Time spike Page 10

  It turned out, her father was apparently right. Her period did seem to attract the local wildlife. She was the only one who took a bear that trip and she's never told any of them about hersecret bait. " Hulbert was laughing so hard he spilled the last of his coffee. "My God! I'm in love! I want to meet this woman." "I'll tell her to come see you."

  "You wouldn't happen to know when she's supposed to come around again, would you?" Jenny stood up to leave. "Ask her yourself." Andy jogged to catch up with her. "I think you made Hulbert's day." "I'm glad someone's happy." She slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

  "What I'm going to tell you won't be so good, Andy." "It never is." He rubbed the top of his head, applying as much pressure as he could along the temple areas and across the top. "Another headache?" "Yeah."

  She handed him a small white envelope filled with aspirins. "I figured you would be running low by now. Some of your headaches are caused from tension. But I'm betting some of them aren't. You're off all sugars now. And your caffeine intake has dropped to one cup of coffee a day. Caffeine and sugar are both addicting. And withdrawals from them include headaches." She gave his hand another small squeeze. "If you feel irritable, exhausted or develop diarrhea, don't be surprised." "At this point in my life, nothing can surprise me. Now, what's your bad news?" "We're going to lose about one hundred prisoners within the next month or two." "What?"Andy stopped walking and stared at her. "That can't be right." "A little over one hundred of our prisoners have health problems that will cause them to die within the next month or two if left untreated. And I don't have the means of treating them. I've run out of their meds." Jenny pulled her hand from his and started walking again. He followed a half step behind her. "One hundred," he whispered. He had known this was coming, he just hadn't realized how many were going to die. "Yes. But the numbers are actually worse than that. Over the next year, maybe two, we will lose five hundred. Diabetes, high blood pressure, kidney failure, heart failure, transplant rejection, and liver failure are going to cause us to lose about half of them pretty fast. My guess is at least seventy within the next two weeks. Another thirty the following two weeks. Tuberculosis and hepatitis will kill the others within the next year, maybe two. Then things will slow down a little.

  But over the next five years, we will lose our inmates with AIDS. The grand total when we're done will actually be close to one thousand."

  She slowed her pace, giving them a little more time to talk before reaching the infirmary. "This is not an estimate. I've been going through their medical records. Speaking of which, we should suspend those rules. At least you and Joe and Rod should start looking through the convicts' records. Sooner or later, you're going to need to start paroling some of the prisoners. You'll need to know everything you can about them." Andy set aside her last suggestion. She was right, but that could wait. It was her medical numbers he needed to digest. One hundred prisoners would be dead within two months, five hundred within two years, and a thousand within five years. That was just under half the inmate population. The horror of that was followed by quiet panic.

  "What about the guards? How many of them are going to die?" "Relax. It won't be nearly as many. Most of them are healthy. Healthier, in fact, than the American population as a whole. They're younger, on average, and they have to take a screening physical to get the job. Prisoners, on the other hand, are far unhealthier than most people, especially the kind of prisoners you get in maximum security facilities. There are a lot of reasons for that. Some of it is simply because they generally come from poor backgrounds, and 'poor' and 'unhealthy' are almost synonyms. But some of it is more personal. They run more heavily toward addictions than most people, and addicts are almost always unhealthy. And even if they aren't addicted to anything, as such, they usually come from dysfunctional families and don't have much in the way of self-discipline. Their diet is likely to have been as bad as you could ask for since they were infants." She shrugged.

  "But, whatever the reasons for it, the fact remains that the health of many prisoners is really lousy. As for the C.O.'s, we have a few on blood pressure meds, a couple on heart meds, one on insulin. They may have other medical problems I don't know about, of course. Unless they come to me asking for help, I have no way of knowing." He nodded.

  "What are we going to do with all the bodies? We can't possibly bury them." "No." Her tone was flat, almost emotionless. "We couldn't. We don't have the manpower. We'll have to burn them. Preferably on raised platforms because of the smoke and the odor." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if blotting out a memory. "I've seen this before, Andy. If we screw it up, we're going to be in real trouble. We can't afford an epidemic on top of everything else." Real trouble?

  Seen it before-epidemic? Andy had wondered more than once about Jenny's past. The nurses at the prison were good at their job. And they had nerves of steel or they didn't stay. But even so, Jenny wasn't a typical prison nurse. She was one least a cut above the average. What she knew, how she carried herself, the way she stayed one step ahead of everything, none of it was typical. And the control she kept on her emotions was unbelievable. He had seen her cry several times over the last few days, but her tears didn't cause her to lose control. She would be crying one minute, giving orders the next.

  Medical was the best-run department in the prison and she hadn't been there long enough to draw so much as one paycheck. All three nurses plus their guard had sleeping areas. They had work schedules with a priority listing that let them get things done that used to take eight people. "There are a couple of things you need to know. I took Woeltje off tower duty, permanently. That knee of his is pretty bad. He was wearing a brace when the Quiver hit, so that helps. But he is to do zero stairs from today on. You also have to take into consideration how far he has to walk each time you assign him. And he can't be posted someplace that requires standing for long periods. He has to be able to stand, sit, and even prop that leg up on a regular schedule."

  Andy nodded, then braced himself. Jenny might be unusual in a lot of ways, but she was also predictable. She always saved the worst for last. Always. "We've admitted Kathleen to the infirmary. She's on complete bed rest. I'm going to induce labor if the baby doesn't move in the next twenty-four hours." "Why?" "It hasn't moved much since the Quiver came. And it should have. I'm still getting a heartbeat, but it's weak and irregular." She shrugged, and he could tell she was working at keeping her voice steady. "This close to being born, the baby needs to be moving on a regular basis, and its been twenty-four hours since…" Andy's headache went from a dull throb to a knife cutting, anvil pounder. He had to close his own eyes. "You need a shoulder?" she asked. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." She hugged him and laid her head against his chest for a moment before walking into the infirmary.

  But this time, instead of tears, he thought he felt a soft kiss.

  Chapter 12 "Hulbert's hunting party left a little before sunup,"

  Lieutenant Joe Schuler said. "The first of the methane toilets are now online, so we'll find out soon enough if they work. The construction of the first greenhouse will be finished sometime today, and we now have a working well. It's only nineteen feet deep, but it's good water." Andy nodded. He already knew. He had heard the shouts the second the work crew hit it. If he hadn't known what they were digging for, he would have sworn they'd struck oil. The way they laughed and shouted reminded him of some of the late night movies he had watched with his grandfather. He had been ten years old and his grandmother had passed away, and his grandfather-it turned out to be his last summer-had reluctantly moved into the spare room in the basement.

  Every Friday night the two of them had sat on the lumpy green couch the old man had insisted on bringing with him, drinking soda, munching chips and staring at an old black and white television. Twice that summer the two of them had stayed up past midnight in order to watchGiant. He could still close his eyes and see James Dean covered in Texas' black gold, shouting to the heavens. "We will be finished with the inmate relocatio
ns sometime today," Joe continued. "When that is done, we'll start the cleaning. And then we'll be able to start assigning permanent sleeping areas for the staff. And you can tell Jenny I've got the solar showers hung. People can start showering again." Joe stopped his report when he realized Andy wasn't listening.

  "Is something wrong?" "I hope not," Andy answered. He looked at the door to medical then asked, "Did you hear about the east wall, and the-God, I can hardly say the word-the dinosaur?" "It didn't get in, though. All it was doing was scratching itself." "This time. And I don't care if Jeff says it wasn't a meat-eater. The damn thing washuge. " Joe Schuler nodded. Everyone knew they had been lucky. No one had been outside when the creature showed up, and the wall had held. Andy's face was grim. "I can't turn them out. If a pterodactyl flies overhead and takes a dump, coating the entire exercise yard, it doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter if a dinosaur scratches his ass on the east wall. But if something else shows up, like a tyrannosaurus… I can't turn the prisoners out." "I know, Andy.

  Besides that, if we're here, there could be other people. And it would be morally wrong to release some of these guys until we know for sure.

  You have to wait." Andy scanned the interior of the prison, then shrugged. "I don't believe ten percent of them would last more than twenty-four hours on the outside, in any event. We have men who've been inside these walls for over forty years. Over fifty years, in a few cases. If they couldn't make it when things were organized and easy, they aren't going to survive when one screw-up means you don't eat, or you get eaten." "Hey, Andy, I know that. So does everyone else. We're protecting whoever else might be living in this timeline, and we're protecting the prisoners from themselves and…" he shrugged. "None of the prisoners or the C.O.'s are talking about leaving. They're all scared. No one thinks surviving outside the walls is an option. Not right now, for sure." "Do you know what killed Greg Lowry?" "I heard he had a bad heart and it gave out because of the Quiver." Andy shook his head. "No. Aliens killed him! He died because he was afraid some frigging alien was going to jump out of the wall at us." Confused, Joe shook his head. "That's crazy." "Yeah, well, that's what killed him. And if we aren't careful we're all going to die because of aliens or God knows what." "We'll do okay, at least for a while. Most of what's crawling around out there seems content to leave us alone." "Joe, I'm not talking about tomorrow. I'm talking about next year, or the year after, or twenty years from now. We have to look ahead to the point when the prisoners are out of their cells and we are living outside these walls. We are going to have to farm and hunt and build factories. And do it in a way some God-awful creature the size of a blue whale doesn't knock it all down. And none of it can be done with over two thousand men in chains. "And the water, we have a well, but how long till it runs dry? We need something more reliable. We need a river." "Hey, Cap, maybe you should…" "I'm sorry, Joe." Andy Blacklock clenched and unclenched his hands, stretching his fingers out then curling them tight. "Today isn't a good day." He gave the second lieutenant a phony smile. "Kathleen Hanrahan is in having her baby." "Oh." Joe gave Andy's shoulder a squeeze, then walked away as fast as he could without actually breaking into a jog. He had heard that the kid was probably dead.

  Everyone had heard that. "Kathleen, wait. Don't push, not yet."

  Jenny wiped the woman's face with a cool cloth. "I don't understand this. I've had three babies. None of them were this hard to bring.

  None of them. Each baby is supposed to get easier." The woman's water had broken and she had been in hard labor for over fourteen hours. She was exhausted, close to the breaking point. She was also terrified that the reason she was having such a hard time was because something had gone wrong with the baby. "You are a lot older than you were back then. Your muscles have been stretched and pulled by those other births. They don't ever go all the way back. Just relax and don't worry. It won't be much longer now. The last time I checked, you were dilated to an eight." She flashed the woman a smile. "When you hit the magic number ten, the baby will be here." "I know, but I just can't."

  Another contraction came, arching her back and causing her to moan. "I can't," she sobbed. "Relax," Jenny said to the woman and moved to the "catcher's position." Barbara replaced her near the woman's head. She took one of one of Kathleen's hands; Lylah took the other. Jenny made a quick check then smiled. "Magic time, Kathleen. You're ready." She motioned for Barbara to join her at the foot of the examining table.

  "Okay, Kathleen, you have to relax and work with the baby. The baby needs you to help it be born. Do you understand?" Kathleen nodded. The contraction had ended. For the moment she could concentrate. "I want you to take a few deep breaths. Come on. You need to oxygenate your blood, and the baby's. Come on, breathe." Kathleen did as she was told. She took deep breath after deep breath. A new contraction was coming. Jenny could feel the woman begin to tense up. She started rubbing her legs, pressing on the flesh as hard as she could without causing pain. "Kathleen, it's a wave. Feel the wave. Ride it. Up. Up.

  That's it, ride the wave to the peak." She could feel the contraction through the woman's skin. "That's it, it's peaking. Push. Push. That's it. It's plateauing. Good. Stay with it. Now. Feel it. Stop pushing.

  Relax. It's coming down. Down. You can take this. Ride the wave down."

  Kathleen relaxed. The contraction was still there, but she was on the back half of it. She could relax. She could do it. "How many more?"

  Jenny's eyes had never left the woman's pubis. The baby had crowned.

  "One, maybe two more. Then you're done with the hard part." Kathleen nodded, then said, "Another one's coming." Jenny concentrated on the baby, her heart in her throat. The infant's hair was plastered to its scalp. Black hair streaked with blood. A thin dusting of white. The baby moved forward a centimeter. "Push, Kathleen. Push!" Another centimeter. The contraction peaked. "Push!" The baby's head was free.

  Quickly she worked her fingers around its neck. No cord. Thank you, God. She could see the baby's pulse beating in the top of its head. It was regular and strong. Maybe we're going to be lucky. "Kathleen, don't push. Wait for the contraction." They waited. Twenty seconds, thirty, the contraction began. Another twenty seconds, thirty, and the baby was free. As the umbilical cord prolapsed, Jenny suctioned the baby's nose and throat with a new ear syringe she had found inside the med room. He was gray and chilling quickly, but his heart beat within his thin little chest. "Please," she whispered.

  "Please… breathe!" The baby jerked in her hands, gave a small choking sound, took a breath of air and then whimpered. It was such a small sound, but it could be heard by everyone in the room. The three nurses had been holding their breath. Barbara and Lylah's tears were flowing as fast as Kathleen's. Jenny fought to keep from joining them.

  She lost the battle and gave a soft sob. "My poor baby." Kathleen reached for the newborn. Jenny wrapped a heated bath towel around the infant, gave the child a quick hug, then handed him to his mother.

  "Congratulations, Mom." she said. "You have a beautiful, healthy son.

  What are you going to name him?" Kathleen's tears came harder. "I don't know. He was supposed to be called Samuel Ray. He wasn't going to be named for anyone. We had done that with the older boys. It was just a name from a baby book that we liked. It sounded good. But now, I don't know if that's good enough." She gazed at the baby and wiped her eyes. "I think his name is too important to have picked it from a book." Jenny patted the woman's leg. "You don't have to decide today.

  You have time."

  Chapter 13 Stephen McQuade didn't expect the rifle butt slammed into his lower back. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain. He'd been floating in and out of consciousness for hours. Maybe days. It was hard for him to decide. He had been beaten too many times to be sure of anything. But the beatings were the easy part. The hard part was the fear. The knowing what was next. After each beating he'd had been tied to a tree and was able to watch one Indian after another tortured then killed. He assumed they were Indians, anyway
, although he didn't recognize their language or their manner of dress and personal decoration. They certainly weren't Cherokee or any other of the southern tribes he was familiar with. He did recognize the language spoke by their captors. They were Spaniards. He couldn't speak or understand Spanish, beyond a few words, but he knew the sound of the language. These men could be nothing else. They were brutal beyond belief. Not even the worst sort of Georgia militiamen would have been this savage. First they'd torture and eventually murder the children, so their parents could see them die. Then, apparently not getting the information they demanded, they started on the women. That was just as slow and even more degrading. Finally, the men. One at a time. Hour after hour. Hands pulled him to his feet, then a moment later he was back on the ground gasping, bleeding from a blow to the back of his head. Kicks were coming from all directions; he closed his eyes in an attempt to protect his vision as his head and body were pounded.

  Someone ground the heel of his boot onto McQuade's left ankle. His hands were tied behind his back, so he couldn't fight back. Stephen curled his legs towards his chest, protecting himself the best he could. Someone kicked him in the groin. The world faded to gray. The beating continued. Stopped. Then continued. His nose broke and his sinuses closed. He had to breathe through his mouth: His lips were split and some of his teeth were gone. The pain was too much for him to know how many. Hands grabbed at his hair, dragging him through the dirt and over the bodies of those already dead. The pain was everything. There was nothing else. A voice came from somewhere. He thought that was the man the others called de Soto. He was demanding something. Stephen tried to answer, but it hurt too much to open his mouth. He wondered if his jaw was broken, then decided it didn't really matter. Someone grabbed the leather that bound his hands behind his back and jerked him to his feet. His shoulders screamed. One of the soldiers wearing chain mail, leg armor, boots and a steel helmet, stepped in front of him. The man aimed his ancient-looking gun at McQuade and fired. The flesh of his right side tore and burned, and the impact knocked him down. He tried to crawl away. The Spaniard standing to the left of the man with the matchlock reached out with a wood-handled halberd and hooked Stephen's left hip, dragging him back to the center of the small crowd. The one called de Soto placed a booted foot on Stephen's stomach while the Spaniard with the halberd wrenched its metal tip from where it was buried in bone and muscle.