The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  “There,” Dina said. “That should hold. Go ahead and let go of that now—careful.”

  Courtney sat back while Dina sewed up the more jagged edges of the exterior wound. Her brain started to swirl around the fact that W might have more tricks up his sleeve than being an irregular Changer—Jasper had mentioned a vigilante once who could heal himself, the Giant who shook off bullets—but she stowed the thought for later. Now was the time to test the waters between her and Dina. To see just how thin the ice was.

  “Dina...” she started, as her friend began to clean her instruments and put them away.

  “No.” Dina didn’t look up, voice clipped. “Don’t even ask it. The answer’s no.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I won’t join you in harboring the biggest psychopath in Orion. No way.”

  “He’s not who you think he is.”

  “Really? And how would you know that? I suppose you’re pals now; you seem to know him better than you know me.” The case shut with a sharp snap. “Because in case you didn’t remember, I’m the kind of person who calls the police when a serial killer covered in blood shows up on my doorstep.”

  “I called you because I trust you.”

  “And you’re an idiot. You’re in over your head, Court. I’m snapping you out of it.”

  She started to stand. Courtney grabbed her wrist. “Dee, please. I’m begging you.”

  “You are blinded. I’ve never seen you this way. Over anyone.” Dina shook her off and waved a sharp hand between Courtney and the couch. “What is this? What’s going on here? You’re risking everything for this guy. Who is he to you?”

  Courtney couldn’t even begin to find those answers. “He saved my life.”

  Dina scoffed. She shook her head, half-turned to the door, and stopped. Her shoulders tightened.

  “They’d be dissecting me at some lab right now if it weren’t for him,” Courtney pressed. “He taught me how to control this Change. He’s helped other Changers do the same. Would a psychopath do that?”

  “Maybe he has an ulterior motive.”

  “Or maybe the Orion Times doesn’t know everything about the Whistler.”

  Dina turned with a glare that might’ve killed her, once. “He has blood on his hands.”

  “So do I!” At the confusion on her face, Courtney dredged up a queasy thought she’d been trying to tamp down since that first night in Chinatown. Again she saw the boy from the square, looking so small in a tangle of nets. “For years, I’ve sat here doing nothing while Changers got dragged off around me. I even had the luxury to pretend they didn’t exist. Now I am one. Who would have stuck up for me, if not W? Definitely not someone like who I was before.”

  Dina’s eyes flickered toward the couch.

  “Please, Dee.” Fifteen years of friendship weighed down those two words.

  W’s faint, shallow breathing filled the living room. Behind the blinds, echoing down the street, a siren pierced the night. A second joined it. An eerie, discordant harmony.

  “You’ve always been the one who thought things through,” Dina said. “I trusted your judgment more than I trusted my own. Can you look me clear in the eyes and tell me you know you’re doing the right thing?”

  Courtney swallowed. “I’m doing the only thing I can do.”

  Dina’s dark eyes pinned hers, flicking from one to the other. Without a word, she stooped down, picked up her case, and moved to the door. Courtney couldn’t follow. Rooted to the floor, she watched her pause with a hand on the doorknob.

  “If you were anyone else, Court...” Dina’s fingers clenched around the knob, but didn’t turn. She glanced back at the couch. An edge of uncertainty passed over her face, blending with the anger. Her shoulders jerked. With a swift turn, she opened the door. It slammed behind her.

  Courtney’s lungs deflated. Her head spun, and she realized for the last several minutes or so she hadn’t exhaled.

  Through the faint slits in the blinds, she could see the world had gone dark. A muted gold glow filtered in from the street, watered down by the lights inside. Exhaustion flooded every part of her. It felt like she’d been fighting something physical—she hadn’t won, but she’d stolen the space to catch her breath, and now her adrenaline-soaked muscles begged to unravel.

  For now, Dina was in her corner. How long that would last, Courtney didn’t know. She couldn’t force her best friend to skirt the law. But she knew, however loud Dina barked, she could trust her. Dina wouldn’t turn them in. At least, not right now.

  Courtney stumbled into the kitchen. Pouring herself a glass of water, she downed it in three gulps. Her stomach felt hollow. But she couldn’t eat. She killed the brightest of the lights in the kitchen and the living room, then went to lock the door. The thick throw blanket at the foot of the couch was the only one left. The rest were packed around W’s sleeping form.

  Courtney didn’t want to think. Tugging the throw blanket off the armrest, she spread it flat on the carpet—covering the dried stains—and lay down on top of it. She pulled the other half around herself like a makeshift sleeping bag. Her eyes fluttered closed.

  She didn’t realize she’d reached up for W’s hand until her skin registered the coolness of his. Her fingers closed around his long ones.

  Returning the favor, she thought to herself, as she gave into her exhaustion. I’m just returning the favor.

  25. THE SLIDE

  COURTNEY WOKE WITH a carpet burn on her face and her arm twisted above her at a strange angle. She rolled over. Several slow, disoriented blinks came and went before she realized she lay on the floor of her living room, wedged against the bottom of the couch. She sat up, pushing away the hair that had stuck itself to her eyelids during sleep.

  Her hand was encased in something warm. Very warm. She looked over.

  W lay where she’d left him. In almost the exact same position, though his head may have lolled to one side. His fingers tangled with hers, anchoring her hand. She was amazed she hadn’t yanked it free in the night. Freeing it now, she rose to check his bandages.

  The stitches were holding. At least, from what she could tell from the outside. The inside was another matter. But she trusted Dina. She didn’t have a choice. She didn’t know any surgeons from her school days, and even if she did she doubted any would agree to a covert operation helping a fugitive of the law.

  A wary thought struck. Taking his hand again, she pressed a thumb against his pulse. A forceful, heavy thrum beat out against it. Much too fast. And he wasn’t just warm, she realized. He burned. A thin sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead, beneath his eyes, over his upper lip. His chest rose and fell in a faint, fast rhythm.

  An infection. A chill razored up her spine. She ran to snatch a thermometer from the bathroom cabinet. The old-fashioned red stripe confirmed her fears. 103° Fahrenheit.

  Dina answered the phone on the eighth ring.

  “What,” came the groggy snap. “You better have good news. I was up almost all night thinking about this stupid mess.”

  “He’s got a fever. I think it’s an infection. What do I do?”

  Silence. Tapping the speaker button, Courtney left the phone on the armrest of the couch and ran to the kitchen. She soaked a towel in cold water. The silence didn’t break until she’d made it back to W, placing the cold towel over the top half of his face.

  The distant whine of a siren seeped through the closed window.

  “The biggest thing to worry about is sepsis,” Dina’s voice crackled. “He needs antibiotics, with intravenous fluids.”

  “Where the hell am I going to get those?”

  The silence was heavier this time. “I don’t know, Court.”

  A whole lot unsaid, beneath those words. And more than anything... the gut-twisting sound of relief. Dina wanted this to be over. Even if Courtney had to fail. Resentment surged up, but Courtney beat it down before it could grab hold of her tongue. Dina had done a lot for her already. Courtney knew her friend—she would
n’t have thrown her morals on the line like this for any other human. She’d compromised enough.

  “Okay.” Courtney forced herself to confront the problem in tiny bits, one piece at a time. “What kind of antibiotics do I need?”

  Dina listed off several, and Courtney was pleased to recognize many of the names from her OSM studies.

  “Do I really need an IV? There aren’t any I can give him orally?”

  “Too slow. Besides, if he’s still unconscious, they’d just choke him.”

  Courtney chewed on her lower lip. An idea struck. She leaned over to grab the edge of W’s bloodstained lab coat. It was a shot in the dark, certainly, but she remembered the haphazard assortment of syringes, medical supplies, and strange knick knacks stashed away in W’s apartment. And that Mary Poppins quality of his regular long coat. He seemed to be able to pull just about anything out of those pockets.

  She slid her fingers along the inside of the coat. Her hand hit something solid in the first inner pocket. She pulled it out, startled at how heavy it was. A thrill raced through her. A gun.

  “Court?” Dina’s tinny voice echoed in the living room.

  “Sorry. I was... thinking.”

  “Are you gonna be okay?”

  The heaviness in her voice brought the world into sharp focus. That’s right. Dina thought this was it—Courtney’s time to say goodbye.

  Hell if she was going to give in that easy. Her fingers closed around the gun. An idea wove itself together. A sick, terrifying, electric idea.

  “The ICU floor where you work,” she said. “What’s the passcode to the med room?”

  ⬥◆⬥

  It took twenty minutes. Somehow, she got Dina to give her the code. Maybe she’d worn her down. Maybe Dina already felt in over her head, too deep for one more stroke downward to make a difference. Courtney scribbled down the number. Memorized it. 50647.

  After she’d hung up, she rummaged through her closet. Her fingers hit the starchy blue fabric at the very back. She pulled it out.

  She’d never gotten herself to get rid of this old pair of scrubs. They were a token of hope that she might one day return to OSM, finish her degree. Now she slipped them off the hanger. It felt strange to put them on again, like sliding back into the past.

  Her stomach gave a sharp flip as she dropped the gun into an empty tote.

  She took the bus. Ten blocks to St. Barnabas. Five stops. Long enough for her to roll her half-baked plan over in her head, picking holes in it, so that by the time the brakes squealed in front of the busy hospital she felt ready to curl up in the back of the bus and let it keep on driving.

  She got out. The faint smell of smoke hit her when the doors opened. She’d thought she’d smelled it at the bus stop near her apartment, but there was no mistaking it now. The shrill, building scream of a siren approached. Flashing lights rounded the corner, and an ambulance screeched to a stop across the parking lot. Paramedics poured out, carrying patients on stretchers.

  Okay. ICU was across from Emergency. Courtney remembered her tours of the hospital from her time as a nursing student, and she headed for the intensive care entrance. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a bunch of rocks as she passed through the automatic doors.

  This was it. This was the part where the receptionist stood up, shouted, “I don’t recognize you!” and called security.

  But to her surprise, the front desk was swarmed. Literally, a line of people stretched all the way to the door, clamoring for attention. Shouting. Coughing. The thick smell of smoke hit her nose, stronger in here even than outside. She realized the smoke clung to these people’s clothes.

  Courtney didn’t have time to gawk or speculate the cause of events. She stepped around them. If the receptionist saw her at all, she must’ve only registered the familiar shape of blue scrubs from the corner of her eye; she didn’t look up as Courtney slipped out of the lobby onto the ICU floor.

  She kept her head down. Walking fast, purposefully, like she was in a hurry to get somewhere. Courtney dared a glance up at the nurses milling past. They all had the same gait. The hallway buzzed with low, urgent voices, and she caught snatches of words exchanged:

  “—extensive third degree burns—”

  “—need some IV antibiotics stat—”

  “—already showing signs of septic shock—”

  Her heart skipped. Burn victims meant high risk for sepsis, which meant they’d be stocking the med room with exactly the kind of antibiotics she needed.

  But the med room was at the end of the hall. Every step felt too short. At any second, one of these nurses was going to look at her, do a double take, and recognize she wasn’t one of their own. She braced herself every time she passed someone. She probably looked so stiff, so white-faced; it was a miracle no one had stopped her already.

  Twenty steps more.

  Ten.

  Five.

  She forced herself not to run the last three feet to the door with the keypad, and reached it with shaking hands. She punched in the numbers Dina had given her.

  Eeep. The thing buzzed in error, and lit up red.

  What? Her hand shook so badly now she covered it with her other one, using every ounce of self-control not to swear in desperation. She tried again, each press deliberate.

  5.

  0.

  6.

  4.

  7.

  Pling. It lit up green. That sick feeling intensified, fear and relief and pure adrenaline. Her shaking fingers must’ve missed a button. She yanked open the door and dove inside.

  The med room was empty. Thank God. Windowless, another stroke of luck. But more unorganized than she’d expected. Dina was right—instead of an automated dispensary cabinet, protected by fingerprint analysis, this room followed an older method of organization. Rows upon rows of shelves stuffed with labeled plastic containers lined the wall. Courtney headed for the IV kits first. The freezer held the bags of IV solution, and she loaded tubing, bags, and extra needles into her tote. She didn’t know W’s blood type—or if Changers could even accept blood transfusions—so she didn’t even try searching for blood bags. And since she had no idea how long the coma would last, she made sure to grab the IV bags with dextrose, hoping the dose of sugar would tide him over until he woke up. Next, the antibiotics.

  Piperacillin-tazobactam. This one was loaded, more stocked than she could have even hoped for. She cleared out the container and dumped the fluid-filled bags of medication into her tote with the IV supplies. The next antibiotic wasn’t nearly so full. She cleaned it out as well, staving off her guilt only because she knew that the nurses could order up more medication from the pharmacy if a patient needed it. And a patient did need this. Her patient.

  She watched her hands like they belonged to someone else as they cleaned out another container of meds. Vancomycin, Ceftriaxone... Three hard-hitting antibiotics; she hoped that would be enough. The rest of the meds Dina had listed weren’t here. She grabbed another roll of gauze for good measure, and was just zipping up her tote bag when the door beeped. And opened.

  The nurse looked as startled to see her and she was to see him. Probably because she was crouched like a spooked animal over her tote.

  “Uh, hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said back automatically.

  “You’re not... are you new to this shift? I haven’t seen you before.”

  She straightened up. “I’m new. Yes. I was just getting some medication for Doctor... Brenner.” That was the name Dina had mentioned before.

  He frowned. “Dr. Brenner is up in surgery right now. Not on this unit.”

  “Uh, yeah. He needed something that wasn’t up there.”

  The guy looked at her. Then down at her tote bag. He started to move toward the hanging phone on the wall.

  Courtney didn’t think. Lunging down, she snatched the gun in her bag.

  “Stop!”

  He did. Eyes wide.

  “Put your hands up,” she barked. “Do
it!”

  Licking his suddenly colorless lips, he did as she said.

  She reached down and grabbed the tote at her feet, never looking away from him. The gun shook. For a split second, the image of shooting him flashed through her mind. She recoiled. Backing up, she looked at the stack of medications on the wall.

  “Walk over there.” She jerked the gun toward the shelf. He obeyed.

  “See that sedative there? Right behind you.”

  He looked behind him. “Midazolam?”

  “Yes. Pull out a vial, and grab one of those syringes.”

  He stared at her. She clicked back the hammer on her pistol.

  “Okay, okay!” He lifted his hands higher. Courtney watched his every movement as he grabbed one of the syringes from the container, pulled out a vial of the midazolam, and filled it up.

  “Now, inject yourself.”

  He went rigid. “What?”

  “You heard me. Right now.” When he didn’t move, she took a step forward. “Either that, or I shoot you.”

  He uncapped the needle and, taking an audible deep breath, jammed it into his arm. Courtney began the countdown.

  What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing...

  Two minutes felt like two hours. But once her count hit five, the nurse was obviously out cold. He slumped back against the wall, sliding down it to a sitting position. He didn’t fully pass out, but he was in no condition to chase after her. Or to sound the alarm.

  Courtney exhaled. She lowered the gun. Gripping the tote bag so hard she could see her knucklebones through her skin, she slid the gun back inside, zipped it up and opened the door.

  It felt surreal striding down the hallway, invisible in her blue scrubs, like she hadn’t just held a man at gunpoint. She stared at her shoes, walking as fast as looked professional. Adrenaline burned so hot in her veins she was sweating.

  “Hey,” a voice said from behind her.

  She was only halfway to the lobby doors.

  “Excuse me.” A hand touched her shoulder. “Are you authorized to be on this floor?”