Year One, Page 7

  She smiled a little, sliding the needle in with barely a prick. “Doctors talk to doctors. I have a friend doing her residency in Chicago. Had. I think she’s dead now.”

  When her voice broke, she sat a moment, breathing in and breathing out until she steadied.

  “They came in—hazmat suits, tested staff. She didn’t pass, but they took away the ones who did. That was three days ago. Her brother worked at Sibley in D.C. They’ve taken that over. A combination task force sort of thing. CDC, NIH, WHO. They moved the sick to other area hospitals. Culled some out for observation, testing. The immune are in quarantine. Military quarantine. Her brother managed to get out and contact her, warn her. She did the same for me.”

  “I’ve been listening to the news when I can get it.” When he could stand it. “I haven’t heard any of this.”

  “If anyone in the media knows, they’ll keep a lid on it. Or find themselves in some holding area. That’s my guess.” She capped and labeled his blood sample, put a cotton ball and a Band-Aid on the tiny needle mark.

  She sat back, looked into his eyes. “Healy’s immune, too.”

  “I don’t know Healy.”

  “Right, why would you? Lab rat—a good one. He’s been running his own tests. We ran plenty on the infected—starting with MacLeod. But we’re—he’s—running them on the immune now. While he can.”

  Rachel looked around the break room like a woman who’d just surfaced from a deep pool.

  “We’re a small hospital in Brooklyn, but they’ll get to us. If anyone finds my initial report, they’ll get to us faster, and I’ll be in quarantine, a test study.

  “You, too,” she added, then pressed her fingers to her exhausted eyes. “You should stay away from here.”

  “I just came to say good-bye.”

  “Good thinking. We’re not doing any good. You bringing in the infected, me trying to treat them. A hundred percent mortality rate once infected. A hundred percent.”

  She covered her face with her hands, shook her head when he touched her arm. “Minute,” she murmured, blowing out a long breath before she lowered her hands again. Her eyes, deep, dark brown, shimmered, but tears didn’t fall.

  “I wanted to be a doctor all my life. Never wanted to be a princess or a ballerina, a rock star, a famous actress. A doctor. Emergency medicine. You’re there when people are sick and scared, hurt. You’re there. And now? It doesn’t make any difference.”

  “No.” He felt the darkness close around him. “It doesn’t.”

  “Maybe our blood will. Maybe Healy finds a miracle. Long odds, but maybe. But I’m going to do what I can while I can. You should go.” She laid a hand on his. “Find a safe place. Don’t come back here.”

  He looked down at her hand. He knew it to be strong, capable. “I had sort of a crush on you.”

  “I know.” She smiled at him when he looked back up at her. “Kind of a shame neither one of us acted on it. I—for various reasons—avoided entanglements. What’s your excuse?”

  “Couldn’t get my guts up for it.”

  “Our mistake. Too late now.” She drew her hand back, rose and picked up the rack of samples. “I’m going to take these up to Healy, stand as his lab assistant since he’s all that’s left in his department. Good luck, Jonah.”

  He watched her go. No hope, he thought. He’d seen no hope in her. Strength, yes, but that spark of hope had died. He understood.

  He rolled down his sleeve, put on his jacket. He didn’t want to go back through the ER, through all that death, but knew it would help him follow through on the decision he’d made.

  He ignored the screaming, the retching, the terrible racking coughs, and stepped out into the air. He’d thought to finish this inside. If he had the balls, he’d have gone to the morgue to end it. Make it easy on everyone. But he just couldn’t face that.

  Right here, he considered, at the doors of the ER? But hell, they had enough to do. In his ambulance? That seemed like good closure.

  Behind the wheel, or in the back? Behind the wheel, or in the back? Why was it so hard to decide?

  The act itself? No problem. He’d handled enough suicides and attempted suicides to know the best way. His grandfather’s old .32. Barrel in the mouth, pull the trigger. Done.

  He just couldn’t live seeing death all around him. Hopeless, inevitable death. He couldn’t keep looking at the faces of neighbors, coworkers, friends, family, and seeing death in them.

  He couldn’t keep locking himself in the dark to stop seeing it. Couldn’t keep hearing the screams, the gunfire, the pleas for help, the mad laughter.

  Eventually his depression and despair would turn to madness. And he feared, actively feared, that the madness would turn him into one of the vicious who hunted others and caused more death.

  Better to end it, just end it and go into the quiet.

  He reached into his coat pocket, felt the reassuring shape of the gun. He started toward the ambulance, glad he’d had the chance to see Rachel, to help her, to say good-bye. He wondered what Healy would find in his blood. Something tainted with this horrible ability?

  Cursed blood.

  He turned at the blast of a horn, but kept walking even as the minivan squealed up, bumped onto the curb. More death for the death house, he thought, hunching his shoulders at the call for help.

  No help for it.

  “Please, please. Help me.”

  No more death, he vowed. He wasn’t going to look at any more death.

  “The babies are coming! I need help.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from looking back again, and watched the woman drag herself out of the bright red van, cradling her pregnant belly.

  “I need a doctor. I’m in labor. They’re coming.”

  He didn’t see death, but life. Three lives. Three bright sparks.

  Comforting himself that he could kill himself later, he went to her.

  “How many weeks?”

  “Thirty-four weeks, five days. Twins. I’m having twins.”

  “That’s good baking time for a two-pack.” He got an arm around her.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No. Paramedic. I’m not taking you through the ER. It’s full of the infected.”

  “I think I’m immune. Everyone else … But the babies. They’re alive. They’re not sick.”

  Hearing the fear in her voice, he tuned his own to easy reassurance. “Okay, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to go in that door up there. I’ll get you to Maternity. We’ll get you a doctor.”

  “I— Contraction!” She grabbed on to him, digging her fingers in like claws, breathing in hisses.

  “Slow it down.”

  “You slow it down,” she snapped, hissing her way through it. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. How far apart?”

  “I couldn’t time them once I started driving. About three minutes when I left. It took me, I don’t know. Ten minutes to get here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He got her inside, steered her toward the elevators. “What’s your name?”

  “Katie.”

  “I’m Jonah. You ready for twins, Katie?”

  She looked up at him, huge green eyes, then dropped her head on his chest and wept.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all going to be all right.”

  Bringing babies into this dark, deadly world? He hadn’t thought of it. Told himself not to think beyond getting her to Maternity.

  “Did your water break?”

  She shook her head.

  The elevator doors opened onto an empty reception area. That same echoing silence made him realize he might find no help for her there.

  He led her back—empty rooms, unmanned desk. Didn’t anyone have babies anymore?

  He steered her into one of the birthing suites. “Prime digs,” he said, working to keep cheer in his voice. “Let’s get your coat off, get you in bed. Who’s your OB?”

  “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter, he’s dead.”


  “Let’s get your shoes off.” He pressed the nurse’s call button before he crouched down, pulled off her shoes.

  They wouldn’t bother with a gown. He didn’t know where to find one, didn’t want to waste time looking. She was wearing a dress anyway.

  “Here you go.” He helped her into bed, stopping when she dug her fingers into his arm again. Pushed the call button again.

  “Are they all dead?” she asked when the contraction passed. “The doctors, the nurses?”

  “No. I was just talking to a doctor downstairs, a friend of mine, before I walked out and you drove up. I’m going to see if I can find one of the OB nurses.”

  “Oh God, don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t. I swear, I won’t. I’m going to see if I can find a nurse, and I’m going to get a couple of warming trays for the babies. Good baking time,” he said again, “but they’re preemies.”

  “I tried to get to thirty-six weeks. I tried, but—”

  “Hey.” Taking her hand, he waited until her teary eyes met his. “You’re right on the edge of thirty-five. Damn good job. Give me two minutes, all right? Don’t push, Katie. Breathe through it if you have another before I get back. Don’t push.”

  “Hurry. Please.”

  “Promise.”

  He stepped out, then ran.

  He didn’t know this wing, had only been in it a handful of times, and only as far as the desk. He tried to take heart when he saw three infants behind the glass in their nursery cribs. Somebody had to be on the floor. Somebody had to be caring for the babies.

  He hit a pair of double doors, stepped into an OR. A doctor—he hoped—gowned, gloved, holding a scalpel. A nurse, and a pregnant woman on the table, eyes closed.

  “I’ve got a woman in labor with twins. I—”

  “And I’m trying to save the life of this woman and fetus. Get out!”

  “I need— She needs a doctor.”

  “I said get out! I’m it. I’m what’s left, and I’m fucking busy here. Nurse!”

  “Go!” She ordered as the doctor made the incision.

  “Page Dr. Hopman. Just do that. Page her.”

  Jonah rushed out, grabbed two warming trays, pushed them back to the room where Katie panted through a contraction.

  “Keep breathing, keep breathing. I’m going to set these up so they’ll be ready.”

  “Doctor,” she managed.

  He turned on the trays, shed his coat, rolled up his sleeves. “It’s going to be you, me, and the twins. We’re going to be fine.”

  “Oh God. Oh God. Have you ever delivered a baby?”

  “Yeah, a few times.”

  “Would you say that even if you hadn’t?”

  “No. I’ve even delivered a preemie. It’s my first multiple, but hey, if you can do one, you can do two. I’m going to wash my hands, get gloved. Then we’ll see where we’re at, okay?”

  “I’m out of choices.” She stared up at the ceiling, as she’d done when her mother had been dying. “If it goes wrong for me, promise me you’ll take care of them. You’ll take care of my babies.”

  “It’s not going to go wrong, and I’m going to take care of them. And you. Solemn oath.” He crossed his heart, stepped into the bath to scrub his hands.

  “What are you naming them?” he called out.

  “The girl’s Antonia. My husband … he wanted a girl especially. Before we knew we were having twins, he hoped for a girl. The boy’s Duncan for my father’s father.”

  “Nice. Good, strong names.” He pulled on gloves, took one deep, long breath. “One of each, huh? Best of the best.”

  “He died here. My Tony. My parents, too, and my brother. Four people I loved died in this hospital, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “I’m sorry. But your babies aren’t going to die, and neither are you. Ah, I gotta get your underwear off, and take a look at things.”

  “Modesty isn’t anywhere on my list.”

  He rolled the panties away. “I need you to scoot up a little.”

  “‘Scoot,’ my ass.”

  “Yeah, it’s your ass I need you to scoot.”

  He smiled when she laughed. “Funny guy.”

  “You should hear my full stand-up routine. I gotta get personal, and I know it’s uncomfortable. Breathe through.”

  He inserted fingers to measure her while she blew at the ceiling.

  “You’re fully dilated, Katie. I’ll apologize to Antonia when she gets here. I poked her head.”

  “Duncan. He’s first. His head?”

  “Yeah.” And thank God it was his head, not his ass.

  “One’s coming.”

  “Ride it out. You’re really close. You—there she blows. Water broke.”

  “It hurts. Oh, Christ Jesus, Mother of Mary, it hurts!”

  “I know.”

  “What do you know? You’re a man.” She turned her head, closed her eyes, let out a long, cleansing breath. “We were going to have Adele playing during delivery. And Tony and I were going to have both our moms in with us. His mom’s dead now, and his father. My brother, Tony’s brother and sister. The babies only have me.”

  “Duncan’s crowning, Katie. I can see his head. He’s got hair! It’s dark. Do you want the mirror?”

  She let out a sob, covered her eyes, and held up a hand for him to wait. “I loved him, so much. Tony. My parents, my brother, his family. My family. They’re all gone. The babies. The babies are all I have left of my family. I’m all they’ll have.” She wiped her eyes. “I want the mirror, please. I want to see them born.”

  He adjusted it until she nodded. Coached her through the next contractions, then through the pushing.

  She didn’t speak of loss again, but bore down like a warrior in battle.

  Duncan, with his dark hair and waving fists, came into the world yelling. His mother laughed, held out her arms.

  “He’s got good color, and damn good lungs.” Jonah wiped off the down, laid the baby in Katie’s arms. “I’m clamping off the cord.”

  “He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. Is he perfect? Please.”

  “We’re going to weigh him and get him in the warming tray. He sure looks perfect.”

  “He … He’s going for the breast!”

  “Well, he’s a guy.”

  “The books say, especially with preemies … He’s latched right on! He’s hungry. And— Oh God, she’s coming. She’s coming.”

  “Antonia doesn’t want to get left behind. Let me put him in the tray.”

  “No, no. I’ve got him. He’s hungry. I need to push!”

  “Okay, a good one now. You can do better.”

  “I’m trying!”

  “Okay, hold it. Relax, relax, breathe. I’m going to need one more. One good, strong one. She’s ready. Look at the mirror, Katie. Push her out.”

  She sucked in her breath, let it out in a low, keening wail. Jonah cupped the head, turned the shoulders, and Antonia slipped into his hands.

  “There she is.”

  “She’s not crying, she’s not crying. What’s wrong?”

  “Give her a second.” Jonah cleared out the baby’s nose, mouth, rubbed the tiny chest. “Come on, Antonia. We know you’re no crybaby, but your mom wants to hear from you. She’s just taking her time. She’s fine. The light’s in her, not the dark. I see life, not death.”

  “What—”

  “And there.” Jonah grinned as the baby let out a high wail, an insulted, annoyed little sound. “She’s pinking right up. Just wanted to take stock first, that’s all. She’s a beauty, Mom.”

  Katie cuddled her. “Look at her sweet little head.”

  “Yeah, her brother hogged all the hair. Give her some time, she’ll outdo him there. Cutting the cords. If he’s finished his snack, I want to clean him up, weigh him, check a couple of things. You’ve got another round with the placenta.”

  “It’s got to be easier than delivering twins.”

  Jonah took Duncan, carefully cleaned h
im, checked his heart rate and reflexes, weighed him. “He comes in at six pounds, two ounces. That’s a solid weight, even for a full-term single. Good job, Katie.”

  “She’s watching me. I know that’s probably not true, but it’s like she’s looking at me. Like she knows me.”

  “Sure she does.” Staring at the baby in his hands, Jonah felt … triumph, and a quiet, steady love.

  “I want to put Duncan in the warmer for a bit. I need your girl, too. I’m going to hunt you up something cold to drink,” he told Katie as he cleaned Antonia. “Some food if I can find it. And your girl weighs in at five pounds, ten ounces. Good for her.”

  “Contraction.”

  “Okay, let’s get it all out. Nice and clean. Got a pail here. Just shove it out, champ.”

  When it was done, Katie lay back, said nothing while Jonah wiped the sweat from her face. Then she gripped his hand.

  “You said you could see life, not death. Light, not dark. And when you did, when you said that … you were different. I could see something different.”

  “I was a little caught up in the moment.” He started to step back, but she tightened her grip, looked at him.

  “I’ve seen things in the last weeks. Things that don’t make sense, things out of books and fantasy movies. Are you one of them? One of what they’re calling the Uncanny?”

  “Look, you’re tired, and I’ve got to—”

  “You brought my son and my daughter into the world. You gave me a family again. You gave me…” Tears streamed out as her voice quavered. “You gave me a reason to go on living. I’ll be grateful to you every day for the rest of my life. Grateful every time I look at my children. I have children. If part of the reason I have them is you having something, being something, I’m grateful for that, too.”

  When his eyes teared, he found himself clinging to her hand like a lifeline. “I don’t know what I am. I don’t know. I can see death coming in someone, or injury. I can see how it’ll happen, and I can’t make it stop.”

  “You saw life in my babies, and in me. You saw life. I know what you are. You’re my personal miracle.”

  He had to sit on the side of the bed, to gather himself. “I was going to kill myself.”

  “No. No, Jonah.”

  “If you’d driven up five minutes later, I’d be dead. I didn’t think I could