Deadman's Switch & Sunder the Hollow Ones (4 page)

“Fuck you. We already beat your sorry ass once. You're the one who needs protection from us.”

“Kelly, focus. We need to hurry.”

Stephen's grin grows even wider. “Yes, time is of the essence, isn't it?”

 

 

Kelly manages to sling Jake
over his shoulder. I don't know if he's just being careless or if it's intentional, but he nearly drops Jake on his head while picking him up. Then he bangs his face into the side of the tram door getting out. I'm this close to yelling at him to be more careful, but I know it won't help things, so I keep quiet.

“He stinks,” Kelly says, puffing. “He's covered in puke.”

Really?
I want to say.
I've been injected with a deadly virus and you're worried about puke?

A little regurgitated food is the least of our worries.

I'm still barefoot, since the boys hadn't been able to find my shoes back in the terminal. Kelly suggests I try on Tanya's or Ashley's shoes. I know I'd never fit into Ash's new Nikes, so I check Tanya's. They're sensible walking shoes with worn soles and frayed laces. Working class shoes. A bit tight, but better than possibly stepping on something sharp and nasty out there in the dark.

As I lace them up, I can't help but wonder what happened to mine. Had I lost them during the bomb blast? Did somebody forget to pack them with my clothes at the hospital? I used to hate the things—drab gray and sun-bleached, no arch support, the stitching repaired a half dozen times—but now I wish I had them back.

Stephen refuses to push Micah's wheelchair with his hands tied. “The handles are too far apart,” he says. Not that he tries very hard.

“Pull, then,” Kelly growls at him and grabs a handful of his hair and spins him around. He gives it a twist. Stephen doesn't argue after that. He grabs the back of the wheelchair with both hands and begins to drag it along as he walks backwards.

I'm just as unsympathetic. I point the pistol at his face and tell him to shut the hell up and to keep moving if he knows what's good for him. As far as I'm concerned, the guy's got nothing to complain about. He's lucky I haven't put a bullet in his head already. To be honest, I'm not sure why I haven't. I tell myself that it's because I don't want to waste a round—there's only three left in the magazine and one chambered—but I get this nagging feeling that we're going to need him.

Stephen's eyes glaze over and his face goes slack as he erases any outward emotion, but he pulls the chair and he doesn't stop pulling. He trips a few times, once landing hard on his ass and yelping in surprise and pain. Kelly would've been on him in a flash if he wasn't already burdened with Jake. I wave the gun and tell him to stop messing around. He gets up without complaining. He spins Micah around and begins to push, somehow managing, even with his hands still tied. Kelly rolls his eyes, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

We quickly fall into the rhythm of our steps, counting sections of tunnel as they appear out of the gloom, exposed by the meager glow of the flashlight, counting breaths and heartbeats, wondering how far we've gone. And how far we have left to go.

I walk to the right of Stephen so I can shine the light ahead. I hold the gun in my sore right hand, the flashlight in my left. The wrist stiffens up, grows weak and painful. The gun gets heavier and droops. Finally I just give up and hold it down by my side. Every so often, Kelly will look back at me and I'll bring it up again and rest it in the crook of my elbow. Stephen doesn't even glance over at me. I keep expecting him to, looking for a way to escape, but he doesn't.

Kelly begins to drop back, slowing from the exertion of carrying Jake. A part of me knows it's also so he can keep his eyes on Stephen and me. Every so often he asks me how I'm feeling and if I need a break. I keep expecting to begin feeling feverish. But I don't.

How long until I feel the first symptoms?
How long till I… die?

We've gone maybe a mile—about an hour—when Jake begins to recover. I'm relieved that the effects seem to be reversible, at least partially. The shivers stop and he starts jabbering. It's all gibberish at first, sounds rather than words. A few minutes later his eyes pop open. I try talking to him, but he doesn't respond. I keep trying. Finally, he answers.

“Put me down,” he says, slurring his words. “I can walk.”

Kelly's all too willing to comply. Jake still leans heavily on Kelly's shoulder, but now his own legs carry the bulk of his weight. The relief is clear on Kelly's face. Sweat soaks his shirt.

“We'll rest here for a few minutes,” I announce.

But then Jake starts retching. Kelly holds onto him so he doesn't fall, leaning him against the wall. He throws me a look of concern. I'm scared, too. The puking continues for several minutes until nothing more comes out, not even spit. Just that awful hacking sound.

It finally ends. He finishes coughing and gasping, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'm okay,” he keeps saying. He does look better. He even chuckles a bit, embarrassed at making such a mess of himself. “I guess I ate something that didn't agree.”

I chuckle. Kelly shakes his head and mutters something.

“What?”

“I said don't sweat it, Jake.” And he stalks off into the darkness.

“Don't go too far,” I yell at his back.

“Just going to take a leak, Jess.”

I'm grateful for the opportunity to take a few minutes of rest. My joints ache and I'm feeling shaky. My feet are sore from wearing the wrong-sized shoes.

Jake leans back again and rests his head on the cement wall, closing his eyes. I keep Stephen in my sight until Kelly returns a few minutes later.

“You ready?” he asks.

Jake groans and looks around us. “Anyone want to tell me what happened?”

“We're in the tram tunnel,” I say. “We're heading back to Long Island.”

Jake stares at me for a moment, blinking stupidly. “Don't you mean
away
from Long Island?”

“There's been a…a problem. We have to go back. There's no time to explain.”

He closes his eyes and moans. “Felt like my head was going to explode.”

I quickly tell him about the new implants and Arc's safeguards against us leaving.

“We can't leave? What'll happen if we do?”

I look at Stephen for the explanation, but he just stands there and stares into the darkness ahead of us. He hasn't moved once since we stopped.

“I don't know, Jake,” I say, distractedly. I get up and walk over to Stephen. “But I think we got very lucky we stopped when we did.”

“It didn't affect you?” Jake asks.

“I think it's because my body rejected the implant. I don't know why or how. The man I overheard last night said he thought it could be because they used new materials.”

I can feel him watching me, studying me. I can sense the questions forming in Jake's mind, the suspicion.

I sidle up beside Stephen. He doesn't move, doesn't even seem to notice I'm there.

“Don't get so damn close to him,” Kelly says.

“Hey,” Jake calls out, “Maybe it's because of that medicine you take, that immunity booster.”

Stephen's head snaps up, making me jump back in surprise. His eyes are dark, his face hard. “Immunity booster? What immunity booster?”

“Shut up!” Kelly shouts at him. His voice echoes down the tunnel. He walks over and shoves his hand into Stephen's chest. “You don't get to speak, asshole!”

I nudge Kelly aside and step closer. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the inhaler I've used my entire life. “This medicine,” I tell him, holding it up so he can see it.

Stephen reaches for it, but I pull it away.

Jake stumbles weakly to his feet and comes over. “Can I take a look?”

I hand him the medicine. He reads the label, then starts to peel it off.

“Hey! Stop that!”

“ArcBio,” he mutters, showing me the familiar logo underneath. “Figures.” As if that somehow proves something. Or explains something.

Kelly shrugs. “Yeah, so what? Arc's got their hands in everything. You know that.”

Yeah
, I think.
They've even got their hands on you
. But I don't say it. I snatch the inhaler back from Jake and pocket it. I turn and face Stephen again. “Why should this surprise you?”

“It wasn't in any of your records,” he says. His voice is flat, fading. “Arc should've known.”

I chuff. “You think?”

“He's not going to tell us anything useful,” Kelly says. “I say we stop wasting our time with him.”

I know Kel's right. I know time's running out and we still need to get the rest of the group back. Jake may be well on his way to fully recovering, but I can't help wondering if spending so much time so close to the EM is hurting the others.

I instruct Jake to sit tight. “Stay here with Micah. Don't move. Use your Link for light. We'll be back as soon as we can.”

He nods tiredly and walks back over to sit down against the wall. “Be really nice if you could bring me back something for my head,” he says, wincing. “Still hurts.”

Kelly lifts Micah out of the wheelchair and settles him next to Jake. Then he spins the chair around and hands it back to Stephen.

“I'll take it,” I say. “It'll be faster.” I hand the pistol and flashlight to Kelly and set off back into the darkened tunnel. I can hear the scuff of Stephen's feet as Kelly shoves him.

“Walk faster, shithead.”

“Just don't shoot him. Okay, Kelly? Not yet, anyway. We still need him to push the wheelchair.”

“He doesn't need his left ear for that,” Kelly replies.

“Just… Never mind. Come on.”

Kelly barks another command at Stephen. I expect to hear him stumble again, but there's nothing but the
chuff chuff
of our footsteps and the
drip drip
of water from the ceiling.

† † †

The return to the tram only takes about twenty minutes. I quickly maneuver the chair over next to Reggie after confirming that he's still breathing. Kelly hands me the gun and instructs Stephen to help get Reggie up and sitting. Stephen does as he's told, though at his own leisurely pace. He reaches under Reggie's arms. “Hurry up!” Kelly snaps. “On three. One…two…three… Damn it, lift! What are you, stupid? You really want me to kick your ass?”

I hold the chair and keep it from rolling. When they've got Reggie in and I set his feet onto the rests, I suggest we try and sit Ash on his lap.

“You and I can switch off pushing. Stephen can carry Tanya.”

“Good idea. But you should eat something first, Jess. You're shaking like a leaf.”

“I'm not hun—”

“We're not leaving till you eat something!”

The look on his face is edging past concern and into panic territory. I know why he's so focused on my appetite, on whether I still have one. And what I might be craving.

“Listen, I feel fine, Kelly.” And I do, which is rather surprising. For the first time I allow myself to wonder if the immunity booster might've made me resistant to whatever Stephen injected in me. It's been two hours and all I feel is tired and weak. “Stop worrying.”

He touches my forehead. I wait, rolling my eyes. After a moment, he lowers his hand and shakes his head. “No fever. At least drink some water, Jess.”

He walks over to the cart. The Insta-Meals have grown cold, but when he opens it and reaches inside for one, the smell makes me swoon. He hands it to me, then takes another for himself. “Six left. And you don't get one,” he tells Stephen.

“I can't even remember the last meal I ate,” I say as I dig in. Suddenly, my whole body is screaming out for food.

Kelly nods. “Dried up candy bars and fossilized cookies.”

I wolf the meal down. It's delicious. Best thing I've ever tasted. My stomach rebels, but I manage to keep it down.

Kelly finishes his a few seconds later. He tosses the tray away, then goes over and lifts Ashley onto Reg. He struggles a bit, even though she can't weigh but a hundred pounds, probably half of Reggie's weight. After she's secure, he goes over and gets Tanya in a position where he can lift her.

I can feel the strength returning to my muscles after the Insta-Meal. I go and grab the remaining ones from the cart and stuff them into my pack.

Tanya's body is dead weight, but Kelly manages to get her onto Stephen's back. He straps her on piggyback. Stephen staggers beneath her weight, but doesn't fall.

“Deal with it,” Kelly says. “And don't drop her.”

We take turns pushing the wheelchair with its double burden. It's hard going and the front wheels keep wanting to flip sideways. Still, it's probably a hell of a lot easier than carrying them. Barely five minutes into the return walk and sweat is pouring off Stephen's face.

“You okay over there?” I ask him. Kelly makes a sound of disgust, but doesn't say anything. “I just don't want him dropping her.”

“He won't, if he wants to keep all his body parts.”

I shine the light at Stephen's face, but he doesn't even flinch. Sweat drips from his nose and chin. His hair is plastered against his neck and his skin has taken on a waxy sheen.

“We'll be lucky if he doesn't have a heart attack,” I say.

“Be lucky if he does,” Kelly mutters.

 

 

We return to Jake
and Micah nearly two and a half hours after leaving them. As soon as Jake sees our flashlight he comes running back to meet us.

“Took you guys long enough,” he cries.