Invasive Procedures

by Aaron Johnston

  The others exchanged glances.

  “Don’t seem right,” said Dolores.

  “What isn’t right is what they did to us,” said Hal. “But what’s done is done. Now we got a chance of getting out of here, and we shouldn’t miss it because of this guy. What are we going to do, carry him? And even when he wakes up and can walk on his own, he’s not going to want to come along. He’d be nothing but trouble. They’ve screwed with his head. That’s help we can’t offer. Our best bet is to get help for us and then to send help back here for him. Otherwise, nobody gets help. Because we aren’t getting out of here if we to try to take him along.”

  Frank sighed. “I don’t want to leave him behind either, but Hal’s right. We don’t have a choice. We’re in no condition to help him now. Our best option is to find someone who can and send them back here.”

  “Damn straight,” said Hal.

  Frank looked at Monica. “What about this tranquilizer gun? Are there more of these?”

  She pointed to an empty peg on the wall. “It was hanging there. I didn’t see any others.”

  “What about these antirejection drugs?”

  She opened a large wooden cabinet where several vials of medication and syringes were stored. “They’re all kept here.”

  “Pack them. We’re taking them with us. And you’re carrying them.”

  Hal waved his arms. “Whoa whoa whoa. Look, I don’t care if she’s a prisoner here or not, she ain’t coming with us either, not after what she did to us.”

  “She’s a doctor. We may need her help.”

  “To do what? Cut us open again? She put a knife to our gut and bled us. I say she finds her own way out.”

  Monica’s jaw was set. “Hate me if you want. Turn me into the police. I don’t care. But you’re not leaving this cabin without me and my son.”

  “Your son?” said Frank. “He’s here?”

  “In the basement. And we’re not leaving without him.”

  24

  RESCUE

  Frank could see the argument coming before it started.

  “Please tell me you’re not seriously considering taking this woman’s child with us,” said Hal.

  “He’s my son,” said Monica. “He’s only six. I’m not leaving him behind.”

  Hal made a face. “Six? You got to be kidding me. What, are we babysitters all of a sudden? No. No kid is coming with us. He’ll only slow us down.”

  Monica looked at them with pleading eyes. “Please, he’s only a child.”

  “So that gives him special treatment?” said Hal. “Just because he’s younger than me?”

  “He’s fast for his age,” said Monica. “He could keep up.”

  Hal narrowed his eyes at her. “Read my lips, lady. The kid stays.”

  “Where in the basement are they keeping him?” Frank asked.

  “What difference does it make?” said Hal. “He’s not coming. He’d only slow us down.”

  “A room, north side,” said Monica. “It’s guarded.”

  “How many guards?”

  “Two, sometimes three.”

  “Is there a way to get outside from the basement?”

  Hal stepped between them and faced Frank. “We’re not taking time to get this kid. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

  Frank acknowledged Hal blankly, then looked beyond him to Monica. “Is there a way outside from the basement?”

  Hal threw up his hands.

  “No,” said Monica. “The only way out is the front door. The back door is locked from the outside, like all the windows. But there are only a few Healers here during the night. The others come in the morning. If we can get by the ones downstairs and the ones on the porch before the others arrive, we could make it.”

  “Am I the only one here who thinks this woman is full of it?” said Hal. “This could be a trap. Has anyone thought of that? How do we know this kid even exists? The whole thing could be a sham to get us down into the basement where who knows what is waiting.”

  “He’s right,” said Nick. “Why should we believe a word she says? I say we go now.”

  “Exactly,” said Hal, reaching over and patting Nick twice on the back as if they were lifelong friends who understood each other implicitly.

  “No,” said Frank. “This is different. The deputy we can’t help. But a child we can. We’re not leaving the boy behind.”

  Monica visibly relaxed.

  “Give me the cape,” said Frank.

  Byron handed it to him, and Frank tied it over his shoulders, pulling the hood forward over his eyes. “I’m going to the basement. If you hear a commotion or if I’m not back in ten minutes, go without me.”

  “If we hear a commotion,” said Nick, “then they’ll know we’re trying to escape. It’ll be too late for us to try anything then.”

  “Maybe not,” said Frank. “They’ll think I’m trying to escape. They won’t know we all are. Maybe I could create a big enough distraction for you to get out the front. In the meantime, pack supplies—food, water, anything in the room you think would be useful. But no more than we would need in a day’s time. Don’t wear yourselves down. By the time I get back, we’ll be ready.”

  He smiled as if it were a plan that couldn’t fail, and Dolores and Byron looked as if they believed him.

  “I’m going with you,” Monica said.

  “No,” said Frank. “If you’re telling the truth, I’ll be back with your son. If you’re not, well, then I’m out of luck.”

  “Leave us the gun,” said Hal. “We may need it.”

  “He’s going against guards,” said Byron. “We’re not.”

  Frank nodded his thanks to Byron. “How do I get to the basement?”

  Monica told him.

  “Ten minutes,” said Byron.

  Frank nodded. “Ten minutes.”

  They turned off the light before Frank opened the door, finding the hallway exactly as they had left it—dark, silent, and vacant. Frank realized he lacked one important bit of information and turned back. “What’s your son’s name?” he whispered.

  “Wyatt,” Monica said. “His name is Wyatt.”

  Frank hurried toward the basement, walking with a determined step so as not to arouse suspicion if he were seen. From a distance he could pass as Deputy Dixon; just keep the hood up and move like he knew where he was going.

  Wyatt. I’m risking it all for a six-year-old named Wyatt.

  As he moved down the hallway, Frank considered Hal’s logic. Leaving the kid was indeed the most sensible thing to do. He would slow them down. And this was a window of opportunity they’d only get once. If they were caught now, the Healers would take extra precautions to make another escape attempt impossible.

  And yet, Frank couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave the kid. Even if it meant not going himself. It was totally irrational, but the feeling in his gut was stronger than common sense. They weren’t leaving without the kid.

  Two quick turns and Frank was there at the door to the basement. It creaked when he pushed on it, a noise that echoed down the hallway and back toward the supply closet. He froze and listened, expecting Healers to materialize at any moment.

  After a lengthy pause, he felt certain no one was coming.

  Relieved, he put his hand back on the door and swung it open in a fast single motion so it didn’t have time to squeak.

  The staircase was narrow, wooden, and ancient. A few steps even showed signs of rotting. The walls were no more attractive and extended to the basement floor below, which to Frank’s disappointment was flooded with light. He had been hoping for the cover of darkness. Most striking, however, was the noticeable change in temperature. The basement had no heat. And for the first time since leaving Washington, Frank could see his breath chill in front of him.

  Moving slowly, he descended the stairs.

  Twenty feet beyond the staircase a Healer sat sleeping in a chair beside a door. Even in a semiconscious state, with his mouth slightly agape, the H
ealer was physically imposing.

  At least he’s alone, Frank thought.

  A small space heater glowed at the Healer’s feet, and as Frank approached he could feel the warmth emanating from its orange, glowing coils.

  Frank aimed the tranq gun and was prepared to fire when he heard a toilet flushing and a door behind him opened.

  “What brings you down here, Dixon?” Lichen’s voice said.

  Frank continued facing forward and watched as Lichen’s shadow grew in front of him as the Healer approached. When the shadow stopped, it totally encompassed Frank’s own.

  Frank felt a heavy tap on his shoulder where the strap of the dart gun was positioned.

  “What’s this now?” said Lichen. “You carrying a dart spitter, Dixon?”

  Two giant fingers pinched the tip of Frank’s hood and pulled it back, exposing his head. Frank had no choice but to act. Turning abruptly, he fired directly into Lichen’s gut.

  Four darts sank into Lichen’s stomach before he had time to flinch. If they caused him any pain, Lichen didn’t show it. He looked down at the tranqs with a shocked expression, blinked, opened his mouth to speak, then fell forward to the floor, unconscious.

  The noise woke the sleeping Healer, and he leapt of out his chair, disoriented.

  Frank already had the gun raised. He squeezed the trigger and sent four darts into the Healer’s chest.

  The Healer reached down, pulled out a dart, looked at it, then fell forward onto the concrete, hitting the space heater and knocking it over so it clattered on the floor.

  The struggle had been brief but loud, and Frank instinctively looked back toward the basement door, expecting it to swing open and a horde of Healers to pour through.

  But the door remained closed.

  He wondered if the other transplantees had heard—and if so, would they misinterpret the commotion as his attempt at a distraction and make a run for it without him?

  He jumped over the Healer nearest the guarded door and pulled on the handle. It didn’t open. A padlock hanging from a crude lock kept it shut tight. Moving quickly, Frank rummaged through Lichen’s clothing and found the key hanging from a chain around his neck. He yanked it free, stuck the key into the padlock, and twisted. The lock snapped free.

  Pushing hard on the door, Frank fell into the room.

  Wyatt was sitting on a bed in the corner, his legs tucked up against his chest and his eyes wide with terror. He was smaller than Frank had expected, a skinny kid with bright green eyes like his mother’s.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Wyatt. I’m a friend. I’ve come to help you.”

  The kid said nothing, only stared.

  “I’m here to take you to your mother. We’re going to try to leave this place.” He extended a hand.

  Wyatt didn’t flinch. “I don’t know you. You’re a stranger. I’m not supposed to go with strangers.”

  “That’s right, Wyatt. You never should. But today is the exception. Do you know what exception means?”

  Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Of course you’re not. Listen, I know I’m a stranger, but you have to trust me.”

  “Are you a policeman?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Show me your badge, then.”

  This was insane. Healers could be coming at any moment. “I don’t have a badge exactly.”

  “Then how do I know you’re a policeman? You’re dressed like one of the bad guys.”

  “This is a disguise,” Frank said, opening the cape and showing Wyatt his suit underneath. “See?”

  “You’re wearing a suit. Policemen don’t wear suits.”

  This had gone on far too long. “Kid, you’re either coming now or not at all. If you still don’t trust me, ask yourself, if I were one of the bad guys, would I have shot those guards in the hall?” He pointed toward the hallway, and Wyatt ran out. The Healers lay sprawled where they had fallen.

  Wyatt looked up at Frank with wide eyes. “Whoa. Why didn’t you say so? Let’s go.” He trotted off toward the staircase and, once he reached it, took two steps at a time. Frank was right at his heels. They moved down the corridor and encountered no one.

  When they reached the storage closet, Monica scooped up Wyatt and held him tightly.

  “What took so long?” said Hal. “It sounded like a fight. We almost left.”

  “If it had been up to Hal, we would have left,” said Nick.

  Byron slung a small pack over his back. “We found water bottles and a few food items. Now what? It’s nearly light.”

  Two minutes later they were all crouched in the hallway before the front room. The porch was visible through the nearest window, and the glow of dawn could be seen creeping over the horizon. Stone was still at his post on the porch, looking out over the valley and blocking the only exit.

  Frank stood up and pulled his hood over his head. Dixon was several inches shorter than he was, so he slouched his shoulders to make himself seem smaller.

  Then he took the strap off the dart gun and checked the cartridge. Only four darts left. Every dart would have to count.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Hal. “Hurry.”

  “I don’t see you rushing outside to stop them,” said Nick.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” said Hal.

  “Quiet,” said Frank. “Stay here and stay down.” He tucked the gun under his cape and, taking a deep breath, went to the front door.

  A cool morning breeze hit him when the door opened. The burst of air nearly lifted the hood off his head and gave him a momentary panic. But the wind lessened once the door was opened further, and his head remained covered.

  Stone was leaning against a post near the front steps. Frank couldn’t see his face with his hood pulled so low, but the feet were enormous.

  “Morning, Dixon,” said Stone.

  It was now or never. Frank raised and fired until it clicked empty. All four darts pierced Stone in the stomach, just as they had Lichen and the other.

  But for Stone, a much larger, thicker, more massive target, four darts apparently weren’t enough.

  Frank’s hood snapped back, and two massive hands shoved him hard. It felt like getting hit by a truck at high speed—all the air inside him left him at once. He flew backward, his feet completely off the ground, through the door and into the front room. Before landing against the sofa, his arm smashed through a lamp sitting on an end table. Frank felt a searing jolt of pain as something sharp cut deep into his arm, glass exploding in every direction.

  Frank wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t find his breath.

  Suddenly Stone was over him, picking him up and bringing Frank’s face to his.

  “Do not make me hurt you,” said Stone. Then his eyes drooped a little, and Frank knew the tranquilizers were having some effect.

  Frank jerked back, and as suspected, Stone’s grip was weak enough for Frank to break free. He fell to the floor and there, in a painful intake of air, got his full wind back.

  Stone reached for his tranquilizer gun hanging over his back and brought it to bear on Frank. “You give me no choice.”

  Frank closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable popping sound of the dart discharging but heard breaking glass instead. He opened his eyes and saw Stone tip to one side before falling unconscious to the floor. Byron stood beside him, holding the remnants of another glass lamp.

  Byron dropped the lamp, extended a hand, and helped Frank to his feet. “You okay?”

  “I think so, yeah,” Frank said, moving to dust the glass shards off himself but then wincing at the sudden pain in his arm.

  “You’re hurt,” said Monica, coming to him.

  “You can check it later,” he said. “Let’s get out first. It’s nearly light.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Frank looked down at the sleeve of the robe and saw that it was indeed wet with blood. “Outside,” he said. “The other Healers could arrive any minute.”


  She didn’t argue and went outside onto the porch, Wyatt clinging tightly to her waist and staring at Frank with what could have been awe. Frank rolled Stone over and yanked the tranquilizer gun from his grip.

  Nick squatted beside Stone and dug through his pockets.

  “What are you doing?” said Frank.

  “Old habit. Never leave a man down.” He smiled. “Or is it, never leave a downed man’s wallet?” His grin left him as his hand found something in Stone’s pocket. Nick pulled his hand out, holding a semiautomatic pistol.

  “I’ll take that,” said Frank, reaching for it.

  Nick gave a half turn, raising a shoulder to deflect Frank’s hand. “I’m looking at it.”

  Frank reached again, cautiously now, and gently put a hand on Nick’s arm. “It’s not a toy, Nick. I should carry it.”

  Nick relinquished the gun, and his cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t going to shoot anybody. I was curious, is all.”

  Frank removed the clip and pocketed it, then tucked the gun in his belt behind his back.

  Outside, the blinding rays of morning were inching over the mountain range, bathing the cabin in an amber hue and reflecting off the chilled dew across the lawn.

  “It’s freezing out here,” said Dolores, pulling her suit coat around her.

  Nick descended the steps of the porch and joined the others in the yard, staring out over the valley. “We’re going out in that?”

  In answer, Frank walked past him and headed for the tree line south of the cabin, precisely in the direction Nick was pointing.

  “But for how far?” said Nick. “I can’t see anything from here. No town. No road. Nothing.”

  “Then I suggest we get moving,” Frank said, continuing toward the trees.

  Monica and Wyatt were right behind him. Hal, Byron, and Dolores glanced at one another and then hustled after Frank as well.

  Nick looked back at the cabin, hesitated a moment, then hurried with the others into the forest.

  25

  TRAIL

  Agent Riggs drove north toward Agoura Hills, his mind racing. It had been two days since Carter and Frank disappeared—two days since those two had, according to the vehicle usage records at the BHA, taken a van and left the agency. Where they had gone to and why, Riggs could only guess. It didn’t make sense. Here they were, in the middle of critical investigation, gaining ground on the Healer crisis, and Carter and Frank had walked off the lot as if school were no longer in session.