Catalyst: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 1)

by Blou Bryant

  “What a waste of time, I should have known you weren’t going to help us?”

  “I do a variety of business, girly. Sometimes I help out people in trouble. But I do it for cash. I assume my idiot doorman looked at your dirty, bleeding asses and figured you were here for that reason.”

  “So you’ll turn us out? No surprise, it’s the cash that matters, nothing else.”

  “Easy to say with a silver spoon in your mouth, spoiled little rich girl.”

  “I’m not rich!” she replied.

  “Oh please. I can tell by the clothes that you’re wearing, your hair cut, nice color job by the way, and your perfect white teeth just where you come from. Your boots are probably worth more than my office furniture. Not rich, yeah that’s what kids like you say. You’re always looking at the five people above you, not even noticing the five hundred people you’re standing on. Do you really expect people to fix your problems for free?”

  “My hair is natural, thank you very much. And my parents will help me,” she said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Tall man by the door let out a long sigh and stared at her for a moment.

  “What do you think your parents will do for you, princess? Do you think they’ll hide you out in your nice big house? You’re not Anne Frank and even if you were, they’d probably put you out on the street.”

  Hannah’s mouth set in a small thin line at the insult to her family. “You don’t know them.”

  “I know people, and people are almost all the same. Here, it’s easier to show than tell,” he said, took his phone out of his pocket and gave it to her. “Call them.”

  Hannah didn’t hesitate and dialed. “Mom,” she said, the phone hardly having time to ring on the other end before being answered. She didn’t get to say another word before her mother tore into her. Hannah’s face twisted from the smile she had been wearing. She tried to get words in edgewise but failed. “No, I didn’t… No, it’s not true…” was the best she could do.

  Vasca clicked a button on his phone and several of the TV’s switched from outside and inside video to the news. The sound was off, but the images spoke for themselves. On one was a picture of Wyatt and Hannah, with a caption that said, ‘killers break into medical center’.

  On another was a photo of Lewis, titled ‘officer in critical condition.’ Hannah moaned out loud and in a low voice said to her mother, “I don’t need a lawyer.” From her tone, it was clear she wasn’t entirely sure.

  The tall man said, “They won’t believe you.” Hannah mouthed ‘shut up’ back at him, but it looked resentful.

  As he watched the two of them, Wyatt understood that the man was right. Reality for most people was what was on TV or the Net. He thought about his own mother and the various reality shows and right-wing websites she frequented and decided not to try the same phone call, at least not now.

  Hannah kept trying to explain, but finally just burst out, “Mom, I didn’t do it. If you won’t believe me, nobody else will,” and hung up the phone. She was in tears. “They never believe me, it’s always my fault.” Still pale, now sweating profusely, she pulled her arms back across her chest, put her head down and cried.

  Wyatt suspected he should hug her or say something. He patted her on the shoulder and said, “It’ll be ok,” but the words felt false as they left his lips. It’s not that he didn’t care, he didn’t have a way to show it and didn’t expect that things would get better.

  “We’re done here.” said Vasca, and touched his ear, activating this phone, “Send Carter down. The kids are leaving.”

  The other, unnamed man grunted and typed out a few words on his pad. Vasca read the message on his screen and paused for a moment, looking at the other man. “Really? Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  Vasca said, “Cancel that order,” and touched his ear again to deactivate the phone. “It seems my friend here has taken a liking to you two, it’s your lucky day. He’s asked me to help you, despite.”

  The tall man said, almost whispered, he was so quiet, “I’ve told Gav he’s not needed. I’ll care for them myself.”

  Wyatt wasn’t so sure. “You’re a Doctor?”

  He smiled thinly and lifted himself out of his chair. “Young man, there was a day where I was considered by many to be the best doctor in the state.”

  Hannah said, “I’m betting that day isn’t today, is it?”

  “Popular opinion changes. It’s not always right. Anyhow, I suspect you don’t have better options.”

  “Can Hannah and I have a moment to discuss this, please?” he asked Vasca.

  “No,” was the terse reply.

  “Vasca, we don’t need to argue about this, we both have sides, but if we’re positive, our attitudes will be our results,” he said, quoting his coach’s favorite message before big track meets.

  “Oh, how inspired,” replied Vasca. “You’re right, we can talk this out if we put our heads together.”

  “Thank you,” said Wyatt.

  Vasca made a face like he’d bit a lime. His voice raised, he said, “I was joking. That positive attitude is bullshit for people who have more time than brains.” He stood up, “Get your head out of the clouds and back here. You’re in danger. You have no real choices. We’ll help you, but you’ll listen to me and do what I tell you at every step, is that clear?”

  Wyatt was dumbfounded and sat still, not sure what to say. He looked at Hannah, but she was lost in her own world, likely thinking of her parents and the awful conversation she’d just had with them. He stayed silent.

  Vasca waved at the tall man, “Patch them up, get them out of here. They can say in the main clubhouse,” he said, not waiting for Wyatt to answer.

  Chapter 11

  Once the decision had been made, they moved fast. Only twenty minutes later, Wyatt was on the back of a motorcycle racing through the streets of Detroit. He looked over to a second bike to make sure Hannah was still holding on to her escort. The sun was just visible in the East and the streets were still empty. Broad avenues built for a larger population and an even larger workforce now served only those who were fortunate enough to still have a job, or those who could afford to use them regardless.

  For a while, people had thought that the new, automated world would create new types of work. Talking heads said everyone would be knowledge workers and colleges pumped out thousands of people with new and varied degrees, almost none of whom ever got work in their fields. It turned out that computers did ‘knowledge’ much better than most humans.

  They passed a billboard for robotherepy.com, which offered cheap, anonymous psychoanalysis and drug therapy, without the need to share embarrassing details with a human. Apparently computers were better at analyzing humans than people were too.

  The government put up posters extolling work and opportunity, but these were convenient fictions that nobody believed. People lied to each other and lied to themselves and were fine with that. It was easier.

  Wyatt had paid little attention in the past, to the world around him and what came or would come next. He wasn’t rich enough to expect much after he left school, but he loved his sports and track and field was a great way to avoid thinking. Well, now he had an idea of what his future held and it didn’t look good.

  The former doctor had introduced himself as Esaf as he gave them a cursory inspection. The two were not inspired to learn he was no longer licensed due to an unmentioned past misbehavior. His breath smelled of garlic and possibly decay, he was brusque and somewhat creepy, but they soon realized that he really did know what he was doing.

  He’d picked the glass out of Wyatt’s wounds, including a two-inch piece out of his back. The cuts were disinfected and bandaged. Both had been given pills for the pain. Wyatt had asked what they were, and although Esaf’s response was muttered and unclear, he took them anyway.

  When Doc got to Hannah, they were shocked to discover that she had been covering up a bullet wound in h
er side. One of Ford’s shots through the door had hit her, gone through and through. Esaf examined the wound and pronounced it clean, but added that she needed better care than he could offer in the office. Blood no longer was flowing freely, but her shirt was covered in a large amount that she’d already lost. Esaf patched her up and then they were hustled out a side door and onto two motorcycles, headed for a ‘safe place’.

  The biker Wyatt sat behind – her name was Sandra, she’d said - turned onto a small side road in the east end of town, a run-down residential area. A block later, they pulled into a short lane and stopped before a tall chain link fence. She pulled off her helmet and waved at a camera. She held up two fingers and then tapped on her right knee. Wyatt figured it was a code of some sort. Hannah’s biker pulled up beside them, the gate opened and the four rode through.

  The compound covered half of the block. In-between two buildings was a large gravel lot filled with bikes and cars mostly corroded by rust that had started years before. A few men stood lazy guard, weapons slung over their shoulders, chatting away. They paid no attention to the two bikes that had arrived and continued their conversation without interruption.

  The large red brick home on the left was three stories Once a beautiful home, its windows were now covered by steel caging and the back door looked like reinforced steel. On the right was a newer building that looked like a condo or old-age home, square and squat with mid-sized windows evenly spaced across its length. Both structures were foreboding and dark, every window blacked out.

  Cameras placed around the compound, on poles, and on trees, covered every inch of the area. Wyatt and Hannah were ushered to the house by their two drivers after another pause at the door for identification via camera. A large woman, her face pierced in at least six places, waited for them at the back door. She put a hand up, “Vasca wants them bagged. I got the room ready.”

  Wyatt’s biker nodded, “Do it,” she said.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “We’re bringing you to a safe room, but you’re not seeing any more than you need to,” the pierced one said, and produced two black cloth bags. “Put these over your heads.”

  Hannah looked at them and said, “I don’t think so. Are you crazy? We won’t be able to breathe.”

  “You’ll breathe enough and if not, walk fast. It’s the bags or the street, make your choice, girl.”

  Wyatt took his and pulled it over his head. “Just get it over with, Hannah.”

  She sighed as she wrestled the bag onto her head. “Fine,” she said, with resignation.

  One biker took him by the hand and led him through the house. There was a TV on in one room they passed through but if anyone was there, they kept quiet as the group walked through. They stopped and someone said, “we’re going downstairs,” and the hand led him downwards. He put his foot forward gingerly until there was an absence of floor, and stepped down, taking each step slowly.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they crossed another room and then were told to wait a moment. There was a click and then a loud grinding sound and they continued into what Wyatt assumed was a hidden room, and their bags were removed. They found themselves in what he imagined was an updated version of Frankenstein’s lab. Where Mennar had polished steel, this room had wooden tables. Where Mennar was clean and organized, this was a mess with all varieties of scientific equipment strewn about. He looked behind him for the door they’d came through, but there was only tiled wall and no sign of any exit.

  “Make yourself at home. There is a bed in the back with a TV, you can catch up on your news if you want,” said the biker. She winked at Wyatt, “You look good on the tube, I was watching you earlier. You know, handsome, it’s unfortunate you have a girlfriend. It’s probably not a surprise, but I have a thing for bad boys.”

  Hannah might have been suffering from blood loss and perhaps shock, but she wasn’t going to let that stand, and corrected her, quickly. “He is not my boyfriend,” she said, with emphasis on ‘is not’.

  The biker almost purred, “Well then, tough guy, look me up when this is over,” leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. She brushed a hand over his, her skin felt like sandpaper, rougher than his hands, for sure. He blushed, and she laughed out loud, enjoying his discomfort. “We’ll be back soon with the Doctor. Make yourself comfortable. Turn around, both of you, Vasca doesn’t want you knowing all our secrets, especially how to get in and out of this room.”

  Both turned and waited until their escorts had left the room and closed the hidden door before they turned around. Wyatt said to Hannah, “You know, you didn’t have to sound so shocked at the idea of being my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, please, I prefer my men manlier than I am.”

  Well, the other girl doesn’t, does she, thought Wyatt to himself, but was still annoyed. Just because I’m not interested doesn’t mean I’m not a good catch. He considered a comeback but shut his mouth when he got a good look at Hannah’s face. She had gone completely white.

  He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention, “You’re in shock,” he said. Adrenaline had got her this far, but her body was crashing now that she was safe, as safe as possible while on the run from the Police, and locked in a bike gang’s clubhouse.

  He helped her sit down in a soft office chair and looked for a way to make her more comfortable. He found cloths under a sink, wet one in cold water and applied it to her forehead. “I’ll be manly later,” he said to her with a grin. It took effort, but he ignored his own panic and pain and put on a good face to make her feel better. He realized that it didn’t matter, she had passed out.

  Wyatt sat next to her for a half hour, getting progressively angrier as he waited for help to arrive. Twice he circled the room but the mechanism to open the door was well hidden, and there wasn’t a phone. There was one small room off of the main lab, containing little more than a bed. He shouted for help, but there was no response. Finally, the rumbling sound returned and the far wall opened, revealing a door where one hadn’t been before. Esaf entered, with the tough female biker beside him.

  Wyatt stood up from Hannah’s side and confronted the pair, his anger getting a chance for release, “What the hell, she’s dying, where have you been? She needs help, now! We need to take her to the hospital.”

  Esaf looked at him and then looked away as if eye contact was painful. He muttered something and hurried to Hannah. He checked her eyes, pulse and put his hand on her forehead. Esaf waved to the biker and pointed to the far side of the room. “Door, room,” he said.

  Unsure of what to do, Wyatt stood beside them and asked, “What are you doing? We need to take her to the hospital.”

  Esaf murmured again.

  “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

  Sandra said, “Trust Esaf, he won’t let her die. He’s a great doctor, I’ve seen him perform miracles. He said he wants to take her to the other room and lie her down.”

  Esaf spoke up, a little louder now, “Thank you, Sandra. You’re right, she will be fine, this is a simple gunshot.”

  “Simple?” asked Wyatt. “What’s simple about being shot?”

  Esaf looked back at him, but not in the eye, focusing somewhere in the middle-ground. Wyatt suspected the Doctor was a bit autistic. “Get her arm,” Esaf said in a quiet voice, not answering Wyatt’s question. “Help me move her.”

  Sandra said, “No, Doc, it’s easier to move her in the chair. I’ll roll her in.” She paused and said, “Is that OK?”

  Without looking up, he agreed, “That will be fine, thank you, Sandra,” and she wheeled Hannah into the back room. Wyatt followed quietly. The room was small and a double bed took up most of the brightly lit space. Cabinets lined the brick walls. Esaf pointed to the bed and Sandra took Hannah by the shoulders and nodded to Wyatt. He grabbed her feet, helped pick her out of the chair and put her gently on the bed.

  Esaf had pulled on two a pair of surgical gloves and picked up a pair of scissors. He cut off her slight top and pulled of
f the bandage he’d applied earlier. With a muttered something to Sandra, he pointed to a cabinet in the corner. She understood, and brought him a bag of supplies.

  Wyatt stood in a corner, and watched, unable to help. The Doctor was quiet and weird and his nurse was a tall biker with spiked hair, but something about the way they moved, and how they worked together convinced him that Hannah was in good hands. He finally relaxed and as they turned her over to let the Doctor examine her back, things got hazy. Wyatt had to will himself to remain upright as his knees buckled.

  “Doc, the boy looks like he’s about to drop,” said Sandra.

  Esaf croaked, “Get him to the other room. Two blue pills from the top. And then put him on the other side of the bed.”

  Wyatt shook his head, which only made him dizzier and he grabbed the side of the bed to not fall over. Sandra grabbed the pills and offered them to him with one hand, the other holding him up.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “They’re what the doctor ordered. Come on, big boy, I’ll take you to bed.”

  “No,” Wyatt said, trying to push her hand away.

  “Honey, I like it rough, but not tonight,” Sandra said.

  “But, Hannah…”

  “Don’t argue and don’t worry, honey. Doc is weird, but he’s also the best,” she replied and he let her walk him out of the room, too weak and confused to argue anymore.

  As he sat down, Esaf said, “Take his clothes off, I need to examine him when I’m done here.”

  Sandra laughed and said, “With pleasure.”

  Wyatt would have protested as Sandra gently laid him down onto the bed, but he had already passed out, from the pain or the pills, he’d never know.

  Chapter 12

  He slowly woke to a dark and seemingly empty room. Memories of nightmares still occupied his mind, and his body was cold and yet drenched in sweat.