Chapter 26
Veterans Affairs Medical Center, Houston: Pharmacy
"Grrahh, I shouldn't have left her alone…" Bishop growled.
"Hu-*cough cough*… hurry! Please!" the woman screamed from behind the door.
"We have to make a move…" Betsy stared at Bishop.
"Right. Head back to the Blackbird. Whoever they're hiding from might've attacked Jubilee. I'll get the survivors out," Bishop said.
"How? There's too much smoke!" Betsy said.
"I'll find a way." Bishop aimed his shotgun at the door and raised his voice, "You and your brother get clear of the door!"
Bishop blew through the door with a plasma shell. Columns of smoke roared out the doorway and enveloped him.
Betsy dashed up the staircase. The sudden rush of carbon monoxide scorched her lungs. She gasped for breath. It was like Sabretooth crushing her diaphragm all over again.
She survived that. She'd survive this.
Betsy grabbed the guard rail and pulled herself up. She shook her head, but she couldn't shake the lightheadedness. Felt like she was thirty stories up. Not three.
She needed something to focus on. Make the staircase stop spinning.
Her piercing, brown eyes lingered on Bishop until he disappeared into the charcoal smoke.
She was only partially honest with him.
She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she wasn't here. That was true.
She'd probably meditate somewhere on the estate. World as she knew it might end in twenty-four hours, and she'd waste the time twiddling her thumbs.
At least this way, being out here, on a mission, she could pretend she was doing something.
Pretending was good.
But there was more to it.
Pretending was the only way she knew how to cope. She'd lost her face. Her identity. How could she go on without pretending everything was alright? Pretending so hard that it became reality.
And the reality was that she didn't fit in on the Red Team.
The romances. Drama. Jokes…
That's where Jubilee should be.
Psylocke was perfect for Bishop's tactical, militaristic Blue Team.
The X-Men needed someone detached to lead. Someone willing to make cold, calculated decisions based on logic. Not the heart.
How many missions went awry because they hemmed and hawed over personal feelings? How many times could they have put Magneto down before he made the first move? But no, the Professor always had to follow his heart and try to reach his old friend one last time.
How many last times have there been?
How many people had to die because the X-Men didn't have the fortitude to follow through with the rational choice?
If the world came to an end, then, for just one day, Elizabeth Braddock wanted to be someplace she belonged.
But Lucas wasn't the man she thought he was.
She thought Lucas was different. Or maybe just hoped.
She could hear it in his voice. The passion when he talked about Jubilee. The veterans. He was every bit as naïve and sentimental as Cyclops, the Professor, Storm, Jean…
Betsy cleared her throat. She almost choked on her own spit.
She was trapped.
Honest to God. She was trapped.
Red Team. Blue Team. It was all the same.
All still the X-Men.
All still life. Her life. An unending hamster wheel she'd never escape.
Betsy inhaled. The air grew fresher as she neared the fourth floor. She stepped over the tattered corpses strewn over the staircase.
A slick, blood soaked hand snatched her right ankle.
"Ah!" Betsy gasped.
She yanked her leg away but couldn't break free. The corpses moaned. Their cold, stiff flesh jerked to life and pawed at Psylocke's calves.
"Zombies?!" Psylocke said.
She twisted her left leg free and stomped the hand attached to her other ankle. Bones shattered like dead leaves. The broken wrist sloughed off her right foot.
Betsy scrambled from the heap of undead bodies on the floor.
"God, Jubilee…!" Betsy said.
She sprinted up past the fifth floor, but the door ripped open from the other side.
"Dah!" Psylocke jumped back.
Four undead corpses pushed through. Groaning. Slobbering. Blood gushed out their bullet wounds. Their leathery skin reeked of rotten eggs and onions.
"I don't have time for this!" Psylocke drew her psiblade, the focused totality of her telepathy, and jammed it in the side of the first zombie's skull.
It didn't flinch.
Betsy's eyes bulged. She quickly reached for her sword.
The walking corpse swatted Betsy's arm away. The rest pounced on her. Ropey drool dripped on Bety's chin. One zombie strangled her while the others wrenched her arms and legs.
"AARGH!" Betsy shrieked.
Pharmacy
Bishop tucked his face and charged into the flames. Bodies lined the pharmacy floor. Patient gowns, scrubs, and white coats torn to shreds by bullets. At least two dozen veterans and staff members, dead.
The fire ravaged the waiting area. Flames ate away the fabric of each chair, as well as the corpses seated in them.
"Over here! *Cough cough* We're over here!" the woman screamed from behind the pharmacy counter.
"Stay down!" Bishop said.
Flames danced on the counter top. Columns of fire cut the waiting room off from the back of the pharmacy.
"Th-there's an extinguisher by the emergency exit! Hurry!" the woman yelled.
Bishop twisted and turned.
"I don't see it! *Cough cough*" Bishop yelled.
His heart pounded.
Where was the damn thing? Cinders and ash singed his eyelashes. Could barely keep his eyes open. Let alone make anything out in the haze of red.
Air was thinning. Couldn't breathe… The room felt like it was shrinking. Blackening. It was like he was falling into sleep…. A dark, hellish slumber…
He staggered to the side. His legs wobbled like a rickety table. He stumbled to the wall and pressed against it. Anything to keep the room from moving.
"Please! Whoever you are, you have to help us! Please!" the woman screamed.
Bishop slunk down the wall to the floor. He hacked and wheezed until his throat was raw.
Where the hell was the extinguisher? It was probably hiding in plain sight. Had to.
He stuck his arm out and swiped left and right on the floor. Desperately hoping to bump into the extinguisher.
Nothing.
His hands bumped into rows of dripping corpses until his fingers had so much blood on them they glided over each body.
No sign of the extinguisher. Only dead bodies and windows across the waiting room.
Windows…
Bishop's arm trembled as he reached for his shotgun. He aimed at the windows with his shaky grip.
And fired.
The glass shattered from the plasma shell. He fired again and again until the shotgun overheated.
The sudden pressure change sucked the smoke toward the broken windows to the outside. A chilling gust of wind and hail blew in. The pounding rain weakened the flames.
Bishop rolled onto his back. His thick chest pressed up and down as he fought for each breath.
Jubilee…
Hope to God Psylocke found her. Lazy girl was probably napping with those infernal headphones on.
If anything happened to her…
Bishop rolled onto his side and stood up.
"I'm getting you out!" Bishop sucked in as much damp air as he could.
He leapt over the pharmacy counter and barreled through the weakened flames.
"OhmiGod!" the woman shouted as Bishop landed beside her.
She looked about Jubilee's age. Frazzled, auburn hair. No makeup. Her breath smelled of ketones. Smoke and blood stained her wrinkly lab coat in a muddy shade of red. Looked like she hadn't slept for days. Her tag read, Pharmacy Technician: Asmara.
Next to her was a young man. Same hair color. Same coffee brown complexion. Fit the bill of her brother. A collapsed stock shelf pinned him to the ground.
Bishop hunkered beside the stock shelf and slid his fingers underneath. Asmara nodded.
"One, two, three…!" Bishop pulled.
His neck disappeared in his bulging shoulders. His arms and legs trembled as he lifted the shelf six inches off the young man. Asmara quickly dragged him from under the shelf.
Bishop dropped the shelf. It banged against the floor with a jarring thud.
"Nima!" the woman rushed over to her brother and squeezed him.
Her hug looked like she was strangling him. Why would she cut off his air after he had been crushed for so long? Strange customs amongst family in this time. Shard would never have done that.
Shard…
"Are you hurt?!" Asmara patted Nima's arms and chest for cuts.
She reached into her backpack on the floor and gave Nima a bottle of water.
"… I'm fine, I'm fine… I told you, sis, we're getting out alive…" Nima forced a smile.
His face was swollen with welts across his cheeks and chin. His short, brown hair was disheveled like he'd been in a fight. And lost. He wasn't in a lab coat. Just regular street clothes. Black jeans and a camo jacket with a t-shirt underneath. And a med bracelet.
Nima faced Bishop.
"Than-…" Nima started.
"Can you walk?" Bishop said.
Nima blinked a few times.
"… Yeah, I think so…" Nima struggled to his feet.
His knee buckled.
"Your leg!" Asmara caught him before he fell.
"I'm ok, urgh… I'm ok. Really. Just need to get the blood flowing." Nima stretched out his legs.
"No time." Bishop slung Nima over his shoulder, "Now's our chance before the flames build back up!"
Bishop carried Nima and jumped over the counter. His black, military boots trampled the low flame on the countertop. He waved Asmara on.
She put her backpack on. Stared at the flames. And hesitated. Her petrified, wide eyes were those of a deer in headlights.
"Move!" Bishop yelled.
His piercing tone hit her like a gunshot and snapped her back to attention.
He reached his arm out to her. She jumped over the countertop and grabbed his hand.
"This way!" Bishop pointed to the emergency staircase.
Vicious winds blew in from the broken windows and beat against their backs like giant, invisible hands. The raging howls of the storm sounded like wolves baying at the moon. Buckets of rain poured in and flooded the floor. The pharmacy was a sinking ship with Bishop and Asmara splashing through the puddles.
Asmara glimpsed the storm outside.
"… It…It was supposed to be in the seventies this wee-…" she mumbled.
Powerful gusts throttled in before she could finish. A dervish of broken glass swept toward Asmara.
She froze.
"Get down!" Bishop shouted.
He and Nima dropped to the floor. Asmara ducked and tucked her head.
Jagged bits of glass swirled over her and sliced her back.
"AAARGHH!" Asmara wailed.
"Mara!" Nima yelled.
He crawled to his bloody sister. Bishop yanked Nima by the collar.
"Stairs are just through there, we'll meet you!" Bishop pointed at the blown apart emergency exit doorway.
"Please take care of her! She's all I got!" Nima said.
He dashed to the doorway, weaving around the corpses blocking the way.
Bishop sprang to his feet and sprinted over to Asmara.
A second whirlwind kicked up more glass. Bishop shielded Asmara with his body as glass shards carved into his back like shrapnel.
"Urgh…" Bishop winced.
Blood streaked down his back and rolled onto Asmara underneath him.
"No!" she crawled from under Bishop and checked his back.
Blood seeped into the creases in her palms.
"O-Only scratches… We're almost there." Bishop staggered to his feet.
Asmara draped his hulking arm over her shoulder. The two limped toward the emergency exit. Nima rushed back out and helped drag Bishop through the doorway to the staircase.
The three collapsed at the foot of the stairs. Struggling to catch their breath. Nima brushed off pieces of glass from his sister's back.
"…It's not as bad as it looks…" Asmara said.
"So many killed… What happened here…?" Bishop said between gasps.
"…People happened… That's what," Nima said.
"Everyone just started losing their mind… At first we were ok… even after we lost power, but when the hours started going by and no one came for us…We kept calling and calling, but… I don't know… Some of the veterans… they couldn't handle it. Being trapped. Abandoned… Some of them started having flashbacks…" Asmara said.
"Guys I served with… good guys… they just… snapped. One minute we're all in the cafeteria, doing ok. We didn't have power, but we had plenty of food. But…like I said…good, decent guys… they just couldn't take it. They were back in Iraq. They overpowered the staff and security, got their weapons… And just like that, it's martial law," Nima said.
"Cafeteria…?" Bishop said.
"Yeah, that's where we all were before we tried to barricade ourselves in the pharmacy. It all happened so fast…they did a coup and decided they were getting themselves out. There's a backup generator underground. But with the flooding, everything was switched off. They thought it was a great idea to turn it back on and shot anyone who tried to stop them," Asmara said.
"Idiots did it... They got the backup generator running. And next thing we know? Electrical fires break out everywhere. I managed to overpower some of them in the chaos, but by then… what was the point? Everyone that wasn't shot was burned alive," Nima said.
"… It's just us now and a few of the veterans running around. We were afraid it was them when you came… All the patients… my coworkers…" Asmara sniffled, "What a joke, huh? What a sick joke life is… Doesn't even matter that people are drowning to death out there in the hurricane. We'll do the job for mother nature." Asmara rubbed her eyes.
"You two survived. That's victory enough," Bishop said.
"We've been through a lot… I know it might not sound like it, but we're grateful you came when you did. I knew you guys would come eventually," Nima said.
"You knew we were coming?" Bishop said.
"Of course. You air-rescue jerks are slow, but you always come through." Nima jokingly smiled.
"… Yes… indeed…" Bishop awkwardly smiled.
"Ignore him. We can't thank you enough. We owe you our lives, Mister…" Asmara said.
"…Bishop." Bishop said.
"Thank you, Mr. Bishop," Asmara said.
Nima nodded in agreement and shook Bishop's hand.
"Damn, hell of a grip. Retired marines?" Nima said.
"Something like that. We need to get to the roof, we can airlift you guys to safety," Bishop said.
He pressed his communicator and shut his eyes.
Please…
"Come in, Jubilation. I've secured the survivors and we're heading back to the Blackbird. Respond," Bishop said.
He held his breath.
No answer.
"Come in. Psylocke, anyone, respond!" Bishop said.
He clenched his fists.
"How many armed veterans are left exactly? My team might be in danger," Bishop said.
He hobbled to his feet and started for the stairs. Nima and Asmara stood up behind him.
Asmara reached into her backpack.
"Two," Nima said.
"And Mr. Bishop?" Asmara jammed a pistol against the back of Bishop's skull, "they're right behind you."