Invasive Procedures (32 page)

He turned back, giving Pine another kick.

“The boy’s gone.”

This news snapped Pine awake. His eyes widened. “Gone?”

Lichen didn’t stay to explain. He bounded up the basement steps, taking four at a time. All was quiet on the ground floor, and sunlight streamed in the windows. How long had they been out?

He reached the room where the vessels were recuperating and threw open the door. The fire had died out, and the beds were empty. A thumping sound reached his sensitive ears. He cocked his head and listened. A rattling noise was coming from somewhere down the hall. Lichen lowered
his shoulders, centering his body weight, getting into an attack position, and slowly moved down the hallway, following the noise.

The rattle led him to the storage closet. He pushed open the door. The man known as Dixon, who had come to them as a sheriff’s deputy, lay bound and gagged on the floor, having a seizure. The noise was that of his body thrashing on the floor. Too much time had passed since his last treatment, and his body was now violently crying out for another dose.

Lichen hurried to him, grabbed the neckties that bound him, and ripped them free. Dixon continued to bang about, his head and body already bruised. Lichen held the man’s head, took a vial of treatment from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and gave Dixon what his body craved.

The man immediately began to calm. His limbs ceased thrashing and his body grew still.

Lichen gently lowered Dixon’s head to the floor. He would live. How foolish of the vessels to be so cruel to one who only wanted to protect them. Lichen took one final look at the man, his heart full with compassion, then ran from the room. There was work to be done.

The front room was in shambles. Lamps had been shattered. Glass shards lay everywhere. The front door stood open. And there in the middle of the room, like a sleeping grizzly, lay Stone.

Lichen hurried to him and checked his vitals. Stone was alive. Good, thought Lichen, he’d be needed. But how to wake him up? Stone could not be stirred by a stiff slap; he had been given the greatest measure of pain resistance, and therefore pain could not arouse him.

Lichen pinched Stone’s nose and put a hand over his mouth, blocking his breathing. Seconds past, until Stone’s drooping eyes opened as his suffocating body forced itself awake.

Lichen pulled the tranquilizer darts from Stone’s stomach. “The vessels, they’ve run off.”

Pine came lumbering into the room.

Stone stood to his full height, tiny shards of the broken lamp falling from his white hair. “We must bring them back,” he said simply. “The rebirth is in less than a day’s time. Lichen, you’re the swiftest. Run ahead and detain them. I will call the others, and we will join you in the wood. They can’t have gotten far.”

Lichen was out the door before Stone had even finished speaking. With a single leap he cleared the porch steps. Then he was across the
yard, his legs gaining speed, his cape billowing behind him. He wouldn’t need to stop and look for tracks. Their scent was still strong in the morning air.

Riggs gave the order to the pilot, and the helicopter quickly made its descent toward the dilapidated-looking Happy Mountain Rest Home. Once the helicopter touched down, the door slid open, and the assault team, suited to the hilt in biogear and armor, poured out
of
it, running at a crouch away from the helicopter and taking defensive positions at the building’s entrance. Riggs was the last one out. He slid shut the door and tapped the side, signaling the pilot to take off again. The rotors whirred faster, and the helicopter lifted away, leaving swirling clouds of dust in its wake.

Riggs hustled to the front door and pressed against the wall beside it. He swung his assault rifle forward and cocked it. He could feel all eyes on him. The team would wait for his go before they made their advance.

The sound of barking cut through the silence. Everyone turned just in time to see two vicious-looking Doberman pinschers come bounding around the corner from the back of the building.

Agent Hernandez didn’t wait for the order. She unstrapped the tranquilizer pistol at her hip and dropped both animals before they were within twenty yards of any member of the team. The Dobermans lay on their sides, eyes rolled back, tongues hanging from their mouths.

Peeps whistled from his position behind a tree in the front yard. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m glad we invited her.”

There were a few chuckles broadcast over the comlink speakers until Hernandez said, “Keep making cracks, Peeps, and I might accidentally put a tranq in that skinny butt of yours.”

“Sheesh,” said Peeps. “Woman can’t even take a compliment.”

Riggs’s voice silenced them. “Focus, people. There could more than Dobermans inside. And who knows what else.”

They became serious again, readying their weapons.

“Lights,” said Riggs.

Everyone fastened a penlight to his or her helmet.

“Lights check,” said Peeps, when he had visual confirmation that every team member was ready.

Riggs gave the signal. “Move.”

Staying low, Riggs ran into the littered lobby of the Happy Mountain Rest Home. The rest of the team was right behind him, staying in their preassigned formations, ready to strike at any moment.

“Peeps,” Riggs said. “What you got?”

A 3-D schematic of the building appeared in Riggs’s visor, and Peeps’s voice sounded in his ear. “This is the lobby. The door in front of us leads to a nurses’ station, beyond which are the old residents’ rooms.”

Riggs ordered them to follow, and he cautiously approached the open door leading into the building’s interior. He pressed himself against the wall beside it, and then quickly poked his head in the doorway to peer down the corridor beyond it.

Gunfire exploded from somewhere down the corridor, and Riggs recoiled his head just as slugs sunk into the door frame and blew wood chips out the other side.

“Someone’s shooting at us!” one of the agents shouted.

“Someone with good aim,” said Riggs, looking at the holes in the door frame where his head had just been. “ ’Nandez, light it up.”

Agent Hernandez took a heavy glow stick from her pack, cracked it until it glowed bright green, and slung it down the corridor in the direction of the gunfire. There was a brief burst as a few more shots were fired, then all quieted. A bright green glow now emanated from the corridor.

Two agents moved to the right side of the door frame while Riggs stayed on the left. When he saw that they were ready, he nodded his head, and as one, they swung in just far enough to fire down the corridor.

The shooter was a Healer with a black hood hiding his face, crouched behind the nurses’ station in the middle of the room, now well lit by the glow stick. Most of the bullets tore into the paneling in front of him, but one caught him in the shoulder and spun him away. He fell backward, and the gun flew from his hand.

Riggs and the other agents charged into the room, guns forward, prepared to fire again, but there was no retaliation. The shooter was alone. Riggs hurried
to
the Healer, who lay writhing on the floor, a pool
of
red collecting on the floor beneath his shoulder.

He was a small Healer, the size of a normal man. Riggs kneeled down and pulled back the hood, exposing the man’s face.

“You made me drop it,” the Healer said weakly. “It was in my hand, and you made me drop it.”

Stupefied, Riggs followed the Healer’s gaze to a small glass vial that lay shattered on the tile floor beside the Healer’s right hand. A clear, viscous liquid, not unlike human saliva, lay spilt from the vial.

Other agents gathered.

“Stop the bleeding,” said Riggs.

Two agents immediately began treating the wound.

“I must protect the building,” the Healer said to Riggs, his voice urgent. “I must do my duty to the master.”

“Is there anyone else in the building?” said Riggs.

“Only one,” said the Healer.

“Where?”

“Locked in his room. He can’t get out. I see to that. The master asks me to see to that.”

Riggs lifted his head. “Peeps? Get that helicopter back here with medics. The rest of you, listen up. I want this building turned inside out. If it’s hot, bag it. If it moves, detain it.”

Frank lay in the trail, trying to catch his breath. They had been going for two hours now without any sign of Healers or, unfortunately, help. The others were scattered nearby, leaning against a tree or sitting on a rock. Dolores lay spread-eagle on her back, fanning herself. Nick and Hal sat near a freshwater spring that trickled down the center of the granite cliff face.

Hal leaned toward the spring and allowed the water bottle to be filled again.

“Maybe it’s time for someone else to have a drink,” said Nick, extending a hand.

“Maybe it’s time for you to shut your hole and wait your turn,” Hal said.

“The rest of us are just as thirsty as you are, you know?” said Dolores.

Hal smirked. “If you know how thirsty I am, then you’ll shut up and let me drink.”

Dolores pursed her lips but held her tongue.

“Are you always this respectful to women?” said Monica.

Hal shrugged. “I don’t see one worth respecting.”

Monica looked away and put an arm around Wyatt.

Hal took another long drink, gargled a swig, then spat. “So, Dr. Owens,” he said. “What do you specialize in when you’re not cutting up innocent people and breaking the law?”

Monica ignored him.

“She’s a thoracic surgeon,” Wyatt said.

Hal smiled wild. “Thoracic? Well now, that’s a big word for a six-year-old. Thoracic.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Dolores. “Thoracic?”

“A surgeon of the chest,” said Monica. “Cardiovascular surgery, mainly.”

“You mean the heart?” asked Dolores.

Monica nodded.

Dolores looked at Hal. “She’s a heart doctor.”

“I heard her, stupid,” he said. He looked back at Monica. “So, a heart doctor, huh? Lucky for Frank here, right? New heart. Heart doctor. Nice fit. What about the rest of us? How many kidney transplants have you done?”

“Including yours and Nick’s?” she said.

Hal nodded.

“Three.”

“Three?” Hal got to his feet. “What kind of experience is that? You cut us up without even knowing how?”

“I did the best I could to keep you alive.”

Hal grunted in disgust.

“What about a lung?” said Dolores, sitting up. “How many lungs had you done before mine?”

Monica shook her head. “None.”

Dolores clutched at her chest. “None? You sure you did it right? Put all the tubes and wires back where they’re supposed to go?”

“You don’t have any wires, ignoramus,” said Hal, “just veins and stuff.”

Dolores grunted. “Listen at you, talking like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I know a lot more than you, all right? At least I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“At least I’m no drunk,” Dolores fired back. Hal looked ready to make a move, but Byron interrupted. “What about liver transplants?” he said. “Ever done one of those before?”

“Once,” she said, looking at the ground. “In college. On a cadaver.”

“A cadaver?” said Hal.

“What’s a cadaver?” said Nick.

“Man, but you are ignorant, aren’t you?” said Hal.

“A dead body,” said Byron, “used for research.”

“Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you, Dr. Owens?” said Hal. “A real miracle worker. I guess old George Galen figured that if you could switch out a heart, then you could switch out a kidney. Lucky us, huh?”

“Who was the other kidney?” asked Nick. “You said there were three.”

Monica looked at him, hesitated. “Jonathan,” she said.

Nick’s face reddened, and he looked away, tears welling up.

“He left before the virus had enough time to initiate the healing,” said Monica. “I never wanted to hurt him.”

“Well, you did, Doctor,” said Hal. “And when the day comes, I’m going to watch you burn. Yes, sir. Get me a front-row seat. Maybe even throw the switch myself.”

“That’s enough,” said Frank, standing. “Without Dr. Owens’s help, we wouldn’t have escaped. She deserves respect for that, at least. You want to hold ill will, fine. But for your own sake, and the sake of Wyatt, save it for another time. Right now our only concern is getting help as quickly as possible. And if we spend all of our energy arguing and bickering, we’ll get nowhere. Now come on, break’s over.”

They all got to their feet.

“Hal, I’d like you to take point now, if you don’t mind. Stick to the trail and stay with the group.”

Hal looked pleased. “If you all can keep up.”

Frank approached Byron. “You ever fired a gun before?” he said, offering Byron the tranquilizer gun.

Byron turned it over in his hands. “I’ve never shot a tranq before, but it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.” In less than three seconds he checked the safety, pulled back on the hammer, stuck the butt of it flat against his shoulder, and looked down the site at some imaginary target in the distance.

“You did that a little too easily,” Frank said, impressed.

“I grew up in Montana. My dad took us hunting as soon as we were old enough to tag along legally.” He smiled. “And sometimes even before that.”

“Let’s hope you never have to use it.”

Byron checked the cartridge, then snapped it back into place.

Frank said, “I’m curious—you’re the only one in this group who isn’t homeless, am I right?”

“Not counting yourself, the doc, or the kid.”

“And yet Galen thought you were.”

“I was looking pretty ragged the night he picked me up. I’d been hiking up in Los Padres National Forest and hadn’t bathed or shaved in a few days. I was coming back into LA when my car broke down. Galen saw me with my thumb out and assumed . . .” He shrugged.

“Your family must be worried.”

Byron held up his hand to show he wasn’t wearing a ring. “Not married. And I live alone. The only people who’d notice me missing are the ones at my office. But I’m out with clients so often, I wonder if anyone there even knows I’m gone. Either way, I’d hate to see what my in-box looks like right now.”