Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (17 page)

I leaned over and saw the Red Cross logo,
reminding me of Dom's injury. Picking it up, I moved to the sofa,
and motioned him to sit next to me. Inside the box was everything
you'd expect to find in an at-home first-aid kit: saline, alcohol
swabs, gauze pads, cloth tape, antibiotic ointments, scissors,
bandages, and gloves. The real find was a small suture kit, a vial
of lidocaine, and some tuberculin syringes.

As a nurse, suturing was outside my scope of
practice, but our options were limited, and without proper
treatment his wound would become infected regardless of his already
questionable status. After putting on a pair of gloves, I cleaned
the wound with saline and dried it with gauze pads. The entire palm
of his hand had a deep gash, and it oozed with foul-smelling
puslike drainage.

"This will probably hurt a bit," I warned
him, holding up the syringe of lidocaine, "but not as much as it
would if we had to do it without any numbing medication."

Taking care to stay close to the surface, I
injected the solution into the surrounding tissue and waited a
minute. When he confirmed the area was numb to touch—feeling only
the pressure of my hands on his hand—I began the process of
threading the needle through and tying off the sutures. Impressing
even myself, I applied twelve stitches to the area, coating it with
antibiotic ointment and covered the wound with gauze.

"How's that for skill?" I asked, puffing out
my chest with pride for a job well done.

"Is there any aspirin in that kit?" he asked
and used his good hand to rub his temple. "I've got a killer
headache."

I kept my expression blank, keeping my game
face intact, and dropped two tablets into the palm of his hand from
a small packet of Tylenol. The back of my neck began to tingle as
the little hairs stood on end. Dom's coloring looked pale, even in
the harsh LED light, and his skin felt cold and clammy.

"Get some rest; nurse's orders," I told him.
Moving to stand by Jake, I kept my voice light and asked Striker
for the tour. "Why don't you and your mom sit with your dad and
keep an eye on him," I suggested to Elorie.

I needed to get him alone, and I didn't want
to raise any alarms just yet. The Dalton family all sat together on
the ratty sofa, talking quietly. With a quick look to Vinny, I
glanced between him and Dom, hoping he would understand that he
needed to keep an eye on them.

He winked at me, slapping Meg on the back and
spoke in a casual tone, betraying nothing. "Hey dork, let's check
out that radio."

Striker, who didn’t miss a thing, raised an
eyebrow at the exchange and said nothing as he led us into the next
container and lit another lantern. This container was sparsely
furnished with a double bed and card table identical to the one
next to the sofa. More milk cartons held clothing along the wall
beside the small table.

Standing in the cramped space, I avoided eye
contact while I figured out how to break the news to him. The gruff
man had little in the way of patience, but he was sharp, I'd give
him that. Nothing got by him, which was probably why he was still
alive.

"He's infected," Striker stated
matter-of-factly. There it was…the cold, hard truth of our
situation. "How long?"

I sighed, sad at the prospect of Elorie
losing her father so soon after her brother's death.

"Assuming whatever this is hasn't mutated, an
hour, two tops," I said, sealing Dom's fate.

"He needs to go."

"Go where? Out there?" I pointed to the door,
my tone betraying shock.

For the first time since I met the man, I saw
something other than the hard exterior. His eyes showed pity when
he looked at me.

"Yes," his voice softened, taking on an alien
sound. Regret, that was it. He didn't want this any more than we
did.

"We can't do that to them. It will kill
them."

"You think I don't know that?" he spat at me,
his harsh tone stinging like the tail end of a whip. "I know,
better than anyone, what that family has been through. What they've
lost."

Jake stepped between us, his face inches from
Striker's. "Back off, man," he warned.

The two alpha males locked eyes in a battle
for dominance. For a moment, I was afraid the situation would
escalate into a physical altercation, and I was surprised when
Striker backed down and moved out of Jake's personal space.

Letting the heated moment pass, Jake laid out
our options. "Time is not on our side at the moment. Our main focus
needs to be protecting every member of this group and, given
current circumstances, we aren't left with many options."

Striker continued, "Then we give him the
choice and let the man die with what little dignity he can. He can
do it himself, I can do it for him, or he can just leave and let
the inevitable happen. Whatever he chooses, though, it can't be
here."

Three options, not a single one offering a
reprieve.

* * *

We returned to the others, pausing just
inside the door to build up the courage to tell them. When Striker
tried to push past me, I put my hand on his forearm.

"No," I said, "I'll do it." I approached the
family, each step bringing me that much closer to delivering Dom's
death sentence. I looked down at the Dalton girls, and my heart
ached knowing they would be devastated.

Meg smiled and opened her mouth to say
something. Her words were lost when she saw the grim look on my
face, and the smile faded.

"Dom," I began.

He searched my face for a moment and looked
down at his family. "Girls, go in the other room for a few minutes.
I need to talk to Emma alone."

The room cleared out, save for myself, Dom,
and my husband. It was now or never.

"Dom," I started again, cut off by his
response before I could finish.

"I know," he said. "I can feel it inside me,
the infection."

Jake opened his mouth to speak, and I cut him
off with an icy glare. I could do this; I would do this. He
deserved at least that much from me.

"I'm sorry, Dom." I put my hand over his,
feeling an overwhelming sense of compassion for the dying man.
Strengthening my resolve, I continued dealing out the bad news.
"It's not safe for your family if you stay here." There, I said it.
I was disgusted with myself.

He looked at me with understanding, tears
leaking from his eyes. "I need to say goodbye to my family."

I nodded. "Of course. Jake will go get them
for you." I heard the sound of his boots on the rug when he
left.

Dom squeezed my hand, leaned in close, and
whispered, "You need to tell Striker not to let me turn. I don't
want to be one of them. But, he can't let them see. They aren't
strong enough to see him do it."

Our entire group reentered the room, and
instead of responding with words, I squeezed his hand, looking
directly into his eyes to make sure he knew that I understood.

"What's going on?" asked a suspicious
Casey.

"Come sit down, sweetheart." He patted the
sofa beside him. "You, too, Ellie-bean. We need to have a serious
talk."

The somber mood registered with the girls,
and they walked to the sofa, slowly, and looked to me for any hints
when they passed.

"Daddy? What's wrong?" Elorie asked, a
concerned expression clouding her features.

He waited until they sat and looked between
them, memorizing their faces before he broke their hearts.

"I'm sick, baby. The glass…" He looked down
at his bandaged hand. "Some of its blood got in my cut, and it's
making me sick."

Casey looked between her husband's face and
his wound, finally putting the pieces together. "No, Dom, no. It
couldn't have!" She wailed. Elorie, too, had figured out what he
meant and joined her mother in tears.

Dom reached up, cupping his wife's chin and
raising it up so their eyes met. "It did, and I don't have long.
You need to get through this, Casey. You need to be strong for our
girl. She's going to need you now more than ever before."

My skin crawled. I felt like a peeping Tom,
intruding on their very personal moment. Jake's fingers laced into
mine, and he pulled me closer to him.

"No, Daddy, you can't go. You're my daddy. I
need you. Please," she sobbed, clutching the front of his shirt and
pushing her fists into his chest. "Don't go."

Her voice trailed off into sobs, and he
gripped his daughter, hugging her with a ferocity like only a
father could.

I cleared my throat, nervous for their
safety. Dom looked up at me, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. Sweat
beaded his forehead and the telltale black tracers crept up his
neck, indicating we were nearly out of time.

"Dom," I said, my voice hitching with
emotion. "It's time."

He stood, his wife and daughter desperately
clinging to him. Taking Elorie by the shoulders, he held her at
arm's length. "Elorie, I'm so sorry I won't be there to see the
beautiful, kind woman you will become. You're my entire reason for
being. I have loved you since the first time I held you in my arms
and just because I will be gone, does not mean my love for you will
be. My love for you is never-ending, and knows not the boundaries
between life and death."

Turning to his wife, he stroked her cheek.
Her eyes closed and she leaned in, losing herself in his gentle
touch.

"Casey," Dom whispered, "my beautiful wife.
You are my everything: my love, my best friend, my confidant. The
best decision I made in my life was marrying you. Nineteen years of
marriage, and I love you more now than life itself. You are the
strongest, most determined person I have ever known, and I know you
will make it through this. Take care of our girl."

The man embraced his wife and daughter for
the last time, leaving each of them with a light kiss on the
forehead, and walked to the door. Jake and Vinny held out their
hands to him in a show of respect. Meg hugged him, thanking him for
saving our lives, and I did the same. I promised to keep his family
safe.

Dom stood before Striker. "You're a good man,
Striker. You took us in, saved us from death. I count you as a
friend, and I know you will stop at nothing to protect my family."
The two men locked arms, more than a shake but not quite a hug.

The fading man turned back to his family.
"Stay inside," he ordered, and he stepped through the open
door.

"Godspeed, my friend," Striker said, and
closed the door, leaving his hand on the metal longer than
needed.

Casey and her daughter clung to each other
for support. Meg guided them back to the sofa and sat quietly
beside them, rubbing Elorie's back in a soothing, circular
motion.

Striker moved closer to Jake and Vinny.
"Watch them. Don't let them near the door," he said before
disappearing into his bedroom.

I followed him and watched as he picked up a
crossbow that was propped against the wall. "What are you going to
do?"

Striker ran a hand through his short hair and
let out a grunt. "I'm going to respect the man's final request," he
said, dragging the chair to the foot of the bed. "Now, go back in
the other room."

My gaze fell on Jake, standing guard at the
door in the adjacent container, and when I turned back, Striker
stood on the chair unlatching a hatch in the ceiling. He deftly
climbed onto the roof and disappeared into the night.

I looked back at my husband again and
contemplated going back to comfort the grieving Dalton women. But I
didn't have it in me at that moment. I needed to get away from it
all, so I followed Striker to the roof.

He helped me to my feet, grumbling about me
being a stupid, pigheaded woman. It was still dark, but the sky had
begun to take on the hazy quality of dawn. The view from atop the
shipping container was breathtaking. Panoramic vistas were
obstructed by the stacks on one side, but the other revealed a
glorious view of the ocean reminiscent of a postcard. One of those
beautiful pictures that had some cheesy saying like wish you were
here in bold text.

Striker walked around the edge of the roof,
scanning the area for Dom. I caught sight of him first and pointed
in the direction of the water. Dom had walked up the back of the
row and was approaching. We made eye contact, and he smiled at me,
a serene expression on his face. Zombies still roaming the area had
honed in on his form and were slowly making their way toward him.
They either didn't notice Striker and me from our position, or they
didn't care because there was a more accessible meal between
us.

Dom pulled a small piece of paper from his
pocket and stared down at it, rubbing the front with his thumb and
smiling. He looked up at us and gave a final nod before turning
toward the ocean. He held up the object again, and I could see it
was a photo of his family. He kissed the photo and knelt on the
dirt, placing the precious memory into his breast pocket.

I heard the snick of the crossbow next to me
as Striker pulled back the string and set it and sucked in a short
breath, letting it out only when the arrow discharged from the
crossbow and hit its mark. Dom's body slumped forward and went
still. The approaching zombies stared down at the limp corpse, no
longer interested in its infected flesh.

Chapter 11: Window
Shopping

I didn't want to remember Dom that way, lying face
down on the dusty ground with an arrow jutting from the back of his
skull. While I hadn't known the man for more than a few hours, I
had gained an immense respect for him in that short time. What he
did for my family, saving us from certain death, was a favor I
would do everything in my power to return.

After snubbing their noses at his fresh
corpse, the zombies lumbered away, scattering in all directions.
They knew there was food nearby but didn't have the foresight to
look up. The last one shuffled out of view behind the stacks and I
sat, legs dangling off the side of the shipping container. The
coolness of the steel chilled my skin as it crept through the denim
of my jeans.