He crossed the room and handed Tim the list. “This is what dosed them?”
“Our lab says there are more, but these are the three largest components,” Tobey said.
Tim opened his phone and typed the first two names into the search area of Socrates, a medical program. “Fuck.”
“What?” Tobey gritted his teeth.
“I have no idea why they’d mix these drugs together, but the first two were removed from the market. They cause dangerous GI bleeding among other toxic effects.” Tim called the building. “I need four more nurses.” He explained what was found, then he pulled Seth aside.
Tim clapped his hands. “I need every patient type and crossed for four units packed cells. I also need four units of fresh frozen plasma and ten units of platelets. Change fluids to ringers lactate and strict I and O’s.”
He walked back to Tobey. “Do you think they dosed Kip?”
Harper heard him. Inside she wanted to cry, then she remembered hearing that her father told Kip she was weak.Not happening.
She began formulating a plan. Her father took her childhood. He wasn’t going to ruin any more of her life.
Chapter 43
Kip’s body was turning against him. He used a rock to create a hole for his vomit and diarrhea. After every episode, he allowed himself a sip of water.You’re not passing out.
He talked to himself. After taking off his jacket, he ripped out the lining to make a mask. He chuckled, thinking of the lining he ripped out of another suit to help Gwen North, Troy’s fiancée, when she was shot. At the time he said, “Tailors love you.” The memory of the hot pink lining popped in his brain, making him laugh.
Tying the mask around his face, he made his way to the two bodies before the light was gone. He went to Lourdes first. “If you weren’t already dead, I’d want to kill you myself for hurting Harper and killing Adelaide.” He rolled her corpse onto her back. A bullet wound between her eyes was visible.
He ran back to his hole to vomit, then returned to the body. First, he went through the pockets of her suit. In her left pocket was a lipstick, a pen, and a tin of peppermints. Quickly he popped two in his mouth. Her right pocket held a penlight.
His search continued in her skirt pockets. “Lip balm, lotion, a lighter. Were you a secret smoker? Gloves.”
Next, he moved to Rene, who’d been shot in the back of his head. He started in his lab coat, groaning when his gut interrupted him again. Returning to the lab coat, he dug for treasure. “Stethoscope, a penlight, gloves, gum, a half-eaten bag of pretzels.” In the other pocket, he found a bounty: an unopened bottle of Gatorade. “Thank you, God and all spirits,” he sighed.
He unscrewed the top and allowed himself two full sips.
By the end of his search, he’d found a watch, Rene’s wallet, Tylenol, a pocketknife, and a small Bible.
As the last of the sun faded, he gathered wood from the broken caskets and supports that once held the crypt together. He rolled up some of the cash he found in Rene’s wallet and yanked Lourdes’ stockings free. Balled up, they’d be quite flammable. It took some patience, but he managed to start a fire.
The light from the flames gave him a better look at his prison. It was larger than he first thought. The area was about twenty feet wide and ten feet long. It must have collapsed in the storm, washing away with it the original occupants. He spotted a few bone fragments.
It was the walls he was most concerned with. About twelve feet down, he had to be in one of the few areas above sea level. The mud walls were laced with roots. He wondered if there was a root that would support his weight. After three attempts, he collapsed, exhausted. He didn’t have to look at what his body was producing. He knew the smell of blood.
Though the thought repulsed him, he began to collect his urine in the gloves. He’d need to drink it if he wanted to stave off this being his final resting place.
* * *
“Coming off bypass. Paddles ready?”the thoracic surgeon called. Josh’s heart sat pale and unmoving inside his chest. The paddles discharged. The heart remained still.
“Damn it, Josh. I’m not losing someone else this way,” Hunt said as he squeezed the still heart. He called again for defibrillation with no response. “Intracardiac epinephrine. Defibrillate again.” There was no reaction.
“Hunt, I’m sorry,” Selma said.
Hunt kicked the wheel of the table in anger.
“Paddles now; we have motion.” The heart surgeon grabbed them from his scrub nurse and, once cupping Josh’s heart, he pressed the buttons.
Josh’s heart beat once, twice, then three times, each time picking up speed and strength. “You turd. I’ll get even for this,” Hunt said.
He and Selma worked together to wire and close his chest. At the end of the procedure, he walked Josh into the recovery room.
