The larger hose is seen on one of the guide monitors entering Ying's stomach. Cameras on the end of the hoses show the inner flesh appearing healthy after the gallium is removed. Those technicians vacuuming the soft gallium off his surface flesh complete the removal. The rectum hose is withdrawn. The remaining exposed flesh looks normal, except it has a shiny sheen.
Ying's body stops jerking and stills.
"His heart has stopped!" yells the scientist using a stethoscope against Ying's wrist.
"Are his lungs finished?" asks Dr. Black.
"Lungs are empty."
"Fire up the defibrillator! We have to get his heart started," says Dr. Black.
"What do we set the charge at?"
"Give me three hundred and fifty joules," orders Dr. Black
"That's high, Doctor."
"Have you seen the size of his heart? Give me three-fifty!" demands Dr. Black.
Dr. Black grabs the paddles, rubs the conductive gel between them, then places on his chest.
"Clear!"
Dr. Black shocks him, and Ying's chest reacts with a violent jerk. But no response.
"Clear!"
She shocks him again, but no response.
Sandy observers, "Doctor, I think the gallium in his flesh is dispersing the shock throughout his body. It's not affecting his heart."
"Dammit, scalpel!" yells Dr. Black, handing the paddles off as a technician hands her a scalpel.
"Doctor, what are you doing!"
Dr. Black cuts open Ying's chest.
"The only thing I can do. I'm massaging his heart. Someone bag his mouth. You can't die on me, Ying!"
After cutting a large incision from the base of his sternum to the top of his stomach, Dr. Black shoves both her hands into Ying's chest and begins massaging his heart. A scientist squeezes a breathing bag, pumping oxygen into Ying's mouth. Sweat seeps from Dr. Black's forehead.
"Hook him up to the vitals monitor."
The technicians put wire sensors to his skin, while the scientist watches the monitor show no activity or response.
"We have nothing," says the scientist.
"Dammit, Ying! Don't give up on me!"
As Dr. Black massages his heart, the chest incision she made closes, sealing around her wrists with her hands still inside him.
"Doctor, we should call it."
Dr. Black ignores the request and continues massaging.
"Doctor, it's over."
Dr. Black continues with unflinching intensity. Suddenly a faint heart beat appears on the monitor.
"We have a beat. We have a beat!"
A sigh and slight cheer from the technician, as a sweaty Dr. Black relaxes. She pulls her hands out of his chest, leaving two circular holes where the skin sealed around her wrists. Once her hands are free, the holes in his chest slowly close, resealing as if no opening was ever there.
Panting, Dr. Black says in a more relaxed tone, "Finish cleaning off any remaining gallium. Send a scope into his lungs and stomach making sure you got all the gallium out. Then clear his nasal passages and ears carefully, I don't want his hearing damaged. Redo the rectum, lower intestinal track and urethra."
"Doctor, should we hook up an IV or give him any fluids to help stabilize him?"
"No. Let his body stabilize itself to the transformation it has undergone."
Dr. Black removes her surgical mask and cap, tossing the surgical gloves into a bin.
"Dr. Black, do you want us to get you when we finish cleaning him?"
"I'm not going anywhere until he has regained consciousness. His health is my only concern. Someone help E.O. Evascott carry his equipment back into his workshop. And whoever is not cleaning gallium off Ying, I want you to take temperatures all over his body and record the readings and locations. I want to find out if the metal effects his surface and core temperature, and if it does, figure out if the temperature change is affecting his organ's functions."
"Yes, Doctor."
As the technicians continue to work on Ying, Dr. Black takes off her surgical gown and sits on a stool, staring at Ying's still but breathing body. His eyes are blank.
Dr. Black hears a faint whisper inside her head.
"Am I dead?" asks the whisper. Dr. Black knows it is Ying telepathizing a question.
"No Ying, you are alive," says Dr. Black out loud.
The technicians turn their heads to look at Dr. Black.
"What was that Dr. Black?" asks a technician.
"Nothing. Keep working."
Dr. Black stands and moves to Ying, placing her hand on his face, cracking a smile.
The Underground
Chapter 45
Secret Tunnels, Under Washington DC.
Mr. Nix and the newly named Agent Strong hike inside the subterranean tunnels. The tapping of their soles on the concrete echoes off the walls, the only sound breaking the dead silence. Ahead, barely visible in the darkness, they can see a faint outline of barriers blocking the passage. Solid concrete, these pylons are a line of one-foot diameter cylinders four feet tall spaced a meter apart. Far enough apart for anyone on foot to pass through, but too close and high for any vehicle other than a cycle to pass through.
Dixie, Agent Strong, wonders what she has gotten herself into. Interminably roaming in this tunnel of never-ending darkness, following dim guide lights running along the sidewall base, not sure if a day or two has passed. Every inch looks so much the same, they could be walking in a circle again and again and again.
They are low on food and water. Only when hunger takes over their will to resist do they eat. They slept briefly, or was it a long sleep? Hard to know when the only difference between the darkness of eyes closed and eyes open are a few dim guide lights. Most of the time they hike in silence, and the few moments Agent Strong tries to talk, Mr. Nix silences her, telling her this is a dangerous place to be distracted for even a moment. Although nothing in these dark catacombs seems remotely threatening, walking where the only thing visible is the dim glowing cubes outlining a path into a black beyond makes danger feel ever-present.
Even though Mr. Nix will hush her, Agent Strong speaks out loud anyway, the sound of her own voice offering a semblance of comfort and companionship.
"How dangerous can a government tunnel used only by the government be?" she says rhetorically. "You said no one is in here without authorization. I haven't seen anything other than empty tunnels and concrete barriers, and it has been a day or more. I don't understand why you are so worried. And don't hush me, I'll stop talking, I'm just saying I don't understand."
Instead of silencing her, surprisingly Mr. Nix expresses his perspective, "In here, rules or laws don't apply. According to the world above, none of this exists, and does not fall under any right, code or ordinance written. Nothing done inside these tunnels is illegal. Any agency while within these tunnels can handle any problem or situation as they see fit. If we came across a group, helping us, ignoring us, and killing us are equally acceptable responses. In here, the agency with the most firepower is in charge. Since you and I are alone, we must be careful. Especially with everything going on at the surface, limiting tunnel traffic and restricting passage will be key in preventing the Greys from discovering access points while government uses these tunnels to move around DC undetected.
"If we came across such a group, and that group stopped us, took our weapons, denied us passage, or confined us, we would be forced to obey. These tunnels are so extensive, there are ways to get around an impasse, but only if we detect it before they discover us. I cannot allow anyone to prevent us from reaching the Committee's Headquarters."
Agent Strong trusts Mr. Nix's words. In this tunnel, leaving her name and past behind to help him on his quest, and unaware where they are headed has started to feel like a spiritual passage, a transition or transcendence from her life before to what it is becoming. Although, it is not lost on her that when she read stories and myths of such journeys, the passage to ascension is fraught with dangers that the
unworthy meet a fatal fate. The route Mr. Nix leads her along could reach Committee headquarters, or lead to hell, or be an endless maze that mortals cannot escape; she a mouse looking for cheese but discovering herself to be a mere morsel for a minotaur. The only thing Agent Strong is certain of on this underground hike is that she has left her life behind, and can never return to who she was. She likes the name Mr. Nix gave her: Agent Strong. Its simple literalness represents the inner strength she has spent much of her life relying on.
Why does her mind keep conjuring the image she is walking to hell? That they will soon reach its fiery gate lined with the charred remains of what has been sent here and incinerated upon entry. Then, with her next breath, she realizes what keeps pushing that image in her head: a singed smell in the air. The sour stale lingering scent of charred, burned, ashen remains. Not the strong odor of freshly burned, but an old indistinct aroma left by the once seared now cold.
"Do you smell that?" asks Agent Strong.
Mr. Nix stops and sniffs.
"I do now. You have a good nose."
"It's getting stronger. We are getting closer. But still faint. We are at the edge of the aroma."
"How can you tell how far?"
"I can't answer that without mentioning my past, which you told me not to do."
"You may refer to experiences, but not the location, name or identity of people you experienced it with," says Mr. Nix.
"There was a time I wanted to be a firefighter, before joining the police academy. I ran to fires when they happened, watched as firetrucks put them out, and went back days later to see what was left. I became good at identifying the three stages of incineration with my nose: the smell of the burning, the odor of the extinguished, and the scent of the ashy aftermath. The only reason I didn't become a firefighter was, as noble as the firefighter's deeds were, their job was cleaning up the mess of arsonists, negligence or accidents. I wanted to be the one who arrested those who caused the fires, not the person to put the fires out. That time I spent chasing fires was still useful as an officer in handling emergencies and investigations."
As they pass between concrete barriers, the smell becomes stronger.
"We are definitely headed right towards whatever we smell. You want the flashlight?" asks Agent Strong.
"Last time I used it the intensity was dimming. Can't be more than ten minutes of battery left. We should only use it when necessary. Any flares?"
"I have one flare left."
"Well, we continue in the dark then."
As they continue through the tunnel, the guide lights disappear, opaque from grime. Grit on the ground crunches beneath their feet, which soon become chunks and rubble. As they hit a bunch of irregularly shaped ground barriers, Mr. Nix stops Agent Strong.
"I can't see a thing. Give me the flashlight and get out the flare," orders Mr. Nix.
Agent Strong hands him the flashlight. As she pulls out the flare, Mr. Nix flicks on the flashlight, but the light is so dim it doesn't illuminate further than a couple feet, and poorly. All he can make out is the front headlight corner of a damaged Humvee right before him, low to the ground as if not on wheels, and coated with a dry black film.
"Strike up that flare."
Agent Strong ignites the flare, illuminating the entire tunnel in a red glow. As she extends the flare, lifting it into the air, the whole spectacle becomes visible. As far ahead as the flare shines, it exposes the charred remains of a destroyed Army caravan. Humvees, trucks and even one tank melted into fragments of what they once were. Entire sections of the vehicles are incinerated while other sections of the same vehicle are missing, outlined by the cold hardened edges once molten. Half of the tank is gone, the tread and left side that remains has toppled sideways to the ground where the missing half should be, laying useless on a base of cinder, ash, and solidified puddles of cooled metal and glass. A Humvee is missing its roof with tires melted beneath heat warped rims. Trucks of nothing more than engines and seat frames with the cushions burned away, line one after the other, the frozen moment of a caravan uncompleted. Along the sides of the tunnel away from the vehicles lay strewn pieces and sections of bodies, blown apart, bled out and dried like raisins. Mummified heads, smoke-dried and coated with soot, express with their leathery stretched face skin an expression of horror. The remains of the convoy rise no higher than four feet, leaving the tunnel surface a difficult barrier to pass, but with an open view over top.
Agent Strong looks to Mr. Nix, "I can tell from the smell this...carnage...has to be less than a week old."
What strikes Nix more than the damage is the low height of the wreckage. The tallest of these vehicles, when whole, need twelve feet of clearance, which isn't a problem with the tunnel's twenty-foot ceilings. In this destruction, there is a uniformity. Everything is melted to the same height, making the empty space above the wreckage an open passage.
Mr. Nix and Agent Strong continue onward, stepping over and winding around the sediment-dusted skeletal remains of men and machinery. The monochromatic tone of shadows cast from the red sparkling flare has them stumbling and tripping their way through. Their hands become dirty and black as the junk they must constantly grasp to maintain balance.
"What do you think caused this, Agent Xanthos, I mean, Mr. Nix?"
"There is no doubt what caused this."
A strange whistle-whirring noise echoes through the tunnel racing towards them.
"You hear that?" asks Agent Strong.
Mr. Nix grabs the flare from Strong and throws it down the tunnel behind them.
"Hide!" says Mr. Nix with urgency.
Mr. Nix drops to the ground, crawling behind a melted Humvee chassis. Agent Strong scrambles to the remains on the other side, curling up by a warped engine block on a mound of melted metal. Though the sound moves closer and closer, the odd whirring volume doesn't get louder, rather the frequency shakes the air and vibrates the debris with its approach. Thirty meters behind them, the red flare sparks and shines.
As rapidly as the vibrations appeared, they sense the presence of a large object floating right over them moving towards the flare. The vibration from the noise tingles their skin. As the object passes, the flickering flare creates an outline of a craft floating in the tunnel, a small craft with the sleek lines and shape distinctive of Grey designs. The craft drifts perfectly equidistant from the walls, ceiling and the wreckage lining the ground, with little room for error.
"We must move now!" whispers Mr. Nix, jumping to his feet and rushing along the wall away from the craft. Since the singed guide lights are opaque with ash, Nix flicks on the flashlight as he moves, giving him only enough illumination to expose where he is about to take his next step. Strong rushes after him, stumbling and smacking against the side wall in darkness, trying to catch up with Mr. Nix and the only source of light.
"Wait up! Where are you going?"
"Hurry. There are surface exits near barrier points in case the barriers can't be raised."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know...I'm looking. That ship will detect our body heat soon enough."
The ship moves past the flare, disappearing into the darkness. Then, the ship returns in their direction, passing over the flare and heading toward them.
Nix finds on the side wall a series of wall mounted ladder rungs headed up into the ceiling. Without hesitation, Mr. Nix climbs with Agent Strong close behind. Hands slipping, Nix drops the flashlight. As the ships slows to a stop right where they began their ascent and the flashlight lays, they disappear into a narrow shaft in the ceiling that hides them from view. Blocking their ascent, a ceiling portal prevents the shaft from going any higher. Mr. Nix blindly gropes, finds a latch and uses all his strength to pop the portal seal and push it open.
Agent Strong glances down to the tunnel below them, and is temporarily blinded by a flash of white light from within the tunnel, shining up the shaft they climb. After Mr. Nix climbs onto the surface space above the portal, he reaches and pulls Agen
t Strong up through, who is disoriented as her eyes adjust. Past the portal, Agent Strong rolls onto her side and rubs her eyes, her vision once again adjusting to the darkness. Mr. Nix closes and seals the portal. Once he helps Agent Strong to her feet, Mr. Nix leads her as they walk bent-over through a low tight concrete passageway lined with rusty drainage pipes.
They come upon a steel door latched shut on their side. Undoing the latch, Mr. Nix pushes the door open, but it opens only a couple inches before being restrained by a chain and padlock on the other side.
"Dammit, it is chained on the other side," snarls Mr. Nix.
"What do we do? Are they coming?" asks Agent Strong, looking over her shoulder.
"Unlikely. I've never seen a Grey leave its craft to chase a rabbit down a hole, unless it has something of theirs. But we can't turn back. They are patrolling that tunnel, which means they are protecting something. We were just lucky enough to be near an exit, otherwise...," Mr. Nix doesn't finish his sentence but his look finishes it for him.
"Why didn't any of those people take this exit?"
"We had that wreckage warning us to hide. When these soldiers came up that tunnel as a caravan, they did what soldiers do when confronted: hunker down and fight."
"Is there another way out?"
"This is the other way out."
"Why are they here? How'd they find it? With a planet to take over, these underground tunnels are deep and rather obscure."
"I agree. They aren't in there without a reason. And a good one. It wasn't just to attack those troops. Greys patrol to protect. I don't know what they need to protect under DC. Unfortunately, it is one more thing we can't do anything about right now. What we must do is find a way out of here."
Nix squeezes his hand into the gap of the chained door. His fingertips adjust the chain on the other side, sliding the links clipped to the padlock until the padlock dangles in the gap.
"Step back and cover," warns Nix.
As Agent Strong steps back and shields her face, Mr. Nix uses his shotgun, pushing the barrel through the door gap until the padlock dangles over the end of the barrel. He fires. The lock jerks and jiggles. Mr. Nix fires again. The lock takes damage, but the explosive force causes the padlock to slide aside the opening. Mr. Nix reaches his hand through and tugs with his fingers at the lock, but the lock is still secured. Again, he adjusts the chain until the padlock dangles in the door gap. Shoving the shotgun barrel into the gap one more time, Mr. Nix fires. This time, the padlock bottom breaks apart. With his fingers, he yanks at the hot lock which relinquishes its hold and pops open. After manipulating the lock's shackle off the connecting links, he snakes the chain from the pipe it wraps around and kicks the door open.
Nexus of Time Page 38