Zombies in Paradise (Love in the Age of Zombies Book 2) (25 page)

Another call came through. The nurse put the call on speaker: “On our way with a victim. Got bit on the leg. We amputated immediately. Will be there in ten minutes.”

The nurse asked the caller a few questions. What and where did it happen, what was the condition of the victim, were zombies loose? A patrol had found the downed fence and fallen tree late in the afternoon. They radioed for help and for tools to remove the tree and repair the fence. They hunted down all the zombies they could find. After they repaired the fence they headed back and were nearly to town when one man stumbled across a zombie crawling in the fading light. Before he could get away, the zombie grabbed him by the leg and bit him.

“Matt begged us to cut his leg off above the bite, so we applied a tourniquet and cut it off. Matthew passed out. He was bleeding pretty bad so we…” The caller paused for a few seconds. “We cauterized the wound. It’s still bleeding some and Matt’s coming to. ETA five minutes.”

The staff looked at each other. They didn’t know what to expect over the next couple of hours. They didn’t know how many zombies were loose or if there’d be more victims. But they knew they had a patient on the way with a partially amputated leg.

“Can you imagine having to amputate a leg with the same saw you just used to cut down a tree?” one nurse asked. “Even if he lives he’s likely to die of infection!”

“I wonder how they cauterized him,” wondered one of the male nurses.

“Fence repair tools include a blowtorch,” Dr. Nunn replied somberly. Every person there imagined the horror of using a blowtorch on the amputated leg of a friend. The way it must have looked. And sounded. And worst of all, how it must have smelled. Nurses don’t flinch at gory details, but that was more than enough for the stoutest among them. Conversation stopped.

Moments later, the crew of five came rushing through the emergency room doors, carrying a stretcher with a man who was strapped down, writhing in pain. His amputated bloody foot had been placed near the site of the amputation. A blood-soaked cloth was wrapped around the end of his leg, strapped securely with a leather belt. Three nurses transferred him onto a gurney. While examining the man, Dr. Nunn asked “I’ve treated you before, haven’t I? Aren’t you one of the Henderson’s?”

“Matthew Henderson. Matt.”

“How long ago were you bitten, Matt?”

One of the guys who carried him in spoke up. “It was about fifteen minutes ago. Everyone else is accounted for and safe.”

With a look of desperation on his face, Matt said “But I ain’t gonna turn, you gotta believe me! You don’t need to sedate me and you don’t need to tie me up! They cut off my foot soon enough!” Through gritted teeth he begged “Please don’t knock me out, but can you do something about the pain? It hurts, Doc! It hurts bad!” His pained, contorted face emphasized his words. Typically doctors and nurses ask how bad the pain is on a scale of one to ten. There was no point in asking Matthew that question.

“Get him in Room Seven,” Dr. Nunn replied without acknowledging him. “Do not unstrap him. Make him as comfortable as possible. Give him 500 milligrams white willow bark. I’ll be in shortly.” Looking back at Matt, he said “We’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.” He nodded to the guys who brought him in, then the nurses rushed off with the gurney, the man’s amputated foot leaning against his calf.

Kevin heard one of the nurses ask “Matt, is there anybody you want here with you? Friends or family? A pastor or priest?”

Matt cried out, “I’m telling you, I ain’t gonna turn! I swear!” Kevin felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach when the man begin to sob.

Dr. Nunn sighed heavily and turned his once-again weary eyes to Kevin. “We still struggle with bite victims. So far, one-hundred percent of them have turned. Deciding what to do for them has been a problem for eight months. So what do we do? Put a living human being out of his misery?”

“Absolutely,” Kevin said. “It’s the only decent thing to do.”

“People accuse doctors of having a God complex, but not in cases like this. What if Matt survives and somehow has immunity? What if his blood contains antibodies we could use to make a cure or a vaccine? Every time, that’s what my heart says. But my brain tells me there is no cure. So far I’ve listened to my heart, thinking it was the right thing to do, and every time I’ve had to watch the infection take hold and kill the patient. If I got bit, I’d want someone to have mercy and put me out. I’d beg them not to let me turn. Just like they do. When I think about it I misquote a bedtime prayer:
If I must turn and re-awake, I beg God please my life to take.”

“Why don’t you give them the option of doing it themselves?”

“What, give a guy a gun, a guy who’s out of his mind with fear and panic? He’d probably start shooting people and try to escape. Fight or flight. Guns in the ER are not allowed except for Frankfort Security. Everyone else surrenders them at the entrance. There’s a reason for that.”

“You could give him or his family a syringe of morphine, enough to take him out.”

“Kevin, we ran out of morphine six months ago.”
Except for the private stash I have at home, just in case
, he thought. “What few pain meds we have are reserved for the living, not euthanasia.”

“So what do you do?”

“For the first couple of months we waited until they turned. Then we severed the brain stem. Don’t ask, you don’t want to know. Back in February we had a wife wheel her unconscious husband outside. It was below zero. She stood with him, in her coat, crying her eyes. He froze to death before he had time to turn. When she came back in, her tears were frozen to her cheeks.” Dr. Nunn stopped talking for a moment, the memory still fresh, then went on. “She did the merciful thing. And she was just the first. During the winter we had two other cases where the bitten were taken outside and allowed to freeze to death. In one case the victim was an elderly parent. In the other case it was the sibling who did the right thing. Nobody dared say an accusatory word to them. Every one of them instinctively knew,
There but for the grace of God go I.

“
The consensus in town is to put them out of their misery. Don’t let them turn. Their brains have to die before they affection takes over. But death by hypothermia was not an option after spring came. Now we ask the patient or their family or friends what they want. We don’t go into detail. We let them know we’ll make sure they won’t turn, but ask them if they want us to do it in private, or if they want to help. Some insist on letting the patient die of the bite before anything is done, but most of them choose to act before that happens. So everybody on duty is part of a lottery system, and whoever’s name gets picked out of a hat has to do the dirty job of  .  .  .  you get the idea.”

Dr. Nunn again turned to Kevin. “Some people allow us to do research on their bodies. Try different things to see if we can stop them from turning. I don’t have anything left to try.”

He spoke to the nurse. “Monitor his condition. Who knows, maybe they cut it off in time. Maybe he won’t turn. But I’m not optimistic. I’m going home. I’ll be back in the morning. Make him as comfortable as you can. If my name gets picked, come get me. But please don’t pick my name.” He signed off on a chart she held out to him then muttered a cheerless, “Goodnight. Again.” Looking downcast, he headed for the exit.

Kevin asked one of the nurses to point him towards the pharmacy, and as he headed down the hall he spied Carolyn walking toward him, carrying the same medical bag she’d had before. “There’s no point in my staying. I can’t help him and it doesn’t appear anyone else requires meds. Are you ready to go?” Kevin nodded, lost in his thoughts and feelings. “Listen, why don’t we get out of here, head to Stormcloud. They’re still open. I could use an adult beverage.” Kevin nodded his head and the two of them walked toward the same exit Dr. Nunn had used only a few minutes earlier. They stayed quiet as they walked along, each lost in their own thoughts. At some point Kevin was surprised to realize they were walking arm in arm. It only made him miss Michelle.

God, I miss you, Michelle. Honey, I’ll head back tomorrow. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

As they walked through downtown Frankfort, Kevin began to notice his surroundings and tried to figure out what was different. Then he realized how dark it was. Most of the streetlights on Main Street had motion detectors, and the lights flickered on as Kevin and Carolyn walked near. The rest were dark since everyone had gone inside during the alarm. It was completely quiet except for the sound of conversation coming from Stormcloud and the sound of the surf crashing against the breakwater and beach a quarter of a mile away. Finding the town so dark and quiet at night was unnerving. It made Kevin feel as if he were in two places at once. A place loved and familiar, and a place he’d never visited. They walked into Stormcloud and Rick waved to them from behind the bar. He held up two fingers and Carolyn nodded. He pointed to the word Rainmaker on the chalkboard and she nodded again. The place was about half-filled and most of the conversation was quiet. But when everyone saw Carolyn, they wanted to know what happened. She addressed the room, telling them what she knew. When she finished, a couple of people asked some questions. As she told of the downed-fence and of Matt, the victim, conversation halted for a few moments as the crowd took in the news.

Kevin and Carolyn moved to an empty table. The experience at the hospital had left Kevin feeling a mixture of dark emotions. He was overjoyed to know he could bring Michelle to Frankfort, where a medical staff could help with her pregnancy. On the other hand, he’d seen a living zombie victim, seen the look of deathly fear on the man’s face. He’d seen a man who had been bitten, a man who knew he was going to die. Or turn.

Chapter Twenty-One

Carolyn commented on his mood, saying “It’s rough, especially if you haven’t seen much of it.”

“I haven’t seen
any
of it,” Kevin replied. “I’ve seen and eliminated plenty of zombies but I never saw anyone alive after being bitten. And I never thought about how a hospital would handle it. I can’t imagine having my number picked and having to  .  .  .  put someone out of their misery. So that guy back there—Matthew—is going to die, and someone is going to have to  .  .  .  take care of him before he turns?”

Rick delivered their pints of beer. “Enjoy!” he said and hurried back to the bar.

Carolyn continued. “We’ve sanitized it. The task becomes just another awful chore, like unplugging a terminal patient. Every one of us knows it’s the right thing to do. But none of us enjoys it. Do you want to know the details?”

“Absolutely not. So you’ve had to do it?”

“Five times. The first time was the hardest. Remember, I wasn’t trained as a nurse, but as a pharmacist. But being on the medical staff, my name’s in the lottery like everyone else. They showed me what to do and I did it. After they turned or before.”

“What did the authorities do? Technically it’s euthanasia, which is against the law, right?”

“After the third time, Dr. Nunn called a combined meeting of the security team, the city council, and medical personnel. We also invited the local clergy. We explained it as basically as possible. If someone gets bitten, they’re going to die and then turn. No question, no doubt. We recommended infected people be treated as if they were already zombies. Killing them should not make us criminals.

“Jake was here from across the bay as an invited guest. He was wearing khaki shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He was the epitome of an aging hippie. He stood and said, ‘
If I get bit, I don’t want to turn. I know some people might not agree, but I’m asking everyone here, please, if I get bit, don’t let me turn. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy turn. Let me die a man. And I promise I’ll do the same for every one of you. This is not a question of law. It’s a question of decency.’
Then he sat down.

“He was quite effective. I think a lot of people were on the fence until he spoke. We took a vote—actually the first time all four groups voted together—and agreed that, except in extenuating circumstances, taking the life of someone who had been bitten was not a punishable offense.”

“Extenuating circumstances?”

“Like if someone had an enemy and kidnapped them and purposely let them get bit so they could murder them without punishment.”

“Oh. That’s warped.”

“And would be considered an extenuating circumstance.”

“What happens when they turn?”

“You mean how does it happen? They get sick, they pass out, they quit breathing and their heart stops. They assume ambient temperature. A couple hours later they start moving again. What else do you want to know?”

“But you’ve done research?”

“Of course. We’ve tried to stop them from turning. And when they turned, we tried to find some other way to dispatch them without destroying their brains. We tried communicating with them. We got nowhere.”

“Why did you try to kill them without destroying the brain?”

“We needed to know if there was any other way to destroy them besides damaging their brain. Could they be suffocated, or gassed, or electrocuted? Could they be damaged severely enough to die? It was absolutely grisly work. Before long we didn’t even think of them as human, because they
aren’t
human. I’ve completely accepted the truth that the moment they get bit, they are no longer human. The distinction is very clear in my mind and heart. The horrible experiments we had to perform were done on non-humans. And we knew killing them was an act of mercy.”