“My name’s Fox,” she said. “I’m a friend of Henry’s…” The name caught in her throat, but she forced herself to go on. Henry might be dead, but he’d want her to make sure his mom was okay. And to get them all out of Malcorp if she could. “Are you alright? How did you end up in here?”
“I’m fine.” Jennifer Ward frowned. “I was supposed to stay a few days in the city. Mallory said it was an emergency, but when I got to the Chicago lab there didn’t seem to be a problem... That seemed a bit odd and I was worried about leaving Henry alone after everything that had happened anyway, so I rented a car and drove back here.” Henry’s mom went silent for a moment, rubbing her tired eyes.
“And when you got back...?” Fox prompted.
“I was stopped by security guards. I couldn’t believe it – they pulled out some kind of stun gun and…shot me!” She looked around agitatedly. “John Mallory is behind this! Henry tried to warn me and I didn’t listen.”
Fox placed a hand on her arm. “Take it easy.”
“Where is Henry?” Jennifer asked, sitting forward slightly.
Fox struggled to find words. Finally, she just shook her head. “He died saving me,” she said. “He was a hero.”
The woman looked at her blankly. “Henry’s not dead.”
Fox looked down. “I’m sorry but I saw…”
“It’s okay,” Jennifer Ward said. “I know he’s not dead. I can feel it.”
Fox looked at her mom, who gave the barest shake of her head. Jennifer was clearly in shock.
“We have to get out of here somehow,” Fox said. “Mallory is crazy.”
Her mom nodded and looked across to the other woman. “Are you okay?”
Jennifer Ward’s eyes snapped into focus at the sound of her voice. She’d been lost in her thoughts. “Huh?”
“Jennifer, we need to get out of here. Can you help us?”
For a moment Fox thought Henry’s mom was merely going to look away again, but then the same kind of resolve came over her that Fox had seen in Henry’s face before. “Yes. We’re going to get out of here and find Henry. And then Mallory is going to pay.”
Fox met her eyes and nodded. She began hesitantly to walk back across the room, trying to get her focus and strength back. Jennifer Ward joined her, looking equally unsteady on her feet, as they began looking for a way out.
Hank the security guard checked his watch and yawned. It was almost 5.30 a.m. and just getting light outside. No one had passed through the main gates of the Malcorp complex in hours and a memo had been circulated that Henry Ward, who had previously been flagged as a security risk, had been neutralized. Whatever that meant. He flipped the lid on the Dunkin’ Donuts box that sat on the bench in his cubicle and sighed. He’d finished the last of them earlier that afternoon and now his stomach was rumbling. There was still a good two-and-a-half hours until the end of his shift and the cooked chicken that was waiting for him in the fridge of his lodge. There was only one thing for it.
He reached into the desk drawer, pulled out his iPod and thumbed on down to the hypnosis album he’d downloaded the week before – the one that was supposed to take his mind off food and make him feel good about taking positive action in his life. Taking a quick look around to make sure that no one was watching, he flicked off the camera from the manual control on the wall outside. Sure enough, less than ten seconds later, he got a call on the desk phone from central security.
“We’ve lost the feed from the gate camera,” said Higgins, his shift commander.
“Uh, yeah,” Hank replied, sounding surprised. “The light’s off on the side. Must be on the fritz again.”
“Dammit,” Higgins said.
Smiling, but not sounding like he was, Hank said, “You gonna send someone down to check it out?”
“No. It will have to wait until the repair crew comes on duty in the morning. Can you manage?”
“Hey, I’m a professional.”
“Can you manage?”
“Yes, sir.”
The line clicked dead. With a satisfied chuckle, Hank put his feet up on the desk and his headphones in his ears. He pressed play and the soothing voice of hypnotherapist Benjamin P. Bonetti warned him not to drive or operate heavy machinery while he was listening. No intention whatsoever, Hank thought, closing his eyes. Except there was an annoying buzzing sound in the background. He opened one eye in time to see the cab of a truck the size of a small house flying towards the cubicle…
With a cry, Hank threw himself through the door, moving faster than he had in years. As he hit the grass, the truck ploughed through the cubicle and smashed into the security wall, shattering its windows. The reinforced wall hardly registered the impact, but the front of the vehicle crumpled like paper. For a moment the engine whined and the wheels spun on the grass, churning the dirt into the air. Then the driver cut the engine and the door of the cab swung open.
On the ground, Hank fumbled at his belt for the taser that was clipped there. One of the headphones was still in his ear and the hypnotist was still speaking…you might find yourself feeling very relaxed while you’re listening to my words…
Now the driver jumped down from the cab and landed deftly on the grass amid the shattered remains of the cubicle. He had a shovel in his hands.
…it’s like dreaming, but you’ll remain fully aware…
Hank gave a little cry as the taser refused to come free from his belt.
…and not lose consciousness…
“Hiya, Hank,” a voice said, as the head of the shovel swung towards his skull. There was a clunk. Then nothing…
“Wake up!” A hand slapped Hank hard across the face. He groaned and reached for his alarm clock on the bedside table.
“I’m awake, I’m awake!” Hank protested as he fumbled for the snooze button. For some reason his hand found only grass…
Then he remembered.
Eyes snapping open, he sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his skull from where the shovel had hit him. He looked up at the hulking wreck of the truck, making out the lettering on the side for the first time: Henderson Quarry.
“Take it easy, Hank,” a male voice said. “You were hit over the head.”
“Yeah,” Hank muttered, reaching for his belt, “by you! You son of a…” He stopped talking as his fingers brushed the empty holster where the taser was supposed to be.
“Looking for this?”
His attacker held up the squat, plastic weapon so he could see it. Hank focused his vision and recognized the kid: Henry Ward.
“Henry!” he said, getting up as quickly as possible. “But... I thought you were supposed to be dead or something.”
Henry pointed the taser at him so that the little red laser target flicked over his face. Hank shielded his eyes and almost fell on his ass again.
“Easy, man!” he protested. “You can blind someone doing that!”
“Make any sudden moves and I’ll tase you in the face,” said Henry, his voice hard and full of business.
“Why’d you want to do that, man?” asked Hank, aggrieved. He’d always been nice to the kid – and his good-looking mom. “You can kill someone like that!”
“Because you work for some bad people, Hank,” Henry replied, keeping the taser aimed at his forehead. “And they’ve done some bad things.”
“Hey! That’s not me! I’m just an employee!”
Henry gave him a disappointed look. “I don’t think that defence is going to hold up in court, do you?”
Hank shook his head slowly.
“But it might look better if you could say you helped out one of the good guys.”
Hank frowned, thinking this over. “What do you want?”
Henry nodded at the gates to the Malcorp complex. “Help me get inside.”
“Uh…Mr. Mallory gave very specific orders that no unauthorized persons—”
Henry jerked the taser at Hank’s face to shut him up. “Screw Mallory! Now get the gate ope
n!”
Hank shook his head as he reached for the remote on his belt. “You’re making a tactical error, dude. They’ve got cameras watching this entrance.”
Henry actually laughed. “Looks like those cameras are turned off, Hank. Who do you think did that?”
The security guard’s shoulders slumped a little as he pressed the button on the remote. The gate slid open and Henry poked him in the back to get him moving. “You’re coming with me.”
Hank did as he was told, closing the gate behind them. “If anyone comes by here,” he said, “don’t you think they’re gonna notice the big truck halfway through the security fence? You’ll have every guard in the complex down on you in five minutes.”
“Then we’d better be fast,” Henry said, pushing Hank towards the wall to the east.
Hank glanced over his shoulder at him. “Where are we going?”
“The nearest security substation,” Henry replied.
“How d’you know about them?”
Henry poked him with the taser. “Just keep moving, big man.”
Trooper Dan sat in the leather chair with his eyes closed, listening to the soft strains of “The Star-Spangled Banner” as it echoed around the chamber.
“You’re feeling no pain,” the voice of one of the doctors floated across to him through speakers concealed in the curved walls of the adjustment chamber. “No pain at all. In fact, you’re feeling strong. Stronger than you ever have.”
Trooper Dan shifted in the seat and opened his eyes. He looked at the subtly changing tones of the colours on the walls. In some areas they were projecting images of trees and fields, no doubt intended to make him feel more relaxed, not that it had much effect. He was feeling tense and frustrated, although the pain from his damaged left hand had subsided to a dull ache under the suggestive words of the doctors (and the drugs they’d pumped into him).
He looked down the length of his left arm. All that remained of his hand was the thumb and lower part of the palm – the rest had been obliterated with the blast from the shotgun. The doctors at the medical centre had been to work, cleaning the wound and stitching it up properly. Then they’d attached a temporary prosthesis – a set of metallic digits that looked like the talons of some kind of bird of prey. Dr. Chancellor had promised the trooper they would be able to link the motor controls in the metal hand to his brain, so he would have control while they grew him a new hand from stem cells (which could take up to a month, they told him). Until then, the claw was just a lump of dead metal clamped to his wounded hand. He turned it over thoughtfully, looking at his reflection in its shiny surface. Even though he couldn’t move the digits yet, he sort of liked it.
“Your body will heal at an enhanced rate,” the voice ordered through the speakers. “Your mind will divert all its energy towards healing your damaged hand and accepting the neural implants for your new prosthesis.”
Trooper Dan closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, just like the doc had asked – it made the process easier for them, apparently. But there was something bothering him… Something about seeing that kid sailing over the edge of the quarry in the stolen police car. The memory should give him pleasure, he realized, but for some reason it didn’t. Something was wrong…
Was the kid definitely in the car when it went over?
He’d seen the vehicle explode at the bottom of the pit, but could he have jumped free at the last minute? Clung on to the side of the quarry, out of sight? In all the panic of cleaning the dead cops off the road and the increasing pain from his hand, he hadn’t taken the time to go back and check the wreckage. A bad feeling started in Trooper Dan’s gut – the same bad feeling he always had when he’d done something wrong, like when he was a kid and his pa used to lock him in the basement for getting into trouble.
He was suddenly certain of it: that Henry Ward kid wasn’t dead. And if the kid wasn’t dead, then he’d be coming back to rescue his friend.
The girl.
The girl who had shot him.
Eyes snapping open, Trooper Dan leaped from the chair and strode across the chamber to the part of the wall where he knew there was a concealed door. Before he even had to bang his good fist on the wall to be let out, the door opened and one of Dr. Chancellor’s lackeys stuck his head inside the chamber.
“You’re not supposed to be out of your seat, officer,” said the white-coated man, his voice several octaves too high. It seemed that everyone in the medical centre was terrified of him. “Dr. Chancellor says you have another fifteen minutes of brain readjustment therapy…”
“Get out of my way,” Trooper Dan snarled, pushing past him into the corridor. He glanced left and right – everywhere in the underground facility looked the same to him. “Where are you holding her?”
“Holding who?” the lackey replied.
“The girl who shot me.”
“Dr. Chancellor says—”
Trooper Dan grabbed the lackey by the shoulder with his good hand and brought the claw up to his face.
“Sub level two!” the lackey gasped, wide eyes locked on the claw. “Take a left then the emergency stairwell up two levels.”
“Thanks.”
Grinning to himself, Trooper Dan released the lackey and strode off down the corridor. Using his claw to push open the double doors at the end, he thought about the girl who had shot him.
He just couldn’t wait for her to see his new hand.
Hank placed his hand on the scanner outside the entrance to substation nine – a discreet box located amid a little grove of trees. As it scanned his fingerprints, the security guard glanced round at Henry, who was standing just a metre away with the taser trained on his back. He wondered if he just threw himself at the kid…
“Don’t even think about being a hero, Hank,” Henry said, raising the taser so it was pointed at his head again.
“Uh-huh,” Hank said, as the magnetic locks clicked and the door swung open, revealing a flight of descending concrete steps. He started down, and Henry followed closely behind. After about twenty steps, they reached another door, which opened into a small room with a console and a bank of monitors. There were two leather chairs, but the place was empty.
“Take a seat,” Henry said and the guard did as he was told.
“They’ve probably found that truck by now,” Hank said as Henry found the on button for the console. The monitors sprang into life, showing a computer desktop on one and multiple views of the security cameras on the others.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Henry said, indicating the camera views. The complex was as quiet as the grave. “What exactly is the point of this place? The substation, I mean.”
“It’s a fail-safe in case the complex is ever attacked,” Hank said, trying to remember the induction talk they’d given him when he’d landed the job six months before. “If the main command and control is knocked out, security operatives can access some systems from the substations.”
Henry sat on the edge of the console and gave Hank a hard stare. “Who were they expecting to attack the complex?”
Hank struggled to remember. “Uh…they said something about the FBI. Hmmm. Does sound kinda suspicious, now I come to think of it.”
Henry actually laughed. “How did you get this job, Hank?”
The security guard reddened. “My uncle works in personnel.”
Pushing himself off the console, Henry turned his attention to the monitors, grabbing the mouse and scrolling through programs on the desktop. He quickly found access to a second screen of security cameras, which seemed to be located within the medical centre, and stifled a gasp of relief. One of the screens showed a view of a room in which Fox and his mom were standing. He also made out the coach and Mary Layton. They were alive! And judging by the way Fox was searching around the room, they had yet to be adjusted.
“Hey!” Hank said, pointing to another view. “It’s that terminator guy!”
Henry switched to the other screen. Trooper Dan was striding along a c
orridor, an insane look of determination on his face – as if he were about to kill someone. He also appeared to have some kind of a metal claw for a hand.
Hank shook his head. “I practically pee myself every time he comes through the front gate. He is one scary son of a bitch.”
“We need to access the broadcast system,” Henry interrupted. The fact that Trooper Dan was loose in the same building as his mom and Fox meant there was no time to waste. He had to do something drastic.
Hank shook his head and folded his arms. “You do what you like, kid, but it’s more than my job is worth…”
Henry grabbed the arms of his chair and pushed it back against the wall so hard Hank almost pitched out the side. “Listen to me, you idiot!” Henry said, waving the taser in his face again. “You work for the bad guys! You’re just too stupid to have figured it out! But when the FBI gets here—”
“The FBI is coming?”
“Yes they are, and when they get here they’re gonna want to shoot the bad guys. And that’s you, Hank.”
“But I’m not a bad guy!”
“You could have fooled me.”
Hank sat in silence for a moment, glaring at Henry. Then he sat forward abruptly and took the mouse, scrolling to an application called Emergency Broadcast Portal. As he logged in, Henry lowered the taser and patted him on the shoulder.
“You’re doing a good thing, Hank.”
“Just tell that to the FBI when they get here,” the guard said. “What now?”
Henry leaned in and looked at the options on the screen and pointed to one labelled Star-Spangled Banner. “Bring that up.”
“Not many Americans appreciate a good smoke these days,” General Aziz said, leaning back on the sofa in Mallory’s residence and taking a slow puff on his cigar. The glass coffee table Henry had destroyed had been replaced with an identical model. Aziz now had one of his highly polished black shoes resting on the glass, much to John Mallory’s displeasure. Mallory had been up all night dealing with the situation created by Henry and Fox and, of all his “guests”, Aziz had proven impossible to get rid of. The general seemed quite content to hang around in the midst of the crisis. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.
The Adjusters Page 25