He stopped. He could hear someone coming towards him from around the curve in the corridor.
His heart raced as he looked around. He could see that the only place he could hide was a trolley that was piled high with sheets and towels.
He reached up and pulled himself into the trolley and hid under the laundry that smelt terrible, however didn’t care about the smell; he just didn’t want the bad people to see him.
He held his breath and waited for whoever it was to pass him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he could sense through the laundry that the fluorescent lights in the corridor where flickering wildly.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened for the footsteps to pass. Unfortunately, the footsteps stopped next to the trolley and Justen heard a loud voice that belonged to someone who sounded very angry.
“I don’t give a crap about your excuses Phil. I need someone to check out the power in this Hospital. That’s the second time today that we have had some kind of surge. I thought this place was off the grid.
How does anyone expect me to operate under these conditions? I want the power fixed – do you hear me?”
Justen listened as the man moved off down the corridor. He let out his breath and tentatively lifted the dirty towel that was covering him and took a quick look.
He could not see anyone else or hear anymore footsteps. He carefully climbed out of the trolley and, realising that it was good hiding spot, he decided to push it in front of him just in case he needed to hide again.
He pushed the trolley slowly so that it did not make too much noise. Being much shorter than the pile of laundry in the trolley he peered around the side of the trolley as he walked.
He moved in the direction that the man had travelled. He needed to find out where his Mother was being held. He hoped that if he was quiet enough he could sneak in behind the man as he went through the doors.
He proceeded down the corridor, passing by the doors with the high windows. He could see that one of the doors had been opened and was just about to close.
He moved faster and, ducking out from behind the trolley, he was able to grasp the edge of the door just before it closed. He moved in closer to the door and peered through the gap.
He inhaled sharply. He could see lots of beds like the one that he had been in filled with people who were strapped in, just like he was.
He could see a man leaning over one of the beds. The man had a white coat on and he had a mobile phone in his hand. Justen realised that this was the man who spoke angrily next to him in the corridor and that he must have been talking to someone on the phone.
Justen froze. The man had begun to turn around and was about to head back towards the door. He was pushing one of the beds in front of him.
He crawled back into the trolley as fast as he could and held his breath again. The lights flickered again and he heard the man saying rude things about someone called Phil. He could also hear the clattering of the bed as it banged into the doorway as the man pushed it through and passed by the trolley.
The noise soon dissipated as the man with the bed rushed away up the corridor. Justen took a quick peek to make sure that the man had left and then he climbed back out of the trolley and managed to slip inside the room before the door closed again.
The room was much dimmer than the corridor. As Justen passed each bed, he looked with hope at the faces of the people in them.
There were lots of beds and lots of faces. Most of the faces were of old men. He hoped to see the face of a young woman.
He could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he passed each bed. The room was very big and there were lots of rows of beds. He stopped when he heard a voice. It was very weak.
“Justen, is that you? Boy you’re a sight for an old man’s eyes. Come over here and help old Joe get off this damn bed.”
Justen squinted in the dim light and smiled when he recognised the man that he had befriended in the alley.
“Joe? Are you okay? I was really scared. I don’t know where I am. I’m trying to find my Mummy; my Daddy just told me that the bad men took her too. I have to find her Joe.”
“Don’t sweat it kid just come ’ere and undo this strap on me wrist and I’ll help ya look for ya Mama.”
Justen moved towards Joe’s bed and began tugging on the straps on his wrists. After undoing the first strap, he moved towards the end of the bed and began undoing the strap that restrained his friends’ legs.
The old man groaned as he struggled to sit up. He pulled Justen to him and hugged him tightly.
“Boy, you is a real hero. Now come on let’s see if we can find that Mama of yours b’fore those real bad men comes back.”
Twenty Five
I’m screwed!
Was the first thought that entered Baxter’s mind when he realised his predicament. It had been hours since he had taken any medication. The effect of the Suprane and withdrawals were causing a devastating pounding in his head.
It was rapidly being superseded by other surges of intense pain. He could tell that his wrists and ankles were bound tight. He felt the constriction of the thick leather strap across his chest. He craned his neck to look around and assess his situation.
The room was disgusting. There were dark patches of stale blood splattered on every wall. The equipment in the room was ancient and covered in dust.
By straining his head to the side he could see a utility tray on some kind of cart. It was littered with various metal instruments.
It didn’t take long for him to deduce that he was being held in some kind of operating theatre. The thought sent a chill through his body.
He struggled violently against the constraints but gave up after several minutes. The leather straps on his wrists had begun to cut into his flesh. He silently wished that he hadn’t been so hasty and went off on his own.
Apart from the departure from protocol, he could almost hear the derision in the Deputy Director’s voice berating him for being such a maverick.
Fuck him!
Baxter thought as he calmed his mind and developed a plan to escape.
He relaxed his body and slowed his breathing. He wriggled his left wrist again and smiled. Amazingly, they had left his watch on.
That was nice of them, he thought.
His captors had not noticed the almost invisible strand of carbon fibre that dangled from the metal band of Baxter’s watch.
He strained to extend the middle two fingers of his left hand. He had to capture the thread. He closed his eyes and concentrated.
His fingers stretched to their maximum extension. Pain tore up his arm from the muscular exertion and the excruciatingly tight, blood soaked leather strap.
Stretched to its limit, the pad of his middle finger finally trapped the thread against his wrist. He pressed down hard and slowly managed to pull the thread and release the small razor that was secured within the watch band.
The most important thing that Quantico had taught him was to be always proactive and resourceful.
He clasped the blade firmly between his two middle fingers and began the laborious task of severing the leather binding. The task was hampered by the slow trickle of blood that seeped from the beneath the strap and made his fingers slippery.
He tried hard not to picture the blade slicing open the radial artery of his wrist. With no way to stem the bleeding he would pass out from blood loss before he was able to free himself.
After several agonising minutes he had managed to almost completely sever the binding. Barely a sliver remained.
He froze as he heard approaching footsteps.
He relaxed his body again and pretended to be unconscious when he heard the sound of the theatre room door open. He silently hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t notice his bleeding wrist.
Baxter assumed that the Doctor had entered the room; he heard the voice and forced himself to remain calm.
“Well well, despite the evidence of years of alcohol abuse it appears that your liver and kidn
eys are marginal but we can fix those. We have a container for those as well as your heart. I’m afraid your lungs are stuffed from smoking however, so I guess you get to keep those.
Of course you probably already know about your inoperable brain tumour. The good news is you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
The doctor chuckled and then smiled as he approached the seemingly unconscious body of Baxter and made preparations to begin slicing.
He took a long drag on a cigarette, removed it from his mouth and smiled sadistically as he stubbed it out on Baxter’s thigh.
The immediate singeing of flesh sent waves of pain shooting up Baxter’s body. He clenched his teeth to prevent himself from screaming.
Droplets of sweat formed on his forehead. He hoped the Doctor wouldn’t notice.
Move in closer, you arsehole! Baxter wanted to scream.
His silent request was granted. The Doctor donned his face mask and moved in to begin slicing Baxter’s abdomen. He grabbed the scalpel off the utilities tray beside the gurney and pressed it onto Baxter’s gut.
Baxter seized the opportunity, a swift flash of metal swept upwards and severed the Doctor’s carotid artery and throat. Hissing air and blood gushed from the gaping wound.
Stunned, the Doctor clutched at his throat and staggered backwards. In desperation he grasped the utilities tray with his other hand and pulled it towards the floor as he collapsed. The sound of crashing metal objects rang out through the operating theatre.
His body thrashed on the ground accompanied by a horrific gurgling sound as he simultaneously died from blood loss and asphyxiation. Within seconds he was dead.
Realising that he had little time before others arrived, Baxter furiously cut through the bindings on his other wrist, and then severed the binding on his ankles.
After grappling with the strap across his chest, he leapt off the gurney and nearly fell flat on his face.
He clutched the side of the gurney as he regained his balance. He took a deep breath and moved to the sink.
He hastily washed the Doctor’s blood off his chest and abdomen. Once he was satisfied that he had washed off most of it, he flew out of the operating theatre into the hallway.
I’ve got to contact the FBI and get the team here, the thought raced through his mind as he sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.
The corridor felt cold and breezy. He was naked. His mind raced as he assessed his situation.
He realised that his first priority would be to find some clothes and then find some way of alerting his team.
The situation was worse than he thought.
How many homeless have been slaughtered by the butcher that I had just killed? I have to get out of there and get the place shut down ASAP.
He scanned the corridor for anything that he could wear. There was nothing.
He entered a supply closet off the corridor. The room was small. It had many shelves of medical supplies.
He quickly scanned the shelves for any sign of his chemo medication, Temozolomide. Unfortunately he was out of luck.
His FBI training had given him some rudimentary field medicine training. He grabbed a packet of syringes and a bottle of Benzodiazepine. He filled one of the syringes from the bottle.
Not much of a weapon but it’ll do for now, he thought as he squirted some of the fluid from the syringe.
He froze. He could hear footsteps in the corridor. He moved behind the door and pressed himself against the shelves.
Suddenly the door of the closet swung open and a young man dressed like an intern entered, looking for supplies. Baxter grabbed the interns head and stabbed the needle into his neck.
“What the….”
The intern exclaimed as he slapped his hand onto the point where Baxter had stabbed him and then silently slumped to the floor, his face a mask of shock and confusion.
Baxter quickly removed the intern’s clothes and smiled when he realised that he was the same size.
He donned the stethoscope around his neck and exited the closet. He half sprinted down the curved hallway towards the wards.
The hospital was old and reeked from the stench of decades of neglect. The few fluorescent lights that worked, flickered feverishly and hummed.
He moved silently through the hospital, until he finally came upon a door that was securely guarded.
Bingo!
He thought as he casually sauntered past the guard keeping his head low as he walked.
He nodded acknowledgement at the shabbily dressed guard and then kept walking. His casual inspection revealed that the guard had a hand gun in a holster; a Smith & Wesson 9mm. He also carried a radio in his hand.
Baxter passed the guard and entered another corridor. He stopped and ducked into an alcove.
He filled another four syringes from the bottle he had taken from the supply closet and hid one of them under his sleeve. He put the others into the pocket of his jacket.
Moving quickly up the corridor he stopped in front of the guard and pretended to shake his watch and then tapped he dial.
“Damn thing has stopped working. Do you know what time it is?”
The guard raised his hand to inspect his watch.
Without hesitation, Baxter stabbed the needle into the guards arm and pushed the plunger.
Instinctively the guard reached for his gun but was too late. The drug had rendered him unconscious. The guard’s body collapsed on the floor.
“I guess its nap time.” Baxter said as he removed the guard’s gun from its holster and took the radio out of his hand. He also found a handkerchief in the guard’s pocket which he used to wrap around the barrel of the pistol.
He hoped that it would act as a crude silencer.
He aimed the weapon and fired it at the padlock on the door. The noise of the shot was muffled slightly by the rag as the padlock exploded and fell off the bolt. He hoped that the noise would not alert anymore guards in the vicinity.
He stepped over the body of the guard and burst through the doors.
The scene was horrific. The room was filled with bodies. They were naked and strapped onto gurneys that were covered in blood, urine and crap.
Most were unconscious and those that weren’t unconscious started screaming when they heard the gunfire.
“Alright, alright calm down. I’m here to rescue you,” Baxter said as he started undoing the straps on the first gurney.
There was no response from the body on the gurney he was working on but then he heard a slow muffled voice and groans coming from further in the room.
Baxter stopped what he was doing and moved towards the voice. It was coming from a young woman. She looked as if she had been beaten.
He approached her but stopped suddenly. He felt ill. Her body was covered in bruises and streaks of blood. She had been assaulted. He barely recognised her from the file photos that Ellen James had given him.
“Sylvan, is that you?” Baxter asked as he fumbled with the restraints.
“Yes, who are you? Where is Justen, is he ok?” Sylvan asked quietly as she swallowed hard and then coughed violently.
“Hello Sylvan, my name is Derek Baxter, I’m from the FBI.”
He spoke softly as he gently ran his hand through her matted hair. He felt a great deal of empathy for the young woman. She had obviously been through a lot in her short life.
“You have to hurry; the Doctor will be here soon. He takes people away and they never return.” Sylvan said slowly. “Please help us.”
“I wouldn’t worry about the Doctor,” Baxter said as he busily finished releasing Sylvan’s restraints and then smiled as he spoke quietly, “I have retired him.”
Sylvan smiled weakly in return but then her look darkened as she said “There’s more than one Doctor. Please hurry, we have to get these people out of here.”
Baxter watched as Sylvan slowly sat up. He could tell that she was in pain.
He wondered whether she knew that her son was missing. He decided against
telling her about Justen. He needed for her to be calm.
He noticed a coat rack beside Sylvan’s gurney that had another interns white coat hanging on it. He retrieved it from the rack and handed it to Sylvan and turned his back so that she could put it on. He turned around again when he thought he had given her sufficient time.
“Ok Sylvan, I want you to listen to me. I need you to be brave. I am going to get out of the hospital and contact my team back at the Bureau and the police. We need to get the authorities here as soon as possible.
What I want you to do is free the rest of the people in here. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Sylvan nodded her head slowly. Baxter retrieved two of the syringes from his pocket and handed them to her. He kept one for himself.
“Here, use these. They contain a strong sedative. You might need them.”
He watched as Sylvan grabbed the two syringes and put them in the pocket of her coat as she gingerly slid off the gurney.
She winced as the weight transferred to her bruised and battered legs. She inhaled sharply and moved to the first gurney.
She grabbed the straps and started to loosen them. She turned towards Baxter as he stood there watching her.
“Well Agent Baxter, what the hell are you waiting for? I’ll be ok, just get out of here and bring back some help.”
Baxter blushed slightly and quickly turned on his heels and headed towards the door.
“Ok then. I’ll be quick as I can.”
As he neared the door, the radio in his hand spluttered to life.
Tony, are you there? This is Rob. I just found Dr Stenson he’s been attacked! Over!
Baxter stared at the radio as he ran down the corridor; he pondered whether or not to answer it.
He decided that he should at least acknowledge the call. He also realised that with the discovery of the Doctor, he had to get out of there quickly. He put the radio to his mouth and answered.
“Roger that Rob,” he said with his hand placed over the radio to muffle his voice and the sound of his footsteps.
There was a long delay before the reply came back.
Tony this is a code black. What is today’s security code? Over!
The Immortal Harvest Page 18