Chapter 5
“I should notify the trauma center that we’re coming,” I said, turning on the radio. I tuned to channel 9 and called out for a response.
“Go ahead,” the same woman’s voice said. “What’s your emergency?”
“We’re heading in to the trauma center with a woman who is giving birth,” I said. “She’s bleeding.”
“What’s your estimated arrival time?” the voice asked.
“About ten minutes,” Kyle said, taking the microphone.
“Has the water broken?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” I responded, taking the microphone back.
“How far apart are the contractions?” the voice asked.
I turned around in my seat. “Darrell?” I asked. “How far apart are the contractions?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It seems like they’re not stopping,” he answered with panic in his voice.
“We think they’re coming non-stop,” I said.
“Listen to me,” the voice continued. “You may have to deliver this baby en route.”
Hearing this, Kyle sped up. I told Jordan to switch places with me so I could climb into the back to help Darrell. I handed him the microphone and told him to relay information back and forth. As we sped down the highway, I climbed into the back with Darrell and Susan. With Darrell’s size and his wife’s pregnant form, there wasn’t much room.
The radio blared again. “How much is she dilated?” Jordan called to the back.
Darrell and I looked at each other briefly. This was going to be difficult. “We have to get her undressed from the waist down,” I said. “Susan, you’re going to have to lift yourself up, so we can get your pants off.”
Darrell helped her rise up, and I pulled her pants downward. Fortunately, they were maternity pants that slid off easily because of the stretchy fabric panel in the front. I felt sorry for Susan. No one deserved the indignity of giving birth under conditions like this.
“I’m scared,” she said, looking from me to Darrell. “Why am I bleeding? Something is wrong.”
“It’s going to be okay,” I assured her. “We’ll reach the trauma center soon.” I removed her underwear. “Jordan, bring me the flashlight,” I called to the front.
Jordan picked up the light and stretched across the seats to hand it to me. I switched it on. Masking my embarrassment, I shined the light between her legs. “Darrell,” I said. “She might feel more comfortable if you’re the one doing the checking.”
Darrell examined her. “I’d say the opening is about nine inches wide,” he said.
Jordan relayed the information into the radio.
“Okay,” the voice said. “Can you see the baby’s head in the birth canal?”
Darrell looked again. “I think so,” he said.
Jordan again related the information into the radio. “Okay then,” the voice on the radio continued. “There’s no time. You’re going to have to proceed with the delivery.”
“How far from the hospital are we?” I called to Kyle. “Not far, maybe another five minutes.”
The voice on the radio continued. “All right, she’s ready to start pushing. Has she taken a Lamaze class?”
“Yes,” Darrell said to Jordan, who relayed what he had said.
“Good,” the voice said. “Now instruct her to breathe the way she was taught in the class.”
“You remember, honey,” Darrell said. “Just like we practiced.”
Susan nodded, her face covered in sweat. She started breathing the rhythmic Lamaze way.
The voice began issuing orders again. “Now, when the contractions come, tell her to push as hard as she can.”
Darrell and I helped Susan position her legs to allow her more room to deliver the baby. Her body seized up as another contraction came.
“Push hard Susan!” I urged.
Susan’s face screwed up in agony. Darrell got down, watching for progress. He shined the flashlight to see. “The baby is moving!” he cried.
“The baby is moving,” Jordan said into the microphone.
“You’re doing fine,” the voice said. “Just keep pushing when the contractions come.”
Another contraction came, and Susan cried out as she pushed again. After what seemed like an eternity, Darrell called out, “The baby’s head is coming out.”
Jordan spoke into the radio, and the voice advised us that this would be the hardest part of the delivery. “Without any pain medication, this will be difficult, but she can do it,” the voice said. “Just tell her to keep pushing and push through the pain.”
I looked into Susan’s terrified face. “Okay Susan,” I said. “This is going to be the hardest part, but you can get through this. You’re going to need to push through the pain.”
She nodded, looking both fearful and determined. Another contraction gripped her body, and she screamed as she pushed furiously. The contraction seemed to go on forever.
“I feel like I’m splitting apart!” she gasped.
“Just keep pushing!” Darrell urged.
Susan pushed and groaned. Tears streamed down her face.
“The baby’s head is out,” Darrell cried.
Jordan informed the trauma center, and the voice continued instructions. “The baby’s shoulders and body will come out more easily now,” it said.
“Thank the Lord!” I said, relieved that the worst was over for her.
“Gently support the baby as the rest of the body comes out,” the voice instructed.
The baby slid out into Darrell’s hands. It was a girl.
I looked toward the front of the car and saw lights ahead.
“We’re here at the trauma center!” Jordan announced over the radio.
“Great!” the voice said, sounding pleased. “Drive up to the emergency entrance, and the guards will help you in.”
Kyle swung the car into the emergency entrance where five security guards stood with their guns drawn. A line of cars were in a row, and patients were being quickly loaded in and out. A woman wearing scrubs dashed out to the Volvo and opened the rear door. Two EMTs came forward with a gurney as the guards positioned themselves around the car, ready to fire on any zombies that might come. One of the EMTs withdrew a pair of surgical scissors and cut the baby’s umbilical cord. The woman ran inside with the baby as the EMTs positioned Susan onto the gurney. Darrell followed the gurney into the hospital. The guards told Kyle to move the car away from the emergency entrance, and he drove into a nearby parking place. They covered us as we got out of the car and ran inside to join Susan.
The hospital hallways were noisy and crowded. Ahead, we spotted Susan’s gurney down the hall, and we hurried after it. The EMTs wheeled Susan into an open station in the emergency room. We went in after them.
A nurse appeared, blocking us. “Are you family?” she asked.
“Friends,” Kyle said.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait in the waiting area.”
Darrell protested. “We wouldn’t have made it without them. They can come in,” he said.
“That’s not possible,” the nurse said. “Because of the virus and possible contamination, we can only allow the patient inside.”
“But I’m her husband!” Darrell said.
“You’ll have to leave or I’ll call security,” the nurse said sternly.
Darrell seemed to resist, but Kyle pulled him away. “Look,” he said. “We don’t want them throwing us out of here. Let’s just wait in the waiting room like she asked us to.”
Reluctantly, Darrell nodded and turned to follow us into the waiting area. People were everywhere. The seats were all filled. People of all ages and walks of humanity stood around in tight groups. Some sat on the floor. All of them looked exhausted. They all talked amongst themselves. Apprehension hung heavily in the air. We found an opening in the crowd and formed our own circle. For a long momen
t, no one said anything.
I was painfully aware of how much time was passing. I kept thinking about Harley and how we had to reach the safe zone. “I’m going to look for a drink of water,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” Kyle said, following me out the door.
In the hallway, I turned to Kyle. “What are we going to do?” I asked. “We’ve got to get back on the road.”
“Yeah, I know,” he answered. “I hate to just leave them here though.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Going through an experience like we just did brought you closer. “But if we don’t get to the safe zone soon, it will be too late for Harley and the others. They won’t survive.” I looked up and down the hall. There was no sign of water or a vending machine. I stopped a hospital worker and asked where I might find some water. He directed us to the cafeteria. There were emergency rations being distributed there.
“Just follow the blue line on the floor,” he said.
Kyle and I found that the cafeteria was much like the rest of the hospital. Crowded. I saw several large rolling bins along the wall that held piles of bottled water. I picked up a bottle for each of us, and we headed back toward the waiting area.
“Let’s wait to see what’s going on with Susan,” Kyle said. “Then we can leave.”
Back in the waiting area, I passed out the bottled water. We stood waiting and watching as hospital staff came and called groups of people out of the room. After about an hour, a doctor appeared and called out, “Susan Gordon! Family of Susan Gordon!”
Darrell bolted toward the doctor. “I’m Darrell Gordon, Susan’s husband.”
“Your wife has suffered from a ruptured uterus. You were very lucky that the baby was born without injury. Usually, in such cases we have to perform caesarians,” the doctor said. “Susan is going to need surgery to repair the rupture. Depending on how bad the damage is, we may have to perform a hysterectomy. I’ll need your signature giving us permission to begin the procedure. We’ll start right away.”
Darrell looked like he was going to be sick. “How is the baby?” he asked. “Is she okay?”
“The baby is doing very well,” he said. “You can see her in the nursery on the third floor just as soon as you sign this form.”
Darrell signed the form. “Can I see my wife before the surgery?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no time,” the doctor said.
Darrell’s eyes began to water.
“Oh, okay,” the doctor said. “But make it quick. This is an emergency surgery!”
The doctor pulled Darrell across the hall and into the emergency room. Kyle, Jordan, and I stood looking at each other. “We’re going to have to leave before they do surgery!” I said. “We can’t lose any more time.”
“But what about them?” Jordan asked, nodding toward the emergency room doors.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said.
I hated having to say it, but it had to be said. “Look, they’re safe here. This is the safest place for them, and there’s nothing more we can do.”
“Susan is going to need to stay here for recovery anyway,” Kyle said. “They could be here for days.”
“It’s settled then,” Jordan said. “Now how will we tell Darrell?”
“Tell me what?” Darrell said, coming back into the waiting room. He still looked shaken.
“We’re going to have to leave,” Kyle said calmly. “We’ve got to get to the safe zone.”
“Our friends back home are running out of food and out of time,” I said. “They won’t survive if we can’t get help back to them.”
“You’re safer here than you would be at the truck stop,” Jordan added. “Here Susan will have all the care she needs, and the baby will be safe.”
Darrell rubbed his face. “I understand,” he said. “I don’t expect you to stay when other lives are at stake.”
I reached up and gave Darrell a hug. “Tell Susan we’ll send help,” I said.
Darrell nodded and shook hands with Kyle and Jordan. “Thank you for everything,” he said. “I guess I’ve got a little girl to go see.” His expression brightened, and he turned and headed toward the elevators.
“They’ll be fine,” Kyle said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
We walked back to the emergency room doors. The armed guards were still there covering patients who were being admitted and released.
“Where’s your car?” one of them asked.
Kyle pointed to the Volvo a few parking spaces away.
“Come on quickly,” the guard said. They formed a group around us and escorted us to the car. We climbed in quickly, and Kyle started it up. We pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
“We’ve got to backtrack to reach the interstate,” Kyle said, steering the car back the way we came.
“At least it’s not far,” Jordan said.
It was still dark outside, and the roads were still mostly deserted except for the traffic around the hospital. I was bone tired, and I knew Kyle and Jordan had to be tired too.
“Are you okay with driving?” I asked Kyle. “Are you tired?”
“Yes, I am tired,” he admitted. “But I can still drive awhile.”
Our sleep schedules had been off ever since the outbreak of the virus. It made it difficult to function normally. Most of the time, none of us got more than a few hours of sleep a day.
“I’m going to catch some zs,” Jordan said as he stretched himself out in the back seat.
“Why don’t you get some sleep too, Casey?” Kyle said.
“Okay,” I agreed. I adjusted my seat into a semi-reclining position. I curled up on the seat and drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up, the sun was up. We were driving west on the interstate, but Kyle was slowing down. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “The interstate is blocked ahead.”
I looked out the windshield. As far as I could see, a sea of cars was stopped in the roadway. Kyle pulled the Volvo to a stop. I reached around into the seat behind me and shook Jordan’s shoulder. “Wake up, Jordan,” I said.
Jordan groaned and then sat up. “Why didn’t you let me sleep?” he whined.
“Something’s wrong,” Kyle said.
Jordan looked out the window. “What do we do now?” he asked.
“How much further is the safe zone?” I asked.
“It should be a couple of miles up the road,” Kyle answered. “We’ll walk it.”
We gathered the duffle bags from the back seat, Kyle slung his gun over his shoulder, and we started walking down the interstate. On both sides of us were abandoned cars. Some still had doors hanging open. “What do you think happened here?” I asked.
“Maybe there was a traffic jam, and people had to walk because the cars backed up,” Jordan suggested.
“Maybe so,” Kyle agreed. “Everyone was trying to get out to the safe zone.”
As we walked, I noticed an occasional single shoe or article of clothing on the pavement. At one point, I saw a child’s doll laying trampled on the asphalt. “It looks like they were in a hurry,” I shuddered. Perhaps they were being chased by zombies. All around, the air was eerily quiet. I didn’t like it. Neither did Kyle, apparently, because he held his gun at the ready. We continued on with our senses on high alert, expecting a zombie attack at any moment. We had walked just over two miles, when a roadblock came into view ahead of us. As we moved closer, I could just make out the forms of armed gunmen lined across both sides of the interstate. “So this is the safe zone?” I asked Kyle.
“Must be,” he said, still holding his gun ready to shoot.
As we walked closer, a voice came over a megaphone, “Lower your weapon!” a voice boomed. I glanced at Kyle. He stood motionless.
“Lower your weapon or you will be fired upon!” the voice echoed.
“Kyle!” I said.
“Put the gun down.”
He hesitated and then lowered his gun. The gunmen ahead of us held their weapons steadily trained on us. “Continue forward!” the voice sounded.
We were several yards away when the voice commanded us to get down on our knees and place our hands behind our heads.
“Why are they telling us to do that?” Jordan asked.
I looked at Kyle for direction. Something didn’t feel right. I fought the urge to run.
“They probably want to make sure we’re not infected,” Kyle said. “Do as they say.”
We all dropped our bags, got down on our knees, and put our hands behind our heads.
Kyle placed his gun on the road in front of him. “Just don’t make any sudden moves,” he said.
I didn’t like being out in the open like this in a defenseless position. Like this we were just zombie bait. The armed men moved forward, and others without guns came out from behind them. They walked slowly and deliberately, carrying what looked like chains.
“Remain still,” the megaphone blared. “Do not move, or you will be fired upon!”
We kept still and waited for whatever they intended to do with us. One of them picked up Kyle’s gun and pointed it at us. The men without guns circled around behind us and began slapping handcuffs around our wrists. I felt a band being tightened around my waist. My arms were pulled down and chained to the band around my waist. I felt my ankles being shackled, and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you doing this to us?” I cried.
“Standard procedure,” one of the men answered shortly. “Cooperate, and you won’t be harmed.”
They pulled us to our feet and instructed us to walk forward. They guided us to a high chain-link gate that squealed open as we approached. They moved us into a cage-like holding area, and the gate closed behind us. The uniformed men stayed behind. I looked up and saw another gate before us. It had two towers on each side, and armed guards stood on them with their guns pointed at us. “Kyle,” I whispered.
He shushed me with a look. “Don’t talk. Just do what they tell you,” he said.
Maybe he was used to this kind of treatment, being in the military, but I wasn’t. I felt my anxiety rising with each passing second. Ahead of us appeared a group of people in white biohazard suits. They were stark and intimidating. I couldn’t see their faces behind their shaded masks. The gate opened, and the people came toward us. They separated us, and guided us toward some white semi-like trucks just ahead of us. “What are you doing with us?” I asked. “Why are you separating us?” I felt panicked at the thought of being taken somewhere without Kyle and Jordan.
“We’re taking you to decontamination,” one of the suits said to me. Its voice was female. She guided me to a ramp that lead up to the back of the truck. I looked to my left and right and saw that Jordan and Kyle were being walked up the ramps of two other trucks. I stepped into the back of the truck, followed by three of the suits. They closed a door behind us. The interior of the truck was all white and stainless steel and looked like a kind of mobile examination room. One of the suits picked up a camera and took a shot of my face.
“Why are you taking my picture?” I asked.
“For identification,” the female voice said. “We’re going to remove your clothes.”
“What? Are you serious?” I asked.
“I am afraid we are serious,” another female voice said.
“Don’t worry,” the third one said. “We’re all girls here.”
That didn’t make me feel any better. “No, please don’t take my clothes.”
“If you don’t submit to an examination,” one of them said, “You’ll be quarantined in isolation for a week for observation. Trust us, this is better.”
“Okay, okay!” I said.
They began cutting my shirt off with scissors. It was insane. “Why are you destroying my clothes?” I asked. “These are all I have.”
“These will be incinerated,” one of them said. “You’ll be given clean clothes to wear when we’re finished with decontamination.”
This whole thing was surreal, like a horror movie. They even cut my bra off. I felt humiliated as they began cutting my jeans. They made me lift my feet as they removed my shoes and socks. When I stood completely naked, they began examining my skin. “Hey,” I said, as one of them lifted my arms. “Don’t touch me!”
“We have to determine if you have any cuts or bites,” one of them said in a mildly bored voice. “Now stand still. The more you move around, the longer it will take.”
They moved me toward a chair and told me to sit down. One of them opened a drawer and withdrew a syringe, some antiseptic wipes, and an elastic band.
“Now what are you doing?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. Another suit began strapping my arms to the chair I was seated in.
“Nothing to worry about,” the suit with the syringe said. “We just have to take some blood to test for the presence of the virus.” She straightened my arm out and wrapped the elastic band just above my elbow. “Stay completely still,” she said. ‘Make a fist.”
I made a fist and turned my head to look the other way. It was odd how fighting zombies and spewing blood didn’t bother me, but needles did. I felt the needle pierce the bend of my elbow.
“Relax your fist,” she said. She loosened the elastic band. The process seemed to take a long time. “Almost done,” she finally said.
I stared hard at the door and thought about Kyle and Jordan. They were probably going through the same thing.
“Finished,” she said, withdrawing the needle. She placed a bandage on my arm where the needle had stuck. She held two vials of my blood in her hand.
One of the other suits undid the straps on the arms of the chair. She stood me up and walked me toward a booth near the back of the examination room. “You can shower in here while we run the tests on your blood sample,” she said.
“How can I shower with these on?” I asked, rattling the chains.
“Sorry,” she said. “We can’t take them off until we get the results from the blood test.” She opened the door to the booth and pointed to a bottle on a shelf. “Use the germicidal cleaner. Be sure to wash every part of your body thoroughly.”
I stepped into the booth, and she closed the door behind me. The booth was about the size of a shower you would find in an RV. I turned on the water. At least it was warm, and there was a lot of it. After a month with nothing but a trickle, this was a treat. I dutifully opened the bottle of germicidal soap and began pouring it onto my skin. I worked it into lather with a washcloth I found hanging on a hook. It was difficult washing my hair with my arms chained to my waist, but I did the best I could. In a few minutes I had finished, and I opened the door. A suit stood waiting there with a towel. I took it from her and began drying myself off.
“She’s uninfected,” announced a suit that was peering into a microscope on the counter top. “You can remove the cuffs.” She removed a slide from the microscope and tossed it into a red plastic biohazard container on the wall. She placed the vials of my blood in a plastic cylinder and started writing on its label. Then she slid open a panel in a pneumatic tube on the wall and inserted the cylinder in it. She pushed a button, and the cylinder whooshed through the tube and disappeared into the ceiling.
“Where’s that going?” I asked. What were they doing with my blood samples?
“They go to the lab for our research,” she said simply.
I wondered why they would need my blood for research, but I didn’t feel safe asking them. One of the suits began unlocking the bands around my wrists. She then unlocked the band around my waist, followed by the cuffs around my ankles. Another one handed me some clothes. They were a lot like khaki hospital scrubs, only a bit heavier. The tags on the shirt and pants read ‘one size fits most.’ She handed me a strange looking pair of stretchy underwear and a bra made from the s
ame material. I began dressing quickly. She gave me a pair of socks and some canvas slip-on shoes.
“One more thing,” another suit said. “You have to wear this while you’re in the compound.” She fastened a bracelet around my wrist that looked like one you would see on a hospital patient. It had a bar code on it.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Added security. It verifies that you’ve been tested and passed, virus-free. You’ll have it scanned whenever you get medical care in the facility.”
That seemed strange, like I would be getting regular medical care or something. But I wasn’t infected, and I wasn’t sick. “I won’t be staying here long,” I said. “We came to tell the military about our friends, uninfected survivors back in the city. When can I talk to someone about rescuing them?”
“I don’t know,” the suit said. “We only deal with the decontamination unit. You’ll have to ask inside.”
Finally, I was finished. They ushered me to the back of the examination room where there were two doors. One of the doors had ‘Quarantine’ posted on it and the other one had ‘Compound’ on it. They opened the Compound door and allowed me to walk unescorted down the ramp. Beside me was another ramp, completely enclosed in what looked like Plexiglas. At the bottom, that ramp was attached to a vehicle that looked like a paddy wagon. It had a biohazard symbol on the side.
Outside, I looked around, but I saw no sign of Jordan and Kyle. As I waited, I grew more uncomfortable. What was taking so long? I stood looking around at the compound. There were rows and rows of olive green military tents. I saw several people riding around in what looked like golf carts. Everywhere I looked, people were wearing either military uniforms or the scrubs. After a few minutes, Jordan and Kyle both came out of their examination rooms and walked down the ramps. They were wearing the same strange scrub-like clothes I wore. They also had the hospital bands around their wrists. I shouted to them, and they came toward me.
“That was bizarre,” Jordan said.
“To say the least,” I agreed.
“They’re just keeping the area secure,” Kyle reasoned.
As we stood talking, a soldier approached us. “I need you to follow me to debriefing,” he said, motioning to us to follow him.