by Penn Gates
“Well that’s simple enough - stop driving in circles! It will never be pointless as long as there’s new places to look!”
“New places have a tendency to be the same as the old places.” Holden reaches for a cigarette, and then thinks better of the idea. “Trust me - when you’re a gypsy, the only place you belong is nowhere.”
“Poetic,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But how would you know? You don’t look like a gypsy to me.”
Holden hesitates. Why the hell would he share personal shit with this woman who sees every new fact she learns as a data point? Because maybe she’ll tell me something about herself? Fat chance.
“I was an army brat,” he says finally. “Lived all over - every couple years I’d have to start again when the old man got transferred.”
“Oh—” Lisa immediately has questions. “Were you always overseas, or—?”
“Cheer up - it’s still fall foliage season,” Holden interrupts. “Relax and enjoy the view while you still can.”
“ABOUT NOW, I COULD do with some of that fall weather you were admiring yesterday.” Holden ducks his head to get a glimpse of the sky from behind the wheel of the semi. “Feels like winter already,” he complains. “And it looks like snow.”
Holden taps a rhythm out on the steering wheel, a habit which makes Lisa want to scream. She stares out the passenger window even though there’s nothing to see, willing Holden to stop tapping.
“It’s a little early for snow - or is it?” Holden doesn’t sound interested in his own question. It starts to drizzle and he turns on the wipers. Their rhythmic thumping seems to satisfy his need for a back beat because he doesn’t resume his own.
He lights a cigarette, and Lisa grits her teeth. The well-worn comments that pass for conversation are like the words of a play they’ve been performing far too long. But that will be ending very, very soon. They’re in Pennsylvania - and by tomorrow they’ll be back in Pittsburgh.
Sitting motionless while the truck hurtles closer and closer to the end of her quest is slowly driving her out of her mind. Crazy thoughts rattle around in her head: somehow she rests control of the wheel from Holden and pushes him out the door; somehow she miraculously knows how to drive this beast and heads toward Boston - if Pittsburgh can be under control, so can her home town. She’ll search there - and find Roger, too.
The pattern of the rain changes, and each drop splatters like a tiny snowball as it hits the glass.
“Shit,” Holden says under his breath. “It’s changing to snow in front of my eyes.” He inhales the last bit of nicotine in the butt before he lowers the window and chucks it out.
The air is cold and damp, but it smells good. Holden breathes deep before he closes the window again. The cloud cover grows heavier and more menacing. The hum of the truck wheels on the pavement and rhythmic windshield wipers are the only sounds.
“Jesus!” Holden says suddenly. “Are you going to mope all the way to Pittsburgh?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she snaps back. “I gave up the chance to get home because I hoped I might be able to find something that would help save what’s left of the world.” She laughs bitterly. “Serves me right for having such grandiose ambition.”
“Where are you from, anyway?” Holden asks, overruling his own injunction against satisfying his curiosity about this woman. What does it matter now? In another few days - tops - she’ll be someone he used to know.
“I’m from Boston.”
“Once we drop off the lab, I’ll take you wherever you want to go,” he offers. “I mean, I’m not gonna drop you on a street corner and leave.”
“Sadly, I have no idea where to go, or what to do once I get there.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to go home?”
“My mother died the week before we left Pittsburgh,” Lisa says raggedly. “My father’s dead by now. One way or another, everyone’s gone. There’s nothing to go back to.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Holden says. Silence closes in again.
The days are noticeably shorter now. Holden flips on the headlights. Ahead of them, Private Calvin Jones glares out the back of the olive drab army truck. He’s the only African American in the squad, and at first Lisa had secretly felt she had something in common with him - each in their way being the only one of their kind. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that soldiers are colorblind, brothers in arms who depend on each other.
“They gotta be colder than—” Holden pauses in mid-sentence, staring intently into the distance. “What the fuck?” He flashes the lights - the signal for the small convoy to pull over.
“Why are we stopping?” Lisa asks, straightening up and peering into the gloom outside.
But Holden has already jumped down from the high cab and raised his field glasses for a closer look.
She clambers out of the truck. When she catches up with him, the corporal offers Lisa the binoculars. “Take a look.”
“I’m no good at using those things,” she says.
“Try,” he says. “You’ve spent years lookin’ down a microscope. It’s pretty much the same thing.”
She accepts the field glasses reluctantly and peers through them. “Well - at least give me a clue. What am I looking for?”
He hesitates for a second and then grabs her shoulders and turns her a few degrees to the right. “Reddish smear of light over there - beyond that tree line.”
Lisa fiddles with the focus. “There! I’ve got it!” She studies the odd phenomenon. “It’s - definitely fire,” she decides. “But - not a camp fire.” She lowers the glasses and looks at Holden. “It’s like - dots of flame dancing around in the air.”
They speak at the same moment. “Torches!”
“Kinda weird. We should check it out.” He sounds happy at the chance for some kind of action.
Eight soldiers pile into a truck with Holden while three stay behind to guard their supplies, the multi-million dollar lab - and Lisa.
Making a quick decision, she sprints for her medical bag and calls out as the truck passes her. “Hey!”
Holden brakes and looks down at her. “What?”
She holds up her med kit. “Apparently I’m not much of a researcher, but I can still patch up anyone who gets hurt.”
He hears the self-contempt in her words. “All right, doc,” he says suddenly. “If you’re comin’, hop in. We gotta roll.”
With headlights off, they creep around a steep curve just in time to catch a glimpse of several torch-bearing men on horseback riding single file up a long lane. Holden stops to read the large sign at the turn-off. “It’s a state park with a lodge,” he says, squinting in the near dark. “At least I think that’s what it says—”
“These guys with the torches could be part of a bigger group using the lodge for headquarters.” He motions to Lisa to get out of the truck and follow him as he walks to the back. “Grab the equipment and hit the ground, shit birds - we’re gonna proceed on foot.”
The men cluster around the corporal as he outlines the plan. “I’m guessing the lodge is at the top of that hill. We’ll cross the field and go up the slope, then spread out along the perimeter.” He looks around the circle. “Hold your fire unless I give you the word. They’re probably friendlies, but you never can tell.”
CHAPTER 4: The Rescue Squad
Lisa stands motionless in the dark behind an overgrown hedge, holding her breath, as the smell of oily smoke and horse shit drifts toward her. She experiences a dizzying sense of unreality, as if she’s watching a movie - Frankenstein, maybe. The parking lot of the lodge is bathed in the lurid red light of torches. Men dressed like 19th century farmers hold the reins of nervous horses while they speak excitedly to each other in German.
Next to her, Corporal Holden lifts his field glasses and studies the bizarre scene. Through the high windows of the rustic building beyond the men and horses, distorted shadows jerk around like a magic lantern show in a nightmare.
“I don’t s
ee weapons,” he says finally. “But they’re sure as hell roughing somebody up in there.”
“If this place is their headquarters, wouldn’t they get down off their horses - act glad to be back?” Lisa whispers.
“Seems like,” Holden answers under his breath. “We should get our asses in gear and find out for sure - before somebody gets hurt.”
Suddenly the carved double doors burst open. A burly man hustles a struggling teenager toward the horses. The kid is protesting loudly, also in German. His voice is shrill with fear. Another man follows close behind with a female figure draped over his shoulder, her long blonde hair cascading down his broad back.
Holden hands Lisa a portable spotlight. “Keep this aimed on those assholes - but wait for my signal before you flip it on.” He looks down at her. “And don’t put a foot on the pavement until I give the okay. Are we clear?”
“I’ll manage,” she says, willing her hands to stop shaking.
Holden notices the physical response to danger, but her voice sounds strong. Only idiots don’t feel fear. Courage is controlling it.
“We’re gonna go in strong,” he explains, with a new respect for the doctor. “But these guys aren’t gonna put up too much of a fight. We just need them to drop those kids they’re dragging around.”
In the parking lot, a bearded, robed figure climbs on a white horse with some difficulty and gestures imperiously. The man carrying the girl instantly obeys the command and throws her unconscious body over the horse in front of the saddle.
“We gotta get ‘em while they’re still clustered together,” Holden whispers. “On my count—” He raises the bullhorn with his left arm. “Three—”
Lisa raises the spotlight toward the milling horses.
“Two—”
Holden throws a glance to either side of where they’re standing. “One!”
Lisa’s spotlight floods the scene in a harsh white light. In its glare, the torches suddenly look like so many stick matches. From the surrounding darkness muzzle flashes blossom, one after another, as semi-automatics are fired into the air.
“This is the Army National Guard!” Holden bellows through the bullhorn. “Don’t move and you won’t be harmed!”
Soldiers emerge from the darkness, gun barrels pointed toward the hostiles on the parking lot.
“Do not presume to interfere with the work of the Lord!” the man on the white horse thunders in a surprisingly deep voice, pointing a finger at a soldier who’s grabbed the reins, as if he’s about to loose a thunderbolt from on high.
Incongruously, it reminds Lisa of the creation scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. When Holden steps into the light and stalks toward the bizarre road-show Jesus, she hurries to catch up. Closer now, she sees that the man on the white horse is pudgy and soft-looking.
“Get that asshole down!” Holden’s voice squawks metallically.
“Heathen!” the man screams shrilly, flecks of foam visible at the corners of his mouth. “May the Lord smite thee!” His eyeballs roll upward and almost disappear, as if he’s left his body to make contact with God.
“Shut the fuck up!” Holden snarls before he notices Lisa standing next to him. “Thought you were gonna wait for my signal, doctor.”
Just as the self-styled holy man comes back to planet earth and looks in his direction, Holden casually reaches for the spotlight Lisa holds and shines it directly into the lunatic’s eyes. The man howls and throws an arm across his face.
“Grab him, Chiznik,” Holden snickers. “Don’t be afraid - the guy’s been struck blind.”
“Too bad he wasn’t struck dumb, too,” Chiznik shoots back, dragging the man from his horse with no apparent effort.
“I am anointed by the Lord!” the man protests.
“Jesus, Mary, and Whatnot—” Holden says to no one in particular. “I feel like I’m back in Afghanistan.”
But Lisa isn’t paying attention. Through all the noise and drama, the unconscious girl hasn’t stirred. Although her impulse is to rush to her side, she approaches the skittish horse warily. She speaks softly to the frightened creature at the same time she brushes the hair from the girl’s waxy face and feels for a pulse in her neck. It’s there, but she remains unresponsive.
“This girl needs medical help right now,” Lisa shouts. “Corporal - give me a hand.”
Holden holds the unconscious woman - a teenager, really - as Lisa cuts the rope binding her wrists. “Uh, doc—”
“What?” Lisa asks, impatient at the interruption. The girl should be coming around by now. Did she suffer a blow to the head?
Nodding toward the girl in his arms, he says, “She’s bleeding.”
Lisa glances quickly at the bright red bloom on the front of the girl’s modest dress. “Let’s get her inside where I can take a better look,” she says urgently. “I hope that’s just her monthly menses, because otherwise she’s either been raped, or—”
“Marcelli! C’mere, double time!” Holden’s jacked up on adrenalin and intent on tying up loose ends. He eagerly passes the limp girl to the private.
“Where are you going?” Lisa asks without thinking, and then realizes how needy she sounds. She flaps her hand. “Never mind - go.”
Holden is suddenly aware of how cold-hearted he must appear.“Listen - I’ve got to sort out this shit show and make sure there aren’t more of these yahoos running around in the dark.”
He shouts at a passing soldier, “Hey Brady - has the interior been checked out?”
“First floor cleared. Second floor bein’ swept right now.”
“Any place the doc can set up a first aid station?”
“An office behind the reception desk.”
“You’ll be safe in there,” Holden tells Lisa. “I’ll check back soon as I can.”
Feeling unreasonably abandoned, Lisa snaps at Marcelli, “Well - don’t just stand there. Let’s go!”
Inside, Marcelli carefully deposits the girl on a long table covered with what looks like vacation brochures.
Lisa says, “I’m sorry I was short with you, Marcelli - I’m just feeling the urgency.”
“No problem, doc. Now what else can I do?"
“I left my medical bag back in the tree line. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need an IV bag and sutures from back in the supply truck.” She stops. Does this guy even know what she’s talking about?
“I’ve got it, doc,” Marcelli says quickly. “I know the drill - I was studying to become a medic.”
“Thank God,” Lisa breathes.
After he takes off running, she runs the beam of her flashlight along the length of the girl’s body, assessing the injuries she can see. There’s a bruise on her temple, but otherwise, the modest clothing covers any other signs of mistreatment - except for the blood stain. She sighs and props the light on top of a file cabinet before she tentatively touches the hem of the girl’s dress.
The girl moans, and one hand flutters weakly as if trying to swat Lisa away.
“It’s all right - I’m a doctor. I won’t hurt you.” Lisa speaks slowly and distinctly. At this point she’s not sure the girl speaks English, but she’s hoping that the sound of a female voice will calm her. And it seems to do the trick.
As Lisa lifts the bloody layers of the skirt and petticoat beneath, it’s obvious where the blood is coming from. Upon closer examination, she discovers older, yellowing bruises on the girl’s inner thighs.
Lisa gently presses on her patient’s belly with her sensitive fingers. “How many weeks pregnant are you?” she asks.
“Nein! Nein!” the girl cries, trying to rise. “There is no child! Gott would not be so cruel!”
“Look, I want to help you,” Lisa says firmly. “But I can’t help if I don’t know all the facts.” She takes the girl’s ice cold hand in hers. “I’ll ask again - how long?”
“I am not with child!” The girl turns her face to the wall and curls into a fetal position, clutching at her belly. “Ach! It is hurting
so much.”
Marcelli bursts into the room, stopping just over the threshold when he sees the girl is conscious. He approached just close enough to hand the doctor her medical bag. “I got the rest of the stuff outside. Be right back.”
Lisa quickly finds what she’s looking for. “This will help with the pain,” she says, sliding the needle into the girl’s arm. That’s when she hears it - a low keening, a hopeless, eerie wail. The sound raises the hair on the back of Lisa’s neck. She tries to find words of comfort, but she chokes on the platitudes.
“Let me die,” the girl says clearly. Her eyes begin to close. “Please - let me die,” she sighs once more before she sinks into unconsciousness.
AN HOUR LATER, LISA peels off her gloves and pulls a blanket over her patient before she escapes the office, leaving Marcelli behind to clean up. She feels vaguely guilty about that, but she doesn’t have the strength left to help.
Holden is squatting in front of an immense fireplace, feeding another log into the fire. A massive fieldstone chimney towers above him like a cliff face. She staggers toward the warmth and sinks into the cushions of a red sofa near the hearth.
Holden pokes the fire and a shower of sparks swirl in the super-heated current of air. He stands and dusts off his hands before noticing Lisa. “Hey, doc, there’s somebody you need to meet.” He nods toward the tall, lanky teenager sitting across from her on an identical couch. “Dr. Lisa Terrell, meet George Shirk.”
“I am pleased to meet you already, Frau Doktor,” the young man says in a voice high with tension. “And how is Janet doing, please?”
Lisa is almost overcome with exhaustion, but she struggles to follow protocol. “Is Janet family, Mr. Shirk?”
The young man looks confused. That’s a simple enough question, Lisa thinks. Maybe I should check him out for a head injury.