Devolution (25 page)

Behind her, off to the right and left, April spotted numerous black, silhouetted figures charging towards her car. She threw it in drive and slammed on the gas, tossing gobs of slush under her chassis. The surface of the road delayed her acceleration, giving the dark figures time to converge.

The ravagers pounded on the outside of her car with bats and batons, trying to break the windows. They reached for the door handles as they ran alongside the vehicle, which had finally begun to gain traction. April’s screams were nearly drowned out by the shattering of glass and cracks from by bats beating her door. April’s stressed engine finally pulled away from her attackers. In her haste to escape she didn’t even notice her rear window had been shattered and the front windshield was badly cracked, and had begun to spider.

Her short, fast breaths placed her on the verge of hyperventilating. She desperately wanted to grab her phone and call John, but her hands wouldn’t let go of the wheel. The sweat raced down her panicked face despite the chilled air rushing through the broken windows. The car roared down the streets of London at an ever increasing speed. April could no longer see or hear the men who savaged her vehicle, but the air was so dense she couldn’t be sure she escaped the threat.

As her eyes shifted from the rear-view mirror to focus on the road ahead, a large vehicle emerged from the mist. Her momentum was too great. There was no time to stop. She jerked the wheel to the right, launching the small coupe onto the curb. Ripping the wheel back to the left she tore down the sidewalk. Scared of what, or who, lay ahead, she again spun the wheel. This time, the road conditions took control. She stomped on the brakes as the car spun, slamming into a metal telephone pole.

Instantly, the vehicle went from 40 to zero, catapulting April through the windshield and into the afternoon air.

April came to rest 100 feet from the car, face down and unconscious. A 20-yard-long skid mark outlined her path. All the noise, confusion, and panic of the moment had faded into an eerie silence. The only sound to be heard was that of her smashed car settling against the base of the steel beam it was wrapped around. The street was desolate as the melting snow around her body ran red.

*

The rooftops surrounding April’s limp body dripped with the remnants of the melting snow. As the droplets plunged to the sidewalk, they created eloquent harmonics laced with various hollow pitches. The slush around the young woman’s body had diffused, allowing her blood direct access to the street. The otherwise menacing silence of the foggy afternoon was broken by the tone of a ringing cell phone. The endless rings rang out from inside the demolished car. The chimes were only separated by the time it took for the caller to hang up and press redial.

Back at the apartment, John paced with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. April should have been home by now. His mind conjured up terrible images magnified by the guilt he felt for not accompanying her to work—or pressing her on where she went afterwards.

“Have you heard from April?” he asked her parents. They had not.

“Mom, did you happen to hear from April this morning?” Pausing to hear his mother’s reply, he said, “Yeah, I am sure she’s fine.”

Frustrated with his lack of progress, John flung open the closet door and snatched his coat off a hanger. Seconds later he raced down the stairs as the apartment door eased shut behind him. His stomach churned as he ran through the complex to the underground garage. His red hatchback roared to life and he sped through the twisting tunnels towards the exit. The government guards assigned to protect him watched from a distance, and as John peeled away, they followed.

John followed the route April would have taken home from work through the soupy fog. He tried to remain calm. The ability to control his imagination helped control his anxiety. However, there was no controlling his reaction when among the near white-out conditions he came upon a yellow two-door coupe partially wrapped around a telephone pole. Though the dense vapor made the totality of the picture difficult, there was no mistaking what he had found.

John’s brakes squealed to a stop and he leaped out. Dashing through the heavy mist, the terrifying image became clearer. With blood pounding through his veins and breath ripping through his lungs, he frantically searched the vehicle. April’s purse, cell phone, and keys were all there. But she wasn’t.

“April!”

“April!?” he called in every direction.

He studied her vehicle for clues. Why were all the windows smashed? What were those dents? The peculiar scene only contributed to the tension.

After receiving no response, he took off in search of her in a panic. He ran around the car calling her name, “April! April!” Visibility was getting worse; down to just a few feet now.

John sloshed through the melting snow, drenching his feet in freezing water. He soon came upon a short expanse of pavement absent of snow
—a trail?
Fearing the worst, he reluctantly followed it.

The fuzzy image that revealed itself halted John’s progression. Initially, all he could make out was a person face down near the intersection of the sidewalk and the street. His hands shot to his mouth as if to prevent some outburst of emotion. With each additional step, the image came into focus. At first, he could only make out feet, then legs. With the waist, the twist in his stomach contracted. His slow creep increased with speed as he verified his finding. By the time her blonde hair was visible, John was in a panicked sprint. His remaining optimism evaporated as he knelt down and saw her battered face resting against the asphalt.

John burst into tears as he rolled April onto her back. The pool of blood surrounding her had congealed against the partially frozen street. Her closed eyes were shrouded in a dried maroon, as was her face.

“Oh, my God!” John’s entire body trembled with a terrifying combination of horror and revulsion. Her heart was still beating, barely. On his knees, surrounded by blinding fog, John clutched April tightly against his body. A tear rolled down his cheek, fell off his chin, and landed on April’s face. The sensation triggered a response in the young woman.

“John...”

The young man ached with regret as two government officials approached. Help had arrived.

*

An hour later, John was sitting on a metal chair leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, head in hands.

His mother rushed into the waiting room, arms outstretched to embrace him. “My baby, are you okay?” She pulled away and gently placed her hands on either side of her son’s weary face. “You look like hell.”

John’s inward smile was the first bit of joy he had felt in hours.

Theodore took a seat next to his son.

“How long have they been in there?” Charlotte asked, sitting next to John. The small, windowless room was all white with very little decoration. A few other people sat scattered throughout its confines, though none appeared quite as distraught as John.

“Two hours,” John replied. “I don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Where are her parents?” Theodore found it odd they weren’t present.

“On their way. They were out of town.”

“Your sisters will be here soon,” his mother added, tenderly rubbing her son’s leg.

“Police are looking into it,” John replied. “I’m not confident.”

A tall man in a white lab coat appeared. “Mr. Nolan?”

The family abruptly stood up. The handsome, middle-eastern doctor approached with an uneasy aura.

“She is stable,” he reported.

John’s rigidity eased slightly.
Thank God!

“We’ve induced a coma,” the doctor said, his delivery callous, yet somehow comforting. “The crash took a lot out of her. There’s some head trauma. Although, considering she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, it could be much worse.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” John thought out loud. “No seatbelt?”

“The bruises on her body are fairly minor. There may be some scarring, especially on her face. As for brain damage, time will tell.”

“Now what?” John asked, his voice quivering.

“We wait.” The doctor’s hands were folded at his waist. “Remain optimistic.”

The weight of the moment forced John’s head to collapse into the rigid embrace of his cupped hands. “Can I see her?”

The doctor nodded. “This way.” He left the room in the same remorseful fashion with which he entered. The Nolans reluctantly followed.

April’s room was small with just a few feet of walking space on either side of the bed. Dull white, windowless walls, and one giant florescent tube light on the ceiling providing a dim, but adequate amount of light.

When John entered the doorway and saw April’s bandaged and reposed body he nearly fainted. The sight of her connected to tubes and wires further crushed his depressed spirit. April was lying on her back, the white sheet covering her body stopping just short of her blackened chin. Battling every emotion and instinct, John stepped into the room.

Theodore and Charlotte remained at the doorway. John’s sisters had just arrived and were rushing down the hall. Lizzy’s and Rose’s eyes revealed grief to a far greater extent than words could express.

Standing at the foot of the bed, John prepared himself with a slow breath, and an equally slow exhale. The hospital was deathly still. The ominous silence was only interrupted by the occasional chirp of the monitor that signaled April’s heartbeat. Despite all his efforts to remain strong, a tear formed in his right eye. It managed to break free of his lower lid and streak down his cheek resting at the bottom of his jawline. He reached under the blanket and delicately caressed April’s hand. Her lack of a reaction further twisted the crippling knot that enveloped his stomach. In his soul, John believed his very presence and gentle touch would defy the coma and elicit some sort of response. Amidst his grave disappointment, another tear broke free.

*

“What the
hell
was that!?” screamed an indignant Warren Wickham. He threw his drink against the wall. The mug exploded, sending fragments of clay and coffee to the far reaches of the boardroom. A dozen high ranking FreeGB officers sat reticent, not eager to challenge his anger.

“Well?!” he screamed wildly, throwing his hands up in the air. “What happened?” Feeling a migraine coming on, he placed a hand on his forehead.

“Sir,” the man stumbled over his words, “we didn’t know she was going to be—”

“This was not the plan.” Wickham interrupted. “She drives out of the way to meet Manning. He convinces her to work with us in exchange for funding the disabled. And if she doesn’t agree, we take her when no one’s around to witness it. How hard is that?” He paused to ease his mind. “Now we have a dead cop, she’s near death, and we still don’t have Nolan.”

“The cop’s body and vehicle have been taken care of.” The woman who spoke was far more calm and collected than the two men. “It will be weeks before any investigation is complete.” Wickham listened with arms rigidly folded across his chest. “All we have to do is modify our plan. Instead of kidnapping the woman, we just have to pin the accident on the Crown. His hatred towards them will send him to us.”

Wickham grabbed a chair, placing it at the head of the table. “Where do we start?”

*

John sat on a cramped wooden chair next to April’s bed, a book resting on his crossed legs. The hospital remained quiet except for that now familiar chirp that instilled in him some hope.
It was nearing the end of visiting hours—10:00 at night. Though his family and friends had left for the evening, the remnants of their visit—flowers, cards, and candy, along with numerous books and magazines—remained. It had now been about 11 hours since April’s accident.

Like testaments to April’s love, gifts spanned the room like trophies—which included one peculiar card that lacked a signature and obvious donor, but contained familiar handwriting no one could quite place.

“Sir,” a nurse said politely, sticking her head into the room. “Five minutes.”

John flashed an appreciative smile. He stood up and packed his things. One-by-one he placed in his teaching bag what he wanted to take home: a few boxes of chocolate, a couple of books, and April’s bloody clothes which were folded neatly in a plastic bag.

He zipped his bag, placed it on his chair, and turned to face the bed. He shuffled forward until his leg pressed against the metal side bars. With his right hand he gently caressed April’s blonde hair. His tears had all dried up. He had no more left to shed. John leaned in, giving April a kiss on the forehead.

“I will be here every day,” he whispered, pulling back to admire her serene beauty. “Even when classes start in a couple weeks, I’ll be here. We are going to make it through this.” John gave her one more kiss on the check. He pressed his nose to her skin, drawing in her scent. He closed his eyes in remembrance of the great times they shared, and the acknowledgment of the difficult times ahead.

John briskly walked out of the room as if to somehow prove he was in control. Never looking back, he marched straight to the elevator. A ding signaled its arrival.

As he walked through the damp parking garage towards his car, two men approached from the rear.

“Mr. Nolan,” one called out. “A moment please.”

The drained professor turned around to find two towering men dressed in black suits standing before him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, somewhat confused.

“We work for the major general,” the one man explained. “He sends his condolences.”

John wasn’t quite sure how to react.

“The major general wanted you to know our protection for you and your family will be increased.”

John nodded. “Do you know what happened?”

“We are investigating. We have one police officer missing; we think that might be connected. He would have known of April’s security status.”