“Look in the junk drawer, with all the cooking odds and ends. There are several large syringes in there that I use from time to time. Grab a big one.”
Hogan nearly yanked the drawer out completely. He moved poultry sheers and can openers out of the way, digging around. He found a small syringe and tossed it aside. Then he found a bigger one, that would hold at least eight ounces. He pulled it out and grinned, holding it up. Trish smiled and nodded.
“Once that milk gets warm, I’m going to give you this large syringe, filled with the warmed milk. That baby will want to suckle, you’ll have to push the plunger slowly, so as not to choke or drown the baby with the milk. I’m going to put a towel on the top of the stove to heat it up. Once it is warm enough, I’ll take the baby from this man and wrap it up. It might have hypothermia.” She said in a no-nonsense voice. She was now in nurse mode; a soft smile creased his lips.
“What about the old man?” Hogan asked, trying to stay out of her way.
“He can wait, that baby is more important. Here, let me check the milk.” She said, putting her finger in. Drawing it out, she nodded. She took the large plastic syringe and drew the plunger back, sucking up several ounces of warm goat’s milk. Hogan took the syringe and watched as Trish took the towel off the top of the woodstove. She felt to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then turned to the man.
“I’m going to take the baby now. I’ll wrap it in this warm towel. My friend, Hogan, will feed it. Do you understand?” She asked the old man gently. The old man’s eyes were going in and out of focus, but he nodded, relaxing his grip on his coat. When Trish opened the man’s coat to take the baby, Hogan could see the man’s bright yellow coveralls were saturated with blood. The baby was covered with blood, but not as saturated as the man’s clothing. He wondered if it were the old man or the baby who was bleeding. He figured if it were the baby, it would be dead.
Trish carefully extracted the baby, lifting it. The baby was nearly gray looking. She wrapped it up like a tight burrito and handed the baby to Hogan. Hogan swallowed. It was a newborn, or about a week or two old, no more than that. He set the tip of the syringe to the baby’s lips and it started the mouth movements for suckling. He carefully put the tip of the syringe into the baby’s mouth and squirted.
The baby latched on with ferocity and Hogan’s heart broke. The baby blurred, and he felt warm tears sliding down his face. He blinked rapidly, and kept the slight pressure on the plunger, careful not to go too fast and choke the baby. He looked up for a moment and saw that Trish was caring for the old man. She’d stripped his coat off and Hogan could see that the man had several wounds.
“He’s been shot in the back. Someone shot him in the back.” Trish said, her voice shaking with rage.
“Th…th…they were trying to…to.. kill us all.” The old man grunted, his breath coming in shallow pants.
“Who, who tried to kill you?” Trish asked.
“Th..the guards. Fr…from the ..the Hive.”
“Why? Why would they do that?” Hogan asked, looking back down at the baby. It had eaten an ounce. Good. The color was starting to come back into the baby’s cheeks. The blue veins spread out through the thin skin, so fragile.
“The…th..they killed all th…the old and y..young. The b…b..baby’s mother t..t..turned when t..the guard sh…sh..shot her. She dropped t…the baby. I gr…grabbed the baby and I….I..I ran. They shot me too. B..b..but I got away.” He grinned and then began to cry.
“Jesus Christ.” Hogan snarled, holding the baby protectively, nearly crouching over the child.
“My God, why would they do that? Why would they murder people?” Trish cried.
“Old c..can’t work hard. Too y..y…young, can’t work. N..n..no good, guards k..k..kill small children and o…old. And p…p..parents of small ch…children. Whole b..b..bus of us. They a…all died. E…except me and t…the baby.” He finished, panting heavily.
“Those fuckers.” Trish hissed out, while she peeled the fabric away from the wounds. She had her trauma scissors, cutting away what she could. She went to the woodstove, where a kettle held hot water. It kept the house humidified. She had several old towels that were kept on hand for emergencies. They were clean and she dipped them into the water.
Hogan watched as she carefully began to clean around the wounds. She mumbled under her breath, her head shaking.
“He’s got four gunshot wounds.” She said looking up at Hogan, and what he saw in her eyes wasn’t good.
“What’s your name?” Hogan asked the man gently.
“Jackson Reed. I ..I worked at the bank, Bank of the West.” He breathed out, grunting in pain, his eyes squeezing shut.
“I’m sorry Mr. Reed, this is going to hurt.” Trish apologized. Reed lifted a hand and waved it away.
“Was taken t..to the Hive, c..couldn’t get p…past the road b…block. They said w..w… we were goin to another Hive. T..there were thirty of us.” Reed choked and tears fell down his face. Trish had tears sliding down her face as well. The baby had stopped suckling and Hogan automatically raised the baby to his shoulder to burp. He patted the infant and was rewarded with a burp. There was a little milk left in the syringe and he put it to the baby’s mouth, but the baby was in a milk filled stupor. Content. He got up and went to the linen closet and got
