KEVIN HAD SPENT nearly four weeks strapped to the bed.
Granted, they allowed him – under Joker’s baleful eye – to get up twice a day and walk the length of a corridor. Rebekah took expert care of him; he was fed and bathed and his bed pan was changed promptly; and he was allowed to choose the movies he could watch on the room’s flat-screen television. But as long as Joker was present, he and Rebekah almost never spoke . . . and Joker was always present.
Kevin also spent two hours a day watching his blood drain away.
They pumped him full of supplements, but he felt his energy and strength diminishing with his blood. Each day it was a little harder to get out of the bed and walk, even a short distance. They kept assuring him they wouldn’t drain him, that soon he’d be freed, and he’d be a wealthy, protected citizen under the upstart government of New World Pharmaceuticals; but Kevin also guessed they’d gleefully bleed his life away for whatever their version of a buck would be, and feel no shame or guilt whatsoever.
He also knew he wasn’t alone. Sometime during the first week, he’d heard a scream of agony from a room near his.
The scream had belonged to Singh.
Later on, he’d broken the silence and asked Rebekah what had made Singh scream like that. “Oh,” she told him, not meeting his eyes, “he’s really okay. It was just . . . well, one of the other nurses missed the vein.”
In the background, Joker stood by, mute, watching, listening.
Then there was the day Rebekah had arrived with a new patch sewn on the breast of her white nurse’s uniform. The patch had the letters NWP framed by the Earth seen from space, with the motto A NEW WORLD FOR ALL scrawled across the bottom.
“What’s that?” Kevin had asked.
The young nurse glanced at the patch and said, “I’m not sure, but we all have to wear them now, even the doctors.”
Rebekah might not have been sure, but Kevin was when he took his afternoon walk, and saw the new flag placed behind the nurse’s station. It was a larger version of the patch, and left no doubt in his mind: New World Pharmaceuticals was trying to take over the country – or maybe the entire planet. What he didn’t know was whether they’d already succeeded or not.
Then one day, as Kevin got out of bed in the morning, the world darkened and spun around him, and only the sure hands of Rebekah kept him from collapsing. She lowered the bed rail and got him seated on the edge of the bed.
“I’m getting so weak,” Kevin said, waiting for his vision to clear.
“Maybe we should get you up three times a day.”
The world around Kevin sharpened and he saw Joker standing six feet away. “Rebekah . . . they’re going to kill me, you know.”
Rebekah shot one nervous glance at Joker and said, too loudly, “No one’s going to kill you, Mr Moon. You’re in good hands here. The best hands.”
But something in her look told Kevin she knew it wasn’t true.
Three nights later, Kevin was re-watching Avatar – a movie he didn’t especially like, but had seen fewer times than the other movies that were available via NWP’s own streaming media – when the door buzzed open and Rebekah entered pushing an empty wheelchair.
Joker was noticeably not with her.
Kevin muted the sound and sat up straighter, eyeing her curiously.
“So you had a little accident in the bed, Mr Moon? Well, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I didn’t—” Kevin started to say, but her fierce look cut him off.
She took the remote and unmuted the sound, then turned up the volume. Kevin let her pull him forward, and she whispered, “Play along. You’re leaving tonight.” Her eyes shot briefly towards a corner of the room, and Kevin realized that what he’d always taken to be a smoke alarm was probably a camera.
No wonder she’d never spoken freely here.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry. I just kind of lost control . . .”
“Here, let’s get you into the wheelchair until I can get this cleaned up.” Kevin took a seat in the chair, and Rebekah positioned herself between him and the camera. She deftly unplugged his various tubes and sensors, and leaned forward again to whisper, “There’s a bag with your clothes under the chair.” She pretended to strap his wrists to the chair arms, but she left the straps so loose he could easily pull free. She stepped away and said loudly, “I’m going to have to push you out of the room while I strip the bed. Don’t try to get up, Mr Moon – you’re strapped to the chair for your own safety.”
“I’ll be good, I promise.”
Kevin’s heart began to hammer as she rolled the chair towards the door – was she really doing this? She pulled the door open and moved him out into the corridor, which was empty this time of night. Leaning forward to set the brakes on the chair, she said with soft urgency, “There’s a supply truck that makes a delivery from Washington on Saturday nights; they should be arriving any minute. I can hide you in the back of the truck while they wheel in the drop-offs, then it’ll be up to you to figure out what to do on the other end. Can you walk?”
He nodded.
“Okay. I’m going back into the room. Where you’re at right now is out of any camera range, so change your clothes. There’s also a white doctor’s coat in there – put that on. Then when I come out again, I’ll walk you out to the truck.”
She turned to go back into the room, but Kevin pulled his hands from the straps and grabbed her wrist, causing her to turn back. “Rebekah – I’m not leaving without Singh.”
Rebekah’s gaze darted away, guilty. “You have to, Kevin. He can’t even walk.”
“Then I’ll carry him. But I won’t let him stay here to die.”
For a second he thought she’d argue, but she finally said, “Okay, just get dressed. I’ll be right back.” She went back into Kevin’s room, the door shutting behind her.
Kevin reached under the wheelchair, found the bag, stood up, and had to throw a hand out to brace himself against the wall as he nearly blacked out. When he was steady again, he yanked on the clothes and the lab coat just as Rebekah re-emerged, carrying an armful of bed sheets which she threw aside. She slid her card through the slot for Singh’s room, and nodded at the wheelchair. “Bring that, he’ll need it. And act like a doctor.”
She led the way into the room. For the second time, Kevin found himself staring at Singh in disbelief.
The doctor looked like death. He was emaciated and colourless, sleeping or comatose, his breathing shallow. “My God,” Kevin murmured.
Rebekah stepped up to the bed, saying loudly, “Good evening, Dr Singh. Dr Jacobson is here to see you.”
Singh gave no sign that he’d heard.
“We have to move you for a few minutes, Dr Singh. Dr Jacobson’s going to assist me. Okay?”
Still no response.
Rebekah plucked the needles from Singh and motioned to the chair Kevin still gripped. “Doctor, can you bring that over here and help me get him into it?”
Kevin nodded, and wheeled the chair over. His throat constricted as he got even closer to Singh, and he had to work not to groan. Rebekah got Singh’s light body sitting up, and they managed to wrestle him into the wheelchair. He was barely conscious.
“Doctor, can you take him outside?”
Kevin started to push, but Singh whispered, “Wait.” Kevin did, and Singh raised one hand – the effort costing him – and reached under the mattress. He dug for a few seconds, and withdrew a USB stick which he handed to Kevin. “Go,” he croaked.
Kevin wheeled the chair out the door and into the hallway. After a few seconds, Rebekah joined him with a blanket that she tucked around Singh’s limp body.
“Is he going to make it?”
Adjusting the blanket, Rebekah said, “I really don’t know. But we have to go now.”
She walked swiftly down the hallway and Kevin struggled to keep up, pushing Singh in the chair. At the end of the corridor Rebekah indicated they wait as she looked outside. Kevin risked a glance past her and saw a man wheeling a laden trolley away from a large delivery truck. A guard with an assault rifle lounged against the side of the vehicle, smoking a cigarette.
“Wait here until I call you,” Rebekah said. She stepped through the doorway and approached the guard.
Standing as far back in the shadows as possible, Kevin watched as Rebekah walked to the guard, said something, and pointed off to the right. The guard looked in that direction, dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out with a booted foot and walked off. Rebekah waited a few seconds, checked for the man with the trolley and finally waved to Kevin.
He pushed Singh before him, moving as rapidly as he could, until they reached the back of the truck. Two boards served as a ramp up to the truck bed, and Kevin prayed he had the strength to get Singh up there. He glanced in and saw racks of linens, cases of medicines, and stacks of plastic crates. It would be easy enough to hide in there, but the chair wouldn’t fit – he really would have to carry Singh.
“Hurry,” Rebekah said.
Kevin knelt beneath Singh, grabbed him around the waist, and managed to lift him in a fireman’s carry over one shoulder. Even as slender as Singh was, the weight nearly buckled Kevin’s knees. He didn’t know how he’d get him up the boards.
He made it halfway up and could go no further, but it was enough – leaning forward as gently as possible, he deposited Singh on the edge of the truck bed, then gently laid him back. Rebekah ran the wheelchair back to the facility, and Kevin got behind Singh to drag him. Somehow that seemed harder, and he was only halfway to the back when Rebekah reappeared and whispered, “They’re coming!”
“Okay,” Kevin said, before adding, “and thank you.”
Rebekah didn’t respond. Instead she stepped around the side of the truck. Kevin heard the sounds of the trolley wheel’s trundling over asphalt, and Rebekah in conversation with the guard, their words dulled by the metal side of the truck.
Redoubling his efforts, Kevin hauled Singh all the way to the back – then dropped to his knees and crouched behind boxes as the man with the trolley came into view. If the man looked carefully, or had a flashlight, he’d see Singh’s legs plainly visible at the end of the truck . . .
Instead, the man pushed the two planks up on to the bed, lifted the trolley and set it next to the boards, closed the rear doors and sealed them. The interior of the truck was completely dark, and Kevin clutched on to Singh as if the void might suck him away.
Kevin didn’t allow himself to breathe yet. He waited until the truck’s engine rumbled to life and it rolled forward. After a few turns, it stopped, and he overheard a brief conversation with NWP’s perimeter guards. At last the truck started moving again.
Kevin exhaled in relief. They’d made it – they’d escaped New World Pharmaceuticals. “Singh, we did it – we’re free.”
Kevin felt something hard in a pocket of the lab coat, and reached down; there was a stethoscope and a small Maglite there. Whether Rebekah had planned the maglite or not, Kevin was grateful to find it. He twisted the end and the small bluish beam shot out. He aimed it down at Singh, who still seemed to be only semi-conscious.
“Singh . . .” Kevin tried shaking him slightly, but the doctor’s head just rolled to one side. Kevin began to panic. He aimed the light beam into Singh’s face, holding it close to his eyes. “Singh . . .!”
Singh groaned, and Kevin cried out. “Singh, we’re out of NWP.”
His eyes bleary and half-focused, Singh looked up at Kevin. “The drive . . . has my research . . .”
The truck bounced over a large object, and Singh gasped as his back hit the hard metal floor. Kevin bent down, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“No . . .”
Peeling off his bogus white coat, Kevin wadded it up and shoved it under Singh’s back to try to provide some cushioning; the doctor’s head rested on his knee. “Is that better?”
“That’s . . .” Singh had to swallow before he could go on; talking, even just a few simple words, was obviously difficult. “. . . not . . . the problem. I’m dying.”
“No . . .”
“They . . . took too much.” Singh’s hand fluttered up like an injured bird, and Kevin took it in his own.
“Just hang in there, Garud. This truck’s headed for Washington. We can get help there—”
A faint trace of a smile crossed Singh’s face. “I won’t . . . but you must . . .”
“Garud—”
Singh’s fingers tightened around Kevin’s. “I’m sorry . . .”
His eyes closed, his grip loosened.
“No, Garud – don’t do this . . .”
Kevin squeezed Singh’s hand harder, but there was no response. In the noisy, dim, bouncing truck, it was impossible to tell if his friend was dead, but Kevin knew it didn’t matter; even if he had merely lapsed into unconsciousness, Singh wouldn’t make it to Washington.
Kevin turned off the Maglite, lowered his head and sobbed.
STEELE: |
Steele. |
MARCUS: |
Director Steele, this is Colonel Marcus up in Bolling. |
STEELE: |
Yes, Colonel. What can I do for you? |
MARCUS: |
Your boy Delancy is outside our front gate asking for admittance. How would you like us to proceed? |
STEELE: |
Is he alone? |
MARCUS: |
Confirmed. Both ground and air surveillance are negative on other targets. |
STEELE: |
Okay. Follow standard protocol for dealing with extremely dangerous subjects. Assume he’s armed, carrying explosives, the works. Oh, and also assume he’s HRV-positive. Then bring him inside and get him in your best cell, round-the-clock guards. I’ll be there in an hour. |
MARCUS: |
You got it, Director. We’ll make sure Delancy’s not carrying so much as a toothpick. |