by Adam Steel
She planned to force one of the ISIAH doctors to help him, even if she had to force them at gunpoint. She was going to march into the hospital complex, find a doctor, and stick Jack’s gun so far up his nose that he would snort gunpowder. She did not care about the consequences anymore, or being caught. Max was on the verge of death behind her and saving him was all that mattered to her.
Hanging from the rear-view mirror, was an ancient mascot. It jangled back and forth. It was a grotesque doll covered in stitches and scars. It had an evil grin. In one hand it held a bloody kitchen knife.
Below it, someone had written the words: “Don’t fuck with the Chuck!”
She tore it off and hurled it beneath the seat. Whatever Chuck, she thought. Today nobody fucks with me. Richie Red’s voice chimed out through the radio speakers. “Baby, you just gotta do it.”
‘I’m fucking doing it already,’ Aya thought, defiantly as she slammed the truck up another gear. It crunched into place. She was thinking that she was just about getting the hang of the clutch as she swung the rusty wreck onto the arterial road. She was heading back on the road that would take them into Sector Six, the danger zone.
The main entrance to Plastic Paradise was still fully staffed, when Aya glided Chuck’s truck into the parking lot. The rest of the hospital building was staffed by a skeleton crew of nightshift workers. Dim lights shone out from the wards on the upper floors but, apart from the main entrance, most of the lights in the lower levels were off. Above the main entrance doors, a huge Info-Com played out a pre-recorded, looped message. Masons De-Barr and Batide stood side by side, with their arms crossed, as it played out its greeting message:
“Welcome to our leading ISIAH facility,” De-Barr said.
The two masons smiled, sincerely.
“You can expect only the best levels of care to the highest standards.”
She glared at the images. I wonder if they’re all in on it?’ she thought sceptically. The faces of the masons on the video seemed to be impeccably genuine. The video played out a tour of the wards and rooms of Plastic Paradise. A glitch in the video made her realise her mistake, as it attempted to read her eyes. She turned away quickly and drove forward. When she dared to look back again the video had resumed behind her.
She could see that the main entrance was too well staffed for her to get past safely and she could also feel some of her reckless confidence draining away. She hadn’t thought very far ahead, when she had conceived her desperate plan. She crept the truck forwards; towards the back of the hospital and the darkened areas. It seemed to her to be the safest place to start planning her next move. The back of the hospital was built on a gradient, with the lower levels of the hospital built below ground level. From where she was sitting in the truck, she could see an illuminated board. It had various departments listed on it:
Lower levels
Biomedical Science Department
Pharmacy
Morgue
Stores and Maintenance
Laundry
She shut off the engine and took Jack’s gun from her bag. She checked that it was loaded. There were five rounds remaining. Should be plenty, she thought.
She took a deep breath in while she considered what to do next. What would Max do? Go in the back. She climbed out of the cab of the truck and moved around the side to check on Max. She hesitated momentarily, when she came to pull the sheet off of him. What if he’s already dead? It’s been hours. The thought chilled her to the bone.
She looked down at Jack’s gun in her hand again.
“You’ve always got me,” it seemed to mock.
She shivered and drew the sheet back. Max rolled over onto his back. He was shivering all over. His eyes were wide and staring and up at the night sky.
‘Watch the flanks!’ he mumbled.
He flailed his good arm around. The other lay limp and dead beside him. She could smell the festering wound under his jacket and feel the heat radiating from his body. I have to get him out of sight, she thought.
Max’s bulky form shifted position again and he groaned in pain. He was oblivious to his surroundings. She knew that she couldn’t lift him because he was too heavy, so she threw the sheet back over him. She had watched him steadily deteriorate since she had shot him and it did not look to her like he had long left. She was petrified to think that his life could be measured in mere minutes, but it gave her all the motivation that she needed.
She made her way, as stealthily as possible, across the car park. Jack’s gun felt heavy in her hands. She had the feeling that if it were alive, it would be itching to shoot someone. It was as if it had tasted blood and wanted more. The idea frightened her.
She noticed the line of ISIAH ambulances, which were parked up at the rear of the hospital. A thought struck her like a thunderbolt. Wait! There must be enough medical equipment in there to treat just about anything. Perhaps I can fix him myself? I won’t need to shoot anyone and I definitely won’t be needing YOU, she thought, glaring at the gun. She imagined that it looked disappointed.
She pulled on the back door of one of the ambulances. It opened with a satisfying ‘click.’ She grinned, pleased with herself. Not locked! The grin soon faded, when the interior of the ambulance lit up in response to the opened door. It was filled with a dizzying amount of complex, medical equipment, none of which, she recognised. A computer screen flicked into life beside the doors. The words:
[I.S.I.A.H EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES]
[ACTIVATE EMERGENCY MODE?]
appeared on-screen, in bright red letters.
Thoughts of flashing lights and squealing sirens had her hammering on the [NO] option. The screen flickered and displayed a menu of options, which she did not recognise. Her heart sank. She realised that she had no chance of operating the medical equipment inside the ambulance. She felt foolish to have thought that she could.
A folding wheel-chair was braced against the side of the vehicle, opposite the computer screen. She stuffed Jack’s gun inside her jacket and tugged at the wheelchair. It was held in place by silver clamps and it stubbornly refused to budge. She felt like crying with frustration, before she noticed the button above it.
It was marked: RELEASE
I’m useless at this, she thought despairingly before she hit the button.
The wheel-chair clamps opened helpfully and retracted: dispensing the wheel-chair. The computer screen changed behind her.
[MOBILITY CHAIR RELEASED]
[DEPLOY LOADING RAMP?]
She smiled slightly. She answered [YES] to that one. The loading ramp slowly lowered, and she rolled the wheel-chair down it and ran swiftly back to Chuck’s truck. The tailgate of the truck was so stiff, that she had to take off one of her shoes and hit the bolt repeatedly before it gave way. The tail gate fell down with a loud metallic crash. Max jumped and groaned. He grumbled something about “a fire in the hole.”
She looked around to see if the noise had alerted anyone.
It was still deserted.
She grabbed both his ankles and yanked him, inch by inch, towards her on his back, until his knees hung over the edge of the tailgate. Then she lined the wheel-chair up with his legs and locked the brake in place. She got between the wheel-chair, and the truck and, putting one foot on the truck as a brace, she pulled his ankles hard, until his backside finally flopped into the chair. His head rolled back and banged on the tailgate with a painful sounding ‘thump.’
‘Bastards! Get off me!’ he shouted out loud.
She put her hand over his mouth and cringed at the thought of yet another bruise on his already battered body. She grabbed his rucksack and dropped in into his lap. Then she let the brake off and pushed him as fast as she could back to the ambulance. When she got to the back of the ambulance ramp she pressed a button on the chair which said: “automatic forward”. A small motor in the back of the chair ‘engaged,’ and slowly, it heaved Max up the ramp.
Max sat, slumped, in the chair. His head waved from s
ide to side, as if he were trying to shake off some mental fog. Sweat dripped from his face.
‘Where are we?’ he croaked at her, in a voice that sounded vague.
She leant in close to him and shook him desperately.
‘Max! Max! Can you hear me? I’m getting you help! Max stay with me!’ she pleaded.
His head sagged again and his eyes grew distant. He mumbled something about being under fire, and bleeding out before his eyes closed. His breathing was rapid and irregular.
She straightened up and drew Jack’s gun from the inside of her jacket. It’s now or never, she thought.
She closed the ambulance door and skittered around to a back door in the hospital. Above the door there was a vent and a sign, which read: “Laundry.” Steam was coming out of the vent and there was a strong smell of washing powder. She could hear the sound of machines working inside. Light and steam, streamed out into the darkness; illuminating the bushes with a misty glow. The smell of hot washing filled the air around her, as she moved inside. In the dim light, mechanical arms folded hospital bed sheets beside her. She moved through the robotic production line, watching for any signs of human movement.
Nothing.
She tried desperately to dispel the image that the robotic arms were reaching for her: to hold her still until their masters could be alerted. They continued pressing the sheets, seemingly oblivious of the human intruder in their midst. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she tightened her grip on Jack’s gun. She clicked the safety to “off” and moved inside the hospital complex. The laundry room led out into a darkened passage. At one end, was a pair of double doors marked:
“Biomedical Sciences Department”
A solitary light burned within. The rest of the level was dark. She moved into the laboratories where she could smell a strong aroma of coffee. The laboratories were dark and deserted – apart from a single flexible-lamp on one of the desks. It lit up a row of molecular models that were lined up on a bench. Twisted, skeletal structures cast grotesque shadows on the wall. She was thinking that they looked like gigantic creatures. Next to the lamp was an auto-analysing, computer terminal. It was fired up and waiting for instructions from its absent user. A half-drunk cup of coffee rested beside it. A thin twirl of steam rose up from the half-empty cup.
She inched cautiously into the room. The lights were all off apart from the desk-lamp. It was as if someone had shut them off on purpose. In the corner of the room there was a ceiling mounted camera. Someone had placed a delicate hanker-chief over the end of it.
The sound of footsteps in the passage behind caused her to freeze.
Someone’s coming.
She dropped down below one of the workbenches and closed her eyes. She tried to slow her breathing. She told herself that, this time, she would have to aim straight. She knew that she only had one chance to get it right and that it was Max’s last chance.
The double doors opened and someone stepped into the room. She leapt upright from behind the desk and levelled Jack’s gun (as steadily as she could) at the figure in the doorway.
The figure froze.
It was a woman in a white laboratory coat. She had long blonde hair, with a white streak in the front of it. In her hands, she carried a tray of prescription drugs in neatly folded packets. The name label on her coat read: “SANDRA: PHARMACY”
‘Don’t move!’ demanded Aya, as she waved the gun at the terrified woman.
Aya’s mouth was so dry, that she could hardly speak. The woman’s tired expression, changed to one of shock and she let go of the tray. It crashed to the ground, spilling the packets all over the floor. Frantically the woman raised her hands in the air.
‘Please don’t shoot me!’ she whimpered.
Aya came out from behind the desk closing the distance between her and the woman. She was holding the heavy gun in both hands. It shook violently, as she tried to keep her aim straight.
‘I’ve got a gun! I know how to use it!’ she said, with as much authority as she could muster. ‘Come inside and close the door.’
The laboratory worker was trembling. She edged forward, shuffling past the spilled packages. She kept her hands raised, while quietly closing the door behind her. She had her eyes screwed tightly shut. She was mumbling something about someone called Irene. Aya struggled to keep focused. Inside, she was quaked with fear.
‘Quiet!’ she ordered.
She imagined that Jack’s gun was struggling to be let off its leash and her finger tightened on the trigger.
‘You’re going to help me. Or else,’ Aya said coldly.
She was struggling to maintain control of the situation and she sounded un-convincing. She was standing in front of the laboratory worker, with the gun pointed at her head. The gun jiggled in her tiny hands.
The laboratory worker opened one eye and stole a look at the young woman who was standing so closely in front of her. Her expression changed instantly from one of total fear, to one of confusion when she looked into Aya’s eyes. Aya chanced a look to one side and caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective metal surface of the auto-analyser. She noticed, with a feeling of horror, that her eyes shone back at her with a greenish-brown tint. She realised that the effect of Jack’s device was finally wearing off. Her lip trembled at the thought of Max in the back of the ambulance.
She looked back at the woman who was cowering under the barrel of her gun. Her mind took a leap of comprehension and she knew that, without her last piece of cover from the all-seeing eyes of the masons, she had no chance. She couldn’t go through with her plan. It was all too much for Aya. Her last speck of courage vanished and she dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor beside her. Aya dropped to her knees and wrung her hands pleadingly. Tears were springing to her eyes.
‘Please! You have to help us. They are going to kill us. Max is dying!’ she begged.
Ellie looked down upon the crying women in shock. She was speechless. Ellie had been certain that her scheming to uncover the nefarious plot in the ISIAH system had been uncovered, and that the person crouched before her had been sent to do to her what they had done to Irene. When the shadowy figure had pointed the gun at her from across the laboratory, she had thought that it was the end for her.
Ellie had managed to coax Ash into showing her how to analyse the drug samples for herself. For the last two nights, she had flitted between the Pharmacy and the Bio-Medical laboratories. She had worked late into the night analysing samples and searching through client’s prescriptions and treatment programmes. The pattern of insidious tampering had become ever clearer to her in the dark hours of the night. She had found it to be very subtle: hard to trace. She had only noticed it because she had actively looked for it. She had seen that it ran underneath the hospital systems, like a black cancer living just under the skin. The plot had been carefully constructed by some method of evil genius. Slowly and methodically, hour after hour, by night, she had begun to deconstruct it. Delicately picking apart the pieces and placing them in order, until the picture had made sense to her. She had concluded that selected groups of clients had been deliberately allowed to die. The threads had led her back to Fin-Sen the place from where Utopia was administered: the place where Jon Li went to work every morning.
Ellie had said nothing to him. She had desperately tried to convince herself that he had not been involved and that he couldn’t be one of them. She had been unable to face the awfulness of the situation with him, so, instead, she had immersed herself in trying to prove that the conspiracy that she had discovered was within ISIAH. It had been easier, less painful and less personal. She had been convinced that Irene had discovered part of it and they had found out. She had felt as though she had been riding a roller-coaster of terror heading down a dark tunnel to hell: one that she had been unable to get off.
When her ‘would-be assassin’ had stepped out of the darkness, Ellie had feared that it was her turn next. Ellie’s eyes were closed, but the evidence of her investigations, sti
ll lay shattered at her feet. She pictured the false article that Bridget would read in the Utopic in the morning. The imaginary article would declare that:
“The Slash-Knife killer had claimed yet another victim. Elinor Rushford – Plastic Surgeon – slaughtered in her own hospital.”
She had no doubt that F.R.E.D would be able to confirm the paper’s fictional account of what had happened to her. Like Irene before her, there would be no bullet wound: no investigation and nobody left to question what had really happened to her.
She had looked into the eyes of her executioner. They were not as she had expected. They weren’t cold, callous eyes that had greeted her. There had been no stony silence, as the imagined executioner, pulled the trigger. The girl, that was on her knees, sobbing, was no confident assassin: no expert murderer or hit-man: no deranged, knife-wielding psychopath. Instead, the gun in the girl’s hands had trembled more violently than her own knees had. Ellie could see that she was young in her early twenties and that she was wearing a tatty CURE uniform. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear.
Her Eyes, Ellie thought. They were a greenish brown. Ellie recognised the strange, green tint which shone in them. She gasped when she recalled the cold looks from Kristoff’’s impersonator. That had happened weeks before, down in the Genie plant. She would never forget those eyes. The girl’s eyes had the same unmistakeable tint.
Ellie wondered why the girl had looked frightened, terrified even, when she had caught a reflection of herself in the shiny surface. She had looked even more scared than she had been. She had dropped the gun and started blubbering something about: “They are going to kill us.”
They, Ellie thought. Ellie went stone cold, when the realisation struck home. She was thinking that whoever this person was, she knew and she knew what she herself had uncovered. That everything was not what it appeared to be.
Ellie backed away from the girl eyeing the discarded gun on the floor. The girl did not move. She just trembled and pleaded for help. For a moment Ellie was unsure of what to do next. She knew that security was just a scant distance away and that if she hit the panic alarm on the wall, it would all be over. She backed up a little more. Her hand unconsciously felt for the panic switch on the wall. The girl with the strange eyes looked up at her again. Her young face pleaded with Ellie for pity.
