Ambrose sat in the wheelchair. He listened to the sound of the machines keeping Christopher alive.
beEp.
He had promised Kate Reese to never leave her son’s side, and he was a man hell-bent on keeping promises.
Help him, David.
The thought was quiet and solemn. He didn’t notice that the door behind him had opened.
beEp.
But he felt the temperature change.
“Hello?” he said.
Silence. Breathing.
“Nurse, is that you?”
beEp.
“Doctor?” he asked. “The boy’s hand is hot as a skillet. What is his temperature?”
There was a long moment of silence. Then…
“One hundred seven,” the voice whispered. “But I’m not the doctor.”
Ambrose furrowed his brow. He tried to remain calm.
“His brain is beginning to cook,” Ambrose said. “Call someone.”
“We have, Mr. Olson,” the voice replied.
Ambrose listened to the voice. He couldn’t tell who it was. A man. A woman.
“When is the doctor coming?” he asked.
“Soon,” the voice replied.
Ambrose could hear the person circling him. Little pit-pats on the balls of their feet. Then, a slight echo. There was more than one person in the room.
“How soon?” Ambrose asked.
“I’m not sure. The hospital is understaffed. Everyone has the flu,” the voice said.
The voice was closer. More footsteps. Circling.
beEp.
“That’s okay,” Ambrose said calmly, gripping the side of Christopher’s bed. “I understand.”
Suddenly Ambrose heard mocking laughter from a half dozen people.
“He understands,” “That’s okay,” “He understands,” the voices cackled.
“I guess you’re not that understaffed,” Ambrose said.
The laughter stopped, revealing a familiar sound underneath it. Hissssssss.
It was gas.
“Mr. Olson,” the voice said.
Ambrose’s blood went cold. He finally recognized the owner of that voice.
“Yes, Mrs. Keizer?” he asked.
“Death is finally here, Ambrose. You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.
Suddenly he felt a dozen hands on him. He held up his arms to defend himself, but the mob grabbed him. He felt the cold plastic of the gas mask cover his mouth. The gas hissed out of the tank like a serpent. Hissss.
“Get the fuck off me!” Ambrose shrieked.
The old soldier pushed back, flailing blindly. He grabbed one head of hair. He tore at another person’s eyes. The army of hands pinned him back. His wheelchair tipped, and Ambrose crashed to the ground. The mob was on him in seconds. He fought back with all of his strength, but there were too many. He felt his arms and legs give. He was an old man. Blind. Helpless. It took everything to push the gas mask off his face. But it was back within seconds. And there was nothing to do but wait for his lungs to cry mercy.
“Now breathe deeply and count back from ten,” the voice said.
It was one minute to midnight.
As he took a huge drink of air.
And heard Christopher flatline.
beeeeEEEEEEE
Chapter 100
Christopher charged at the hissing lady.
Her army circled him like a spiderweb. The deer snapping. The mailbox people blocking his path. Their bodies created a hurricane, and Christopher was the eye.
“GET HIM!” the hissing lady shrieked.
Christopher looked at the key buried in her neck. He held the silver blade and jumped through the air. He landed on one of the deer, planting his feet on its back. He jumped onto the mailbox people’s shoulders. They reached for him. He moved quickly. Running farther and faster. He could feel his body change with each step. The light from the tree had stayed with him somehow. The headaches were different. The fever was knowledge. He couldn’t believe how fast he was moving.
“NOW! WE HAVE TO GET HIM NOW!” the hissing lady screamed.
The deer closed in from every direction, but they were too slow. Christopher slid through their legs. Jumped over their antlers. He couldn’t believe how quickly the trees whipped by. He felt outside of his own body.
But not the pain inside it.
With each step, he could feel it growing. Like hands tightening around his throat. Blood began to trickle out of his nose. He thought of David, drained like a battery. How long did he have until the power was gone and the pain remained? Midnight was coming. He was either going to kill or die.
He saw the hissing lady up ahead, her gaze tracing the blade in his hand. For a flash, he thought he saw fear in her eyes. She covered the key with her burnt hand. Then, she turned and retreated into the woods. Christopher raced behind her. He looked down and saw her tracks on the muddy, bloody trail.
Christopher followed her footprints into the stream near the billy goat bridge. The water soaked through his boots and turned his feet freezing. For a moment, he thought