Invasive Procedures (35 page)

There had been times, of course, when Lichen wished he
did
have no pain.

Jonathan’s death was one such instance. It had been pain that had caused Lichen to release his grip on the boy and allowed Jonathan to reach the road. Without pain, the sharp rock that Jonathan swung would have smashed the cartilage of Lichen’s ear without Lichen’s feeling it or caring.

And Jonathan would still be alive.

Lichen looked over his shoulder as he ran down the trail now. The other Healers were still nowhere in sight, although he was certain they couldn’t be too far behind. They had had time to mobilize now, and his speed would have encouraged them to push the level of their own endurance and stay at their maximum pace.

A distant gunshot rang through the air, and Lichen stopped in his tracks to listen. It was the second shot he had heard, and this one was much closer. He scrambled up a tall sturdy tree and looked down over the treetops to the lake below.

There on the bank of the lake below him were the prophet’s vessels. He could only barely make out their figures at this distance, but he was certain it was them. They seemed to be arguing.

Lichen remained in the tree and watched them until they left the lake and continued down the trail. He wanted to be certain he knew which direction they were headed.

By the time he descended the tree, the other Healers had caught up with him.

“They’re down by the lake, heading east,” he said.

Pine sniffed the air. “How far?”

“Close enough to catch,” Lichen said, and turned on his heels and led them down the hillside, his cape billowing once again behind him.

The barn door opened with a rusty squeak, and Frank stopped inside. Cobwebs and rotted timbers hung from the rafters, and the air was thick with dust. A few rusty farming tools hung on nails in the corner, and a beam of sunlight shined through a wide hole in the roof. Frank guessed it had been deserted years ago, maybe decades.

“It’s not much, but it’ll get us out of the wind for a while.”

The others came in behind him. Dolores waved her hand in front of her face. “Smells awful.”

“Animals used to crap in here,” said Hal. “What do you expect?”

Nick was asleep in Byron’s arms, and Monica led them to a soft spot of ground in one of the stalls. Byron set Nick down without waking him, and Monica made sure Nick was comfortable.

“I’m starving,” said Dolores.

Byron dug into his pack and found a few granola bars they had taken from the storage closet. He passed them out and Dolores devoured hers. Wyatt graciously took one and lay down to eat it but fell asleep before taking a bite. Everyone else looked just as exhausted.

Byron then passed around the water bottle, and it was quickly emptied.

Minutes later, Monica came out of the stall with her medical bag.

“How is he?” asked Frank.

“Stable. He needs to rest. I’d like his fever to go down before we move again.”

“In case anyone’s forgotten,” said Hal, “it’s very possible that these Healers are out looking for us. I suggest we don’t wait around.”

“We’re off the trail,” said Frank. “And we were careful to hide our tracks when we left it. I think we can safely rest for a few minutes.”

“All we do is rest,” said Hal.

“You’re just as tired as the rest of us,” said Dolores. “Don’t be pretending you ain’t.”

“What I
ain’t
is talking to you, so keep your comments to yourself.”

Monica began preparing more syringes.

“No way,” said Hal. “I don’t care what it is. I’m not getting another shot from her. Period.”

“They’re antirejection drugs,” said Monica. “I told you. Your body needs them. I should have given them to you hours ago.”

“And if I was a sucker,” said Hal, “I’d believe you. How do I know that’s not some sleeping medicine you’re trying to slip us? You all saw her. She gave the same stuff to Nick. Now look at him. He’s out like a light. How do we know she isn’t trying to knock us all out?” He looked at Monica. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Get us all drugged up and sleepy. Then you and the kid could slip away without anybody being the wiser.”

“You have got to be the most paranoid person I’ve ever met,” said Byron.

“She’s not one of them,” said Dolores. “She’s proven that. The only person nobody trusts around here is you.”

Hal smiled. “All right, then. If you’re so trusting, you go first. Let her stick that arm of yours. We’ll all sit here and watch. And if you don’t pass out or keel over, we’ll know it’s legit.”

Dolores looked hesitant. “Why do I have to go first?”

Hal buckled over laughing. “Stupid
and
a hypocrite. I love it.”

“I’ll do it,” said Frank, rolling up his sleeve. “I’ll go first.”

Hal stopped laughing.

“And if I keel over, you can go on without me and do with the doctor as you please.”

“And if you don’t?” asked Dolores.

“Wait a minute,” said Hal, “I like this option.”

“If I don’t, then you all take the shot.” Frank waited for objections, but none came. He held his arm out, and Monica swabbed the area gently, then administered the shot. Dolores winced when the needle broke the skin.

When Monica pulled the needle out, Frank watched as the tiny wound sealed and became flawless skin again.

Dolores motioned for an explanation. “Well? How do you feel?”

Frank shrugged. “Fine.” Then he blinked. “No, wait. I have a strange sensation.” He put his hand to head, closed his eyes, and began teetering from side to side, moaning softly.

Dolores was too spooked to scream but not enough to keep still. Frantic, she scrambled back toward the barn door and only stopped because Frank became still and smiled. It wasn’t until Byron started laughing that it dawned on her. “You’re joking?” she said angrily.

Hal laughed, too. “Good one.”

Dolores put her hands on her hips. “You think this is the time to be playing around? Woman has a new lung inside her and you want to scare her silly.”

Frank’s smile remained. “You’re right. Sorry. The medication is fine, Dolores. You should take it. I feel better already.”

It was true. Frank could feel his energy returning and the aching in his muscles subsiding.

The others took the shot without further objection.

“Now get some sleep,” said Frank. “We’ll stay here for an hour or so, and move again when Nick is better.”

They each took a spot on the ground and lay down to rest. Frank went to Monica and asked her to speak with him outside. They moved out into the sunlight. Frank kept the barn door open and one eye on Hal.

“How is Nick, really?” said Frank.

Monica sighed. “I’m not sure. His fever is pushing a hundred and four. That’s dangerously high. He wasn’t very coherent even before he fell asleep.”

“Heatstroke?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. He’s not showing the right symptoms for it.”

“Will he be able to walk? We can’t continue to carry him.”

She looked doubtful. “You saw him. He could barely stand earlier.”

“It came upon him so suddenly. He seemed to be moving just as well as the rest of us.”

“He’s had a transplant in the past forty-eight hours. Let’s not forget that. He shouldn’t have been able to run at all.”

They stood there in silence. Then Monica said, “There’s something else you should know. I didn’t want to tell the others and frighten them, but you should know, at least. About the chip.”

Frank faced her, waiting.

“I’ve told you what the chip contains. Galen’s files, video, journals; and I’ve told you about the software Yoshida developed to anticipate Galen’s decisions and thoughts. But what I haven’t told you is how it’s triggered and supposedly works together.”

Go on.

“A few years ago this Dr. Kouichi Yoshida made some fairly significant advances in memory replication, trying to help amnesia patients regain their lost long-term memories. I assume you’re familiar with genetic memory, Doctor.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Memories form when neurons in a circuit increase the strength of their connections. For long-term memories to develop, for example, the connection must be permanently strengthened. This is all instigated by genes inside the neuron’s nucleus, which produce synapse-strengthening proteins.”

“You’re losing me.”

“Basically, Yoshida’s theory was that by manipulating neural genes, one could control the output of proteins and in turn control how they were diffused through the cell and which of the cell’s thousands of synapses were strengthened. In other words, one could control which memories were formed and which were discarded, which circuits remained and which would suddenly become inactive.”

“Hardwiring the brain.”

“On a small scale, yes. What Galen hoped to accomplish, however, was much bigger, a universal alteration in the entire circuitry, turning billions of inactive neurons
on
and turning all currently active neurons off. In other words, if we only use ten percent of our brains, Galen wanted to switch off that ten percent and use another ten percent instead, a ten percent that he could define.”

“With his own memories.”

“Yes. Turn off your memories and turn on his. Don’t think of it as a hard drive with all the memory stored in it, think of it as a chemical program that would generate these memories all at once, making you believe that you experienced them.”

“So Galen supplied all his files and journals and data in the hope that he could convince our minds that we had experienced them, that they were our actual memories?”

“Essentially, yes. It’s not a matter of uploading a few of his opinions and meshing them with your own. Like what he’s doing with your DNA, Galen is switching out the old and bringing in the new.”

“It’s impossible,” said Frank. “It could never happen.”

“Whether it can or can’t isn’t the point,” said Monica. “The point is how Galen believed it could be done.”

Frank remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.

“Altering the entire active circuitry at once requires a near-lethal level of electrical shock,” said Monica. “Think of it as jump-starting a car. To fire off all those synapses at once in a pattern that strengthens certain connections along a wide neural network necessitates a massive jolt of programmed energy.” Her voice caught, and she stopped speaking.

Frank waited. And while he did, he felt another surge of sympathy. None of this had been her doing. And yet, because of her circumstances, she was an integral part of it.

He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, as a friend, as a man expressing comfort to a woman, maybe rub her back gently they way he used to do with Rachel whenever she awoke in the night, frightened by a dream.

Monica composed herself. “Once the chip is triggered, its first operation is to send a massive jolt of electricity through you, a jolt that I fear might kill you should it happen.”

Frank took a long moment to consider. “Then you’re going to have to remove the chips.”

“I’m a cardiologist, Dr. Hartman, not a neurosurgeon. I wouldn’t know how.”

Byron stumbled out of the barn, a bloody hand covering his forehead. “Where’d he go?” he said.

Frank looked past him. Hal was gone. Frank had taken his eyes off of
him for only a moment, but Hal apparently had been waiting for it. Frank rushed inside.

“What happened?” he heard Monica ask.

“He hit me with a rock. Took the meds. He didn’t come out this way?”

Frank ran to the back. A section of wall had rotted and fallen away, leaving a wide gap in the side of the barn. He jumped through it and saw Hal, now a distance away, running back toward the trail with Monica’s medical bag.

Frank looked back, drawing the gun. “Wait here.” Turning, he sprinted down the hillside after Hal.

Hal looked over his shoulder, saw Frank coming, and put on a burst of speed. Frank maneuvered through the brush as quickly as possible, following Hal down and then back onto the trail. Hal stuck to the trail after that, never slowing, running in a mad sprint to get free.

Several times the trail bent sharply, and each time Hal disappeared from view as he reached the bend before Frank. Frank approached these bends cautiously, gun raised, ready for the kind of ambush a person like Hal would devise. But there never was an ambush. Hal never slowed once.

For the better part of an hour they ran, bending and twisting down the mountain, running through shallow creek beds, jumping fallen logs, dodging low-hanging branches. Slowly Frank gained, but the men were nearly equal in speed and stamina.

Finally Hal came to a skidding halt, and Frank ran up behind him and saw why. Hal was standing at the precipice of a cliff. The river raged forty feet below. Hal turned to face Frank and held the bag over the ledge.

“Stay back or I’ll drop it.”

Frank froze. “You need that as much as anyone, Hal.”

“I’ll do it. I swear to you, I’ll do it.”

Frank took a step closer. “Give me the bag, Hal, and we’ll go back together.”

Hal snorted. “Back? I’m not going back. And if you know what’s good for you, neither will you. You saw Nick. He’s half dead already. He’ll only slow us down.”

“We’re not leaving Nick behind.”

“So you’re going to die trying to drag his corpse down the mountain? Oh, that’s noble. When are you going to realize that nobody else in this world gives a damn about you and you shouldn’t give a damn about them?
I learned that fact a long time ago, Frank, and I’m alive today because of it. I’m a survivor. And if you want to be alive come morning, you need to start acting like a survivor, too. I’m giving you a choice. Come with me now or stay here and rot in the woods. Live or die. It’s that simple.”

Frank stepped closer. “I only want what’s best for all of us, Hal. You know that.”

Hal’s arm stiffened, holding the bag farther over the side. “Stay back.”

Frank aimed the pistol. “Don’t.”

“You and I are on the same side, Frank. You know that. The Healers, those are the bad guys. You want to point your gun at somebody, point it at them.”

Frank hesitated.