Forever Between (Between Life and Death Book 2) (12 page)

“Cheezus, can you hold still a second?” the soldier asks from behind me.

“Not really,” I snap back.

The rope falls away and I snatch the hard drive from the lead soldier’s hand. None of those three are wearing name-tapes on their uniforms, or even complete uniforms, so I’m still not clear about what they are exactly, but I do know that the doctor is the one I care about finding.

“Emily sent me with this! Her mom worked on something she thought might help and it’s on this drive,” I say.

Doctor Reed accepts the hard drive from my hand, but not with the enthusiasm I expected. I point at it and reiterate, “Don’t you get it? That might have a cure on it.”

He hefts the metal and plastic brick in his hand and looks at it as if he can read what’s on it by how it shifts in his palm. Then he tucks it into his pocket and says, “Oh, I believe you think that. So did the dozen who came before you.”

“But how many of those were created by the people who wrote the code for the nanites in the first place?” I ask, feeling a little sense of victory.

“All of them.”

“Oh,” I say, my sense of victory fleeing and all my hopes deflating.

The soldiers behind us are shifting a little, tired of our little hallway conference is my guess. This place doesn’t seem to be exactly teeming with personnel or bustling with activity.

“What’s going on here?” Charlie asks. He waves a hand at the debris strewn floor. “This place is still manned, so there’s infrastructure. Why haven’t you spread out, brought people in, killed off the deaders?”

I sneak a look at Charlie and see how truly angry he is. What he went through before Emily found them has never been fully shared, but I know it wasn’t great. Like all of us, his life after the nanites included hunger, thirst, fear, and doing things no one ever wants to do. I understand his anger. I feel it down deep somewhere as well, but that’s not why we’re here. We can feel that stuff after we have what we want.

Doctor Reed, wearing his worn blue camis and a weary smile, answers without hesitation, “Because we’re not manned like you think. The base is overrun. All we’ve got is what we’ve got here. That’s it. As of this moment, there are fifty-three people. Plus, you two. That’s it. Out of more than ten-thousand troops from all four services that wound up at the base, we managed to keep only fifty-three people alive and safe here. Think about that for a minute.”

Charlie doesn’t answer. He just looks down, the toe of his boot making swirling patterns in the dirt on the floor. Ten-thousand is a big number. A very big and terrible number.

I’m not sure if he takes pity on us for dropping our hopes down into an endlessly deep chasm, or if he just sees how tired we are. Maybe it’s neither of those things and he just wants information. Whatever the reason, he dismisses the troops behind us with a respectful, “thank you,” then motions for us to follow.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get you a room for the night. I’d show you around but it’s dark and we’re limited on lights.” He holds up his make-shift LED lantern to drive the point home.

I pull out my LED flashlight and it brightens the hallway we’re walking down so much that Doctor Reed’s light is all but lost in it. The look he gives my light is envious, but resigned. It’s not the look of someone who’s plotting a way to steal it.

“Wow,” he says, as if seeing the hallway anew. “That’s better. Okay, so we’ll put you where the spare rooms are, which is the third floor. Orthopedics. Nice and comfy and off the bottom floors. Plus, not so many infected when stuff went wrong. No one likes to sleep on beds where the infected were. Most of us are on the fourth floor, but the rooms in ortho aren’t too bad.”

At the junction on the third floor, left leads to Maternity—which makes me sad—while to the right is Orthopedics. There are plenty of signs of life here. Posters, whether hand-drawn or commercial, are stuck to some of the doors. Small bags of laundry wait outside a few of the doors and a single LED light mounted on the wall about halfway down provides a sort of dim night-light for the space that holds the gloomy dark at bay.

He takes us to the end of the hall where there’s a closed door, no posters and no laundry bags by it, and pushes open the door for us. “Here you go. I, uh, saw you having your dinner so I hope you won’t think me rude if I don’t invite you to join us for tonight’s meal. We, uh, ration fairly strictly.” He motions to his thin frame and I finally notice how big his uniform is on him. He’s lost considerable weight if those uniforms used to fit him correctly.

Charlie looks into the room a bit suspiciously, not trusting how nice these people are. I don’t trust it either. They wouldn’t still be here if they were nice. The only way the nice survive is by having the ability to become decidedly
un
-nice at the drop of a hat.

I look in as well, not sure what to expect, but all the room contains is two basic hospital beds stripped of linens and two of those rolling carts that function as bedside tables.

Doctor Reed must sense our unease, because he walks in past us and over to the window. He pulls up the blinds and opens the window. The view outside is only of other rooms, so this must be over one of the interior courtyards we caught glimpses of on the way up to this floor. He pats the screen, and says, “You could pop this out if you want to. There’s a ledge.” He turns and points at the door. “That bar next to the door fits in the brackets on each door jamb. It will prevent anyone from coming in.”

We stand there silently. I’m not sure how Charlie feels, but I feel kind of like a heel. Emily would say shit-heel. Yeah, that’s me right about now.

Before Charlie or I can think of anything nice to say that will make us seem less like untrusting savages, the doctor says, “We only use the rooms facing the interior of the hospital after dark to keep the light from showing. So, if you decide to look around, do be sure to keep doors on the other side of the hallway closed and don’t shine your lights inside them. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, of course,” I say. “Thank you…for the room and, uh, for not shooting us out there.”

Doctor Reed laughs and gives a little shake of his head. He walks back to the door and makes to leave, but stops at the threshold and looks back. His face is almost tragic the way it combines pleasant politeness and sadness when he says, “It’s good to see young people again. Good to know there are still some out there. We’ll talk tomorrow. About the hard drive and everything else. Okay?”

We both nod and he goes, just like that.

“Well, that was weird,” Charlie says, immediately going to the door and fitting the bar into the brackets, then testing the door by jerking it. The rattle it makes is really loud so I
shh
him. The doctor must have heard that. It’s bad enough that he knows we don’t trust him without rubbing it in. Charlie pays not the slightest bit of attention to me and rattles it again, fiddling with the top of the bracket to be sure no one could lift it from the outside or by cracking the door open.

“I think we’re fine, Charlie,” I say, tossing my pack onto one of the beds.

“Famous last words,” he mutters in response.

“True, but in this case, I think we really are fine. I doubt they’re a bunch of crazy cannibals. I just don’t get the whole cannibal vibe.”

He turns from the door, hand on one hip, and says, “And where do you think all those deader legs went to? They could have eaten them. We don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s just so disgusting. You didn’t catch the smell of parsnips? I did. I’m thinking we should trade seeds with these guys if they really can’t do anything with the hard drive.”

Charlie plops down on the bed next to me, making the plastic cover on the mattress crackle and me bounce upward. “I’m not getting the cannibal vibe either, but I’m not taking any chances. You don’t find it odd that they just escorted us in here like they get visitors all the time?”

I shrug a shoulder because, frankly, it
is
odd. The only people we’ve seen other than our group are bad people who want what others have or want the body of another for whatever nasty purpose they have in mind. Like Gloria.

“Let’s just see what happens,” I say, then think better of that notion. “And keep watch.”

Charlie grins and nudges me with his sharp elbow. “You take first watch then.”

*****

Breakfast is just the two of us in our room. A carrot, the last of our rice, and a piece of flatbread. It’s almost a relief to have something to do aside from lay there pretending to sleep. As soon as we heard movement and dawn sent early gray light in past the blinds, we were both up and wide awake. Truthfully, I didn’t sleep much, and what I did get was light and not particularly fulfilling. Charlie’s yawns and tired eyes tell me he was in the same boat last night.

We open the door as a sign that we’re up, and it’s not too much later that a young guy wearing a mish-mash outfit of a scrub top and tan cami bottoms, along with bright orange sneakers to complete his ensemble, knocks and pokes his head in. “Doc says he’ll meet you in the atrium in a few minutes. That okay?”

He actually waits for an answer, looking from me to Charlie and back again, eyebrows raised expectantly and a half-smile on his face.

“Uh, yeah sure. Where’s the atrium?” Charlie asks.

“To the stairs and down. Simple,” he answers, pointing down the hall. He doesn’t introduce himself or ask our names, but his half-smile widens and he taps the door twice before ducking away.

“Well, he was friendly,” I say.

“Yeah,” Charlie answers, his voice still suspicious. We help each other with our packs, then head out to see what’s what in this place. I’m still hopeful there’s help to be found here, but also fearful it won’t be enough.

The hospital looks very different in the light. The dirt is more obvious, but so is the effort that’s gone into keeping it under control. Charlie and I follow the hallway toward a light-filled central stairway. Above us, a huge metal mobile fills the air space above us and beyond that, a pyramid shaped skylight provides a backdrop of bright, post-dawn light. If I don’t look too hard, I can ignore the buildup of dirt around the edges of the glass and just enjoy the light.

On the bottom floor, two people walking away from us carrying baskets stop, turn back, and look at us like we might be some new species of potentially dangerous animal. We consider each other for a moment, then the girl gives us a tentative wave with her free hand. The guy tugs her sleeve and they walk on.

Doctor Reed finally joins us after several minutes of us standing around awkwardly and trying to look like we don’t feel awkward. He smells of oatmeal when he holds out a hand to shake. Oatmeal sounds really good.

“Hey you two. Hope you managed to get at least a few minutes sleep last night.” He says it with a knowing grin that’s friendly and open. I feel less suspicious by the second.

“Yeah, well, you know how it is. When one travels, the beds are never as comfortable as your own,” Charlie quips.

It’s so surprising to hear him joke that I laugh a real laugh. So does the doctor. Alas, that laugh dies an uncomfortable death, leaving us standing there with nothing to say. It is exceptionally weird to meet new people, and to do it like this is even weirder. Social conventions are a part of history now, so this is a bit like falling through the looking glass.

“Uh, so. Shall I give you the grand tour?” he asks, rubbing his hands together as if we’ve got a full schedule for the day and he’s eager to get started.

I’d much rather get down to business, but I’m quite certain that insisting on that won’t actually speed up the process at all.

“Sure,” I answer for both of us.

The hospital is huge, as in freakishly enormous, so we don’t get the full tour by any stretch of the imagination, but we don’t have to see all of it to get the idea I think Doctor Reed is trying to convey. It’s empty. The halls ring with echoes as we cross and the rooms swirl with dust when he opens long-closed doors.

On the lower floor, they’ve done some good work in the tiny courtyards once used as places to grieve, or where visiting family can just get some fresh un-medicated smelling air. Surrounded on all sides by the building but open to the sky, these spaces have been altered to provide garden plots. Benches once arranged neatly beside clipped grass and flower beds lie canted on their sides in the hallways just inside the doors.

Doctor Reed keeps walking and talking for a few steps, but then comes back to the place we stand, looking at their neat garden rows. I can see winter crops just like we’re growing. Carrots, radishes, parsnips, celery root, and more. They’re all things that either grow fast—like radishes—or store well and provide some of the crucial nutrients needed over a long winter of rice and beans.

“We have a few of these. Not enough,” he says.

“Doctor Reed, this wouldn’t be enough to last a handful of people all winter. Where are you getting the rest of your food?” Charlie asks.

“Call me Chester,” he says, then laughs when he sees my eyebrows go up. “Blame my parents for that name, I sure didn’t choose it.” That makes him go solemn for a moment, the corners of his mouth dipping down suddenly, perhaps thinking of his parents. He grips the little ledge on the viewing window and pulls himself together. The smile comes back to some extent, and he says, “As to your question, this was already a green building and the roof is like a farm now. And, we did manage to get a share from the military shopping plaza. The base got most of it.”

“So, they were around for a while at least?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, a good while. But, with that many people, the problem becomes keeping a lid on what goes on inside the walls rather than what might be coming over them. And they started getting people turning on the inside. It didn’t take long once that got started. We got a couple of dozen from there, but after that…”

He stops there and I can guess the rest. “You didn’t want the same thing here. You turned them away?”

He nods, still looking out at his inadequate garden. “We did. Not all, but most.”

There’s really not much more to say about that. We would have done the same thing. Numbers are only good to a point. After that, separation becomes the issue. Everyone has to be able to watch someone else and be watched in their turn. No death can go un-noticed.