The tears fell from her eyes freely as she stared desperately into his.
“I’ll be back, okay?”
She gulped and nodded, not answering.
Hank kissed her forehead again and straightened.
She followed him with her eyes.
“Come on, Kitty,” Hank grumbled. “Give Captain Palmer her clicker. We’re leaving.”
Penelope was beside the bed faster than Hank expected, so silently that it caught him off guard. She held the clicker toward Rebecca, rasping, “Heeere.”
Rebecca let Hank’s arm go to take the television remote control.
“You want anything special when I come back? Chocolate, chips, or something?”
“A beer and a bag of Saltines,” Rebecca whispered, her voice shaky.
“I’ll see if I can smuggle some in.” Hank had no intention of bringing alcohol into the hospital, but he figured no one would mind if he brought in some root beers.
He led Penelope to the door and stopped, but Rebecca was looking toward the window instead of at him, possibly because she didn’t want to see him leave, possibly because she couldn’t stop her tears from pouring. He didn’t want to say goodbye, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave her without saying something. “I’ll be back.”
Rebecca didn’t look at him, but nodded with small bobs of her head.
Thirty-Six
Leaving Rebecca felt like leaving family. Hank chewed on the idea for at least a dozen strides. There weren’t too many people left in his life he considered close. Penelope, of course. She was the last hold-out from his past life, the only one who had been through it all and come back. He liked Tom. He was a good kid. A lot more caring about others than Hank would have expected from a child of privilege. And even Doctor O’Farrell managed to be part of that circle, even though he’d only known her a few weeks. It was apparent the kind of person she was. She looked out for others. More than herself. It was kind of like she was trying to prove herself, or prove something to herself. Losing Lieutenant Jones, that boyfriend of hers, had really been a tough pill to swallow. Throw on top getting abducted like she had and nearly killed by Reese—that mother fucker.
Hank scowled and shook the thought from his head. Good riddance. If anyone tried to do that to Rebecca…. Damn, he was really falling for the woman. He looked back toward the door. He wanted to turn around, but seeing Penelope only a few strides back, leaning to look into another patient’s room with utter curiosity, grounded him again in the reality of his situation. He had to take care of Penelope first. There wasn’t anyone else.
“Hey,” Hank hissed. “That’s rude. Come on.”
Penelope shot him an irreverent look, as though she was angrier at being caught than at him for pointing it out. She knew better. Hank knew she did.
The nurse who had been at the front desk was coming toward them. She didn’t look up from her big-screened phone or mini-computer—what the hell did they call them?—as she walked past Hank and Penelope in the hallway. “Leaving so soon?”
“I’ll be back in a while. Hey, can you ratchet down the dose on whatever you’ve got Rebecca on? She’s bawling her eyes out over the slightest things.”
The nurse looked up, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ll note that in her chart and see what the doctor says.”
“Thanks.”
That was probably the best he could hope for. Hospitals worked in funny ways, after all. Mostly because of doctors. He’d worked with enough of them in his past life to know the ins and outs of it. The thing that pissed him off was that it was pretty obvious Rebecca was being affected by the drugs they had her on, but to tell the doctor that, whoa. He’d deny it. Do nothing about it without even looking at her himself. That was how they all were. They all knew best. They all had big heads.
Probably why the big shots that got so big eventually needed him. You don’t rise to the top, running twenty to thirty hospitals, without pissing a lot of people off. You don’t make that kind of money without attracting a lot of attention, either.
It wasn’t just Doctor Samuel Tate Hank used to protect. Before that there were five or six other big heads he had as clients, all with one reason or another they thought they needed protection. Tate Pharmaceuticals was just Hank’s biggest deal. It was during the company’s huge court battle over some falsified Stage One trials of their Provaxil drug that made Tate bring him in. Hank was pretty sure Tate and his gang of thieves—the chief research scientist, their head of IT, and that bitch CFO Jane Garrick who eventually went to prison for her involvement—were guilty as hell, but he wasn’t a lawyer or judge. His job was to protect people.
He just didn’t expect one of his own men to be the shooter.
It took a few years before Hank could finally come to grips with why a guy like Russell would go and try to kill Tate. Arrogance and hypocrisy, Hank finally decided, was what pushed Russell over the edge. After spending enough time in the Quarantine Zone—time being human again, fighting for survival, being a working man who didn’t feed on his own lies for a paycheck anymore—that’s when Hank understood it better. That’s when he started to see those bigwigs he used to admire in a light that wasn’t as flattering.
Of course, it didn’t mean Hank was any less irritated that he hadn’t seen it coming. If anything, it made him more critical of his decisions. He should have seen the signs, those cold looks of discontent Russell shot at Tate’s back all the time.
He’d been so blind not to see it. Too damned trusting.
Penelope groaned and tugged Hank’s arm for something like the third time, finally pulling him back from the bitterness of his past.
“What is it?” he asked irritably.
Penelope let go and stepped back, her face showing her shock and worry at his outburst.
He sighed and shook his head, upset with himself for taking his anger out on Penelope. She had no idea what was going through his head. She probably just had to use the toilet or something. “Sorry,” he told her, taking a couple steps down the hall toward a four-way junction, slowing as he realized he didn’t actually know where he was. “Let’s just…get…downstairs. Huh.”
Penelope put her hands on her hips and glowered at him.
Hank stopped in front of an unrecognizable set of elevators with extra-wide doors. Ahead of them, at the end of the hall, an exit sign hanged at a T junction. “Did we pass it?”
Penelope closed her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, pointing behind them.
The elevator door chimed and yawned open. Hank stepped back, motioning for Penelope to do the same so whomever was inside could get out. A gurney was in the elevator, the head of a young man lying on a pillow, a series of tubes in his mouth and nose. A nurse turned around to face Penelope. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to vacate the hallway for patient transfer.”
“Kitty,” Hank said, motioning for her to come to him even as she backed away.
“Sir, you, too. We need you to clear the area.”
“Yeah, okay, let me—” Hank started, and did a double-take. The face on the gurney came into plain view as he crossed past the elevator to collect Penelope. It was totally familiar, except he didn’t know why.
Hank’s view of the patient was physically broken by a large body in a black suit stepping out from within the elevator, a deep voice following it. “I’ll handle this. Sir—”
Hank looked up. Yet another damned coincidence. He recognized the voice almost the same way he recognized the enormity of the person attached to it. Bill Tipton was a big guy, a body builder back in the day, and by the looks of him now, still building. He was one of the guys who worked at Tate Pharmaceuticals, one of the younger crowd Hank had brought in along with Frankie and a couple of others, including Russell and Reese. They were all part of the fast growth years, when Hank needed to add guys even though he didn’t have enough time to fully vet them—not trusted guys like Cory or Phil. Hell, Cory didn’t even vet them. They were all friends of Frankie, and at the time Hank
didn’t see anything wrong with trusting people he trusted enough to bring on board in the first place. And Frankie was still a pretty solid team player, a little arrogant, but who wasn’t in their line of work?
Hank let out his breath. “Seriously?!”
Thirty-Seven
“Hank,” Bill Tipton said, nodding, hardly smiling. He motioned at the far end of the hall.
Hank hooked an arm around Penelope’s and turned her. She shook free, but let him guide her, their backs to the elevator and Bill. Hank fought the urge to raise his hands in the air, sneaking a look over his shoulder, partly to get another look at that patient, and partly to make sure Bill wasn’t drawing a weapon. “So, you still working for Frankie?”
“End of the hall, please,” Bill replied. “Yes.”
“Alright, let’s move him,” the nurse said to the others in the elevator. The gurney rolled out as Hank turned his head forward again. He wasn’t going to get another good look.
“Is he still as much a prick as he always was?”
“Yes,” Bill replied without missing a beat. “Yes, sir, I have Henry Opland at Crosspoint, building B, level 3, outside of step-down.”
Hank looked back. Bill was speaking into a cell phone held to his ear.
“Yes, sir, level 3. Yes, sir, step-down ward.”
Hank stopped and nudged Penelope to do the same. He turned to face Bill, glancing past the big man to see the gurney being pushed into the hallway marked Step-Down.
“Yes, sir, just now, during transfer.” There was a pause. “I don’t know, sir.” Another pause. “Yes, sir.”
Bill took the phone from his ear. “Hank, Doctor Tate would like a word with you.”
Hank raised an eyebrow at that. Another goddamned coincidence.
“You know what,” Hank said, levelling his gaze at Bill. “I think I’d like a word or two with him, too.”
Thirty-Eight
Riding in the back of an SUV full of suits brought back fond memories, even if the situation had Hank a little rattled. There was a certain thrill that came with travelling with an asset. Entering and exiting the vehicle was usually the most exciting part, the highest probability for a hit or any number of unexpected situations. It made Hank wonder what the three suits in the vehicle with him were thinking.
Penelope sat pressed against the door, ready to jump by the way she leaned into it. Hank sat in the middle, making sure he was uncomfortably close to the suit beside him, leaving no room for the guy to draw his weapon, not that he expected any shenanigans, but just in case things went sour. The jerkoff in the front passenger seat didn’t look back the whole time, which either meant they weren’t afraid of Hank, or they weren’t expecting any action.
Hank hadn’t talked to Tate since the shooting, eight years ago. By the time Tate was out of the hospital and leaving messages, Hank had already moved to the Quarantine Zone. Hank listened to several of them from the payphone in the trading office. No hard feelings. We should really talk sometime. That kind of thing, but Hank couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t face his own failure like that. Not so soon after it happened.
Even now, he felt restless, unsure of what he was going to say to the man. He had some choice words in mind, but as the SUV cruised east along the highway away from Angel Rise, he reconsidered the hothead approach. Tate wasn’t the problem, after all.
Penelope eyed Hank from time to time, her wary expression letting him know how uncomfortable this made her. She stared out the window the rest of the time, but Hank could see the reflection of her eyes in the glass, how she watched the two men in the front seats as though she expected them to stop the vehicle and pour over the seats at her like zombies, or worse. Damn, this was a tough world for her, and he wasn’t making things any easier.
“Relax,” Hank whispered.
Her eyes narrowed at him.
Another six miles down the highway the SUV slowed and took a side road that carved through the woods for about a mile. A fenced-in office complex rose from the tree line ahead. A large stone sign alongside the road proudly proclaimed the building’s owner, “Breckenrock”, with a tagline below it reading, “Building a Brighter Future.” It wasn’t so much a coincidence as everything else, although he had been expecting to see an Eloran sign, but it made sense that Tate would be here if Breckenrock owned Eloran.
The SUV pulled up to a gate that opened at their approach. Hank checked out the gatehouse to see what kind of setup they had. An armed, minimum wage grunt waved them through as they cruised past. Cameras pointed at the vehicle, a couple screens inside the gatehouse showing the road. Nothing unusual.
The two office buildings sat facing each other, surrounded by parking on all sides. The SUV cruised up to the narrow drop-off between the buildings and came to a stop. Frankie was there, walking out with two more goons to meet the SUV.
“Hop out,” the suit next to Hank said as he climbed out of the vehicle. The suit in the front seat rolled out and closed his door. The driver shut off the engine and popped open his door.
Hank pointed to the door handle for Penelope. She yanked it and slid from the seat in one quick motion, hitting the ground like she meant to run.
“Wait for me,” Hank said to her as he swung his legs out. He grunted and acted like he was having trouble, scooping up the zombie survival pack he had put on the floorboard when he got in. As Hank slid from the seat and stood, he stretched slowly and looked around.
“Well, Henry,” Frankie said irritably as he approached. “Long time, no see.”
Hank nodded.
“You know, I have to ask. What were you doing at the hospital?”
Hank held up his bandaged hand. “Getting a Band-Aid. What the hell’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is you trying to get into my Step-Down Ward.”
“I wasn’t trying to get into anything. We were looking for the stairs.”
“Bill said you were outside the Step-Down Ward, waiting—”
“Yeah, because…look, never mind. Is Tate here, or not?”
Frankie stared at him for several long seconds. He obviously wasn’t buying it. “So, who’s your friend?”
“Who, Mary Kay?” Hank asked with a nod toward Penelope. It was the first woman’s name that came to mind. It occurred to him after he said it that he only knew the name because it was that cosmetic brand one of his old girlfriends used to sell. “She used to be on my rig,” Hank added, nodding in the direction of the channel. “Over there.”
Frankie sighed as though the whole conversation was taxing.
“Oh,” Hank said, lifting the zombie survival pack. He yanked open the drawstrings, saying, “I’ve got something here for you.” He felt around inside and tugged out the pistol.
Two of the suits immediately went for their weapons, one yelling, “Drop it!” over and over again.
Penelope ducked low, growling. Hank stepped in front of her, not only to protect her, but to draw everyone’s attention from her.
“Relax, boys,” Hank said, holding his bandaged hand in the air, hoisting the pack out away from his body. He held the pistol in the air as well, turning it sideways for Frankie to take. The goons didn’t relax, though. Their white knuckles were so tightly wrapped around their pistols, Hank worried they might actually shoot him. What did they train these guys these days?
Hank forced himself to remain calm, winking at Frankie. “Your boys, here, didn’t pat me down.”
“Thank you,” Frankie said with a sneer and snatched the pistol. He glared at the suit who had been riding with Hank the whole way. “Check him, Paul,” he said, nodding at Hank.
Hank kept his arms up and let the man pat him down for weapons. Kind of late to be doing this, but he understood protocol.
Frankie ejected the clip from Hank’s pistol, pulling back the slide to clear any rounds in the chamber. “The girl, too.”
Hank motioned for Penelope to stand. She spun slowly as she did, leery of the men surrounding them even as they holstered their
weapons.
The suit who had pat Hank down reached in on Penelope and swung her arms in the air roughly. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw grim and determined as she stepped back, brought her arms in, and lunged forward so fast the man was caught completely off guard. With her open hand, she landed a strike using the meat between her thumb and index finger, straight into his throat.
Guns were drawn again, and again Hank imposed his body in front of Penelope’s. “Whoa, whoa,” Hank said. “Calm down, everybody.”
The suit Penelope had punched slumped to the ground. The other men looked on in both astonishment and anger, but they thankfully eased their weapons down.
“Next time, just ask her permission, alright? Kitty, let them do their job. They’re not going to do anything to you they didn’t do to me, okay? Right boys?”
Penelope sneered at the other men, standing a little too triumphantly over her victim than Hank felt appropriate.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” the suit on the ground gasped, choking on his Adam’s apple.
Hank pulled Penelope away from the man before she gave him a second helping and made matters worse for them. “I think it’s safe to say she’s unarmed, okay.”
“Check her,” Frankie said, nodding to another one of the suits. “And help Paul.”
One of the suits put his pistol away and stood in front of Penelope, holding his hands in front of him before doing anything to let her know he didn’t mean any harm. “Ma’am, I just need to pat you down for weapons, if you don’t mind.”
Penelope snorted through her nose and held her arms up.
Hank grinned as the man cautiously moved in and gave her a few pats at the waist, then at the legs, obviously only half-heartedly checking her. She could have been carrying a bazooka and they would have let her pass.
“Cheap shot, bitch,” the suit named Paul wheezed as another suit helped him to his feet. He reached for his weapon, but Frankie stepped in his way, grabbing Paul by the wrist and pressing him against the SUV.
The Angel Rise Zombie Retribution Experiment Page 14
