Emmy Laybourne - Savage Drift

“Are you in touch with him?”

“Not to speak of. Why?” Cutlass asks me.

“I’d like to know… I’d like to know if my kids are okay,” I tell him.

Hope surges into my heart, catching me off guard.

Sandy, rearranging the sheets at the foot of the bed, pats one of my ankles.

Dr. Cutlass looks at me. He’s thinking it over.

“I tell you what. I’ll think about trying to get in touch with him and find out, but I need you to think about something, too.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Josie, I think that you are special. I think that you have the ability to exert conscious control over your mind when in a MORS-exposed state.”

“MORS?” I ask.

“MORS is the name of the warfare compound that was released in the Four Corners area,” he quickly explains. “What I need from you is just a sample of spinal fluid.”

He goes on to say that it’s a simple procedure, and there are a few risks, but they will be especially careful because I’m such an important subject and if I agree to it, he will have me released soon thereafter and all kinds of other things he thinks will make me go along with it.

And I might have, too, if it weren’t for this: As soon as Dr. Cutlass says “sample of spinal fluid,” Sandy’s head snaps up. She is still at the foot of the bed, behind Dr. Cutlass. Her eyes are wide, scared, and her mouth tightens into a pinched line.

And she shakes her head no. Quickly. No.

“So let’s do this,” Dr. Cutlass is saying. “You give me the names of those kids and I’ll find out what I can. Then, if you sign the release form, we’ll be all set.”

“Wait. How do you get spinal fluid?” I ask.

“Oh. Didn’t I say?”

I shake my head.

“We do a spinal tap. Really, this is something we do all the time.”

I can’t help it. My eyes dart to Sandy.

Dr. Cutlass sees this and turns to look at her over his shoulder. He shoots her a cold look. A freezing cold look.

“Hun,” she says. “I’m gonna go see about your lunch!”

Dr. Cutlass turns back to me, plastering a reassuring smile up on his face.

“We do it every day,” he says. “So. Tell me the names of your friends. You know, maybe I could even get them transferred to a safer facility.”

I know what this is. This is a bribe.

I give him the names.

I tell him I will think about it.

I see him decide that that’s the best he’s going to get, for now.

“You rest up, Josie Miller,” he tells me. “You and I have a lot of important work ahead of us.”

When I wake up, Sandy is fiddling with my IV.

“Sandy?” I ask her. “Is everything okay?”

She nods yes.

“It’s all good, my little peapod.”

But I know it’s not good. I know that she has an opinion about the testing Dr. Cutlass proposed.

“I’ve been wondering, if you’re feeling better, you want to get up a bit? Go for a walk?”

“Yes, please!”

She laughs.

Then she says, “See? It pays to cooperate. Dr. Cutlass said he finds you amenable and docile. That’s good news for you. Means you get to walk around a bit.”

There’s something wrong with her voice. It’s flat, somehow.

I catch her eye and she quickly looks over to the corner, directing me to look there.

Then she puts her hand on my leg.

“Let’s get these straps off,” and she turns me so I am facing the corner she just indicated with her eyes.

I see it.

A little silver half-sphere, up in the corner.

A security camera.

We’re being watched and recorded.

So she’s got to say the right thing.

“We’re gonna take it slow, sweet girl. But I thought I’d give you a little tour of the Zone Four testing and premium rehabilitation suites of USAMRIID.”

After she removes the straps, and the catheter, I get to stand up.

My legs buckle under me and Sandy supports me. She’s so short her shoulder fits perfectly under my armpit.

“Take it easy, now. Just see how standing feels. Might be I should get you a wheelchair.”

“No,” I tell her. “I want to walk. Really, I do.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. She’s small and wiry. Strong.

We have to roll around my IV, but it’s okay. I can lean on it a bit.

I take two, three slow steps away from my bed.

“Sandy, before we go in the hall…”

“Hmm?”

“Can I see how I look?”

The bathroom has a shower, a sink, and a toilet. Everything is tiny and compact. In the golden-colored light of my tiny bathroom, I am surprised. I like what I see.

My hair is gone. Shorn off. It’s very close to the skin, but I like it.

It makes me look like a grown-up. And it makes me look tough.

And when I think about it, I guess I am both those things.

I’m able to walk okay, after those first few moments.

My body feels a little sore and tired, but God knows it’s felt worse.

The hallway looks like a regular hospital, but I see, after peeking in one or two of the rooms, that there are no windows.

“There’s facilities in Fort Bragg and Fort Benning and other places, but they pick all the most promising cases and send them here to us,” Sandy tells me as we walk.

Many of the doors are closed, but in one I see a huge, hulking guy restrained on a bed. In another there’s a man visiting a crying woman, who sits on her bed in a gown like mine.

“Are we allowed to have visitors?” I ask.

“Sometimes.” Sandy sighs. She points to a metal door with a large window. The glass is shot through with steel mesh. An armed guard stands on the other side.

She waves to him. He nods back a fraction of an inch.

“Every doorway to the stairwell on every floor is guarded, twenty-four/seven. Nobody gets in here who shouldn’t be, don’t you worry.”

She pats my arm.

Her words are telling one story on the surface, but I feel like there’s a subtext—don’t try to run.

“The security’s even tight for us. Retina checks on every floor. It’s all designed for the utmost safety for everyone who works here.”

She’s telling me they check identity at every door. I’d need stolen eyeballs to escape.

We walk along and suddenly I get tired.

The energy just goes out of me.

“We’re underground,” she says, waving hello to another nurse. “That’s why you don’t see any windows.”