by Ryan King
"There you are, dear," the woman said. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," Heather answered. "Who are you? Where am I?"
"I'm Helga," said the woman. "I've been looking after you. You've been terribly sick, but we think you're all better now."
"Sick? I don't understand."
"Let me take some vitals first," said the nurse. She stopped Heather's questions by putting a thermometer under her tongue and taking her blood pressure and heart rate. After several long moments, she nodded, satisfied, wrote several notes on a clipboard. She started to walk away and then returned to retrieve the thermometer. "Let me go get Dr. Massengill; he wanted to speak with you as soon as you awoke."
"Wait," cried Heather, "why am I in restraints?"
"The doctor will answer all your questions," she said with a reassuring smile and then departed.
Heather looked around her. There were cabinets lining the walls that contained microscopes, centrifuges, and test tube racks. It looked more like a laboratory than a hospital room.
"Ah, good evening, Ms. Daniels," said the tall doctor striding in the room efficiently and briskly. He carried the clipboard Helga had been writing on. "How do you feel?"
"Okay I guess," Heather answered. "Can you tell me what’s going on?"
"Certainly," answered Massengill, "but first, we need to get some information from you. You see, you have been terribly sick, but now we think you are much better."
"Sick?"
"Yes. Can you tell me your full name please?"
"Heather Ann Daniels."
"And your age?"
"Thirty-one."
"Very good," said Massengill. "Who is the President of the United States?"
"Janice Wilkens," said Heather. "Unless I've been out longer than I thought."
Massengill smiled, but didn't look at her. "And the Governor of the State of Louisiana?"
"Eric St Keel," answered Heather. "Why am I restrained?"
The doctor turned to Helga. "Is her blood work back?"
"Yes, doctor," she answered, handing him another piece of paper.
Massengill smiled and shook his head. "Remarkable. Simply remarkable."
"The nanos still appear to be doing their work," Helga said. "Even after attacking the cancer cells, they are now patrolling the bloodstream looking for more bad cells."
"Cancer?" said Heather, feeling cold. "I don't have cancer. I was just on a boat trip with my..." Her voice trailed off as she remembered what had happened.
"Unfortunately," said Massengill, "you had a very aggressive form of ovarian cancer. I say had because we have managed to eliminate the cancer. You are a very lucky young lady."
"Where are my friends?" Heather asked, pulling on her restraints. She raised her voice. "Why am I restrained?"
"It is for your own good, dear," said Helga soothingly.
Massengill looked down to the floor, thinking. "NCF-102 eliminated the cancer cells, but didn't pass into the kidneys and out the body when done like we thought."
"Some must have," said Helga. "The number of nanos is much lower. Maybe only those that discharged the peptide left the body. The nanos that have not yet encountered a cancer cell are still looking for them."
"It could definitely serve as a preventative medicine," said the doctor with wonder in his voice. "Like a vaccine."
"Let me go," said Heather, straining at the restraints. She could hear the machine that monitored her heart rate beeping faster and faster.
"We'll need to fully test the residual effects," the doctor said.
Helga smiled. "I've already prepared another batch of cancer cells."
"Ovarian?"
The nurse paused. "I thought it wise to maintain the same target until we knew the nanos capabilities."
Massengill nodded approvingly. "Very good, it's like you're reading my mind."
Heather saw the nurse pick up the long needle and turn towards her. "Help!" she screamed and thrashed. "Help me!"
"Better put her out," said the doctor with a tired sigh.
Helga laid the syringe of cancer cells aside and picked up a sedative, which she injected into Heather's IV line.
Heather continued to struggle and fight for several seconds, but soon felt heavy and tired. The room became fuzzy and light.
"Don't worry, dear," she Helga, laying a comforting hand on her forehead. "Everything will be just fine."
"She has no idea how big a role she will play in changing the world," said the doctor.
Heather drifted off into a drugged sleep.
Chapter 37
Justin respected his partner, generally even liked her, but he hated it when she got into one of these moods.
"Just because the boss chewed your butt doesn't mean you have to take it out on me," he said from his cluttered desk.
"Not everything is about you," Deborah responded without looking at him. She had been staring down at a series of notes on her otherwise clear desk without speaking for half an hour.
He shook his head. "You had to know going to that place and asking about your brother was going to get you into trouble."
"Would you please be quiet for just a second?" she asked. "I'm not brooding over the chief and the weak-assed counseling he gave me. I'm actually trying to think."
"If you would just listen to me a little more often," he chided, "you wouldn't be in so much trouble all the time."
"First," she said, finally turning to him, "I'm not in trouble all the time. And second"—she picked up a notepad on her desk and showed it to him—"doesn't it seem a little odd to you that only young and healthy men and women are missing?"
"You're not back on that again, are you?"
"Twenty-six reported missing the last three years from New Orleans area," she said, "and since these are homeless people, most of those who are missing likely were never reported. The number could be three or four times higher than that."
"And you think what exactly?"
Deborah dropped the notepad in frustration and turned away. "I don't know. This whole Take Back the Streets thing just seems off to me."
Justin snapped his fingers. "If you're so concerned, take that list of missing persons and check it against the program's participants."
She looked at him as if he were a simpleton. "Already tried that. Good thing I'm the brains behind this outfit."
"Well, what did you find out?"
"Nothing," she answered. "Cited privacy laws, said they couldn't provide that information to me without a warrant."
"And you can't get a warrant because it's not your case," he said. "Hell, it's not even in our jurisdiction since, as far as we know, none of these missing persons has crossed state lines."
"The state police are supposedly looking into it."
"There you go then," her partner answered triumphantly. "They've got it covered and probably don't need your help. Didn't you tell me Moses has done this many times before and always shows back up again?"
"Yes."
He tilted his head at her with a smile. "I'm sure he's fine. Besides, we have our own case load."
"Our cases are cleared," she answered. "Just need to write up and submit all the reports."
"Exactly," he answered. "Maybe you could help with that a little."
She smiled at him. "I haven't heard you strike a single key on your keyboard in over an hour so don't lecture me about report writing."
He turned away. "Just catching up on email. Besides, I got a courtesy copy of an open case from a friend up at the Port Allen PD."
"What type of case?" she asked offhandedly, her mind already on other things.
"A missing person's case, interestingly enough," he answered.
Deborah froze and then stood to walk to and look at her partner's screen.
"Sure," he said, scooting out of the way. "Help yourself. Don't even bother asking."
She read quickly, scrolling through the email and then the attachments.
"State police have it," Justin explaine
d. "Nothing for us on this."
"This is different," she said almost in a whisper. "An accountant. A lawyer. These aren't homeless people."
"Exactly," he said. "No connection to your personal, off-the-reservation, conspiracy theory-fueled obsession."
"So why did your friend send it to you anyway?" she asked.
He scrolled back up to the top of the email and pointed. "The missing boat is registered out of state, so technically they are required to inform us. But that's all it is, a technicality. The state police have it for action."
She was silent as she looked through the documents and one name kept catching in her mind.
"This name seems familiar," she said, pointing.
"Yeah, me too," he answered. "I did a little checking."
"You?" she asked. "Did a little checking? You mean like actual investigative work?"
"Very funny," he answered. "This case is probably going to be big in the news soon. Surprised they haven't picked up on it already."
"Six missing persons do that," she said while reading again.
"Especially if one of the missing is the son of a former Louisiana Supreme Court Justice and personal friend of the governor."
"Who..." she stopped, and things clicked into place. "Winters."
"Bingo." Justin smiled. "Jackson Winters. Only son of Jeremiah Winters. Missing with five of his college friends after heading out to sea on a vacation. Probably all drowned, I'd guess. That missing boat is sitting on the bottom of the ocean if you ask me."
"You're certainly optimistic," she said.
He shrugged. "Just stating the facts. Most missing persons who aren't found within three to five days are never found." His face fell when he realized what he had said. "Of course, that doesn't mean that's the case with Moses."
Deborah ignored her partner and turned back to her notes. She knew he was right and, in that moment, felt like crying.
Instead, she dug in even deeper. What she found frightened her worse than she could have imagined.
Chapter 38
It was dark by the time Rena returned to their small cabin in the woods. The faint glow of an oil lantern burned in the window.
An oasis. Her home. The only one she had ever known.
Have I put all that in jeopardy? she asked herself. And for what? A fit of conscience? Some strange man who may have already forgotten me?
That's not why you did it, a voice answered in her head. You did it because you know what's going on here is wrong. You're either complicit or you try to help.
"Bullshit," she said to herself. Rena climbed the stairs and paused before opening the door. She heard voices and felt coldness in her stomach.
Do they already know what I've done? Are they here to get Poppa and me?
She listened carefully but couldn't make out the words. Two voices speaking softly, one her father's.
Rena realized there wasn't a vehicle in front of their cabin. The men from the camp always brought the cage truck whenever they took someone away.
Slightly less concerned, she opened the door and walked inside. Her father stopped talking. He rose and walked towards her. A short but powerfully built old black man sat in a chair regarding her calmly. He looked vaguely familiar.
"Where have you been?" Deloy demanded.
"Just walking in the woods," she said.
He grabbed her and gave her a surprisingly fierce hug. "You can't go running off like that. Not now...not the way things are."
She slowly returned the hug, letting her head rest against his giant muscular chest. His scent of salt and earth was soothing. After a moment, the presence of the stranger in the room caused her to feel self-conscious and pull away.
"Who is this?" she asked, tilting her head in the old man's direction.
The old man pushed himself to his feet and walked towards them smiling. "Has it really been that long, Rena? You certainly have blossomed into a beautiful young woman."
"Johnny?" she asked, a smile coming unbidden to her lips. "Is that you?"
"The same." He smiled in return, opening his arms to her.
She rushed into them. "I thought I'd never see you again. When you left, you said you couldn't come back."
"That was true," he answered, "but not entirely accurate. It would have been better for me to say I shouldn't come back."
"Because of them," she said. "The men in the camp."
"In a sense," he said. "Let us just say we reached a point where it was impossible for us to peacefully co-exist. I thought it best if I left...on my own terms."
"After they burned your cabin down?" asked Deloy. "You could have been killed if you were in it."
"Who knows? Maybe that was their intention," Johnny answered. "Regardless, the point was made. May have only been a message to keep my nose out of where it wasn't wanted."
"How can they do that?" asked Rena. "You have a right to live here just like we do. Who are these mainlanders to run us off and try to scare us?"
Deloy had been on the verge of defending them, but the term “mainlander” had struck a nerve with him. Their family had lived on this island for over a century and half and relished their independence as much as they distrusted outsiders.
Johnny saw the man struggling internally. "I'm not asking either of you to do anything that could get you into trouble. If you can live in peace with these people, then you should. As for me, there can be no peace. Especially if they might have harmed someone dear to me."
Rena remembered the conversation several days before. "You know Jack. He asked about you. Said you worked for his father."
"I did," answered Johnny. "His father was the best sort of man."
"One who paid regularly?" Deloy asked with a smile.
Johnny kept his eyes on Rena. "A man of quiet dignity. Someone who never spoke without a purpose. A man who treated everyone he came into contact with as if they mattered."
"And Jack Winters was his son?" asked Rena. She found it hurt to say his name.
Johnny nodded. "We all know that unless something is done, he will never leave this island alive."
Rena was quiet for a long time. Finally, she told them about her interaction with Moses. She started out haltingly, looking hesitantly at her father, but gathering strength as she went along. When she was finished, Johnny smiled at her, his face beaming in pride. Her father, on the other hand, had a downcast face and slumped shoulders.
"This could bring trouble to us," Deloy said softly.
"Trouble has already come to us," Rena said more angrily than she intended. "The things they are doing aren't right."
"We don't know what they are doing other than healing people. Do we really need to know more than that?" asked Deloy.
"Yes, we do. This is our island, our home," she said. "We sit still and mind our business and keep quiet. Meanwhile these mainlanders are doing horrible things to innocent people. And for what?"
"We don't know any of that," said Deloy.
"We know enough," said Johnny. "We know that it isn't right, otherwise why all the secrecy? Isn't that enough?"
"I thought you weren't asking us to get involved," said Deloy. "Besides, what are we supposed to do? Take on a bunch of armed men? Now that Rena sent Moses to tell the police what’s happening, we should stay out of it. Maybe they'll come, and then things will go back to the way they were before."
"Things never go back to the way they were before," answered Johnny.
Rena frowned. "They may not believe him. Moses doesn't seem totally right in the head. He also wasn't real keen on going to the police. Seemed to see them as all bad."
Deloy threw his hands up angrily. "Doesn't matter. This is not our responsibility. We don't need to bring any more trouble to our doors." He turned to Johnny pointing an angry finger at him. "And you don't get to decide to put my family into danger. It's easy for you to talk about charging in, old man. You're only risking your skin. I have far greater responsibilities."
Johnny was quiet, looking from De
loy to Rena. Finally, he nodded. "You're right. I have no business influencing you to do anything that might endanger you. I respect that and appreciate you not throwing me out the door. I've no business involving you in any of this."
"What do you plan to do?" asked Rena.
"Rena," her father said warningly.
She turned to him. "I want to know, and if I can help, I want to. I can't go on any longer pretending we know nothing about what is going on. It's killing me." She grabbed his arm and held on. "What if it were me in there?"
Deloy turned away from his daughter, but she held on tightly, insistently. He finally turned back to meet her gaze. He could still see her as a little girl and remembered her devastated face when he had told Rena her mother wasn’t coming back. The years between then and now flashed in his mind. Has it all come to this? he wondered with a sinking feeling in his stomach. After a moment, he nodded.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked Johnny.
"I actually have an idea."
"That makes me feel better," said Deloy. "Could you be a little more specific?"
"There's a storm coming," he answered with a smile. "My old bones can feel these things."
"Great," sighed Deloy.
Chapter 39
Helga carried the plastic bag of Heather Daniels' personal belongings to the incinerator. This was one of her more menial tasks. Before the patients were brought in for treatment, they always retrieved their personal belongings from the camp custodian. Sometimes these gave them insight into the health of the patient.
Heather Daniels' personal belongings had given Helga insight, but not into the woman's health.
She was no longer responding to the treatment. Perhaps they had given her too much cancer and it was spreading throughout her body faster than the nanos could track down the offensive cells and eliminate them. Even this setback was not a failure. They needed to know the limits of the miracle drug so that it could be improved. Doctor Massengill had given her another large dosage of the nanos. Time would tell if they worked to kill the cancer.
Pulling open the metal opening that led down a small chute, Helga looked around to make sure no one was watching her. Instead of dropping the bag in, she opened it and took out the nice leather wallet and pulled out the money. Looking around again she pushed the considerable wad of cash into her front pocket. Didn't make sense just to burn up the money. Besides it didn't harm anyone.