James Patterson - Dangerous Days of Daniel X

Great, out of all the beaten-down citizenry, I had to tick off the one that had powers.

“Bem and Kulay-front and center,” the old woman called out.

The two kids came out from behind a stack of pipes and approached the woman meekly.

“Yes, Doctor,” they said in unison.

“Who is this odd, renegade person?” she said. “Where did you meet him?”

“Deep in the northern tunnel, Doctor,” Bem said. “He said his name is Daniel.”

I unfroze suddenly as the dreadful light faded from the old woman’s eyes.

I did a double take as she burst into the most incredible girlish laughter. It was quite charming, actually, as if she were both eighty-four and fifteen at the same time.

“Bem and Kulay, you may go,” the old doctor woman said, suddenly friendly. “My, my, my. Daniel, is it? You’re a real curiosity, aren’t you? I was beginning to wonder if any more of your type existed in our poor, poor world. A curious young man. Come from afar, by your looks. And the way you speak. I knew a curious boy like you once upon an age. A boy very much like you. His name was… Let me try to remember. Oh, yes. Graff.”

Graff! I thought. You have got to be kidding me! That six degrees of separation thing even worked in space! Graff had been my father’s name!

“Graff? You knew a boy called Graff?” I blurted. “That was my father’s name, and he was from your world.”

Could it be the same person? I thought. No. No way. But the old woman seemed to read my mind. Her wrinkled face appeared to instantly lose twenty years, and she broke into the loveliest smile.

“I knew I sensed something curious and good about you, son of Graff, ” she said, putting a warm, soft palm on my forehead. “Thank you. You’ve helped me remember… the way it used to be.”

SO MANY EMOTIONS and questions rose in me at once. Finally I had a real connection to my family.

To who I was.

To what I was put in the universe to do.

And then the most excruciating pain exploded in my stomach! And with it came a fresh flow of blood. I collapsed, bleeding like a stuck pig.

“What happened to you?” she said. “Your stomach? Tell me, before you pass out.”

“I was shot,” I said between clenched teeth.

“With what? Be precise.”

“A 24/24 Opus Magnum.”

She pulled up my shirt for a peek. I couldn’t stop her if I tried.

“Must have used a delayed frag round,” she said, frowning at the blood and my wound. “Tiny charge inside the bullet. Can be activated at a later date. Even by remote control.

“The bad news is that basically you have a bomb inside your stomach. If we don’t get it out of you before the charge goes off, it will send shrapnel through all your vital organs, including your heart.”

“Beautiful,” I groaned. “Okay, you got my attention. What’s the good news?”

“It has to heat up first. We have a few minutes. Let’s do this.”

My eyes bugged as the tiny old woman put her hands under my legs and neck, lifted me up effortlessly, and carried me into her house.

“Let’s do what? ” I asked.

The front room was piled floor to ceiling with beautifully bound books. In the back room, she swept everything off a cluttered work desk, then laid me down flat.

“We need to operate,” she said. “Now. Don’t give me any lip. I don’t want to hear a word.”

Operate? Here?! I could see the dust flakes in the air. Not to mention that I was lying in what smelled like spilled coffee, and maybe bacon grease.

“How close is a hospital?” I moaned.

“No time,” she said, tapping a finger to her forehead, as if trying to remember something. She turned and took a vial of gross-looking brown liquid from a nearby cabinet. She handed it to me.

“What are you waiting for? Drink it!” she screamed.

Then she smacked it away as I put it to my lips.

“Wait! Not that! The light in here is so bad. This one, I think,” she said, handing me a new vial. More nasty brown liquid. Maybe motor oil?

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t argue! Don’t worry, I used to be a surgeon. But I don’t remember a darn thing now. Well, maybe you should worry a little.” She cackled as she opened a drawer. I saw hits of light-off metal.

As I forced down the foul potion, she placed a worn leather packet onto the desk beside me, then opened it up. “This could work,” she muttered. “Worth a chance.”

Hey, wait a second! I thought, gaping at the trowel, pruning shears, spading fork, and hand plow that were inside the pack.

“You’re going to operate on me… with gardening tools?”

“Aren’t we picky? Pull up your shirt!” was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

I WOKE to the gurgle of running water.

The old woman was washing something at a sink in the corner of the room. Is she doing the dishes? I thought woozily.

Then I remembered what had happened to me, and wished I hadn’t.

I glanced down at my stomach, which was covered with newspaper. Besides the gardening gear on the worktable, I made out a screwdriver and a needle and thread.

A screwdriver? Come on! I thought, quickly looking away, trying to convince myself not to blow chunks.

The tools were all splattered with blood. My blood.

“Well, what do you know?” my elderly home surgeon said. She was wiping her hands on a blood-splattered apron as she came over. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually alive.”

I realized that the room smelled like smoke. The curtains were singed, and there were broken picture frames and chunks taken out of the plaster in one wall.

“What happened?” I said. “The smoke?”

“I managed to get the bullet out of you, but it blew up right when I was trying to toss it out the window. Piece of shrapnel hit my leg. Thank fortune, it was the wooden one. How are you feeling?”

I looked down at the blood-soaked newspapers wrapped around my stomach. Besides the occasional teeth-clenching throb of agony, I actually felt a little better. Clearer in the head somehow. Being alive is fun like that.

“Like a million bucks,” I groaned. “Thank you, um… I didn’t catch your name, Doctor.”

“No doctor. Just Blaleen.”

“Thank you, eh, Blaleen,” I said. “For saving my life. For… whatever you did here.”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” she said, glancing at her wrist. “Wait a second. You haven’t seen my watch, have you? I was wearing it a…”

An expression of horror crossed her face. She turned suddenly and stared at my stomach. “Oh, dear me.”

“No,” I cried. “Please, no.”

She giggled. “Of course not. Just a little surgeon humor.”

But enough joking around, Daniel, she said, talking to me mind to mind now. You need rest. You almost died on the operating table.

You recognized me before, didn’t you? I thought back at her. What do you know about me?

I know many things, Blaleen communicated. I know you were given a human name, because you and your parents were heading to Earth.

And I know practically nothing, Blaleen. I have so many questions. Who are you? Who are you, really?

A dear friend, she replied, and held a medicine cup to my lips. Down the hatch now, Daniel.

I felt extremely tired. I glanced at the broken pictures that had fallen off the wall. My eyelids grew heavier. In one newspaper picture, a smiling young man was holding a trophy. GRAFF WINS ALL-CITY! read the headline.

Graff?! My father? My father as a young man? Why would the old woman have a picture of my-