Roachia 03 Before Dawn

by Cindy Combs

  Dr. Sheree Jackson smiled as she spotted the captain. She had heard her Henri's unit was back and had wondered how long it would be before Ellison was checking on the Panthers' 'pet project'. Cradling her data padd close to her chest, she greeted the man in gray-green fatigues, "Hello, Captain."

  "Hi Doc," Ellison said with a slight smile. "How's he doing?"

  "Actually, I have a bit of good news. He woke up last night." Watching the spark of relief and gladness flash across the normally reserved face, Sheree hated to tell him the rest. "However, he hasn't stayed awake for more than a couple minutes at a time, and he hasn't responded to any of our questions. There may be some brain damage."

  Jim glanced back inside the room. He could see the bandages protecting the long gash. They seemed to overwhelm the shaved head. "Do you think it is due to the head injury, or the drugs?"

  Sheree shrugged. "Hard to say at this point. The drug levels are still rather high in his system. He simply can't process them like average people. He may improve as the levels drop, but that may take a while."

  Jim simply shook his head. Sheree had explained earlier that the young man's body had had serious reactions to the drugs used to interrogate him. It was even likely that they had failed to get the information they sought, due to the reactions. While it may mean something to the higher ups, Jim really didn't care if the kid gave information or not. Everyone had a breaking point and the kid had certainly been put through hell. It was the physical and emotional aftermath they had to deal with now. Something Jim knew about from first-hand experience. "Is it still all right for me to sit with him?"

  Sheree nodded. "Since we haven't tracked down any family, I think it would be helpful for him to have whatever support he can get." She quickly gave him updated instructions on what to expect.

  Jim thanked her and stepped inside, sitting in the chair that was becoming extremely familiar. He picked up the book from the stand. It had been the normally gruff Major's idea of reading to the comatose patient. Each member of the team had been reading a chapter while they visited. This was now the fourth book. Guess he wasn't the only tough guy to be taken with the kid.

  Only, Jim didn't want to disturb him since the kid was no longer in a coma. The fine-boned young man looked too thin and fragile as it was. He studied the patient a moment. With the swelling down and the bruises fading, Jim could now see the deep-set eyes and the small-tipped nose. Jim had spent hours wondering what color the eyes, how deep the voice, or how much Clarian was in him. Since most of the kid's severe drug reactions had been due to earlier treatment for the disease statcus, they suspected he must have been part of the first group of refugees, forced to flee Claria Island at the southernmost tip of the continent. Many had come down with the disease planted by the Roaches, which resulted in the rest of the human population being inoculated against it. Jim pondered about how much bad luck someone could have in a short lifetime. Not that his own 29 years had been a cakewalk, either.

  Movement drew his attention. The head moved, eyelids fluttered. Jim gently laid a hand on the slim arm. "Easy, kid. You're safe now." The lids parted to reveal deep blue eyes, filled with confusion and pain. Jim pressed the call button, then continued in his soothing voice. "Everything is going to be okay." He waved at the nurse who peeked through the window.

  The young man moved his head slightly towards Jim, wincing from pain. "Easy there. I bet you have a huge headache, don't you?" The blue eyes struggled to focus on Jim as he tried to swallow. "Would you like some water? The doc said you could have some when you woke up."

  Seeing a slight nod, Jim reached over for the pitcher. He seemed to understand that sentence, though his head must be killing him. Placing the straw to the young man's mouth, the patient managed a couple sips before leaning back into the pillows. The eyes sought Jim's, confusion still evident. "My name is Captain Jim Ellison," Jim said with a gentle smile, hoping to put the kid at ease. "It was my unit that brought you back to a safe zone."

  The eyes blinked thoughtfully. Jim could almost hear the wheels turning inside, processing what he had just said. The arm in a cast attempted to move, but was quickly abandoned. "Easy kid," Jim soothed. "Just take your time." The other hand lifted, slowly moving up, then weakly tapped the patient's chest before laying across his body.

  Jim's brows wrinkled, trying to understand. Blue eyes held blue eyes a moment. Again, the fingers tapped the chest as Jim read the questioning in the other's eyes. Suddenly, realization dawned. "You want to know your name?" The head nodded slightly, eyes expectant. So expectant and vulnerable, Jim hated to disappoint him. "I'm sorry, we don't know. We found you in a Roaches' prison and haven't been able to track down your identity yet." Confusion and fear flooded the blue eyes before him. Comfortingly, Jim reached over and squeezed the young man's shoulder. "Easy. There are people here who care about you, even if we don't know your name yet. I'm sure we'll find something out. You'll probably even remember on your own before we do. You just have to give your mind and body time to heal. Okay?" The head slightly nodded again as the eyes wearily closed. Jim glanced up to see Sheree give him an encouraging smile. Giving the bony shoulder another squeeze, Jim soothed, "Go ahead and get some more sleep. We'll talk more later." Gently rubbing the shoulder, Jim could feel the thin body relax and drift into sleep.

  Two weeks later, Headquarters

  Simon Banks shook his head as he studied the map. "We are losing an awful lot of territory here, Jack."

  Colonel Jack Pendergrast lit his cigar. "Tell me something we don't know. With these new bombs, plus their seemingly unending supply of drones, they have almost become unstoppable. Thank God winter will be here soon. If we can just hold out until they retreat to warmer regions, it may buy us some time."

  Simon's eyes immediately sought out Coopertown, gauging the distance from the new front lines. His mother and son should still be outside invasion range, but were getting closer to the danger of long-range bombing flights. A little too close. Only six months ago, there had been nine federal states to the south of his home. Now there were four and a half. Without more help from the tech people, Coopertown would be taken in a year or two. He glanced up at his commanding officer and friend. "How is the development of the ultrasound fencing coming along?"

  "They're not."

  Simon straightened. "What? Why not?"

  Jack's face turned to stone. "Because they were being developed at the Franklyn Center..."

  "Which was destroyed about a month ago," Simon finished. He could close his eyes, and still see the smoking black hole left by the bomb. "We searched for survivors, Jack, but..."

  "I know. I read your report. Which is why most of the bomb shelters are being moved and refitted as fast as possible." Jack could see how the destruction of all those people still hurt his officer. "Unless that kid you pulled out is from there and can tell us something, all that research is gone."

  Gone. Just like that. The bombing raid coupled with the swift invading forces had left the scientists and civilians little time to evacuate. "Are the techs working on anything else?"

  "There are a few ideas in the works," Jack replied. Simon could tell most were classified by Jack's pause. "However, due to the losses at Sealand and Chadville, they're really scrambling. The President and his circle are getting even more antsy."

  Banks shook his head. Even in the northernmost states well away from the threat, everyone was geared up for the war with the Roaches. Most all of the young people were funneled into either the military, the technical work, or the relief effort. Their government was becoming more like martial law than the free democracy of its design. This was not the kind of world Simon wanted for his son.

  "By the way, I wanted to ask how your team handled being nearly captured."

  Simon gave Jack a hard stare. "We went in and escaped as a team. I'd say we handled it."

  "You know what I mean, Banks. Your men used to be mine. Rafe was my ward. I want to know how well he and Ellison handled it. The whole situ
ation had to stir up a lot of ghosts for them." Images of a battered Ellison, badly injured while evading the Roaches for a month after his escape, flashed across Jack's mind. It had been his patrol, seconded by Banks, that had found the young man who told them of the camps and their location.

  "It did," Simon admitted reluctantly. "I think Rafe had his nightmares again for nearly a week after that."

  Memories of tough, teen-aged Rafe waking up in the night crying out in terror still haunted Jack. The young man had practically become a son to him and his wife Elly. He hated to think of the Roaches having another chance to hurt him or his older friend. "What about Ellison?"

  "Hell, you know Jim. He'd never admit to losing control, even in his sleep. However, I think he's been too wrapped up with the kid to dwell on his memories. In fact, I think finding that kid helped both Ellison and Janson concentrate on something other than being in a cell again."

  "How attached is Ellison getting to the kid?" Jack inquired. While he had seen Jim expertly handle scared and injured refugees, he had never heard of Jim doing much more than a courtesy visit once they were safe. Ellison had suffered too many losses to allow many to get close.

  "Very. Hell, the whole unit has been taken with the kid. But Jim... he's been good with the kid. Rafe says it reminds him of how Jim was with his brother Steve."

  Jack frowned slightly. "That's the brother who died in the camps, right?" At Simon's nod, Jack's frown deepened. He knew that the death of Ellison's brother had left the deepest wounds in the young officer's psyche. "How is the kid doing?"

  "As you know, he's out of the coma. Still isn't talking, and still can't remember anything from before. Sheree isn't sure whether it's due to the head injury, the drugs, or just plain trauma. The Roaches really worked him over good. He is slowly improving physically and Sheree says there is hope he can get back to leading a productive life. But whether he will recover his memories, or even start talking again, no one knows.

  "Has there been any luck on his id?"

  "No. The records from Sealand were mostly destroyed. We have tried searching through the Clarian refugee listings, but there are a couple thousand boys within the range age the kid would have been in. Human Services has lost track of many of them, especially those adopted by foster families."

  Jack shook his head. "It would be so much easier if we had an id. Then we would know what the Roaches were trying to pull out of him."

  "And it would be easier on him, especially if he has family somewhere. Hell, at this point, just giving the kid a name would help. The guys have started calling him 'BT' for Bull Terrier, but I'm sure he'd like his real name."

  "Bull Terrier?"

  At the look on Jack's face, Simon chuckled. "Brown tagged him with it, since he is small but tough and stubborn. Hell, he'd have to be, in order to live through what he did. Brown said he just reminded him of the dog he grew up with."

  "Speaking of Henri, has he proposed to Sheree yet...."

  Three weeks later, Front Ridge Base

  BT gave the wheelchair a glare when Jim rolled it in. The contraption was becoming more and more unbearable now that he could walk decently. He couldn't understand why he still had to use it.

  Jim caught the glare. "I know, but we have a ways to walk to the living quarters and Sheree insisted we don't wear you out."

  Continuing to glare, BT folded his arm over his cast across his chest. The grey-green military sweatshirt puffed out, overwhelming the bony frame beneath it.

  Jim glared back. "This trip will be tiring enough on you. If you are too exhausted afterwards, Sheree might not let you go for a while." Seeing a slight shift in expression, Jim pressed, "and if you don't get in this chair, you're not going."

  Stubborn blue eyes met even more stubborn blue eyes. Finally, BT sighed and sat in the wheelchair. It was very hard and frustrating to argue in pantomime. Yet he couldn't seem to make the connection to talk. Doc Sheree said that it may come back eventually, but BT wanted to talk now. Just like he wanted to walk now. Just like he wanted to remember now.

  Jim laid a hand on BT's shoulder. "I know, kid. But I promise you the trip will be worth it."

  Soon, the frustration eased as Jim rolled the wheelchair out of the med center and into the rest of the base. BT soaked up the sights. It was the first time they had allowed him out and he intended to enjoy it. Noting the construction equipment, he turned back to face Jim and pointed.

  "They are working on updating the bomb shelters and re-enforcing the bunkers," Jim explained. He quickly forced the destruction of the centers at Sealand out of his mind. He shuddered to think what a bomb like that would do to their base. He just hoped the new reinforcement would work. Not for the first time, Jim wondered if BT had been connected with one of the destroyed engineering centers. There was intelligence behind those blues eyes when not clouded with pain and confusion.

  The living area Jim rolled him into was a large room filled with plush couches and chairs, tables for work and cards, and a pool table in the corner. Several doors placed throughout the room were closed, but BT remembered from Rafe's description that they led to the individual bedrooms. The whole area looked comfortable, especially compared to the drab hospital bed he had been stuck in. What brought the smile to his face though was the warm greetings he received.

  "Hey BT, decided to see how the rest of us live?" Rafe gently rubbed his head, rearranging the short tuffs of hair beginning to grow back.

  "Probably looking for some better food. The hospital grub is even worse than what our cafeteria dishes out." Joel patted his shoulder with a huge grin and a wink.

  "Hey, give the kid some room to breathe," Henri jokingly ordered. "I bet the kid is antsy to get out of that chair and walk around. "

  BT grinned and pushed out of the chair that Jim held steady. The others parted to reveal Major Banks standing by one of the tables. "Well, get on over here. There's a package waiting with your name on it."

  Puzzled, BT walked over. Joel held out a chair for him. Sitting, he took the package from the Major. Wrapped in newspaper, the package was about the size of a large notebook, yet was heavier. BT looked up at the men surrounding him, uncertain.

  "Yes, it is for you. Go ahead and open it." Jim gently nudged him.

  Shrugging, BT tore open the wrapper with his good hand. Inside was a computerized data padd. Eyes lit with awe lifted, searching the faces of each of the men.

  "We figured it would be easier if you could type out words, instead of trying to handle a pencil with the wrong hand," Rafe quietly explained, a smile stretching across his face.

  BT stood up again then enthusiastically gave Jim and Rafe a hug. As he turned to the major, Banks held up his hands. "Hey, you're going to give us tough guys a bad rap." BT paused uncertain, then Simon continued, "Ah, what the hell," and pulled him in for a hug.

  At that moment, sirens shrieked to life. BT jumped back, then sought Jim's eyes. The others quickly traded looks. "We're not scheduled for a drill," Joel shouted over the sirens.

  "Ah hell," Banks moaned. "Let's get to our station!"

  Jim grabbed BT's arm. "There's no time to take you back and this isn't a safe place. You think you can keep up?"

  BT nodded seriously. Half-remembered fear was flashing through him. He would keep up no matter what, since he didn't want to be left alone. He tucked the new padd into his sling between his body and light cast, then gripped Jim's arm as they ran towards a tunnel. Vaguely, BT understood they were heading for a defensive cannon installation, though he didn't have time to wonder why he knew that.

  An explosion roared, causing cracked masonry to fall from the ceiling. Ellison shielded his young friend the best he could as they ran. BT felt almost like he was floating, feet barely touching the ground as he kept up with Jim's help. Aches and pain touched the outer corners of his mind, but he was too pumped with adrenaline to notice. They dodged around broken pieces of wall and ceiling as they raced.

  Suddenly, all the lights in the tunnel blinke
d out. The entire team skidded to a stop as they were plunged into darkness. Another distant explosion could be heard. "Jim!" Banks shouted. He knew that if anyone could lead them out, Jim could. If his senses were working.

  Jim heard his major's unspoken question and felt a reassuring squeeze on his arm from BT. Damn, the kid had to be half scared out of his mind, yet was thinking of him. Concentrating, the darkness lifted. He could see BT next to him, the rest of the team close by. Better still, he could see the debris. "OK, I've got it. Can you guys grab hands or something, and follow me out?"

  BT felt a large hand lay on his shoulder and gently squeeze. "Someone this short has to be BT," Taggart's voice rumbled. "Is he still holding onto you, Jim?"

  "Yes." Soon as the rest of the team confirmed they were connected, Jim started leading them. Another rumble slightly rocked the tunnel. As he focused tighter, the view narrowed and became fuzzy. A sharp squeeze on his arm pulled him back. Shaking his head, Jim continued on until they reached the cannons with their auxiliary lighting.

  Able to see again, the rest of the team scattered to their places. Jim quickly led BT to an alcove set back in the rock. "Stay here," he ordered. Then he dashed to his own position.

  BT sat on a bench and pulled his feet off the ground, tucking them close to his body. The sounds of the airstrike were louder here, due to the open hole to the cold autumn sky. Fear surged through him. A sharp recollection, of being trapped in the dark by debris and trying to reach another small hand, flashed before his mind. It was gone before he could latch onto it.

  Brown was barely in the cold metal seat before he was lining up a shot. Their base was not ready yet for the huge bombs that were dropped in Sealand. Henri shoved aside thoughts of Sheree vulnerable at the med center. He had to protect their base, perhaps getting in a little vengeance for his ruined hometown, too. He poured his firepower at the oncoming craft, briefly satisfied to see it veer off.