by Alan Nayes
The operation went smoothly initially. After the first incision, the surgeon peeled away the skin and underlying subcutaneous tissue. Her assistant zapped the bleeders as fast as they spurted. There was less blood than Shelby expected. Behind her, the vet students murmured quietly, but Shelby ignored them, straining to hear the discussion in the operating suite below. She didn’t even glance over at Astor and Simpkins when they whispered comments to each other. She just wanted it to end. Bonds never showed and later when she mentioned this, the NASA man said, “I wondered if something like this might happen, though I never would have guessed this extraordinary.”
The bone saw whirred to life and the surgeon adeptly removed a small piece of temporal bone. For just an instant Shelby tensed, thinking she was on the wrong side, but no, Goliath’s head had been positioned right side down. From that point, everything shifted to a snail’s pace. In piecemeal fashion, the surgeons teased the sensitive brain matter apart, probing deeper and deeper, saying very little except anatomical terms which held little meaning to Shelby—parahippocampal gyrus, dentate gyrus, hippocampus, subiculum, fornix.
The operation seemed to be painstakingly tediously slow. She realized the surgeons were only being extremely cautious.
With every tiny cerebral slice, Shelby imagined the millions of microscopic neurons and synapses being disrupted. She imagined fragments of the huge primate’s memory slipping into a black hole never to see the light of day again with each deft movement of the surgeon’s scalpel. She would be entirely incorrect on this point, she would realize later.
At the two-hour-forty-one-minute mark, Dr. Clark said, “I see it.” Quickly she looked over to the fluoro CT image on the monitor. She moved her probe ever so slightly and the octahedron on the screen moved. “It doesn’t seem to be attached to anything substantial…” She continued probing at the periphery of the foreign body. Her fingers appeared steady. “What do you call this anyway?” she asked rhetorically. Rhetorically because nobody knew what the hell it was called.
Shelby found her attention shifting in spurts between the actual left temporal surgical site and the giant’s huge hands. For this reason she was the first to notice the left index finger twitch. She almost stood and tapped the glass to get someone’s attention in the OR. She held back.
“I stand corrected,” Dr. Clark said, her voice carrying clearly over the OR speakers. For the first time, Shelby thought the neurosurgeon sounded tense. Nervous even.
“The posterior edge of the foreign object appears to have been incorporated into the cerebral matrix,” adding, “This will not be a smooth removal.”
Shelby watched her begin to separate the brain matter from the attached side of the octahedron.
The lights in the OR flickered. For a split second the viewing bay went dark.
“Shit,” Astor cursed softly but just as fast everything returned to normal.
Dr. Clark tried to joke, “Was that a short somewhere? I hope the hospital’s generators are on standby.”
Shelby heard Astor mutter something to Simpkins. She didn’t understand much but one word stood out—helicopter. For a brief moment, she thought of the episode in Hangar 13 when all the electricity and communication devices cut off. A sense of impending doom fell over her like a developing thunderhead. She stared at the odd object on the CT screen. Then back to the surgeon. Clark had requested a different instrument to attempt to free the device. Again each time she touched it, the lighting in the OR flickered.
“Very strange,” the assistant vet surgeon commented, looking up at the overhead lights.
“Yes.” Clark resumed the removal.
Shelby detected a faint tremor in her hands now.
More motion of the device, more flickering.
Astor tapped his iPad. “Computer’s being affected, too.” He shifted in his seat, gazing down into the operation theater. “Just cut the damn thing out.”
Shelby began a retort when motion froze the words in her throat. Goliath’s huge left hand was no longer flat but clenched. As she watched, it unclenched and clenched again. Then the right hand clenched.
She stood and went to the window. She raised a hand to wave but a surgical tech had seen the giant’s response, too, as well as the vet surgeons. Good.
“Patient is moving,” Clark called out. This time there was no mistaking the tense timbre. “More gas.”
The anesthesiologist adjusted an IV bag and oxygen tank. “He’s under.”
Clark tugged on the device. Another instant blackout. “Can someone please fix that!”
Another fist clench. Clark shot the vet anesthesiologist a sharp glance. “He is not out. He’s waking up!”
The entire atmosphere in the OR suite had changed. Shelby could hear the vet students moving closer, murmuring nervously. The guards repositioned themselves.
The anesthesiologist retorted, “Any more sedation and he’ll stop breathing.”
Astor whispered, “Good.”
Screw you, Astor. Shelby wanted to smack him but forced her attention to the drama unfolding on the table.
Clark continued working, using various sharp instruments and probes. “Dammit, his jaws are tensing. I don’t care what you do, I want him relaxed.”
“I’m doing my best.”
Shelby swallowed, clenching her own hands. Dammit, forget the fucking thing, just close him up!
With a single dexterous move, Clark sliced and pulled. “Got it!” A tech handed her a large forceps and she probed into the separated brain tissue and lifted out the octahedron. Quickly she dropped it into the metal specimen container with metallic-like clang. Shelby watched the security guards exchange a nervous smile. That’s done.
Astor stood, snapping a photo with his cell phone. Beside him, Simpkins settled back in her seat.
Immediately Clark began to repair the rents in the arachnoid and dura matter. “I’ll replace the bone once any brain swelling resolves.”
Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God that’s—
It was short-lived. Again the giant’s fists clenched and he started to struggle under the restraints.
“More gas! The patient needs more gas!” Clark ordered. “He’s coming out—”
A tech lifted the specimen container and abruptly all the lights went out, shrouding the suite as well as the observation deck in total darkness. Shelby tried her cell phone light. Nothing. She tried to dial. Nothing. “Everything’s out!” she called out.
In the total darkness, she heard what sounded like a garbled cough.
Someone below screamed, “He’s moving!”
Clark’s voice cried out, “Goddammit, I need light!”
Another voice shouted, “Hold him!”
Hold him? No one could hold down a primate that large. Shelby leaned against the window, feeling totally helpless. Turning, she shouted, “One of you students. Go for help! Hurry!”
Below, a loud garbled GRRRR.
Shelby heard everyone moving for the exit. Two loud snaps—the restraints—and another loud scream. Shit! No more coherent words below, only shouts, cursing, and yells. A heavy thud followed by a clatter of equipment. Even though she figured they couldn’t hear her below, Shelby shouted through the glass, “Someone run and get a flashlight! Get help!”
More commotion in the dark, panicked now. Screaming, “Help, help us!” Trays falling over as individuals tried to maneuver in the blackout.
Astor stumbled into Simpkins, who stumbled into Shelby.
The astrophysicist cursed. “They should have shot that monster freak of nature in Chitina.”
In a blink, the lights returned.
No one moved, no one uttered a word.
Shelby stared down in horror.
Goliath was sitting up on the OR table, fully conscious, bleeding from his surgical wound, gripping his ripped out endotracheal tube in one hand and Dr. Clark in the other.
CHAPTER 26
“Free Goliath
!”
“Freedom is not just for humans!”
“Free Goliath!”
“Freedom is not just for humans!”
Jimmy John Ralston lowered the bullhorn and surveyed the crowd of animal rights lovers. He would never claim to be one of these animal planet fanatics—he had no issues stepping on a snail or poisoning the raccoons in his backyard—but to the public, he was what the whaling industry, the NRA, the hunting and fishing lobbies all despised. His groups rankled everyone that had ever lifted a firearm to shoot a squirrel or deer. Did he give a shit about a shot squirrel or deer? Nope.
He passed the horn to an assistant, thinking only about the big donation the Animal Pals of America had received from that rich nut in Vancouver. Of far more significance, at least to his own personal financial bottom line, was the generous twenty-five Gs he’d personally deposited in his own account. The instructions had been explicit—“Turn up the heat, make it uncomfortable for those in charge of the ape.” You bet, Mr. Rasheed. For twenty-five Gs, I’ll even suck the big ape’s cock if you want. Well, maybe not that, but organizing the Goliath lovers, yeah, that was what he was good at. And anything else to further whatever the currently trending cause of the moment was. Last month it was baby seals. This month, a giant monkey. All the same to Ralston, as long as it brought in the only green that really counted in Jimmy John’s book—money. He watched a heavyset woman in a gorilla mask waving a placard. YES TO YETI, NO TO GUNS. Cynically, he decided she couldn’t find an appropriate word that rhymed with “yeti.” Didn’t matter. Virtually every protestor wore a mask, some painted albino white—yes, that was his idea—or held a placard aloft. He noted the press corps in attendance also. Excellent.
Ralston estimated the crowd at just under a hundred. Not what he would have desired; he was used to rabble-rousing thousands, not hundreds. But he could always hope something might happen to energize the rally. He wanted his benefactor happy. A satisfied benefactor meant more money in APA’s and his coffers.
He gestured to those around him to move closer to the institute’s entrance, though the police had warned the protestors to stay clear. Fuck law enforcement. Arrests created publicity. Not that he personally cared about the huge primate. He always thought monkeys stunk. But if Rasheed wanted the giant ape for his own that was his business. At heart, Ralston was a mercenary. Show me the money.
Joining the chanting, “Free Goliath, Free Goliath,” he stepped in front of the glass door entrance. “Closer, folks, we are here for Goliath!” he shouted.
He heard the wail of sirens. Good. Something must be happening.
“Freedom is not just for humans!”
Frantically, Shelby pounded the glass, attempting to get the giant’s attention. She watched the guards raising their rifles. Don’t fight him, Shelby tried to warn Clark, but the woman continued screaming in pure shock, beating her tiny hands against the primate’s shoulder and chest. Bright red blood splatters stood out against the giant’s light-colored hair and skin.
“Shoot, you dumbasses!” Astor shouted. Simpkins had already hightailed it for the exit.
Goliath let loose a hoarse roar stepped off the table and hefted the vet neurosurgeon at the two guards. But not before squeezing down on Clark’s neck and upper chest area. In spite of the pandemonium, Shelby picked up the horrific crunching of vertebrae and ribs. Watching her lithe body fly across the OR and hit both guards before they could get off a shot, Shelby knew it would be a very long time before the veterinarian specialist ever lifted a scalpel again, if ever.
Goliath dropped to all fours and insanely raced around the OR, screaming a high-pitched caterwaul, shaking his massive head, slapping anyone and anything in his path out of the way. Heavy equipment bounced off the tile walls like it was made of balsa wood.
“He’s a fucking freak,” Astor said, and this time Shelby couldn’t disagree. How Goliath could move that fast after only minutes ago being under complete anesthesia she had no idea. It wasn’t natural. Stay down, she mouthed to the guards, the only remaining individuals in the suite other than the motionless Dr. Clark. Shelby hoped the surgeon was only playing dead.
She could hear sirens. Thank god, though she sensed sadly Goliath would not survive this debacle.
Helplessly she watched the guards scrambling for their weapons. Unfortunately for them, Goliath was watching, too. Literally bouncing twelve feet across the room, he roared and threw a wildly powerful blow to the nearest guard’s head, partially ripping the head from his neck. Blood geysered in all directions, showering the second guard with heavy red spurts, splashing his eyes. He unholstered his weapon and shot blindly, missing Goliath high and shattering the observation window glass. Shelby ducked away, protecting her face and expecting to hear more shots.
When she looked again, both guards lay in widening pools of blood, one with massive head injuries, the other chest trauma. “He’s fucking killed them,” she heard Astor say in disbelief.
The huge primate moved toward the moaning Dr. Clark.
“No, Goliath!” Shelby screamed.
“God, girl, are you fucking nuts?” Astor cursed loudly. “You want him to see us?”
“Get out!” Shelby said.
“I am! And I suggest—”
His word cut off in sheer terror. Stepping past the vet, Goliath knuckle-bounded one step then launched himself up into the air, taking out the rest of the observation window. He gripped the window ledge with thick fingers and heaved his bulk onto the deck. He stepped inside, swatting glass shards aside. A few of the brave students had remained but now they raced for the rear exit.
For a long moment Goliath squatted, motionless. Shelby could hear his heavy breathing. He looked at her. She him, focusing on the surgical wound which remained slightly oozing, not like before.
Slowly she backed up, holding both palms open and down. “No, Goliath,” she virtually pleaded.
He cocked his huge head and looked past her. “Dr. Astor, don’t look him in the eyes. No fast moves.”
She heard shoes break out in panicked running mode going up the steps for the exit, and Goliath, with a raspy growl, went straight over the theater chairs. She hadn’t even turned when she heard the astrophysicist scream in terror first, then in utter agony.
“Goliath!” Shelby cried out.
The albino giant crashed through the exit door, taking part of the wall with him, and dragging the struggling, flailing scientist behind him.
Ralston watched the police cruisers squealing to a stop on Sepulveda. He frowned. Sure we’re blocking the entrance, but this response seems a might too excessive, esteemed men-in-blue.
Then the screams erupted from behind him. Hell, those were coming from inside! What the fuck. Ralston moved a protester aside and stepped closer to the entrance. He reached for a door when he felt the vibration under his soles. “Shit,” he cursed. It looked like the entire population of the hospital was barreling down the long corridor—women screaming in panic, men grappling to get to the exit first.
He could just make out the words, “He’s loose!” “Run for your lives!”
Ralston always considered himself a cool cucumber under pressure but even he wasn’t mentally prepared for this. All he saw was an imminent disaster in the making. This he hadn’t bargained for. Grabbing the bullhorn, he turned to the crowd of protesters. “Get back! Clear the entrance! Now!”
Too late. The glass doors shattered as too many people attempted to squeeze through too narrow a space. The race to get out had become a full-scale stampede. The metal frames buckled. Men and women from the institute plowed into the shocked protesters like bowling balls hitting pins. Many fell to the ground and were stepped on by others and knocked down again when they tried to get up. Screams of panic quickly gave way to cries for help.
Ralston reached down to help a lady up. The loud screech froze him. That wasn’t human! He looked back through the demolished entrance. “Holy shit!” he cried out, quickly
forgetting the lady in distress.
The giant primate juggernaut galloped for the entrance on all threes. Ralston gazed in disbelieving shock. “What the hell is he dragging?” he gasped, backing up. The ape’s right hand appeared to be wrapped around the neck of a broken floppy mannequin. Only this mannequin was dressed. Horror punched him in the gut when he realized what he was witnessing. “It’s a man!” he screamed.
Goliath, screeching like a banshee, crashed out the remaining metal supports and was slowed only when the body he was dragging got entangled in the twisted metal wreckage. He yanked and the head popped loose, rolling straight for Ralston.
The Animal Pals rabble-rouser promptly threw himself on the ground and vomited.
Shelby couldn’t believe how fast the huge primate could move. Like poor Astor had said, he was a freak of nature. She tried to warn the others by shouting, “Stay in your offices!” but by the time she reached the main corridor the stampede was totally out of hand.
She glimpsed Goliath charge out through the destroyed entrance behind the screams of panic. She saw the giant yank the astrophysicist hard against the wreckage—an object rolled free her mind refused to comprehend—and rampage over the injured and crying sprawled on the concrete. She raced to catch up, expecting to hear a barrage of shots at any moment.
All she heard was panic in the chaos.
She raced outside, stepping fast to avoid the broken and fractured human limbs.
Goliath had already reached the police cruisers and in one tremendous bound he was up and over the hood of one, the nearest officer attempting to aim, but with people running in all directions, he held off pulling the trigger.
The eighteen-wheeler hauling ten tons of sheet metal down Sepulveda did what the rifles were meant to do.
Goliath landed on all fours in the middle of the boulevard and even his unnatural bulk and muscle were no match for the big semi. With a loud blunt thud, the giant bounced roughly off the eighteen-wheeler’s heavy grille, rolled once on the pavement, and lay still.