by Jack L Knapp
Ray parked the Volvo, we got out, and he engaged the locks, which also set the alarm. Having an alarm wasn’t a bad idea in this neighborhood, I thought. We got out, looked around and then walked west along the sidewalk. I could sense the gang, but Ray still wasn't picking anything up. Well, his TP might still be weak, and for that matter, he might be a natural PK without much TP Talent. We walked, not fast and not slow, to the end of the block, turned right, and kept going. We made another right turn and found ourselves behind the apartment.
It was the westernmost apartment of a ground-floor duplex. Shoddy construction, I thought; I guess landlords don’t spend much money on the apartments in this neighborhood. We made another right turn and soon we were headed back to where we’d started.
Things had changed; there were three guys by the Volvo now. One of them was apparently trying to pick the door lock; there’s only one exterior key slot, and it’s on the driver’s side door, so he was working while standing in the street. Two others were on the sidewalk, one ahead, and one behind the Volvo, acting as lookouts.
Ray was all for charging ahead. I just sent,
Up ahead, the two lookouts had seen us. They converged by the door on the passenger side of the car, the part closest to the sidewalk; maybe they intended to keep us from interfering as their friend jacked Ray’s Volvo.
Bad plan.
The one working at the driver’s side door suddenly grunted and stumbled into the side of the car. The Volvo’s alarm went off and the two on the sidewalk looked on in astonishment as their friend fell unconscious into the street.
Ray just kept walking toward them.
He just nodded.
Up ahead, two young men took flying lessons. The one on the left lifted off the ground and floundered in shock, arms windmilling and legs kicking, trying to touch the ground that he could no longer reach. He hung there for a moment, and then the other one lifted too. They floated for a moment, facing each other, and then suddenly slammed together with a loud cracking noise. I guess Ray hadn't been kidding; he really was a lot stronger now than he had been.
It wasn’t a good lesson; that cracking noise had been heads crunching into each other. If they weren’t dead I’d be very surprised. Can’t learn if you’re dead, right?
I looked at the one I considered ‘mine’; he was still lying in the street, wondering what had happened to him if he had even woke up yet. But I couldn’t leave him behind; he might have a gun or a cell phone, and maybe he would recover enough to call and warn the others.
Sorry ‘bout that, dude. I reached out and punched him in the chest, hard. Ribs crunched and he stiffened in shock. His eyes bulged out and blood gouted from his mouth. Some of it spattered Ray’s Volvo; well, we could run it through a carwash when we left. I knew where there was one.
In a parody of walking, we each lifted a body and transported it. They floated upright, feet just above the ground, until we’d reached the middle of the wall on the building’s side. Ray dumped his, I dumped mine on top. Maybe, if anyone had been watching, there would be another zombie rumor! If anyone saw those two lying by the wall, they might think they were engaged in gay sex. Fully clothed gay sex at that; well, they were tough guys, not smart guys, so who could tell what they might get up to? The third one we laid just past his two friends. Rest in peace, fellas, not that you deserve a lot of peace, but your past misdeeds are forgiven now. Bless you, my son.
That’s what we did. The door had a steel sheathing, painted to look like wood, and it was locked; but it had hinges, and they were screwed into wood framing. I had no problem forcing entry.
The door blew back into the room, splinters spraying where the screws had ripped from the frame. The big bad wolf was here, guys, and he would blow your house down, rendering the whole idea of a locked, steel-reinforced door moot.
Yoo hoo, little piggies; come out, come out, wherever you are.
The three outside had no need for a house, now or ever. The others wouldn't either.
Ray went right and I went left. I saw three men in the room. One had an AK lying across his lap. He looked up in shock, then brought the AK up and pointed it toward me. Two others were sitting across from him on a couch; they had guns too, but they would have to reach for them before they could begin shooting.
I went for the guy with the AK. A chest crunch had worked before, so I did it again. I was hurried this time and used more force; a fist-sized chunk blew out the back of his body and took ribs, heart, and part of a lung with it. I could see the wall though the middle of his body for a fraction of a second, before blood squirted and blocked my vision. I noticed his head was twisting around to face backward, even as he died. Maybe he was looking for his heart? Heh; thanks, Ray.
I was in full combat mode now, not thinking, just reacting. The gang members were no longer humans, just targets, and the macabre humor that had colored our thinking and speaking, back when I was in the Rockpile, had come to the fore.
We turned our attention to the two on the couch. I dealt with the left one while Ray went after the guy on the right. I did mine, another dis-heartening chest punch, and then glanced at Ray.
I’d never seen anything like it; Ray was floating a good three inches off the floor, just standing as if he was still on the floor, legs straight, but not touching anything. There was no sign of his bubble; he was just, somehow, floating.
I had no idea how he was doing that. He just was. Maybe he wouldn’t know either, but I would ask him later. The gang member cracked as his spine broke and Ray settled back to the floor as the ganger dropped.
I spotted a movement from the corner of my eye. There was a door, a bedroom I thought, and it was opening.
Thankfully, the PreCog didn’t fail me.
He did, and I did; I watched as the door opened and a guy came out. He was carrying an RPG launcher, loaded, and I could see the rocket facing me. Could he really be that stupid? Didn’t he know what would happen?
He didn’t, and yes, he was that stupid. The launcher came up, pointed at me, and he fired.
The rocket hit my bubble and veered off, slamming into the corner of the room where the outside walls met. Both of the walls were load-bearing.
Safe in my bubble, I bounced back slightly from the impact, just as the rocket blew up. Shrapnel pocked the walls and rattled as more of the
metal scraps bounced off our bubbles and hit the floor.
I heard a cracking sound, a popcorn-popping noise, then the house fell in on us. The roof, no longer supported by the blown-out corner walls, sagged. The ceiling crumbled, pieces falling to the floor, and a fan with a light unit broke free and dangled. It was being held up by the wire. The lights went out as something shorted out, but we could see daylight through the cracked roof. It sagged a little more, then finally collapsed on top of us.
So that’s what we did. We did everything but whistle as we strolled out of the wrecked building. Not suspicious, no; not us!
One small gang was down, all the members dead as far as I knew. The cartels would barely notice. This wasn’t according to some plan on my part, we had been reacting after the attempted hijacking of Ray's car, but it had worked anyway. Good luck to the cops trying to sort this one out!
We washed the car, decided that the first wash was enough, then drove to Ray's house. There was no sign that Ana Maria had been there; the note was still on the door.
I hoped she was OK, but we couldn’t wait in case someone had spotted the Volvo leaving that wrecked apartment. It was a nice car, the Volvo, but if necessary, Ray could abandon it near the border someplace. Just take the tags off, let the car disappear. I had enough money to buy him a new one. Ray could just wait until it disappeared, then report it stolen. Say he'd only just discovered that the car was missing, and that it might have happened two or three days ago. Break the connection between the car and us, in other words, then get him another one.
Maybe Ray would prefer an Audi or a Beemer as a replacement. I was OK with that.
I owed him a few favors.
Chapter Twenty-One
I think we’re ready to do this, T.”
“Are you sure? Maybe we need to wait while Ray studies more about the anatomy of the neck and vertebrae?”
“He knows enough. I’ll provide the medical expertise, he’ll provide the control. I’ve reviewed the knowledge I’ll need and I’ll brief Ray on what I expect from him. He can hand me instruments and grip that thing after I open the tissues. I want him to hold the device, using his PK Talent, and lift it from the incision. I’ll be holding the incision open with a retractor, two if necessary, and that will provide him room to remove the device. He won't need to do what that Mexican surgeon did, reach in with a forceps.”
“Suppose this thing decides to go off?”
“T, I think I can grasp it and lift straight up; there’s no reason it should explode. Even if it does, I might be able to redirect the force of the blast. It can’t have much power, after all; it’s too small to contain much explosive material. I imagine that a lot of it is control circuitry and the explosive will function like a micro shaped-charge. The device’s effectiveness depends on proximity and design to be lethal, not raw explosive power. Plus, with the open cut in your neck, there won’t be any tamping effect. I’m with Shezzie. We can do this.”
“Now?”
“It won’t be any easier tomorrow, T, but we don’t need to do this at all if you aren’t comfortable with the idea. It’s up to you.”
I thought about it. I had wanted that thing out from the first moment I’d heard about it, but now that it was decision time, I hesitated. I could be dead in the next few minutes!
Could I live with the device? How good was the discriminator at rejecting false signals? The world was filled with radio waves and infrared signals, and what was relatively safe for me today might be lethal a year from now. I didn’t know what the device was, or what triggered it, or whether a fall or something might cause it to go off, I just knew it was there and that it would continue to be a danger to me if I didn’t get it out.
I finally decided that I had to make the decision. “OK. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll need half an hour to lay out what I need. Ray, would you shave the back of T’s neck? I want it clean of hair from the base of the skull to the large bump at the top of the shoulders. I don’t think we’ll need a huge sterile field for us to work, so that should be large enough. I’ll use Betadine solution to disinfect after you finish the shaving, the instruments have been through an autoclave already, and I’ve got sterile towels and lactated Ringer’s for lavage. There’s an injector with local anesthetic, but because of your body-control talent I don't want to use it before I'm ready to begin. I've also got retractors. There are mosquito hemostats to control bleeding, those are the ones with the slim jaws extending from the pivot joint. I’ve got a needle holder and a supply of three-oh and four-oh needles with sutures already attached. I may not need everything that’s laid out here, but if I need something, I can’t stop and go get it. I’ve got forceps in case they’re needed, but I’m going to depend on you to extract the device and then safely dispose of it after it’s out.
“My job is the surgery. I’ll do an injection to numb the site, wait until it takes effect, then make the cuts, stop the bleeding, and hold the incision open while you remove that thing. After it's out, I’ll suture the incision and apply a sterile dressing. T can recover here, and it’s done.”
“No. You just remove that thing, Ray; I want to destroy it myself. I’ll feel better if I can personally ensure that it’s destroyed.”
I had listened to Shezzie briefing Ray. Clearly, she knew what she was doing. I wondered how much of that highly-technical briefing was for Ray’s benefit and how much of it was to convince me, make me more confident in her abilities?
I went into the kitchen, and Ray got the clippers and a safety razor. He had shaving cream too, so he worked on my neck while I leaned forward and worried. I wasn’t really concerned, was I? I had faced much worse than this.
Hadn’t I?
Finally, my neck was clean enough to suit him. Shezzie inspected his work and was satisfied.
Shezzie had washed up, the full surgical procedure instead of some hit-or-miss handwashing. Clearly, she’d done it many times before. Ray washed too, then helped her don gloves.
She had acquired a table, used, from a chiropractor.
I looked at it and raised my eyebrows. “Where did that come from?”
“You can buy anything on eBay or Craigslist, T. I bought this through eBay. Ray made some adjustments to the legs to raise them to a comfortable height for me to work. He also rigged the portable lamp and magnifier. That one came from Lowe’s. The rolling hospital table I bought through Craigslist.”
“Why a chiropractor’s table?”
“I want your head slightly down and the table is adjustable for that; plus the hole allows you to breathe normally with your face placed in it and your spine aligned. Putting your head down causes the vertebrae to be slightly separated, and with your spine
in a straight line. That gives me more room to work and fewer chances for complications when I make the initial incision. The surface of the table is washable, so it will be easy to clean after the surgery.”
She was gowned and masked now, cap securing her already-short hair, hands still in the air; an anonymous figure, if I hadn’t had the ability to sense her.
Shezzie continued explaining her intentions to Ray.
“The surgical instruments and the specialized supplies, I ordered those new from a medical supply house. I’ve got two number three handles, one with a number eleven scalpel blade and the other with a number fifteen. I can use the end of the handle for blunt dissections, and it’s got a scale etched into the handle to aid in determining depth of the incision. There are scissors, a curved-blade Mayo for deeper cutting and the Metzenbaum for dissecting muscle and connective tissue if necessary. There may be connective tissue, maybe some scarring, that has grown in around that device since it was implanted, and scissors can provide better control than a scalpel for removing those links.”
“Shezzie, you clearly know what you’re doing. Where did you learn this stuff about surgery?”
She chuckled. “Would you believe when I was dissecting frogs and fetal pigs in middle school?”
I looked at her in shock.
“Not really! I only said that so I could see the expression on your face. Actually, I’ve done cutting before under the supervision of a surgeon. I was a battlefield trauma nurse with special skills, and when the casualties were coming faster than the surgeons could handle, when there weren’t enough surgeons immediately available, I became the second pair of hands when the surgeon needed me. I’ve used a scalpel more than once, but more often I’ve used the scissors while the surgeon held the incision open and told me where he wanted me to cut. There's no supervising surgeon here, but I don’t need one. This is really quite simple, except for removing the device, and Ray will use his Talent for that.”
She had spread surgical towels around the central hole, where a patient rests his face and breathes while the chiropractor works the kinks out of the spine. I had to climb up to get on the table, since it was slightly above waist height. But I managed it, and positioned myself, face down, with my mouth and nose pointing downward into the hole. I placed my hands on the bars that ran parallel to the table and below the level of the surface. I was as comfortable as I could make myself.
