Brett Battles - Sick

“We’ll have to go to the next town,” he said.

“And just leave him here like this?”

Len thought for a moment. “No. You’re right. We can’t do that. One of us should probably stay.”

“I ain’t staying.”

“Fine. You take the car. I’ll stay.”

Chuck didn’t look happy with that solution, either, but then he started rocking on his feet and said, “I gotta pee.”

He headed toward the side of the building.

“Where you going?” Len asked.

“I’m not going back inside!” Chuck disappeared around the corner. But it was only a couple seconds before he yelled, “Hey, Len!”

“What?”

“There’s a pay phone over here. If you have change you can call the police.”

“You don’t need change to call 911.”

“What?” Chuck’s voice had grown distant.

“You don’t…never mind.”

Len headed around the side of the building and saw that his friend had moved out into the desert. The phone was off to the right just a bit, hanging on a wooden post.

Good, he thought as he walked over. At least now he and Chuck wouldn’t have to split up.

Ash woke with a pounding headache.

He must have gasped or something, because a hand was suddenly on his shoulder, rubbing it softly. Then a voice said, “It's all right. You're okay.”

It was a woman's voice, but it didn't sound like Janice's.

“My head,” he grunted.

He tried to raise his hand to his temple, but his arm would only move a few inches before it stopped. He opened his eyes just enough to see what the problem was. There was a tube or something coming out of his arm, and what looked like a leather strap around his wrist.

He tried his other hand. It moved without opposition.

“Sleep some more,” the voice said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Are we stopped?” he asked, realizing he felt no motion.

“Stopped?” A pause, then, “Just sleep.”

And as if it were a command, darkness overtook him once more.

The next time he woke, his headache was gone.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was not, as he’d previously thought, still in the RV. Instead he was lying on a bed in a wood-paneled room, soft sunlight seeping in through the window on the far wall.

There was a dresser to his left and an armoire in the corner beyond the foot of the bed. Below the window was a writing desk. All the surfaces were empty.

He tried to prop himself up so he could look out the window and get a sense of where he was, but his right arm caught on something. No, he quickly realized, not caught. Restrained. Hadn’t he been immobilized the last time he’d woken?

Around his right wrist was a padded leather cuff attached to the frame of the bed. The apparent reason for this was the IV line attached to his arm. His left, though, was completely free.

He had no idea what he was being fed from the bag hanging on the stand, but the idea of being both restricted and drugged did not appeal to him. He quickly worked the cuff open, turned the IV flow off, and pulled the tube out of the port on his arm.

His first stop was the dresser to see if there were any clothes to go with the T-shirt and underwear he’d been sleeping in. He found several pairs of jeans, more underwear, socks, and a whole drawer full of colored T-shirts. The bottom drawer even had two dark wool sweaters and a hooded pullover sweatshirt. The biggest surprise was that not only was everything new, it was all in his size, too. He got dressed.

Inside the armoire he found the boots he’d worn during his escape, and beside them, the messenger bag. A quick check of the bag showed that the only thing left was the money. What did he care, though? None of the contents had been his in the first place.

He pulled on the boots, laced them up, and walked over to the window. What greeted him was a surprise. It wasn’t the chaparral country where the mysterious Mike and Janice had picked him up, or even the desert. Instead, there was a mix of grassy fields and groves of evergreens. In the distance was a row of mountains.

The only structure in sight was way off to the left and only partially visible. It was big, though. Maybe a barn or large equipment shed. No way to tell for sure.

As for people, he saw none.

Where the hell am I?

He walked over to the door, put his ear against the wood, and listened. In the distance, he thought he could hear a low muffled conversation but that was about it.

He glanced back at the room. He could wait until somebody showed up, but he was done waiting so he opened the door.

“Thought I heard you moving around in there.”

Directly outside was a hallway about as wide as the room he’d been in. Sitting on a wooden chair against the far wall was a tan-faced man with the gentle creases of someone who’d spent more than his fair share of time outdoors. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a short mostly-salt goatee. Ash guessed he was in his fifties, early sixties at most. He was outfitted in jeans and a green flannel shirt.

The man pushed himself off the chair. “So how are you feeling?”

Ash glanced down the hallway. “Where am I?”

“You're safe, that's where you are.”

“Yeah, that's not really an answer.”

The man snickered. “No. No, I guess it's not.” He paused. “You're on the Hamilton Ranch. I’m Rich Paxton, but I go by Pax, mostly.” He held out his hand. “I help keep things running around here.”

Ash kept his hand at his side. “You're the one in charge?”

Pax shook his head. “No, that would be Matt. Matt Hamilton. It's his place. Well, his and Rachel's.”

“I want to talk to him right now.”

“That's convenient, because he wants to talk to you, too. Supposed to bring you to him when you finally got up. Which I guess is now.”

“Let’s go,” Ash said, ready to follow him.

Pax glanced down at the IV port still attached to Ash’s arm. “Should probably have Billy take a look at that first. Get that thing off you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure you are. But Billy's on the way, and it’ll only take a minute.”

Pax led him through several hallways, a large sitting room, up one flight of stairs, and past a dozen closed doors. Whatever kind of building this was, it certainly wasn’t small.

Finally, Pax stopped in front of an open door and stuck his head inside.“Billy?”

“Back here,” a voice replied.

Pax signaled Ash to follow him in.

The room was set up like a doctor's office, complete with examining table, cotton swabs, blood pressure cuff, tongue depressors, and all the other medical items you'd expect to find. There was also a computer monitor and wireless keyboard on the counter.

A door on the left led into another room. Since there was no one in the room they’d just entered, Ash assumed this Billy must be in the other.

“The new guy needs his tube removed,” Pax said.

“I need a few minutes,” Billy called out. “Just have him sit tight, and I'll be down as soon as I can.”

“He's not in his room. I brought him with me.”

There was the dull thud of a stack of paper being set down, then the sound of footsteps. A second later, a guy a few years younger than Pax entered from the other room. He walked over to Ash, grabbed his arm, and looked at the port. “You shouldn’t have done this by yourself.”

“No one else was there.”

“That’s not the point. What about the fluid? Did you close the tube, or is it running all over the floor?”

Ash narrowed his eyes, not liking the tone of the man’s voice. “I cut the drip before I disconnected it. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Billy frowned. “You should have just waited. You have no idea what was in the fluid. It could have been very dangerous.”