Cure (15 page)

Billy patted Lenny firmly on the back and handed him a 16 oz. soda bottle filled with gasoline. “This one’s for Annie, Len.”

Lenny snarled. “No, this’s for my girls.”

Billy opened the rear van door and gave Lenny a shove.

Lenny stumbled out into the storm, his work boots splashing in a deceptively deep puddle when his unsteady feet hit the wet pavement. He teetered.

“You got this?” Billy asked.

Lenny pulled up the hood, tightened the strings, and gave him the thumbs up. “This better fucking work,” he mumbled and headed for the shed nearest the center’s side door.

* * * * *

The small outbuilding labeled “Smoking Area was, luckily, empty. Lenny stepped inside, waterlogged with enough booze to almost quell his fear. The familiar numbness provided an escape from the nagging thought that what they were about to do was all going to end badly. He sat down on one of three deteriorating office chairs and pulled a Pall Mall from the pack he managed to keep dry in the rain.

He lit the cigarette, mindful of the gasoline-filled bottle weighing down his sweatshirt pocket and took a few drags. His mind wandered to his last argument with Annie, the day she went into the hospital. He recalled what she had said that started their fight.
The girls need their father sober.

He hadn’t meant to hit her, to keep hitting her until she was unconscious.
His girls’ wounded expressions haunted him still.

What if he found her and she didn’t want to come home with him?

The thought sparked a string of uncertainty that made him wish for a bottle of whiskey. His hand shook, knocking the last ash to the ground. He looked down and realized he was holding little more than a filter.

Still, no one had shown up for a smoke and he knew he allowed himself more than enough time to see that the coast was clear. He steadied his now frayed nerves, calling on the remainder of his buzz for bravado, and went into the desolate first floor hallway.

To the far right was a sign for Human Resources and to the left, one for the morgue.
No security or staff that he could see.
He lit a second cigarette, dangled it from his lip, and buried the tip of his pocketknife into the plastic water bottle. The smell turned his hollow stomach. He hadn’t eaten in days, preferring a steady diet of alcohol instead of food. The gas dripped slowly, at first, and then faster when he thrust the blade in and widened the gap. He dribbled a trail to under the first visible smoke detector and dropped the lit cigarette.

“Shit!”

The puddle of gas extinguished it, soaking it to the filter.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Off-balance and nauseous, Lenny struggled to get a pack of dry matches out of the baggie caught on the keys in his pocket.

“Hey! What are you doing there?” A militant-looking guard brandished his side-arm.

He’d been made.

His hand shook, the anxiety he’d managed to bury rising to the surface.

Hurry.

The guard advanced, his expression quizzical as he whiffed the air. “Hey, you. Stop. What are you doing?”

You can do this, Lenny.
If the distraction failed, the others would never forgive him.
Annie would never come home.
He pulled, hard, and the bag ripped.

“Stop right there,” he slurred and threw the soda bottle on the ground.

The guard held his hand up, looking down at the trickle of gasoline under his feet. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Lenny worked a matchbook free and quickly tore off one of the matches. “I’m warnin’ you. Stay back.”

The guard kept coming, determined.

“I mean it,” Lenny said and struck the match.

The small flame ignited and the guard froze.

“I’m givin’ you three seconds to run.”

The guard was obviously weighing his options.

“Two…” The match burned down halfway. “One.” He flicked it just before it reached his fingertips.

The trail went up fast, the flames separating him from the guard.

Lenny took off in the other direction, running in a weaving pattern. His wet work boots skidded on the polished tile.

 The guard narrowly avoided being engulfed in flames and Lenny heard him shouting, radioing for help.

He pushed himself, running when his legs threatened to crumble and the stitch in his side sharpened. His pulse raced and dizziness gave way to a pounding headache.

He was almost there.

The red exit sign was just up ahead.

You did it, Lenny.

But his self-congratulations were premature. Three armed guards appeared and formed an impenetrable human barricade in front of it.

26
.

Miranda wiped her runny nose on the back of her hand so Reid wouldn’t hear her sniffle. An eerie silence replaced the orderly’s pleas and a stream of tears ran down her cheeks. His slow and painful death had been her fault, even though she never intended her escape to cost him his life.

She had come to a place of suffering.

Hiding in the pipe work above the drop ceiling, she realized she’d gone from one trap to another.

Reid cleared the utility shelves in the room directly below her.
The same ones she’d used to climb up.
He knew where she was and was coming for her. She couldn’t let that happen.

She unclenched her sweaty fists and pressed down on the sturdiest looking ductwork to see if it would support her. It felt strong, but adding the rest of her weight was a risk. She shifted from one foot to the other and the metal groaned.

Something thumped against a nearby ceiling tile.

 “Come out, come out wherever you are.” Reid taunted.

Miranda held her breath and covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a whimper.

“I know you’re in here.”

The tip of a broom handle lifted a tile and slid it back. The orderly’s exsanguinated body became visible and she clenched her eyes shut. She gasped and was crying before she could stop it.

“Marco.”

Polo.

She froze, afraid that any noise would help him narrow down her position.

Another tile moved, then a third.

He was getting too close.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can’t stay up there forever.”

All she had to do was out-maneuver him.

She blinked the tears from her eyes and moved away from the missing tiles. Her body tensed as she crept through the web of pipes and ductwork to the narrow shelter behind an industrial fan.

She would wait him out if she had to.

“You’re really going to make me come get you?” Reid asked. He stepped on the first shelf and the metal popped.

It’ll never hold him.
It had barely held her.

“Last chance, Miranda. When I catch you, I promise you’ll be sorry.”

Sweat rolled down her forehead mixing with tears on her cheeks. She pulled her knees tight to her chest and clenched her forearm with her other hand.

Reid climbed another step closer and the shelf rocked, rattling against the hard cement floor.

She peered around the humming fan, the noise making it difficult to hear how close he actually was. When his blood-spattered face came up through the opening, she nearly fainted.

“There you are.” He grinned and reached for a nearby pipe.

Her heart pounded and blood rushed in her ears. She looked behind her for an easy out.
There had to be someplace she could go
.

Reid pulled up. As he stepped on top of the shelves, the whole thing collapsed. He hung from a pipe until his hands, damp with the orderly’s blood, slipped and he crashed to the ground.

Oh, thank God.

Tears streamed down Miranda’s cheeks and she exhaled a sigh of relief. His fall bought her at least some time.
She was going to be all right.

No sooner had she thought it, than the fire alarm went off.

27
.

Gray smoke billowed out of the Nixon Center’s side door. A brigade of fire trucks arrived and a dozen firemen filed out of them.

 Zach hoisted an oxygen tank onto his back and kept his head down to avoid being recognized. “Where the fuck is Lenny?” he asked.

Scott shrugged. “Who knows?”

“He should be here by now.” The fear that Reid had found him made it hard for Zach to breathe.

“We can’t wait all day,” Billy said. “Fire’ll be out in no time.”

“Are we ready?” Scott asked.

Zach worried that their plan was unraveling already. “I am if we’re not waiting on Lenny.”

“I don’t see how we can.” Scott secured the mask over his face and gestured for them to get moving.

The three ran to catch up with the firemen heading into the center and blended seamlessly into the scene. Droves of ambulatory patients and visitors headed for the main doors. The strobe lights and sounding alarms heightened the chaos.

Zach pointed to a service elevator at the other end of the lobby and forced his way through the crowd.

Their breaking away from the pack would raise suspicion if anyone was watching.

Zach pushed the call button and the door opened.

Scott moved to the back and lifted his mask. “That was close.”

“Do you think we were spotted?” Mark asked.

Zach shook his head. “There were too many people, too much confusion. I’m sure we’re fine.” He said it more to convince himself.
Sooner or later they would be targeted.
He hoped it was after he found Allison.

The elevator reached the basement and opened to an empty hallway.

Immediately, Zach sensed something was wrong. The start of the tension headache he’d been harboring escalated to full-blown.

“Wait here a minute.” He unholstered his pistol.

Growls filled the hall between the elevator and the Control Room, and as he crept along, he realized Clarence’s cell was open.

His muscles twitched and his hands shook. He geared up for the worst, the blood pool being the first thing to come into view. The rancid smell of vomit burned his nose. He pulled the door the rest of the way open and prepared to shoot if he had to.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhaled. The cell was empty. He waved for the others. “One of the infected guards is missing.”

“Where would he go?” Scott asked.

“A procedure room, probably, which means that Nixon might be down here.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Then you better hurry up.”

Zach pulled off his right glove and sweat dripped onto the palm scanner. The light came up red.
What is going on?
He wiped his hand on the cool cement block wall and tried again, sick to his stomach when his access was denied a second time.
Nixon must’ve locked him out.
What did that mean for Allison?

Scott dabbed his forehead with his sleeve. “I thought you said you had clearance.”

“I
did
as recently as yesterday. Nixon is definitely on to me.”

“You bet your ass he’s on to you.” Foster stood outside the elevator the three of them had been too preoccupied to notice had cycled. He adjusted his dark glasses and smirked.

Zach froze, unsure of how to take the smile.
Was he going to sound the alarm?

“I can explain,” Zach stammered.

Foster didn’t move to stop them. “I’m not going to ask you to.” He stepped up, set his hand on the scanner, and the Control Room door opened. “A lot has happened while you’ve been gone.”

Zach cleared his throat. “Obviously. What’s Clarence doing in there?” His heartbeat quickened and he reluctantly went inside.

“Holy shit,” Scott whispered.

Mark’s mouth fell open.

“What the hell happened to him?” Scott asked.

Clarence sat against the wall with his knees pulled to his chest. His face was shredded, his nails caked with blood, but the opaque white film had lifted from his eyes.

“It’s a long story.” Foster held out a handful of syringes to Travis who knelt at Clarence’s side. “This is all Ben had.”

Travis injected Clarence and scowled at Zach. “This is yer fault.”

Mark set his mask on the counter and looked curiously at Clarence. “I’ve never seen anything like this. What happened to him?”

Travis pointed an accusing finger at Zach. “
He
left him for dead.”

“I…I thought it was too late.” Zach wasn’t sure how he felt about what he was seeing. The shots were the short-term fix Nixon had told him about. He couldn’t help fearing that Clarence’s relief was only a temporary stay of execution.

“Lucky, not everyone did. We need to get him out of here. Ben says he’ll take him, fix ‘em up, and get him home.”

“Take him where?” Zach asked, knowing that there was no cure.
No going home.

Travis lowered his eyes.

“Take him
where?
” Zach repeated.

Neither Travis nor Foster responded.

Zach slammed his hand on the counter. “Goddammit, you answer me.” He leveled his pistol at Travis.

“The clinic, okay?” Travis held up his hands.

“
What
clinic?”

Foster sighed. “Nixon has an off-site somewhere up in the mountains. He does research up there. Ben’s the only one who’s seen it.”

“Is it possible there’s a room up there that
looks
like a room here?”  Zach lowered the gun. “Is that where Nixon took my wife?”

Foster shrugged. “I honestly don’t know that.”

Clarence drew a ragged breath, but didn’t speak or maybe he couldn’t.

The monitors flickered and the commotion caught Zach’s attention even as a thousand fleeting thoughts collided in his mind. “Why are they so agitated?” The zombies clawed for the ceiling, crazed and reaching.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with this.” Foster flipped the switch to change the view. Zach held his hand to his head. “I think she’s looking for a way out. Last we saw her, she was climbing the shelves in the Incinerator Room. They hear her over their heads.” Foster grunted. “I told her not to leave. I was going to get her out of here.”