Free SecondWorld by Jeremy Robinson Page A

child.
    Weeping.

 
     
    13
     
    Miller spun around, trying to discern the cry’s source. He moved beyond the empty nurses’ station, stopped, and listened again. The sound was faint, rising and falling in volume, but never loud. He moved down the hallway, passing open doors. Some rooms held corpses, some were empty, beds still made.
    A shadow shifted in the room at the end of the hallway.
    He ran toward it.
    His chest pounding from excitement, he slowed as he approached the door, caught his breath, cleared his mind, and entered. The corner room had two walls of windows, one looking out to the north, up the coast, and the other back to downtown Miami, which was aglow with orange light from the setting sun.
    An opaque sheet of plastic hung from the ceiling and descended over the room’s bed like a tent.
    A small body, obscured by the plastic sheet, lay on the bed. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the person was looking at him. The weeping stopped, followed by some sniffling.
    “Are you here to rescue me?” a sweet voice asked. It was a child. A girl.
    “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
    “You can come under. It’s okay to breathe in here.”
    Miller looked beyond the tent. Next to the bed was an array of equipment including large tanks of oxygen and air. An oxygen tent. Was this girl…?
    He removed his mask so she wouldn’t be afraid, knelt down, and lifted the plastic from the floor. He quickly pulled it over his head and let it fall again.
    The girl, dressed in a hospital gown, smiled at him, but the smile only lasted a moment. Her lips were swollen and split in several spots. The skin on her left arm looked like it had melted. It was red, swollen, and in some places, cracked and oozing.
    She noted his attention. “The bandages hurt when they dried out. I took them off.” Her voice was weak. Frail. “There are other burns on my stomach and legs, all on the left side. Not as bad as my arm, though. The hospital gown hurts a little, but I didn’t want to be naked. Just in case.”
    “In case of what?”
    “In case you came.”
    “Me?”
    “Or anyone else.”
    “Right.”
    “I’m thirsty.”
    He was sure she couldn’t drink through those lips, though maybe a straw would work. “I’ll be right back.”
    He slid out from under the sheet, donned his mask, and found her IV bag. Empty. She’d been dehydrating to death. Alone.
    “I’m Lincoln Miller. You can call me Linc if you’d like. What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Arwen.”
    “Nice name.”
    “It’s from Tolkien.”
    Tolkien? “How old are you?”
    “Twelve.”
    “Listen, Arwen. I’m going to go get some supplies. Stuff to help you feel better. I’ll be back in a minute.”
    “’Kay.”
    “Be right back,” he repeated as he left the room. He searched the hallways for a supply room, ignoring the bodies and his rising emotions. His focus was on Arwen now. He found a door with a brass label that read MEDICAL SUPPLIES . He tried the handle. Locked. After stepping back, he kicked the door three times, right below the knob. On the third kick, the door crashed open.
    Cabinets and closets lined the walls of the room. Each was filled with impeccably organized and labeled medical supplies. He opened and closed five doors before finding a cabinet that held nearly twenty IV bags labeled SALINE—0.9% SODIUM CHLORIDE SOLUTION. He took five and left.
    “I’m back,” he said upon return to Arwen’s room. He moved straight for her IV, checked the label to make sure he’d taken the right kind, and then switched them out. The liquid drip began immediately. Only then did he notice that Arwen had yet to respond to his entry.
    Miller pulled up the plastic, climbed beneath, and found the girl lying still, her eyes closed. He pulled his mask from his face and knelt down next to her. He didn’t dare check for a pulse for fear her red, swollen skin would crack open. Instead he held the back of his hand beneath her nose and watched her small chest.
    He