34
In the quiet of the dark corridors, I can hear the wires talking. The evil bots mocking my pain. I cover my ears, but their chatter is physical, almost. All over my skin. Then an exploding sound rattles me to the ceiling. Music. A symphony.
At the end of the corridor, a glow. Flickering fast in different colors. A TV! I run, but the floor escapes me, and I fall. “Anybody here?” I yell. No answer. I need oxygen. Stand up, Yinyin. Follow the sound.
The waiting room, I suppose. Never been to this part of the hospital. Magazines lay everywhere. Chairs, floor, even on the tables where they were supposed to be. As if people had to leave in a rush. Why? I stick my head out. Mrs. Lee’s room is far — straight line covered in echoes – right now, the silly sounds of an old cartoon: a mouse torturing a poor cat. Kids watch that sort of mayhem and then think they can behave like that too. This is a fucking hospital, for the immortals’ sake!
Simon was right, we can’t trust any cameras, any electronics. Not when the government is after us. I want to cry, but there’s no time. Gotta get Mrs. Lee out of here. But then, my eyelid falls. Just the right eye. Not right now! A headache. Breathe, Yinyin. You can do it. Breathe. Tell your brain to turn it off. It knows how to do it now. And breathe!
It doesn’t come, the stinging. My heart pounds, I’m drenched.
Then, a noise. Like an electronic spirit, loud and obnoxious. On the other side of the room, lights blink erratically, and a machine shakes. The candy machine. I look, it stops. I look away, it shakes again. Twisted fuck. “Take your contract and shove it up your ass.”
From my brain you won’t take anything.
Then the electronic box beeps and pours chocolate vomit from its mechanical mouth. Snickers, M&Ms, Kit Kats…it’s Halloween, apparently. And the trick is on me.
Or worse: They can tell my glucose is low. My pain, one button away. That’s what they’re trying to say. They are in control. I cram my mouth with all the candy I can. Wipe my nose with the back of my hand and scoop a few more packs before the vending machine is so jammed, I won’t be able to get them anymore.
With the bottom of my shirt, I make a bowl. Fill it with sugary treats. Mrs. Lee loves chocolate. That may buy us some time until I find Jason.
Oh, and oxygen too.
On my way back to the room, I stumble forward and open every door I can find. Sheets hanging, broken glass, paper lying around. All empty. Only thing full are my hands — full of candy. A macabre trick or treat. Keep going, Yinyin. Mrs. Lee awaits me a few doors forward. And I need a hug. I knock on the door “Hey there,” I whisper.
Nothing.
I stick my head in.
On top of the bed, an O2 tank sits. With a massive red bow and a “Get better soon” floating balloon. Is that supposed to be funny? “Mrs. Lee, time to go,” I yell. Bathroom? Not there either. I yell her name, “Mrs. Lee!?” A ghost stinger headache responds instead. It pierces through my brain and I fall to my knees. Then it stops.
The tank! I climb the bed, put the mask on my face and drag myself to the nurses’ station. Nobody. “Mrs. Lee?! Nurse Mona? Nurse Mona Morrow? Someone?!” Candy, oxygen again. The TV at the end of the hall goes silent. The hiss of my own breathing against the mask is the only evidence the world isn’t over yet. A phone rings. Not mine. A landline. Where is it? I drop the candy, comb the place in search of the phone. There. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
BANG! A gunshot. I drop to the floor.
One more.
My heart pounds. There’s a foot peeking from behind the corner. I wait. No more sounds, no more shots. I crawl that way. A woman, a nurse lies on the ground. Fresh blood still pours, and now it’s all over me. My hands, my clothes, my hair. In her hand, a gun. What happened? Why isn’t there anyone helping? A wound under her chin. Why did she do that? The keycard says Bevin Mattera, Jason told me about her once. Young, hungry, promising. Why did you do that, Bevin?
Need to get out of here. “Jason? Mrs. Lee?” Another shot. Loud and bouncy. Shit! I recoil and notice the dead nurse’s hand, finger and arms stretched, pointing toward the back of the corridor, next to the fire exit. My body tells me to go the other way. Instead, I follow the direction indicated by the body. Why, Tigress?
The door to the fire escape isn’t locked, but it pushes itself back. I push it, kick it, and it comes straight back in. I squeeze myself through the crack I open, stepping over a big soft something on the other side. Another arm, a head…Oh, no!
Big Zach, the judo nurse, lies dead too. Same suicide wound under his jaw. His thick finger points upstairs. I glare at the closest security camera. Fucking lunatic! Where are you? What do you want? Me? Then come get me!
Another sting inside my brain. Just one, a warning. They are watching. A girl’s terrorized shout startles me next. I grab the gun from Zach’s dead hand and rush upstairs. I don’t know how to shoot, and Dr. Lambrechts may be aware of that already, but I have no choice.
After the door, one more body. My breathing shakes more than my hands. Heavy and uneven. Get your shit together, Yinyin.
The girl screams again.
My heart nearly explodes.
Silence once more.
“Dr. Lambrechts? Can you hear me?” I yell to the cameras. “How about a pact? You and that general of yours. You come get me. No guns. Two men, one girl. You win, you let everyone go and keep me and my brain. I beat you, you give me my boyfriend and my student back and we disappear from the world.”
Another sting and a squeeeeeze. Aaaaaaargh!
I’ll take that as a no. Fuck you both, cowards. Didn’t expect any better. Keep going, Yinyin. There. To the light. My back flat against the wall, I peep through the small window on the door. The cute nurse from my floor. The frantic one with a little girl named Rachel. Mona Morrow. She’s sitting on a table, her hands are tied behind her. I want to tell her she’s gonna be Ok, but she seems eerily serene now. She stares into my eyes. Behind the gag, she even seems to be smiling. A doll-like smile. Around her, a few patients, all still in their gowns. Gagged, tied, afraid. In contrast with the girl in the center of the table, they struggle and shake their heads, their skin red as if they’re screaming inside their covered mouths. I grab the doorknob, breathe, open it.
It all goes so fast.
The patients curl. Mona raises her hand. A grenade. The pin tied to a cord. The cord tied to the door. Too late. Free from its metal case, the pin falls freely to the floor and makes an audible ting.