Zombies in Paradise (Love in the Age of Zombies Book 2) Page 6

  Doc kept an eye on his rear view mirror as he slowed down to check the map. He needed to find a way around the I-75 intersection. The alternate route took him many miles out of the way and wasted hours. He knew he’d eventually have to cross I-75, as it lay between him and Ann Arbor no matter what route he used. But he deliberately drove north to put some distance between him and the roadblock, not knowing if other exits were blocked. When he finally did cross the interstate, over an hour later, he was fortunate to have picked an overpass without any entrance or exit ramps onto I-75. He drove very slowly across the overpass, his mouth agape as he looked past the railing and down onto the interstate.

  As far as the eye could see, all lanes northbound and southbound were filled with dead cars. Some had crashed into each other, others looked like they simply ran out of gas or were abandoned. Even the grassy median was filled, as it looked like cars had attempted to bypass stopped vehicles by going around them, only to be stopped by other wrecks that happened in the median.

  Even from the overpass he could see zombies in some of the cars. A few of them saw the movement of the Jeep and started flailing around, captured by their seatbelts and having no intelligence to work the clasp. Most bodies remained still, and Doc couldn’t tell whether they were unmoving zombies or simply dead people. In a few cars and trucks he saw obvious evidence of bloodshed, but because of the distance he couldn’t tell whether the bloodshed was the result of zombie attacks within the vehicles or if the occupants had chosen a more dignified way to end their lives than turning into a zombie.

  He never quite stopped the Jeep, as there were literally hundreds of zombies filling the I-75 corridor, and some began moving his way. He’d been noticed. Fortunately a galvanized wire fence blocked the banks of the overpass, but he knew the fence would fall due to the sheer weight of all the bodies should they move en masse against it. He kept going, picking up speed in an effort to put the scene behind him, and decided to take as many unmarked roads as possible to avoid any more roadblocks, pile-ups, or hordes of zombies. Some of the time he was on roads not marked and not on the map. He knew only roughly where he was, but as long as he drove south and east he knew he’d be okay. The roads he picked, even the unmarked ones, usually intersected narrow county roads, not state roads.

  He travelled down one road for a good seven miles, making what he thought was good time, until he came upon a bridge over a small creek. The bridge was a choked with a dozen cars and trucks while zombies milled about vacantly. He had to backtrack the way he’d come—not the first or the last time his detour would take a detour.

  He had one nasty surprise when he began to pass an abandoned car in his lane. A decrepit zombie stepped into Doc’s path. He swerved, but it was too late, and he clipped the zombie’s body. Bones shattered and the head snapped off then smacked into the windshield. The skull caved in while numerous cracks spread across the windshield. Doc cursed.

  Soon the light would be fading. He had a quick inner debate: should he look for another canoe to paddle into a lake, pond or creek? Should he find some natural barricade to hide behind, or find high ground with a view all around to warn him of any impending danger?

  In the end, he decided high ground made more sense, but even so, as he approached a long, slow incline he stopped and waited until darkness closed in, then slowly moved to the top of the rise. He hoped in the dim light the Jeep wasn’t noticed by the living or undead.

  It took Doc a long time to fall asleep, but finally the sound of the crickets in the field and the hooting of a pair of owls lulled him to sleep. He was under his blanket and his head rested against the pillow jammed in the corner between the seat and the door.

  Sleeping in the cab of a Jeep is seldom a pleasant experience, but waking to find a half-rotted face, complete with sunken, decayed cheeks and a moldy, maggot-filled green tongue only a few inches from his face made his morning nightmarish. As the zombie began to pound on the glass, Doc swung his feet down and turned the ignition. Jeep, don’t fail me now! he prayed. Like a charm it started right up.

  There were a few zombies within eyesight. They must have been in the thicket of trees just south of the ridge when Doc pulled in last night. Overnight they slowly migrated toward the truck. The sky was light enough for him to drive without turning on his headlights, so Doc accelerated past the creatures. Suddenly wide awake, he once again headed south, keeping his eye on the gas gauge. Initially he thought he had plenty of gas, but his detours had nearly emptied the tank. At one point he stopped in the road and emptied his last few gallons of gas into the tank. He kept the empty can in case it might come in useful.

  He detoured around Owosso, afraid he’d run into more trouble, and within ninety minutes he was west of Gregory. The next time he glanced down at this gas gauge the fuel light was on. Instantly he had that panicky, desperate feeling you only get when you’re driving on a very empty tank for miles on end. He was trying to decide whether to siphon gas out of one of the abandoned cars when he realized he had no hose to siphon with. Before the next intersection he noticed a boat access symbol pointing right. He turned onto the side road. It was tough going; he had to push several saplings out of the road and had to drive through a washout where a creek had overflowed its bank and washed away much of the surface. But eventually he made his way to the North Lake access point and was disappointed to learn it consisted merely of a dock out onto the lake and a shed for canoe rentals. No gas.

  As he pulled out of the marina and headed back toward Ann Arbor, the Jeep began sputtering. He knew it was running on fumes and resigned himself to dealing with whatever came next. As the engine finally died for good, he took stock of his surroundings. No buildings in sight. No cars. No zombies. Only a fence-lined Michigan back road, cutting through the middle of an apple grove. Some of the trees were in bloom.

  He assembled a bare-bones survival backpack, shouldered his hunting rifle, and headed out. He’d already drawn a map to Kevin’s house. It looked to be about fifteen miles. He walked at a brisk pace. Unless he ran into problems, he’d be at their place by mid-afternoon.

  He’d already walked six or seven miles when he realized he left the gas can behind. It would have made more sense to find a garden hose, siphon some gas, and drive the rest of the way. But to return to the Jeep, get the gas can and retrace his steps would waste several more hours. He decided it made more sense to continue on foot.

  Approaching Dexter, he had to scramble to escape a handful of zombies shuffling about on top of the bridge over Mill Creek. Fortunately the creek was not deep, and Doc elected to wade through the river. The cold water made his legs ache.

  He did his best to stay out of the open and moved with as much stealth as possible. Even so, zombies noticed him and began to follow him; he zigzagged his way through a small business park to get them off his trail. Several hours later he was on the outskirts of Ann Arbor.

  “ . . . I stayed away from houses and buildings as much as possible and had no trouble. There’s not much else to tell.”

  Doc wrapped up the story and grew silent. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly an hour. When they finished their breakfast Michelle offered to do the dishes while the men tended the plants.

  Chapter Six

  Once Doc moved in, they settled into their new roles as roommates. They spent a hours deep in conversation and playing card games, getting to know each other. They enjoyed each other’s company.

  “So what are your plans?” Doc asked.

  “Long-range? I’m not sure. We have a great setup here, but it’s not sustainable. At some point we’ll run out of food. Then what?”

  “So you don’t really have any plans.”

  “No, I guess I’m having a hard time accepting this as a permanent reality. What are your plans?”

  “Oh, about as vague as yours. I planned to sit back and ride out the storm in my cabin. I could still fish my pond, had a nicely-stocked pantry, and never once saw a zombie. I knew I could weather the storm. But this s
torm isn’t going to pass. We’ll have to figure out a way to survive when the food’s gone.”

  “I never had to stock a pantry for survival,” Kevin said, “I’m not sure how long it will take to run out of food. But we have plenty. Even though it’s been seven months since we moved down here, we haven’t used even a quarter of our supplies. Maybe together we can figure out how long the food will last.”

  Doc agreed, and the three of them went over the supplies. The inventory Michelle took earlier was very helpful in not having to count everything again by hand. Everyone agreed they needed an efficient way to manage their food.

  “We should figure out the caloric needs of each of us and use that to determine the servings we get,” Michelle suggested. But after talking about it they agreed it would be overly complicated. They would just use the serving information on the label. They spent some time adding up the numbers and finally Michelle announced they had enough food to last seven months. “And what will we do then?” she asked, looking from man to man. Neither had an answer.

  Doc continued to be fascinated by the hydroponics, saying he’d read about it but had never seen it in practice. Kevin brought out his collection of hydroponics books and Doc spent several days just reading and discussing the science of it with Kevin. He was a quick learner and asked if Kevin would let him take a crop from start to finish. It was time for another wave of lettuce to be harvested, which meant it was also time to germinate a new batch of seeds. Doc put the seeds in Rockwool cubes then placed them in the root cellar to germinate in the cool air. Within three days he had sprouts to obsess over.

  The other sprout he was interested in was the one gestating inside Michelle. Doc gave her an examination in the bedroom; Kevin was banned from observing the procedure and didn’t mind. Doc called him in afterwards and proceeded to ask Michelle a lot of questions about her health history. He focused a lot on her miscarriage and what the doctors had told her. Kevin could tell that despite the passing of time, it was still difficult for her to talk about the experience.

  Doc took her blood pressure, of course, and checked her blood sugar level using the standard urine strips. But without testing equipment, there was only so much he could do. His age and fatherly bedside manner kept Kevin’s obsessive jealous streak at bay.

  It became a regular routine: before breakfast he’d check her blood sugar, listen to her abdomen, and check her blood pressure. Occasionally Kevin would catch him looking concerned, but Doc always brightened up when asked how she was doing. Kevin got the impression Doc wasn’t speaking his thoughts, but didn’t know Doc well enough to read his body language with certainty.

  Then one morning after their regular exam he called Kevin into the bedroom. “I’d like to express some concerns I have. Considering your history,” he said, looking at Michelle, “there are a few things to pay attention to. One, of course, is your weight. As you well know, women who are overweight have greater risks during pregnancy, as do women who are over thirty-five—risk of gestational diabetes, miscarriage, Down’s syndrome or other chromosomal problems, et cetera. None of this is news to you,” he said, still talking to her. “In addition to your weight being a risk factor, your blood pressure has been consistently high, though only borderline. That could be the result of our circumstances, could be a pre-existing problem, or could be the direct result of choosing to be with a nincompoop like Kevin,” he said, winking. Kevin knew he was trying to lighten the tension in the air and appreciated it.

  “It’s about time someone appreciated the incredible burden I’ve taken on,” she said, martyr-like, holding the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically. Doc laughed and didn’t notice when she slowly and deliberately licked her lips while still maintaining eye contact with Kevin. Her tongue was hypnotic. Kevin had to ignore it and listen to what Doc had to say.

  “What concerns me is the possibility of preeclampsia. You told me your mom had it, and there is a genetic factor. Plus you have several classic symptoms in addition to your high blood pressure. You have some facial edema and pitting edema in your ankles as well. You were already overweight but have gained more since I’ve been here. Plus you’ve been having headaches, dizziness and abdominal pain. None of these symptoms alone points to preeclampsia, but taken together they could indicate a problem.”

  “Doc, fill in a layman, would you? I don’t speak med-talk. What’s pitting edema? What’s preeclampsia?” Kevin interrupted.

  “Pitting edema is swelling that leaves an indentation when pressed. Like this,” he said, reaching over and pressing on Michelle’s swollen shin. When he removed his finger an indentation remained but slowly disappeared. “Preeclampsia is a pregnancy disorder typically involving high blood pressure and high protein in the urine. Unfortunately we don’t have any protein test strips, so we’re at a disadvantage. I recommend we make a run for a local pharmacy and hope scavengers had no use for protein tests.”

  “Okay, so preeclampsia can be a problem during pregnancy. What does that mean for Michelle and the baby?”

  Michelle looked at Kevin and very somberly said “Worst case scenario: I could lose the baby. And you could lose me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Kevin said. When neither of them smiled he physically recoiled. “What?!” he exclaimed. “You mean you might . . . no, that can’t be right. We can’t let that happen. What do we need to do? How do you treat it? Does she need to stay in bed, or exercise, or take some kind of pill or what?”

  “Not too many years ago, bed-rest was recommended for patients with preeclampsia. But there’s little evidence it helps. Low doses of aspirin are recommended as are blood pressure meds. Magnesium sulfate is prescribed in severe cases. But the only cure for preeclampsia is delivery of the baby. In some cases, when the mother’s health or baby’s health deteriorates, we induce early labor or perform a C-section. However, that’s only recommended when the pregnancy is near full-term.”

  Michelle spoke up. “So you want to check the protein level in my urine. Whether it comes back high or not won’t change our situation. We’ll still be here, just the three of us. It’s not like there’s much you can do.”

  “Michelle, you need to look at the big picture. If we have to induce labor or if we must do an emergency C-section, there are all kinds of possible complications, not the least being blood loss.” He turned to me. “Kevin, what’s your blood type?”

  “A-positive.”

  “Same here,” he said, “that’s good to know. Michelle?”

  “I’m O-negative.”

  “That could be a serious problem. If you hemorrhage, neither of us could give you a transfusion.”

  “That still doesn’t change our situation. It’s not like we have a lot of options. I’ll just have to be careful.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Kevin countered. “I am not going to risk losing you. There have to be other options. Like the hospital in Frankfort.”

  “Kevin, we don’t even know for sure if it’s open. What are you suggesting, that the three of us risk a journey to Frankfort, traveling hundreds of miles through zombie-land and maybe facing mercenaries, only to find out the broadcast was wrong and Frankfort is overrun?”

  “I’m not suggesting that. I’m bringing it up as an option. We have to find out if the hospital’s open. Can we use our shortwave to talk to them?”

  “Your radio had enough trouble broadcasting as far as my home in Atlanta. I don’t think we can expect to reach Frankfort.”

  “We could install a better antenna. Maybe boost the signal somehow. We could do it.”

  Doc shook his head. “No, Kevin, we probably can’t. It’s not like we can drive to the local Radio Shack and buy what we need. I’m afraid Frankfort will have to remain an unknown factor.”

  “Okay, but let’s say the hospital is open. Would they be able to take care of Michelle and the baby?”

  “How should I know? Even if they are open, do they have a blood bank? Do they have doctors and nurses and equipment? How could the
y have a working hospital without power? The grid is down. Generators would have run out of fuel long ago. With no power there’s no refrigeration. No refrigeration means a lot of standard drugs are no longer viable. For that matter, there would be no blood bank without refrigeration. I think you’re indulging in wishful thinking.”

  This talk of blood and drugs and hospitals and Michelle losing the baby and maybe dying from blood loss was pushing Kevin near panic and he lashed out. “Don’t give me that shit! I’m not engaging in wishful thinking. You heard the broadcast. They said they had a working hospital. A working hospital implies power and drugs and doctors and nurses and equipment. If there’s even the slightest chance of the hospital being open, we’d be stupid not to check it out. You want to stay here and play doctor to my pregnant wife, fine. But I’m going to find out if the hospital is open.”

  “And how are you going to do that? Your car won’t run. Her car won’t run. You’re not taking my Jeep. What are you suggesting, you and Michelle go on a little bike ride to find out?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! Not me and Michelle. Just me. I’ll ride my bike! It’s only a couple hundred miles. I could do that in two or three days, four days tops. If I go by myself I can make it a short and sweet trip, then come back. If the hospital is open, the three of us can take your Jeep and go back. If it’s not open, I come back home and we look for other options. Maybe we can figure something else out.”

  Now it was Michelle’s turn to lash out. “Now hold on, mister. I had enough of a problem with you riding your bike to Dexter. You are not taking a bike trip all the way across the state! I will not go along with that idea. There is no way in hell—” she glanced at Doc and stopped to take a deep breath. “There is no way you’re going to leave me while I’m pregnant to go on some snipe hunt for a hospital.”