Our Child of the Stars

by Stephen Cox

  Molly felt sick, her chest tight. Soldiers with guns. She hated guns, but if she had one now, she would be tempted to use it. Get on with it, she told herself. Time is passing.

  How would you arrange a search? From the top down, with special attention on the fifth. How much does Pfeiffer know? If they had any clue about the annex, they’d be here already. She needed to rein in her fear and anger and focus on getting Cory out.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Gene said.

  The plan had assumed a little notice: load the laundry basket into their car or the hospital laundry truck and then drive away. But the main gates were guarded now. They would never get out that way.

  ‘What about the roof?’ He reached into the hamper and stroked Cory’s hand.

  She’d thought about hiding Cory in that strange kingdom of odd nooks and crannies, but it was too risky. The soldiers would be thorough.

  ‘We use the north gate,’ she said at last. The north grounds had been planted with flowering trees and bushes, allowed to flourish and hide the paths. And somehow, Jarman had tracked down the key, which was now safely in her pocket, along with a couple more she wasn’t supposed to have.

  ‘Okay . . .’

  She tucked the folder of notes, the sacred papers of her profession, into the basket with Cory and told him, ‘Remember, it’s a keep quiet game, just like we played before, okay? It’ll be fine.’

  She dropped their aprons and masks into the bag of laundry and tagged it for full disinfection. ‘Okay, once this goes in the chute, everything will disappear into the system. I’ll just need to dive out on the first floor.’

  Gene pulled a face. Molly looked at him, his face determined, and felt love despite the terror.

  ‘What if the truck isn’t there?’ he said.

  All she said was, ‘Time to go.’

  *

  It was getting darker, but the Moon was almost full. The Myers pulled the wheeled basket, awkward with the heavy bags, out into the corridor. Around them was only the silence of the empty annexe, but the soldiers would surely come soon. They hurried for the back stairs. What would they say if soldiers found them? Molly would try something about clinical waste, but the truth was, if they were seen at all, it was over. The basket would be searched.

  ‘Where’s the truck kept?’ Gene said.

  The tricky part. Well, one of the tricky parts.

  ‘The garage is behind the bushes. The quick way, we’ll have to get Cory across a bit of yard and a footpath into those big bushes. After that, we’ll be in the clear.’

  He looked at her and said nothing.

  The laundry basket was stubborn on the stairs but between them, somehow, they made it down the first flight.

  ‘Okay, this is where I need to dump the laundry,’ said Molly. ‘I’ll be quick. Hide in the storeroom.’ She opened the door slightly and listened before walking, fast but not suspiciously, and Cory’s laundry went down the chute.

  Back with Gene, and Molly went a little ahead at the end to check the way was clear. The wheeled basket was easier on the flat. Round the next corner was the toolroom, a cubby-hole where the maintenance staff drank coffee and sometimes, at night, other things.

  Molly listened, dreamed up a story and breezed into the room as if she belonged, but to her eternal relief, the room was dark and empty. She turned on the light, went to the rack of keys, each in its own place—

  The truck key wasn’t there. She paused, biting her lip. Had someone borrowed it? People did borrow hospital vehicles from time to time. She had no idea where else they could get a ride. Their own car was out of the question: even the stupidest soldier wouldn’t let anyone out of the staff parking lot.

  She reached out and touched each labelled key-hook, just to be sure she’d not missed it, but she hadn’t. There was no truck key. Did Gene know how to hotwire a truck? He was good with vehicles. She should have stolen it and made a copy.

  A place for everything and everything in its place. She always kept tools and medicines and important papers where she knew she could find them, but Gene . . . not so much.

  She heard the door behind her. ‘What’s up?’ Gene hissed.

  ‘I can’t find the key. Wait for me – I’m still looking.’

  So maybe a man would think putting the key on the side, or maybe on top of the key board, was smarter. Her heart fluttering, she ran her fingers along the top of the wood. It was rough and dirty – and there was a key there, although heaven knew what for; it wasn’t a vehicle.

  Beneath the rack was a narrow bench. She swept her hand over it, then knelt down and peered underneath it. There was a glint of silver and green: the crucial key must have fallen. She scooped it up and ran back to Gene.

  Somewhere far away she heard a shout and her heart skipped a beat, but they kept moving, pushing the basket to the side door. Thinking a calming prayer to a deity she did not believe in, Molly pulled out the copied key, pushed it into the lock, turned it – it didn’t move easily, but at last she heard it click – and peeped out. Through the cool night air she could hear voices on the other side of the building; somewhere, a child was crying. A helicopter flew overhead, its searchlight illuminating the grounds. Wait, wait. No one was visible. They just needed to check no one was on the footpath.

  ‘Behind us,’ Gene hissed. ‘People at the windows might see—’

  But there weren’t any ways out hidden from high windows; there was nothing they could do. Some risks had to be taken.

  They had to cross the footpath and a strip of grass to get into the rhododendrons. Glossy leaves laden with flowers of red and pink and Cory-purple grew higher than she was. They would soon be hidden from view. But they had to get there.

  ‘We’ll be a sitting target,’ whispered Gene, looking in every direction, judging the distance.

  ‘Well, let’s sit here until you have a better plan,’ she snapped. There’s no innocent explanation if we’re caught. Heart pounding, she took her end of the basket and they started off, until they heard the helicopter again. Molly badly wanted to pee; she wanted to look back at the building and see who was looking down at them – but instead, she just kept ploughing forward, one step after another, until the glossy leaves closed around them.

  Now even the hospital disappeared as the trail curved and the shielding undergrowth closed around them. Up ahead of them was the back of the garage, shrouded in trees. Molly walked round to the front. The key turned easily and there was the dark green pickup. If it had been moved, they’d be stealing a car, or walking Cory home.

  Gene’s mouth was at her ear. ‘This might even work,’ he said.

  She sketched out the route in the air. ‘This trail, they drive the truck on it all the time, so it’ll be fine, and there’s no reason for any soldiers to be there. I think we’d better drive without headlights . . .’ She paused, all the things that could go wrong raising their ugly heads. But at least they had a chance.

  Without any more discussion, they loaded Cory’s basket into the pickup, locked the little wheels, then tied it in for safety.

  Gene went around to the driver’s side as Molly shut the tailgate. She took a few steps towards him, about to argue – she knew the way; she was the better driver – when she felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. Gene turned and stared at her, as if he was feeling it too. Somehow, she knew it was coming from Cory.

  She went back and put her hand on the basket. ‘Cory, we’re here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not going away, I promise. I’m here – we’re both here, okay?’

  And the feeling faded.

  Gene was still staring. ‘What the—’

  ‘I don’t know.’ But they had no time to discuss what she didn’t understand. ‘Cory, sweetie-pie, we’re going to drive in the truck now. Do you understand?’

  He made some noise she took as assent.

  Gene was in the d
river’s seat, but she had no patience for his unbending male pride behind the wheel. ‘I know the way,’ she said. ‘I checked it out two days ago, when I was oiling the lock.’

  He ignored her. ‘Open the door, Molly, let’s get going.’

  His ridiculous stubbornness! But don’t lose your temper, now of all times . . .

  So she opened the garage door and Gene, frowning, started the truck and edged forward at a learner’s pace. The rumbling truck engine sounded like a herd of elephants to her, but surely it wasn’t that loud? There was plenty of noise coming from all over, so maybe one more engine would be ignored.

  She closed the garage door and locked it. Leave no clues.

  White stones along the edges of the track helped, and the foliage on either side was enough to hide them from the hospital, so long as the helicopter didn’t fly right overhead – so long as no one was actively after them. Molly heard an owl, disturbed by the unnatural activity around it, but there were no soldiers barking orders behind them, no spotlights arcing around to capture them in their glare. Whatever chaos was engulfing the hospital, it wasn’t following them, not yet . . .

  Now Gene saw the north wall, eight feet high, stretching left and right in front of them.

  ‘Up to the right,’ Molly said softly. They were nearly at the gate. Nerves prickled, as if even the hairs on her skin could listen for danger.

  ‘Stop!’ she hissed, but he already had; he too had seen the flashlights moving up near the gate.

  Was it just a couple of people, or were there more? Two, she guessed, two lights anyway. In the darkness, she couldn’t be sure. But now the flashlight waved towards them and her heart started to pound again.

  One of the men shouted, ‘Armed police – halt!’

  She touched Gene’s shoulder. Surely he wouldn’t try to drive through them? Shots would bring more people. ‘Back up, Gene,’ she said urgently, ‘back up!’

  Another little breath of fear came off Cory, picking their mood.

  ‘Police! Stop right there!’

  Gene backed up, not something you could do quickly, even if you wanted to. He had once broken a tail-light, backing up in a temper. ‘Which way?’ he snapped.

  ‘Uh . . . keep going back into the woods.’ Concentrate on directions, remember the route. She was sure it was just two men, but they might have radios. Where could they drive to? ‘Turn around,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘No space. Where’re we going?’

  The truck lurched, tipping to the left, and there was a sickening crunch. Gene hit the accelerator; the wheels spun and the engine ground, but the truck wasn’t moving.

  Gene cursed. ‘I ran over something.’

  The men would surround them soon, her wonderful Cory would fall into the hands of Dr Pfeiffer and his cronies and they would be put in jail.

  Gene was fighting a tree to get the door open. ‘Maybe the axle broke?’

  Molly took deep breaths, counted slowly to three. A nurse never panics; she figures out a plan.

  ‘We’ll take him into the trees and hide him,’ she said. What else can we do?

  She leaped out, lowered the tailgate and took hold of the basket, wanting to croon to it. The ropes, I have to undo the ropes. She fumbled at the knots. This was taking too long.

  She looked back to see the flashlights heading closer, moving slowly and steadily into the woods. They weren’t running. Maybe they knew help was coming? Or perhaps they didn’t want to run into a trap.

  Gene was behind her now. Her breathing started to feel tight, but murmuring reassuring nonsense, she readied Cory’s basket so they could slide it to the ground.

  Then she heard a twig crack: someone was coming the other way. There was at least one person ahead and two behind. They were trapped, out of time and ideas.

  ‘Cory,’ she whispered. She felt him, somehow, fear coming off him in waves, strong, cold and vivid, but she couldn’t open the basket to soothe him. Then something was happening: the world around her went away a little. The light was less light, the dark less dark. Sounds were muted and the sensation of fresh air on her skin faded just a touch. The only thing that remained was the fear; a little animal in the dark thinking hide-hide-hide . . .

  Gene had hold of her arm. He was in this with her, whatever this was.

  Molly turned her head to see a State Trooper walking round the truck, flashlight in one hand, something in the other. The light blinded her, full on her face . . .

  He called out, ‘They’ve gone.’ He was looking in the front of the truck, searching for keys, she guessed, or anything left behind.

  The other two were behind them now. Surely they must see them? Again, a torch shone right on her.

  Scared, baffled, bewildered, she hugged the basket. How strange the night was. The woods around her were like a picture of woods; the men sounded suddenly so far away.

  One was looking all around the pickup while another paced the ground a little further away. The third was still searching the cabin.

  ‘This place is real creepy,’ someone said.

  ‘Where do you think they bury the corpses?’ another asked. ‘I hate hospitals, full of ghosts.’ He walked around, lightly brushing against Molly, but still he didn’t react.

  ‘The truck didn’t drive by itself,’ said the one leaning through the driver’s window.

  The third spoke for the first time. ‘If you think I’m telling anyone this truck is haunted, you’ve got a damn screw lose. They can’t have got past us, so we keep going.’

  And with that, they all walked away from the truck, away from the gate.

  She sat in the strangeness, Gene’s hand in hers. Cory pushed the basket-lid up and climbed out into her arms. He took the helmet off and for the first time, she touched her unmasked lips to his ear; for the first time, his cool tentacles stroked her bare skin.

  ‘Cory,’ she whispered, ‘it’s fine. Mom is here.’

  Cory had hidden them both from the world. Somewhere a quiet, rational mind screamed, Infection, disaster, death! But she would be his mother and keep him safe for ever.

  Was it minutes or hours? The night deepened around her, smells and sounds and shadows returning as Cory’s fear and anxiety evaporated away. The sliver of Moon hanging above suggested little real time had passed. She smelled Cory properly: crushed herbs and some animal scent she remembered from childhood. A nightjar sang and his ears twitched. A big white moth fluttered here, some small thing scurried in the bushes there and his eyes darted to and fro. In his dreams, Cory never feared the dark. It was as if his tentacles were tasting the air of Earth, of outside, and found it good.

  More police would be coming, so whatever had just happened, they had to move.

  ‘You need to put on the helmet and get back in the basket, sweetie-pie,’ Molly said, wondering when she had sat down. Cory’s hand was stroking the wet grass that might have a million diseases on it, ticks and parasites.

  His tail twitched against her. ‘Tired-now,’ he said. ‘Earth so-good.’

  She ought to disinfect him, but she needed to get away. Wiping his hands with alcohol was the best she could do right now. He gave her another strange, tentacled kiss. Gene was already up and looking under the truck to see if it could move.

  ‘Back in the basket,’ she ordered, but Cory’s ears were up; he was listening to the owl.

  ‘You drive, give it all we’ve got, I’ll push from behind,’ Gene said. ‘Come on, Cory, in the basket and we’ll take you home.’

  ‘Home,’ Cory said. He looked fit to drop. They packed him in the basket and heaved it back on the truck and, praise be, Molly took the driver’s seat. They could hear shouting, but it was far away now; all they could do was hope some other drama was distracting the searchers.

  Molly turned the key and jammed her foot down on the pedal. Gene grunted, the engine strained – and finally
there was a clang from underneath the truck and it lurched forward.

  Gene got in the back, panting. ‘Let’s go . . .’

  Molly imagined Cory dozing in the basket, curled up like a puppy. Her world was full of wonders.

  CHAPTER 10

  The escape

  The gate was unguarded, as they’d hoped, and the locks and hinges Molly had been oiling worked effortlessly. They took Cory home in joy and fear, desperately worried someone would notice them driving the hospital truck, or miss the vehicle, or that Dr Pfeiffer would find evidence of Cory.

  Damnation! The lights in Mrs Hardesty’s place were on, which meant her daughter-in-law was there, keeping an eye on the property. She was far more likely to snoop than old Mrs Hardesty. Well, there was nothing to be done but to move fast. Molly brought the truck to a stop outside their house, Gene clambered out of the back, looking up and down the little twisted end of the street to make sure no one was looking.

  ‘I’ll help you get him in, then I’ll get rid of the pickup,’ Gene said.

  Together they lifted the basket out of the truck and walked up to the porch of their house. As soon as the front door was shut, Cory had the lid open, his eyes darting here and there.

  ‘Home-now look-look everything.’

  Molly put out a hand to stop him taking the helmet off. Just because he’d been exposed once didn’t mean they should throw caution to the wind.

  Pad pad pad as he raced off, twice around every room, a crazy purple cannonball, then up the stairs, pad pad pad, like a dog or their own little running ghost. She’d sketched him maps in those long evenings before going to sleep.

  ‘Why room-only-Cory?’ he’d kept asking.

  Pad pad pad and here he came down the stairs, too many at a time; he skidded three from the bottom and grabbed the rail.

  ‘You-show now-now-now. Everyplace. What little-door? What-that? What-for?’