The Loss (Zombie Ocean Book 4) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Michael John Grist
woman doesn't even seem to notice she's there.
"It's me," I say, "you've come to the right place. You're safe."
She nods, then smiles a wide grin revealing perfectly white teeth. "I forgive you," she says, totally calm, almost blissful. "For Cerulean." Then her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses backwards.
Lara catches her, stares at me, and I stare back, but before we can say anything the man at my side drops to her knees and starts to shake her and cry.
"Abigail," he says, rubbing her shoulder and face, "no, wait please." He looks up at me with those wide dark eyes and begs. "Please do something, help her!"
Lara already is, laying the woman's withered legs out on the sofa and tearing her jacket and gown open to reveal a sunken chest dappled with dark bruises and old scars.
I flinch. My head's not working properly. Did she say Cerulean?
"She's not breathing properly," Lara says, "Amo, get Cynthia, get Adonis, get Ozark." She speaks without looking up, while setting her hands in position over the woman's breastbone. "Just get everyone, we need clean towels, hot water, clean rations, all the med crash kits, maybe an AED."
She looks up at me for second, then jolts me to action with a sharp, "Amo!"
It's enough, and I'm already moving before she looks back down to start emergency CPR. I grab my walkie-talkie and dial the button for our siren.
The wireless command starts our warning klaxons wailing, out in the forecourt mounted to a pillar, up on the rooftop overhead and scattered throughout our little community's complex. The sound wails out into the night.
WEEE AAAW WEEE AAAW
We've drilled for this, practiced it many times, but there's nothing like the heat of emergency to make it terrifying and fresh.
"All stations, it's a code two," I call into the walkie, "I repeat a code two, this is not a drill. Feargal we need your squad up on the roof looking out, Chantelle you're on immediate patrol, expect some incoming. Cynthia, Adonis and Ozark scrub up fast and get to the lobby right now, we have an influx of some twenty badly wounded survivors. Everyone else get down here too with all the clean towels, water and meds you can muster. Now, people, repeat this is not a drill."
A chorus of yesses comes back at me, as groggy people drag themselves up from the depths of sleep to answer their walkies. My signal went out to them all, overriding any other message. I repeat the whole command while I drop to my knees and take Abigail's wrist to feel for a pulse.
"Is Cerulean with them?"
The voice comes through on the walkie clear and sharp, louder than the others. Anna. I stand up and whirl in a circle scanning the lobby. It's carnage in here, a battlefield surgery with people moaning and crying and only a few harried and uncertain volunteers to tend to them, none of them really knowing what they are doing.
I don't see him.
"Get down here, Anna," I say into the walkie, "everyone get here now, we need all hands on deck."
WEEE AAAW WEEE AAAW calls the klaxon.
I hook the walkie into my belt and start running. I pat Ravi on the shoulder as I pass him. "Come with me," I say.
His face is pale and afraid but he nods, stops wrapping bodies in silver foil recovery blankets and runs after me. How many of these people are dying right now, I wonder?
We break out of the fog and run down the hall to the medical supply 'cupboard', actually the smaller indie screen 5 now filled back to front with bandages, surgical equipment and medicine.
I flick the lights on and run down the aisle to the place row D used to be, before we stripped the seats out. Now there are metal shelves with hundreds of intravenous drip bags hanging, and I grab two full armfuls of them along with two boxes of needles. "Two more," I say to Ravi, and he grabs another bunch. We dump them in a waiting cart like we're collecting items in the Deepcraft darkness, then I race on to collect five crates of water bottles, two operating kits, three packs of liquid
"It's me," I say, "you've come to the right place. You're safe."
She nods, then smiles a wide grin revealing perfectly white teeth. "I forgive you," she says, totally calm, almost blissful. "For Cerulean." Then her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses backwards.
Lara catches her, stares at me, and I stare back, but before we can say anything the man at my side drops to her knees and starts to shake her and cry.
"Abigail," he says, rubbing her shoulder and face, "no, wait please." He looks up at me with those wide dark eyes and begs. "Please do something, help her!"
Lara already is, laying the woman's withered legs out on the sofa and tearing her jacket and gown open to reveal a sunken chest dappled with dark bruises and old scars.
I flinch. My head's not working properly. Did she say Cerulean?
"She's not breathing properly," Lara says, "Amo, get Cynthia, get Adonis, get Ozark." She speaks without looking up, while setting her hands in position over the woman's breastbone. "Just get everyone, we need clean towels, hot water, clean rations, all the med crash kits, maybe an AED."
She looks up at me for second, then jolts me to action with a sharp, "Amo!"
It's enough, and I'm already moving before she looks back down to start emergency CPR. I grab my walkie-talkie and dial the button for our siren.
The wireless command starts our warning klaxons wailing, out in the forecourt mounted to a pillar, up on the rooftop overhead and scattered throughout our little community's complex. The sound wails out into the night.
WEEE AAAW WEEE AAAW
We've drilled for this, practiced it many times, but there's nothing like the heat of emergency to make it terrifying and fresh.
"All stations, it's a code two," I call into the walkie, "I repeat a code two, this is not a drill. Feargal we need your squad up on the roof looking out, Chantelle you're on immediate patrol, expect some incoming. Cynthia, Adonis and Ozark scrub up fast and get to the lobby right now, we have an influx of some twenty badly wounded survivors. Everyone else get down here too with all the clean towels, water and meds you can muster. Now, people, repeat this is not a drill."
A chorus of yesses comes back at me, as groggy people drag themselves up from the depths of sleep to answer their walkies. My signal went out to them all, overriding any other message. I repeat the whole command while I drop to my knees and take Abigail's wrist to feel for a pulse.
"Is Cerulean with them?"
The voice comes through on the walkie clear and sharp, louder than the others. Anna. I stand up and whirl in a circle scanning the lobby. It's carnage in here, a battlefield surgery with people moaning and crying and only a few harried and uncertain volunteers to tend to them, none of them really knowing what they are doing.
I don't see him.
"Get down here, Anna," I say into the walkie, "everyone get here now, we need all hands on deck."
WEEE AAAW WEEE AAAW calls the klaxon.
I hook the walkie into my belt and start running. I pat Ravi on the shoulder as I pass him. "Come with me," I say.
His face is pale and afraid but he nods, stops wrapping bodies in silver foil recovery blankets and runs after me. How many of these people are dying right now, I wonder?
We break out of the fog and run down the hall to the medical supply 'cupboard', actually the smaller indie screen 5 now filled back to front with bandages, surgical equipment and medicine.
I flick the lights on and run down the aisle to the place row D used to be, before we stripped the seats out. Now there are metal shelves with hundreds of intravenous drip bags hanging, and I grab two full armfuls of them along with two boxes of needles. "Two more," I say to Ravi, and he grabs another bunch. We dump them in a waiting cart like we're collecting items in the Deepcraft darkness, then I race on to collect five crates of water bottles, two operating kits, three packs of liquid
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