Panacea (48 page)

But what to do before he fired the missiles? Terminate them or let the Hellfires do the job? Shooting meant leaving bullets in the bodies and that—

His legs gave out on him and he dropped to his knees. Was this what she had warned him about? Despite his best efforts, he couldn't remain upright and started falling toward the floor. He tried to put his arms out to cushion the blow but they suddenly weighed tons. He landed hard on the floor, banging the side of his head.

He saw Bradsher start toward him but his legs gave out as well. Brother Chayat's legs were crumbling too, but as he was falling he turned his MP-5 in the direction of the old priestess. Hayden rammed him with his shoulder before he could bring it fully around and the weapon erupted in a short burst that tore up a section of wall. Then Chayat was down.

What happened? Why couldn't he move? He tried to say something but only inarticulate sounds came out. Only one explanation: They'd been poisoned.

“What the hell?” Hayden was saying as he stood over Chayat.

Dr. Fanning was kneeling next to Bradsher. “They're alive but…”

“Paralyzed,” Clotilde said.

“How?”

“That wasn't the
ikhar
in that bottle. It is something derived from a plant supplied by the All-Mother. Much like curare.”

“But I saw you drink from the same bottle.”

“In preparation for this day, which I sensed would come sooner or later, I have been sipping a little every day, getting my body used to it.”

“Mithridatism!” Dr. Fanning said. “I've heard of it but…” She shook her head. “Incredible.”

“I had more than usual today,” the old woman said. “I must sit down.”

She slumped onto a bench against the wall.

“Hey, Doc,” Hayden said. “Unlock these, will you? The key's in the pocket of the one who punched me.”

Nelson lay helpless as he watched her release Hayden. When he was free, he removed Bradsher's and Chayat's weapons and leaned them against a wall. Then he approached Nelson, rubbing his wrists as he squatted next to him. He lifted Nelson's arm and released it. Nelson could slow its descent, like falling through water, but not keep it from dropping.

“Curare and its cousins block nicotinic acetylcholine at the neuromuscular junction,” Dr. Fanning said, watching.

“How's that in English?”

“Skeletal muscle paralysis.”

“It's not going to kill him, is it?” Hayden said. “Because you heard the man: If his heart stops, a couple of Hellfires will pay us a visit.”

“Heart muscle is different from skeletal muscle so it's not affected.” An instant of panic flashed across Dr. Fanning's face. “Oh, but it can kill at high doses. Paralyzes the diaphragm.”

Clotilde shook her head. “We do not kill. These did not receive fatal doses.”

Hayden said, “Good. But we've got to get you out of here. And by that I mean off the island. We can't be sure more 536 goons aren't on the way. Doc, can you help her to the boat?”

“Sure. But what are you going to be doing?”

“I'll just be tidying up a bit before I join you.”

“Do not harm them,” Clotilde said as Dr. Fanning helped her to her feet. “The All-Mother decides when Her children are to return to Her soil. We have nothing to say in the matter.”

Hayden held up his hands. “Hey, I've done some things I'm not proud of, but I've never stooped to beating up on a paralyzed man, and I'm not going to start now.”

Nelson tried to shout that he was lying and not to leave him with this psychopath, but his tongue was limp and his mouth hung open and immobile. All he could do was grunt.

“I should hope not,” said Clotilde.

Hayden said, “Collect their phones, Doc. We'll use the signals to confuse anyone looking for them.”

Nelson felt a tugging on his coat, and soon Dr. Fanning spoke.

“Help me get Clotilde up the stairs and we'll take it from there.”

Nelson listened to their shuffling footsteps recede, then a single set returned.

“Fife, Fife, Fife,” Hayden said, squatting beside him again. “There's irony here in that we both know the panacea is from Outside, except we both have wildly divergent ideas about the nature of that Outside. We both want to keep the panacea off the record books—you, because it upsets your god's plan; me, because it breaks too many rules and upsets the balance of nature. Pretty close, huh? We could have been allies if you and your pals weren't such assholes. Where we part company is that I can live with the All-Mother crowd's narrow-band approach of a cure here, a cure there, but no-rule-changing revelation. Your bunch could have accommodated them. But you can't, can you? It's all or nothing for you guys. You've got to run around killing anyone who disagrees.”

Nelson couldn't tell him that the Lord would never compromise with the Serpent.

“On the subject of kill, though … I have a dilemma. I can't leave you around to hound the doc. You tried to kill her before, and you were ready to kill her today, and you'll be looking for another chance as soon as you get your muscles back. But I promised not to harm you. So what do I do?”

He wanted to promise that he'd leave her alone—promise anything—but could only grunt.

“You don't say? Well, listen, I want you to get used to the idea that you're not getting out of here alive. Despite my promise, this is where your train stops. And it's not revenge or anything like that. Getting kicked out of the Company was the best thing that ever happened to me. So it's not for me. It's for her. The doc. She's one of the good ones, and we've got to do what we can to keep the good ones around.”

Hayden rose and stepped over to Bradsher. He pulled his damned zip ties from Bradsher's pocket and used them to bind his wrists and ankles, then he used a third to tie the wrists to the ankles behind his back. He hog-tied Chayat the same way.

“Just in case Clotilde's magic potion wears off too soon.”

Then he picked up one of the MP-5s and hefted it as he returned. He bent and pressed the muzzle against Nelson's temple.

“So easy.”

Do it! Nelson wanted to scream. Stop my heart! Go ahead! Do it so you'll burn in here before you pass on to an eternity of burning in hell!

“But a promise is a promise.” He straightened and looked around. “Gotta be a way.”

Something seemed to capture his attention but Nelson could not tell what it was.

“I just got a crazy idea, Fife. It might not work, but it will be beyond awesome if it does.”

What … what could that twisted mind be thinking?

“Yeah. Let's try it.”

Laying down the MP-5, he grabbed Nelson's wrists and began dragging him across the floor, through the small pool of saliva that had drooled from his gaping mouth. He couldn't see where they were going, but he soon recognized the mossy surface and the dead leaves.

The worm farm?

Finally he released him and Nelson found himself with a close-up view of dozens of worm holes. He felt zip ties go around his wrists and ankles. Hayden didn't hog tie him, however.

“As I said, Fife, this may not work. But sooner or later we're all gonna be worm food. Let's see if we can make it sooner for you.”

What was he talking about?

He watched Hayden walk out of his field of vision, then heard the big mallet slam against the wooden block—once, twice, three times—and felt the ground vibrate with each blow.

“Wish I could stay and watch, but gotta run. Save a spot for me in hell, Fife.”

And then the sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs.

Fife wished he could laugh. The idiot! Did he think the worms were going to eat him? They had mouths the size of pinholes, and no teeth!

He sent a prayer of thanks up to the Lord. Surely He was watching over him. It wouldn't be too long—a few hours at most, certainly—before the paralysis wore off, and then he'd be able to walk out of here and continue the hunt.

A ridged worm, pink and glistening, emerged from its tunnel and wriggled across the moss. Soon it was joined by others. In minutes the surface was acrawl with them. Pink squirming tubes filled his field of view. Disgusting, yes. But completely harmless.

He began planning Hayden's fate when he caught up with him. He needed to think like Dante and make the punishment fit the—

A worm began to crawl into his right nostril, the one against the moss. Did it think it was a worm tunnel? He managed to snort it out. Thank the Lord his diaphragm still worked. Well, he'd be dead if it didn't, but—

The worm was back again, or maybe another had taken its place, but whatever it was, this time it was crawling into his mouth. Dear God, he couldn't push it back with his paralyzed tongue, couldn't spit it out with his jaw slack and hanging open. But his taste buds still worked and the foul flavors of the dirt and mucous coating on its skin made him want to gag. But he couldn't gag. He couldn't do anything but let it crawl around in there.

And then another joined it. And then one in his right nostril and another in his left as well. He tried to snort them out but it didn't work this time. It felt like they'd expanded their bodies to wedge themselves in and keep from being expelled.

More slithered between his slack jaws. Attracted by the warmth and moisture? More and more until they filled his mouth, cutting off his air.

And now he knew the Lord was punishing him for his sin. Adam and Eve all over again, and he'd unwittingly followed in the footsteps of Adam. He saw that now. Clotilde had been Eve, holding out the poisoned apple from the Tree, only today she'd disguised it as a cure for his ills. He'd fallen for the temptation, rationalized a reason to take the fatal bite, with death and damnation as the result.

He thought of Uncle Jim's scourge and wished now that he'd used it. Maybe he could have avoided giving in to the temptation.

More worms … couldn't breathe … choking … air … no air!

Help! Someone, please help! Air!
Aaaiiirrrr!

 

3

Second Lieutenant Jason Lowery, USAF, was hovering his trusty old Huey as ordered just off the coast of this strange little island and thinking this had to be
the
weirdest mission he'd ever run. His three passengers had introduced themselves by first name only. Sure as hell not military. If they weren't spooks, he was Hillary Clinton.

He was also sure he'd never know how they wrangled two Hellfires for his bird, which was usually equipped for rescue and nothing more. But there they sat, racked port and starboard, just outside the sliding cabin doors. They weighed only a hundred pounds each so they had no effect on the bird's handling, but he wasn't comfortable with ferrying around that amount of explosive payload. What were the spooks planning to do with them?

He'd stationed his bird at the south end of the island, facing east into the wind. He had no idea what was going on down there under all that fluttering fabric. They could be playing ring-around-the-rosy for all he knew. The fog was thinning. He could rise above it into the midday sunlight, but he wanted to maintain a direct line of sight to the island. He figured less than an hour for the sun to burn it all off.

And just as that thought passed through his mind, the Huey shuddered and jolted as both missiles ignited and launched with simultaneous roars. He watched in shock as they raced east for fifty yards, then looped around in a one-eighty turn that pointed them directly at the center of the island.

What the hell was
that
all about?

He hadn't the faintest, but he knew if his passengers were anywhere on that island he'd be heading back to Mildenhall alone.

 

4

“Where
is
he?” Laura said as she watched the crest of the cliff at the end of the cove.

“We only just got here,” Clotilde said.

Laura didn't want to mention it, but it had taken a while to get the old woman down those steps. She probably wouldn't have bounded down on a good day, but she'd just taken a dose of a neuromuscular toxin, and despite having built up a tolerance in her system, it had weakened her.

They waited in the open aft of the rented launch, Clotilde seated on the bench against the transom, Laura standing by the captain's chair, listening to the rumble of the engine. Rick had left the keys in the ignition, so she had started it to let it warm up.

“You mentioned a strange word back at the farm,” Clotilde said. “Something about a myth.”

“A myth? No, I—oh, you mean mithridatism. It's named after some ancient king who took small amounts of poison every day to inure himself from its effects.”

Clotilde shook her head. “I thought of it as merely a form of immunization. I never knew it had a name.”

“It doesn't work with every poison. Won't help at all with cyanide, for instance.”

Finally Rick appeared, leaping onto the staircase and pelting down the steps at a mad pace that shook the whole structure. He ran down the dock and immediately began untying the mooring lines, bow first, then the stern. He leaped onto the aft deck just behind the captain's chair.

“You've got her running!” he said with a tight grin. “You're the best!”

And then he kissed her on the forehead, taking her totally by surprise. The casualness of it … like he did it every day. What was up with that?

Without breaking stride he squeezed behind the wheel and hit the throttle. Laura had to grab the top of the seat to keep from falling back with the sudden acceleration. Something in his frantic pace bothered her.

“Why the big hurry?” she said as they roared toward the sea.

“You telling me you want to hang around?”

“Not a bit, but you look like the hounds of hell are on your tail.”

“‘Hounds of hell,'” he said with that same tight grin. “You could be half right.”