by Mich Moore
pause. "In the hospital? When? Two weeks ago? Are you sure?"
Broussard felt a deadening sensation envelop him. Each of his major senses began to power down to minimum levels. It felt as if his nervous system was giving him just enough juice to remain conscious and mobile. The world shrink-wrapped around him so that it only contained his hurting arm, a sealed box of violent images, and the intense desire to lay down on a soft bed and never rise again. He welcomed this new telescopic perspective as a distressed child would a father's helping hand. I can rest now. He tapped Herschel's elbow. "Come on. We've got to get back."
Herschel held up a finger and finished up his conversation. "Oh. I see. Okay. Well, I'll call her at the hospital tomorrow. Okay, Dad. Thanks." He put his phone away and grabbed the plastic bag. "Let's go."
When they finally made it back, they found that the other men had been quite busy. The RV was back on its wheels. The interior had been stripped of every nonessential item and those items neatly stacked off to the side. Powell had held a mini briefing with the AIs, explaining to them the situation, the action plan, and what was now required of them as active team members. They had appeared to comprehend what was going on and seemed to be receptive to the plan. However, Powell explained, it was difficult to tell because their comms still contained too much gibberish.
"Hey, Neal, you activate the seventh gear?"
"Yes."
Powell smiled through gritted teeth. "First good news all day." He did a visual inspection of the AIs. "They're raring to go."
"That's good."
"Right. Keep your fingers crossed." He nervously worked his lower jawbone. "Neal, you got them into seventh gear, right?" he asked again.
Broussard nodded. But Powell was still hanging around, obviously expecting more details.
"Leave me alone."
The other engineer looked surprised but did as he was asked. Broussard lowered his head and said no more.
Herschel was speaking excitedly to one of the Rangers. "Tell the major to call Redstone. We've got phone service."
"Since when?"
"Since about half an hour ago."
"The phones are dead."
"No, they're not."
After some back and forth, someone recommended that he and Broussard take a break. Neither man protested. Broussard sat down on one of the chairs ripped from the RV. Bautista, Brady, Walters, Z, and Kwolski were fashioning harnesses and traces from the cargo straps. Only Powell seemed to know what he was doing, and he had to stop every few minutes to show a man a particular knot or strap length. While Broussard was able to keep his eyes moving over the proceedings, inside his mind he was utterly without thought.
Derek stayed close to the AIs, going over the plan step by step and answering any of their questions. Rose had begun to trace out short sentences using her right hand. She confirmed that everyone understood the plan. And then she walked by Amadeus and head butted him. A minor scuffle ensued. Two of the Rangers had to separate the two.
Kuiper found Broussard and knelt down beside him. The scientist gently took the engineer's good wrist and placed a finger over his pulse. "How do you feel?"
"Fine."
Kuiper made a cursory examination of his arm and felt Broussard's neck pulse. He frowned. "Your heart is racing."
"Okay."
"Neal, I'm not a doctor, but I have a suspicion that you have more going on than just that arm. And we don't know what that's all about either. I want to hold off giving you another shot for now. Can you handle it?"
If he was expecting an argument then he was disappointed. Broussard simply shrugged. "Okay."
Kuiper surveyed the work area. "I sure hope Eric's plan works. We need to get you and the major to a hospital."
Broussard did not respond.
"By the way, I haven't seen Roger. Is he still back there? Trying to find supplies?"
"No." Broussard coughed a bit. "He's dead."
Kuiper drew back in slow motion, stunned by the news. "What are you saying? Herschel said that Roger was still examining the bus wreckage."
Broussard squeezed his arm. "This hurts."
"Neal! What happened to Roger?"
The awful scene that had surely been the death of the Detroit engineer threatened to ram through his mind's defenses. He raised his uninjured arm in front of himself to ward it off. "Something hit him. It was quick." He ran his tongue over his lips. "Live alligators in that trailer, Koop. Better get a locksmith. Get them home quick."
Kuiper stared at Broussard for a moment longer and then quickly turned away. "We're in hell," he uttered miserably. Then he left to give Lieutenant Brady the bad news.
Within seconds, Walters, Chang, Brady, and one of the camera operators were gathered around Broussard. All four were sweaty and out of breath.
Brady gave Broussard a careful once-over. "Mr. Broussard?"
Broussard's eyes flickered. "Yes."
"Mr. Broussard, we're just about ready to get you and Major Hillerman loaded into the RV." He tried to inject a little levity into his voice. "You ready to go home yet?"
"I'm ready."
The videographer pointed his small hand-cam in the stricken engineer's direction. Brady put up a hand. "Not now." The cameraman backed off.
Brady turned back to Broussard. "How's that arm? Can I take a look at it?"
"Yes."
Brady took out a pocketknife and cut Broussard's shirtsleeve lengthwise. The lieutenant sucked in his breath. The arm had swollen to twice its normal size. The skin was mottled with purplish welts that peaked at one of those curious swirl marks near the crook of his elbow.
"Looks like that hurts."
Once again Broussard did not respond.
"Mr. Broussard, what happened to Roger?"
Broussard gave a tiny shrug of the shoulders. "Hard to say."
"Did someone hurt him?"
Broussard let out a tiny giggle. "It was a shark. From heaven."
The men exchanged worried glances.
"Mr. Broussard, did you see any of Colonel Palladino's men? Did you see any of the Rangers?"
"No."
Two AIs watched them from where they sat in a semicircle by the RV, listening to Powell's incessant instructions about the harnesses and the traces and the RV and how to pull together as a team. Bruce and Rose abruptly left the lecture and trotted over to join them. Without attempting to communicate a word to anyone, they lay their heads on Broussard's lap.
Broussard did not react, and the AIs seemed genuinely distressed by this.
Chang pulled them aside and whispered, "Uncle Neal isn't feeling well. Let's let Lieutenant Brady get him into the RV, okay?"
Their comm screens flashed random words and special characters. Chang had to assume that it was some type of understanding and affirmation.
Brady gently hooked an arm beneath Broussard's uninjured arm and helped him to his feet. "I'll get him settled in," he told Chang. Bruce and Rose trotted after them.
Chang turned to Walters. "What's wrong with him? He seems ... off."
Walters felt along the dried edges of a gash on his chin. "Your guess is as good as mine. Hey, did you talk to Fields yet?"
"About fifteen minutes ago."
"Well, hell! Are they going to send someone in to get us?"
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because it would create an even bigger headache for everybody. Weren't you listening earlier?"
"You mean for Dina."
Chang crossed his arms. "Van, don't go there." He took out his phone and took a video of the area.
Walters was still standing beside him. "Well, are they at least going to have a scrub team waiting for us at the border?"
"Van, I don't know," Chang replied, his voice heavy with exasperation.
"Did you even ask?"
"Yes. Fields said that he would get back to me."
Walters was dumbstruck. "He's going to get back to you! We've been exposed to God knows how much radiation and this is a lo
w-priority item for him? In-fucking-credible!"
Chang reached for his crucifix. "Look. Maybe it would be better if we took on one crisis at a time."
Walters's mouth was frothy with angry spittle. "Well, why don't we start with our first crisis of the day, when we had to stand next to a thermonuclear explosion!"
Chang scowled. "No. And it won't do us any good to right now. Let's just focus on the problem at hand for the time being. Namely, getting out of here before the Advance South shows up again."
"'Namely' presenting to Dina and her buddies back in Chicago a perfect mission profile," Walters retorted in a mocking voice. "Because, bottom line, that's all you really care about, isn't it?"
"Van, back off!"
"Just keep the DATs safe for another month and then you can cut me loose, pretend that the AIs work perfectly and then put them on the market free and clear!"
Chang made a fist and cocked his arm, inadvertently hitting Herschel, who had walked up behind him.
"Ow!"
"Sorry."
"Allan, Eric wants everybody up front."
Chang relaxed his arm. "Are we ready?"
"I think so." He turned to go but Chang held him up.
"Herschel, what happened back there? What happened to Roger?"
Herschel bit his lower lip. "Something fell on him, I guess. It looked like one of the drones, but I can't be sure."
Chang clutched his forehead. "God, no."
Walters gaped. "Huh." His fit of fury just seconds before quickly subsided. "The Advance South must have shot it down."
"Or it fell down on its own," Herschel said. "Those drone handlers aren't wizards." Just then he thunked the side of his head. "I almost forgot. Today's my mom's birthday. I'd better give her a call ... "
Powell and Kwolski positioned the AIs nine meters in front of the RV. One end of the long traces was tied to the coach's cab
