Chapter 147: Taran

I don't hear myself screaming, but when the room finally falls quiet my throat is raw so I know I must've been shouting at the top of my lungs. The sight of Emery, my beloved Emery, on the ground on her back, blood pouring from her is more horrifying than anything else I've ever seen. Diogo lifts his eyes to mine. I expect to find that bleak nothingness that is his signature when he's about to kill. Instead I see anguish, an expression that makes me fear even more.
I launch myself toward her, but Diogo catches me around the waist and holds me back. I'm helpless against his superior strength as I watch the woman who helped raise me slowly turn into a Primitive. Diogo half turns and gathers me against him, though he keeps his one arm free with his weapon raised and his eyes on her.
"I'm sorry," he says to me.
Those two words hammer home the reality of this situation. She's going to die, my best friend, my surrogate mother, is going to die, right here before my eyes. And my husband is going to do it.
"No, no," I yell. "We have to do something!" I look frantically around the room, but my gaze meets only concerned and saddened expressions. This can't be happening. Not when I'd finally been so close to happiness. I can't be losing another person.
"Taran... I'm so sorry, we did a sweep of this area, but it must've somehow gotten past our defences," Skye says softly, stepping toward us. She looks up at Diogo as she approaches. "I can hold her."
I shake my head, my hair whipping around as I try to drop to my knees, intent on crawling to Emery if I have to. Diogo transfers me to Skye, who holds me against her. I don't want to hurt my own sister, but I will fight her if she doesn't let go. I try to dig my elbow into her side but two of Diogo's men surround us, creating a barrier between me and what Diogo is about to do.
He points at another of his men. "You guard the hall, make sure there's no more headed our way."
The seconds tick by at a crawl as each one takes its toll on my beloved friend. Right in front of our eyes she twists and turns, shrieking like a banshee, her fingers turning to curved claws as she attacks her own face and scalp. Her head swings back and forth on the floor, her hat flying off.
Diogo kicks aside the body of the Primitive that had attacked her. I sob helplessly against Skye as he lifts the knife standing over her.
"Please, Diogo," I shout again. "Don't do it!"
He lifts his eyes to mine, his filling with hurt as I promise him I won't forgive him if he does this. A part of me knows this isn't true, knows he's just doing what he must to ensure survival for the rest of us. It doesn't matter. I'll say or do whatever it takes to get him to stop. Frantically I look around for something or someone that might help. Then my eyes fall on the Doctor.
"Bishop!" I yell, an idea coming to me. "Please, you can help her. You can cure her with my blood."
He thinks about it and shakes his head. "No, it's too crude, it won't work. With time and luck I might be able to find an antibody and if we're even luckier, maybe a vaccine, but it won't cure an already turned human. Besides, your blood types might not be a match, she could reject..."
"She's not a Primitive though!" I shout. "Not yet, but she will be if we don't help her. Please, even if it's a small possibility, we have to try, we owe it to her. She's done nothing but help and support all of us. She deserves better from the people she loves."
I shift my accusing stare to Diogo, piercing him until he moves his knife hand back to his side. A silent battle rages between us as I beg him with my eyes and he argues with himself over the wisdom of giving me what I want. Every instinct in his body is telling him to kill the turned human before she can turn around and kill someone else.
"Please," I beg, tears falling freely down my face.
Diogo growls his annoyance and glares at the doctor. "Is it possible?"
Bishop looks taken aback that the Warlord would even consider this plan of action. Then his intelligent brain kicks in and he thinks over the possibilities. Finally, he shrugs. "I suppose it's theoretically possible. I think there's a slim to almost zero chance this could work. I don't even know exactly what it is about Taran and Skye's blood that contributes to an immunity. I suspect a genetic protein marker, but I won't know until I've had time for further research."
Glancing down at the twisting screaming woman beneath him, Diogo says grimly, "We don't have time, Doctor. Tell me now, are you willing to try or do I put her out of her misery?"
Bishop looks down pityingly, his expression making it clear he doesn't think this'll work, but he says, "I'll give it a try."
Diogo leaps immediately into action, shouting commands at his men. "Cover her head, wrap something tight around her mouth so she can't bite. Tie her hands and feet, make sure she can't kick or scratch. You have thirty seconds. I'll hold her down."
I bring a hand up to cover my mouth, to stop myself from yelling at them to be careful with her. They don't have time to be careful, they have to get her wrapped and ready to transport. Each passing second is a move towards no return. We have to get her into a room and prepped for a makeshift procedure.
"Done!" Diogo's man snaps.
"Lift her up with me, I'll take her head and torso, you take her legs," Diogo commands. "Skye," he says sharply, "lead us to the nearest room that'll work for the transfusion. Bishop, you grab the equipment you'll need and meet us upstairs."
Everyone scrambles to move, obeying Diogo's orders. He didn't give me any so I stand looking around worriedly. Skye grabs my arm and says, "Come with me, we'll need to get you prepped too. No fucking way am I getting hooked up to a zombie."
"Primitive," I correct her, remembering Bishop's words back in the car on the drive over. "And she's still human. Still the woman that took me in and helped raise me. Gave me rations from her own mouth during lean months." I choke on my words and swipe at the tears.
Skye looks back at me with compassion as she hurtles down the hallway, towing me with her. Diogo and his men follow, struggling to hang onto a twisting Emery who is becoming rapidly infused by the superhuman adrenaline filled strength of a Primitive.
"I'm sorry," Skye says grimly.
I shake my head. It doesn't matter. Most people need to distance themselves from the things that were once our loved ones. It helps save pieces of our heart when they are inevitably taken from us. "Just help me save her."
Skye doesn't say anything, but she picks up her pace. I find a job to do when we reach the first set of double doors. I fling myself against them holding them open for our small party. As soon as everyone is through, I run to the next one, ensuring that no barrier will slow us down.
It probably takes less than a minute before we reach the top floor of the hospital. Maybe four minutes since Emery was infected. I feel sick with the implication. She'll be well into the Turn. Is there a way to turn her back? Is everyone just humouring me for her inevitable death? Should I just let her go and accept yet another death in the long line of people I've lost in my life?
No, I'm not willing to accept that this is the end for Emery. She doesn't deserve to go this way. Not after all the years she's sheltered behind the walls of Sanctuary, safe from this kind of harm, only to be bitten nearly the moment she steps foot outside of her home. It's just not fair, it can't happen this way.
"In here," Skye says urgently, flinging a door open.
We're faced with an empty metal bed frame, but the room is clean and there's a table next to the bed. "Clothes," I mutter, stripping my coat off and laying it across the metal frame. Skye does the same, and when Diogo nods toward his men, they do the same.
"Tie her arms and legs to the bed frame," he orders. "Strap her head down too. Keep her mouth covered."
While they tie her down, Bishop comes rushing back into the room. His gaze is concerned and he's breathing hard as he drops his equipment onto the metal table with a clatter. He points at the bed. "Taran, you'll need to sit or lay down close to her."
I nod and approach the bed, but Diogo grips my waist and holds me back. He glares at Bishop and pulls his knife. He twists to place it against Emery's throat. She's struggling so hard she immediately cuts herself.
"Be careful!" I say to him, but he ignores me, looking toward Bishop. "Do it quickly. I won't tolerate much of this. She's too far into the Turn as it is, with each passing minute she gets stronger."
"Don't kill her," I beg him, turning to press my body to his. "Please, please don't kill her."
He drops a kiss onto my head and says, "I don't want to, baby. Believe me."
I nod against his chest and hold my arm out so Bishop can push the needle deep into the artery at my wrist. Getting a needle has never been my favourite sensation, but this time, for Emery, I'd be willing to take a thousand needles if it means she can come back to us. As Bishop works, I lean against Diogo and allow him to hold me protectively. He called me baby and I can't bring myself to mind. Suddenly it seems so trivial to get upset about his pet name for me.
We fall silent as Bishop pins Emery's arm to the bed and forces a needle into her vein, connecting us. When he finishes taping the needle to her skin he releases some kind of valve that allows the transfusion to begin. I look down and watch as the blood leaves my arm and makes its way through the short tube to Emery.