by Lund, S.
Finally, a physician in green scrubs came in, a cap on his head. Beside him, a nurse had a tray with a sterile package for minor surgery.
"Hello, Anna. I knew your father. Sorry about his death. It's a real loss."
"Thank you," Anna said and forced a smile to be polite. He had an implement that looked like a staple gun and after cleaning her wrist below the thumb with Betadine, he pressed the implement against her wrist. Sure enough, it stung for a moment while the anesthetic was injected, and then she watched him cut a tiny slit into which a black chip the size of a grain of rice was inserted under the skin. He used some kind of glue to close the wound up, and placed a sterile bandage over the tiny incision.
"That's it?" she asked, surprised it was so fast.
"That's it. Now we can find you no matter where you go. It's really quite amazing that they've got the tech so small, but it's based on quantum computing, so I guess it's really cutting-edge."
He gave Anna a smile. "It may hurt a bit later after the anesthetic wears off, but you can take some acetaminophen to relieve the pain."
"I will," she said and got off the gurney. But suddenly, she felt dizzy and had to sit back down.
"I don't feel well," she said and glanced at her hand. "Am I having a reaction to the anesthetic?"
Her heart rate increased, and her vision seemed to close in.
She lay back on the gurney, and then everything went black.
She woke up in her barracks room and lay on the bed for a while, trying to remember what had happened after she got the tracker. She must have come back and laid down, because she was warm under the blankets. No doubt she was weary because of the bad sleep she had the night before.
A knock at the door startled her. She jumped up and smoothed her clothes, then answered. It was a guard.
"I'm here to take you to see the prisoner."
She nodded and grabbed her bag.
When they arrived at the room where Brandon was being held, Anna stopped at the small station outside his room and checked to see what had been done for him. The male medic who cared for him on the night shift closed his file and checked his chart.
"He's sick?" she asked.
"He developed pneumonia. We have orders to check his vitals every hour and give him a shot of morphine as well as change his antibiotic bag."
She nodded, glad that they were at least caring for him as they would a normal patient.
Inside, Brandon lay sleeping, his face pale, his breathing shallow. According to the chart, it was time for his next dose of morphine.
"I thought these EWs have a high tolerance for pain," she said while the medic prepared the injection.
"They do, but it's only so good. He tried to escape and was roughed up pretty badly."
The medic fixed a dose of morphine and then checked Brandon’s vitals. His pulse was a bit elevated, and his BP low, but that was likely the fever.
She took his hand, waking him up so she could watch his response. His eyes opened and he blinked when he saw her.
"Hey," he said, his voice a bit strained.
"Hey," she replied and gave him a smile.
The medic took his temperature. In a few seconds, the thermometer beeped.
"Your fever's down, but it's still not normal. The antibiotics should kick in pretty quick and knock the infection out. You’re on some pretty powerful stuff."
"How are you feeling?" Anna asked, watching as the medic prepared the dose of morphine.
"Like crap. Is that the good stuff?"
The medic held up the syringe. "All ready to go. As your wounds heal, you should need less and less of this. Given your enhancement, you wouldn't need any except they broke your ribs and you need to be able to breathe deeply. Where do you hurt?"
"My lower back. My chest." He cricked his neck. "My head. Me in general."
"This should help." The medic injected the morphine, and in a few moments, Brandon sighed audibly.
"Oh, God. That feels so much better."
"Now," the medic said as he began loosening Brandon’s restraints, "I want you sitting up again."
"Sadist."
Anna smiled as she watched the medic take Brandon through the routine, raising the head of his bed, and then helping him sit on the side.
"You think maybe she could do this instead?" Brandon said, still able to joke despite his situation. "She's so much prettier." Then he glanced at the medic. "No offense meant."
"None taken."
Brandon's pupils were pinpricks from the drug.
"I want you to try to take some deep breaths," the medic said.
"Let her do it and you'll be guaranteed to get me to breathe heavy just by her being so close."
"You're a scoundrel," Anna said, but couldn't help smile in response.
Brandon nodded. "Can't help who I am."
After Brandon took in some deep breaths, the medic nodded. "Okay, that's enough for the moment. You can lie back down."
He helped Brandon lie back and reapplied the restraints.
When the medic left, Anna went closer to Brandon's side and looked down at him as he lay on the bed.
He spoke, his eyes closed. "I didn't think they'd let you back in to see me."
"You're going to be one of my guinea pigs, so I guess they're letting me study you. How are you doing?"
"I'm holding up. I can't wait to get off this bed and get free of this place. Except, of course, that I'll be imprisoned, but at least I'll be in a cell and not tied to a bed."
"Between the pneumonia, the cracked ribs, and the bruised kidneys," Anna said, swallowing hard, "it's going to be a while before you're up to anything much, even given your rate of healing."
"Well," he said softly, "when I'm healed, I imagine they'll do it all again. Holmes seems to think I'll be put in front of a firing squad so to him, it doesn't matter what damage they do to me."
"Don't say that," Anna said. The thought of him facing a firing squad made her sad—surprisingly sad, given that she had only just met him.
Then, as if her body was obeying some order that her mind didn't make consciously, Anna bent down and kissed him. When their lips touched, she felt a jolt of emotion flood through her. She pulled away, surprised at the intensity of her response to him. Her body was almost vibrating with desire—despite the setting, despite everything.
Was she suffering from Stockholm syndrome?
"I don't know why I did that," she said and backed away.
"I don't know why either, but I'm breathing quite nicely now," he said, smiling softly, his eyes open. "I think the antibiotic is working. Something's working," he said and took her hand, which was next to his on the side of the bed. He squeezed it. "Isn't there some urban legend about nurses who give their poor incapacitated but sexually frustrated patients pity sex or something?"
She pulled her hand from his grip, her cheeks hot.
"Yes," she said, fighting to keep from smiling. "But I'm not a nurse."
"Damn."
She lowered the head of his bed so that he was lying down. His eyes were heavy.
She didn’t know why she did what she did next—maybe she just wanted Brandon to know he wouldn't be facing a firing squad. Even though it meant she was betraying her oath, she leaned down and adjusted the pillows under his head. "Tomorrow morning," she whispered in his ear. "They're rescuing you."
When she pulled back, he nodded. "How do you know?"
"I was contacted," she whispered.
"Will I see you again?" he asked softly.
She squeezed his hand again. "I'm coming with you. Sleep. Reserve your strength."
He nodded and closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty
The day passed quickly, and Anna was filled with a sense of excitement that battled with dread. Now that she had agreed to take part in the mission, she was expected to come up to speed on the program and the issues she’d be dealing with. She went to the small office space where Professor Singer was working and read over case
files on the other patients in the program. She read up on the science of neural manipulation, deep brain stimulation, and the genetic engineering they had done on the first group of enhanced warriors.
On the way in, she overheard Professor Singer speaking quietly into his cell. His back was to her and he didn't realize she was in the doorway.
He spoke in Russian, his side of the conversation limited to a "Da" every so often and a few other words she didn’t recognize.
That surprised her. He spoke Russian?
He closed his cell and took in a ragged breath, then turned around just as she made a show of entering the room.
She smiled at him. "Good morning."
"Good morning," he replied and waved her inside. "I've just received word that they're planning to move Brandon tonight instead of tomorrow. We need to go in the evening, just after the shift change when everyone's still a bit cold. No choice."
Adrenaline coursed through Anna. "What about me?"
"You," he said, taking her shoulders. "You'll be in Brandon's room later when the guards come. The cover story is that you'll go with them so you can continue your research at the new location."
"Okay," she said, feeling uncertain but not wanting to show any hesitation.
She swallowed back her anxiety and followed Professor Singer down the stairs to her room, where she would wait until the guard came back to take her to Brandon's room. His talking in Russian nagged at Anna—perhaps he had to speak Russian, given the fact that the Unit was intended to deal with foreign threats on US soil?
Still, it didn't make her feel very good about the mission.
The afternoon passed slowly, and after a dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables doled out at the cafeteria, Anna paced her room, hoping that whatever plan they had would go off without any violence or death. She had to trust that Professor Singer had things under control and that they’d meet no resistance.
Several hours later, she heard a knock and the same guard she’d seen before nodded to her when she opened the door.
"Professor Singer sent me to escort you to the prisoner's room," he said.
Anna picked up her backpack, and followed him down the halls and back into the basement where they were keeping Brandon. She went to where a medic sat checking over his chart, then followed the medic into Brandon's room, her heart in her throat.
Brandon was resting quietly, his eyes closed. The medic switched on the backlight behind his bed.
"Time to get you up, get you a bit of exercise," the medic said, raising the head of Brandon's bed. "Maybe a walk down the hall. This room is stuffy. You need some fresh air."
Brandon nodded. "You might want to give me a good dose of morphine if that's the case. I'll need it."
The medic administered the morphine into Brandon's IV line and then unfastened his restraints, helping him into a sitting position.
"How does that feel?"
"Very good," he said and glanced over at Anna. "Very good. How about you let her do this?"
"You should be thinking about deep breathing, not women."
Brandon laughed softly. "I assure you that doing the latter leads to the former."
Anna smiled and then glanced at her watch, wondering if the mission would start before Holmes and his men came for Brandon. The time was eight fifteen. She hoped they would come soon, for her nerves were on edge.
"What's the matter?" Brandon asked. "You seem nervous." He reached out and took Anna’s hand and at the touch of his hand, she imagined leaning in to kiss him, their lips touching.
Where the hell did that thought come from?
"I'm just tired," she said, and gently slipped her hand out of his.
The sound of a distant crash made them all glance at the door, which was open to the hallway. Brandon looked in Anna’s eyes, and her heart rate started speeding. He took her hand once more and squeezed.
"Seems like the game's afoot," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
"Try to keep a clear head," the medic said, then went to the door, peering out down the hallway. The medic was clearly in on the escape plan.
The lights blinked out and for a moment, they were in complete darkness.
"The backup generator should kick in within thirty seconds," the medic said.
All they heard was some shouting from down the hallway. A small bit of light seeped in from a room across the hall that had a window, but it was too dark to see anything clearly.
"I'd say more than thirty seconds has passed," Brandon said from the bed.
"Holy shit. I bet they used an EMP," the medic said, his voice breathless.
Anna glanced around. An EMP—an electro-magnetic pulse—would destroy any electrical or computer technology. It appeared to have taken out all the electronics in the room besides the lights. She checked her cell. It was dead. She could hear the sound of their breathing in the silence of the room as they waited.
"Damn, I always wanted to use one of those," Brandon said in the darkness. "Everything electrical will be down permanently, so kiss your cell and watch goodbye."
"I'll go check what's happening," the medic said. "You two stay here."
Anna saw a shadow go to the door as he went into the hallway. She reached out and found Brandon's hand. He took her arm and pulled her closer.
"I guess this is it," he said, his voice low. In the darkness, he kissed her, his mouth pressing against hers. He pulled back and she felt his hand cup her cheek. "Just in case things go sour, I wanted to say something." He kissed her again, running his fingers through her hair. "Just in case I don't make it."
"Don't say that," she whispered.
"I wanted to say that I wish we'd met in another life—"
Before he could finish, two men with chemical lights ran into the room, their weapons drawn, the lights casting glowing neon light around the room as they searched for occupants. Both wore balaclavas and were dressed in camo. The medic followed them and pointed over to Brandon.
"There he is. Let's get them both out."
Anna turned to them. "Who are you?"
They didn't answer. "We don't have time for this. Let's go."
The medic stopped them. "Let me get this first. He needs something on." The medic grabbed a cotton hospital robe and handed it to Anna. "Help him get the left arm on.”
She followed his instructions, then watched while he took the IV bag off the pole and threaded the bag through the other sleeve of the housecoat. Both of them helped Brandon slip it on.
The other men went to Brandon and helped him up, his arms around their shoulders.
Before they left the room, Brandon stopped and turned to Anna. "You should really stay. This will be dangerous."
She shook her head. "I'm all in now. I'll come with you. I have to find Theo."
"I can find him. You don't need to get involved in this."
"No," she said. "I want to come. I want my brother."
"You'll get in big trouble if they catch us." He turned to the medic. "Knock her out. Gently."
"You sure?" the medic said, moving toward Anna.
"Do it. She doesn't need to become involved."
Anna tried to run away, but the medic caught her easily and got her in a chokehold, his elbow around her neck.
"Sorry," he said as he choked off her air. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Brandon, barely able to stand, one arm around the shoulders of a masked man with a gun.
When she came to, Anna heard gunfire in the distance and sat up, her pulse racing. She struggled to her feet and left the room, walking as fast as she could towards the sound, feeling along the walls in the darkness. She passed a nurse standing in the hallway, a glowing chemical light in her hand.
"What's going on?"
"Just stay where you are," she replied. "Stay in a room. There's some kind of attack."
"I need one of those."
"There's more in the stockroom on the shelves. But go back to your room. It isn't safe."
Anna ducked into the stockroom and felt around in the darkness for one of the chemical lights. She did as the nurse suggested and bent it, breaking the seal between the two chemicals, which, when mixed, glowed brightly enough to light the local area with a weird yellow-orange glow. She went back out into the hallway only to hear a series of low concussions. Were they suppressed gunshots?
Alarmed now, Anna ran down the hall, her light casting a strange glow on the floor and walls. She came to the hallway outside the parking garage and saw several guards lying on the ground. One of the masked commandos who had come for Brandon was among them, a pool of blood spreading from a head wound. Near him lay a security guard. Anna checked them both and from the looks of the blood, they were either dead or dying.
When she climbed down the stairs and entered the ambulance bay, Anna shone her light around and found a security guard down, holding his gut.
"Help," he said, keeping his voice down. He pointed to his belly. "They shot me."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not a nurse.”
Anna stood in the shadows for a moment and watched as the other commando tried to help Brandon into the back of an old ambulance. Another guard lay on the ambulance bay floor.
Portable chemical lanterns lit up the bay so that Anna could see the entire room. One of the garage doors was three-quarters of the way open. Anna headed for another set of stairs leading down to the driveway when a guard jumped into the ambulance bay from a door near the exit.
He drew his weapon. "Stop or I'll shoot!"
The commando and Brandon were exposed, their backs to him.
Anna knelt beside the injured guard and withdrew his weapon from his holster.
"That's it. Shoot the bastards," he said, his voice hopeful.
Anna stood in the open, removed the safety, braced for the recoil, took aim at the guard who was pointing his weapon at Brandon and the commando, and fired.
The first bullet hit the guard in the shoulder, turning his body to the side. The second, squeezed off almost immediately after, hit him in the leg. He fell to the ground, groaning, his hands on his thigh.