Downrigger Drift Page 7

  “Get over, Mildred. Doc and I’ll keep working on this.” Krysty kicked at the pile with her booted foot, dislodging large chunks of feces and sweeping them out of the way. At the same time, Mildred tensed and leaped up over the two-foot-high pile to the door. She slipped upon landing, but caught herself and slapped the door button. “Nothing’s happening. Wait, I got a green light! It’s coming down!”

  “About fucking time something went right in here.” Ryan shook the torch to keep it going, but maintaining the flame was getting harder and harder. Get Jak and J.B. to the doors!”

  Sensing a presence beside him, Ryan turned just enough to see Krysty at his side, the M-4000 leveled on her hip. “What are you doing?”

  “Sure as hell not leaving you behind to face them alone.” Bracing the shotgun, she fired a single round at the nearest small rat, pulping its head and dropping it where it stood. The shotgun’s echoing boom made the entire mutie army pause, the larger ones peering at the remains of their companion before lifting their heads to stare at the flame-haired woman and the lethal black cannon she wielded.

  “You certainly know how to get their attention.”

  “Learned from the best.” Krysty swept the M-4000’s round muzzle back and forth, and Ryan was gratified to see the beasts shy away from it, even the larger ones.

  The next thing he heard was one of the sweeter sounds in his lifetime—the soft yet distinct chime of the elevator announcing its arrival.

  “Ryan, Krysty, we’ve got Jak and J.B. inside,” Mildred called to them. “Let’s go!”

  “Okay, you head in, I’ll be right behind you.” Ryan waited until Krysty was over the hill of crap before taking a cautious step backward, then another, until he felt his foot sink into the pile of dried mutie shit.

  “One more thing.” With all his strength, Ryan shoved the fuel tanks out into the mass of pig-rats, sending dozens of the smaller ones scattering as the heavy steel cylinders toppled over, hitting the floor with a muffled clank.

  “Ryan, what are you doing! Come on!”

  The huge muties sniffed the tanks delicately, avoiding the still burning torch, now guttering among the layers of filth on the floor. One lifted a massive leg and released a thick stream of urine onto the nearest cylinder.

  “Just leaving them something to remember me by.” Raising his blaster, Ryan sighted on the top gauge and squeezed the trigger once, blowing it clean off. Whirling, he turned and leaped into the elevator, accompanied by a loud hissing—the sound of pressurized fuel escaping.

  “Close the doors!” Krysty stabbed the button, and Ryan rolled J.B.’s unconscious body to one side. The medium rats were already rushing the shrinking opening, but there was Doc in their way, LeMat raised.

  “See you in hell, mes amis.” Triggering his scattergun barrel made Ryan’s ears pound one last time, but also stopped the first wave of muties.

  Just then the tanks exploded, lit by the last dying gasp of the torch. As he dragged Doc down and turned away, Ryan saw an expanding fireball consume the two large muties, along with at least a dozen of the small ones. The flames bloomed outward, coming straight at them…

  And then the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from the inferno outside. Ryan sat with a thump, letting out a sigh and slumping against the wall, quietly exulting in the elevator’s perceptible rising. Catching Krysty’s eye, he mustered a tired smile.

  “Bet you could really use that shower right about now.”

  She sniffed. “Look who’s talking. You aren’t exactly a Deathlands daisy yourself.”

  Ryan looked down at his clothes, covered in dirt, dung and blood. “Phew. I haven’t stunk this bad in weeks—and that’s saying something. Which button did you push?”

  “The one marked one, of course.”

  “At least we’re going up. That’s the best damned thing I’ve seen in a long time.” Mildred spoke without looking up, still bent over to check on the two still forms.

  Ryan shifted over near her. “How are they doing?”

  “Hard to say. Jak’s in shock but that’s just his body trying to protect itself the best way it can. J.B.’s better, but he’s going down fast. If we don’t get help for both of them soon…”

  “Least we’re out of that hellhole. Anything’s got to be better than that.”

  The elevator dinged again as the cage came to a stop. Ryan rose to his feet, blaster out, and turned to face the doors.

  “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.” Doc’s voice was low, and Ryan stole a glance at him, his eye widening in surprise. The old man looked exhausted, his already pale skin turned ashen, his thin lips two bloodless lines across his face.

  “Doc, mebbe you should sit this one out.”

  “My dear Ryan, I am in blood, stepped in so far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er. Let us acquit this ghastly place and retire to climes more accommodating, shall we?” The old man attempted a smile, but it came across more as a baring of his uncommonly even, white teeth instead, unnerving enough that Ryan found himself easing back a bit.

  “Krysty, keep an eye on him,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth, then slapped the button that opened a door for what seemed like the tenth time that day.

  Chapter Twelve

  The very first thing everyone noticed was the air—clean, calm and a bit sterile, like many of the other redoubts they’d been in.

  The doors opened onto a plain, drab-green hallway that stretched off into the distance. Its floor was pristine, light-green tile. More fluorescent lights flickered on as Ryan stepped out, scanning all around for the barest sight of the muties. Only when he was sure there was none around did he wave everyone else out.

  “Ryan, there’s a map here, too.” Mildred, still supporting a limp J.B., peered at the wall next to the elevator. “Main level—barracks, cafeteria, infirmary. This way!”

  “Mildred, hold up! Fireblast!” Ryan paused only to pull Jak from Krysty’s tired arms and hoist the albino teen over his shoulder. “Come on!”

  They set off in a ragged procession, following the determined black woman, who set a grueling pace as she half carried, half dragged the unconscious J.B. through the maze of corridors. After a few minutes, they found her in what was obviously an infirmary ward, setting J.B. on one of the clean beds.

  “Put Jak right next to him. This room looks good. Let’s just hope I can find what I need.” Mildred was off again, darting through a side door, and Ryan heard her joyous whoop. “Yes!” He heard sounds of boxes being opened and rummaging, then she came back pushing a long metal pole on wheels ahead of her, her arms filled with supplies.

  “Wheel this over between both beds. We’ve got to start each of them on intravenous antibiotics. Thank God for vacuum sealing. Even after who knows how long, these should still be good.”

  Mildred snagged a small cart from a corner and dumped her treasures onto it—needles and surgical tubing, all sealed in plastic, and two empty, clear plastic bags, along with several small, sealed plastic pouches.

  “Let’s see, ciprofloxacin, daptomycin, and vancomycin ought to do the trick to start.” Selecting three packets, she was about to open them when she paused, staring at her crusted, filthy hands. “Damn, let’s see if there’s any water in the place.”

  Running to the large sink in the next room, she whooped again. “Everyone, come here. You’ll want to wash up!” Ryan and the others trooped into the small room to find Mildred standing at a large metal sink, rolling up her sleeves while the faucet spurted dark brown liquid that gradually faded to yellow, then clear. On a shelf under the sink were several wrapped bars of soap. Grabbing one, Mildred unwrapped it and vigorously scrubbed her fingers, hands and forearms. “Unless you enjoy the feel of rat shit on your hands, you might as well join me.”

  She rinsed off, then headed back into the main room, leaving the water running for the rest of them.

  Krysty was next, luxuriating in the hot soapy water. Ryan watched he
r with a grin on his face. Noticing him, she arched an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

  “If they’ve got running water here, I bet they’ve got showers somewhere else in the complex.”

  “That would be heavenly.” Krysty rinsed off and moved over for Ryan to clean up. “Let’s see if Mildred needs any help, then mebbe later we can poke around, see what we turn up.”

  “Works for me.” Ryan sluiced the last of the crap off his hands, glad to see the bits swirl down the drain, then joined Krysty in the main room.

  “Doc—” Ryan began, wanting to let him know about the sink.

  “Shh!” Mildred nodded toward the curtain that now divided the room in two. “He’s in the next bed out cold. I think our little journey took more out of him than he’d admit.”

  Krysty walked over to where Mildred was busy measuring out various powders from the sealed packets. “Do you need any help?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” She held up a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton pads. “If you could clean Jak’s left arm and J.B.’s right—the palm side, about four inches above the wrist—with this, that would be great. Get Jak’s coat off first.”

  Krysty set to it immediately, leaving Ryan feeling like a bit of a third wheel as the old saying went, although he’d never figured out what it meant. But for the moment he was content to remain quiet and watch the two women work. As usual, he admired the calm, measured way Mildred handled the situation, as skilled in attempting to save lives as she could be in taking them.

  “All right, Krysty, I’m going to show you how to blend the antibiotics into the lactated Ringer’s bag. Once that’s done, we can insert the needles, hang these two, and make up another batch for the next six hours.”

  “All right, what do I do first?”

  Mildred instructed her on creating the solution in a hypodermic syringe, then squirting that into an empty Ringer’s bag, and finally using more tubing to transfer the vacuum-packed saline solution into the plastic bag, which would be hung on the pole. When they were both ready, Mildred had Krysty wrap another length of tubing around Jak’s skinny arm, pulling it tight until a vein rose, light blue against his white skin.

  “There you are.” Deftly inserting the needle, she made sure the flow was correct before hanging the bag and adjusting the drip. “I’d say 200 cc’s an hour should be a good start. Now let’s do J.B.”

  A few minutes later, both bags were suspended from the rack, steadily dripping their infection-fighting mixture into the two men. “How will you know if it’s working?” Ryan asked.

  Mildred cleared away the torn packaging and other garbage left over from their work as she replied. “The first few hours are going to be the most crucial. I don’t want to start them on something else until I see if this works. They should do the job. I chose the medicines that would be most effective for this type of infection. The problem with that is if it doesn’t, they might get worse, but we won’t know one way or the other for a while. Now, let’s clean and dress those wounds. With any luck, we got the antibiotics into them before any gangrene could start.”

  They dressed Jak’s hand wound first, washing it out with alcohol, then wrapping it in gauze and a clean bandage. J.B.’s legs were a filthy mess of dirt, encrusted feces and dried blood. Ryan’s gaze rose to Mildred as they worked, but she was just as efficient as ever, cutting away the torn and dirty cloth of his pants with scissors, then cleaning and dressing the multiple bite and claw wounds on his thighs and shins.

  When they had finished, Mildred straightened and arched her back, pressing on it with both hands. “That’s about all we can do for them at the moment. I’m going to create another four bags of antibiotics for when these run out, and then we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Krysty rinsed her hands in the basin they had filled, and was gently tying her hair back with a strip of cloth. “I’ll help. Four hands will make half the work.”

  “Thanks. Ryan, would you mind keeping an eye on these three while we make these up in the next room? Watch J.B. and Jak for any kind of allergic reaction—hives, difficulty breathing, convulsions if it’s a severe case, and I hope it won’t be. And check on Doc every once in a while. After that trek, he seemed to be more off than usual, if you get my meaning.”

  “Yeah.” Normally Ryan wasn’t all that keen on following orders, but he also knew when he was out of his depth, and although he could dress a wound with the best of them, this was one of those times. A wheeled chair had been left in the corner, and Ryan walked over to it, shoved it next to the beds and sat down, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Either that, or he was more tired than he thought.

  Muttered voices and the clatter of instruments could be heard in the next room as the women busied themselves creating the next round of antibiotics. Pushing himself over, Ryan peered first at Jak’s face, then J.B.’s. Both looked about the same as always. The kid’s chalk-white skin was covered in a slight sheen of sweat, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. On the other hand, the Armorer looked as if he had just lain down for forty winks, his breathing even and slow, and his skin cool and dry to the touch. Ryan couldn’t tell if that was good or bad, but decided to ask Mildred when she came back out.

  The woman were in the small room for about fifteen minutes, just long enough for Ryan to traverse the room a few times on the wheeled chair, including checking the entrance twice for signs of muties, finding none. He had just returned to the space between the two beds when Mildred and Krysty returned, his lover empty-handed, Mildred carrying another of the empty plastic bags.

  “Okay, that’s done. The saline units are in the one working refrigerator unit back there. It should be chilled before using if it’s going to sit around. How’s our patients?”

  “Not much change,” Ryan said. “Jak’s running a fever, but J.B. is as warm as he ever gets.”

  Mildred took another look at both of them, gently thumbing back an eyelid on each one to check the pupil dilation. “Both are still responding to light, so that’s good. Jak’s body is trying to burn the infection out. J.B.’s, I just don’t know. I’d have thought he’d be doing the same.”

  She checked the nearby IV stand. “Come here, both of you, I’d like to run through the changing process in case I’m asleep when their bags empty.”

  She ran them both through the procedure, first showing, then having each one go through the motions with the empty bag until she was satisfied. “Why don’t you two find someplace to get cleaned up? I’ll take the first watch and come get you in a few hours.”

  Ryan and Krysty exchanged a covert glance, and he replied, “Sure. Anything we can bring back if we find it?”

  “Real food would be a treat, although our recent luck hasn’t been great on that score.” Mildred glanced back at the room, and the hint of a smile appeared on her face. “If you come across any clothes, I suppose J.B. would feel more comfortable with a new pair of pants nearby. Industrial-strength aspirin, too. I already checked here, but they didn’t have anything that common.”

  “Right, we’ll be back soon.” Krysty slipped her hand into Ryan’s as they let the double doors swing shut, leaving Mildred inside with the recovering members of their group.

  Their boots clacked on the spotless floors as Ryan and Krysty spent the next twenty minutes exploring the level, finding a mix of good and bad. There wasn’t a scrap of food in the place. Even the large kitchens were bare, although all the tools were still in place to handle the needs of several hundred people, including spices and other nonedible cooking supplies. When Ryan twisted a knob on the massive stove, he heard a clicking noise, followed by a ring of bright blue flames springing to life from the burner.

  “Pots and pans and everything to hold anything you wish—and not a scrap of food. Not even self-heats.”

  Ryan closed a metal cabinet door, its slam echoing in the silence. “Yeah, but no sign of any break-in or internal theft either. It’s like they got everything ready, but never dropped off the foodstuffs. Gue
ss we’ll have to head outside and try a bit of hunting.”

  The personal quarters made up for the culinary disappointment, however. The barracks section was as neat and clean as the rest of the place, and consisted of six large rooms, each of which could easily sleep sixty people or more in the rows of plain bunk beds. The rooms also had clothes, sheets and pillowcases, and towels, all sealed in vacuum bags. When Krysty carefully slit open one of the stiff white packages, the towel sprang into soft fluffiness in her hands as it absorbed the air around it. She brought it up to her face, inhaling the clean scent. “Now this is near close to heaven, far as I’m concerned.”

  Ryan had walked to the far end of the room to find a laundry room, complete with washers, dryers and single-serve packets of soap that had fossilized into solid, white, powdery lumps. But beyond that was something he knew would get Krysty’s attention.

  Stepping inside the long, tiled room, he walked to the first showerhead and turned the knob beneath, careful to stand out of the way as he did. There was a hissing gurgle from deep inside the pipes, then, with a rattle and a shake, more brown water gushed forth, fading to yellow for a minute before finally running clear.

  “Tell me that’s what I think it is.” Krysty peeked around the entryway.

  Ryan grinned back. “You got your wish.”

  An answering smile lit up her face. “We got a few minutes, don’t we, before we head back?”

  “We’re here now. Might as well get cleaned up.”

  “Well, maybe not cleaned up right away. Come on.”

  Ryan didn’t need any urging on that front. Leaving the water running, he came back out to find Krysty behind two open cabinet doors, hiding her shapely form. “You getting modest on me now?”

  “Just humor me and shuck those filthy things. We’ll probably burn them before we leave. I left a towel for you on the bed.”

  With a shrug, Ryan unlaced his dirty boots and pried them off his feet, then wriggled out of his pants and stripped off his shirt, grimacing at the stink when he was done. “Seems a shame to wrap this towel around my dirty self.”