Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (5 page)

12

“Hey, Santa,” a nurse cheerfully sings upon seeing Luke Stemmer enter despite the chaos happening around her

The Emergency Room of Mercy General Hospital is a mad house, far worse than any Black Friday Luke has ever seen on his beat as Santa. Instead of shoppers fighting over bargains, many are fighting for their lives. Bloody people compete for the attention of the harried staff, telling anyone in scrubs what has happened to them. It is standing room only and even that is in dwindling supply as the injured sit or lie on the tile floor. Blood pools beneath dripping gashes and red soaked rags and gauze. Luke just finds his way carefully through, something’s up, something bad. All these people, the state of the city, he can feel in the pit of his stomach that it will only get worse. He learned long ago to trust that feeling, the other shoe always falls, and his gut is telling him that this is going to drop like a megaton bomb. He’s unapologetic as he pushes through the crowd to get to the lobby, all he cares about is seeing his daughter.

The mass of hopeful patients spills all the way down the corridor leading to the main reception area and beyond. Luke has to hand it to the healthcare workers, it takes a special breed of person to be able to put up with all the moaning and groaning, the complaining and beseeching for aid. He can’t wait for the elevator doors to close out their clamor.

The lift is like being in a sensory deprivation tank after the ruckus of the ER. He sways on his feet, almost able to drift off to sleep between all the day’s bell ringing and the alcohol. He snaps alert when the quiet box jolts to a stop with a ding, just like his days on the force he doesn’t let fatigue slow him down. That brief moment of rest invigorates him with a second wind as he steps into the hall and heads for the Intensive Care Unit.

Quite a change from the ER, it’s almost too quiet. Luke knows most units run on skeleton crews at night, but there is no one behind the desk. The lighting has been turned down in the halls and in the patient suites to allow them the recuperative rest they need.

“You said he was dead!” a man screams from one of the few lit rooms.

“You pronounced him!” he hears his daughter’s voice and runs towards whatever waits behind this door.

“Just hold him down.”

Luke arrives to see his daughter putting all her weight upon a man’s shoulders where he lies on a hospital bed. The man writhes, the nasal cannula that feeds him oxygen comes loose from his movement and he doesn’t seem to mind. The man his daughter holds down strains to crane his neck to get his face as close to the nurse as possible, he can’t quite reach but that just makes him try harder, snapping his jaws just inches away.

The nurse winces when the teeth come too close for comfort, she’d scream for help if any was available to assist her. All she can do is hold tight and hope it’s enough as she waits for the doctor to draw the sedative. Her eyes fall on a sight that baffles her, Santa entering the room. His white beard is tinged with red, as is the white trim of his suit. “Dad?”

Luke is able to hold the man to the bed with one hand so his daughter can slip away.

The doctor turns with a full syringe and says, “Susan, hold his arm down for me.”

The patient is subdued by Luke’s hand but his arms still flail and claw at them. Before the nurse can get ahold of one of the flying limbs, the patient latches onto Santa’s beefy arm, she has to fight to break his grip.

“That won’t help,” Luke tells the doctor as he watches him inject the patient.

“Pardon?”

“Saw a guy. Dead. He got up. Medics gave him the same shit and it didn’t help.”

“Forgive me if I wish to try anyway, Santa.”

“Suzy, grab some towels,” Luke overrides the professional. “We’ll lash him to the bed.”

“You will not!” the doctor adamantly states.

“Perfectly legal,” Luke assures. “This guy’s a danger to himself and others, namely my daughter. Your wife I might add.”

Even after the cocktail of sedatives is injected the man on the bed continues to fight for his freedom. His hands have once again found Luke’s arm, his vacant yet fixated eyes are locked onto the limb he holds painfully tight. The retired cop can feel the patient trying to lift himself to his arm while also trying to pull his arm down to his mouth. The sick man exerts surprising strength in his resolve.

Susan stands off to the side, she is holding several towels but isn’t ready to undermined her husband’s objection to their use just yet.

“Susan,” her husband says calmly, “can you bring the four-point restraints, please?”

She is off and running. Luke isn’t sure how much longer he can hold the man down, the combative patient’s arms work like hydraulic pistons that just won’t quit.

Aside from the required annual training the doctor and nurse team don’t get much practice using the restraints. They bungle with the buckles and thick plastic straps starting with the man’s arms to give Luke a much deserved rest. Free of the patient’s grasp Luke rubs the spot he had his hands on.
Gonna be bruised for sure tomorrow. Guy his size shouldn’t be this strong
, he considers the skinny, middle aged man on the bed that fights against the straps, still fixated on the three of them. The bed rattles and clangs.

“So, what are you doing here?” Susan asks he father.

“Just seeing if you’re all right,” he tells her. “Boys fine?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s with ‘em?”

“Our neighbor, Mrs. Krantz, said she’d look in on them. They were asleep when I got called in.”

“Don’tcha have caller ID?”

“Susan and I enjoy helping people,” the doctor says in a snotty tone. He puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

Luke doesn’t like this man much, not even remotely. He liked the previous husband a lot more, he said as much in his toast at their wedding.

“God, Josh!” Susan takes her husband’s hand with concern. “You’re hurt!”

“The patient,” he plays off the bloody bandage he now has wrapped around his hand, “he bit me.”

“Come to the treatment room!” Susan orders him, not liking the looks of the avulsed wound beneath the gauze when she steals a peek. She has to clean it out very well knowing how bad human bites can be.

The hospital’s PA has been directing staff almost nonstop since Luke arrived, he had ignored it until now. “Code green, Labor and Delivery. Code green, Labor and Delivery.”

“That’s a restraint, isn’t it?” he asks his daughter. “Who gets restrained in L&D?”

“Don’t know,” she answers, more concerned with tending to her husband’s injury. “All available staff have been pulled from us and the other wards to help out in the ER.”

“It’s a real mad house down there,” Luke confirms.

“Thanks for your help, but you should go,” Susan has Josh’s hand cleansed and re-wrapped. She walks her father out of the treatment room.

“I’d like to watch this prick bleed some more,” he snickers.

“Why do you hate him so much?” she implores.

“Because you had it good before you met him.”

“It wasn’t all good,” she corrects.

“He was a good man, Suzy. Oz didn’t deserve what you did.”

The truth hits her like a punch that robs her of her breath. “You need to leave.”

“Can’t we talk?” Luke feels bad that the conversation has gone this route yet again. His disapproval of Susan’s choice to leave her ex-husband in favor of her current, bringing their son in tow back to her hometown of Breckinridge, has caused a great rift between them.

“There’s nothing to say that you haven’t already, every time I see you, tonight, at my wedding.”

He is unable to let it go, his pride won’t let him lie and say he is wrong or even sorry. All Luke can do is utter the same words he ended the wedding toast with, “It needed to be said.”

“Leave.”

The man turns away, he’s exhausted all of a sudden. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll swing by and check on the boys.”

The elevator ride to the ground level lulls Luke to sleep once more for the brief time he is inside, but when the steel cocoon opens he is snapped to attention by the chaos that has only gotten worse.

Running on his second, second wind of the evening, the man in the Santa suit skirts the ER opting to exit through the main entrance. The line of people waiting to be seen has grown, spread throughout the lobby. People moan and groan, clutching bloody rags to stem bleeding wounds. They tell the staff taking triage similar stories of being bitten.

Luke slows his pace to eavesdrop on the details. Only one recount differs, a girl with an injured leg, trampled during a hotel fire. He also hears yet again this night a phrase that connects it all as he pushes the glass doors open.

“You said she was dead!”

He thinks of his grandkids, home alone, relatively. Just old Mrs. Krantz to keep an eye on things.
Old, old Mrs. Krantz, with all her medical concerns,
he adds.

The buses aren’t running. He knows he won’t be getting a cab tonight. The only vehicles he sees on the road are emergency responders. He needs to get to the boys, his eyes survey the area in desperation.

He rushes to a large bus, on its side is a giant logo of a derby girl wearing pads and band aids that announces in a word bubble “Make way for Man’s Ruin”. The door is shut and he can’t see through the tinted windows if there is anyone onboard. He knocks on the steel with urgency several times before giving up and searching for another means.

The lot is jammed packed with cars, people have even parked where there are no spaces. The automobiles spill out onto the street, abandoned by their owners’ desperation. Luke sees a vehicle among the many that he knows he can use and won’t even have to worry about having the key.

He climbs into the open ride and slides across the plush leather seats. Many cities, including Waterloo to the north, have been getting rid of their Handsome Cabs, Breckinridge has been debating it for years. The white mare before him dances nervously, it tries to see Luke though the blinders prevent it from succeeding.

“Shh,” the man soothes. “I’m not going to hurt ya. I just need you to take me somewhere.”

The horse’s nerves calm down, though this is not the driver it is used to, something about him is reassuring. Luke inspects the reigns, he’s ridden horses before but he has never driven a carriage.
From the top of the chimney, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away, dash away, all.
“Yah!”

13

“What’s all the noise?” grumbles a woman who is generally cranky when wide awake, let alone when her slumber is disturbed. “Those bitches done yet?”

“It’s only been an hour, Rocky,” Killer B reports, still shaken from the sight of the grizzly Santa that came knocking on their door. “Go back to sleep.”

“
Don’t tell me what to do,
” Rocky mumbles softly as she drifts away. As soon as she claimed a spot behind the driver’s seat she spit out her hard candy and let the alcohol in her system take over. A question needs to be asked before she can let her mind go. “So, what was all the banging?”

“Ever see that Tales from the Crypt with the serial killer that dresses like Santa?” she tries to explain.

“
Shut up, KB
,” Rocky slurs. She only needed to ask the plaguing question and wasn’t concerned about the answer.

Killer B is glad to see the bloody Santa leave the lot, she hopes her teammates won’t be too much longer, but considering the looks of the ER when they had tried to find parking she just knows it will be. The Emergency Room’s lot is packed, Rocky would have had trouble fitting in a car let alone the behemoth tour bus. She had to circle around and settle for stopping in a no parking zone on the street, the police seem too busy to worry about handing out citations.

Killer B watches her comatose captain sleep, all curled up and peaceful. With Jan Slaughter more than likely out of the competition tomorrow, they’ll have to rely on the bare minimum number of players, five. Jan will have to sit the match out as an alternate they won’t be able to use either even if they need to. It will be Rocky’s last brawl and she’ll actually have to try not to get penalized, a fate worse than death.

14

Once most people quit smoking they begin to contemplate how they will live, or even function, without the habit. It’s as if the act was sustaining their life rather than robbing it from them bit by bit. Gil Price has attempted to give it up many times, his most recent stint has been three months as a non-smoker. He was just beginning to forget ever being classified anything else.

“Let me get this straight,” the man behind the counter says to him having heard similar requests before just not worded as such. “You want ‘the cheapest, nastiest’ smokes I’ve got?”

“That’s right!” The night has been stressful to say the least, he had a hell of a time getting here in all the stalled traffic and blocked roads. But, now as he stands in the mini-mart just outside the industrial park where his lab is located, he is absolutely jubilant. The prospect of discovery is what he loves about his job, though the discovery has already allegedly been made, and his sample was gained by unseemly means, he’s still very excited. “I need cigarettes so horrible I won’t be able to finish the pack.”

“I’ve got Choice,” the man tosses a pack to his customer. “It’s under four dollars, and I hear nothing but complaints about ‘em.”

“You won’t hear any from me. They sound perfectly dreadful, I’ll take them.”

Outside in the cold air Price pauses to tap the pack against his palm. He pulls the cellophane tab around the pack but the perforations don’t tear properly. He has to yank the clear plastic wrap away. He tries not to think about the dead man in his car, the money, or even the sample. His nerves have had a work out tonight, he stands at the precipice of taking his company to new heights. All he wants at this moment is the cigarette he lights with the complementary matches the jaded clerk had included.

The first drag of the dusty tasting smoke makes his head swoon. Price staggers to his car needing to hold onto it for support. His watering eyes clear after a moment behind the wheel. He wishes he could just go home, crawl into bed with his wife and make up for all his trespasses, but there is far too much to do. At some point tomorrow he will need to get the money back into their account and hope she hasn’t noticed its absence. He must destroy the compromising photo, and of course ditch the body he has stuffed in the suitcase behind him.

The bag in question shifts in the backseat when the engine turns over, sliding from the seat and getting stuck behind the backrests. Price looks at the luggage, knowing he had laid it squarely on the seats but realizes with all the stop and go traffic and detours it undoubtedly shifted. He avoided the flashing strobes of the police as much as he could on his way here, not wanting to get caught with the mobster’s corpse in the back of his car. He can’t wait until he has a chance to dump the bag in the Charles River. He tries not to feel too bad for the man he will be discarding like trash, he didn’t exactly choose a line of work known for having the best of retirement plan.

Price pulls onto the street, seeing red and blue flashing lights in the distance the way he had come. The industrial park is relatively calm, coming in and out at all hours as he normally does, there typically isn’t too much excitement aside from being caught in the crossfire of change of shift for the numerous factories. When these people get off of work they fly out of their respective lots as if they can’t get away from work fast enough. Tonight is odd, he doesn’t pass any cars just people. Workers he figures as many are in matching or similarly drab uniforms, they look tired as they lazily saunter towards the city. Slack, tired looking faces eye Price as he cruises towards his lab, he figures they are just trying to catch sight of all the ruckus, men and women taking a break from their monotonous toil, probably hoping to see what’s going on before grabbing a bite to eat.