Before the two men could take a handful of steps the ICU monitors watching over Ross began hooting and buzzing, then there was the sound of glass and metal crashing, followed by a meaty thud. Ross was either dying (or already dead) or the sophisticated wiring that connected him to the monitors had been ripped away; either way, Ross was in trouble.
“Shit!” Green snarled, then burst through the drawn curtain that covered the doorway of Ross’ cubicle. In a split instant he saw the impostor holding a handful of torn-loose monitor wires and tubes; too late he saw the other hand held a large, black, suppressed autopistol, and that hand brought the gun to bear on Green before the old former Mossad agent could react. The big gun CLAPPED and Green felt a sledgehammer blow strike his upper right chest. The impact of the bullet spun Green around and he collapsed helplessly just inside the doorway.
JSO Patrolman Mike Duncan heard the dull CLAP of a suppressed gunshot an instant before he followed Green into the cubicle. A second after he entered the room a second muted gunshot sounded and he felt his right arm go instantly numb and useless. Then the intruder’s gun CLAPPED twice more and Duncan received double sledgehammer blows to the center of his chest, knocking him back out the open doorway of the cubicle. So far, the mysterious intruder’s score was two-for-two—and Ross’ monitor alarms continued their panicked wailing.
S’leen knew that if Ross still lived it would only be for brief moments longer, and while she hated what she was about to do—attacking someone not attacking her ran absolutely contrary to her self-preservation instincts—she knew it was the only right decision. Instantly overcoming her case of the shakes she moved in a honey-blonde and brown blur, scrambling toward the curtained doorway to the cubicle. But as she approached it she put the “run and gun” police tactical training she had been taught on the firing range to its first real-world test. Dropping silently to the carpeted floor she lay on her stomach, her ears flat against her back. In a lightning-quick move she sneaked a glance around the bottom edge of the doorway. Since the curtain fell short of the floor there was room for her head to peer under it without disturbing it, and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. The intruder, after apparently ripping all the wires and tubes from Jack Ross’ helpless body, was bending over his victim, who was sprawled on the cubicle’s vinyl-tiled floor. Snarling with a look of absolute hatred, the intruder’s non-gun hand was clutching Ross’ throat in a crushing grip.
The H’kaah quickly brought Green’s donated autopistol to bear on the assailant, but before she could squeeze the trigger the man glanced her way. Seeing that he was, without a doubt, not Cory Ross, S’leen quickly shot him perfectly through the center of his right eye, killing him instantly as the potent little bullet blew out the back of his head and spread gore over the rear wall of the cubicle. In an instant S’leen had added yet another human’s blood to her hands, and in that same instant she realized it didn’t matter. As the man collapsed on top of Ross’ motionless form the H’kaah yelled back toward the monitor station. “Bring help fast! “The police officers are hurt—and Jack’s dying!”
“CODE BLUE!” Dr. Felicia Fernandez screamed as she smacked a large, mushroom-shaped red button on the wall behind the main desk. Immediately a series of rotating red ceiling lights began painting the entire ICU complex with ever-changing patterns of bloody light, all to the accompaniment of a muted electronic klaxon. She grabbed the nearest telephone handset, punched a three-digit code on the keypad and yelled into the receiver, “Code blue, main ICU-7! Code blue, main ICU-7! Code blue, main ICU-7!”
By this time Shapiro had reached the cubicle doorway, stepping over Duncan’s conscious and moaning form; S’leen had already bounced to her feet and jumped inside. When he passed through the doorway he found Green on the floor, blood seeping from his chest, but the man was conscious and cursing in both Yiddish and Arabic. He then saw the H’kaah kneeling beside the bed, cradling Ross’ bandaged head in her hands, a look of utter panic on her unhuman face.
Ross’ face was purple, and he was not breathing.
Shapiro momentarily became part of the tableau, but was unceremoniously shoved aside by Dr. Fernandez as she led a small team of nurses and technicians to Ross’ side. S’leen, too, was firmly moved out of the way as the medical personnel began their frantic work.
“S’leen,” Shapiro ordered, “help me get Nolan outside where there’s room for the doctors to work on him.” When she hesitated he said, “We’re in the way, and we can best help Jack by giving the medics some elbow room.” He led by example as he carefully took Green by his left arm and began to drag him out the doorway. Even though she wasn’t as strong as Shapiro, the H’kaah surprised him by grabbing the fallen man’s legs and helping push the wounded officer out of the cubicle.
Duncan had been wearing a bulletproof vest, so other than bruised ribs his main concern was the bleeding hole in his right arm. Green, however, hadn’t worn a protective vest since his patrolman days, and his wound was much more serious. “Let this be a lesson, son,” Green rasped to the young cop as the doctors and nurses prepared them both for a quick trip to surgery. “The unprotected body won’t turn a bullet worth shit. If you want to live long enough to wear lieutenant’s bars, don’t quit wearing your vest.”
And then they wheeled him away.
“How bad?” Duncan asked the nearest bloody, green-suited figure. “Is he gonna die?”
Grinning at the young cop, the nurse replied, “I doubt it. Unless something unusual happens, you’ll both live to chase a lot more bad guys.”
And then they wheeled Duncan away.
Shapiro and S’leen were both smeared with Green’s brassy-smelling blood, but at the moment all they could think about was the dying man in the tiny ICU cubicle. A steady stream of nurses, doctors and technicians made their way into and out of the tiny room, but none were willing to answer their questions.
“As long as there’s activity,” Shapiro finally muttered to both S’leen and F’haan, “we can only surmise that Jack’s still alive. Nobody works that hard on a corpse.” Both trembling aliens clung to the man for comfort, and he found himself holding their velvety soft bodies close for the same reason.
Teddy Shapiro enjoyed comfort, and he was more than willing to share.
Chapter 10
*Nightmares and Teddy Bears*
“—And he’s still alive,” Dr. Felicia Fernandez stated to the young woman standing anxiously at the main ICU monitoring station. “Yesterday was one of the damnedest days I’ve ever seen in my thirty years of medicine, but with luck and your father’s H’kaah friend’s remarkable courage and marksmanship skills we managed to hang on to everybody who counts.”
“I just can’t believe a…a glorified rabbit killed my dad’s attacker,” Trudy Bond, Jack Ross’ daughter said while shaking her head in amazement. “And you say this creature also killed the three gunmen who shot Daddy?”
Dr. Fernandez frowned darkly. “Young lady,” she said, a scalpel’s edge to her voice, “S’leen is far more than a ‘glorified rabbit’, and I’ll have you know that referring to her as a ‘creature’ is both rude to her and highly offensive to me. Humankind sprang from apes, H’kaah from rabbits, and in my book she’s a far better person than a hell of a lot of humans I’ve known.”
Ross’ daughter was taken aback at the doctor’s vehement defense of the alien, but before she could say anything further the ICU electric doors cycled open and three Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office uniformed policemen strolled in, accompanied by four H’kaah. One cop’s right arm was bandaged and in a sling, and the younger of the two other cops immediately moved to stand guard at the doorway of cubicle number seven.
“Everything’s fine, Sam,” Dr. Fernandez told the guard, and he smiled and nodded. “This is Mr. Ross’ daughter, Trudy,” she stated. “Teddy Shapiro cleared her through perimeter security while you were on break, and I’m told that his son Cory, the real Cory Ross, is on his way up.”
The brief interplay
between the doctor and the guardian officer didn’t distract Trudy Bond from literally gawking at the four aliens. S’leen, F’haan, C’maat and L’niik stood quietly while Dr. Fernandez escorted the wide-eyed woman over to meet them.
After brief introductions were exchanged the doctor firmly said, “Trudy, I think you have something to say to S’leen.” When the young woman appeared confused Fernandez prompted, “Perhaps concerning your father?”
Trudy Bond wasn’t stupid or crass, just upset. Standing a few feet away from living, breathing fantasies while at the same time worrying about her dying father finally took its toll. Overwhelmed by it all, she broke down and cried.
Without hesitation S’leen reached out and enfolded the distraught woman into her warm, comforting embrace, and Jack Ross’ daughter cried on the alien’s shoulder like a heartbroken child. Officer Mike Duncan awkwardly used his left hand to fish a clean handkerchief from his right hip pocket, and he handed it to the sobbing woman. The older officer, JSO Lieutenant Sonny Thompson, just shook his head and tried to hide a smile. Maybe there’s hope for the kid after all, he thought with amusement.
In time the young woman recovered enough to become embarrassed by her outburst, then her embarrassment doubled when she realized just who, and what, she had turned to in her grief. “Oh, God, I…I’m sorry!” she sputtered, suddenly disengaging herself from the damp-shouldered alien.
S’leen gently smiled and smoothed it over by saying, “We females seem to be plagued by that kind of reaction concerning your father. I did the same thing to Officer Duncan before he, um, got in the way of a bullet.” It was Duncan’s turn to look embarrassed, especially when his lieutenant gave him a raised-eyebrow look. “Dr. Fernandez,” S’leen ventured, “may I take Trudy in to see her father?”
“Of course, but be careful not to wake him. We don’t dare sedate him; his system’s far too fragile for that now, and he needs all the restorative sleep he can get.”
The alien led the young woman through the curtain at the cubicle’s entrance.
A moment later the ICU’s electric doors again cycled open and Shapiro and a young man dressed in a stylish Space Navy uniform and sporting close-cropped blonde hair entered the complex. The young man slowed to a stop as he began absorbing the incredible scene. Cops, medical personnel, life-support machines—and rabbit-like aliens. It’s true, he thought. I’ve definitely entered the “Twilight Zone”.
“Excuse me,” he hesitantly said, “I’m Cory Ross. I’m looking for a Dr. Fernandez.”
“You’ve found me, Captain Ross,” Fernandez said, smiling. “Welcome to Fantasy Central, where the impossible happens on a regular basis.” She introduced the young Ross to the three cops and the aliens, then added, “Your sister and your father’s H’kaah companion are in his cubicle, but they should be out in a few minutes. Then you can go in, but you must be careful not to wake him.” She frowned, but the young Ross could see it was more from sadness than from anger.
“He wasn’t in good shape to begin with, but since that madman’s attack earlier today his condition has deteriorated. He’s on total respiratory support now, and we can’t predict how much longer the rest of his body will hold up.”
* * *
In Jack Ross’ world, images and sounds flickered and bloomed, blending and jumping disjointedly. Scene snippets from his childhood merged with nightmarish flashes from the black operations he’d been involved in, and recent images of his incredible life with S’leen faded in and out over memories of his failed marriage. Over all this came blinding stroboscopic flashes of gruesome medical procedures that, on some basic level, he understood were being performed on his helpless body. What his unsettled mind couldn’t comprehend, though, was—why?
* * *
Captain Cory Ross saw the doorway curtain on cubicle seven pull back, and his sister and a mostly-golden-blonde female H’kaah stepped into the harsher light of the main ICU operations center. His sister looked grim, and he wasn’t surprised to see a similar look mirrored on the alien’s unhuman face.
Trudy Bond approached her brother with an unsteady pace, and when she was within arms’ reach she literally collapsed into his embrace, crying fresh tears of grief and sorrow about her father’s situation. As he comforted her Cory Ross stated, “I know it’s rough, Sis, but Dad told us this might happen someday, and why; it’s not as if we weren’t warned.” His sister continued sobbing on his shoulder, and he gently added, “At this time I think he would want us to honor him with our strength, don’t you?”
After a few moments passed the young woman stepped back, wiping her pale blue eyes and blowing her nose on Officer Duncan’s abused handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Cory, it…it just hurts so much to see Daddy this way.”
Nodding in understanding, Cory Ross said, “I, uh, I guess I need to go see him before I fuss at you, huh.” He took a deep breath, then purposefully headed toward the curtained doorway to his father’s cubicle. But before he could push the curtain aside he felt a hesitant touch on his left shoulder, and he paused to see who had accosted him.
The tall, white-furred H’kaah male, L’niik, said, “Captain Ross, I would like to accompany you in this…this unhappy journey.” When the young Ross looked confused L’niik explained, “Your father is my friend, too. It might surprise you to know that he stopped me from making a…a terrible mistake.” The alien looked pained, but said, “In doing so he gave me back my life.”
Cory Ross studied the alien’s face for a moment, nodded and said, “It doesn’t surprise me at all, L’niik; Dad’s that kind of man. You’re not the first he’s helped, and I pray to God that you won’t be the last.”
They quietly entered the dim cubicle, and Cory Ross’ jaw tightened with the grim pain of seeing his father so near death. The H’kaah found himself suddenly overcome with emotion, but he managed to choke back any sound, his mouth open in a silent cry of anguish. Except for the almost imperceptible rise-and-fall of the sheet covering his chest, the older Ross seemed far more dead than alive, and was apparently oblivious to the world beyond his one closed, sunken eyelid.
And yet—
“Doctor Fernandez,” ICU monitor technician Doris Wagner said, sticking her head into the break room where Fernandez had taken the human and H’kaah visitors to discuss Ross’ worsening condition. “Mr. Ross is showing increased neurological activity. I think he’s awake.”
Ross’ visitors were conversing in the lowest of tones, confident that the gravely ill man could not hear them. It therefore came as quite a shock to them when the cadaverous form weakly rasped, “It’s getting so a man can’t die in peace without military intervention.”
The H’kaah was both elated and terrified; elated to see his friend and mentor awake, and terrified at the thought that he disturbed the dying man’s slumber. Cory Ross, however, handled the situation with typical military aplomb.
“Hi, Dad,” he softly said as he approached the head of the bed. “Sorry we woke you. Regardless of everything else, apparently there’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
Ross cracked open his lone eyelid, peering at his son and the nervous alien with a bloodshot gaze that spoke of the man’s terminal weariness. “The fat lady hasn’t sung yet, son, but I hear her warming up next door.” He sighed, then added, “It’s good of you both to come and see me off, but I’m sorry that I can’t be a better host. It seems I can’t do much more than serve as a target these days.”
The younger Ross smiled, saying, “You’ve been doing a jam-up job of that, Dad, but things seem to be under control at the moment. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if I were you.”
“If you were me,” the bedridden man said, “I’d be losing sleep over YOU, Son.” The lone eye fixed its gaze on the alien. “L’niik, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d be busy keeping your ‘portly patron properly poked’.” He weakly coughed. “Jesus, it hurts when I do that.” Then Ross surprised them both with a lopsided grin as he said, “Actually, L’niik, I’m
damned glad to see you. I just wish it was under more pleasant conditions.” He closed his eye.
“Dad, Trudy’s here. She and S’leen were just in to see you, and—”
“Crap,” the man said, annoyed. “I must have really been out of it when they were here. Would you stick your head back out and see if they can join us?”
In moments Ross’ little cubicle was crowded with not only his children, but cops, aliens and two very special friends. Dr. Fernandez and Shapiro had spent anxious hours until Nolan Green was safely out of surgery, and with his chest wound treated Green was resting comfortably a few cubicles down from his old black ops buddy.
“Jack,” Shapiro said, “most of the crew, along with some new friends, are here, and we—well, we just want you to know that we’re pulling for you.” The big man seemed close to tears; what he was trying to say was doubly difficult since he knew—and knew that Ross knew—that what he was saying was empty encouragement. Everyone in the tiny room, the patient included, knew that Jack Ross didn’t have much longer to live. Saying goodbye, however, just wasn’t in their vocabulary.
After what seemed to be too short a time Dr. Fernandez firmly announced that everybody had worn out his or her welcome, the doctor included, and that they needed to return to the break room to continue any discussion. Each one said his good-byes, and Ross’ son and daughter were the last to leave the cubicle. The man was so tired and weak that he was finding it difficult to stay awake, but the fear of possibly never seeing them again kept him bouncing between much-needed sleep and fretful awareness. After they left Ross drifted into an exhausted sleep, yet an indeterminate time later he surfaced from unconsciousness to find L’niik standing at his bedside, a serious look on his face.
Redeeming Factors (Revised) Page 24