The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  “No! I’m sorry, not in the way you’re hoping, but I’ll be able to help you once we get you into the delivery room.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you’ve never had a baby, right?”

  Deborah smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Take my word for it, Doc, this pain ain’t worth the effort. If I weren’t getting a wad of money for this job, I’d be out of here in a New York minute.”

  “It won’t be long now, Mary. Your baby will be here today.”

  Nurse Thompson looked annoyed at Mary’s stubbornness. She had a temperature to take. She shook and wiped the thermometer, returning the instrument into Mary’s mouth with a stern look. Mary relaxed, pouting, but accepted the bothersome thing. Deborah draped her stethoscope around her neck and jotted notations in her chart.

  Nurse Thompson retrieved her thermometer, smiled, and patted Mary’s shoulder, then turned and whispered her results. Deborah charted the entries.

  “Mary, you and your baby’s vitals are normal, heartbeats are strong, you’re in great shape. Our exam wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Deborah asked.

  “It’s easy for you to say; you’re not lying here like a beached whale. Will this thing come out soon, Doc?”

  “The ‘thing,’ Mary, is an infant baby, and yes, we’re looking at hours or less. Your cervix is dilating normal for a natural birth, but if complications arise, we’ll revert to a cesarean. What that means is, it won’t be long and it’ll all be over soon, like a forgotten memory.”

  Mary puckered her lower lip, like a child. She clearly wanted it over with, paid, and away from GEM-Tech. “Yeah, right, whatever, Doc. You need to be having this baby and you’ll know how it feels.”

  Mary struggled to scoot herself into a sitting position. Deborah started to help, but Mary thrust her hand into the air.

  “Stop, I can do this.”

  Nurse Thompson walked to the end of Mary’s bed and began to crank away, elevating her bed to help her sit comfortable. Mary pounded her pillow as the nurse finished and left the room.

  “Would you like it if I had another nurse come rub your lower back?” Deborah asked.

  “Nah, but thanks anyway, Doc.”

  Tears had welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She motioned with her right hand for Deborah to come closer. Deborah started to lean in when a hard contraction jolted Mary’s young body. She fell back onto her pillow, holding the sides of her stomach, moaning and sucking breaths.

  Then Mary screamed and thrust a hand in the air toward Deborah, her breaths rapid, her teeth clenched. Deborah took hold of her small hand. Mary pulled Deborah close; beads of perspiration wet her face and bangs.

  “Deborah, I’m scared. Abram will never allow me to leave here alive. Think about it. All the others are dead. Please, don’t let them burn me in that furnace after I deliver this thing, like the other girls. I want out of here as quick as I can. I’m desperate. I need your help, please.”

  “How … did you know about that?” Deborah whispered.

  “Heard things from the other girls—when there were other girls. Figured it out from there, you know?” Mary said.

  Mary’s plea pierced Deborah’s heart, and her eyes filled with tears. Yes, she’d learned through Charles journals of Abram’s cruelty that had sealed the fate of every surrogate in GEM-Tech’s furnace. In essence, doing nothing with that knowledge had made Deborah an accomplice to his murderous acts. One thing she could still do right, though: she would help Mary live. Before she could say anything else to Mary, a monitor sounded.

  Mary screamed as another excruciating labor pain seized her young body. The baby was coming! Deborah wiped away her tears and turned to see that Nurse Thompson had again entered the room, awaiting orders.

  “Beverly, alert the others and Dr. Bruner,” Deborah said. “Get a gurney in here and take Mary to the delivery room!”

  “Yes, Doctor, right away.”

  Nurse Thompson flew out of the room. For a moment, they were alone. Deborah leaned over Mary, took hold of her clenched fists, and whispered to her.

  “Mary, look at me.”

  Mary looked up and stared into Deborah’s eyes.

  “I promise, after the baby is delivered, we’ll both leave,” Deborah said. “Don’t worry.”

  Mary seemed to understand Deborah’s sincerity and tried to smile, but another sharp pain tore at her abdomen.

  “Knock me out, Doc! It hurts! He’s tearing at my insides. I need something for the pain.”

  The door burst open behind Deborah. Dr. Bruner ran into the room. He grabbed Mary’s chart and read the results of her vitals.

  “Good work, Deborah. The OR is prepared. You need to go and scrub. You’ll deliver.”

  “What, me?” Deborah said. “But … you’re … project leader, Dr. Bruner.”

  “Deborah, Abram and I trust your abilities. You’ve established a close bond with this girl and that’s the best caliber of medicine. I’ll be at your side. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Oh, I almost forgot. Abram ordered the baby delivered natural. There will be no C-section or medications administered for pain, are we clear?”

  Now stunned by his lack of compassion, Deborah started to protest, but finally nodded her head.

  “Good,” Bruner said and left the room.

  Minutes later in the OR room, Deborah was in position at the end of the delivery table. Dr. Bruner hovered by her left side, beaming like an expectant father. Except for essential staff, Dr. Bruner had ordered the delivery room cleared. Deborah looked up at the packed circular observation gallery above them. Every team member involved with Project Phoenix was there.

  Then the OR doors burst open and Abram Solomon entered, dressed in scrubs. He took a position on Deborah’s right side.

  Deborah said nothing, but looked at Mary, who appeared embarrassed and vulnerable, and Deborah couldn’t blame her. Mary was propped up on the sterile table, her legs in the air and spread, her feet in stirrups. Occasionally, Mary would look up into the gallery and eye the other doctors leering down at her, as if she were their entertainment.

  I hope this goes quickly for her sake, Deborah thought.

  *

  Sweat seeped into Mary’s eyes. She squeezed them shut as a nurse blotted the moisture off her forehead and around her eyes. When she opened her eyes, stark terror and disbelief seized her, body and soul.

  Something like a vision—or a mirage—encircled the gallery of faces above her, like an undulating wave, morphing their once normal appearance into hideous contortions. The scene resembled a gathering of demons. Mary blinked several times, and as quick as the illusion had appeared, it vanished, and their features returned to normal.

  Weren’t real … Hallucinating, she thought.

  The pain ripped through her body. She raised her head and looked down between her legs—and saw the astonished look on Deborah’s face. Their eyes met. Deborah … She saw them too! I’m not hallucinating, she thought.

  An excruciating labor pain struck. Mary jerked her head back to release a blood-curdling scream. She moaned in agony, tossing her head side to side. Beads of sweat ran off her face, forehead, and temples. A nurse stayed busy patting away the moisture. Mary’s maternity gown, soaked in sweat, clung to her body like silk on wet flesh.

  Still withering in pain, Mary turned her head and found Abram, her stare steadfast. He reached out and touched her forehead with two fingers. She closed her eyes, calmed, and offered a glint of a smile.

  That feels … better, she thought.

  *

  Deborah noticed the dramatic change in Mary. Deborah turned her head to the right and noted Abram’s dark pupils had dilated, then returned to normal. She imagined a merciless smirk behind his surgical mask.

  All distractions blocked, Deborah refocused on Mary, giving the young girl her full attention, when yet another dreadful sight appeared. The horrid impression would forever sear her memory.

  Mary screamed and grabbed her abdomen. Her body st
iffened. Her back bowed and arched off the table, as if drawn upward by a hook. She screamed again.

  “Deborah, it’s clawing at me!”

  Deborah’s mind-searing moment came when Mary’s stomach ballooned outward. What looked like hand imprints under her skin seemed like they were trying to tear and claw their way out of her body. The skin of Mary’s stomach stretched again, revealing the imprint of a small face. The baby truly appeared to be clawing and struggling to burst free of its confinement through her skin.

  That’s … impossible, Deborah thought.

  She looked left and right, at Dr. Bruner and then Abram. Even behind their surgical masks, their eyes betrayed their glee. She could tell that they knew full well what was trying to escape.

  Mary’s now profuse blood loss dripped off the gurney onto the floor. Dr. Bruner waved off a nurse trying to start an IV. He refused to do anything to help the young girl. Deborah struggled through the ordeal, focusing her attention on Mary, and prayed, Dear God, please, have mercy on this young girl!

  After a nightmarish hour of enduring Mary’s agonizing screams and severe blood loss, the baby’s head crowned. The next sound Deborah heard was an infant crying in her hands. Alarms on the monitors started beeping. Mary’s body convulsed several times and then lay still. She’d stopped breathing, but no one moved to her aid.

  “Dr. Bruner, help her, please!” Deborah shouted.

  “Never mind the girl! Stay with the baby, Deborah—save the child!” Dr. Bruner bellowed.

  Deborah hurried to sever the umbilical cord, then to suction and clean its mouth, nose, and eyes. She started to lay the baby on Mary’s stomach, but looked down and saw the baby open its eyes for the first time.

  The infant’s wide, dark, almost black eyes pierced her soul. Deborah saw in that horrific moment an image she’d never forget. He … recognizes me, she thought. From behind her mask, she whispered, “Oh my God, what have I done?”

  Abram reached down and took the infant out of her hands. Deborah leaped off her stool and went to work on Mary, but it was too late. She couldn’t save her. Deborah untied her mask. Just then, Abram mumbled several phrases in an unknown language.

  Deborah watched in horror as Abram removed his surgical glove and dipped his right pinky finger in Mary’s blood several times before placing it by the infant’s mouth. The newborn suckled on the blood dripping from his finger.

  Deborah thought she saw the baby smile. Her stomach twisted on itself. Abram looked at her with a haughty grin and left the room with Dr. Bruner in tow. The gallery cheered their success.

  Deborah felt nauseous—exhausted and numbed by the ordeal. The medical staff’s callousness shocked her. She watched the nurses turn off the alarming monitors and exit the room. The young girl she’d befriended had died, and no one cared.

  Mary’s frail body lay motionless on the table, her blood pooled around her. Deborah had fought to save her despite Dr. Bruner shouting orders to “save the child.”

  The baby was large, weighing almost ten pounds. Mary’s small body simply couldn’t handle the added complications. Her heart had stopped under the strain and blood loss during delivery. Deborah couldn’t tear her eyes away from Mary’s still body. Her friend had screamed that it was clawing at her. From what Deborah had seen, the baby had indeed torn its way out of Mary’s womb, shredding her uterus.

  Deborah wiped at her tears. She’d failed Mary in her promise to protect her. Alone in the silence of an empty OR, she bowed her head. She walked to Mary’s side and looked down on the young girl’s childlike face.

  She bent down, brushed aside Mary’s corn-silk hair, kissed her forehead, and then pulled the sheet over her face. Before leaving the OR, she paused and looked back at Mary’s lifeless form. She’d always hold dear the memories of the last of the young mothers in Project Phoenix: Mary, Patient 0102.

  PART 3

  2019

  Chapter 5

  Atop GEM-Tech’s fourteen-story North American headquarters south of Atlanta, Georgia, an impatient old man in his late seventies paced an opulent waiting area. Janet Appleton, Abram Solomon’s private secretary, had grown tired of the old man’s annoying and incessant behavior. She laid down her pen and cleared her throat loud enough to attract the old man’s attention.

  “Dr. Hess, would you like a coffee or Danish while you’re waiting for Mr. Solomon?”

  Dr. Hess looked embarrassed and smiled, apparently realizing his edgy conduct was obvious. “Oh, uh, no, Janet, but thank you. I need to lose a few pounds. I’m watching my girlish figure.”

  Janet’s chuckle was polite.

  “Will I have to wait much longer, you think? It’s been over an hour, and my work is—”

  “Professor, I relayed to Mr. Solomon what you’ve asked, so I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

  Dr. Hess finally sat, and Janet continued her work. After a few moments of awkward silence, Janet’s desk telephone rang, and she answered it.

  “Yes, sir, right away,” she said before hanging up and looking at the old man. “Dr. Hess, Mr. Solomon will see you now.”

  Relieved, the professor sprang from the sofa and marched toward Abram’s office.

  “It was nice to meet you, Professor,” Janet said. “I hope your meeting goes well. You have a nice day.”

  Professor Hess forced a smile as he passed.

  Abram’s massive office doors opened before Hess arrived at them. Two tall, intimidating men emerged and stood ramrod straight on either side of the entrance. They ignored Hess as he stared at them from what seemed to him like far below. Abram’s voice resonated from across the imposing interior of his office as Hess passed between the two giant sentinels.

  “Rudy, my old friend!” Abram said. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been ages. Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Hiding,” he says. What arrogance! Hess thought.

  “Hard at work, Mr. Solomon, and thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Abram grasped the professor’s hand and patted his shoulder, then took notice of Hess’s nervous eyes scrutinizing the security guards behind him.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Rudy. They’re my personal security.” Abram leaned closer and whispered, “And good at it, I might add.”

  Hess glanced at the men. “No doubt, Mr. Solomon. They do look formidable.”

  “Professor, be at ease. Please, can I get you something, dear friend?” Abram snapped his fingers.

  The two sentries came to immediate attention.

  Hess waved his hand. “No, no, thank you, Mr. Solomon. Our business is urgent and demands your immediate attention.”

  The words “urgent” and “immediate” seemed to give Abram a noticeable pause.

  “Of course, Professor,” Abram said. “We’ll get right to this urgency, but first, I’d like to apologize for keeping an old associate waiting. There’s pressing business taking shape at our Arkansas facility that needed my attention. Please have a seat.”

  As Abram took a seat behind his desk, Hess sat in a chair across from him. Hess had already decided to break the bad news first. Blunt and to the point would be best, he figured. Besides, any further buttering by his supposed “old friend,” and Hess would become nauseous.

  “Sir,” Hess said, “Project Phoenix has been compromised by one of your former research scientists.”

  Abram’s plastered-on smile disappeared. He stood and shoved his chair back, leaned with clenched fists on the desk, and then leaned forward. He stared down at Hess with the eyes of a murderer. Hess just slumped in his chair, cowering, fearful of Abram’s wrath.

  “What do you mean ‘compromised,’ Professor?” Abram asked.

  Hess cleared his throat. “Dr. Deborah Holland … She’s alive—and she kept an extensive, detailed journal.”

  Abram slammed his fists on his desk and shouted, “Alive! Ridiculous, Professor. It’s impossible. Nothing escaped the explosion and fire! Everyone and everything is ashes, covered in three stori
es of solid concrete.”

  Hess just shook his head. “Sir, the news is unfortunate, but true.”

  Abram came around his desk to stand within a couple steps of Hess, his arms folded across his chest.

  “How did she escape?”

  “Dr. Holland left the complex right after the delivery of the child. She later visited with her colleague Dr. Charles Wagner at a local hospital. Records show he was dying. He passed away not long after that from a stroke, a brain hemorrhage.”

  Abram nodded as though this wasn’t news to him. “How did she know he was there?”

  Hess could only shrug. “I don’t know that, honestly. But we’ve discovered her correspondence with Dr. Bruner, and it indicates she wasn’t aware of the complex’s destruction until later.”

  “What? Dr. Bruner? Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir, we have concrete evidence. Security retrieved and decrypted his files and deleted emails from his computer’s hard drive right after his death. He’d archived his e-mail with Dr. Holland mentioning Project Phoenix and having second thoughts. The two communicated for years and the number of files we retrieved bears it out. When we searched his home, we found actual letters collaborating our findings.”

  Abram wiped a hand over his face and then nodded. “Go on.”

  “Her letters mentioned leaving Arkansas for New York City to find an old friend—a reporter.”

  Abram returned to his desk and sat, his face quite pale compared to when Hess had entered.

  “Sir, in their correspondence, they describe their religious conversions. Seems they both found religion, which may explain Dr. Bruner’s dramatic change before his untimely death. Dr. Holland praised him for his courage to rethink his choice of allegiance and to stand by that commitment.”

  Abram sighed and then pursed his lips. “So it would seem our Dr. Bruner deceived me. Still … I’ve the impression you’re not telling me everything, Professor. You said Deborah and Dr. Bruner corresponded in written letters, which means there’s a trail to her whereabouts. Where is our loose end now?”