At First Touch (32 page)

Carson went stiff and then began shaking uncontrollably. Even in the gloom, I could see the whites of his eyes rolling back and forth frenziedly, as though he were seeing something that wasn’t really there. With a horror even I could feel, his head moved downward and he stared fixedly at his leg, a low, heart-rending moan building up as he screamed through his teeth. I shuddered involuntarily, knowing he was seeing the veteran’s memory of his own leg blown off by a landmine.

I could practically see when the memory had played itself out. Carson fell to his knees trembling, head hanging forward in despair. I glanced around the forest, thinking that this would be a really good time for Thrasher to show up with his gun and handcuffs, but the only sound was Carson’s labored breathing and my own heart pounding.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Carson growled, his tone acid. He got to his feet and pulled his gun out in one swift movement. I glanced behind him but Carey was still in the same position on the ground and I resigned myself that either Thrasher wasn’t coming or he would be too late.

“That’s just a taste, Carson. Leave now. Get in your car and go away and I’ll leave you alone.” I could see that my threats weren’t working in the way that I’d hoped. Instead of considering my offer or just turning tail and running, Carson began to bridge the distance between us, gun held at the ready. I was willing to bet the safety was off.

“Screw that. I’m going to kill you right now. You’re a freak, you don’t deserve to live,” he snarled and then as if in slow motion I saw the gun kick back, one, two, three times and heard the whistle and smack of the bullets as they collided with the trees in front of me, not even a foot from my head.

Panic numbed the rest of my body as I watched his unwavering figure draw towards me faster and faster. Hastily I tried to make him stop, attempting to force him to put the gun down and walk away, the way I had wished for Carey to kiss me, and for Thrasher to leave, but nothing happened and I saw my own death striding toward me with no hesitation.

My skin seemed to grow hot and my fury intensified. I wanted to make him really suffer, I wanted to make him scream in terror the way I needed to. I crouched down further and then reached along the invisible cord between Carson’s mind and mine, sending another nightmarish memory to attack him.

His steps halted and his body recoiled, as if he were being hit by imaginary bullets, one after another pounding into his chest, as he lived through one of the memories that sometimes woke me at night, whimpering helplessly.

It was a scene from the veteran’s mind again, a nightmare that he had dreamed of over and over. I knew that all Carson could see now was a jungle that hid his enemies. The men in his squad fell one by one with ear-splitting shrieks as their chests exploded with the impact of the bullets. Carson’s head flew around as he tried to see where the shots were coming from, but the only thing he could sense was the incessant ‘boom, boom, boom,’ as he was riddled with bullets, covered in his own blood, unable to break away, to defend himself; battered over and over again by an unseen enemy.

The memory faded and I could see something had cracked inside Carson. He stood there, shell-shocked, eyes staring ahead sightlessly. In the distance I heard leaves rustle and the sound seemed to jerk him out of his stupor. His mouth dropped open and he started to scream, deep, bone-shattering screams that pierced the night and made my blood run cold. Carson’s gun was still in his hand and he raised it. I flattened myself on the ground, hoping the trees would give me cover, but he was still trapped in the horror of what he had just seen. His shots went wild, drowning out his screams, as he unloaded the gun again and again all around himself. I struggled to separate my mind from his, feeling myself getting sucked into the madness, but his fear reached out like clammy fingers, holding my mind captive.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw another shadow hastening into position behind a tree just to the side of Carson.

“Stop! Drop the gun!” Thrasher’s voice shouted and I nearly collapsed with relief. Carson paused, eyes feral and frightened like a cornered animal, and then he turned toward the voice and cocked his gun to fire yet again.

“Carson, don’t do it, don’t…” Thrasher broke off, firing his own weapon, and silence fell as the echo faded. I gasped to see Carson’s body go wooden, and his gun fell harmlessly to the ground from his hand. I tried to get to my knees, but collapsed as Carson’s thoughts flooded mine, and I heard through his confusion the dawning realization that he’d really been hit.

It’s cold, dark. I don’t know why I’m here. My knees are buckling and the ground is so close, so safe. It’s like the time when I was eleven and fell down the basement stairs, knocking the wind out of my lungs. This felt a lot like that, like I will never be able to take a breath again. It is getting dark, so dark. I can’t see a light.

My own vision grew dark, tunneled, but there was no light at the end. Just a cold emptiness that inched forward, wrapping cold tendrils around my chest. .

Carson clawed at his chest, eyes widening in fear as an inky liquid poured through his hands. “This is it?” he whispered, falling face forward into the leaves.

A hand touched my shoulder and I drew in a shuddering breath, blinking my eyes frantically as my sight returned. I gulped in air like a drowning person, realizing that I hadn’t been able breathe while Carson couldn’t. But I could breathe now, and I did, knowing that Carson had been right; he would never take another breath again.

“Liz?  Liz! Are you alright?” Thrasher demanded anxiously. I nodded and he hurried over to Carson’s body to check the pulse. I could have told him there wouldn’t be one. I could still feel the moment when Carson’s brain died, like a black hole from which I had narrowly escaped. I stared emptily at his body, unable to respond to Thrasher’s increasingly worried questions. I knew what it was to die now. And I knew that I could have easily gone with him, that my brain could’ve followed his into the blackness and never returned.

I could feel tears gushing from my eyes and I sobbed in a choked way, wondering if I would ever be able to forgive myself for what I had just done. It had been my only weapon, and I knew that Carson was an evil man, mercenary and conscienceless, but he was still a human being and I had robbed him of his sanity before he died.

“Liz, for God’s sake answer me!” Thrasher nearly screamed into my face. I blinked several times, returning to the present and finally looked at him. His face was covered with scratches and there was a bruise darkening the side of his left eye.

“I’m…alright,” I lied. “Carey…” I whispered and then focused, remembering what was important. “Carey, he was shot. I don’t know if he…” I said and then stopped, realizing I did know, had known. There was no black hole in my mind where Carey should be, just the familiar confusion of the unconscious mind.

“He’s alive,” I said with certainty. “But I don’t know how badly he’s hurt. He’s been out for a while.” Thrasher dug a flashlight from the recesses of his coat and shone it over me, blinding me temporarily. He sucked in his breath when he saw my shoulder.

“What happened, were you shot too?”

“No, it happened earlier. Look, I’m fine! Please go see about Carey!” I pleaded as I rose shakily to my feet. I could tell Thrasher didn’t really believe Carey could be seriously hurt; after his little display that morning it was hard to believe anything could bring him down.

I hurried after Thrasher and we knelt over Carey, both studiously ignoring the dead body to our left. I nearly fell over when I felt Carey’s pulse, strong and solid, and saw his chest expanding and retracting as he breathed normally.

“Where was he hit? I can’t see anything,” Thrasher complained, looking up and down Carey’s immobile form.

“Give me your flashlight,” I commanded, a definite steel to my voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. I was filled with determination that Carey would be alright, if my immeasurable knowledge about medicine had anything to do with it.

Shining the light over his arms, I didn’t see anything, but there was a trickle of blood coming from beneath the tunic and spilling onto the ground under his right arm. The cloth of the tunic was sprinkled with little holes, nearly invisible. With my heart in my throat, I told Thrasher to tear the shirt apart, which he did with a small pocketknife. When Carey’s chest was uncovered we both sat staring for a moment, unsure of what we were seeing, knowing it wasn’t possible.

“How could this…” Thrasher stuttered, looking closer. I just shook my head and knew there wasn’t anything I could do for Carey in the middle of the woods. There was no way we could take him to a hospital though, not with his chest looking like that.

Carey had once told me that his skin was a bit like Kevlar, resistant to most attacks, but susceptible up close. Still, I was willing to bet that Kevlar had never reacted to a bullet like Carey’s skin had. Carson had shot him at close range, so the bullet should have gone straight through his chest and out the back. Instead, it had exploded upon impact and buried dozens of tiny bullet shards into his torso, like jagged edges of glass imbedded in the skin, each wound bleeding and bruised. It looked like a bomb had gone off on his chest.

It was no wonder Carey was unconscious; he had probably gone into shock from the pain. What was worse was that the skin was already beginning to form around the bullet shards, as though it were trying to heal itself around them.

Tears built again as I looked down at the ruined perfection of his body, but I brushed them away, knowing there was little time if we were to get the shards out safely. Carey didn’t really get sick, but I wasn’t sure that even his system could take the kind of infection that would set in with these wounds. I leaned back on my heels, slightly off balance from the numbness in my left arm, and thought of where I could take him.

Abruptly a conversation came back to me, one I had forgotten. Nurse Nora telling me that when the time came, I should bring Carey to her. She knew how to care for him.

I repressed any misgivings I had about the woman and told Thrasher what we had to do. He was doubtful, but finally accepted my judgment and gave me the keys to his car.

“I have to stay here and call the EMTs. You shouldn’t be here,” he told me as we carefully loaded Carey into the backseat. I glanced at him in sudden horror as the implications of what had just happened sank in. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come up with something, something that doesn’t involve either of you.” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, looking exhausted. “I don’t suppose you picked up anything from Carson that would help me?”

I held up a hand and closed my eyes. After about two minutes I opened them again and told him what he needed to know.

“Carson was recruited by the Coalition eight years ago. He was an outside consultant, the type they use for dirty work. His only contact was with a man named Bergen, who he believed was one of the leading members. I think that’s true, because Bergen is the same man that came to see me in New York, and was one of the doctors that worked on me when I was captured by the Coalition. Carson has Bergen’s contact number on his phone. Speed-dial number 14. I don’t know, you can say that you accidentally called it and knew Carson was working for someone or something. You’ve been following, trying to catch him doing something illegal. He’d rented a cabin…” I broke off, sobs rising from my chest as I realized we had only been a few miles away from his hide-out, where he would have called Bergen. I had nearly left it too late.

“Are you alright?” Thrasher asked for the hundredth time that night. I sniffed and nodded, refusing to break down while Carey needed me.

“He’s got drugs at the cabin. Demerol and Morphine and some other stuff. He was going to drug me so I’d be compliant when…when they came…” I stuttered, and Thrasher pulled me into his arms. I was too stunned to resist.

“You did the right thing, Liz. You’re a hell of a girl.” He released me and looked down at me with kind eyes. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about what’s happened here. You defended yourself somehow,” he said, frowning slightly, and I knew he wondered just what I had done to Carson. But he shook it off and continued, “…and he would have turned you over to the Coalition. Or killed you. And if Carey weren’t so tough, he’d be dead now. Carson had it coming,” he promised me.

I nodded numbly, unable to process anything I had just lived through.

“Go get Carey taken care of. I’ll call you when it’s safe. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll come up with a plausible story.” He patted my good shoulder in an awkward gesture and then walked away, back toward the body.

I dragged myself to my feet and followed him, pausing as something belatedly occurred to me. “How did you find me?”

He shot me an irritated glance, and I had a feeling I was going to hear a lecture later. “Carey heard Carson grab you, just barely, and he managed to follow the two of you and called me on the way. I drove in the direction he told me and then I saw the car on the side of the road, the open door. There was blood on the seat. Yours, I guess?”

I nodded. “Figured. I heard the gunshots and ran toward them. I almost didn’t make it in time.”

I climbed into the driver’s seat and put the car into gear. While I adjusted the seat and tried to cope with my non-functioning arm and the adrenaline crash, Thrasher looked up Nurse Nora’s phone number for me and called, giving her an abbreviated description of what had happened. She simply said to bring Carey to the school, where she would be waiting for us. I hit the gas and we tore off into the night, leaving the harrowing events of the night behind.