Invasive Procedures (34 page)

“You look a sight for sore eyes,” said Riggs.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” said Carter.

“Are you hurt?”

Carter shook his head and downed some more water. “I wouldn’t go in my cell there, though, if I were you. Not the most pleasant of aromas.”

Riggs squatted down to his level. “Where’s Frank?”

Carter shook his head again. “Don’t know. We found this facility. We were going to call for backup, but I thought we should get some evidence first before bringing you in. So we scoped it out. Next thing I know, someone’s ripping my helmet off and knocking me on the head. A few hours later I wake up in here. They’ve broken my comlink, so I can’t hail Frank. Then a Healer brings me food, and I know I’m trouble. I try to fight my way out, and they teach me different. Then two days ago, I hear all the movement and commotion in the hall. From the bits and pieces I pick up, it sounds like everyone’s getting out of Dodge. Next thing I know, everyone but one Healer leaves.”

“We found him,” said Riggs.

“So I’m told. Crazy as a squirrel, like he’s under a spell or something.”

“Any idea where the Healers were headed?”

“Uh-uh. I listened for a location but heard nothing. It sounded like something they had been planning for a while. It wasn’t a mad rush to get out. It was a systematic packing up and leaving.”

“And in all that time, you heard nothing from Frank?”

“We weren’t cell mates, if that’s what you’re asking. I figured he must have been grabbed as well. And I thought for sure you’d come sooner than this. We left a sheriff’s deputy back at the highway with the van. I thought he’d call in some backup when we didn’t return.”

“Deputy Dixon?” asked Riggs.

“Yeah.”

“So much for a death in a family.”

“What do you mean?” said Carter.

“Forget it. Deputy Dixon is apparently missing as well,” said Riggs. “And if you left the BHA van by the highway, someone must have moved it, because it isn’t there now.”

“No wonder.”

“Why did you and Frank take off without clearing it with me first?” said Riggs.

“This whole trip was Frank’s thing. He said he had to check out the crash site as soon as possible and asked if I’d accompany him. I assumed he
had
cleared it with you.”

“Hardly,” said Riggs. He stood. “All right, everybody. Let’s move. We still got two men unaccounted for.

Frank was fuming. Hal and Dolores stood dripping wet on the bank, their heads hung low. Monica, Wyatt, Byron, and Nick stood nearby, not daring to speak.

“I pulled the gun,” Frank said, “because he refused to get out of the boat and loan it to us. I tried asking nicely and assuring him we’d return it, but he wouldn’t go for it. I didn’t want to scare him, but I had no other choice. He couldn’t have come with us. We might have infected him. Our only option was to get him out of the boat completely. Then we could have taken it. All of us.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” said Dolores. “We thought you were trying to take the boat for yourself.”

Frank glanced at Hal, who stood apart from the group, hands on his hips, a puddle of water forming at his feet. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression,” said Frank. “I thought I made it clear before we left that this would be a group effort.”

“You made it plenty clear,” said Byron, scowling at Hal.

“And I believed you, too, Frank,” said Dolores. “It’s just that Hal here kept saying you were trying to ditch us.”

Hal narrowed his eyes at her. “Why don’t you stuff a wet sock in that mouth of yours? Maybe that’d shut you up for a while.”

“You’re the one needs shutting up,” she said. “If you’d have done what Frank told us to, we’d be halfway to the police by now.”

“We can’t go to the police,” said Byron. “You heard what he said. We go to the BHA first.”

“Whatever,” said Dolores. “All I know is that we’d be in a much better place if it wasn’t for hothead here.”

“Hey, you were just as eager to get on that boat as I was,” said Hal. “Don’t try blaming this on me. If you hadn’t scared the man with your splash, he might not have run off.”

“My splash? Who was the one charging out of the trees?”

Hal pointed a dripping finger at Frank. “He was aiming a gun at the man. Not me.”

“Yeah, but he was trying to help us.
You
were setting on taking the boat for yourself.”

Frank sighed. This was useless. “Forget it,” he said. “We’re better off
without the boat. Getting across the lake wouldn’t have improved our situation much. Plus, we would have had to leave the boat somewhere, contaminated. And if someone had found it . . . trust me, we’re better off not using it.”

“We’re better off getting rid of him,” Dolores said quietly, gesturing a thumb to Hal.

Hal’s face tightened and he made a move for her, but a look from Frank stopped him.

“Drop it,” said Frank. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I should have explained the virus more thoroughly.”

“You should have done a lot of things more thoroughly,” said Hal. “Like telling us why we had to hide in the woods.” He looked Frank up and down with disgust. “You big-shot doctors are all the same, you know that? Think you can order people around like cattle, treat everybody like a bunch of schoolkids because you got a college degree and we don’t. We’re all just a bunch of knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, is that it? Just a bunch of stupid apes. Can’t stop and explain things to us because we’re too ignorant to understand.”

“There wasn’t time,” said Frank.

Hal brushed the words aside with a wave of his hand and got right up to Frank’s face. “I’m not taking a lead from you anymore. You got that? You want to go back to the BH-whatever, you go right ahead. I don’t give a bunny turd where you go. As for me, I go where I choose.
When
I choose.”

Frank didn’t blink. “You’ll stick with the rest of us. That’s your only choice.”

Hal sagged his shoulders as if relenting, then gut-punched Frank with a hard clenched fist. The blow caught Frank right where the bottom staples were positioned on his scar, and he felt the metal pierce deeper into his abdomen. The pain was overwhelming and he buckled, dropping the gun.

Hal was on him instantly, pinning him to the ground and throwing more punches, all aimed at Frank’s chest, where his wound lay.

“Stop!” said Monica.

Byron moved closer to intervene, but Hal scooped up the gun and aimed it at him, stopping Byron cold.

Frank took advantage of the momentary distraction. He reached with
one hand, found a pressure point in Hal’s arm, and chopped with the other hand. The gun flew ten feet away. Hal howled, and Frank shifted his weight, rolled, and knocked Hal off of him. Hal might be strong—and likely able to hold his own in a street fight—but he wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t trained in hand-to-hand combat.

Rather than make for the gun, Frank twisted Hal into a wrestler’s grip and rolled with him farther away from the gun. Better to incapacitate Hal with tactical maneuvering than to risk Hal’s getting the gun again and using it.

Hal kicked and twisted as Frank rolled him. But then Frank pinned him, and Hal couldn’t move.

It would have been the end of the confrontation had the gun not gone off.

Frank and Hal stopped struggling and looked behind them. A bleary-eyed Nick was holding it heavenward, the faintest hint of smoke escaping from the barrel. He lowered the gun and pointed it at both of them. “Stop. Stop fighting.”

Frank released Hal and slowly got to his feet. Something was wrong with Nick. He looked confused, flustered, as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. “Give me the gun, Nick,” he said calmly.

“Don’t give it to him,” said Hal. “He’s doing us wrong, don’t you see? He’s not letting us go to the police. He’s not letting us get help.”

“Shut up!” Nick screamed, his voice shrill and harsh.

The kid’s about to snap, Frank thought, if he hasn’t already.

“Put the gun down, Nick,” Byron said, gesturing slowly with his hands.

Nick whirled around, the gun moving with him wildly, as if he hadn’t known that Byron was there. Byron immediately put his hands up and backed off.

“Stay back,” Nick said. “Everybody stay back.” He was frantic now, confused.

Monica had Wyatt behind her, slinking slowly toward the trees over her shoulder. Dolores was less subtle. She dropped the suit coat she had been wringing out and bolted for the bushes. Nick’s eyes and aim followed her, but to Frank’s relief, he didn’t fire.

“Give me the gun, Nick,” Frank said.

Nick whirled back, his eyes wild, breathing heavily. “I’m sick.”

Frank took a step closer. “I know, Nick. I can see that you’re sick. I want to help.”

Nick blinked, looked away, and seemed lost in thought a moment, his aim slowly sagging. Frank considered making a break for the gun but Nick snapped back and pointed his arms straight again, holding a steadier bead on Frank. “Jonathan’s dead. Okay? They killed him.” Tears were coming out of his eyes.

Frank took another step toward him. “If you give me the gun, Nick—”

“Shoot him!” Hal said suddenly.

Both Frank and Nick were startled, and Nick jerked the gun momentarily to Hal. “Not me,” said Hal. “Him. He tried to kill me. Shoot him.”

Hal pointed it back at Frank again, frantic.

“Don’t!” said Byron. “Nick, listen to me.”

Frank held up a hand to Byron. “Don’t all talk to him at once.” He lowered his voice. “Nick, you have to believe me. I want to help you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Hal. “He only cares about himself. You saw him try to take the boat. He was getting it for himself.”

“I want help,” Nick said.

“And I want to help you, Nick,” said Frank. “Just give me the gun in your hand.”

Nick looked at his hands and saw the gun. He turned it sideways in his palm, lowering his aim. “It’s so heavy,” he said absently.

Hal and Frank both had the same idea, but Frank was closer. He charged, grabbed the gun from Nick, and turned it on Hal. Hal came to a stop, the gun inches from his nose.

“Back off,” said Frank.

Hal paled and slowly shuffled backward.

Nick’s knees wobbled and Frank put an arm under him to keep him upright. Monica was at his side in an instant. She put a hand to Nick’s forehead. “He’s burning up. He needs medication. All of you do.”

“We can’t stay here,” said Frank. “Wherever that fisherman was headed, he may alert the police. They might come looking for us.”

“He has a high fever,” said Monica. “He’s in no condition to move. Look at him. He can hardly stand.”

It was true. Nick was leaning on Monica now. His eyes were open, but he was only partially coherent.

“I can carry him,” said Byron.

Frank looked at him. “You sure?”

“You got a better idea?”

Frank didn’t. Byron gently lifted Nick in the cradle position. “He’s actually not that heavy. I can do this.”

“Hold him still,” said Monica. She removed a syringe and a bottle of medication from her pack. “Roll his sleeve back.” Frank did, and Monica administered the shot. “He needs to rest,” she said.

Frank nodded, then turned to Dolores, who stood nearby, shivering. “You can’t stay in those wet clothes.” He looked at Hal. “Neither of you can. Not in this cold. We’ll have to find someplace warm where you can dry out.

“I better carry that,” said Frank, motioning to the dart gun hanging over Byron’s shoulder.

Byron didn’t object. He glanced at Hal, and Frank knew he understood implicitly. If Frank was holding all the weapons, the chances of Hal getting hold of any were less.

Frank draped the strap over his shoulder and gripped the pistol in his hand. “All right, Hal. You lead. Straight down the trail until I tell you to stop.”

Lichen made no effort to avoid the low-hanging branches on the trail. They whipped at his face and neck as he ran by them, tearing at his cheeks and sometimes cutting him deeply. Blood seeped from the cuts and dripped back toward his ears until the cuts sealed themselves and became smooth flesh again.

It pleased Lichen to know that the prophet’s gift of healing was inside him. He wished he had a mirror so he could see the healings as they took place. They were testimonies, after all, visible evidence that the prophet was indeed the harbinger of a higher species, the Great Key, the way of becoming.

Lichen had not been blessed with the same gifts Stone possessed. The prophet had not given Lichen the inability to feel pain. Pain was still a part of Lichen’s being. And yet, despite the pain, Lichen didn’t flinch at the branches and the cuts they gave him. The sweet sting was a welcome blessing. Pain reminded Lichen that the prophet had made him unique.

“Instead of no pain, I give you speed, Lichen,” the prophet had said. “Let your feet be a weapon of wonder in quickening that work which will cure a troubled world.”

It had sounded like poetry to Lichen at the time, and he had accepted graciously. Combined with healing and strength, speed would make him a worthy servant. He knew his legs would not
move
faster, of course. This was impossible. But the prophet had strengthened his legs so that they would never tire. While other Healers’ legs gave out from overexertion, Lichen’s legs would continue to keep a quick and steady pace.