So he had formed these Healers. He had rallied these men and convinced them that they were engaged in a cause more noble than themselves, endowing them with strength and abilities. And all along it was he, this self-made prophet, who was set to reap the greatest reward.
And yet, The Book of Becoming had been so convincing. Galen had seemed so impassioned in his writing, so converted to his own theology. If he was a charlatan and if his aim was truly selfish, he was certainly a convincing liar.
Then there was his behavior following the Human Genome Project. Did that not reflect a man who truly believed much could be done to cure disease? Was it possible that Galen actually believed himself a prophet? Had he envisioned this, as he claimed, since his youth?
Frank shook his head. It didn’t matter. Either way, Galen was no giver of life. He was no Healer. He was a thief. Pure and simple. And Frank was not one to be taken by thieves.
“Everyone be quiet,” he said. “Let’s all think for a second.”
“Think?” said Hal. “We don’t have time to think. You heard her.”
“Your best time to go is now,” said Monica with some urgency. “There are fewer Healers at night. More will come at first light.”
“Just because Galen thought he could do this to us,” said Frank, “doesn’t mean he can. Now relax.”
“But what if he can?” said Dolores. “What if we’re changing like she said? I don’t want that man’s mind inside me.”
Frank ran a hand through his hair. “That’s just it. You don’t have Galen’s mind inside you. And you won’t. No DNA can control how you think. Galen can’t change our memories. He can alter DNA, but he can’t give us his mind.”
In his peripheral vision, Frank detected a subtle change in Monica’s expression that made him doubt his own words, and the instant the doubt came, he knew why.
“The chip,” he said.
“What chip?” said Nick.
“The stitched wound on the back of your neck,” said Frank. “We all have one. So did Jonathan.”
Their hands instinctively reached back behind their necks and felt the prickle of the stitches over each of their wounds.
“Care to enlighten us, Doctor?” said Frank.
Monica’s gaze dropped to the floor.
“I found a chip in Jonathan,” Frank said, addressing them all. “A computer chip, no bigger than a postage stamp, surgically deposited on the base of his brain stem. Whoever did it to him used an incision like the ones we have on us.”
Hal’s hands clenched into fists and he stepped threateningly toward Monica. “You put a chip inside us?”
“It wasn’t me. It was Galen. Before he went under. He implanted them.”
“What are they for?” said Frank.
Monica shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. All I know is that Yoshida loaded them with all of Galen’s research, his files, his essays, his journals, all of his knowledge. Galen even recorded much of the last few years of his life with a camcorder so that the footage could be loaded onto the chips as well. A library of data.”
“But not his mind?” said Byron.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. The chip isn’t only data. It also contains software Yoshida developed, software that can mimic a person’s reasoning, anticipate his or her reaction to certain stimuli. The more information the software has about the person—his previous decisions, his opinions, his emotional state in various circumstances—the more able the software is to replicate the person’s psychological state.”
“Replicate?” said Frank. “You mean, the software can guess how Galen would think?”
“Guess and then react. It’s not passive processing. Once the software chooses what it thinks will be Galen’s response, it takes action. It activates neural receptors and causes the individual to act.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dolores. “We’re supposed to think differently? I don’t notice anything different.”
“That’s because you never used your brain in the first place,” said Hal.
Dolores gave him a look.
“We haven’t noticed any change,” said Frank, “because it’s possible the chip hasn’t been triggered yet.”
“Triggered?” said Byron.
“Turned on,” said Monica. “Activated.”
“And when will that happen?” said Nick.
“The chip is triggered by the virus,” said Monica. “Once the virus has spread though your system, viral genes converge on the brain stem and set off the chip.”
“Set off?” said Dolores. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re not waiting around to find out,” said Frank. “This virus has a three-day incubation period, meaning we have three days until it spreads completely through our system and does what Galen intended. Two days have already passed, so we have roughly twenty-four hours to get the countervirus in us. The BHA has developed one, and so have the Healers. Now, if we can find the Healers’ version—”
Monica shook her head. “You won’t. Not here. Galen kept this cabin clean. No samples of the countervirus. He knew you’d try to find it as soon as you realized what was happening, so he had it moved off-site. Your best shot is the BHA.”
Hal chuckled. “Is that so?”
“Lay off,” said Dolores.
“What is it with you people?” said Hal. “Am I only person here who didn’t get beat with the Stupid Stick? We shouldn’t believe a word this woman says. She has every reason to lie to us. If she had this countermedicine stuff, she wouldn’t give it to us anyway. Because she knows the moment we get out of here and get to the police, her ass goes to jail.”
“I’m not lying. If you want to waste your time combing this cabin top to bottom, be my guest. But I’m telling you, there’s none here.”
Frank made an executive decision. “We’re leaving. Now.” He turned to Monica. “Where can we get clothes and supplies?”
“There’s a storage closet in the hall where they keep extra equipment. They have clothes for you there.”
Frank took her wrist. “Show us.” Then, dropping his voice to a near whisper, “And if you are lying, if you try to alert anyone, Hal here has a poker I’m sure he’s eager to use.”
The corners of Hal’s mouth coiled up into a grin.
Frank pulled Monica toward the door. “Wait,” she said, reaching back to the cart and gathering the syringes, “you’ll need these.”
Frank nodded to Byron. “Byron, carry the syringes. I don’t want her holding anything she could use as a weapon.”
“I’m not one of them,” she said.
Frank stepped close to her face. “Look, ma’am, I want to believe you. Really, I do. But right now, there’s a lot of evidence stacked against you, the greatest of which is a big fat scar on each of us. Now, if you want the benefit of the doubt, if you want an ounce of trust from any of us, you’re going to have to earn it. You’re going to have to translate those tears into action—in other words, if I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No arguments. You just do it.”
She nodded.
Byron held out his hands, and Monica gave him the syringes.
Frank led them across the room to the door, where he paused and looked at Monica’s feet. “Take off your shoes.”
Monica did so immediately.
“Carry them. I want you walking as quietly as the rest of us.”
He pulled open the door. The hall was empty, still, and quiet. Monica led them through the darkness in the opposite direction Frank had gone earlier. Frank cringed at every creak of the floorboards, every heavy shuffle of their bare feet. In their room they could talk freely; they could make noise; but out here, where they were not permitted, there were those like Stone and Lichen with weapons and sensitive ears.
They reached a door, and Monica opened it. Everyone silently followed her inside. A string hung from the ceiling, and Monica pulled it. A lone, naked lightbulb illuminated.
They were in the storage room.
Hal was nearest the door and shut it behind them.
A row of freestanding shelves was packed floor to ceiling with medical supplies and boxes. Monica walked to the rear of the room to the last shelf, where several matching gray suits hung in plastic dry-cleaning bags. A red necktie was draped over each hanger. Frank recognized the suits. They were identical to the one Galen had been wearing.
Monica removed one off the rack, and read the large tag that hung from it. “This one’s for you, Nick.”
Nick took the suit. “You got to be kidding me. We’re supposed to wear this?”
Frank saw that each of the suits was tagged with a name that corresponded to one of the organ recipients. Hal found his and lifted it off the rack. “What, are we going to church or something? I’m not wearing this. I want my old clothes back.”
“Your old clothes smelled like a dead dog,” said Dolores. “They probably burned those the moment they took them off your drunk self.”
Frank took his suit. It was just as Galen had drawn them in The Book of Becoming: five George Galens in gray suits and red neckties. He shook the thought from his mind. What mattered was that they were clothes; the thick material would protect them from the cold and elements. “These are the only clothes we have,” he said, “so unless you want to go outside in your gowns, I say we get dressed.”
Dolores dressed behind the back shelf with Monica while the men dressed toward the front of the room. Besides the suit and tie, each bag also included a white oxford shirt, a pair of undergarments, dark cotton socks, and a white handkerchief folded neatly in the breast pocket of the suit coat.
Byron examined the manufacturer’s tag inside. “It’s Italian.” He held the coat in front of him, examining it. “Probably cost a fortune.”
“The fit’s pretty good, too,” said Nick, bending his elbows and looking where the cuff of the coat met his sleeve. “I never had a suit before.”
Frank’s suit, originally intended for someone else, was a size or two too big on him. The pants were loose around the waist, but with the belt notched tight, it didn’t matter.
“Do we have to wear the tie?” Nick asked.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” said Hal. “You’re not going to a job interview, idiot. You don’t even have to wear the coat.”
Nick looked down at the coat he was wearing and did a half turn. “I like the coat.”
“We should take the coats,” said Frank. “It’s cold out. They’ll help keep us warm.”
Hal looked ready to protest but instead draped his coat over one shoulder and folded his arms across his chest.
“Are you boys decent out there?” Dolores whispered.
“Yes,” said Frank.
“Now I’m coming out,” she said, “but if any of you laugh, I’ll knock your nose so far inside you, you’ll take a crap whenever you sneeze.”
She stepped out. Her suit was identical to the men’s, and she looked as if she’d rather be wearing anything else.
Hal stifled a laugh, and Dolores scowled.
“I know a drag queen is a man who dresses up like a woman,” said Hal, “but what do call a woman who dresses up like a man? A drag king?” He laughed again.
“Leave her alone,” said Nick. Then he turned to Dolores and spoke softly. “You look nice, Dolores.”
“Yeah, Dolores,” said Byron, “real dignified. Classy, even.”
Dolores brightened for the briefest of moments until Hal giggled, “Yeah. For a guy.”
Monica interrupted with a box filled with pairs of polished black wingtips. “Here. Put on your shoes.”
Frank searched through the box until he found the pair labeled with his name. Not the best shoes for walking, he thought, pulling them out and bending them at the toe. But at least the soles were rubber; they’d be quiet on the floor in the hall.
They were still tying the laces when they heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.
Frank signaled them to move behind a shelf, and all but Monica obeyed instantly. Frank beckoned her to come, but she shook her head and shooed him into the shadows.
The door opened just as Frank and the others concealed themselves. Through the crack between the items on the shelf, Frank could see a short Healer enter the room, his face shrouded by the hood of his black cape.
“I heard voices,” the Healer said. It was a voice Frank recognized but couldn’t place.
“Oh, that was me,” Monica said. “I was trying to reach that box up there and was cursing to myself. Do you think you could reach it for me?”
Frank watched as the Healer stepped to the shelf, his back to Frank, and reached for the box. He believed Monica. If they were still and quiet, he would leave.
Hal rotated the poker in his hand to improve his grip, and the small hook at its tip scraped against the shelf, making a grating noise.
There was a second of panic and then suddenly the Healer appeared around the corner, standing over them. Instinctively Frank lunged and tackled the Healer around the waist, slamming him roughly against the wall and causing the Healer’s hood to fall back. Frank raised a fist to strike, but then saw the Healer’s face and stopped.
Deputy Dixon stared back at Frank, his face showing no sign of recognition, and shoved Frank hard in the chest, sending him backward and into the others.
Hal pushed Frank aside and charged with the poker.
Dixon was faster. He dodged easily and struck Hal with an elbow in the side of the head.
Hal fell, and the poker clattered from his grip to the floor.
Dixon picked up the poker, his hands trembling noticeably, breathing hard, and looked at the others like a man only half himself. “You should not be out of your room,” he said. “The master would want you all in your room.”
There was a popping noise, and then Dixon’s face relaxed. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious to the floor, the poker clanging loudly beside him. Monica stood behind him, holding a tranquilizer gun, her finger still on the trigger. She looked down at the gun, covered her mouth with her one hand, and dropped the gun, suddenly repulsed by it.
Frank picked it up while Byron hurried to the door and closed it.
The gun was still loaded with several tranq darts. Frank clicked on the safety and knelt beside Dixon, checking his pulse. He was alive. “Hal, Nick, come help me get his cape off.”
In minutes, Deputy Dixon lay on the floor in only a T-shirt and his boxer shorts.
“Give me your neckties,” said Frank.
They handed them over.
As Frank bound and gagged Dixon, he noted how Dixon’s hands trembled. After the the final knot was tied and he was certain Dixon wouldn’t be able to free himself should he wake, he turned to Monica. “What did they do to him?”
“You know this guy?” said Nick.
“He’s a sheriffs deputy. He witnessed the accident that killed Jonathan. He was helping us.”
“Not being much of a help anymore,” said Dolores.
“What did they do to him?” Frank repeated.
“Galen,” said Monica, “he could control people’s minds, make them bend to his will.”
“How?”
She told them what she witnessed with Yoshida, how he had fallen into a seizure and how Galen had brought him back with a kiss to his forehead.
Nick said, “So the old man puckers up, kisses your forehead, and after that you’re putty in his fingers?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but the proof is right in front of you.” She pointed to Deputy Dixon. He was brought in right before the surgeries. Galen kissed him, and the guy went blank, like his soul had been sucked out of him. I saw it myself.”
“Then answer me this,” said Hal. “If old geezer Galen’s got magic kisses that can make a slave out of anybody, why didn’t he do that to you, huh? Why didn’t he just kiss you on the forehead and tell you to transplant his organs? Why go to all the trouble of threatening your son?”
“Because the tremblin
g and seizures are side effects of the condition,” said Monica, “Galen couldn’t risk my hands being unsteady. He knew I was going to be operating on him, so he had to force me to cooperate without his . . . kiss.”
Dolores cocked her head and looked down at Dixon. “Then he’s a victim same as us. We can’t just leave him here.”
She was right, Frank knew. There was no telling what the Healers would do to Dixon once they found him here. Healers hadn’t shown a particularly high regard for human life—despite their claims to the contrary—and if they blamed Dixon for the escape, ending his life might be considered an appropriate punishment and not so great a loss.
“Is there a way to reverse the effect?” said Frank. “Some antidote or medicine, maybe? Something to shake him out of it?”
“No, none that I’ve seen,” said Monica.
“He can’t go with us,” said Hal. “Are you out of your mind? He’s trying to kill us.”
“You heard Frank,” said Nick. “He’s a cop.”
“I don’t care if he’s the pope,” said Hal. “There’s no way we’re dragging him along.”
“They might hurt him,” said Dolores.
“He’s one of them,” said Hal. “They’re not going to hurt him.”
“You don’t know that,” said Dolores.
“Well, I’m willing to take that chance, because it’s him or us. We pull him along, and none of us are getting out of here.”
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