Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  “The island, of course.” Cox shoved Sydney into the van. “I expect you know where it is. We’ll be waiting. Oh, and I want the boy back as well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ETHAN FOUND DANNY in a video arcade.

  He’d gotten the idea from the boy’s brief account of his and Callie’s exploits in Champaign. The kid was smart, resourceful, and gutsy as hell. He’d head for a public place.

  With a large suburban mall sitting not more than a mile from the hospital, Ethan’s first stop should have been a no-brainer. Except it didn’t open for hours. So he went to the motel, in case Danny found his way back there. He hadn’t, and Ethan left a note before returning to the hospital. Circling the area, he was looking for places where a frightened boy might hide. He didn’t have any luck. As he’d expected, Danny had gone to ground and would only emerge with the sun and the crowds.

  When the city finally awakened, Ethan had more options: a busy gas station and minimart, a Wal-Mart that opened at seven, and a nearby field where a group of kids gathered for softball tryouts. Danny didn’t show, but Ethan hoped it was only a matter of waiting until the shopping center opened.

  Fortunately, he’d guessed right.

  For a few minutes he watched the kid beat a video game into submission. A couple of older boys flanked him, urging him on. He played with a fever, completely focused on the mechanical device. He was good, he was angry, and Ethan could guess at the enemy Danny battled in his mind.

  “You play a hell of a game,” Ethan said.

  Danny spun around, relief softening his features. Until he saw Ethan was alone, then he visibly deflated.

  Ethan stepped forward. “You okay?”

  Danny nodded, wrapping himself once again in a hard shell.

  “Hey, man,” one of the other boys said, “you got two more free games.”

  “You can have them,” Danny said without looking back.

  Ethan gestured toward the storefront. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He handed Danny a bulging fast-food bag and led him to a bench outside the noisy arcade. “Not a bad spot to hide.” Ethan stretched his arms across the bench back. “Especially on a Saturday morning.” There were kids everywhere. “And we have quick access to the highway. Anna taught you well.”

  “Yeah, right,” Danny snorted, and dug into the meal.

  Ethan let the silence settle and watched Danny polish off two breakfast sandwiches, a pile of disk-shaped hash browns, orange juice, and a carton of milk. He consumed food like a typical boy, like Nicky had, never quite getting enough. At first glance, Ethan realized, everything about Danny was pretty normal. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. Anyone taking the time to really look would see the anguish haunting his eyes, aging him beyond his years. Danny’s Keepers had stolen his youth, stripped him of family and a normal childhood.

  Someone, Ethan vowed, was going to pay for that.

  When Danny had finished eating, he balled up the bag and tossed it into a nearby trash container. He returned to the bench, slouching on the hard wooden surface briefly. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he sprang forward, his arms balanced on his bent legs, his body lined with tension.

  Ethan reached out, hesitated, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get Callie back.”

  Danny took a deep, steadying breath. “I didn’t want to leave her alone with them.”

  Ethan remembered the way Sydney had looked at him as Cox pushed her into the van. “I know.”

  “Those men knew we’d take her to a hospital.” Danny glanced up, his eyes bright with anger. “That’s how they found us.”

  “Yeah.” And it weighed on him. By taking them to the hospital, Ethan had put Callie, her brother, and Sydney in harm’s way. It had been a mistake. Yet he knew that with Callie burning up and delirious, he’d do the same thing all over again.

  Checkmate.

  “They sent a fax to all the hospitals in Chicago,” Danny said. “It described Callie and even what was wrong with her.”

  Ethan had guessed as much from the conversation he’d overheard between Sydney and Cox, and the implications had been scurrying through his thoughts ever since.

  “They made Callie sick, didn’t they?” Danny said.

  The boy’s insight no longer surprised Ethan. “Either that, or she was sick before you left the island, and the Keepers knew it.” It was the point he kept coming back to, and one slightly more palatable than the alternative.

  But Danny had made up his mind. “No, she was fine. Then she went to see Dr. Turner, the day we ran away. He made her sick.”

  Ethan didn’t want to believe it. He’d known some monsters in his life, and this was right up there with the worst of them. In the end, though, he had to respect the boy’s instincts, at least about this. He’d lived on that island for twelve years, interacted with the adults in charge, and seen his friends disappear in the middle of the night. He knew more than he realized, and the knowledge was beginning to surface.

  “Did this Turner give Callie anything that day?” Ethan asked. “A shot or pill or something?”

  “He’s always giving her something.” Bitterness edged Danny’s voice. “But I thought it was to help her get better.”

  “What about the other kids who disappeared? Could the Keepers have made them sick as well?”

  “I guess.”

  “What about you?” Ethan leaned forward, forcing Danny to look him in the eye. “Ever go see Turner and end up in bed the next day?”

  Danny frowned, the answer in his dark, troubled eyes.

  Ethan sat back, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  What the hell was going on here? Sydney believed the children were products of in vitro fertilization, but that didn’t account for the disappearances, or Cox silencing anyone who got too close to that island. No, the Keepers were purposely making these kids sick, that was a secret worth killing over. But why? Was it something special about them? Or were they just convenient guinea pigs? Children born and bred for the purpose of experimentation? Orphans with no relatives who’d miss them?

  Just the idea stirred an anger and loathing Ethan couldn’t afford. If he was going to bring those bastards down, he needed to remain objective and calm. Under the circumstances, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Are we going to the Haven?” Danny asked.

  “They want me to bring in Ramirez.” Ethan paused. “And you.”

  “Figures. What are we gonna do?”

  “Well, that depends.” Ethan suppressed a grin. A few years from now, and Avery Cox would have a formidable enemy in this young man. “Are you as good with computers as you claim?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”

  Ethan believed him. “What do you need to hack into the island’s system?”

  Danny looked at him, a tentative smile creeping across his face. “A computer with an internal modem. A high-end laptop should do it.”

  “Okay, let’s go shopping.” Ethan stood and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Then, I think we should go pay a visit to our favorite island.”

  PAUL WISHED he’d fled the island days ago.

  His best chance would have been right after the children disappeared, before Cox and that nasty piece of work Morrow had shown up. Paul could have gotten away clean, taking everything he needed with him.

  Now he had to pick and choose.

  Slipping another CD into the drive, he issued the command to download his personal files. Fifteen years of research, and he had to decide in fifteen minutes what was most important, what he required for survival. A half hour from now, the ferry that ran twice weekly between the island and Anacortes would be leaving. And Paul intended to be on it.

  Although he’d considered running many times, the news of Timothy Mulligan’s death had sealed his decision. A few days ago the item would have been just another violent episode reported by the media. The name would have meant nothing to him. Or if it had touched a memory, he probably would have dismiss
ed it as unimportant. It was surprising that he’d even heard the coverage. The Seattle paper should have buried it on page five, or not reported it at all. He suspected that its proximity to the manhunt for Ethan Decker was the only reason Mulligan’s murder had made the national news.

  Once Paul had heard it, however, he knew what he had to do. If his name wasn’t already near the top of Cox’s termination list, it would be soon. He had to make a run for it.

  He’d finished deleting his files and emptying out his safe when his last hope of escape died.

  “Going somewhere, Doctor?”

  Startled, Paul looked up to see his death standing in the doorway. “Morrow, you surprised me.”

  “A particular talent of mine.” Morrow moved into the room, a shark circling its prey. “Shall I repeat my question?”

  “Your question?” Paul’s hands trembled as he closed his briefcase.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No.” Paul stood, steadying himself on the hard leather case. “I mean, yes. To my apartment. Is that a problem?” He tried adding a note of indignance to his voice but failed miserably.

  Morrow glanced at the briefcase but walked over to the windows. With his back to Paul, he said, “A little early to call it quits for the day, don’t you think?”

  “I . . . I’m not feeling well.”

  “Really?” Morrow turned, his smile sickening. “What’s in the briefcase?”

  “Just . . . you know, work.”

  Morrow’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t lie to me, Doctor, would you?”

  “No, of course not. I—” Before Paul could finish his sentence, Morrow started toward him.

  Instinctively, he backed up.

  As Morrow reached for the case, Paul gathered his courage. “That’s personal property. You have no right to go through it.”

  It was a token protest at best, and Morrow obviously knew it. He flipped open the briefcase and stared at the contents while Paul held his breath.

  “Yes,” Morrow said finally. “I can see where you might need this in your apartment.” He picked up a bundle of bills and riffled through it.

  Suddenly, Paul resigned himself to the inevitable. What was the point of resisting fate, when he’d most likely sealed his the day he’d accepted Cox’s proposition—fifteen years ago? Sooner or later, Cox would kill him. And Paul no longer had the energy to fight it.

  “What do you want, Morrow?” he asked, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.

  Morrow looked at him, a flicker of unease on his face. Then his predatory smile returned. “Oh, I expect we’ll get to what I want sooner or later.”

  He slipped the cash into his pocket and picked up the jewel case of CDs. He looked them over, then dropped them back into the briefcase. Claiming the rest of the money, he stashed it in his pockets along with the first bundle. “But for now, Doctor, I have something else for you. Something you lost.”

  It took Paul a few seconds to realize what Morrow meant. “The children?”

  “Just the girl, and for my money, she ain’t gonna make it. But what do I know? My men have taken her to the infirmary.”

  Anger rose up to replace Paul’s surprise. “Why wasn’t I notified when you found them?”

  Morrow arched an eyebrow, obviously amused. “I guess I must have forgot to call you from the plane.”

  “If she dies because of your incompetence . . .” Paul pushed past Morrow and headed toward the hospital wing. By the time he arrived, his staff had already begun treating Callie. They’d put her in the isolation ward, in the room next to Adam, one of two equipped with critical-care equipment.

  Paul used the intercom. “How is she, Dr. Bateman?”

  “Her fever’s under control for now. Other than that, we don’t know yet.”

  “Can you be more specific, Doctor?”

  “Not now.”

  Paul stabbed the button again, angry at Bateman’s dismissal. The man had become entirely too bold in his attitudes and actions.

  Then Morrow stepped through the doorway. “It’s hell finding good help nowadays.”

  “What are you still doing here?” Paul dropped his hand from the intercom. “You’ve done your job and delivered the girl, you can leave now.”

  “I thought I’d stick around for a while.”

  “That’s totally unnecessary.” And unacceptable.

  “You’re losing it, Doc.” Morrow moved to Adam’s window. “How long has the boy got?”

  Paul took a steadying breath. He couldn’t let Morrow push him like this, the man was unstable and unpredictable. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.” Adam had developed viral pneumonia, and despite the respirator, was failing.

  “He’s a fighter.”

  “Well, he’s not going to win this battle.”

  Morrow eyed him, again amused. “I guess he should have given you your information right up front, hey Doc?”

  Irritated, Paul resisted commenting. “Is there something else you need?”

  “In fact, there is.” Morrow moved away from the window. “There’s going to be some changes around here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Cox will be arriving in a couple of days to oversee a change of staff.” Morrow smiled, a predator on the loose. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here to make sure things run smoothly.”

  Paul felt the walls close in around him, and his legs felt suddenly unsteady.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” Morrow said. “We have a guest.”

  “A guest?” The concept didn’t register.

  “Yes, we found the girl with Ethan Decker’s wife.”

  Paul suddenly realized what Morrow was saying. “And you brought her here? Won’t he come looking for her?”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  IT WAS TWENTY-ONE HUNDRED MILES from Chicago to Seattle, a comfortable five-day drive, four if you pushed it. They made it in three and a half and even that wasn’t fast enough for Danny. Not with his sister waiting at the other end, sick or in danger of disappearing like so many of his friends.

  Danny had to give Ethan credit, he did his best to keep Danny’s mind occupied. Before leaving Chicago, they’d bought an IBM laptop. Then they’d gotten rid of the Volvo and paid cash for a used pickup, not unlike the one they’d left behind in Texas.

  After that, days and nights blurred together and settled into a pattern. As they drove, Danny told Ethan everything he knew about the Haven: number of teachers, doctors, students, office personnel, and even the janitorial workers. Ethan grilled him about schedules, habits, and anything personal Danny could remember about the staff. He also wanted to know the physical layout of the island and its buildings. So they picked up a large sketch pad, and Danny drew as he talked, describing floor plans and island landmarks.

  At night, after ten to twelve hours on the road, they’d find a motel and spend an hour on tai chi before dinner. It was Danny’s favorite part of each seemingly endless day. Ethan was better than the instructor at the Haven and knew variations of the traditional positions. He also explained how the moves, when executed with the emphasis on force, became the fighting forms of the martial arts.

  After dinner, Danny would plug his computer into the phone jack and chip away at the Haven’s systems. Someone had built a new firewall in front of the children’s files, which had him stumped. He tried every back door he knew. Nothing worked. Whoever had constructed the new security knew his way around computers.

  Danny kept at it, and though he couldn’t get into the more sensitive files, he found other neat stuff: floor plans and diagrams, time sheets and personnel information. He’d even gotten into Dr. Turner’s personal journal, which noted Callie’s arrival and treatment in the hospital. But Danny couldn’t find the answer to Ethan’s most pressing question. Why had Dr. Turner made Callie sick to begin with?

  They arrived in Seattle late in the afternoon of the fourth day, though it seemed like they’d been on the road much lon
ger. Looking back, Danny realized that under different circumstances it wouldn’t have been a bad trip. Ethan had turned out to be okay, for a grown-up. Danny had never spent time alone with someone like Ethan before, a man who taught him things and treated him like an equal. Danny liked it.

  Then, everything changed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SYDNEY WAITED for the children.

  She knew it was too early. The sun had barely risen, casting a pearl gray light over the island. The children’s Keepers were probably just now rousing them from sleep. It would take another thirty minutes or so before they emerged in the courtyard below.

  Sydney had come to count on this small ritual. Every morning before dawn, she’d abandon her attempt at sleep and leave her bed to stand by the window. A short time later, the children would come outside. All twenty-two of them. Watching them practice tai chi gave her a measure of peace. And kept her sane.

  She almost laughed aloud at the thought. Only four days. Yet it felt like as many months, and she was already concerned for her sanity.

  She hadn’t seen Callie since they’d first arrived. Avery Cox’s men had immediately separated them—whisking Callie off on a stretcher and bringing Sydney to this locked room and leaving her without a word. Since then, her only human contact had been a solitary guard who brought her meals but refused to answer the simplest of questions.

  Except for the lack of bars, the room may as well have been a prison cell. It was small and sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, desk, dresser, and closet-sized bathroom. Five short steps from one wall to the other, and five more back again. Pace it enough times and the walls closed in, and claustrophobia became an intimate. The window was her lifeline, standing between her and the need for padded surfaces. It’s where she spent her days, long, seemingly endless hours, worrying about Callie and wondering when Ethan would show up. Because he would come and take them away from this wretched place, she knew.

  Or die trying.

  The thought coiled in her stomach. It wasn’t what she wanted, his taking their rescue on himself. For once she wished he’d let someone else play the hero. She’d just found him again and had begun to understand what had happened to them, between them, when Nicky died. She couldn’t lose Ethan now. Yet she knew nothing would keep him away, and a part of her, the selfish, frightened part, loved him for that.