The Serophim Breach (The Serophim Breach Series) (20 page)

He tried opening his eyes and felt an uncomfortable tugging on his upper lids and cheeks. As he worked to clear his mind, emerging slowly from the confused haze of sleep, he lifted a hand to his face and tried to clear away whatever held his eyes shut. Running his fingers over his cheek, he found the edge of a piece of tape, which ran from his cheek to just below his eyebrow. Peeling it off slowly, his right eye opened gingerly, and the red glow was replaced by a white glare. He winced against the light as he peeled the other strip of tape away.

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was not running. He lay naked in some sort of glowing tube, which he realized with a twinge of horror looked distinctly like the inside of a coffin. He was covered in . . . he struggled for the word. Electrodes? Something in his mind agreed, and he looked again with a detached sense of confusion at his body. Beneath the skin, his leg muscles twitched in rhythm. If he closed his eyes, he quickly fell again into the feeling of running, although he found he could not ignore the pressure of his back against the gelatinous material that lined the interior of his tube.

A question bubbled up through his struggling mind. “What’s going on?” he wondered. He closed his eyes to think and was interrupted by the quieting of his leg muscles and the instantaneous sensation that he was lifting . . . something, from the ground to his chest. He opened his eyes again to glance at his arms that lay at his sides, the muscles beneath them flexing in another sort of rhythm. As his eyes adjusted to the hazy light, he saw that the skin on his arms looked as though he had tried to use sandpaper as a washcloth. It was mostly covered in tiny scabs, some still damp with blood.

Suddenly, the closeness of the air seemed to press in on him from all sides, constricting his chest. He panicked, running his hands down his arms, yanking the electrodes off his skin, then reaching for his legs and pulling off whatever wires he could reach. He let out a yell and was horrified when only a tiny, hoarse whisper sounded, reminding him of childhood nightmares. Slamming his fists against the lid of the tube, he thrashed his body against the sides until finally a tinny alarm sounded and the lights around him dimmed.

He recoiled against the back of the tube when a pressurized lock released and the left side of his prison cracked open. He waited for a moment, breathing heavily, sucking in air that scratched against his raw throat. A tiny rivulet of blood appeared where he had ripped the IV needle from his arm. Frightened, he tried to remember if he was in the hospital. With the side of the tube cracked, he could hear the reassuring sound of beeps and humming that he associated with a hospital room, but he had no memory of how he had ended up in what he could only assume was an ICU.

“Hello?” he croaked. There was no response from outside his tube. He swallowed hard and tried to clear his throat.

“Can I open this?” he called out with a little more strength.

After a long moment, he reached out and pushed the lid open until there was enough room for him to sit up. He frowned, puzzled by the appearance of the room. There were four other tubes like his, lined up against the same wall, all closed. Two rolling chairs sat in the middle of the floor, as if they had been haphazardly kicked away from the desks on the opposite wall. Five huge monitors hung above the desks; four of the screens were black, while the last one, directly opposite his own tube, displayed a scrolling list of numbers and acronyms he couldn’t understand.

Again, something tugged at the back of his mind. He shut his eyes and tried to focus, tried to remember what had happened to him. A hollow feeling seized his stomach as the images surfaced: first Josie’s face in the strange Jetsons diner, then the sallow look of the guy who had tried to snag his suitcase, and finally wisps and flashes of the black SUV roaring up alongside their tiny Honda.

His eyes shot open. Suddenly frantic within his own mind, he struggled for the memory of what happened next. Where was Josie? How had he gotten wherever he was? Disoriented, he felt as though the frame of answers existed somewhere in his brain, but he was struggling in the dark to decipher the shape of something he could only briefly bump against. There was nothing, no link between the moment they had collided with the concrete overpass and his awakening in the glowing coffin.

Just as he reached out for a blanket folded on the small table next to his tube, a piece of the wall slid open. With a start, Gary realized it was a door that was built flush with the wall and painted to match. The small shock was replaced by a larger sense of relief when Josie appeared in the doorway, followed quickly by intense embarrassment as he hurriedly wrapped the blanket around his naked body. She was dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie emblazoned with the letters MIT. As she stepped into the room, he saw that both of her eyes were swollen and the first shadows of dark purple were beginning to bloom beneath them. Both her upper and lower lips were split open, and her right hand was splinted and wrapped with gauze.

“Hey, Gary,” she said wearily, lowering herself gently into one of the rolling chairs, “glad you’re up and about.”

For a second he could only stare at her, sitting there casually as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Finally he said in a quiet, scratchy voice, “This might be the only time in my life when ‘flabbergasted’ would be a truly appropriate word to use.” He watched her pinch the muscles on her right shoulder and chuckle.

“Sorry about that,” she replied. “I guess I didn’t think about what a weird experience it would be to wake up in one of those if you’d never been before.” Looking around the room, she let out a low laugh again.

He smiled at her sarcastically. The first aches of the accident were beginning to register in his brain, and although the fog was lifting, it was gradually being replaced by a deep throb behind his eyes. On top of everything, he was keenly aware of how foolish he must look sitting on some kind of glorified tanning bed wrapped in a blanket. “So, you want to tell me where we are?” he said curtly.

Stifling a smile, she explained that the number she told him to call had linked his phone to her small but formidable team, who had immediately headed to their location in a fake but thoroughly convincing ambulance. They had both been brought to their current location and treated for injuries.

“And where’s here?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’ll introduce you to everyone in a little while, but you should know . . . one of them is, technically, still an Argo employee.” Gary immediately balked, but Josie held up a hand for him to be patient. “He owns the company that designs some of the prototypes for Argo, and therefore this building as well as the material and equipment in it.” She pointed to the coffin and continued, “They brought us here for those things. They’re being tested for release next fall. They’re more accurate than an MRI because they test every muscle connection and every major nerve bundle in the body for damage, as well as detect internal injuries and bone fractures or breaks. No interpreting images.”

“So why did I feel like I was running?” he asked.

She went back to rubbing her neck and explained that the electrodes sent tiny, painless electrical impulses into the body at specific points to gauge muscle reaction, as well as the connection to the nerve synapses. “It’s like testing an outlet,” she said, slightly annoyed when the confused expression on his face didn’t change.

A sudden anger at her casual mannerisms prickled his nerves. “So, you guys stuck me in a prototype machine after everything you’ve told me today?” he complained. Just then, the hidden door slid open again, and a motley crew of four entered the room. Josie stood gingerly, holding out her damaged hand, and introduced them as Reggie Brown, Tabitha Kirkpatrick, Grant Silas, and Patrick Hammond.

Reggie appeared to be no older than Gary’s oldest son, and although he looked to be in good shape, his stomach stuck out just enough to suggest he enjoyed beer as much as the average twenty-something. He had dark skin and hair, with slightly lighter eyes, and a length of stubble on his chin that suggested a lack of personal hygiene or style. Baggy jeans with fraying pockets and a T-shirt that read “Vegans Are Annoying” made Gary think it was probably the latter. He smiled a lopsided smile, then fished a crumpled piece of gum from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

Tab was a different story. Although she was not traditionally pretty, she had striking features that were attractive without a speck of makeup. Her platinum-blonde hair was chopped severely at her chin, and her bright blue eyes sparkled behind black-rimmed glasses. “The three of us went to school together,” Josie explained. Gary assumed her sweatshirt indicated their alma mater. “Numbers one, two, and three in the class,” she continued, pointing to Tab, herself, and Reggie, who scoffed under his breath. Tab gave Gary a quick smile and stepped back to lean against the wall.

The man Josie identified as Grant stood well over six feet and had the kind of thick build normally reserved for caricatures and professional wrestlers. Josie quickly explained that he was private security and worked for Hammond. The older man nearest the door smiled warmly at Gary, who gratefully returned the gesture. He appeared more approachable than the rest of his crew, dressed casually in gray slacks and a golf shirt. Gary figured they were not far apart in age, although Hammond was definitely his senior.

“Thanks for . . .” Gary motioned over his shoulder at the tube.

“Of course,” replied Hammond. “I’m sorry about your clothes. We’ve got them in the wash, but I’ll have Reggie lend you some of his for the time being.”

Internally, Gary cringed at the idea of sharing the young man’s wardrobe, but in the end, he figured it was better than spending the rest of the evening naked under a blanket. When he had dressed in a small, private bathroom, he splashed a little water on his face and noticed for the first time the angry red and purple scabs that looked more like burns than cuts. There was also a bruised welt rising on his throat.

Feeling both better and worse, he joined the others in a small break room, where they sat around half-devoured pizzas and several packs of energy drinks. Gary tried to squelch the feeling that this was not a well-run operation as he sat down and snagged a piece of pizza.

“So, where does that leave us?” asked Reggie. The conversation was well under way before Gary had entered the room.

Josie let out a sigh and settled back into her chair. “Well, we have the samples. We do what we can with those for the time being. That’s the first thing.”

Hammond sat off to the side, nodding as she spoke.

“But, Jo, if the island has already gone black, what’s the point in—” Reggie stopped suddenly at a sharp motion from Tab. Looking around, Gary realized they were keeping quiet for his benefit. And then he actually heard what Reggie had said.

He asked, “What does he mean?” In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Grant roll his eyes.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Hammond cleared his throat and said, “It’s probably best that you try to keep calm. We’ve heard reports that Oahu is completely without power and that all communication is out. Only the military still has contact with the mainland, but no real details have been leaked to the press as of yet.”

Everyone in the room watched him, and he got the feeling they were waiting for him to start throwing a tantrum. Although his stomach roiled with concern for his family, he strove to keep his voice even as he stated, “Well, I have to get back then. Right now.”

No one moved.

“Look, I brought you what you wanted,” he insisted, still trying to keep his voice calm.

Josie leaned forward and said, “We still need you. If we’re able to come up with something, it’s got to get back there with you. None of us can take it.”

“Well, you’ll have to figure out a way!” he shouted, standing. “Now someone take me to the airport. I have to get back to my kids.”

“All flights to the island are grounded,” Hammond broke in quietly.

Gary stood, feeling the impotence of his frustration and fear. When he thought he would be able to control his voice, he said, “So, what does that mean?”

Hammond shook his head. “We’re not entirely sure.”

“But you think it has something to do with . . . all this stuff?” Gary asked, waving a hand toward the other room.

Hammond replied, “Again, there’s no way to know.”

Josie scoffed. “There’s no reason to bullshit,” she said. “We’re at the end of the third round of a thirty-day life span of the nanites. His son was already acting strange before he left. They’re saying on the news that emergency services were being stretched unusually thin before the blackout. Of course this has something to do with Serophim.”

Gary found a sudden appreciation for the same casual bluntness that had earlier set his nerves on edge and gave Josie a small nod of thanks. Then he looked around the room and repeated Reggie’s question.

“So . . . where does that leave us?” They took their cue and started tossing out objectives, starting points, and timelines.

For the next few hours, he sat quietly and listened as the team detailed their options and discussed plans. Only Grant remained completely silent, sitting off to the side with his eyes closed, resting against the far wall. Gary tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but soon found he could do nothing but sit and worry about his kids.

~

“Is that woman still out there?” Sarah whispered to Heather. They were sitting in the hallway that led out of the reception area, toward processing and the holding cells. Soon after their arrival, Sarah had to move away from the front door, where she could see the crazed woman’s figure curled up on the concrete outside. Although the body had been mostly still, occasionally it would twitch horribly and Sarah would let out a small shriek that startled everyone in the room. Soon people were giving her looks of frustration, and she had moved quietly to the hallway. Mike was still in with the small crowd, conversing in a low voice; Heather had appeared a few minutes earlier with a look of concern on her face and a paper cup filled with water in hand. They sat together quietly, their shoulders and hips touching one another, warm spots in a cold room. Occasionally Sarah’s head would droop toward her chest briefly until she snapped herself awake with a gasp, jerking her head back up and looking wildly around the room until she remembered where she was.