring down his face. But Shy was also thinking about the Sony lots. If he was remembering right, that was where the biker had told him to go.

“Someone do something!” Carmen shouted over Shoeshine's growling.

“He won't let us near him,” the pastor said.

And Shy remembered the biker slipping a manila envelope inside the duffel bag. He moved over to where he'd stashed it, kneeled down, unzipped the top and pulled out the envelope. He looked up, saw Carmen was watching him.

Shy unfolded the top of the envelope and peered inside.

His eyes widened.

Thick stacks of twenty-dollar bills. The biker gave him
money
? Why?

Shoeshine was shouting even louder now. Shy spun back in time to see the man lift a bloody bullet out of his thigh with the thin, pointy tongs, then drop it into a metal pan on the table beside him. Everyone cringed and turned away, including Carmen and Marcus.

Shoeshine spit out the leather strap, panting, and grabbed a stack of gauze. He shoved it against his open wound, slid off the table and started pushing people out of his way.

“Shoe, hold up!” Shy shouted, stuffing the envelope back into the duffel and hurrying toward the door. He positioned himself between Shoeshine and the exit. The guy looked awful. “What the hell you doing? You need rest.”

Shoeshine shook his head. “No, I need to sew myself up.”

Shy spun to the group. “Can someone at least help him do
that
?”

They all looked at each other. “We don't have sutures here,” the pastor said. “And the wound is too deep for the Dermabond we
do
have.”

“Everything we'd need is across the street,” someone said.

“Why isn't it here?” Carmen demanded.

Nobody answered.

Shoeshine tried to push past Shy, saying: “I know what I'm looking for.” But he was weak from all the pain, and Shy easily blocked him.

Marcus was there now, too, pushing back Shoeshine by his arms. “Tell us what you need and
we'll
go.” He turned to the pastor, asked: “How do we get inside?”

“It's not locked,” the pastor answered. “But you don't want to go in there.”

“Why not?” Shy said.

“The hospital's out of the question!” the bearded man shouted. “It's a breeding ground!”

“You'll be infected for sure,” someone said.

“Nah, man,” Marcus said. “That shit can't touch us.”

The bearded man stepped forward. “Fine. Go, then. He needs a suture kit and more Betadine. And gauze. Your best bet is ER.”

Someone tossed Marcus a hospital mask.

“But understand,” the bearded man added, “we can't allow you to return.”

Shy shrugged.

Marcus grabbed him by the arm. “Let's go.”

Shy tossed the duffel to Carmen. “Look in there when we're gone.” He pulled up his mask. “We'll pound the door when we're back. And you and Shoe can meet us outside.”

Carmen set down the bag. “I'm going with you.”

“We got this,” Marcus told her.

“Why,
pendejo
? 'Cause I'm a girl?” She made a move for the door, but Shy cut her off.

“We need someone to stay with Shoe,” he insisted.

Carmen scowled but didn't argue.

“Look in the bag,” Shy told her again. Marcus pulled at his arm.

Shy readjusted his hospital mask as the two of them raced through the hall. They cut through the reception area, kicked open the front doors, and Shy found himself moving back out onto the street.

The smell inside the hospital stopped Shy in his tracks. It was a violent mix of cleaning chemicals and rot. Shy held his hand over his mask and tried breathing through his mouth for a few seconds, but that didn't work either—the smell was so strong he could taste it.

He knew there'd be bodies inside. The sloppy red circles spray-painted all over the front of the building told him as much. But this was different. The smell was a hundred times more intense than the motor home.

How many people had died in here?

How long had they been dead?

It was pitch-black, too. Shy couldn't see two inches in front of his face. He reached into his backpack for his flashlight, clicked it on and moved his thin beam of light around what looked to be a large admission area. Someone had covered all the windows with newspapers, which explained why it was so dark.

Shy turned to Marcus, who was gagging behind his mask. “Ready?”

Marcus nodded, pulling out his flashlight, too. “Get this shit over with,” he mumbled.

They shined their beams of light along the walls and floor and ceiling as they slowly moved deeper into the hospital, past the main admissions desk, into a large open area where the smell grew even stronger. Shy suffered a coughing fit so violent he was afraid it might end with his lungs spilling out onto the floor. He was only able to calm his stomach by taking long, even breaths, in spite of the smell.

There were four hallways to choose from, and he and Marcus shined their lights on all the signs until they found the ER. As they started in that direction, Shy began noticing large, random shapes. They were all around him, in the middle of the tile floor and half hidden under desks and crowding the entrance of the hall he and Marcus were moving toward.

Bodies covered with sheets, he realized.

The dead.

They stepped over a blockade of them and continued down the hall, toward the ER, but curiosity got the better of Shy and he stopped near one of the bodies. He kicked off the sheet and shined his flashlight onto the bloated and rotting face of a young woman. A nurse, judging by the green scrubs she was wearing. Dark red eyes. Big chunks of her cheeks torn away. A pointless silver cross still hanging around her decaying neck.

Shy thought he heard something back in the main lobby, a loud thumping sound, and he spun around, listening. When he didn't hear it again he turned to the nurse and tried to kick the sheet back over her face with his foot. But he couldn't do it. He had to reach down, trying not to gag, and use his hand.

He stood up, wiping his palm on his jeans, and breathed slowly into his mask. “You heard that back there?” he asked Marcus.

Marcus nodded. “Let's grab what we need and get the fuck outta here.”

They had to climb over a small pile of bodies near cardiology. Shy's head was spinning. He kept thinking of what Shoeshine said about the loneliness of life. Maybe he was right. Every corpse here was wrapped in its own sheet. Completely alone. And in real life it wasn't much better. They stuck you in a coffin and buried you in the ground. Or they cremated your ass and stored you in a jar.

When they passed pediatrics, Shy couldn't help himself. He stopped. Because this was different. He pushed open the door that led to the kids' part of the hospital and peeked inside.

“Bro, come on!” Marcus barked.

Shy ignored him, shining his light around the room, illuminating smaller bodies, stacked on top of each other, in every corner of the large reception area. Each one covered by a single white sheet. The smell so intense he felt wobbly. He held on to the doorframe to keep his feet, his stomach dropping out completely, like the one time he'd ridden a roller coaster.

All these little kids, dead.

From Romero Disease.

Which meant LasoTech.

Shy saw a glass wall across the room, and he knew instantly what it was.

The newborn room.

Babies.

A surge of energy bubbled inside of him. He threw open the heavy door and started slamming his shoulder into it, battering the thing against the cinder-block wall, again and again, until the door began to sag to one side because he'd busted the top hinge.

He ripped off his mask and leaned over and vomited onto the black-and-white tile floor. He heaved and spit and heaved some more, then wiped his mouth with the mask and chucked it away and grabbed his aching shoulder.

When he turned back to Marcus, blurry-eyed and still on his knees, he was surprised to see Carmen standing there, too, wearing a hospital mask and gripping the duffel bag. She must have made the sound he'd heard earlier.

She hadn't listened to him.

Because Carmen didn't listen to
anyone.

“We can't go home,” Shy told her.

“I know,” she answered.

He watched tears start coming down her cheeks. “No, I mean we have to go to Arizona,” he said.

Carmen nodded and held out her hand to help him to his feet. He stood and turned to look at the glass wall once more. Where they kept sick babies.

“Shy, let's get out of here,” Marcus mumbled through his mask.

“Shoe gave me five minutes to come get you,” Carmen said, pulling Shy toward the broken door by his wrist.

They were right. The sooner they found Shoeshine's suture kit, the sooner they'd be done with this place. And then they could start east. Get the vaccine to these supposed scientists in Arizona. Shoeshine had been right all along. It was what had to be done. It was the journey they'd found themselves on.

Home would have to wait.

Shy took the duffel from Carmen. But instead of leaving, like he wanted to, he found himself moving deeper into the room.

Toward the glass wall.

Toward the babies.

Carmen was behind him, shouting his name. Grabbing for his arm. Marcus was shouting, too. But Shy couldn't stop.

He had to see behind this curtain, too.

He had to know the worst of what LasoTech had done.