Twig

by wildbow

  Helen hadn’t done anything but twist and wrench, but she was still bloody as she picked herself up and off of her victim. Her bones were still in weird places, like she had a feline or a lizard’s skeleton inside a little girl’s skin, the limbs too long, the shoulders oddly skewed. She sagged under her own weight, her muscle structure not lending itself well to standing upright. Slowly, piece by piece, she pulled herself back into a more normal configuration.

  The ghosts were utterly still, standing a fair distance away.

  Catcher’s captive grew ever more feeble, before sinking to her knees. She hit ground more violently than Mary had, bear-trap first, a sharp impact that didn’t make her move or flinch at all. Passed out.

  Catcher used one hand to reel her in as he spoke, a sharp order cutting into the silence, “Stop talking. Listen.”

  Rain pattered down around us. I chanced a look at Mary and Lillian. Lillian was moving so frantically, and Mary wasn’t moving at all.

  “If you want to pick this fight, we will win,” Catcher said. “And the next time, Helen there will have the leeway to draw it out, to make it hurt—”

  “Yay.”

  “—And I will use some of my best tricks and tools, to make you wish you had her attention instead of mine.”

  Helen gave Catcher an annoyed look.

  “You hurt one of ours,” Catcher said. “I’m being merciful, because I’m going to give you a chance to run. Leave the area. Go in any direction but that one.”

  He pointed in the general direction of Percy.

  “Don’t try to be clever, tr—I told you to stop talking.”

  I could see the tension in his stance. He looked around him, and as he did, I cocked my head to one side, to get his attention. His eye fell on me as he finished reeling up the chain, the body dragged to his feet. He stepped on her throat and hauled the bear-trap-ish thing up and away. It pulled free, taking generous handfuls of flesh with it, and snapped the rest of the way closed.

  He held his hand at his side in a very deliberate way.

  “Don’t double back,” he said. “Don’t try to trick us, or notify anyone. If you’re good about this, if you—”

  He stopped. His finger twitched.

  I scraped the blade across the glass, hard. The women reacted.

  Stop talking, I thought to myself. Listen.

  “Ahem,” Catcher said. “If you’re good about this, I’ll offer the same chance to any of your sisters who get in our way, and give a quick death to those who can’t or won’t leave.”

  The scene was still. I felt the heat and the exhaustion of our exertion now more than I had during, even with the rain running down my hair and face. A glance at my shoulder suggested I was losing a lot of blood, even considering that the water running through it all was making it seem like more.

  I didn’t feel it, at least.

  “Go,” Catcher said.

  The women moved, each heading straight for the nearest piece of cover.

  We collectively waited a full three seconds after they had disappeared before turning our attention to Lillian and Mary.

  “You’re hurt,” Jamie told me, as he rushed to my side.

  “Mary’s hurt,” I said. “Lillian needs to focus on her.”

  “I can devote some attention to you,” Jamie said. “Because you look like you need something.”

  We collectively made our way to Mary and Lillian. Jamie grabbed some cloth and handed it to me, pressing it down against my scalp. He gestured to Helen, who was probably the worst person present to have my damaged scalp firmly in her grip, and had her keep pressure on the wound.

  Lillian looked like panic had overtaken her. She was struggling, fumbling.

  Jamie knelt down by Lillian, asking, “How is she?”

  Lillian sounded like she was on the verge of tears, her voice wobbled, “She got stabbed right through the middle. In the front and out the back. Organs were perforated. She’s not good, Jamie.”

  “Fix her,” I said.

  “I’m not—it’s not that easy, Sy.”

  “It’s your job to keep us alive. If you fail at this the first real time that’s in question, I’m not sure why we keep you around.”

  She set her jaw. It looked like she had tears in her eyes, now.

  “Wow, Sy.”

  “You have the ability. But if you don’t have the capability, well…”

  “You’re such a penis, Sy.”

  “And you’re a good doctor,” I said.

  “In training,” she said.

  “Who has studied this garbage.”

  “Believe it or not, Sy, I’m only fourteen, and I haven’t gotten around to actual surgery. And I’m in the field, too, without an operating room or all the tools. I’m thinking we should try transporting her to a clinic. If we can get Dog to carry her, I think I can keep her going long enough.”

  “Excuses,” I told her, “and cowardice. Why go that route when you can be the surer thing? I think you’re lying to yourself and to us, because you’re scared.”

  “Of course I’m scared!” she said, her voice too high.

  Mary’s chest wasn’t even rising and falling like normal, her breaths were so shallow. Lillian stabbed Mary in the chest with a needle, depressing it.

  Lil’s voice returned to a more normal level, “I’m being realistic.”

  Mary’s breathing picked up as the injection took hold, though it still wasn’t great.

  “You’re being a wuss. You know what Gordon keeps telling me?” I asked her. “Every time I lose a fight, which I do a lot? You have to make a move, or the world will move against you. Take action, be brave, and leave no doubt that you exist. There’s too many people for any of us to fall into the background. Above all, trust your instincts, because you’re better than you think. You are better than you think, Lil, and I’m saying that as the person who was your biggest critic, back in the day.”

  Her smile was a grim one.

  I continued, “You’ve started fixing her up, you’ve patched up the holes, best I can figure it out, now stop making excuses and get to work, you wuss. She’s supposed to be your best friend.”

  “If you’re implying—”

  “I’m implying!” I raised my voice. “If you wimp out on this and you let Mary die, then I’m going to forgive you… eventually. We all are. Crap happens! But you? I know people and I know you, and I know that your fears drive and define you. If you give up here, you will never find your way back from it to become a proper doctor, and you are never, ever, ever going to forgive yourself for it.”

  Her face screwed up as she looked at me. Fresh tears were squeezed out, running down her cheeks. She raised her arms to try and wipe at the tears with her forearms, but they were streaked with blood. She let her arms drop, before emptying a bottle of powder onto her hand and daubing it around the edge of the wound. Her attention fixed on Mary.

  Jamie offered a handkerchief, reaching out to dab at Lillian’s eyes and cheeks.

  “Thank you, Jamie,” she said. “Sy? Remember when I called you a penis? I was being kind. You’re the runt of penises.”

  “For the record, I agree with Sy,” Jamie said. He knelt beside Lillian. “Don’t focus on what you can’t do. I know you know the stuff. You’ve read up on it, even if you haven’t practiced it.”

  Lillian shook her head. Small, nervous shakes.

  “There’s an acronym, to get you started. The order in which you do this,” Jamie said.

  Lillian’s nervousness seemed to drop away as shock took hold. She looked at Jamie.

  “You know the steps,” Jamie said. “First step? A.”

  “Assess,” she said. “Jamie, you’re—”

  “Focus,” I told her, fully aware of the hypocrisy. Catcher was standing over us, on guard, pole in hand. I knew he was observing and listening.

  I knew the gamble Jamie was making.

  “Assess,” she said, again, focusing.

  “You’ve assessed,” Jamie said. “
You know what the problem is. Next.”

  “Set.”

  “You’ve laid the table as best as you’re going to get it,” Jamie said, his voice soft. “If you need the tools, I’ll hand them to you. You’re surgeon, I’m assistant. Next step?”

  “Entry.”

  “You skipped a step,” Jamie said, without missing a beat.

  “Keep. Keep… I—I don’t think there’s—”

  “You have the tools,” Jamie said. “She needs blood to replace what she’s lost, and she’s going to need a lot. You know our blood types.”

  “My blood is poison,” I commented.

  “I don’t even have blood, like you guys do,” Helen said.

  “You can’t be my assistant and give blood,” Lillian said, but she was already prepping the tubing and needle.

  “We’ll make it work,” Jamie said. “Catcher is a universal donor. Probably not wholly good for Mary, considering what he’s got running in his veins, but if he’s willing, I imagine his blood is better than not having enough blood.”

  Lillian nodded. She started the heavier, scarier work, Jamie talking her through it all, keeping her on track.

  Even the best doctors had a hard time operating on loved ones.

  It was a full ten minutes before Lillian didn’t need Jamie’s help, handing her bottles and the like. Jamie stepped away, grabbing the stuff needed to fix my head. He began tending to my scalp, while trying to keep the tubing that fed blood to Mary in place.

  Timid, quiet Jamie, becoming a force in his own right.

  Jamie managed to offer me a small smile as I studied him. Lillian wasn’t panicking anymore. I allowed myself to feel relieved. It wasn’t spoken aloud, because nobody here wanted to jinx us like that.

  Lillian’s work continued, with the tubing moving from Jamie to Catcher, so the man could supply some blood. The minutes that followed were a little more tense, as Mary started to dip in condition. More drugs and chemicals were injected into the tubing, to offset and counteract the cocktail that Catcher’s blood was dumping into her system.

  A good forty minutes passed. I watched Lillian more than I watched Mary, because the tension in her neck and shoulders was a better indicator than the bloody mess that Lillian was digging through. Jamie’s handkerchief, previously used to wipe up Lillian’s tears, was now being used to swipe out the blood in the way. Lillian’s hands were inside the wound as she worked blind, periodically asking Jamie for numbers, which he rattled off.

  Catcher made no comment.

  Jamie was working on the cuts to my hand and Lillian’s neck and shoulders were showing less and less tension when Mary finally stirred.

  “Welcome back,” I said.

  “Did we win?” she asked.

  “Because that’s our priority, huh?” I asked. “Yes. Sort of. We scared them off.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Help me up.”

  “Um!” Lillian said. “Not yet.”

  “We’re going to lose him,” Mary said.

  “You’ve been lying there for an hour while Lillian’s been fixing you. Another five or ten minutes won’t hurt.”

  Mary obediently let her head down to rest on the hard surface of the road.

  “Do you want painkiller?” Lillian asked.

  “Would it mess up my perception, if we run into Percy?” Mary asked.

  “You really need to get your priorities straight,” I said. “You almost died.”

  “I agree with Sy. For once,” Lillian said. “You shouldn’t be running after Percy.”

  I stuck the toe of my foot out to poke Lillian in the butt cheek. She gave me an offended look.

  And Mary said Lillian liked being teased? Hmph.

  “I don’t want to let him go,” Mary said.

  It was a weird phrasing, one that could be taken two ways. I remained silent.

  “I believe Dog and Gordon are with the man,” Catcher said. “I don’t know the context, but it’s the only reason they wouldn’t have caught up with us already.”

  “With him in a good way or a bad way?” Helen asked.

  “It wouldn’t be a bad way,” Catcher said.

  “They could be dead,” I said. Death was on my mind, with Mary’s close call.

  Catcher turned his head to give me a sharp look.

  “Or not,” I said. “Scratch that, ignore me.”

  “I trust Dog. You should trust Gordon.”

  “Okay,” I said. Too chipper a response. It came off as false, which it was. I envied Catcher his ability to trust his partner as absolutely as he did.

  “If he’s there, and Dog and Gordon are with him, then no painkillers,” Mary said.

  Or should I have pitied him? Did he really have no choice in the matter? Was doubt dangerous enough that it could cost them at a critical moment?

  Lillian finished. She leaned back, and Mary reached down to pull her shirt down. The expression in her face suggested she was momentarily regretting the lack of painkillers.

  “Now can I stand?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Lillian said. “You are going to need a proper look from a doctor.”

  “After. We meet up with the others first,” Mary said.

  I didn’t let it show, but a part of me recoiled at the re-emergence of this stitched-like Mary, so fixated on one thing, so detached. That it came when she was weak, wobbly, and her defenses stripped away was concerning.

  Catcher and Jamie helped Mary to stand. She pulled her clothing back into order, picking for a moment at the back of her dress, which was soaked through with blood, from the shoulderblades to mid-calf. She looked annoyed.

  My attention fell on Lillian, who was still kneeling by the patch of road that had Mary’s blood soaked into it.

  I reached down and gave Lillian a pat on the head. “That’s a good doctor. Who’s a good girl?”

  Lillian rolled her eyes, tried to stand, and I held her down.

  “You’re a good girl, yes you are!” I cooed.

  “I have sharp tools, Sy, and I’m right at eye level to stab you where it hurts.”

  “That’s the fifth time today you’ve made reference to that part of Sy,” Jamie said.

  “Fifth?” I asked, intrigued. I shifted position to better keep my hand on Lillian’s head, keeping her from standing. “Do tell.”

  “Ah, no. Some of that was said when you were out of earshot. It would be telling.”

  “Aw,” I said.

  Now Lillian was turning pink, which was fun. Jamie smiled.

  “Let me up, Sy,” Lillian said, flushed.

  “Say please.”

  “Is this worth the risk of being stabbed?”

  “It totally is. Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “Now say you’re the best little doctor in all of Radham.”

  “I am the best doctor—”

  “Little doctor.”

  She reached for a scalpel that lay on the street, I stepped on it before she could pick it up.

  “I am the best doctor in all of Radham,” she said. “That’s all you get from me.”

  I let her go. “So long as you admit it.”

  Her face was even pinker as I let her up. I swiftly backed away before she could kick me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought she might be smiling as she picked up the tools.

  Mission accomplished.

  Now for the true task at hand.

  We didn’t move very fast. Mary probably did need the painkiller, but was too proud to admit it, and Catcher’s legs were feeling the pain from where they’d been slashed. Both he and Jamie had given a generous amount of blood. Lillian and I helped a wobbly Jamie and Mary, while Catcher used his weapon as a staff to help keep himself steady.

  Our destination was three streets down, and we didn’t see one of the ghosts en route.

  Catcher pushed open the doors.

  Glass tanks lined the walls of what had once been a storehouse. The glass was broken, the bodies within cast to the ground, not yet fully formed. Fine,
fishlike spears of bone riddled the interiors of each body, almost hair-thin.

  Gordon and Catcher were with three children. I recognized the girl who had been taken earlier in the day, swaddled in a blanket, her hair wet. It wasn’t enough children. My eyes fell on the bodies from the tanks.

  Material.

  This would be all we could recover. The rest of the children were gone.

  “Everything okay?” Gordon asked.

  “Took a hit, Lillian had to patch Mary up,” I said.

  Mary visibly rankled at that. To be so close to home, in a matter of speaking, and have her called out on a failure… a mistake on my part.

  As we drew closer, I could see around a desk. A smear of blood. At the base of the wall, Percy was propped up. One arm and both legs broken.

  “Ended up charging through. Took him down, broke the vats, the ghosts put up a brief fight, then called for a retreat,” Gordon explained, one hand going out to pat Dog’s side. Dog nodded slowly.

  “The retreat part might have been related to us,” I said. “Hard to say. We’re going to have to hunt them down. But hey, you got Percy!”

  “Ah,” Gordon said, and he sounded a little crestfallen, his expression falling as well. He looked over at the man. “About that.”

  Mary crossed the distance. She approached the man, and stopped as he turned his head to look at her.

  “No,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Gordon said. “I’m sorry.”

  It was an empty look, devoid of recognition.

  “Best Dog and I can figure,” Gordon said. “If you’re going to run two or five or ten different matching projects all in different cities, you can’t do it yourself. You need one clone to oversee the growth of the rest. And if you’re going to go that far—”

  Mary’s knees gave out. She sank slowly to the ground, kneeling ten feet in front of Percy.

  “You might as well clone yourself?” I asked.

  Previous Next

  Lamb to the Slaughter—6.9

  The Percy before us was a younger version. If I had to guess, features had developed differently. He didn’t wear a lab coat, and his clothes were utilitarian—a shirt with buttons, left half-unbuttoned, and slacks. He was barefoot. Beating the heat as best as he could manage.