Invasive Procedures (29 page)

“Oh, that was me,” Monica said. “I was trying to reach that box up there and was cursing to myself. Do you think you could reach it for me?”

Frank watched as the Healer stepped to the shelf, his back to Frank, and reached for the box. He believed Monica. If they were still and quiet, he would leave.

Hal rotated the poker in his hand to improve his grip, and the small hook at its tip scraped against the shelf, making a grating noise.

There was a second of panic and then suddenly the Healer appeared around the corner, standing over them. Instinctively Frank lunged and tackled the Healer around the waist, slamming him roughly against the wall and causing the Healer’s hood to fall back. Frank raised a fist to strike, but then saw the Healer’s face and stopped.

Deputy Dixon stared back at Frank, his face showing no sign of recognition, and shoved Frank hard in the chest, sending him backward and into the others.

Hal pushed Frank aside and charged with the poker.

Dixon was faster. He dodged easily and struck Hal with an elbow in the side of the head.

Hal fell, and the poker clattered from his grip to the floor.

Dixon picked up the poker, his hands trembling noticeably, breathing hard, and looked at the others like a man only half himself. “You should not be out of your room,” he said. “The master would want you all in your room.”

There was a popping noise, and then Dixon’s face relaxed. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious to the floor, the poker clanging loudly beside him. Monica stood behind him, holding a tranquilizer gun, her finger still on the trigger. She looked down at the gun, covered her mouth with her one hand, and dropped the gun, suddenly repulsed by it.

Frank picked it up while Byron hurried to the door and closed it.

The gun was still loaded with several tranq darts. Frank clicked on the safety and knelt beside Dixon, checking his pulse. He was alive. “Hal, Nick, come help me get his cape off.”

In minutes, Deputy Dixon lay on the floor in only a T-shirt and his boxer shorts.

“Give me your neckties,” said Frank.

They handed them over.

As Frank bound and gagged Dixon, he noted how Dixon’s hands trembled. After the the final knot was tied and he was certain Dixon wouldn’t be able to free himself should he wake, he turned to Monica. “What did they do to him?”

“You know this guy?” said Nick.

“He’s a sheriffs deputy. He witnessed the accident that killed Jonathan. He was helping us.”

“Not being much of a help anymore,” said Dolores.

“What did they do to him?” Frank repeated.

“Galen,” said Monica, “he could control people’s minds, make them bend to his will.”

“How?”

She told them what she witnessed with Yoshida, how he had fallen into a seizure and how Galen had brought him back with a kiss to his forehead.

Nick said, “So the old man puckers up, kisses your forehead, and after that you’re putty in his fingers?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but the proof is right in front of you.” She pointed to Deputy Dixon. He was brought in right before the surgeries.
Galen kissed him, and the guy went blank, like his soul had been sucked out of him. I saw it myself.”

“Then answer me this,” said Hal. “If old geezer Galen’s got magic kisses that can make a slave out of anybody, why didn’t he do that to you, huh? Why didn’t he just kiss you on the forehead and tell you to transplant his organs? Why go to all the trouble of threatening your son?”

“Because the trembling and seizures are side effects of the condition,” said Monica, “Galen couldn’t risk my hands being unsteady. He knew I was going to be operating on him, so he had to
force
me to cooperate without his . . . kiss.”

Dolores cocked her head and looked down at Dixon. “Then he’s a victim same as us. We can’t just leave him here.”

She was right, Frank knew. There was no telling what the Healers would do to Dixon once they found him here. Healers hadn’t shown a particularly high regard for human life—despite their claims to the contrary—and if they blamed Dixon for the escape, ending his life might be considered an appropriate punishment and not so great a loss.

“Is there a way to reverse the effect?” said Frank. “Some antidote or medicine, maybe? Something to shake him out of it?”

“No, none that I’ve seen,” said Monica.

“He can’t go with us,” said Hal. “Are you out of your mind? He’s trying to kill us.”

“You heard Frank,” said Nick. “He’s a cop.”

“I don’t care if he’s the pope,” said Hal. “There’s no way we’re dragging him along.”

“They might hurt him,” said Dolores.

“He’s one of them,” said Hal. “They’re not going to hurt him.”

“You don’t know that,” said Dolores.

“Well, I’m willing to take that chance, because it’s him or us. We pull him along, and none of us are getting out of here.”

The others exchanged glances.

“Don’t seem right,” said Dolores.

“What isn’t right is what they did to us,” said Hal. “But what’s done is done. Now we got a chance of getting out of here, and we shouldn’t miss it because of this guy. What are we going to do, carry him? And even when he wakes up and can walk on his own, he’s not going to want to come along. He’d be nothing but trouble. They’ve screwed with his head.
That’s help we can’t offer. Our best bet is to get help for
us
and then to send help back here for him. Otherwise, nobody gets help. Because we aren’t getting out of here if we to try to take him along.”

Frank sighed. “I don’t want to leave him behind either, but Hal’s right. We don’t have a choice. We’re in no condition to help him now. Our best option is to find someone who can and send them back here.”

“Damn straight,” said Hal.

Frank looked at Monica. “What about this tranquilizer gun? Are there more of these?”

She pointed to an empty peg on the wall. “It was hanging there. I didn’t see any others.”

“What about these antirejection drugs?”

She opened a large wooden cabinet where several vials of medication and syringes were stored. “They’re all kept here.”

“Pack them. We’re taking them with us. And you’re carrying them.”

Hal waved his arms. “Whoa whoa whoa. Look, I don’t care if she’s a prisoner here or not, she ain’t coming with us either, not after what she did to us.”

“She’s a doctor. We may need her help.”

“To do what? Cut us open again? She put a knife to our gut and bled us. I say she finds her own way out.”

Monica’s jaw was set. “Hate me if you want. Turn me into the police. I don’t care. But you’re not leaving this cabin without me and my son.”

“Your son?” said Frank. “He’s here?”

“In the basement. And we’re not leaving without him.”

Frank could see the argument coming before it started.

“Please tell me you’re not seriously considering taking this woman’s
child with us,” said Hal.

“He’s my son,” said Monica. “He’s only six. I’m not leaving him behind.”

Hal made a face. “Six? You got to be kidding me. What, are we babysitters all of a sudden? No. No kid is coming with us. He’ll only slow us down.”

Monica looked at them with pleading eyes. “Please, he’s only a child.”

“So that gives him special treatment?” said Hal. “Just because he’s younger than me?”

“He’s fast for his age,” said Monica. “He could keep up.”

Hal narrowed his eyes at her. “Read my lips, lady. The kid stays.”

“Where in the basement are they keeping him?” Frank asked.

“What difference does it make?” said Hal. “He’s not coming. He’d only slow us down.”

“A room, north side,” said Monica. “It’s guarded.”

“How many guards?”

“Two, sometimes three.”

“Is there a way to get outside from the basement?”

Hal stepped between them and faced Frank. “We’re not taking time to get this kid. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

Frank acknowledged Hal blankly, then looked beyond him to Monica. “Is there a way outside from the basement?”

Hal threw up his hands.

“No,” said Monica. “The only way out is the front door. The back door is locked from the outside, like all the windows. But there are only a few Healers here during the night. The others come in the morning. If we can get by the ones downstairs and the ones on the porch before the others arrive, we could make it.”

“Am I the only one here who thinks this woman is full of it?” said Hal. “This could be a trap. Has anyone thought of that? How do we know this kid even exists? The whole thing could be a sham to get us down into the basement where who knows what is waiting.”

“He’s right,” said Nick. “Why should we believe a word she says? I say we go now.”

“Exactly,” said Hal, reaching over and patting Nick twice on the back as if they were lifelong friends who understood each other implicitly.

“No,” said Frank. “This is different. The deputy we
can’t
help. But a child we
can
. We’re not leaving the boy behind.”

Monica visibly relaxed.

“Give me the cape,” said Frank.

Byron handed it to him, and Frank tied it over his shoulders, pulling the hood forward over his eyes. “I’m going to the basement. If you hear a commotion or if I’m not back in ten minutes, go without me.”

“If we hear a commotion,” said Nick, “then they’ll know we’re trying to escape. It’ll be too late for us to try anything then.”

“Maybe not,” said Frank. “They’ll think
I’m
trying to escape. They won’t know we all are. Maybe I could create a big enough distraction for you to get out the front. In the meantime, pack supplies—food, water, anything in the room you think would be useful. But no more than we would need in a day’s time. Don’t wear yourselves down. By the time I get back, we’ll be ready.”

He smiled as if it were a plan that couldn’t fail, and Dolores and Byron looked as if they believed him.

“I’m going with you,” Monica said.

“No,” said Frank. “If you’re telling the truth, I’ll be back with your son. If you’re not, well, then I’m out of luck.”

“Leave us the gun,” said Hal. “We may need it.”

“He’s going against guards,” said Byron. “We’re not.”

Frank nodded his thanks to Byron. “How do I get to the basement?”

Monica told him.

“Ten minutes,” said Byron.

Frank nodded. “Ten minutes.”

They turned off the light before Frank opened the door, finding the hallway exactly as they had left it—dark, silent, and vacant. Frank realized he lacked one important bit of information and turned back. “What’s your son’s name?” he whispered.

“Wyatt,” Monica said. “His name is Wyatt.”

Frank hurried toward the basement, walking with a determined step so as not to arouse suspicion if he were seen. From a distance he could pass as Deputy Dixon; just keep the hood up and move like he knew where he was going.

Wyatt. I’m risking it all for a six-year-old named Wyatt.

As he moved down the hallway, Frank considered Hal’s logic. Leaving the kid was indeed the most sensible thing to do. He would slow them down. And this was a window of opportunity they’d only get once. If they were caught now, the Healers would take extra precautions to make another escape attempt impossible.

And yet, Frank couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave the kid. Even if it meant not going himself. It was totally irrational, but the feeling in his gut was stronger than common sense. They weren’t leaving without the kid.

Two quick turns and Frank was there at the door to the basement. It creaked when he pushed on it, a noise that echoed down the hallway and back toward the supply closet. He froze and listened, expecting Healers to materialize at any moment.

After a lengthy pause, he felt certain no one was coming.

Relieved, he put his hand back on the door and swung it open in a fast single motion so it didn’t have time to squeak.

The staircase was narrow, wooden, and ancient. A few steps even showed signs of rotting. The walls were no more attractive and extended to the basement floor below, which to Frank’s disappointment was flooded
with light. He had been hoping for the cover of darkness. Most striking, however, was the noticeable change in temperature. The basement had no heat. And for the first time since leaving Washington, Frank could see his breath chill in front of him.

Moving slowly, he descended the stairs.

Twenty feet beyond the staircase a Healer sat sleeping in a chair beside a door. Even in a semiconscious state, with his mouth slightly agape, the Healer was physically imposing.

At least he’s alone, Frank thought.

A small space heater glowed at the Healer’s feet, and as Frank approached he could feel the warmth emanating from its orange, glowing coils.

Frank aimed the tranq gun and was prepared to fire when he heard a toilet flushing and a door behind him opened.

“What brings you down here, Dixon?” Lichen’s voice said.

Frank continued facing forward and watched as Lichen’s shadow grew in front of him as the Healer approached. When the shadow stopped, it totally encompassed Frank’s own.

Frank felt a heavy tap on his shoulder where the strap of the dart gun was positioned.

“What’s this now?” said Lichen. “You carrying a dart spitter, Dixon?”

Two giant fingers pinched the tip of Frank’s hood and pulled it back, exposing his head. Frank had no choice but to act. Turning abruptly, he fired directly into Lichen’s gut.

Four darts sank into Lichen’s stomach before he had time to flinch. If they caused him any pain, Lichen didn’t show it. He looked down at the tranqs with a shocked expression, blinked, opened his mouth to speak, then fell forward to the floor, unconscious.

The noise woke the sleeping Healer, and he leapt of out his chair, disoriented.

Frank already had the gun raised. He squeezed the trigger and sent four darts into the Healer’s chest.

The Healer reached down, pulled out a dart, looked at it, then fell forward onto the concrete, hitting the space heater and knocking it over so it clattered on the floor.

The struggle had been brief but loud, and Frank instinctively looked
back toward the basement door, expecting it to swing open and a horde of Healers to pour through.