Please Do Not Taunt the Octopus (6 page)

“You have to help me!” She sat up, nearly dislodging her IV in the process, and tried to reach for me. The catheter pulled her up short. She glanced down, clearly unsure what she should do. There was a small click from behind me as Tom brought the tranquilizer gun into position. She looked up again and went very still, her eyes narrowing with a shrewd, calculating intelligence that didn’t fit with anything she’d displayed so far. Our mystery woman might be awake and talking to us, but she was still a mystery, and she was going to remain that way for as long as it took to get her to start making sense. Which meant she might be a mystery forever.

“Why don’t you stay where you are, not making any hostile moves, and try telling me what it is you want me to do for you?” I gestured behind myself, indicating Tom and the gun in his hands. “This is Tom. He works for me. If you’re looking for drugs, it’s possible that whoever you spoke to was thinking of him. Tom grows some of the best marijuana you’ll find in this part of the Pacific Northwest, and we trade a lot of it on the black market for things that we need. Is that why you’re here? Did you need some of Tom’s drugs?”

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head as she settled back on the cot. At least she was trying to play by the rules. Even if she was only doing it to avoid being shot, it showed a degree of understanding about what was going on around her. I liked that. It might mean we wouldn’t have to kill her. “No, and no, and no again. I ran out of cookies, and then I ran out of pills, so I asked some people some questions. Most of them didn’t want to give me answers. I made them. I asked again and again, until I knew what I needed to know.”

Fear writhed in my chest like a fistful of maggots. “Did you kill the people you asked for answers? Did you kill people in order to find me?” My connections on the black market were good, but no one’s connections were good enough to survive something like that. If this little slip of an assassin had carved her way through the local drug dealers and information brokers in her quest to find me, the repercussions were going to be devastating.

“Only one, and he asked for it.” Her eyes flashed. “He liked his hands. He liked putting them on people who hadn’t asked to have his hands on them. He put them on me, after he’d said he didn’t know what I needed to know. So I took them off, and then there was
so
much blood, and then the people who lived there with him came in, and they said they’d been waiting for this to happen, they said it had been coming for a long time, and they told me to leave, but they weren’t angry. They just didn’t want me there while I was all over covered in his blood.”

“Ah.” I had actually heard something about this, from one of my contacts near Portland. They’d had an incident in one of the way stations with a transient girl and a veterinarian who, yes, had a reputation for putting his hands where they didn’t belong. People had been trying to catch him in the act for years. The women he got grabby with had a tendency to either vanish or refuse to talk, claiming that nothing had really happened. Way I heard it, he’d grabbed for the transient, she’d cut his hands off with his own bone saw, and nobody had done anything to stop her from leaving.

If she’d been dropping my name by that point, none of the survivors had heard it. Interesting. “Who told you about me?” I asked. “Who first said, ‘You should look for Dr. Abbey’?”

“Don’t remember,” said the woman, shaking her head defiantly. “I was just looking for someone who could give me more pills. I need my pills. They make the world look the way that it’s supposed to look, and not the way it wants to look when the pills run out.”

She had to be talking about the synthetic cannabinoids Jill had found in her blood. Those were the only drugs strong enough and nonstandard enough to both change her perceptions of the world
and
be difficult to replace. “I’m not a pharmacist,” I said. “This is a research facility. This isn’t a place people come for pills.”

The woman looked at me blankly for a moment. “You should have been a pharmacist,” she said. “You could have said ‘Hello sir’ and ‘Gosh that’s a nice hat, ma’am,’ and filled little bottles with littler pills, and given lollipops to kids who behaved.” She rolled back into her original position, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Be good boys and girls, and you’ll have all the good things in the world, and none of the bad things, ever again, forever after, amen.”

“Look, I’d like to help you,” I said. “I’m not what you were looking for, but you’re here now, and I know you’ve been through a lot. Can you tell me your name? Where you came from? Anything that would make it easier for me and my friends to help you?”

“I am a raven who used to be a writing desk, and there aren’t going to be any more cookies ever again, because Kitty did a bad thing, and when kitty cats do bad things, they have to go down the well.” The woman closed her eyes. A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. “I don’t think she made it out of the house. I’m almost certain that she didn’t, and I can’t really be sorry, because it was her fault that everything went wrong, but she was still my Kitty, and I loved her. She shouldn’t have done the bad thing and I don’t want to
know
I don’t want to
know
what she did, I need my
pills
!” She balled her hands into fists, punching the sides of the bed so fast and so fiercely that Tom and I both jumped.

It was honestly a miracle that Tom’s trigger discipline was so good he didn’t shoot her with a tranq dart right then and there. She stopped punching the bed and said, in a suddenly toneless voice, “I’m tired now. I think I’m going to sleep some more. Thank you for the saline, and for letting me sleep here. If you kill me while I’m sleeping, that’s okay. It’s what I deserve. I won’t be mad.”

“What’s your name?” I asked again.

She didn’t answer.

Jill met us outside the door. “She’s asleep,” she said, voice tight and somewhat agitated. “She literally went to sleep the second she stopped talking. This is someone who’s had training for that sort of thing.”

“Ex-military?” I asked.

“Not unless she was Black Ops and got herself deleted from the system,” said Jill. “Your hacker would have found her by now if she was in the military databases. That’s one of the first places anyone with a lick of training goes to look for someone like this.”

“Fair,” I allowed. “All right, keep an eye on our guest, and if she wakes up again, call me. I’m going to go see if anything else has come to light. You.” I turned, looking past Jill to not-Daisy, who was still standing in the spot she’d been in when we entered the observation room. “Go feed the lab animals, make sure everyone is still doing their jobs. We need to be operating at top capacity.”

“Why?” asked not-Daisy, blinking at me. She looked like a sheep, easily led and even more easily confused. My hands itched to slap the stupid off her face. I tucked them into my lab coat pockets. I don’t hit my staff, no matter how much they might sometimes aggravate me. There are lines that should not be crossed. They separate reputable underground establishments, like mine, from the black market free clinics, where sure, you might get your vaccinations, but you also might get to become an uncredited and unwilling part of someone else’s experimental testing pool.

It’s a hard world these days, and no matter how hard we try, it just keeps on getting harder. “Because life goes on, even when there’s a mystery to be solved. Maybe especially when there’s a mystery to be solved. And because you work for me, and I just told you to do it. So unless you’re interested in exploring other employment opportunities, you’ll scoot.”

Not-Daisy’s eyes went very wide in her wan face. She nodded, quickly, and scurried away down the hall, leaving me standing alone with Jill and Tom. I turned to face them.

“Jill, I need you to go over all the personnel records for people whose origins we have not absolutely confirmed, and check them again,” I said. “Zelda there may be our only current CDC plant, but it’s possible she’s not our only potential mole, and there’s something about this situation that doesn’t smell right to me. I want to be sure that whatever happens next, it’s because we fucked up, not because somebody fucked us.”

“I love the conviction that we’re about to get fucked,” said Jill. “It’s real comforting.”

“There are three constants in this world, Jill,” I said. “One, you don’t know everything. Two, what you don’t know can absolutely hurt you. And three, someone’s getting fucked. The only question is, who’s wearing the strap-on? Tom, while Jill is going over our records, I want you to look at those synthetic cannabinoids she isolated from our mystery woman’s blood. I don’t expect you to be able to replicate them exactly, but if you can come up with a way to synthesize something similar, that could be an enormous help. I don’t think she’s going to talk to us until we start offering her what she wants, and what she wants are those pills.”

“We don’t know what those drugs
do
, and there isn’t time to do proper testing if I’m just trying to synthesize a batch based on what we already have,” Tom said. “We could be giving her just about anything. Those chemicals aren’t toys.”

“No, but neither is a woman who somehow got my name and had the resources to track us down without leaving a trail,” I said. “Our location isn’t a state secret, but we’re pretty good about not saying, ‘Here we are, come rob us blind.’ Depending on the quality of the places she’s been asking around, however…”

“You’re afraid she’s the precursor to a raid?” Jill couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of her tone. “
Her
? I don’t care how much she wants to offer to kill people for aspirin, she’s not someone’s advance spy. No one sends somebody in that poor of physical condition to scout for them. There’s no guarantee you’ll get your scout
back
when you starve them half to death.”

“I don’t think she’s a scout.” I glanced over my shoulder at the closed door. “She’s too disjointed, for one thing. Whether it’s the drugs or whatever she’s been taking them to treat, she needs help. I think she’s a distraction, and a tracking dog. Sometimes when I need to flush out specimens, I’ll send Joe into the woods with the retrieval team. He likes running into groups of the infected and starting to make a ruckus. I know they can’t hurt him more than he can hurt them, so it’s a good way to collect zombies for my research. Do you understand what I mean?”

“You’re saying that when you want to find a doctor, you send in a sick person,” said Tom slowly. “One that you’re not too concerned about losing.”

“Exactly.” I turned back to the pair. “We need to know where she came from, we need to know how she got here, and we need to know who pointed her in our direction. Until we know all that, we can’t afford to trust that everyone who’s here has our best interests at heart. Remember what happened last time?”

Tom and Jill exchanged a look. “We remember,” said Jill. “We’re on it.”

“Good,” I said. “Report back in an hour, just so I know where we stand—and call me if she wakes up again. I’ll be in my office.” I turned and started down the hall before they could ask any more questions. Sometimes I think the worst part of being in charge is all the questions. They never end, and somehow, I’m always expected to be the one who has all the answers.

Joe was still on the floor with his head on his paws, sulking, when I made it back to the office. I started counting silently as I walked to my desk, and made it to twenty-three before his delight overwhelmed him and his tail started wagging. “You’re no good at sulking, Joe,” I scolded. “If you want me to really
believe
in your suffering, you need to suffer for at least thirty full seconds. I’d recommend trying for an entire minute. Just for realism.”

His tail continued to wag as his head came up off his paws. I wasn’t just back in the room, I was back in the room and
talking
to him. Truly, this was a banner day. I sighed.

“You’re a good dog, Joe, but you’re a terrible negotiator. You could have held out for anything you wanted, and instead I’ve been forgiven with a tail wag and a goofy smile. You need to learn to look out for your own interests.” I opened the top drawer of my desk, pulled out a dog biscuit, and tossed it to him. He caught it out of the air and began the ecstatic process of reducing it to so many gooey crumbs on the carpet.

Crunching sounds accompanied me as I turned back to my computer, typed in my password, and sent Tessa a chat request. She was better about allowing those through normal channels when she was actively on a job: there was only so much cloak-and-dagger that either one of us could handle as a part of our daily lives. I had no way of knowing whether or not she was at her computer, so I opened one of the files Jill had e-mailed to me and began reading about the drug cocktails isolated from our guest.

I was on page three, and was beginning to really agree with the “if you told me she was dead, I wouldn’t argue with you” diagnosis, when my chat client beeped to signal an incoming call. I minimized the file and opened the chat window, revealing Tessa’s face. She was wearing a surprising amount of glitter smeared around her eyes, and she wasn’t smiling.

“Tell me you got me something to work with, because I still got nothing,” she said.

“Nice to see you, too,” I said. “She woke up for a little bit. She didn’t tell us her name, but she talked, and I have video. Will that help?”

“Speech patterns and accent might let me start narrowing in on an origin, and an origin would help me figure out her identity, so yes, that’ll help.” Tessa shook her head, curls bouncing. “This is starting to haunt my
dreams
. I’ve never had a missing person this determined to stay that way who hadn’t been intentionally scrubbed from the Internet.”

“Sending the file over now.” I opened the drive where our feeds from the isolation room were stored, selecting the twenty-minute segment that included my conversation with the mystery woman and dropping it onto the chat box. A small status bar immediately appeared, displaying the status of the transfer. “She’s still not too lucid. Part of it’s probably the drugs, and part of it’s probably withdrawal from the drugs. I have Tom working on synthesizing something to help her through the next few days. That’ll give us something to bargain with, even if it doesn’t do anything else.”