The Curse of M

by Stevie Barry

  "I'll not hurt you," she said. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to eat me, either. I've not got any food myself, so I can't share."

  Still the wolf stared at her, and she wondered if it was possible to read an animal's mind. At least she could try to communicate that she wasn't a threat.

  The creature cocked its head to one side, giving her a puzzled look that was almost human. A second wolf crept up beside it, and this one had a bloody, furry mess that had once been an animal in its jaws.

  To Lorna's disbelief, the gory mess was tossed onto the ground in front of her. She looked from it to the wolves, and very cautiously leaned forward to grab the thing. She couldn't tell what it had been in life, but it was big enough to make a meal, if she could figure out how to skin it.

  "Ah…thanks," she said, feeling more foolish still. It almost seemed they understood her, though, sharing a glance that was again almost human. They trotted away into the trees again, leaving Lorna to try to deal with her dinner.

  What followed was the most disgusting thing she'd ever done. Not only had she never skinned and dressed an animal before, she'd never seen it done, and had only a vague idea how to go about it. At least her knife was wickedly sharp, saving her the trouble of having to saw through anything, but it wound up being a good thing her stomach was empty, because she retched a few times during the proceedings.

  She cut the meat into thin slices, wanting to make sure it would cook all the way through. The fire had enough coals now to be more than hot enough, though she burned her fingers several times and at one point lit her roasting stick on fire.

  Still, it worked in the end, and then she had to force herself to eat slowly so she wouldn’t get sick. The sun was slanting toward evening by the time she was through, so unless it got windy, she'd stay put for the night. Now that she was warm and well-fed, the pain didn't bother her as much.

  She looked around at the trees. There was a kind of majesty in this forest she'd never felt anywhere else. It had stood for hundreds of years, and had maybe never been seen by a human before. It was as far a cry from the sterile Institute as she could get, and Lorna thought she understood why the Lady had brought her here. She wasn't ready to face other people yet, their questions and anger and pity -- and maybe, if she was out here enough for her more recent wounds to heal, nobody need ever know what Von Ratched had done to her.

  It was with those thoughts that she fell asleep, warm beside her dying fire, and she was so tired that she didn't dream.

  ----

  Von Ratched had packed up a helicopter and headed off into the night as soon as he made his decision. Let the DMA have the Institute -- let them find all his papers and expose him to the world for them monster he was. Very soon, it wouldn't matter.

  The weather was foul, but he would have taken off into a hurricane if he'd had to. The snow was light, but the wind was howling, fighting the rotor and threatening to send him off-course every few seconds.

  He wanted to believe Lorna couldn't have gone far, but since he didn't know how she'd even escaped, he couldn't' rule anything out. All his equipment had still been on the base, and the security cameras showed nothing -- but she was still nowhere in the Institute. Something had helped her, and when he found her, he meant to find out what.

  But even with his infrared scanner, a five-mile circuit of the Institute showed nothing. If there was any logic left in this situation, she probably would have headed south, so south he went.

  The chopper had a satellite radio, and he kept searching the bands, wondering if someone had found her. There was nothing of that, but there was quite a bit of coded military chatter that was likely about him. Ordinarily his inner narcissist would have been pleased by that, but for once he was too focused to be pleased by anything.

  The wind continued to buffet the chopper, and Von Ratched continued to fight it with grim determination. His shoulder ached terribly, and he hadn't bothered to clean the blood from his neck and face. The wound at his neck throbbed dully, but it had mostly stopped bleeding. He knew he must look like a nightmare, but that hardly mattered now.

  He flew until dawn, sweeping wide circles as he headed south, but all the infrared picked up were animals. Where was she, his wayward Lorna?

  She could be dead.

  Yes, she very easily could be, and if she was she certainly wouldn't show up on infrared, but he couldn't rest until he knew. The fact that he would probably never know was not one he was willing to entertain.

  ----

  The helicopters spotted smoke long before they reached the Institute.

  They'd flown all day and well into the night, Miranda wanting to approach the place under whatever cover the darkness might provide. The wind was heavy, but the snow light enough that the massive column of smoke was more than visible enough.

  "Shit," Geezer muttered, banking upward.

  "What the hell is that?" Miranda demanded, her voice tinny over the staticky connection of the headset.

  "Wrigley, probably. Kid must have had a meltdown, which means Von Ratched's probably gone."

  "How's that?"

  "Von Ratched woulda made sure he stayed drugged. If Wrigley's gone China Syndrome and it hasn't been put out yet, things in there are probably a total clusterfuck. And that wouldn't happen if Von Ratched was still there."

  "Good."

  Not necessarily, he thought. If Von Ratched had left by air, he could be anywhere. Shit, they might even run into him -- and if he had Lorna with him, they couldn't just shoot him down. That would be a royal problem, but Geezer wouldn't dwell on it right now. For now, they had enough to worry about it.

  Even as they approached, something big exploded -- something near the military base, if he was any judge. An impressive fireball bloomed upward, rendered blurry by the snow, and Miranda swore, half admiringly.

  "Looks like this might be just a rescue mission after all," he muttered. So far as the Institute's military were concerned, they were arriving at the worst possible time -- damn hard to defend yourself when your base was on fire.

  "Should we even bother approaching quietly?" someone asked over the radio.

  "We stick with the plan until we know whether or not Von Ratched's really gone," Miranda said. "Geezer, I'm following you. The rest of you, come in around like we planned."

  "Copy that." In spite of all the tension, Geezer found some part of him was enjoying this. Some of his few good memories were of piloting, and once upon a time he'd thrived on shit like this. His instincts knew it, even if his conscious mind couldn't remember. The rotor fought him as they swooped downward through the wind and snow, his stomach juking with adrenaline rather than nausea. If Miranda would let him, he could get used to this.

  He banked around in a wide circle, avoiding the smoke as he headed for the tarmac. The goddamn replacement hangar was on fire -- Von Ratched had to be gone, or that would never have been allowed to keep burning.

  And that meant it probably wasn't Wrigley's doing, either. There was no way the kid could have gotten out here, Von Ratched or no Von Ratched -- so what the hell had caused it?

  "Come on down, Miranda," he said. "I don't think these goons'll put up a fight. I'm gonna go see what's going on."

  He killed the engine and hopped out before any of his passengers could protest, striding across the tarmac like he owned the place. The heat hit him like a blast from an open oven, along with a smell of--

  "Oh, fuck." He took off, mission momentarily forgotten, and nabbed a passing mercenary. Goddamned idiots didn't have any ranking system he recognized, but screw it. This one was maybe twenty, little more than a scared kid. "Shut off the gas mains, son, while we've still got a base."

  "We did--" the kid started.

  "Bullshit. If I can still smell it this strong, you've got a leak somewhere. Go shut off the main tank before this damn place blows sky-high."

  The boy scurried off, and Geezer shook his head. Mercenaries. Most of them weren't worth a tin shit, and this group didn't seem
to be any exception. He never would have dreamed he'd wind up trying to save the Institute, but if they didn't get the gas shut off, the whole place could blow sky-high.

  He strode through the hellish heat, ignoring the stink of smoke and gas, though both were so strong he could taste it. He marched until he found someone who looked a lot more with it than the kid, a man of about his own age with a soot-streaked face and a harried expression.

  "Who the hell are you?" the man demanded.

  "Reinforcements," Geezer returned. "Why the hell's the gas still on?"

  Under any other circumstances, the man probably would have questioned that, but his base was literally burning down around his ears. "Cold cracked one of the mains, we think," he said, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "Can't find the goddamn leak. Doctor took off and left us to deal with this on our own.

  "He what?"

  "Went out in a helicopter. Said he had to go hunting. Looked like hell, too -- something worked him over good."

  One plus one had to equal Lorna. Shit. Geezer had no idea whether that would be good or bad. "How's the main building?"

  "It's standing, if that's what you mean, but I'm fucked if I know what's going on inside. At this point, I don't care."

  "I'll check. Good luck, soldier."

  Geezer strode off again, wondering what the hell had really happened. Yeah, it was cold, but not cold enough to rupture any decently-constructed gas main. It had to be sabotage, but he couldn't imagine any of the mercenaries would be willing to -- oh. Oh, hell.

  He pulled the radio from his belt. "You guys stay away from the base," he said. "Tamara, get our chopper outta there, and Miranda, scoot around the other side. Whole damn place is a booby-trap."

  "Where should we land?" Miranda asked.

  "Other side of the Institute. I'll meet you there, and everybody needs gas masks if we go in."

  "Why?"

  "Von Ratched's skipped town, but he set off the gas mains out here, and there's a good chance he could have in there, too. Could kill everyone in their sleep."

  "Shit. Hurry it up -- we'll start breaking walls down."

  "On it." He was running now, sweating with exertion and the heat of the fire. He was too damn old for this, already winded, and by the time he reached the helicopters he was panting like a dog on a hot summer day.

  They were landing in the tundra, one by one, most far enough away that they wouldn't get caught even if the whole Institute went up. Scores of people in gas masks had already broken down a side door, pouring into the building like driver ants.

  He found his own helicopter, and grabbed a mask. "Von Ratched's gone and so is Lorna," he told Ratiri, "but not together. We get everybody outta here, and you and I can go hunting for them both."

  "Not on the amount of fuel you've got," Al said, his voice muffled by his mask. "We'll have to refuel to get back to base, but you don't have enough to go haring off into the wilderness no matter what."

  Geezer would argue the point later. For now he grabbed a Bowie knife and stormed inside. If the gas really had been set off, they couldn't risk gunfire -- but they were cursed and the staff weren't. Guns probably wouldn't be necessary.

  The corridors were dim and still and eerie -- and cold. Some who had gone ahead had broken out the windows, attempting to clear any gas there might be. Snow whirled in, melting where it hit the floor, but it would turn to ice soon enough.

  It didn't take them long to run into some panicked staff, but they were overpowered and dealt with easily enough. Breaking down the doors to the inmates' cells was a lot more difficult of a proposition, and took more time than he liked. There were so many, and every second counted.

  The inmates themselves emerged terrified and shivering, and were bundled in blankets before being dragged to the choppers. Some of them were so drugged they had to literally be dragged, and Geezer knew the hospital at the DMA would have its hands full.

  He headed for F wing, letting the others take care of things in the main area. Even if Von Ratched never came back, all his 'research' had to be destroyed. It couldn't be allowed to fall into anyone's hands.

  He had to break down the door with an axe, which left him more out of breath than ever, his muscles burning and twitching. He didn't dare light anything on fire, but smashing all the machinery was surprisingly cathartic. Plastic shattered, metal twisted and tore apart, and a fresh spurt of adrenaline took hold of him. The glass cases of chemicals and blood samples came apart with a satisfying crash, their contents mingling in noxious pools on the floor.

  Von Ratched's records were somewhere else -- probably in his office or apartment. It didn't take long to find the office, and that door was already ajar.

  The place was trashed. Bits of glass from the window and television littered the floor, already getting buried by snow. The desk was overturned, and there was a hell of a lot of blood on the floor near one wall. Lorna and Von Ratched had gotten in one mother of a knock-down, drag-out fight, and Geezer wondered how they were both still alive.

  Yet Lorna had somehow managed to escape. Whenever they found her, he really wanted to hear that story.

  Books were scattered everywhere, too, and a glance at one told him they were indeed Von Ratched's writing. Geezer picked up a few, for evidence, and tore the rest apart, hacking with his axe until only scraps of paper remained. Nobody was getting anything out of this.

  He was sweating even worse by the time he was through, and he marched out with the grim satisfaction of a job well done. Smoke from the base fire was drifting in through the shattered windows, along with a lot of snow. This place would be a ruin by the time they were done, and good riddance.

  Nurse Grieggs came barreling by him when he reached the main wing, and he grabbed her by the collar and punched her lights out. Normally he didn't hold with hitting women, but Grieggs was a snake, and she'd answer for her crimes here. All these bastards would.

  He hauled her over his shoulder like a sandbag, and that really made him ache. He dumped her on Miranda as soon as he could, and looked around.

  The inmates had mostly been bundled into the choppers by now, the staff bound with cable ties. None of them had been issued blankets, and they knelt shivering in the snow. No doubt they thought they were all about to be executed, but nobody was going to let them off that easy. They would face the judgment of the world, though God knew just who had the legal right to prosecute them, and in what court. Miranda could deal with that.

  With a sigh of relief he stripped off his mask, drawing a deep breath of air so cold it made his lungs burn. He looked down the line of prisoners and spotted the reporter, a pretty brunette in her late twenties, dressed in designer snow gear. She had a patented Newscaster Serious Expression, and he couldn't tell if her pallor was a trick of the light or simple shock.

  "The hell do we do now?" he asked Miranda. "Torch the place?"

  "We do that and it might blow up," she pointed out, and then grinned. "I say we nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure."

  Poor though Geezer's memory was, he actually got the reference. "Right," he said, smiling tiredly.

  They never got the chance. It must have been a long time since anyone sedated Wrigley, for he chose that moment to set the tundra alight in a big, big way. Flames bloomed up high and hot in the darkness, and more than one person screamed.

  Miranda swore. "Julifer, get your ass over here! I need your help."

  They both bolted for the kid, and in the distance Geezer saw Miranda catch Wrigley in a flying tackle. Julifer grabbed his hair, and at least the irregular explosions stopped, though the fire burned on. Wrigley himself struggled for a bit, but some whispered words from Julifer calmed him, even as she dragged him away.

  The imprisoned staff stumbled quite a bit as they were hurried further from the Institute. Geezer had to suppress the urge to trip a few.

  Unfortunately, the reporter chose that moment to jog up and hold out her microphone, her camera man trailing her like a puppy. "Do you ha
ve a few moments for a statement?"

  He paused, uncertain. Being a man of relatively few words, he had no idea what to say. "I don't know what statement I could give you," he said. "Did you go in there?"

  "We did," she said, and shivered a little. "I was wondering what it felt like for you, being back here again."

  It was a surprisingly difficult question to answer. "Glad," he said at last, "in a way. C'mon, keep walking with me." He led them onward, keeping an eye out for further trouble. "We've gotten everybody out, even if Von Ratched's still loose. This place is finished -- we can get 'em help. And I made damn sure nobody'll ever get their hands on Von Ratched's so-called 'research'."

  "What about the woman you were speaking to on the phone yesterday? Lorna?"

  He sighed. "She's not here. She escaped, although if she'd been shot earlier I’m damned if I know how. Von Ratched took off looking for her."

  "How far could she have gone, in so short a time?"

  "Depends on what she stole before she ran. We'd better find her before he does, though. From the look of his office, they damn near killed each other." He paused to shove some of the staff into a helicopter.

  "What will happen to them?" the reporter asked.

  Geezer sighed again. "Dunno. We want to try 'em in court, but I've got no idea what court. Chuck 'em in prison until then, I guess."

  A second explosion made him jump -- this one much bigger. That one wasn't Wrigley's fault, though; it came from the base on the other side of the Institute, and he hoped like hell none of their own people had been caught in it. He didn't know what Miranda's people were doing about the mercenaries, but so far there hadn't been any gunfire he could hear.

  They found Ratiri in the next helicopter, busily picking out a former inmate's aura. His expression was bleak -- someone had told him Lorna was gone.

  "We'll find her, son," Geezer said. "You know we will."

  "I know," Ratiri said quietly, "but what will happen to her in the meantime? She's lost in the wilderness with a gunshot wound, and if she fought with Von Ratched before she escaped, she has to be even more hurt."