by A J Rushby
We sit in silence for at least another twenty minutes until our driver gets a call. ‘Wait here while I get the luggage,’ he says. He gets out of the car and opens the boot, which he quickly clears out. When he closes the boot again, we’re alone.
I turn to Steen immediately. ‘What kind of stunt was that? Are you crazy? You’ll get us both kicked out of here. Did you have to know where we are that badly?’
Steen shrugs. ‘Yes.’
I can only groan and look out my still-blackened window. I jump when his door opens.
‘What happened back there?’ Marcus looks at us both.
‘Motion sickness,’ Steen says. ‘I always get it in cars.’
He so doesn’t, but also knows I’m unlikely to say anything.
‘Feeling better now?’
‘Much better.’
‘Great, well out you come then.’
As I open my door and get out, I notice Marcus staring strangely at a security guard and his car nearby. ‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
He looks a little caught out and adjusts his shirt. ‘Oh, yes. It seems we’ll be having a security guard posted outside full time from now on. We’ve only had intermittent checks before. I wasn’t informed about it for some reason.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘But don’t concern yourself with internal politics,’ he continues, beckoning me on.
I round the car to see Andrew and Lauren already standing and staring at what lies before us. Silently, Steen and I go to stand beside them, the four of us lined up in a row.
The nervous tension is almost palpable, running like a current between us.
As one, we stare at the bunker.
It really is a proper bunker. Grey concrete. Small. Most of it underground, obviously. Built to avoid detection. Maybe even a small nuclear holocaust or two if it ever happens here, in the absolute middle of nowhere. I hope the security guard has a good book, because there’s not going to be much else to do but stare at the view of the flat, green plains and dense trees to the right. When I’m facing in that direction, I note that I can still smell the sea in the wind that whips my hair back from my face.
‘Now we’re here, we’ll have to move quickly. Steen and Andrew have been fasting, and their surgeries are scheduled to start within the hour. Lauren, you’ll be after Steen in theatre two.’
My eyes dart over to look at Steen. I’m pretty sure the surgery will involve his bowel. They’ll tie a piece off, wait until infection sets in and then the artificial lymph cells will be introduced. He’s spoken to me about the artificial lymph cells before. It’s crazy, I know, but part of me desperately wants to talk him out of it. It’s not super-dangerous and of course he’ll be in amazingly capable hands, but there’s always a risk …
‘This way.’ Marcus pulls a pass card out of the satchel he’s carrying as he leads us towards the large silver steel doors that form the front of the bunker. He swipes the card and the doors pull back to reveal a small alcove and a huge industrial elevator that’s open and waiting. ‘Your bags will come later,’ he tells us as we follow him inside.
The doors close in front of us and the elevator begins to move slowly downwards. Looking at the buttons, I see that there are only two floors, and we’re headed for the bottom one. ‘Down below are the theatres, meal room, a recreation area, your labs and living areas. There are also living areas for the surgeons, physicians and other medical support, though that’s in a completely separate area to yours, of course.’
The elevator stops abruptly and the doors on the other side open, all of us turning at the same time to try to catch a first glimpse of the inner sanctum.
‘And here we are,’ Marcus says. ‘All out.’
We step tentatively into a long, wide corridor. I’d expected it to look much like the hotel we’d stayed in in Vienna—white and bright and clinical, but it’s nothing like this. Instead, one wall is a plain creamy white with a sort of recessed area that has a long wooden bench upon it. The other wall consists of floor-to-ceiling digital screens displaying, of all things, great works of medical art. As we exit, the pictures slowly change to display new ones and I’m left standing in front of one I know—Eakins’s The Gross clinic. In the picture, surgeons crowd around a patient in a wooden tiered surgical amphitheatre of the late 1800s. It’s a particularly gory painting for its time, all blood and scalpels. But it’s something else that draws my attention in the picture and, before I know it, I’ve emitted a snort.
Marcus turns to face me. ‘Not a fan?’
I can’t believe I did that.
‘Well, women in medical art never look good, do they?’ My eyes are trained on the one female depicted in the painting—a woman dressed in black, cringing, her hand held to her face. Apparently the patient’s mother. I look to the left and notice the painting Steen is standing in front of. ‘Exhibit B …’ I step over, pointing at yet another woman. In this painting, she has her head down on a kitchen table while the doctor she has invited into her home leans over her sick child.
Andrew and Lauren say nothing, but Steen speaks up. ‘That’s not what I see in the picture.’
‘Oh?’ Marcus says.
Steen moves closer to the image. ‘I think it’s beautiful. In fact, it’s always been one of my favourite pieces of medical art.’ He points to the father, standing behind his wife. ‘See his face as he looks at the doctor. At the trust in it. And look at the doctor himself—his expression—and the used medicine bottles at his feet. He knows he has all the power and none at the same time. And don’t forget the light …’
He points again now, at the shaft of light showing that dawn is breaking. ‘It’s hopeful. In the face of everything, all three of them desperately want the child to live, as does the artist, Fildes, whose own child didn’t. He understood deeply. I think it’s everything we should aspire to in medicine. Knowledge, trust, hope …’
The four of us stare at Steen in silence.
It’s Marcus who speaks first. ‘Eloquently said.’ He gives Steen an appraising look. Beside him, I catch Lauren frowning at their exchange.
‘Still, maybe you should consider sticking to something less controversial—microscopic images perhaps?’ Steen jokes.
Marcus looks surprised by his comment. ‘It’s funny you should say that. Originally that’s what these were going to be—a range of medical images. But in the end we decided you can have too much of a good thing. We brought in a psychologist who suggested the change to art. Since its installation, we actually find more of our experimenters use this area to unwind than the recreation area.’
‘What was …’ I start, the words coming out of my mouth unbidden. I hesitate, not sure this is a place I want to go.
‘Yes?’ he asks.
‘I take it this is reasonably new.’ I gesture towards the panels. ‘What was here before? In the beginning?’ I wonder if my dad’s been here. If he experimented when he was still a member. And if there are many others like him who were once members and now are not. I’m one hundred per cent sure I’m retracing my mother’s footsteps, however. I can feel her presence down here. She would have been in her element. What was it like for her? I think to myself, quite sure that she’s been here before me. What did she see when she came down here? Am I walking where she walked? Seeing things she saw?
‘I believe that originally the bunker was much, much smaller. Only two labs, one theatre, no dedicated ICU. As you can see, the Society has come a long way since it originated. But we’re running out of time.’ Marcus moves off again. ‘Please, this way.’
We continue until we get to the end of the corridor and turn right. We’re presented with another very long corridor, though this one has doors on either side rather than great works of art. There are two doors on my right and three on my left, all spaced at wide intervals. Each one has a large black number on it that takes up the entire door—one, two, three, four and five.
Marcus pauses and opens up his satchel again, passing us all cards that are a
ttached to lanyards. Each card has a photograph of us and our first names on it, as well as a number. I’m laboratory one, which is directly to my right. Steen is two, Andrew is three and Lauren is four—they’re all on the left. Five is at the end of the corridor, on the same side as my lab. We all put the lanyards on over our heads. I can feel Lauren’s unasked question hovering around me—why am I in lab four and she’s in one? Does that mean something? When I glance at her, she quickly looks away. To be honest, I doubt it means anything at all. It’s probably a matter of equipment and size. But under the bunker’s bright lights, it feels like everything needs to be examined. Picked apart. Queried.
‘I’m going to take you through laboratory one now, then you can explore your own spaces in your own time.’ He steps forward, swipes his own card and the frosted glass door opens.
My eyes widen as I follow Marcus inside. My lab is pretty impressive. The room is large and packed with all the equipment I’ll need, a gigantic treadmill, computers, monitors and laptops that will be involved in the barrage of tests I’ll be doing at all hours of the day and night to check things like my reaction times and reflexes.
‘Through here is your bedroom.’ Marcus passes through the lab to another frosted glass door that opens as he approaches. It contains a bed with a pile of fresh green scrubs upon it, a bedside table with a lamp, a small wardrobe and not much more. ‘And through there is your bathroom.’ He glances around the four of us. ‘In case you were wondering, there are cameras in the labs, but not in the bedroom or bathrooms. These are monitored at all times, as are the communal areas. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go take a look at those areas as well.’
The four of us follow Marcus back out to the lab and into the corridor once more, where we walk to the end and take a left, entering a huge room with no door. ‘This is the meals area, where all your food will be served.’ He points straight ahead to the kitchen area and the large table. ‘There will always be snacks and so on around if you need them at any time of day or night. When we began, we didn’t have our meals together, but we found that people needed time away from the labs and to see others who weren’t involved with their own experiment, if that makes sense.’
A couple of us nod. Personally, I’m guessing someone lost it at some point, which would be understandable if you were cooped up in a room experimenting on yourself for two weeks with only support staff keeping you company intermittently.
He then moves further into the room and to the left where the room continues on and there are several sofas and a large TV on the wall. ‘The recreation area for downtime and so on.’
Making his way back out of the room and into the corridor once more, Marcus pauses, waiting for everyone to follow.
One of the first outside the room, Steen points at a door at the very end of the hallway that requires a pass card. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s where the support staff will eat and sleep. Now, if you’ll follow me this way, I’ll show you the theatres and then we’ll have to get moving properly.’ He quickens his pace, walking back up the corridor and past the corridor with the labs on it. He stops when he gets to a door on his left and swipes his card, the door swishing open. ‘We won’t go in, but feel free to take a look from out here.’
The four of us are at the door in an instant, jostling to get a look inside. We all emit a collection of noises at the same time and Steen whistles.
‘It’s something, isn’t it?’ Even Marcus, who has obviously seen the theatres many times before, stares inside appreciatively. He wasn’t joking about it being state of the art. There really is an MRI machine, a CT scanner, angiography suite and everything else you could possibly want. All gleaming and shiny new.
I look around at my fellow experimenters and see the same awe on their faces as I’m sure is plastered upon mine. Well, all except Andrew, who is beginning to look more than a little nervous. I don’t blame him. They’ll soon be removing a piece of his skull in there. Better him than me.
Marcus steps back. ‘There’s also a small ICU attached to the two theatres. But best that I return you to your labs now so you can have a shower and get changed. You’ll have support staff in to see you shortly. They’ll fit you out with everything you need.’ He walks back up the corridor quickly and pauses at the bend. The four of us follow him like ducklings.
When I enter the lab corridor, I pause in front of the fifth room, every muscle in my body suddenly tense as I think of Ryan. ‘Can we see inside this lab as well? If no one’s using it?’
I watch him carefully, but Marcus doesn’t even blink. ‘Lab five? No, that won’t be possible. We’ll be doing some renovations on it while you’re using the others.’
Steen shoots me a curious look.
‘Okay, thanks for the tour.’ I nod, turning immediately and heading for my own lab.
I don’t look at Steen as I pass by.
I pass through my lab and bedroom and go straight to my bathroom. There, I shower and change into a set of green scrubs.
As I pull my hair up into a bun, I consider what Marcus said about lab five and wonder why he’s keeping the truth about Ryan’s presence from us—why the Society is keeping it quiet. I still have no idea, but there has to be one. A reason, that is.
I move on to thinking about everyone else getting ready for their own experiments—Andrew’s head being shaved, Steen’s abdomen being prepped. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I chastise myself. I’ve got to put them out of my mind.
Put him out of my mind.
I take a deep breath and tell myself to focus.
When I’ve finally pulled myself together a bit, I turn and head back out to the lab. I’m surprised to find there are two people in there, both wearing blue scrubs compared to my green ones, along with caps and masks.
‘Um, hi.’ I stop dead in the doorway to the lab.
‘Ah, here she is.’ One of the figures turns to greet me—a woman. A young woman by the sound of her voice and the bits of her face I can see between her cap, mask and rectangular-shaped glasses. ‘We were just going to come and get you. We won’t be using our names, but you can call us Thing One and Thing Two if you like.’
I laugh. ‘They’re actually better than names.’
‘I know, right?’
The other person comes over now. This one’s a guy. ‘We were just saying we’re glad we were assigned to you. Less … how should I put this …’
I think of Andrew and his skull. ‘Messy?’
‘Bingo,’ the guy says. ‘Now, do you have your sleep diary?’
‘I’ll just grab it,’ I tell him, turning and going back into my bedroom. I’ve had to keep a sleep diary for the last week to make sure I’ve been sleeping okay in order to start the experiment on my arrival. I fetch it and bring it back to him.
He flicks through it. ‘Good … great. That looks fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll scan it in later.’
While he’s reading, I look over to the bench he’d been standing at a moment ago and see the large packs of drugs that have been laid out. Dated and labelled. ‘Everything’s there?’
‘All ready for you,’ he says. ‘We’ll just have to do a few baseline tests and you’ll be all set.’
Thing One moves off and comes back with a trolley that contains everything for the monitoring I’ll need. ‘Which means it’s time to get you ready. Cannula first? As you know we’ll be taking blood every six hours.’
‘This one’s generally pretty good.’ I tap a vein on my forearm.
She pulls out a chair that’s pushed up against a nearby wall, but then she pauses as she holds it. ‘Squeamish?’ she says. ‘Need to lie down for this?’
I look at her like she’s crazy. ‘You don’t honestly get squeamish people here, do you?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ she says with a laugh as I sit down. ‘We’ve had people here who are happy to have bits of a limb hacked off, but not their ears checked.’
‘Well, feel free to check my ears, but if you don�
�t mind I’ll be keeping all of my limbs. Including this one.’ I stick my arm out. ‘Let’s do this.’
It takes a good hour and a half before I’m completely wired up. ‘I feel like a walking ICU bed,’ I say, looking down at myself. As well as the cannula, I have heart rate monitor patches stuck to my chest, a blood pressure cuff on my arm, an oxygen saturation clip on my right index finger and wires everywhere. My baseline data has all been taken—I’ve had to do several tests that check my response times to different stimuli—and now it’s time for my first dose of medication. This first dose is a half dose, to see how my body responds. If all goes well, my next dose will be a full dose and the proper cycle of medication and testing will begin in earnest.
‘Best to wait until we hit the top of the hour.’ Thing Two looks at the clock on the wall. It’s about five minutes to three o’clock in the afternoon. I wonder if time will start to become meaningless to me as I sleep less and less.
We stand and look at each other, wondering how we’re going to fill in the few minutes.
‘Guess I won’t ask if you’re from around here,’ I say.
‘I suppose it’s obvious I’m not.’ Thing Two chuckles through his thick Scottish accent.
Silence again.
‘So, seen any good movies lately?’ I try again.
We chat about both the good and the bad movies we’ve seen over the past few months. They’re a good team, these two. They make me feel at ease. Finally, it’s time to take my first dose of meds. Thing Two brings me the four capsules in a small paper cup as well as a larger paper cup of water. I flick the capsules into the back of my throat and gulp them down.
‘And that’s it,’ Thing one says. ‘You’ve got three hours of downtime before we need to do your first round of tests. You can do whatever you like until then, though your psychiatrist will be seeking you out during that period. Oh, and you’ll probably have to do the fire safety talk as well.’
‘Great, thanks. I might take my wires for a walk if you don’t need any help.’
‘We’ve got it all sorted,’ she replies. ‘Go take a break and we’ll see you around.’
