Second Solace

by Robert Clark

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I dosed off. I’m sorry I scared you.’

  ‘It’s no bother,’ she whimpered, returning to her computer monitor with all the calm of a jackhammer.

  I sat back down again and rubbed my fingers through my hair.

  ‘Sorry, is there somewhere around here I could get some food?’

  ‘There’s a diner just down the street,’ she said, hiding behind the safety of her monitor. ‘Otherwise there’s a convenience store a block away.’

  I thanked her and got up. I needed food and a walk. I headed for the store. Didn’t want the hassle of people around me for long.

  It was a far cry from the store at Second Solace. Compared to that, this was like something out of a science fiction novel. But in reality it was a beat up old store that looked like it heralded from the late eighties with naught an improvement in sight ever since. I stocked up on sandwiches and biscuits and bottles of water and energy drinks with the money I’d taken from Lee’s wallet. I bought a four pack of beers too, and today’s newspaper. I bought a pair of sunglasses off a rack on the counter, and a pack of gum. The store worker didn’t engage me in conversation, which I appreciated. Maybe he was in on the deal too. Maybe the whole town was.

  I didn’t head back straight away. Instead, I headed towards the lake I’d spotted on the drive to Hope County the day before. With the sun setting on my back, I sat down at the lakeside and stared into the void cast out by my shadow. The brightest of stars had already begun to reflect off the water’s surface. The air was still. It was like the whole world was on pause.

  The Wolf didn’t resurface. Sometimes he knew when to call it quits. Instead, I thought about Sophie and Peter, and all the horrors I’d brought upon them. My mind sunk deep into the depths of my past, beyond the point where light could penetrate. When finally I resurfaced, my beers were empty, and the night had consumed the land.

  I heard footsteps behind me on the gravel and turned around to see the doctor bearing down on me.

  ‘Sorry to have disturbed you,’ he said with his foghorn of a voice. ‘Caroline told me you went out for food.’

  I looked down at my bag of snacks and realised I’d finished the whole thing off. I barely realised I’d eaten anything.

  ‘I thought you might like to know that Mr Cage is awake,’ he said. ‘However, I need to discuss his health with you before you speak with him.’

  ‘Okay.’ I said, getting to my feet.

  ‘I’m sorry to be blunt about this, but Mr Cage’s health is deteriorating,’ he said. ‘This accident you say he was in, it has done… significant damage to his cognitive abilities. Brain injuries are usually broken down into three categories; mild, moderate and severe. The symptoms he is showing; confusion, slurred speech, dilation of the eyes and loss of coordination, these err towards what we would refer to as severe trauma. However, without an MRI scan, I’m unable to detail the extent of his injuries.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said again, because I had no idea what to say.

  ‘At this stage, I cannot determine how serious this will get. He could get better, or he could get worse. I’ve seen both sides of the coin. Again, my advice would be to get him to a hospital where he can stay under surveillance, but I know how your people treat such places.’

  Your people.

  ‘Thank you, doctor.’ I said.

  He gave a curt smile and led me back to the clinic.

  We walked through the encroaching darkness, and I thought about what the doctor had said.

  ‘Who else from our group have you treated?’ I asked.

  He didn't respond at first, which was understandable, because my question was like a game of Russian roulette.

  ‘I'm head of security,’ I continued. ‘Been with the team for a couple of months now. I'm just trying to manage any potential problems.’

  ‘Your lot sent down a woman in labour early in the year. She gave birth in my clinic.’ He opened his mouth as though he was going to add something, but he caught himself before he spilled the beans. I decided to try spill them for him.

  ‘Who else?’ I asked.

  ‘No one other than that.’

  ‘You didn’t treat a man with radiation poisoning?’

  He stopped in his tracks. Looked at me. In the darkness, his eyes looked hollow, like a skull or a wraith.

  ‘You know about that, huh?’ he sniffed. ‘How’s he doing? Still alive?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Then he has exceeded my greatest expectations.’

  ‘What can you tell me about his diagnosis?’ I asked.

  ‘That man, whoever he was, he should have been dead years ago. We measure an absorbed radiation dose in units of Grays. A couple of seconds under an x-ray machine would give you about point fourteen percent of a Gray. Sit in the Chernobyl Control Room when it’s all going up in flames and you’ll accrue about three hundred Grays per hour, but you’d be dead within a couple of minutes. Judging from the examination I was able to give, he has almost double the amount of radiation it takes to kill a man. He’d absorbed about ten Grays, which is more than enough to sentence a man to death. That’s when you get lesions, boils, burns. You get atrophied to hell. Most people with doses like that are dead within a couple of months. Your man lasted at least two years or so. Some people are just indestructible.’

  ‘What can you tell me about the people who brought him here?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘I do, but I need to control this thing as much as possible.’

  ‘Besides the patient, there was four of them. A woman, and three men.’

  ‘Could you describe them?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe, this was a ways back, you understand. And I'm a busy man, I don't have time to remember every little facet of information that comes my way.’

  ‘You knew plenty when you told the police.’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ he asked.

  ‘It's my job to know these things. Take your time. I want to know the details.’

  He took his time answering the question. The night air around us buzzed, or maybe that was just my ruined ears.

  ‘The woman was tall and slender, like a catwalk model,’ he said. ‘Tanned skin. Maybe some Puerto-Rican in her somewhere. She was in charge.’

  That'll be Cece then.

  ‘What about the men?’ I asked.

  ‘Two of them were brothers. No doubt about it. One was a little taller than the other, but the similarities were too notable to be anything other than blood relatives. They didn't talk much. I got the impression they were the muscle, so to speak.’

  ‘And the last man?’ I asked.

  ‘He I met a few times,’ said the doctor. ‘He brought the pregnant lady as well. Army discharged, but never all the way out. Not entirely. Not mentally. Dollars to donuts, the guy was a sniper. He had the right kind of patience.’

  ‘Did you get his name?’

  ‘Said his name was Corser.’

  Twenty-Two

  The Shattered Record

  Cage was sat upright with his legs hanging over the side of the clinic bed like a child in a highchair. He watched us enter with a passive innocence etched into his ageing features. Even by then, I knew we had a problem on our hands.

  ‘You need something?’ he asked. There was no recognition in his eyes.

  ‘Mr Cage, I’m Dr Tadman. You were brought to my clinic earlier today following a car accident. Do you remember that?’

  Slowly, Cage shook his head.

  ‘Would you be able to tell me the last thing you remember?’ Dr Tadman asked. ‘Take your time. We’re in no hurry.’

  Cage was silent for nearly a minute. His tired eyes glazed over as he cast his mind back for something solid.

  ‘I remember speaking with my wife,’ he said. ‘Ex-wife. We were talking about our daughter, Gail.’

  Dr Tadman looked at me.

  ‘Do you know when he last spoke to her?’ he ask
ed.

  ‘Last night.’ I said.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I recognise you,’ Cage said, looking at me. ‘But I don’t remember your name.’

  ‘James,’ I said.

  Cage nodded sagely.

  ‘Our newest recruit. The former terrorist.’

  Dr Tadman looked at me.

  ‘He’s kidding,’ I said with a false laugh. ‘It was a joke they came up with.’

  Cage didn’t seem to notice the cover up.

  ‘Where is Cecilia?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s back at the base,’ I guessed.

  ‘She’ll want to know where I am,’ Cage said, getting to his feet. ‘We need to get back there.’

  ‘Just a moment, Mr Cage,’ said the doctor. ‘The injuries you’ve sustained, I believe the best course of action would be to remain under supervision for the next forty-eight hours so we can assess your condition. I think it would be prudent to-’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Cage boomed, a hark back to his former glory. ‘James here can watch me, can’t you?’

  I looked at the doctor, then back to Cage. I nodded.

  ‘See,’ he said. ‘James knows what he’s doing. He trained to be a paramedic, isn’t that right?’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I need a cell phone,’ Cage said. ‘Where’s mine?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you with one.’ I said.

  He grunted, then looked at Doctor Tadman.

  ‘You’ve got a phone here, right?’ he barked. ‘This place still exists in the twenty-first century.’

  ‘In my office,’ said the doctor. ‘You’ll find it through the back.’

  Cage thanked him and left the room. I went to follow, but Doctor Tadman caught my arm.

  ‘Did you train to be a paramedic?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then his condition may be worse than I feared. I implore you to make him change his mind.’

  ‘I’ll try. Thank you, Doctor.’

  At first, I feared Cage was about to call someone at Second Solace. After the attack, I didn’t know who we could trust, but it wasn’t a problem. Not yet at least. With surprising forethought, Cage made a call to a man called Riley who, an hour later, picked us up outside the clinic in a grey sedan. Doctor Tadman wished us a safe trip, and as I climbed into the backseat of the sedan, I felt the physician’s eyes burning into the side of my head.

  Riley and Cage sat up front. Cage introduced his friend to me as his “man on the outside”. I took that to mean the chances that Riley was caught up in Second Solace politics were pretty slim. A former military figure - judging by the size, shape, and vocabulary of the man behind the wheel - I guessed the bond the two men shared ran deep, and with another man fighting in our corner, I felt a little more confident about our return.

  That confidence was short lived however, as a little over an hour into the drive, Cage pointed out a place to pull over at the side of the road, and got out. I followed, and after a short show of gratitude, Riley pulled back out onto the dark street and disappeared into the night.

  ‘On foot from here, Stone,’ said Cage as he watched the trail of headlights shrink into the distance.

  ‘Couldn’t he have driven us all the way?’ I asked.

  Cage shook his head.

  ‘Only those who join us know where we are based. Riley might believe in the cause, but he has a family to think about. They come first, so his path isn’t the same as ours.’

  Ours.

  ‘Given what we’re going into, don’t you think it would be wise to have backup?’ I asked.

  Which drew a look of confusion across the older man’s face.

  ‘The hell we need backup for?’ he barked. ‘What, can’t a man be safe in his own home anymore?’

  ‘You don’t remember our conversations?’

  ‘What conversations?’

  ‘About my mission at Second Solace. You wanted to find out who was behind the attacks.’

  ‘What attacks?’

  He looked at me with genuine concern. Even in the light of the moon, his eyes looked unfocused. I tried to explain the situation to him. I started at the beginning, sharing details of his impromptu meeting to plan the ambush like I’d been there myself. He stayed quiet for the duration, swaying gently in the breeze like a tree branch. When I finished, he said nothing. Just waited in expectation of something else. I didn’t know if he’d heard a word I’d said.

  ‘Do you understand what I just said?’ I asked with the patience of a carer.

  He nodded.

  ‘Corser is dead,’ he said. Halfway between a question and a statement, like he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

  ‘He died trying to save us. He was a hero right to the end.’

  More silence. The gentle breeze through the trees sounded like distant traffic, yet the road was completely deserted.

  ‘We need to get back to base,’ said Cage.

  ‘Is that the wisest thing to do?’ I asked. ‘We don’t know who we can trust.’

  ‘It’s my home dammit, and I won’t give it up without a fight.’

  ‘Exactly, which is why it might be worth giving it a few days until you’re back in top shape. We could maybe call some more people you know you can trust, see if they want to lend a hand?’

  ‘Bullshit. I’m as fit as a damn fiddle. And I don’t need no one else. I’ve got you and I’ve got Corser. We’re damn near unstoppable.’

  Beside me, I heard the Wolf sigh.

  ‘He’s bat shit crazy,’ he said.

  I didn’t respond to either the man or the myth.

  ‘Maddox, Corser is dead. He can’t help us,’ I said eventually. ‘I know you don’t want to think about it, but whoever is behind all this wants you dead. If we go in there now, that might just happen.’

  ‘I won’t let my home be taken away from me,’ Cage growled. ‘I built it with my own hands. It’s mine. I won’t let it fall. That is non-negotiable, you hear me?’

  His eyes glistened.

  ‘He’s broken,’ said the Wolf. ‘You’d be doing him a favour putting him out of his misery.’

  ‘I hear you, boss.’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  A smile crept across Cage’s face, and he clapped his enormous hand down on my shoulder, just like he’d done in his office. I smiled back, not because I was happy about the prospect facing us, but because the bond forming between the both of us was important to me.

  ‘Whoopdeedoo,’ snarled the Wolf. ‘You two make a great team. The mental patient and the deranged pensioner, off to war together.’

  Cage led the way. He tracked through the trees with a certainty that felt genuine. Whatever was going on in that head of his, he knew the path beneath his feet was the right one. I followed with some degree of confidence. If he had navigated this track before, he could do it again now. I’d heard people describe dementia by using an analogy of a bookshelf. Your oldest memories sit on the bottom shelves, with more recent ones filling up the higher spots. If something came along and shook the bookshelf, the higher books would be the first to fall. The worse it shook, the more books would drop, but the last to go would be those at the bottom. While I didn’t think Cage was suffering from dementia, the analogy seemed to fit.

  We walked well into the night, Cage navigating his way through the dense forest growth like a man following the stars, or a sign from God. We seldom spoke, mostly because I didn’t think Cage could wrap his damaged mind around the complexities of multitasking, but partly because something had changed. Whether the feeling was mutual, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t help but feel like what was next to come would be a struggle. Somewhere out in the darkness, the Grim Reaper watched us, fingers wrapped around his scythe in somber anticipation of what lay ahead.

  Though after what felt like hours, Cage finally stopped. I almost bumped into his colossal back, and looked around for some signs of life in the bewildering darkness. Nothing.

 
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.

  Cage didn’t turn around, and the voice that came out of him seemed strangely timid for a man of such imposing size.

  ‘I just need a break,’ he said.

  ‘That’s okay. Do you want to sit down?’

  He said nothing, so I took his arm and helped him down beside a large pine tree.

  ‘I just need some rest is all,’ he said, like he had to justify his current state.

  ‘Take all the time you need.’

  He let out a deep sigh and rested his head against the trunk. I saw stars twinkle in the reflection of his dewy eyes.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ he said.

  I looked deep into his eyes. Saw the same look of desperation on his face that I’d seen in soldiers fighting a lost cause.

  ‘I know,’ I sighed.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  I didn’t know if he meant it literally, or if he was just talking to fill the silence. I didn’t have it in me to go through the whole thing again, and I took his acceptance to my silence to be all the answer he was going to get. With a frailty I hadn’t seen in him before, he lifted his hand to his face, and gently touched his skin. I watched his finger drift across his lips and down to the tip of his chiselled chin.

  Did I dare ask? It was a gamble, for sure, but when was I going to get a better chance than now.

  ‘You mentioned something earlier that I hoped you could elaborate on?’ I said, looking at the old man. ‘About someone working for you at Second Solace.’

  He nodded.

  ‘You mentioned Tariq Al-Assad,’ I said, ignoring my racing heartbeat. ‘You told me he was building something for you.’

  ‘Did I?’ asked Cage.

  I nodded.

  ‘We were talking about it before the attack on the Humvee. You said you wanted me to know the whole truth.’

  There was no look of surprise or appalled remark. There was no denial or deflection. There was only silence. I felt bad lying and manipulating the exhausted leader, but I saw no better opportunity to ask the questions I desperately needed answering.