Legion

by Robert Swartwood

She screamed.

  The driver and passenger scrambled out of the ambulance. At the same moment, Eli and Marta hurried across the street.

  There was little traffic passing by now. One car going south and that was it. It passed them as Eli and Marta reached the other side of the street, as the ambulance driver and passenger approached John, who was still on the ground, his face lowered, groaning.

  “Are you okay?” the driver asked.

  “Sir,” the passenger said, “what hurts?”

  Ashley, not quite sure what to do, screamed again.

  “I saw what happened!” Eli shouted. “I saw you hit him!”

  “Sir”—the driver now, turning to him—“please let us do our job.”

  “And what’s that?” Eli countered. “Running over pedestrians?

  Ignoring him, the driver crouched down beside John. The passenger did the same.

  “Sir,” the passenger said, “we’re going to turn you over now.”

  They placed their hands on John, but that was as far as they got. The moment they touched him, John stopped groaning and flipped over, the Taser already in hand. He tased first the passenger, then the driver. It was only a few seconds each, but both the driver and passenger yelled and convulsed and fell back.

  No telling how long the after-effects would last—only seconds, according to Eli. Also no telling who might be glancing out their window, or about ready to turn down the street. They needed to act fast.

  Ashley and Eli went for the passenger, just as John and Marta went for the driver. The passenger didn’t put up much of a fight, still dazed. The driver, however, growled and tried to take a swing at John. John used the Taser on him again. The driver’s legs buckled and he fell to the ground, forcing John and Marta to half-drag him toward the back of the ambulance.

  How many seconds had passed so far, Ashley didn’t know. She had meant to try to keep track but after the first five seconds it all became a blur.

  They got the back doors opened and John jumped inside, pulling the driver up with him. Next was the passenger. Then the rest of them were inside, Ashley pulling the doors closed.

  It was tight in the back, but still they managed to make it work, keeping the driver and passenger in the middle, both still groaning in pain.

  Eli had his gun out, pointed at the two men. “Strip.”

  The driver and passenger didn’t move. They didn’t speak. They just stared back at Eli, at the gun in his hand.

  “Do it,” Eli said.

  The passenger went first, taking off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt, then his pants. The driver followed suit a few seconds later.

  Marta and John, meanwhile, rummaged through the supplies lining the side of the ambulance. They came away with some straps. John held them up. Eli nodded and told the driver and passenger to set the clothes aside and lay down.

  “What is this all about?” the driver asked.

  “None of your concern. We’re not here to hurt you any further. Just do as we ask and you’ll be fine.”

  The passenger and driver didn’t look convinced, but still they dropped their clothes and began to lower themselves to the floor.

  Marta and John went about tying their wrists behind their backs, then their ankles. They tore some sheets and placed the fabric strips in the driver and passenger’s mouths to keep them quiet.

  Eli said, “Hurry, get dressed.”

  Ashley had known this part was coming but still she felt apprehensive. John was already taking off his shirt and pants. Ashley, steeling herself, unbuttoned her jeans.

  The clothes, once they had them on, didn’t fit well. They were too small on John, too big on her. The bulletproof vests didn’t help either. But it wasn’t like they had time to switch outfits. Already several minutes had passed. Too many minutes. The last thing they needed was someone who may have seen them briefly to become curious, or someone from the nursing home notice the ambulance still parked at the end of the exit.

  John slipped through the opening up front into the driver’s seat. Ashley slid into the passenger seat. The passenger had been wearing a baseball cap with the ambulance’s name, which Ashley now wore. The driver’s cap was on the dash. John fixed it to his head and put the ambulance in gear.

  • • •

  Six blocks, but in the afternoon traffic it took them nearly fifteen minutes before they reached the Medford Medical Center. They had to circle the building twice to find the right place to enter. There was the emergency entrance, but this wasn’t an emergency. What they needed was the ambulance bay.

  This turned out to be in an underground garage. John steered them down the ramp and slowed at the bottom, not sure where to go next. Ashley pointed toward the right, where several other ambulances were parked.

  John pulled into an empty space and parked the ambulance and glanced back through the opening.

  “Wait here.”

  Eli asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To get a wheelchair.”

  John and Ashley climbed out of the ambulance. They met at the rear of the vehicle and surveyed the garage. Farther down was an elevator. Next to it was an entrance into the basement level of the hospital.

  “Maybe inside,” John said.

  He started toward the entrance, but Ashley waved him off.

  “I’ll do it.”

  She hurried ahead and walked right through the automatic doors. She made sure to keep her head tilted slightly down, so the bill of the cap obscured her face from any cameras. There wasn’t any security inside the doors waiting to check ID. John had figured there wouldn’t be. And if there was, she and John were in uniforms. They looked official. No reason for anyone to stop and question them, especially with a pair of patients.

  Three wheelchairs were parked just around the corner. Ashley grabbed one and started back toward the entrance doors.

  “You ain’t stealing that now, are you?”

  The voice was low and heavy. It stopped Ashley cold. Blood thrummed in her ears. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

  “I’m just joshing.” A man walked up beside her. “You okay?”

  She blinked. Forced a smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Just a long day.”

  “I hear that.”

  The man wore a plain uniform. He wasn’t security, and he wasn’t an orderly. A janitor, maybe.

  The man gestured at the wheelchair. “Need a hand?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  She pushed the wheelchair through the doors, the man keeping pace just behind her. For some reason she expected him to follow her all the way to the ambulance, to again offer his assistance, but he stopped just outside of the doors, pulling a small container out of his pocket. She wasn’t sure what it was at first until he popped the lid, scooped out some black stuff, and stuck it in his mouth. Dipping tobacco. Gross.

  “I know, I know,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face. “I’ve been trying to quit. Maybe someday.”

  She forced another smile and continued on to the ambulance.

  John asked, his voice a whisper, “Everything okay?”

  Ashley just nodded.

  They opened only one of the back doors. Eli came out first, but in a very slow manner, like he was ten years older with a bad hip. They helped him down, then helped Marta down, who acted even frailer. She was the one who used the wheelchair. Eli stood beside her, the resilient husband, holding her hand.

  John wrapped his fingers around the wheelchair’s handles and released a heavy breath.

  “Now let’s try to make this work without getting killed, shall we?”

  forty-one

  We squeeze into the first elevator we find. It takes us up to the first floor, where two nurses get on. Both stare down at their cell phones without a word. They remind me of those commuters on the subway platform obsessed with their gadgets, and right now I’m thankful for them—it puts less focus on us. They get out on the second floor and we ride the elevator up to the third floor.
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  A signboard outside the elevator directs people either left or right: Cardiology, Oncology, Endoscopy. David’s specialty is Neurology.

  An orderly heads our way, a young guy carrying a clipboard.

  I ask, “Neurology on this floor?”

  “Nah, you have to go back down to the first floor, head up the corridor a bit, then get on the elevators by MRI. That’ll take you up to Neurology on the third floor.”

  “But this is the third floor.”

  He shrugs. “We’re like rats in a maze, you know? Building’s messed up like that.”

  We thank him and wait for another elevator and take it back down to the first floor. Down a long corridor to another bank of elevators where we wait with a bunch of other people—some staff, mostly guests—and then manage to squeeze into one of the elevators that stops on the second floor to let a few people off, then on the third floor to let us off.

  Another signboard greets us. Pulmonary, Renal Dialysis, Neurology.

  “Bingo,” I say.

  We head toward the left. Some more people pass us—nurses, orderlies, even a doctor or two—but the one that gives me pause is a security guard. An older guy, Hispanic, thick mustache and gray hair. He nods at us and then we’re past him, just like that, the large sign for Neurology looming ahead.

  “You know,” Eli says quietly, walking beside me, “there’s no guarantee he’ll be here.”

  “Way to stay positive, Pops.”

  “John, do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t call me Pops.”

  I’m tempted, of course, to call him Pops again, but by that point we’ve reached the doors leading into Neurology. Inside is your basic waiting area, chairs lined up against the wall, a few tables with scattered magazines, a flat screen TV showing some looped medical infomercial. There might be a dozen or so people waiting, spread throughout the room.

  The reception desk is divided into three sections, with three different women spaced out behind three different computers. All of them wear headsets. Two of them are currently waiting on patients, either scheduling new appointments or taking insurance cards.

  I walk up to the third woman, right in the middle. “I’m here to see Dr. Smith.”

  The woman wears a plastic smile as she clicks her mouse, places her fingers on the keyboard. “Name, please?”

  “It’s an emergency.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I need to see him right now.”

  “Sir, do you have an appointment?”

  Off toward the right, a door opens and a nurse steps out. She holds the door open with her back as she reads a name from a clipboard. Immediately an old woman gets up from a chair, setting down an old issue of US Weekly, and begins limping toward the nurse with the use of a cane.

  Eli and Marta and Ashley are behind me, Ashley now standing behind the wheelchair.

  I motion them toward the door and we start moving as one, beating the old woman with the cane by only seconds. Behind me, the woman with the plastic smile calls out, “Sir, you can’t go back there,” and the nurse holding the door open starts shaking her head, saying, “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” but we walk right past her, me first, then Eli, then Ashley pushing Marta in the wheelchair. Another nurse says something, her voice going loud, but we ignore her too and head down the hallway.

  Most of the doors are open, empty waiting rooms. A few other doors are closed, but they’re obviously waiting rooms, too. I open these, poking my head in, calling David’s name. He’s not in any of them, just startled patients waiting to see their doctor, and I offer up a quick apology before moving on to the next room.

  It’s starting to get loud in here. More nurses are telling us we have to leave. A few doors down the hall open. Out of one of them steps David, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and tie. He looks quite spiffy.

  “John?” He blinks, and then looks past me. His eyes widen. “Dad?”

  “We need to talk to you,” I say.

  He nods dumbly, blinks again, nods harder this time, and steps back so we can enter his office.

  “Dr. Smith,” says one of the nurses.

  David holds up a hand. “It’s all right, Janice. I’ll take care of this.”

  “What about your appointments?”

  “Have Ed and Shirley deal with them until I say so. Understood?”

  Janice doesn’t look like she does, but she nods anyway.

  “Everything’s fine,” David assures her. Then he steps into his office, closing the door, looking first at me, then at Eli, then at Marta, then at Ashley. Finally he shakes his head, rubs his eyes. “What the hell is going on here?”

  forty-two

  Tyson called and said, “They’re inside.”

  “What?”

  “Eli and his kid and the others. They’re inside and headed up to Neurology right now.”

  Zach sat behind the steering wheel, a block up from the medical center, Hogan in the passenger seat beside him.

  “Shit.” He started the sedan and pulled out into traffic. A car behind him screeched as it braked hard to avoid a collision. “How’d they get in?”

  “Ambulance.”

  “Ambulance?”

  Hogan said, “What’s up?”

  “Eli’s inside,” Zach told him.

  “How?”

  “How?” Zach asked Tyson.

  “Not quite sure. They tied up two EMTs, had them in the back of the ambulance, left them there. They were gagged but they managed to kick the doors until it got someone’s attention. Word just went out to all security with their descriptions.”

  “Are they accessing the video feeds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Scramble it. Delete it. Do whatever you have to do, but don’t let security track where they’re going.”

  “It’s too late. One of the nurses from Neurology is calling them right now.”

  “Fucking take care of it!” Zach shouted, one hand on the phone, the other hand maneuvering the wheel as he swerved the sedan around traffic.

  Their only options were the emergency room entrance or the parking garage. Zach took the parking garage. He jerked the steering wheel hard and they bumped up over the curb into the entrance. Beside him, Hogan already had his gun out, racking the slide.

  Zach punched the gas, tearing them up the incline to the second level, then the third. There were no empty parking spaces here, at least none near the door, but that didn’t matter. He stopped the sedan and cut the engine and threw open his door.

  “We’re headed inside now,” he said into the phone as he and Hogan started toward the entrance doors. “Make sure they have the helicopter here ASAP.”

  forty-three

  Eli doesn’t waste a second. He ignores David’s question and says, “People are out to kill us so we need to leave right now.”

  David doesn’t speak right away. He just stands there, staring incredulously at Eli. Finally he says, “I thought you were dead.”

  “The longer we stay here the more likely it is we’ll all be dead.”

  The wheelchair has brakes on each overlarge wheel. Marta engages them and stands up out of the chair.

  David’s eyes widen again. “Mom? I thought you had—”

  “I didn’t,” she says. “The stroke was just a story. David, we can explain everything to you soon, but right now we need to leave. They’re probably watching you—and now us—as it is.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Good question,” I say, wandering toward the two windows in the office. Both have their blinds up. I move to one of the windows, standing off to the side, and peek out through the glass. I check the rooftops across the street, but I can’t spy any snipers, and besides, I figure that if there are snipers over there, they’re expert enough to make sure I can’t see them. As I lower the blind, I say, “I was just as skeptical as you are now, but so far everything tracks.”

  “What everything?” David p
auses. “Yesterday morning I received an email from Melissa.”

  Eli says, “These people killed your sister and her family. They’ve already killed Valerie and her husband and Paul and his family. They even tried to kill John.”

  I lower the blind for the second window, force a smile at David. “Luckily, they didn’t succeed.”

  David acknowledges Ashley for the first time. Another frown creases his face. “Who’s she?”

  Ashley looks like she’s about to speak, but Eli cuts her off.

  “David, we don’t have time for this. We need to leave now.”

  David shuffles a few steps back until his legs bump against his desk. He places his hands on the desktop, slowly leans back against it.

  “If this ... if this is all true,” David says, staring down at the carpet, as if running something through his head, “we need to call the police.”

  Eli takes a step forward, speaks between clenched teeth. “Do you want to die?”

  “What?” David looks up, startled. “Of course not.”

  “Then let’s go. Once we’re far away from here, I’ll explain more.”

  David slowly nods, still running through something in his head. “Okay. But I need to let my assistants know—”

  “Absolutely not,” Eli barks. “What about this situation don’t you understand?”

  David’s expression is the kind you might expect had Eli just slapped him across the face. He looks stunned, hurt, confused.

  I clear my throat. “Hey.”

  David blinks, looks over at me.

  “Let’s just go, okay?”

  He stares at me for a long moment, then slowly nods.

  Marta says, “What’s the fastest way down to the street?”

  David shrugs. “The elevators, I guess.”

  “Are there any secondary elevators blocked off to the public?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “No, there isn’t. There’s a stairwell, but we’d need to go back through the waiting room. Everyone’s going to see me. They’re going to wonder why I’m leaving. What am I supposed to tell them?”