Frankenstorm: Chaos Theory

by Garton, Ray

  “How are you doing, sheriff?” she asked.

  Kaufman lay on the couch with his head propped up on a couple of throw pillows, puffy eyes closed. His face was bloody and lumpy with swelling. Fortunately, the glass had not gone into his eyes, but a few tiny pieces had lodged in his eyelids.

  He licked his lips slowly and said, “I’ve been better.”

  “I’m going to clean you up now. I’ve got soap and water and rubbing alcohol. And I’m really sorry, but it’s probably going to hurt some more.”

  “It’s going to hurt whether you do that or not. Look, before you do that, I’d like to make a call. But I’ll need some help.”

  “Sure,” Fara said. She went to her purse and got her phone. “Who would you like to call?”

  He gave her a number. “It’s my office. I need to tell them where I am and request backup.”

  She keyed the number in, then placed the phone in his hand.

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he turned away from her onto his side for some privacy.

  Fara looked around for Corcoran. He’d moved a chair over to a far corner of the office and was making a call. That’s what he’d been doing the last time she’d noticed him, trying to make a call. Apparently, he was having no success and was frustrated to the point of anger. His face had that tight look he got when he was angry, with his small mouth compressed into a tiny, white-lipped cut below his nose.

  “Dr. Corcoran, do you have anything Sheriff Kaufman can take for pain?” she said.

  He glanced at her with the phone to his ear. “Not on me,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean on you. Do you have access to something that will dull his pain?”

  He held up a forefinger and turned away from her as he said something quietly into the phone. A moment later, he punched a button on the phone and scrubbed a hand downward over his face as he sighed and muttered, “Damn.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’m trying to make a call,” he said, irritated. He looked down at the phone again and poked at the keypad, then he put it to his ear.

  “Well, how about getting something we can give Sheriff Kaufman for pain? I don’t even have any aspirin here in the office.”

  He nodded toward the door. “I’m not going out there.”

  Ollie walked slowly toward him, saying, “I’d be happy to send a couple of men with you. They’ll both be well armed so they can protect you from your work.”

  Corcoran’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head sneeringly at Ollie. “And who’s going to protect me from them?”

  “Who are you calling, Dr. Corcoran?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

  “Maybe you forgot. I’m the guy with the gun who’s in charge of all the other guys with guns. It’s my business. I’d rather you don’t call anybody, but since you’re already doing it, I want to know who you’re calling, and don’t give me any shit. You’re lucky to be alive, you pompous prick.”

  Corcoran sighed. “I’ve been trying to reach a couple of associates.”

  “Vendon Labs associates,” Ollie said, nodding. He stepped a little closer and snatched the phone from Corcoran’s hand.

  “Hey!” Corcoran shouted, jumping to his feet.

  “It seems to me that Vendon Labs isn’t going to be very happy about this situation, and the first thing they’re going to want to do is make it disappear. I know enough about Vendon to know they’ll do whatever’s necessary to make that happen, and anybody standing in the way will disappear, too. Like us. You think I have a legitimate concern?”

  He shrugged. “You seem to think you do. Maybe you know more about Vendon Labs than I do.”

  “Oh, you know plenty. They’re going to come here as soon as they can, aren’t they? To make their problem disappear. Along with anybody who knows about it. You’ll be safe, of course. Hell, they’ll probably give you a raise. But everybody else . . .”

  Corcoran folded his arms across his chest, but said nothing.

  Without taking his eyes from Corcoran, Ollie said, “Emilio, get Ivan on the phone and tell him what’s going on here. Tell him to call every media outlet he can think of and pass on the story.”

  Although she didn’t think she ever would, Fara had to admit to herself that she rather liked Ollie in spite of everything.

  He turned to Emilio this time and said, “Does Ivan have any media connections? Does he know anybody?”

  “Yeah, quite a few.”

  “Tell him to start calling in favors. He needs to get all the cameras and microphones over here that he can as soon as possible.”

  “Well, the hurricane—”

  “Yeah, I know, that’s gonna slow ’em down. But tell him to get ’em here, anyway.” He smiled at Corcoran. “You think your bosses are gonna like that?”

  “I’m sure they won’t. If it comes to anything. And I doubt it will. Your friend may have some media connections, but Vendon Labs is owned by DeCamp Pharmaceuticals, a very big and powerful corporation, and DeCamp doesn’t have connections . It has friends and associates who own media outlets. TV and radio networks, and cable news channels, and whatever newspapers and magazines are still hanging on. They own the media. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  Ollie’s smile was gone and his face was grim as he nodded. “Yeah, I see. You’re saying it’s a lost cause, a no-win situation. Except for you. You don’t have anything to worry about, do you?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Corcoran lowered his eyes and dropped his arms at his sides.

  Fara was surprised. “Have they threatened you?”

  “The equivalent of a threat.”

  “What do you think they’ll do?”

  “I strongly suspect termination.”

  Fara started to speak, but snapped her mouth shut when she realized that “termination” did not necessarily refer to Corcoran’s job.

  Ollie laughed, shook his head, then laughed a little more. “And you’ve been trying to call them to plead for mercy, right?”

  Corcoran didn’t look at him. “Something like that.”

  “Then I guess we’re all in the same boat,” Ollie said with another laugh. “And it’s sinking.”

  Mike began to snore softly as he lay on the couch with his head in Julie’s lap.

  “I guess nothing’s bothering him now,” Ivan said.

  “At least he’s not fidgeting all over the place.”

  “It sounds worse out there.”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. But I can’t get rid of the feeling that we should be doing something.”

  “What?”

  She said nothing, and they didn’t speak until Ivan’s phone chirped.

  “Emilio!” Ivan said, so loudly that it made Mike sit up.

  “Listen, Ivan, there’s some stuff I need you to do. Some stuff we need you to do—including Ollie. But first, a question. You know some people in the media, don’t you? I mean, you’ve got friends in, like, the news business, that kind of thing?”

  “Just a couple of local people and a guy in San Francisco, but that’s all,” Ivan said.

  “That’s all we need. These days, everything’s local and national at the same time. More important—do you know someone in the media who could get over here sometime in the next, oh, hell, I don’t know, let’s say—”

  “Wait, you want me to send local news people there? Are you crazy? The people who know me will never believe me. I mean, we’re friendly, they’re good people, but they don’t take any of my information seriously.”

  “They will after this.”

  8

  Corcoran wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and walked at a brisk pace down the dark corridor with two of Ollie’s masked men flanking him, their headlamp beams shining ahead of them.

  If he’d had his way, he never would have left Fara’s office. It was a relatively safe place to wait out the storm and avoid the remaining test subjects roaming the dark hospital. But he knew
that the end of the hurricane held nothing good for them. He was not optimistic about facing whoever Vendon Labs would send to clean up this mess.

  As they walked through the windy main corridor and continued straight ahead, he heard the crack of a gunshot somewhere in the building, quickly followed by another. Corcoran hoped it meant at least one fewer test subject, possibly two, to worry about. But he had little confidence in Ollie and his men, whose rescue mission had rescued no one and endangered everyone. And it had destroyed his project.

  If Vendon Labs chose to blame him for this, there was little he could do about it, but that would not change the fact that things would have gone along swimmingly if they hadn’t been invaded by Ollie’s bloodthirsty circus act. Even the hurricane wouldn’t have been a problem. Sure, the building had been damaged by a falling tree, but they could have worked around that. Even Dr. McManus, for all her effort, had been unable to derail the project by tattling on him like a teacher’s pet in the third grade. And it had backfired on her when Vendon Labs had simply done nothing in response, giving Corcoran their tacit support. That was what the company had always done.

  Until now.

  He couldn’t think about that at the moment. It was too distracting and stressful. He was on his way to his quarters to get Sheriff Kaufman something for pain. He had a virtual pharmacy in his bathroom, a wide variety of narcotic painkillers from which to choose. He’d seen Kaufman’s lacerated face and decided to take him some Oxycontin.

  He was curious to see how his party had been doing since he’d left. It seemed like a long time had passed since he’d been enjoying himself with Holly and his friends. He hoped they hadn’t been in the hands of bullies. He wanted to believe that they had managed to get Ollie’s men stoned and the party hadn’t ended, but he knew better than that.

  On Corcoran’s right was a young man named Zach and on his left, Nagesh, who had an Uzi strapped to his shoulder.

  “They’ll go with you,” Ollie had said. “But don’t give them any crap, okay? They’re protecting you—”

  “From my work, yes, I know,” Corcoran finished for him. “I would be a lot more comfortable if I were carrying a gun.”

  “I’m sure you would, but that ain’t gonna happen, so quit asking, it’s annoying. You’re being tolerated for your usefulness, Dr. Corcoran. Nobody here likes you. In fact, to be honest . . . well . . .”

  Smiling sheepishly, Ollie crooked a finger at Corcoran, who stood about eight inches taller. Corcoran bent forward so Ollie could whisper in his ear.

  “I kinda had my heart set on killing you myself,” he said.

  Corcoran’s back stiffened and he glared down at the squat little fascist, who kept smiling.

  “You’ll find everybody on my team feels the same way. Keep that in mind, Dr. Corcoran. Don’t give them any reason to act on it.”

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Nagesh moved forward, opened the door, and stepped through it first. A moment later, he said, “Looks clear.”

  Corcoran went through the door, followed by Zach.

  “It’s this way,” Corcoran said, gesturing to the right.

  Two headlamp beams cut a path through the dark as they went down the corridor. The wind sounded like a pack of wolves surrounding the building.

  “How close are we?” Nagesh said. He was standing on Corcoran’s right side.

  “There’s another corridor coming up on the right,” Corcoran said. “It’s not far beyond that point.”

  As they passed that corridor, Nagesh turned his head to the right. The headlamp beam shone down the narrower corridor and sparkled in the eyes of two gaunt faces that rushed forward out of the dark. Nagesh released an abrupt cry of surprise as he attempted to lift the Uzi and turn it in their direction.

  The headlamp beams danced wildly as the two figures, suddenly chattering angrily and incoherently, pounced on Nagesh and knocked him to the ground before he could get a grip on the submachine gun. As Nagesh’s voice rose in a quavering bawling sound, Zach shoved Corcoran aside. He already had his gun in hand and raised it to fire, but the two test subjects were on top of Nagesh. If he fired, there was a good chance he would hit Nagesh. As he waited for an opening, there were soft slapping sounds in the side corridor rapidly growing closer, until—

  —another of the test subjects lunged from the dark and tackled Zach to the floor. The two of them slid a few feet over the tiles and Zach’s gun went off, but they continued struggling.

  Nagesh began to scream in pain.

  Corcoran stood frozen in the corridor and watched the headlamp beams. Nagesh’s shone upward and jiggled back and forth as the two test subjects beat and tore at him. Zach’s flew back and forth wildly as he fought his attacker.

  They left Corcoran in the dark, alone, unprotected, and he quickly looked around, half expecting another of the slender figures in a hospital gown to come flying out of the darkness at him.

  He turned and ran in the direction they’d been going, toward his quarters. His shoulder bumped into the wall and he reached out and felt his way along as he hurried forward, stumbling, groping, feeling for the door.

  Behind him, a voice rose in a gibbering frenzy, then broke into a laugh that was followed by the rattling fire of the Uzi.

  Oh, Jesus, Corcoran thought, nearly breaking into a run, one of them has a machine gun.

  He reached the door, found the handle, and pushed his way inside as the ripping bursts of machine gunfire echoed down the corridor.

  PINNACLE E-BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2014 Ray Garton

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  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3405-5

  First electronic edition: February 2014