by James Axler
Ryan felt himself being examined, but his eye was on the mirrored faceplate that hovered over him, concealing the person’s features. It was attached to some kind of full helmet that protected the wearer, and was attached to a suit that seemed to be composed of equal parts heavy cloth and hard armor plates covering the person’s upper chest and shoulders. The person seemed to ripple as he or she knelt over him, and Ryan swore he saw the suit’s color shimmer and change to a light tan that blended with the walls and floor of the pit.
The hands were gentle as they examined his injuries, and he heard a hiss and one final command before his vision tunneled out, turning gray, then fading to black.
“Subject is seriously injured, multiple gunshots, trauma level three. Request immediate evac to the ICU ward, stat.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryan’s eye fluttered open, and he stared at the pristine white ceiling above his head. He lay perfectly still, letting his senses and body come awake, gathering as much information about where he was without giving away his current condition.
A cursory glance around the room revealed he was lying on a bed with rails on either side, in an antiseptically clean room with walls the color of pale peaches. A blinking red light in the corner probably indicated a sec camera, confirming that he was being watched. As his awareness sharpened, he realized there were things attached to his body; what felt like a needle was sticking into his right forearm, and sticky electrodes were on his chest and temple.
That was another thing he realized—he was dressed in a clean hospital gown, and he had been washed.
My arms! he thought.
Heedless of whoever might be watching, Ryan turned his head to look at his shoulders as the memory of what had happened flooded over him, ignoring the stab of pain that flashed up his neck to the base of his skull. Both arms ended in their normal accoutrements—two hands, ten fingers, he saw with relief. His shoulders, however, were trapped in a strange cage made of metal rods that kept him immobile on the bed.
“It’s to help your bones mend, Ryan,” a familiar voice said from a few feet away.
“J.B.?” Ryan slowly turned his head toward the other bed in the room, where the Armorer’s familiar, steady eyes stared back at him.
“None other.” J.B. winced, presumably at the contraption holding Ryan. “That thing hurt much?”
Ryan’s gaze flicked around the strange cage, and was a bit surprised. “Actually, it feels okay. I’ve got an itch on the back of my neck I’d like to scratch that’s drivin’ me loco, but otherwise I can’t complain. Where are we?”
J.B. swung his legs off the bed, giving Ryan a glimpse of a strange, smooth plastic cast with some kind of nozzle sticking out near the calf, and walked over to Ryan’s without a trace of a limp. “In the hospital section of a redoubt called the Bunker, underneath the Denver International Airport.” He leaned over and scratched Ryan’s neck. “That do it?”
“Bit lower…that’s got it.” Ryan eyed J.B.’s new toy. “You seem to be doing all right.”
J.B. mouth quirked up, and he nodded. “They got some things here that even you probably wouldn’t believe till you see them.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About two and a half days. Got no gear, nothing except what they gave us, which, besides this breeze-flapper, isn’t much. What do you remember?”
Ryan didn’t have to think back too far. “Last thing was a whole lot of fuckin’ pain, then you hauling me all over creation like a bastard meat puppet.” Ryan grinned. “Think I still owe you for some of the stuff you said down there.”
J.B.’s smile was genuine this time. “If you think you can lift those arms anytime soon, you’re welcome to try.” His expression turned serious again. “Ryan, I haven’t been as afraid since that time you went into that river, or mebbe when you ate that poisoned food on account of what a stubborn stupe you can be…”
Ryan rolled his eye. “Spare me the compliments and fill me in on what went down.”
“Like I said, you were hit bad. Broken collarbone, bleeding like a fountain, even more muscle damage. One of the docs said they removed a bullet that had nestled up against your carotid artery.” J.B. massaged his lower back. “Couple more millimeters, and I wouldn’t have had to strain myself hauling your ass out of there.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah, didn’t feel like burying you just yet. Those fuckin’ raiders were out for blood, our balls on a necklace, you name it. Caddeus nearly lost his lower leg to a double-barreled shotgun blast just as we reached the tunnel entrance. I made Rachel take him, and the four of us gimped out, fighting off the whole crazy tribe all the way. Still not entirely sure how we got out of there. When we got back to the pit, I was down to my last magazine. That’ll teach us not to leave the shotgun behind next time. Later found I had five bullets left.”
“Just enough—one for each of us, and a spare in case you fucked one up.” Ryan didn’t smile at his gallows humor.
J.B. didn’t, either. “We reach the pit again, and these strange suited figures tell us to surrender or die, so we take the first option. They hauled out the wag using a vehicle I’ve never seen before. Even lookin’ like something the cat dragged all over the place, they knocked us out for transport.”
“Yeah, I remember seeing one of them, all covered in a faceplate and helmet and some kind of armor suit.”
“Yeah, probably one of the sec personnel. Next thing I know, I’m in this bed, wearing a gown similar to yours, my leg’s been treated by this ‘adaptable limb cast’ and I’m being fed half-decent food, but not a scrap of information yet. They wheeled you in yesterday afternoon, and other than check-ups—always accompanied by an armed guard—no one’s told me jack-shit so far.”
Ryan indicated the unblinking camera eye with a slight motion of his head. “They’re probably watching us talk right now, so I’d expect someone to show up any second.”
Both men looked at the formidable steel door, which remained silent and shut. “Okay, might be a bit longer then. You said the food’s good?”
“It’ll do. Had worse, had better. You must be starving by now.”
“Damn near, considering the last time I ate was what, two days ago? Since then—”
The door cycling open interrupted Ryan, and a heavyset man strode into the room, dressed in a white biohazard suit that covered him from head to toe. A smooth leather belt encircled his waist, carrying a holstered blaster, along with several other small pouches and a set of handcuffs. His faceplate was transparent, revealing a broad face with a heavy brow and thick, black eyebrows over bright blue eyes. He took a position to the right of the door.
“Patient Dix, you are advised to return to your bed, otherwise we will be forced to sedate you—again.” The man’s hands dangled loosely at his sides, but Ryan spotted the look in his eye immediately. This man was a chiller, pure and simple.
J.B. grimaced as he walked back to his bed. “Almost forgot to tell you that part, Ryan. They busted me examining the door last night and knocked me out. They like to use gas.”
“The sedation was for your own good, as well as for ours. I’m afraid that we must keep you all under quarantine until we can confirm that none of you pose any kind of threat to our environment.” This came from another white-suited man who had come into the room, this one shorter and wearing glasses behind his faceplate.
“Who are you and where are we?” Ryan asked.
“I am Dr. Stephen Agathem, and I head the medical division of this compound. You are guests of a place called the Bunker—” Ryan and J.B. exchanged knowing glances at the pause, but said nothing “—and your injuries will be attended to until it is decided what will be done with you. In the meantime, I suggest that you rest as much as possible. Your wounds were very serious, and even with the treatment, it will be some time before you regain full function of your limbs again.” He came around to the side of the bed and regarded Ryan. “Hold still, please.” He checked the fram
ework around him, tightening a screw here, loosening one there. Then he shone the beam of a small penlight into Ryan’s eye. “Pupil reaction seems normal. How do you feel?”
Ryan stared at the cage around him. “Good overall. I feel a vague itching in my shoulders.”
“That’s the muscles and bones coming back together. It’s mostly psychosomatic, but it should diminish in the next day or so.”
“What exactly did you do to me?”
“There was extensive trauma from three bullet wounds to your shoulders, aggravated by what I would call the exact opposite way to properly move someone to safety.” Agathem stared hard at J.B., who only shrugged. “You were very fortunate there wasn’t any spinal cord or vertebra damage. We repaired the tissue and ligament damage, replaced the 2.3 pints of blood lost and reset your broken collarbone, using nanograftors to ensure that the bones set properly. I’m afraid you’ll have to be in the immobilization frame for at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours to allow the bones to mend cleanly.”
“When can we see our friends?” Ryan asked.
“Possibly as early as tomorrow afternoon, pending the results of the last tests. You were all cleansed thoroughly before admittance, and as long as nothing dangerous is detected, it would be possible to allow supervised visitation within the next twenty-four hours. A base administrator will also want to speak with you, but I imagine you’re probably hungry, and it is mealtime, so…”
Without another word, the door opened again, this time allowing Ryan to see that it was an airlock, with another outer door at the end of a small corridor. Another white-suited person pushing a wheeled cart walked in and stopped it between the two beds. He swung out individual tables for Ryan and J.B., revealing trays filled with what looked like meat loaf and gravy, mashed potatoes, diced carrots and peas, two slices of wheat bread, a dark brown lump of something that might have been a brownie, along with a glass of water and a sealed plastic cup of orange-red liquid. The smells weren’t quite right. The food had been either freezedried or reconstituted, but at the moment neither Ryan’s nose or stomach really cared.
“Regular nutrition will enable to you recover your health faster, Patient Cawdor. Eat now, and I’ll see about advancing those appointments and letting you see your companions.”
“Want to see the administrator soon as possible,” Ryan said around a giant mouthful of meat and bread. It was awkward eating without moving his shoulders, but he soon adapted, mindful of the sharp flares of pain when he moved too fast.
“They are busy men, but I’ll see what can be done. In the meantime, rest and let us know if there are any sudden changes in your condition, pain flare-ups and-or fever, nausea, or light headedness.”
Still shoveling food into his mouth, Ryan nodded. Without another word, the man turned and left, followed by the sec guard.
J.B. didn’t say anything until Ryan was almost done, but gave him another slice of meat loaf and all his bread. Ryan assembled them into a sloppy sandwich and devoured it in three large bites, drained the last of his water and frowned at the plastic sealed cup.
“Server said it’s something called pink grapefruit juice. Not bad,” J.B. said.
Tearing open the foil top, Ryan sniffed it, then sipped. The tart-sweetness washed away the meal’s bland, processed taste, and he drained the cup in one long gulp. With a satisfied belch, he set it on the tray and pushed it back toward the cart as far as he could without straining his arm. “You were right—had better, had worse.”
“So what now?”
“Not much happening till I get out of this thing.” Ryan eyed the camera in the corner, wondering if they had the room wired for sound, too. He turned his head as far as he could, trying to keep whoever was watching from seeing his lips move as he pitched his voice low.
“Got to find out what they know. Do they know about the ville? What firepower do they have? How many personnel? Place like this can unbalance the entire region, particularly if they start heading out and visiting the neighbors.”
“How do you want to play it?”
“Same as when we came into Denver at first—mouths shut and eyes open. Stick to the ‘traveling traders’ story. It should buy us some time so we can figure out how to handle these people.”
“What about Caddeus? He’s liable to spill the whole story.”
“Not if they really run the militia in Denver as tight as it seems. He probably considers himself a prisoner of war, so he won’t say anything to them. Whatever happens, just follow my lead.”
“Always do.” J.B. leaned back in his bed as the door cycled open again. Ryan turned his head with some effort to see another white-suited man enter the room, this one taller and more slender than the others. He was armed with a blaster at his side, and was carrying a small, gray case. He was followed by another thickly built sec man, not the same as the first one, Ryan noticed.
“It’s good to see you both doing well,” he began. “I am Captain Daryn Waltrop, commander of security of this facility. I’d like to ask you both a few questions.”
Ryan and J.B. exchanged glances again. It was rare enough for any sec man to request an interview, much less do it politely. Ryan nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”
“What brought you and your group to this area?”
Ryan tried to keep it short and simple. “Me and my friends’re traders—or we were till a small town tried to double-cross us about a week south of here. We had to fight our way out, left most of our wares behind. We were heading north till our steamer gave out a couple days ago. Thought we heard about a ville in the area, so we kept going until those men in the vehicles picked us up as mercs. We were heading back to their ville when the Indians attacked. You probably know the rest.”
For a sec man, Waltrop seemed very relaxed, even leaning against the wall as he listened to the story. Ryan wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Usually sec men had a chip on their shoulder, a stick up their ass, or both, each the size of a tree trunk. “All I know right now is that your convoy of three vehicles was spotted approaching our perimeter when you were attacked by those damn Indians which have been a thorn in our side for a long time. However, it seems you managed to uncover how they were able to strike and disappear so quickly. Although we’ve been trying to track their travel paths for—well, for a while now, we hadn’t thought they were using underground tunnels. This will help immensely in our future operations against them.”
Ryan’s eyebrow rose. Was this guy thanking them for inadvertently uncovering the Indians’ hiding place? “You’re welcome, I guess. Are you one of the administrators we’re supposed to be seeing?”
Daryn shook his head. “No, but as head of security, I keep tabs on any visitors to our facility, particularly ones as capable as you all seem to be. I may sit in on that interview, however.”
J.B. spoke up. “Is there anything you can tell us about this facility?”
Daryn shook his head again. “No. Any questions you have can be asked of Administrator Carr. Most likely he’ll be the one to interview you.”
“What about the rest of our friends? We’d like to see them and make sure they’re all right.”
“Until an administrator sees you and you’ve been cleared for leaving the room, I’m afraid that isn’t possible. However…” He set the small case on the bed and opened it up, revealing a monitor screen that flickered into life. Daryn came over to Ryan’s bed and held the device so he could see it, then pressed a button. A color picture of a room similar to theirs appeared, with two beds. Doc lay on one of them, shaking his head, while Jak paced the room, waving his hands at the old man while his lips moved soundlessly.
“Your white-haired companion is very interesting. He does not like being confined.”
Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, I could have warned you about that if I’d been awake.”
“It doesn’t matter. They can’t be let out until the testing is complete. He’ll simply have to make do. If he doesn’t, there’s always the gas.”
Ryan examined the grainy image, seeing the tension in the teen’s thin shoulders. “It’d probably help if I talked to him, even through a telephone or walkie-talkie.”
Daryn slowly nodded. “I’ll see what can be arranged. Here are others.” He pressed the button again, and the picture changed to show Sergeant Caddeus in his own room, sleeping.
“Your other man went through quite a lot. The doctors were unable to save his lower leg, but they should be able to fix him up with an excellent prosthetic.”
“Yeah, he looks all right. How about the others?”
The sec man changed the picture again, this one showing Krysty and Mildred, each sitting on her own bed across from each other, talking.
“To be a fly on the wall for that conversation, eh, Ryan?” J.B. asked with a smile.
“Mebbe. Women have their own way of discussing things that men shouldn’t have any part of sometimes.” Ryan noticed that both Daryn and the other sec man had taken a particular interest in the picture of the two women, with the second man even leaving his post by the door, edging closer to get a better look. “There was a blond woman with us. Can you show her, too?”
Now Daryn exchanged a glance with his henchman. “Ah, yes, the feisty one.” He switched pictures again, showing Rachel in a room alone, doing push-ups on the floor. She had stripped down to her panties and an undershirt, revealing long, lean legs, well-developed arms and a lithe, toned body. Ryan glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the sec man’s attention focused completely on the screen. “Now that’s a sight I could watch all day.”
