Even The Dead Will Bleed

by Steven Ramirez

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “Look, we didn’t have the answers. At the time it was the right thing to do. You weren’t there.”

  “And now?” Vlad said. “Will this doctor ‘put down’ my sister?”

  “No, this situation is different. Sasha has had the virus longer than anyone in Tres Marias. Trust me, Isaac will do everything he can to save her.”

  “So back to my original question,” Karen said. “After Sasha is stable, then what?”

  I pushed my plate away and poured myself more coffee. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. You’re right about killing Walt. That won’t accomplish anything. We need to find a way to stop the killing. We have to shut down their operation.”

  “Without getting killed,” Karen said.

  “You know about the cutters, right?”

  “The ones committing those grisly murders?”

  “Yes. They’re extremely dangerous.”

  “Cops can’t stop them,” Vlad said. “How do we?”

  “I’m working on it. Something I don’t understand, though. They’re becoming bolder in their attacks. It’s almost as if . . .”

  Karen smiled knowingly. “As if they wanted to be caught.”

  “Exactly. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “And what about that other man—the one working for Walt Freeman?”

  “Trower.”

  “He’s interesting. Come on. Let’s see what we can find out about Mr. Trower.”

  Karen got up and escorted us into her office. Vlad and I stood behind her as she opened a browser on her computer, Googled Baseborn Identity Research and navigated to their website. Then she searched for information about the company and displayed a page that listed the executives. Walt Freeman’s headshot came up first as Chairman and CEO, followed by other executives, none of whom looked to be under fifty. As Karen scrolled down she found Eamon Trower, Chief Security Officer. Together we read his bio.

  Eamon Trower is the Chief Security Officer at Baseborn Identity Research where he oversees information security, R&D security, investigations and law enforcement relations.

  Prior to joining Baseborn Identity Research, Mr. Trower spent four years overseeing security operations at Black Dragon Security, both in the US and abroad. A graduate of West Point, he spent nearly twenty years with the Department of Defense, overseeing a biological weapons reduction program. Mr. Trower is an avid golfer and marksman, and . . .

  “His photo scares me,” Karen said to me.

  “Does it say how he got the scar?”

  “Hang on . . .” She navigated to another website. “Huh. Looks like in the eighties he was captured by terrorists in Libya while on a peace mission to Jordan. I’m guessing they tortured him. What’s this?”

  She clicked on a link, which displayed a YouTube video of an old 60 Minutes interview with Mike Wallace.

  “This could be interesting,” she said.

  In the video Trower was incredibly young. Handsome too. Wearing his Army uniform, he sat opposite Mike Wallace, his back ramrod straight. His smile was warm and genuine.

  Wallace began by recounting the soldier’s military career. A West Point graduate, he came from a long line of military men. He was considered to be a rising star and, at the time of the interview, had been picked to head up a special diplomatic mission to Jordan.

  It was hard for me to reconcile this young, idealistic man with the Trower I knew. But it was clear that back then he loved his country and wanted to serve in any way he could.

  At one point Wallace leaned in. “Knowing the danger of what you and your team are about to face in the Middle East, do you have any reservations about going?”

  Trower paused for a moment and looked down. Then meeting Wallace’s eyes he said, “I’m a soldier. It’s all I’ve ever been. I do what I’m told for the good of the country.”

  Karen paused the video and leaned back. “Wow . . .”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Whatever happened to him in Libya, he’s not the same guy.”

  “Moving on,” Karen said. “David, what do you know about Black Dragon Security?”

  “A lot. I used to work for them.”

  Vlad stared at me. “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie, Vlad. Okay, I left out a few details. Black Dragon was contracted to restore order to our town after the outbreak. In the beginning things went south and some of the soldiers went rogue. Then they brought in a new manager. He recruited me and my wife. We’d been fighting alongside some of the good Black Dragon guys. I guess we had proved ourselves.”

  “Did you know about Trower?” Karen said.

  “Not his name—only his face. He was in Mt. Shasta when my wife was killed.”

  “And you think he did it?”

  “No. The mayor did.”

  Karen looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

  “I was there.”

  Then it struck me. This whole time I had assumed that Walt Freeman had shot the mayor dead as he tried to flee after murdering Holly. But that wasn’t Walt’s style. He would have delegated the job.

  “The mayor was a liability,” I said. “So Trower killed him. And the other day he tried to kill me.”

  “Which means he’s looking for you now.”

  “And Sasha.”

  “Does he know you’re together?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s figured that out.”

  Karen sighed. “Why don’t you two rest? Vlad’s shift is next. In the meantime I want to work this problem.”

  As we left her office she erased a section of the white board and began scribbling new notes. I decided to watch the news. Vlad and I sat on the sofa in the den as I surfed the channels on the large flat screen TV. We came in on a business update about Hellborn on Fox News.

  “ . . . and in news about Baseborn Identity Research, analysts are already saying that the IPO will bring in much-needed cash to fund a clinical trial for a new family of drugs that the firm claims will revolutionize combat. Earlier today I had a chance to speak to the Chairman and CEO of Baseborn Identity Research, Mr. Walter Freeman, at the Veterans Administration in West Los Angeles where he has just given a speech.”

  The scene switched to a large conference room filled with business executives and military brass. The reporter and Walt were standing off to one side.

  “Mr. Freeman—”

  “Call me Walt.”

  “Walt, can you tell me about this new drug?”

  “Certainly. Marketing is working on the name. We’ve already trademarked ‘Surrelis,’ but don’t quote me on that.” He laughed disingenuously. “Let me give you some context. Everyone is focused on protecting our young men and woman serving overseas in dangerous places. We inoculate them for malaria and other diseases. Our company is developing a new drug to protect soldiers from the effects of combat itself.”

  “Walt, are you saying that your drug will prevent PTSD?”

  “I don’t want to make extreme claims. Like-uh-said, if successful, our drug will lessen the debilitating effects of war and allow these fine men and women to lead happy, productive lives once they return home to their families.”

  “Sounds almost too good to be true.”

  “Well, it’s science. As you know, new, exciting discoveries are being made every day.”

  “Any idea when the drug will be ready for the market?”

  “Once the IPO happens, we will seek approval from the FDA to begin clinical trials. In fact, our lawyers are working on that now. It is our hope that we can have an approved drug in the pipeline within three years.”

  “Amazing. I wish you the best in your endeavors.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Renee, back to you.”

  I turned off the TV and stared at Vlad, who said, “And what happens when soldiers taking drug make their wives or girlfriends pregnant?”

  “That’s why they need Sasha,” I said. “To find out what will happen to the baby.”

&nb
sp; CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Doctor Is In

  When the knock came, I ran to the front door and flung it open. Real smart. It could’ve been anyone—Trower even. Thankfully it was Isaac.

  “Dave Pulaski,” he said, grinning.

  “Isaac. Thank God.”

  “You getting religion in your old age, son?”

  He had changed in the short time I had been away. His white hair was long and unruly and he needed a shave. This wasn’t the meticulous dresser I had known all my life—the one who wore sport coats and smelled of Old Spice. On either side of him stood a large suitcase. I grabbed both and waited for him to enter.

  Maritza and Vlad approached as I set the suitcases down in the foyer.

  “Isaac, this is Maritza Lopez and Vlad Dragomirov. Vlad is the patient’s brother.”

  “I see,” Isaac said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you both. Dave, I’ll get right to the point. I need a bathroom and some hot coffee, preferably in that order.”

  “Sure. There’s a guest bathroom to the right here. I’ll get the bags.”

  “And I’ll get the coffee,” Maritza said.

  Isaac sat with us in the kitchen, devouring a chicken sandwich that Olga had prepared for him. Though I had a million questions about Tres Marias, we needed to focus on Sasha.

  “How are you holding up?” he said to me.

  I knew exactly what he meant. How are you keeping yourself from blowing your brains out now that Holly is gone? We had last seen each other at her funeral. He had wept bitterly, as I had. He had known me all my life—watched me go from a young hockey-playing fool to a poor student with a bad attitude and a drinking problem. He knew the worst about me. And he knew the good I was capable of when it came to Holly. Both of us had survived the evil that befell Tres Marias. And here we were once again, ass-deep in a bad place.

  “It’s day-by-day,” I said.

  Maritza broke the silence that followed. “How was the trip?”

  “Uneventful. Dave, I did as you suggested and purchased a new phone.”

  “That’s great. Isaac, Walt Freeman is back in the picture.”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Doesn’t surprise me. This thing is spreading like the virus itself.”

  Karen walked in. Smiling, she extended her good hand to Isaac.

  “I’m Karen Rothberg, the owner of this humble establishment.”

  “Isaac Fallow,” he said, getting to his feet. “I appreciate you putting up with us. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.”

  “It’s been a real education. Isaac, can I get you some brandy for that coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m tired and I don’t want to fall asleep during the examination.”

  “Well, the girl’s awake, so why don’t we . . .”

  “Yes, of course. Dave, my equipment?”

  “I already moved it to Sasha’s room.”

  Karen led the way. As we entered the bedroom we found Sasha lying still, staring idly at the window. Vlad said something to her in Russian and she nodded.

  “Sasha?” Karen said. “This is Dr. Fallow. He’s going to examine you.”

  Isaac came forward into the light cast by the lamp on the nightstand. “Hello, young lady. I don’t want you to be afraid. I’m a friend of Dave’s. Now, I’d like to make a thorough examination. Will that be all right?” She nodded without making eye contact. “Karen, I’m also going to need a urine sample.”

  “I’ll stay and assist you,” she said.

  “You’ll find a plastic cup in that bag.”

  He leaned back, opened his medical bag and removed a needle and syringe. Then he pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid and prepared an injection.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “Valium.”

  “You do know she’s pregnant, right?”

  He looked at me, irritated. “It’s safe for short periods.”

  “She must have it?” Vlad said.

  “It’s just a precaution.”

  Isaac explored Sasha’s forearm, looking for a vein. Then he swabbed an area with alcohol and gave her the injection, making her wince. I saw her eyes glaze over slightly as she sank back on the pillow. He lifted her eyelid with his finger and gently began untying one of her wrists.

  “Sasha? I’m going to untie you and I want you to be a good girl. I promise not to hurt you.”

  As Isaac continued, Sasha began to whimper, muttering in Russian. Vlad came forward and began stroking her hair.

  “If the rest of you could leave,” Isaac said, “I want to start the exam. Karen, help me get her into a sitting position.”

  Maritza, Vlad and I left the room in silence. Vlad closed the door softly. Then he sank to the floor and leaned against the wall outside, looking forlorn.

  “Come on,” Maritza said.

  We sat in the den, watching television. I flipped through the channels, looking for more news about Hellborn. There wasn’t any. So we settled on a “Seinfeld” rerun.

  “I want to go back to the station,” Maritza said. She didn’t sound happy about it.

  “I never asked how you explained your absence.”

  “I told Nate I was having anxiety attacks after what happened in Griffith Park.”

  “Did he buy it?”

  “I really do get those. Usually right before I go in front of the camera. I have this little ritual I do. I say a prayer and look at a photo I keep in my wallet.”

  “Your family?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s a panda. I don’t know why. It calms me.”

  “Does Nate know?”

  “No! And he’s not going to find out, get it?” She threatened me with a balled-up fist, then hugged my arm. “He told me to take a few days. I’m sure he expects me back soon, though.”

  I must have gone quiet for a long time. Maritza poked my ribs with her finger till I turned to face her.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” she said. “McFly?”

  “What?”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “We can’t stay here,” I said. Then lowering my voice, “Sasha is only going to get worse.”

  “Do you think she’ll lose the baby?”

  “No idea.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Improvise.”

  I wasn’t lying. I was a million miles from what I’d originally set out to do. It was like being on a train without a ticket—not knowing where I was headed. Someone else was in charge.

  “Sasha is the most important thing right now,” I said. “I have to make sure she’s safe.”

  Maritza turned off the TV and squeezed my hand. “When I first met you I thought you were a bad boy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Embarrassed, she laughed, then became serious. “But when I looked into your eyes I knew. There was something good in you.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Hey, I come from a superstitious family. We believe in signs. Big ones . . . little ones.”

  “Yeah? What sign did you see with me?”

  She took the crucifix she wore around her neck in her fingers. “It’s hard to explain. It was the way you looked at this. Like you . . . remembered it.”

  I stared at the crucifix. “Holly wore one that was very similar. But I only glanced at it for a second.”

  “It was all I needed.”

  She leaned in and kissed me. I felt myself falling. Falling for a girl I hardly knew. This would end badly—I was sure of it. I needed to get away. I didn’t know whether it was her lips or the way she breathed when she pressed her face to mine. I felt myself fighting some truth I’d known since meeting her.

  Being with Maritza felt right.

  Approaching voices caused us to slide away from each other. I got to my feet as Isaac and Vlad entered the room.

  “She’s strong enough for a bath,” Isaac said. “Karen’s helping her.” He smiled slyly. “I feel like I’ve interrupted something.”

  “No, nothin
g,” I said quickly.

  “Well” Isaac took a seat on the sofa. “I’ve taken a urine sample and reviewed the lab report from her last exam. But we need fresh blood tests. We’re in luck. I have a colleague at St. Lazarus Institute here in Santa Barbara. They have a very sophisticated lab—exactly what we need.”

  “You want to take my sister to hospital?” Vlad said.

  “Don’t worry, Vlad, we will be very discreet.”

  “How long?”

  “It depends on the tests. We’ll be there a full day for sure.”

  “No, I will not allow it.”

  “Vlad,” I said, “it’s for her own good.”

  “No!”

  Angry, he left the room.

  Isaac seemed bewildered. “Should I . . .”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said.

  Vlad was standing alone in the garden, which was wet from the last rain. A bank of dark clouds obscured the moon, and he looked like a hulking silhouette. He didn’t acknowledge me as I approached.

  “She is all I have left,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “She was trapped in that place. People . . . experimented on her and those other girls. Now you and this guy want to put her somewhere and do the same.”

  “Look, I know it seems like that. But we only want to help her. You know she can’t stay here, right? It’s not fair to Karen.”

  “When she is better we leave. I have friends in Seattle.”

  “Vlad, she may not get better.” He turned to face me, his eyes defiant. “We just don’t know. Isaac has a lot of experience with the virus. If he says these people can help, then I believe him.”

  “I don’t want them to hurt her.”

  “They won’t.”

  He was silent for a time, looking off somewhere into the darkness. “Will you come with us?”

  “Of course. Maritza has to get back to LA. I promise we won’t leave Sasha there. We’ll take the motorhome.”

  “With the weapons.”

  “Exactly. If things gets weird we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

  Vlad seemed to relax a little. I think I understood him. There wasn’t any problem that guns couldn’t solve. He looked up the sky as the first drops of a new rain fell. “Why did you help my sister?”