by Cameron Bane
I had no idea where this dread was coming from. I knew part of it was my resentment toward the media circus the GeneSys story had degenerated into. No, check that, media circus makes it sound fun. An unqualified goat-rope is what it was. Even while Sarah Cahill and I were laid up in the hospital, the news vultures began swooping in. As Seth had alluded, they considered me a “hero” for uncovering Eli Cross’s horrific operation, and it seemed a lot of people wanted a piece of me.
And from there it got worse. Once I was settled in at Seth and Janine’s place, the news people had gone into a feeding frenzy. At the end I’d given up and played along. For a while anyway. I figured only then could I start getting my life back; I wondered how long it would be until any of us really would.
Stringers working for the tabloids had started following me, right up until today. As a matter of fact, just an hour earlier Seth had run off one guy brandishing a camera and a release form. I hoped they were leaving the others in peace.
And let’s not forget the anonymous death threats I’d been receiving. I figured they were mainly coming from relatives of the people who now wouldn’t be getting the organs they’d paid Cross for. With the FBI shutting down GeneSys here, and Scotland Yard and Interpol, overseas, these people believed I’d effectively sealed their relatives’ death warrants. I don’t know, maybe I had. As I said, there was no way on Earth this thing could have ended cleanly; here was proof. I’d told Seth and Walt about the threats but no one else.
The only interview I’d granted was with Time magazine. I told them of the book and movie offers I’d gotten, pleas for TV interviews, offers of marriage, all of it laid at my feet, and all of it discarded. While we spoke, some stuff about Cross’s operation came to light.
The reporter—Bill Trexler, who seemed a decent enough guy, given his profession—revealed that some jerk with a camera cell phone had been there that morning when Seth had carried Sarah and me out of the dome. The guy had then sold the footage to some sleazy internet sites, and the stills to various supermarket rags. Big mistake on his part. If I ever find out who he is, that gentleman and I will have a lively discussion about the right to privacy.
But there was some good news as well. When the story broke, a nationwide outpouring of sympathy erupted for Cross’s victims, both the living and the dead. And those victims had been greatly varied. Along with the healthy, young men and women he’d snared, as Shelly had said, he’d held some who were physically and mentally challenged as well. These included two twenty-something men in wheelchairs, and a younger woman with Down syndrome. Like Cross had told me, he’d planned to harvest what he could from them, and trash the rest.
At the end there were tearful, photogenic reunions with the victims and their families. Some of the homeless involved had even been offered jobs, cars, and places to live. So what on Earth could be wrong? Boneless was dead, Eli was in jail, and everything was fine.
Wasn’t it?
“Yo, John, you want a hot dog?” I heard Seth call from near the hangar.
I turned and saw him holding one high in his hand in a bun. “No, I’m good.”
“Okay.”
Standing at the edge of the field, I soaked up the sun as I mused. Over my clear plastic cup of beer I eyed Sarah Cahill helping organize games with some of the younger children. It had been nearly eight weeks since the nightmare had ended, and she looked better than I would have dared hope. Better than I looked, at any rate. Her parents informed me physically Sarah was healing well; mentally might be another matter.
Jacob said his daughter was seeing a psychiatrist three times a week, and only now was able to talk a little bit about what she’d experienced: it turned out the blonde girl we’d found gutted on the operating room table had been Sarah’s only friend there. I knew what she was going through; I’m very well acquainted with that level of pain, up close and personal. There are some things that stay with you until your heart beats its last.
Sarah had put up a good front throughout the afternoon, but I couldn’t help notice sometimes she’d grow still, and gaze vacantly off into the distance. Periodically I’d caught myself doing the same thing, staring into the past, vividly remembering GeneSys and its horrors. The yawning Pit gaped large in my mind, as though it had been the maw of hell itself. I’d been told the CSI unit said they’d never be able to give anyone an accurate count of all the victims that had perished there; the harsh enzymes had done their job well.
The pictures of death, degradation, and inhuman suffering, all for Cross’s avarice and pleasure, weren’t memories I cared to dwell on. What I did choose to dwell on was the miraculous—not too strong a word, not anymore—way the girl and I had managed to get out of there alive, not to mention the other thirty-five men, women, and children who had been held there in captivity.
Lost in my reverie, I recalled Seth telling me he’d only known where we were that night by following my blood trail. I knew those images were indelibly printed on my mind—and Sarah’s—never to leave. The best we could do was try to handle the fallout.
My jaw clenched tight. Regardless of the fact Eli Cross was now securely in federal custody, I sincerely hoped his eventual punishment would be long, dark, brutal, and painful. No, truth be told, I wished he was dead. And as the late, unlamented Albert Trask had put it, a job like that I’d do for free. Gladly.
My thoughts were broken by Seth’s approach, and I wrenched my mind back to the present. Although the temperature was only in the high 60s, his face glistened with sweat. Due to my maddeningly slow recuperation he and Marsh hadn’t allowed me to spell either one of them with the grilling chores today. And they say I’m stubborn.
My friend squinted into the sun as he mopped his brow with a plain, white-paper towel. Stopping beside me, he watched the kids playing all around. “I’ve lost track of how many burgers and weenies we’ve cooked in the last three hours. We’re just about out. This crowd’s wolfing them down like they’re free.”
“They are free.” I looked skyward a moment, contemplating a further response as the wind swirled the dry leaves around our feet. “Happy times make for good appetites,” I stated simply, taking another sip of my nearly drained cup. “I read that once on the slip of paper in a fortune cookie.”
Crumpling the damp paper towel, Seth turned, and using a hook shot, he threw it into a big, black garbage can close by. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled over to Kenny, “Not so rough with Ronnie, son. He’s only four. That’s two years younger than you.”
The boy hollered back that he’d be careful. Shifting his gaze to me, for the first time Seth regarded what I was holding.
“Just what are you doing?” His face had clouded into a scowl. “You know you’re not supposed to drink while you’re recuperating. Remember what the medics always told us? You shouldn’t mix alcohol with painkillers, especially like the ones you’re on.”
“That’d be a concern, all right.” I took a longer, noisier sip. “If I were taking them.”
He took two steps around and faced me squarely. “Say again?”
“I haven’t taken them for the past two weeks, not since I’ve been back at my place.”
“Is that so?” His gaze was as flat as his voice. “And why not?”
His query annoyed me, and I tried unsuccessfully to hold back my temper. “Odd, you don’t look like my mother.”
“Clever. Answer me.”
“Because the things make me feel like a zombie from the planet Mongo.” My cadence held a hard edge of strain. “They don’t help at all. They just barely mask the pain, and you know it.”
“Better than nothing.”
“Not in my book.”
“Have you been keeping up your physical therapy through the VA?”
“No, I know what to do.”
He snorted, “Sure you do, but are you doing it? And when are you gonna start shaving again? You look like some kind of a crazy castaway.”
My eyes burned a warning into Seth’s. “After
my face finishes healing up I’ll show you a shave that’d make a DI proud. Until then, shove off.” I ran my free hand through my thick, wavy hair in agitation. “Look, I can only take so much mothering from you and Janine and Marsh. I’m glad you guys care, and I appreciate all of your help. But like I keep telling you, I’m big a boy. So disengage.”
That had come out much sharper than I’d intended. The relentless pain and fatigue were dragging me down. I hadn’t meant to be so shitty to my old friend; he was only trying to help. And I knew that without people like him I was basically alone in this world. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, and started to tell him so.
But Seth spoke before I could as undaunted, he didn’t retreat from my verbal attack an inch. “Testy, are we? So that’s why you look like that. That also explains the dark circles under your eyes, and your sunken face.” His tone softened. “You shouldn’t brood about this, John. You did your best.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me. There’s no percentage in it. Have you been getting any sleep at all?”
“Some.”
“Only from sheer exhaustion, I’ll bet. I knew I should have made you stay with us longer.” His critical gaze dropped to my waist. “I wouldn’t be surprised you’ve lost well over twenty pounds these past few months. Am I right?”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe to it. You’re getting way too thin.” A look of certainty filled his face. “Look, we both know the drill. We’ve both been wounded. I know what you’re going through. You want to get your strength back? You know what to do. Your body needs rest and fuel.”
“Yeah, yeah …”
“Don’t yeah yeah me. You’d better consider the consequences of blowing this off. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You haven’t eaten a thing this afternoon, have you?”
“No. I really don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t explain it, but …” I shook my head.
“What?”
I regarded him with a flat gaze. “Something’s wrong. Very wrong.”
“Wrong? With what? Look around.” He gestured in a sweeping arc in the direction of the families at play. “It’s a perfect day. You couldn’t ask for better.”
Again I rocked my head. “I can’t shake it, Seth. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch.”
He rubbed his chin and appeared to consider that for a moment. Then his face softened by degrees. “So call it therapeutic, and eat anyway. Why don’t I get you a burger?”
When I didn’t reply, he clapped a hand on my right shoulder, his voice too bright. “Come on, man, they’re good. I should know, I cooked ‘em.”
A few seconds of silence ticked by. At my somber expression he finally gave a short sigh and shrugged. “Oh well. Question asked and answered, right?”
“You got it.”
“John, you give me a pain my muscular ass. I should know better than to argue with you. It’s a lost cause. You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. You’d think I’d have learned that by now. However, I’ve been eating like an escaped prisoner.” He motioned to the cup I was holding. “I could sure use one of those bad boys to wash it all down.”
“They’re in the hangar. You go on, take a break by the lake and cool off. I’ll bring you one.” I slapped him lightly on the back, purposing to make amends for my short temper.
“Make it two.”
As he walked away, I made my way inside the building, where a small aluminum pony keg cooled in a galvanized tub full of ice on the floor. Throwing my empty cup in the garbage can, I stooped down and grabbed one of the plastic cups off the stack on top of the keg. I placed it under the tap and pulled the handle. The thing chuckled once, and a thin trickle of beer leaked out, coming too slowly to suit me. It was only then I noticed the keg was bobbing gently in the slushy water. That’s why it was gurgling; it was just about empty.
Sitting on the floor next to the tub was a full keg, cool enough for the time being but just begging to be chilled down even further. The problem was I knew it went a hundred pounds, easy, and in my condition it would be a challenge to swap with its nearly drained brother. But unless we all wanted to drink warm beer later, it had to be done.
I crouched, balancing on the balls of my feet, and struggled awkwardly with the drained keg. Only with concentrated effort did I get it out of its ice bath and set solidly down, almost losing my balance in the process. Furious with frustration at my ongoing weakness, I cursed as I wrestled with the other one, bent on forcing my muscles to cooperate, breaking into a cold sweat. No two ways about it, I was going to get results.
That’s when I felt a presence looming over me, blocking the sunlight. I looked up. Seth again. And he didn’t look happy with me. At all. Folding his arms over his massive chest, he scowled down with a hard stare, his mouth pressed into a tight line, his stern expression looking like it had been chiseled there. He didn’t speak a word, giving me tough. I stared back, giving as good as I got, as mute as a rock as we locked eyes.
He finally broke the logjam. “Marsh told me to look over here. That you were at it again.” He shook his head, scolding me in his famous first sergeant’s intimidating tone. “Now what do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s a new act. I call it beer keg juggling. A talent scout’s due to stop by later. There’s big money in it.” I nodded knowingly. “I’m talking big.”
“The docs told you not to lift anything over ten pounds. You want to end up back in the hospital?”
I winced as a sharp sting lanced my shoulder blade, my answer wry. “No, not particularly.”
The sudden pain in my eyes didn’t escape my friend’s intense scrutiny. “Yeah, well keep it up and you just might.” Bending low, he effortlessly took the keg from me as if it was as light as a goose down pillow and set it in the ice.
“Give me a break, Seth,” I shot peevishly as he straightened. “I’m not an invalid.”
Reaching down again, he gripped me under my right shoulder and gently pulled me to my feet. He narrowed his eyes. “A break, right. Just who do you think you’re kidding? You’re only being held together with white tape and fond wishes.”
“Fond wishes? Golly, you’re sweet.”
“You listen to me.” He gestured toward a table outside. “Go sit down over there before you fall down. I mean it. Man, I can’t leave you alone for more than five minutes.”
“Three minutes, tops.”
Total exasperation and an ‘I-told-you-so’ look showed clearly in his weathered face. “You don’t fool me, John, not for a hot second. You’re worse than a little kid. Look at you. You’re drenched in sweat. Again.”
Yeah, I was, actually.
“Am I going to have to tie you up?” He placed his hands on his hips, face darkening. “For God’s sake, let yourself heal, will you?”
I had to admit I’d overdone it. My smashed nose was coming along, and my black eyes weren’t looking so bad now; I looked less raccoon-like. And my fractured fingers, joints, and the bones in my hands were knitting; now I had to build the strength back into them. But my broken ribs, and the internal damage they’d caused, along with my shoulder wound, were taking a lot longer to heal than I liked.
Nodding my surrender, without further argument slowly we started walking outside, Seth heading on down to the lake.
Pausing in the doorway of the hangar, I flexed my sore hands. I could hear familiar voices coming around the right side of the building, where the closest picnic table was; Granny always said I had ears like a bat. I could make out Marsh and Janine, who I knew had been sitting across from Shelly.
Everyone was in deep in conversation. Overhearing the subject of their discussion—me—I admit I was curious. Taking a handkerchief from the back pocket of my jeans I wiped the sweat from my face and neck as I listened, at the same time watching some kids fishing down by the dock.
“Were the reports about John on the news accurate?” Shelly’s voice carried. “A
bout his medals and all? How long have you known him?”
“Almost ten years,” Marsh replied.
Shelly didn’t immediately reply, then she said quietly. “He doesn’t talk much about himself.”
“That he doesn’t,” Marsh agreed.
“So what’s he really like? Could you tell me?”
Oh man. Not this.
At that moment my attention was distracted by a commotion down by the lake. A little girl was wrestling with a bass, her line taut as she tried to reel it in. I could hear her laughter and squeals of delight. Her dad stood close by, watching and encouraging her. I couldn’t tell from his back who he was. At any rate it looked like they were having a ball.
There was a pause before I heard Janine answer with a throaty feminine laugh. “That’s not an easy question to answer, girl. I’d have to say John’s stubborn but generous to a fault. That is, he considers other people’s welfare before his own. But he needs to take better care of himself. That’s why Seth and I keep an eye on him. And you’ve probably noticed, people of all ages are drawn to him.”
“I know I was,” Shelly said. “He has the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. And Ronnie loves him, just like all the boys on the football team do.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Right off. It’s easy to tell. Little kids see right to the heart of people.”
That’s true. They do.
“People trust him because he says what he means, and means what he says,” Janine said. “At his core I guess he’s just an old-fashioned Southern gentleman.” I could feel my ears burning as she added, “Of course, the one who knows him best is Seth. The two of them almost read each other’s minds. They’ve been friends since they were four years old. But Seth says it was only when they served in the 101st 101st thatthatthat they really bonded as brothers.”