Suddenly the water was shut off and I thought the
torture was over. Wrong. Drake wasn't finished with
me yet.
"Get scrubbing, Alike. We haven't got all day."
Having no real choice in the matter, I began rubbing
the bar of soap all over myself, making a half-decent ef¬
fort to get myself cleaned up. It was great to smell the
fresh pine-scented fragrance slowly replacing the rotten
odor of congealed blood, but hampering my enjoyment
was the certain knowledge that after I'd finished lather¬
ing u p , Drake was going to order them to rinse me off.
Sure enough, I'd barely had time to run the soap
through my tangled, sticky hair, when the j e t spray of
frigid water pounded into me again, unannounced.
The merciless force of the water hurt even worse this
time, battering and bruising my body until I could no
longer stand. Only then did Drake order the water hose
turned off.
"Get up," the chief of security ordered without a
trace of compassion in his steely voice.
Drake walked closer, tossing a towel in my face and
stood watching me as I dried off. He was standing too
close, leering at me in a way that made me uncomfort¬
able.
"You clean up pretty good," Drake leaned closer,
whispering in my ear. "Not bad at all."
Is Drake gay, or just crazy?
"Can I have something to wear?" I asked, looking
away from my muscular captor's lustful eyes.
"Shy, Mike?" Drake smiled.
Ever so slowly, he reaching behind me and I shud¬
dered, thinking he was going to grab my ass. Fortu¬
nately, all he was doing was unlocking the handcuff
attached to the door. Once free, he nodded to one of
the guards to bring over my clothes. I thought they
were only giving me a white dress shirt to wear, but
once I unfolded the garment I noticed it was way too
long, extending down past my knees, and that the open¬
ing was intended for the back instead of the front. Why
were they giving me a hospital gown?
"What's this?" I asked.
"Have you forgotten already? You signed a contract
with Dr. Marshall, my friend, and I'm here to make
sure you keep up your end of the bargain." After con
sulting his wristwatch, he said, "It's j u s t past nine o'clock,
Mike. Your surgery is in fifty-six minutes. Dr. Marshall
will be expecting you shortly, so let's get moving."
My arm! They're gonna take my arm!
Panic swelled within m e , this primal emotion be¬
coming almost a physical entity, wrapping its greasy
fingers around my heart, squeezing fear out of every
pore. Acting on instinct alone, with no destination in
mind, I tossed the hospital gown in Drake's grinning
face and ran like the devil himself was chasing me.
Realistically, there was no place for me to go, but I ran
anyway, the need to escape my appointed fate com¬
pletely taking over my body.
Everyone started screaming, and of course gave
chase, but a desperate man can be faster than greased
lightning, given the proper motivation. W i t h the threat
of losing my arm h a n g i n g above my head like D a m o cles's proverbial swordj I was more than fast—I was
flyingl Unfortunately, it's impossible to outrun bullets,
so when I became lost in the jumble of boxes, dashing
between two large crates to find myself staring down
the barrel of a big black gun, I knew enough not to try
anything stupid.
The guard with the minicannon, a pimply-faced red¬
head who looked about nineteen years old, started
shouting to Drake that he had me, while backing me up
until my back was against a hard metal surface. I had
nowhere left to run. W i t h i n seconds, other guards had
found us and Drake was rounding the corner of the
storage crate too.
"Let me plug him, Drake," the overzealous y o u n g
redhead shouted. "He's more trouble than he's worth."
Re's gonna do it. I watched his finger starting to tighten
I closed my eyes as tight as I could, not wanting to
see the bullet heading my way. At any second, I ex¬
pected to hear the loud BOOM and feel my head begin
to vaporize, but what I heard was Drake screaming a
long, drawn out, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I opened my
eyes j u s t in time to see Drake run up and knock the
gun out of his y o u n g recruit's hand.
"What kind of an idiot are y o u ? " Drake screamed.
"For Christ's sake, Brad, take a look where you are.
W h e r e he is. You'll kill us all."
The y o u n g guard looked confused, uncertain what
his boss was angry about, but then his eyes opened
wide, and I saw realization wash over him like a splash
of ice water. The look on his face made me wonder what
the guards knew that I didn't. All it took was for me to
turn around, and I understood right away. I was leaning
against one of the two huge spherical-shaped tanks Fd
spotted from atop the incinerator. From this close, I
could see the word O X Y G E N painted in bright red letters
with the unnecessary warning, D A N G E R : E X T R E M E L Y
F L A M A B L E below'it.
So that's what they were... oxygen tanks.
That explained the network of small pipes rising up
through dozens of spots in the ceiling. The pipes sup¬
plied the various laboratories and operating rooms
throughout the entire medical center. Drake had been
right. If the guard had fired his gun, we'd all be dead
by now.
Well, at least 1 won't be getting shot today.
I clung to the base of the oxygen tank like a capsized
sailor might grasp a life preserver in the middle of the
Pacific. W i t h the threat of death by explosion taken out
of the mix, Drake quickly regained control of the situ¬
ation. He ordered two of his men to grab m e , threaten¬
ing to break their scrawny necks if they let me get away
again. Then he marched right up to me until we were
actually touching nose to nose and said, "I'm done fuck
ing around, Mike. You're coming.with me whether you
like it or not. We can do this one of two ways: the hard
way, or the really hard way. What's it gonna be?"
Neither sounded particularly good, so I j u s t kept my
mouth shut. I knew anything I said would end up earn¬
ing me a fist in the face, or worse, so I quietly waited for
whatever would come next. Had I known Drake was
hiding a large hypodermic syringe behind his back, I
might have struggled more than I did, but as it was, the
chief of security grabbed me by the throat and ruth¬
lessly jabbed the needle into my right shoulder before I
knew what hit me.
Whatever drug he injected into me, it packed a hell of
a wallop, because before I even had the chance to call
Drake a sneaky bastard, my vision began to dim. The
image of Drake's toothy grin froze in my mind, and
&
nbsp; began swirling around and around in my head, spinning
faster and faster until someone finally pulled the plug,
letting my dizzy consciousness drain down into the
black sewer of oblivion.
C H A P T E R S I X T E E N
W h e n I woke u p , I had a throbbing headache, so bad it
felt like someone had backed over my skull with a trac¬
tor. My eyes were crusted shut, but I blinked a few times
and managed to get them open. Bad mistake. The bright
light on the tiled ceiling above me practically blinded
m e , sending daggers of shooting pain through my brain,
making my poor head hurt even more. Refusing to make
the same mistake twice, I kept my eyes closed as I tried
to gather my senses and get my bearings.
Gotta stay away from that damn Sterno. I need a drink of
water... bad.
T h i n k i n g about water made me remember the fire
hose shower I'd recently been given. Once my mind
started along that memory path it didn't take long to
remember where I was, Drake giving me the knockout
drug, and his promise to deliver me to Dr. Marshall for
my scheduled surgery.
Oh God, no!
Had Drake already done that? Had Dr. Marshall al¬
ready taken me to his operating room and removed my
right arm? I was too frightened to open my eyes and
check. Other than my head I wasn't in a whole lot of
pain, but I was still woozy and half out of it so I might
be pumped full of happy drugs for all I knew.
Almost as if on cue, my right arm started to itch. I
felt it first near my elbow, and then slowly it began tick¬
ling its way up toward my neck. That should have been
a good sign, assured me I was still in one piece, but I
wasn't at all convinced the itch was real. I'd heard all
sorts of strange stories of people feeling phantom sensa¬
tions in limbs that had been amputated—even ones r e
moved years earlier—so I wasn't getting my hopes up.
Open your eyes, Mike. You gotta know for sure. Do it,
man. Do it now. Maybe it's not too late?
That was true. Maybe I hadn't been unconscious for
as long as I thought. The surgery m i g h t not have started
yet, and I might be lying in one of the waiting rooms. I
might still be able to get up and sneak out of here. One
way or the other, I had to find out.
Steeling myself against what I might see, I said a quick
prayer, opened my eyes, and reluctantly let them slowly
drift down the length of my body.
My right arm was gone, severed clean at the shoulder.
And so was my left.
C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N
Dr. Marshall kept me heavily medicated with a mor¬
phine drip for the next two weeks, then slowly began
weaning me off the highly addictive painkiller. It was a
hell of a lot easier dealing with my double amputation
when Fd been high as a kite than when I started to crash
back down to earth. Call me crazy, but I much preferred
a drug-induced fantasyland where I still had both my
arms to the cold sterile world of my disfigured reality.
Healing was a slow and painful experience, made worse
by my murderously foul mood and combative attitude.
The doctors and nurses who attended to me were pro¬
fessional and somewhat sympathetic to my plight, but
whether they were j u s t doing their j o b or not, they were
part of the enemy camp and I hated them for it.
N o t once, in the entire three weeks I lay recuperating,
did Dr. Marshall come to see me. I liked thinking maybe
he was a little scared of m e , but it was more likely he just
didn't give a damn, labeling me as so unimportant I didn't
merit'the wasting of his precious time. I was nothing but
a commodity to him, flesh and blood spare parts kept in
cold storage in case he had further need of me.
Drake popped in and out all the time, unfortunately,
laughing at my pain and taunting me in childish ways
like tossing me a tennis ball and saying, "Here, Mike,
catchy He'd shriek like a loon when the ball would whack
me in the face, or thud painfully against my bandaged
shoulders. He enjoyed pissing me off, and loved hurting
me even more. As helpless as I was, I vowed to someday
pay that muscle-headed sadistic asshole back in spades.
The first day the doctors let me get out of bed was the
day my mind turned away from revenge and started l i n k ing seriously about escaping. The minute my feet hit the
floor, I was already planning and scheming, keeping my
eyes and ears open for a chance to bolt. Ironically, it was
Drake—the big cheese of security around here—who
gave me the opportunity I'd been waiting for.
He strutted into my room with his chest puffed out,
cocky as usual, and ordered the two nurses who'd just
finished changing my dressings to get out and stay out.
"Dr. Marshall's on his way to see you, Mike."
"What's he want?" I asked, curious, but more than a
little nervous to hear the answer,
"I think he needs your legs," Drake smiled, clearly
happy to be the bearer of such shocking news.
He pulled an apple out of his coat pocket, leaned
against a filing cabinet by the door, and silently enjoyed
his snack while relishing the terrifying effect his words
were having on me.
God no, not my legs! Not my fucking legs!
I had a vivid picture of me carved down to nothing,
lying upstairs in a bed beside Lucas and Charlie while
three nurses began sticking the IV tubes into my head,
neck, and torso to begin draining my first of countless
donations of blood. The vision was so powerful, so real,
I found myself unable to stand on my own power. Dis¬
oriented as I was, I tried grabbing hold of my dresser
drawer to support myself, but I had no arms to clutch
onto anything with, so I ended up sprawled out on the
floor near Drake's feet.
Drake found my spill comical, naturally, nearly
choking on the last bite of his apple he was laughing so
hard. "Oh man, I've got to get out of here. You're killing
me Mike, killing me!" Tossing his apple core toward the
garbage can, he headed out the door, pausing only long
enough to look back and say, "Dr. Marshall will be along
soon, so be nice. I'll see you later on, back in rehab."
Then he was gone, the heavy metal door swinging
behind him so that he assumed he'd left me alone in a
locked room. That was his mistake. Although the door
was automatically set to lock, as always, the chief of se¬
curity had failed to notice that his gnawed apple core
hadn't fallen into the trash can as he'd intended. Instead,
it had bounced off the top rim and rebounded to the
floor, coming to rest between the closing door and its
j a m b . Wedged between the two, the locking device
couldn't engage, leaving the door open about an inch.
Lying where I'd fallen, I held my breath, waiting to
see if the weight of the door would compres
s the apple
core enough that the latch would click, but it never h a p
pened. Hope surged through me like a charge of light
ning, b u r n i n g away my ghastly thoughts of the Bleeders'
room upstairs, and fueling my weakened body into ac¬
tion. I was back on my feet in seconds, rushing over to
the door. Getting out of this room didn't guarantee me
freedom, but it sure as hell was a good start.
How was I supposed to open the door? The knob was
way too big to try grabbing with my teeth, and if I tried
to nudge it open using my hip, I might j u s t as easily
push the door shut, locking myself in. I ended up using
my toes, t u r n i n g my left foot sideways, pushing them
through the gap, and prying the door open enough that
I could get my head and neck around to shove it open.
Drake was nowhere in sight, the hallway in both di¬
rections blessedly empty. Outside my room for the first
time in almost a month, I felt great, almost giddy with
excitement, thinking maybe this time luck would be on
my side and I'd be able to j u s t stroll on out of here un¬
noticed and unchallenged. I should have known better. I
hadn't made it more than a few steps when Dr. Marshall
wheeled around the corner, obviously on his way to my
room. He was dressed in a blue sweatshirt and faded
j e a n s , looking quite comfortable until the shock of see¬
ing me out wandering in the hall spread across his face.
"How did you get out of your room?" he asked, a
trace of alarm creeping into his normally confident
voice. "Where's Drake?"
"Right behind you," I answered, and as soon as he
spun his wheelchair around to look, I turned tail and
took off at full speed the opposite way.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Dr. Marshall pull a
Iong-bladed knife from under the cushion he was sit¬
ting upon, clamp it in his teeth so he could push with
both arms, and race after me. I was out in front, but the
small lead I'd bluffed for myself wasn't enough to stay
in front for long. W i t h every push of his powerful arms,
Dr. Marshall was m a k i n g up ground, closing in on me
at an alarming rate.
It was hard to run last with my arms no longer there
to pump back and forth. I felt constantly off balance, and
was having a heck of a time trying to run in a straight
line down the hall without veering off to one side or the
other. This wasn't going to work. I had to find someplace