Killswitch

by Cliff Hedley

  “Welcome to the rehab gym, Chase.” She pushed the door open and a wave of cool air hit from an air-conditioning unit mounted up on the wall. He took a step or two inside and looked around. It was a standard gym in some ways. There were variously sized dumbbells on a rack in one corner and a couple of benches and squat racks, as well as an array of resistance machines in the middle of the floor. At the far end, was clear space, with a section of hardwood floor that could be used for exercise classes or, in Chase’s mind, katas. He would have enough room to move properly here and he liked it. Then he saw another bonus. Lining one wall were three heavy bags, hanging from chains. He glanced at the physio to see if she minded him wandering, then made a beeline for the bags. In his experience, smashing one of those was a good way to release some pent-up anger.

  He leaned a shoulder against one to test the weight and was happy to discover it was good and solid, with sufficient padding. It was also a full-length, rather than hanging high like a smaller punching bag, so it could be used for any attack from low kicks to punches.

  He tapped it with his foot. “Do you mind if I use the bag?”

  She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “You can try it. Carefully. You can kick it, let’s say one third power for now, just for technique and balance. No arm contact. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chase rotated his legs outwards, then in, to warm his hips up. They had felt tight from all the sitting on planes. He whipped his hips from side to side, happy that they were a little more freed up. Next he got light on his toes and moved his feet into a fighting stance, with his left foot forward and right foot back a little. He decided to start with a low roundhouse. He pivoted his left foot slightly outward and swung his right leg into the bag. He kept it light, as he’d been instructed. He just wanted to work on his technique — overdoing it might slow down his start on getting the new arms.

  He threw a couple more right roundhouses, then did the same with the left leg. Then he switched between front kicks and roundhouses, or left and right roundhouses, alternating his pattern and focusing on keeping his footwork tidy.

  Happy with his efforts, he turned back to the physio. “Is it OK if I come down here by myself to do this? I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

  She raised an eyebrow and he was sure she didn’t entirely believe him, but she relented anyway. “As long as you keep up the exercises on your arms and don’t overdo it. Light workouts only.” She stared at him quizzically. “What were you doing when I walked in before?”

  “I was doing kata. Or at least the footwork from them. I’ll occasionally throw in some gentle arm work to keep them moving but I have been taking it slowly.”

  “Show me.”

  Chase made his way over to the open section of the floor. He was in bare feet, which is the way he normally trained and it felt good to be back on a smooth hardwood floor. He’d only had gravel and dust back in the desert, where he and Collins had kept their boots on while training in their makeshift dojo. It was a slight breach of etiquette but a sensible and practical necessity.

  He took a spot in the middle of the floor and lowered his weight slightly, arms in front and feet angling outwards. From there, he moved straight into the first kata he had learned, designed to teach a range of footwork. He went through the full kata at half-pace, moving his arms as well as his feet. This was more for her benefit than anything, to show her that he could move slowly, with control. Slowed down, it was more like watching tai-chi.

  He finished and turned back to face her. “Is that OK?”

  “I think so but if you feel pain, or too tired at any point, you stop. OK?”

  “OK.”

  “What does this mean, this kata?”

  “Well, basically it’s a series of self-defence moves. Every kata is different and we learn different things from them. Footwork, breathing, technique, explosive power, fluidity. There are lessons upon lessons in each one but essentially practising them helps us move our body better in a self-defence situation.”

  “I see. So you’ve been doing this a while?”

  Chase laughed. “Yeah. A couple of decades now, I guess.”

  She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Good. Well, that’s enough for today.”

  They headed back up to his room and she left the TV on for him. With that, she was gone and Chase had time to sit back and relax. The Dukes of Hazzard was playing and he wondered if the army had some kind of dedicated re-run channel they played everywhere. He was glad either way, because watching the show was the reason he first fell in love with old Dodge muscle cars. As if on cue, the General Lee flew into the air at the end of the opening credits and Chase settled in to watch the show.

  ***

  He had no idea how much time had passed but he must have fallen asleep with the TV on. A nurse knocked at his door and helped him shower. He was most grateful for the refresh. She helped him put on a fresh set of pyjamas then came back a while later to help him with dinner. It was starting to feel like the routine he had experienced back at Bagram, though he had a couple of things to look forward to in his day now: he had a new place to train and a doctor who might give him some fancy new arms. Once the nurse left, he did the only thing he could, which was to lie back on his bed and watch TV some more. The original Star Trek came on and he wondered how Freeman was doing down in Norfolk.

  As Captain Kirk and his team beamed down to explore a new planet, a knock came at Chase’s door and a middle-aged, balding man with greying temples entered. An Army psychiatrist named Levitz, who looked exactly as Chase imagined a shrink would. It would be the first of many visits.

  They spoke for a while, talking about Carlton and the programme, and Chase’s military career. Then how Chase found himself forcibly retired and back in the States. There was nothing he hadn’t already figured out for himself. He was angry, frustrated, bored, slightly hopeful for Carlton’s prosthetics and sure as hell wanted a crack at the guy who had put him here.

  ***

  Chase repeated that same day for what might have been a week, or two, or more. He had stopped counting. Each day was more or less the same and each one started to blur into the next. A visit from a physio to check on his progress and make sure he was keeping up with his exercise. A trip to the gym so he could work out a little. He made sure he kept up with his footwork, both his kata and with kicking the bag. When he knew nobody was watching, he also stepped in to the bag to drive a couple of elbows in along with his kicks. He started out gently and over a period of days he started to drive his elbows harder. He was regaining strength in his upper body and could still strike with his elbows. It was more the technique that he was adjusting to, without the weight and rotation of his lower forearms and hands.

  The visits kept up from Levitz the shrink. It turned out that he was pretty useful to talk to. He had figured out Chase pretty quickly and they had agreed that having small goals to work towards was good for him.

  What really picked him up was when he got a knock at the door one day from Harris. He was sprawled on his bed watching the junk re-runs.

  “Somebody to see you, Chase.”

  She pushed the door open and left. A grizzly-looking older man loomed large in the doorway.

  “Dad!”

  “Hey, son.” Chase could see his father swallow hard as he looked over his arms. Chase swung himself upright and his father came across and hugged him, like a big bear. He eventually let go and looked his son in the eye. The tough old mountain man had a tear forming in one corner.

  “Damn. I’m so sorry, Will.”

  “Yeah, it’s not great but my best hope is here.”

  “Robot arms, you said?”

  “Yup. I need something to scratch my ass with.”

  They both chuckled at that. The older man was clearly relieved to see his son still had a sense of humour but there was pain all over his face.
/>   “It’s OK, Dad, really. I’m getting better by the day and there is hope. Could have been worse.”

  His father nodded in response.

  “How long are you in town for?”

  “I figured I could stay a few days, or a week, or as long as you need me. Got the RV parked at a camp outside of town and I can catch the train in to see you.”

  He made it sound like it was a few blocks away and that they weren’t in one of the largest cities in the world. Chase figured that parking the RV and making his way in to Manhattan would have been a major pain in the ass.

  “You talk to your sister yet?” Frank rumbled.

  “Yeah. She offered to come home but I told her not to. I know she’s in the middle of something big. She sounds like she’s doing well for herself.”

  “She is that,” he nodded. “Speaking of doing well, you asked that Nurse Harris of yours out yet?”

  Chase rolled his eyes. He’d worry about getting well before any of that. Despite his smart-ass comments to the nurses, he had wondered if he would ever get to hold a woman again, or what it might be like without his arms. He couldn’t imagine they would be attracted to him anyway, so it wasn’t much of a problem right now.

  ***

  The nurse who had been changing Chase’s dressings was eventually happy enough that he no longer needed bandages. His scars were still red and angry but some of the swelling had reduced. He was interested in the measurements that she began to take on each visit and she explained that she was monitoring the reduction in swelling. When the rate of change started to become minimal, she arrived with two large canisters of pink foam goo.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “Casting foam. You’re going to stick your arms in these and we’ll take an impression — like a negative. Once it’s set, you can take your arm out and it will hold its shape. Then we pour another, harder plaster into each mould and we have a replica of your arm.”

  She motioned for him to take a seat and set the canisters either side of him on the floor. She gently took each arm and pushed it into the goo. He watched as it squelched up the tube as his arms pushed in, almost up to his armpits.

  “That’s kind of gross.”

  “No argument. Effective, though. You just need to keep still for a while now. I’ll time it and take these off once the foam is set.”

  Once everything was in place, she left him to it for a while. After a brief stint of boredom while Chase stared at the wall, she came back and gave the foam at the top of each canister a test-prod. Satisfied, she slipped each one off. There was a bit of a vacuum but eventually she worked his arms free and the canisters released with a pop. The foam gave just enough to let him free but held its shape.

  “These turned out nicely,” she smiled.

  ***

  The next day, Nurse Harris arrived at his room carrying a prosthetic arm.

  “Is that for me?”

  “Yes. Today is different. We need to keep up with the exercises but your swelling has gone down and your scars are healed enough that we can try this arm and get you used to using a prosthetic.”

  Chase was glad to have an additional challenge to break the monotony and brightened up, even though the prosthetic was more or less the pirate hook that he had joked about. Doctor Carlton had been pretty clear that he would be getting something basic to begin with. It appeared to have a kind of harness that would sit across Chase’s shoulders and back, with a pair of hook-like claws that could be opened and closed based on a wire being pulled or released.

  “Cool. OK, what do I need to do?”

  “Sit up please and I’ll put this on you.”

  Harris gently eased the prosthetic onto his right arm. It was a fairly snug fit — the mould the nurse took must have been a pretty good one. She strapped the harness on him, then set about explaining how it worked. He could see it was fairly simple, so she needn’t have bothered. Using it was the hard part. He had to stretch and flex to get the wire to go taut, which in turn pulled the little claw-hooks apart.

  She produced a few different objects from a backpack and placed them on the bed. There was a soft ball, a pen and a piece of paper. “Now try to pick these up. Start with the ball, then work your way smaller.”

  He concentrated hard on getting the wire to pull the right amount, to adjust the opening and closing of the hooks so he could pick up the items one by one. It was a weird sensation. His brain was telling his hand to open and close but he had to intervene and have his body contort accordingly to actually control the device.

  “It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?”

  “No, ma’am. This takes some getting used to. But I’m having fun with the challenge — and I appreciate having something other than my feet to pick things up with.”

  She chuckled. “Good. Well, next I have a treat for you. You seem to be doing OK with these, so how about practical applications?”

  “Such as?”

  She reached for a container from the backpack. It was a small clear-plastic box filled with loose grapes. “Such as feeding yourself.”

  She opened the lid, then sat the container next to Chase. His first attempt at picking up a grape resulted in it being crushed and splattering onto the floor.

  “You must be more gentle. See if you can control the pressure gradually.”

  Chase was concentrating hard. The second grape was slightly crushed but he managed to get it to his mouth. The third grape stayed intact all the way until he put it in his mouth and bit down triumphantly.

  “Very good. You’re pretty quick learner,” she beamed.

  “Thanks. So can I keep this to practise with?”

  “Of course. If you need to take it off or put it on again, the nurses can help as well. Otherwise, I can leave you with that for today.” Her expression turned more stern for a moment. “You still need to keep up with your other exercises as well.”

  “No problem.”

  She packed away the pen, paper and ball but left him with the grapes. “You can keep those for a snack and for practice. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chase felt a surge of independence and sat practising eating grapes for the next half hour. Still filled with a new-found level of enthusiasm, he headed for the gym, where he diligently performed his arm exercises before moving on to the hard wood floor and the bag.

  The prosthetic arm was only a small step forward but now he didn’t feel quite so helpless.

  ***

  The following day was as routine as any other, until there was a knock on the door halfway through Starsky and Hutch. Nurse Harris bustled in with her usual sense of urgency, this time smiling brightly. Today, she informed him, would be the first step in getting his advanced prosthetics.

  She helped him dress, then led him to a room downstairs where Carlton was waiting for them, along with a whole bunch of machines, wires and prosthetic models.

  “Hello, Chase. Nurse Harris no doubt told you that today is the day we start to poke and prod you,” he grinned.

  “Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it, so whatever you need, whenever you need me, let me know. I don’t have too much else to do.”

  Carlton nodded and wheeled his way over to a hospital bed, which had the back raised all the way up. Next to it was a row of machines, with all kinds of wires running into them. Chase figured them for monitoring equipment. Carlton began to mess around with some basic round electrodes. There was a bunch of them, all branching out from a wiring harness, which in turn was plugged into one of the machines.

  Nurse Harris and Doctor Carlton went about attaching the electrodes around Chase’s left arm.

  “I want you to think about forming a fist with your left hand. As if your hand was still there, I mean.”

  “Got it.”

  Chase concentrated on forming a fist and the machine showed a series of spikes
in electrical signals. Next, Carlton had him open his hand, then move his fingers one by one. As he did, a series of smaller readings were produced.

  “The nerves in that arm are pretty good,” Carlton smiled. “We’re seeing about an eighty per cent level of efficiency. That means we can get a bit of an improvement, but you’re starting from a really good base. Nurse Harris, please help Chase out of his prosthetic and we’ll start on the right arm.”

  Harris helped Chase with the harness and he suddenly felt a sense that something was missing, as he first had with his real hands. He realised that he must have been getting used to it. She set it aside and went about attaching the electrodes to his right arm. Again, they performed the same series of tests and again Carlton seemed reasonably pleased with the results. The right arm performed slightly better again than the left.

  “Now,” Carlton said hesitantly, “I need you to consent to surgery, so that we can fine-tune the presentation of those nerves. Get them as close to the surface of your skin as possible, so that the electrodes — or the weave — get the best possible signal.”

  “Yeah, I was pretty much expecting that. You said it would probably need to be done. If it gets me one step further, I’m into it.”

  “Great. We’ll schedule you in. The downside is that you’ll need another week or two to recover. The scars will be tiny, so everything will heal quickly. We’ll test again after the swelling subsides. I’m afraid that you won’t be able to use this right afterwards.” He tapped on Chase’s prosthetic to emphasise the point.

  Carlton could see the hint of dejection. “It’ll be worth it. We should be able to schedule you in within a couple of days.”

  Nurse Harris began removing the electrodes before helping Chase slip back into the harness. Carlton meanwhile rolled away to a corner and busied himself at the computer, going over the data that Chase’s nerves had produced. The electrical engineer in Chase had his interest piqued. He was fascinated by the technology and the process, so was following as closely as he could.

  Nurse Harris motioned for Chase to stand up. “All right, Chase, let’s get you back to your room.”