“****! Taking fire from the left! Go Go Go!” Garen screamed over the radio at the same time he saw Kara jerk sideways on the bike.
They were traveling down one of the elevated roadways, trying to put more distance between them and the water before they exited. Their bikes could only go through water so deep before they would be stalled and swept away. The roads were fairly packed with cars and angry and stunned people. Garen and Kara were traveling slowly but steadily up one of the shoulders, keeping the revs low, trying to be inconspicuous and not attract too much attention. Both bikes had overbuilt mufflers, originally to avoid spooking wildlife. Some of the people they saw tried to flag them down. Some shouted questions. Some asked for help. Some wanted a ride to somewhere. All were somewhere between shock, anger, and disbelief.
Garen was hypersensitive to the danger. He had been in the LA area during the whole Rodney King/Reginald Denny Riots. Some poor truck driver, just out trying to make a living was stopped by the crowds because he accidentally drove down one of the streets with the riot. He was drug out of his truck and beaten nearly to death, sustaining massive head trauma. All because he was there.
“Kara, Talk to me. Kara!” The space was too narrow for him to pull up beside her and she was slumped in the saddle some, but at least she was still riding.
“Faith!! Next embankment, Break Right! Now! Now! Now!” Garen Bellowed over the radio, hoping to snap her out of shock.
He was relieved when she started angling to the side and working down the embankment. She was traveling slowly but still in control. They hit level ground and started looking around. Garen pulled up next to her and could get his first look at the damage. She had blood on her left upper arm and had her teeth gritted with every bump.
“How bad is it?”
“Took at least one round, left upper arm, don’t know anywhere else.” Her gasping voice replied.
“We got to get some cover so I can look at that. We can also rebalance the bikes and get a better plan. We should be above the highwater mark now.”
Garen was looking all around, trying to remember what was in this area of the city. They were on the outskirts, in some older industrial parks that had been overtaken by the sprawl. Mixed in were some older subdivisions. He wanted nothing to do with people. He was looking for a multilayer deep industrial park, with alleys to back buildings. That would get them off the street and away from casual observation.
Another part of Garen’s mind was trying to catch up to the facts. It was less than 2 hours after the quake and people were shooting at one another. What will it be like in two days? Two weeks? Shit! This was coming apart fast!
They found an older one that was more of a network of small buildings rather than one big building subdivided into multiple units. Most looked like locations that were only in use at infrequent intervals and it was the end of the day so anyone not burning the midnight oil should have left already.
Pulling down through the alleyways, Garen found a likely candidate. He wanted one that was for lease or sale, somewhere behind the first row so not visible from the street. That would make it less likely to be occupied or checked on. The one he settled on was a medium sized building, a couple of roll up doors and a walk in door, toward the back. The “for lease” sign was aged and weathered, so it had been empty for a while. Behind it was a vacant field that once had been part of a larger factory complex, evidenced by the scattering of random roadways, concrete pads, and sections of tiled concrete and loading dock ramps. That would provide an avenue of escape if something happened.
Garen pulled up to the concrete pad in front of the roll up doors. After a quick look around, he dismounted. He pulled a small leather pouch from his tank bag and moved toward the glass doors.
“Kara, Keep a lookout”
Garen walked to the glass doors, noting the dust and grime on the glass and the handle. Seeing no signs of life, he opened his master key pouch-a highly capable lock pick set. After about a minute or two fumbling around, Kara’s voice chimed in
“Bekka would have had it open by now.”
“It’s been a while since I have done this” he quipped back.
“You should practice more”
“Awfully mouthy for taking a round”
The glass door swung open. Garen Moved forward with a flashlight in one hand, his other on the pistol on his belt. A small office with a couple of glass cubicles like those in a car showroom were just inside the building. There was no furniture to be seen. He pressed forward to the back of the room where he spied a doorway. Passing through into the yawning blackness beyond, Garen swept his flashlight to the left, looking for and finding the roll up door that was next to the glass door. Garen was able to unclip the chain hoist to raise the roll up door nearest the glass doors. As the door rattled and clattered with his efforts, more light flooded into the bay.
Kara could see into the building through the roll up door. Most of the building was empty. Scattered near the walls were a couple of workbenches. She gunned her bike into the bay, taxiing down near one of the benches. She positioned the bike around so it was pointing at the other roll up door at the back of the building. Dropping the side stand, she unassed the bike and leaned on the workbench next to her.
Garen walked his bike in the open door. Once inside, he brought the door back down, sealing them in from prying eyes. He then went through to the office and locked the glass doors again, followed by the door out of the office into the bay. Garen brought his bike up next to Kara’s. He put it on the center stand. He then grabbed the med kit from the back of the bike and moved to Kara.
“Alright, Kara, how are you doing, “a note of concern in his voice as he set his med pack on the bench next to her.
“Hurts like hell, but nothing new. I think it was just the shock and the pain out of nowhere” she sighed then blurted out “DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! Why did I have to catch another one?”
“Calm down. Any other locations?”
“No, just the arm.”
“Alright, give me a moment to get stuff out.”
Garen started spreading stuff out. He popped out one of the cheesy little space blankets and spread it out on the workbench. He then opened the main part of the med bag and pulled out various wound treatment stuff.
“Ok, Kara. Saint-Tropez time” he said, motioning with his hands for her to take her top off.
Kara popped the quick release for her plate carrier and slid it off. This was hung on the handlebars of her bike. She then unbuttoned the shirt and slid it down and off. This then went on her bike as well. She then started the hardest part, her compression T-shirt. She pulled, and tugged and fought with it for a few moments until she heard Garen speaking under his breath. She looked up at him where he was just staring at her with his hands on his hips.
“What, Smartass?”
“I said, you’re like a three year old trying to take off a turtleneck sweater. Do you want some help? I can help you take it off, or I can cut it off, or I can stand here and wait for you to finish.”
An exasperated sigh, “I’ll take the help. I can’t afford for you to cut it. It’s my only t-shirt now. The rest of my clothes were in the trailer.”
Garen’s eyes bored into hers as he slowly and deliberately told her “Kara, don’t worry about that right now. I still have a ton of stuff at the house for you to use and sort through. As long as Bekka or I have even a tarp for a shelter, you have a home with us.”
Garen inspected the wound on her arm. The bullet had creased the muscle. It was a shallow trench in the tricep. It would hurt when she used it but wouldn’t bleed too bad.
“Ok, decision time. I can fix this a bunch of ways. I can wrap a bandage around it and call it good, but when you tried to use the muscle you might tear it worse. I can use the butterfly dressings and it might hold. I can use the trauma stapler, or I can stitch it. Those are your choices.”
“Shit. What’s the most durable? You can’t afford me to screw up my arm trying to ride.”
“I can stitch it, then dermabond and a dressing over it. That will hold it together the best and keep you mobile. It won’t be quick to do but will serve best in the long run.”
“It’s almost nightfall anyway Garen. I don’t think a night ride would be good tonight. Do you agree?”
Garen looked at the wound, calculating the work necessary to do it right, then his watch.
“Let’s call it a night here. I can do my Betsey Ross imitation, we can get some food in us, reload the bikes better and catch some zzzs. Then an early start in the morning to slip past some of this area before the zombie horde wakes up and hears us coming. What do you think?”
Kara nodded and unzipped her sports bra so she wouldn’t get any more blood, or worse, betadine, on it and lay down on the table.
Garen tucked the airway roll form his pack under her head as a pillow. He then handed her a couple of tablets to swallow, one a pain drug, the other an antibiotic. He then assembled his tools to stitch up the wound. As he is working on her in the light of his headlamp, the pain meds take effect and Kara gets light headed and emotional. Garen has seen this in many patients. The effect is similar to being drunk; a loss of inhibitions, talkative and all kinds of other effects can happen.
“Garen, why me? What karmic debt am I still paying off? Why does everyone and everything I touch go to shit? Tell me Garen, Tell me.”
Garen looks up from where he was sewing. “Kara, you are one of the strongest, most resilient people I have ever known. You have survived things that would have killed or crushed most people. You have saved people, you have helped people, all without regard for yourself. Just as you must heat iron to make steel, I believe one must be forged in the fires of adversity to become stronger and more able to prevail the trials and tribulations life will throw at us.”
“Who did I save? I just keep blundering into situations and somehow fighting my way out of them”
“Kara, I saw the after-action report. I talked to Bekka. The last trip out of England, when she got knocked down and took the shrapnel, you stood over her exchanging fire with the bad guys. You took two to the chest in your trauma plate. When others were shitting themselves and looking for something to hide behind, you stood up and fought. Now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is just a scratch and will be no more than a scar the size of a sharpie line in a couple of weeks. Do something else. I know, sing me the Barbie Girl song and let me get back to work.”
She laughed and sang the Barbie Girl song, then Henry the Eight and a few more silly ones until she dropped off to sleep while he worked. Once he was done, he covered her up. He then repacked his med ruck and stowed it on the bike. He then put hers on the center stand so they could inventory and rebalance gear in the morning.
He searched around inside until he found a roof access ladder. He was able to get the hatch open and climb out onto the roof. Looking around, he saw some areas in the distance lit up, but most areas to the west were pitch black. The night air was quiet in the darkness. He sat down on the roof for a few minutes staring at his hands and the blood on them, thinking. After a few minutes, he realized he was praying to god for guidance and clarity in his decisions ahead. He was also praying for the answer to how to help his friend. She was still hurting inside and he didn’t know what else to do to help.
Fatigue came over him and he remembered the real reason he climbed to the roof. He pulled out his radio.
“ATC, this is Briar Flight, Blade 53 and Faith 27. RON Rabbit, push arrival +24, Acknowledge?”
No answer.
He extended his antenna.
“ATC, this is Briar Flight, Blade 53 and Faith 27. RON Rabbit, push arrival +24, Acknowledge?”
A female voice brought his spirits up and thrilled his heart anew.
“Briar Flight, acknowledge two ship Spike 53 and Faith 27, RON Rabbit, arrival push +24. Advise and update for changes”
A big smile on his face and tears in his eyes, he replied.
“Copy, Briar Flight, Out”