Free Blood Trilogy (Book 2): Draw Blood by Jason Bovberg Page A

seem to process either fact, though, and the hands fall back. Finally he finds his voice, hoarse and loud. A stream of sound issues from his mouth, just a groan at first, and then attempts at words.
    “Nnnnnn—nn—hnnnn—hunnnnnn—”
    There’s an expression of suffering across his features, and Bonnie appears desperate about it.
    “Oh my God,” she cries. “Such pain!”
    “Huuunnnnnnnn—”
    “Why didn’t we bring morphine?”
    The man’s sounds dissolve into some kind of squeal, foamy saliva rimming his lips . “—rrreeeeeee—”
    Now Bonnie is hustling from the room, pushing past Michael and between the twins. The man on the bed inhales a choking breath, then starts again, bellowing sound, his mouth working. He’s trying to say something.
    “Neeeee—”
    He twists across the bed, helplessly. With each movement, it’s clear that the hyper-extensions and sprains from before are now excruciating. Michael hears a muffled grinding sound coming from the man’s hips, and he instinctively reaches forward to brace the man against the bed to stop him from flailing.
    “Help me!” Michael calls. “Keep him still.”
    The man reacts only vaguely to the hands pressing against him.
    “Uh—uhhh—uhhhh—neeeeeeeeeeeeee—”
    “Needs?” one of the twins shouts, translating. “Needs what? What does he need?”
    Joel is glaring over everything. “I can put him out of his misery right now.” He’s holding his shotgun at the ready.
    “No!” Rachel calls, but there are tears in her eyes. “We need him! We have to learn! We have to see if we can bring him back.”
    The man’s throat bulges with veins, and his face is red with struggle, and just as he’s about to let go with another burst of shouts, he goes mercifully unconscious, deflating to the table. Simultaneously, blood bursts from both nostrils in a fine mist and then in thin streams, down his cheeks to the sheets.
    “I got it on me, I got it on me,” Kevin is saying, stumbling back and away. With a big forearm splattered with fresh blood, he’s reaching for one of the white towels. “Jesus!”
    Bonnie arrives with morphine, out of breath, and stares down at the body.
    “What happened?”
    Numb, Joel says, “Passed out.” He’s got his weapon aimed at the ceiling now. He won’t need it anymore.
    The group is left considering one another, and considering what has happened on a lone bed in the middle of this decimated hospital.

Chapter 7
     
     
    Michael wakes gummy-eyed to the sight of a tray table next to him. There’s a packaged turkey sandwich, a banana, and two bottles of water there. He feels an almost violent urge to grab all these items and clutch them to his body. Instead, he reaches over carefully and takes one of the bottles. He twists it open and drinks, gulping down the water.
    He is weak with hunger and still terribly thirsty.
    And here in the deep dark, his first real waking thought is—
    Susanna.
    He’s still in this godforsaken hospital, in a state of horrified confusion, the world crumbling around him, and he still has no idea what happened to his wife. He feels a lump of emotion in his throat, knowing that he’s back to square one in this awful new reality, having fallen unconscious again, alone once more in the dark. He needs to find her; he needs to know what happened to her.
    “You passed out again,” Bonnie says from the doorway.
    Michael jerks, startled.
    “Sorry.” She gestures toward the water. “I knew you’d be thirsty. You’re probably dehydrated. I should have realized that earlier. I’m sorry. Take it easy, though. The body can reject it if you go too fast.”
    Michael brings the bottle down, savors what’s inside him. It’s like a blast of healing balm. He takes hold of the sandwich and forces himself to slowly unwrap it.
    “They’re a little stale, but we’re not exactly in the business of making fresh sandwiches these days. We found them in the cafeteria. At least they’re not spoiled yet.