Reavers (Book 3) (12 page)

“Looks like we are having company,” Brent said as he stretched on the edge of the bed.

“She had to wake us up this early to ask if she could have a slumber party?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

“Oh, the company isn’t for her.  It’s for me.”

“Don’t tell me you have a gaggle of teenage girls on the side.”  She snaked her arm around him.  “Aren’t I enough for you?”

“More than I deserve,” he said with a smile.

He suddenly realized her arm was bare.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her nightgown on the floor.  Before he could react, she had pulled him under the mass of blankets.  As she pressed her lips against his, Brent decided to wait to tell her about their
guest
.

As Janet reviewed her morning cases, she warmed her second cup of coffee.  It was nothing out of the ordinary; a dozen or so in the waiting room complaining of generic pains and annoyances that could be attributed to a cold or the flu.  If she made them wait about ten minutes, half of them would give up and just go home.  The other half wouldn’t be satisfied until someone had prodded them and told them what they already knew. 

Naturally, such things were beneath Janet, but the doctor on call that morning had called in sick himself.  She still wasn’t sure when she had drawn the short stick, but whenever things like this happened she always seemed to be the one they picked to fill in.  Maybe it was because she never complained.  They knew they could stick her with busywork and she wouldn’t make a peep.

“Doctor Humphrey?” the receptionist asked in surprise.  “I thought you weren’t on call until this evening.”

“I’m not,” Janet said with a smile.  “I’m just filling in.”

“I know it’s not my place, but you can’t let them keep running over you like this.  Stand up for yourself once in a while.”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.  Really.”

“If you say so . . .”

Janet nodded to the receptionist as she walked around the counter.

“Miss Lejeune?” she called out to the waiting citizens.  “We are ready for you now.”

An older lady stood up.  Janet smiled warmly as the older woman slowly hobbled over.  Abruptly the main entrance slid open.

“I need some help!” a frantic voice screamed.

The newcomer was shakily carrying a limp body.  A trail of blood marked their path.  The receptionist jumped to her feet and called in an emergency team.  Janet crossed the room and looked over the wounded.  It was a deep cut, a steady steam of blood seeping out of the wound.

“What happened?” she demanded as she applied pressure.  “How long ago did he get this wound?”

The girl carrying him was hysterical.  The fractured bits of words she uttered made no sense.  When the emergency team showed up the girl took a defensive position, clinging tightly to the wounded young man.

“It’s okay, we’ll help him,” Janet said as she placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Reluctantly the girl released him and collapsed to the floor.  The emergency team lifted the boy onto a stretcher and quickly lifted him back into the medical center.  Janet followed quickly after the emergency team as the receptionist saw to the girl.  As they rushed down the corridors of the medical center she took the boy’s pulse.  It was incredibly weak.  From his pale complexion it was obvious he had lost a lot of blood.

“Do we have a blood type?” one of the emergency team asked.

“No idea; get an analysis running
now
,” Janet ordered.

“What about the girl?”

“Useless.  She’s obviously in shock.”

One of the team quickly stuck a needle in the boy’s arm.  After removing just enough to test, he sprinted off.

“Operating room four is being prepped,” a nurse said as she chased after Janet.

“From the location of the wound, damage to the femoral artery is a definite possibility,” Janet said, studying the wound.  “We’ve got to get him stabilized or we are going to lose him.”

As they rounded the last corner she thought she saw the boy move.

“We might have to sedate . . .”

Before she could complete her sentence the boy lunged at one of the emergency team.  Startled, the man jumped back dropping his corner of the stretcher.  Without his help the others quickly lost their grip on the stretcher, dropping the boy to the floor.

“Careful!” Janet shouted as she moved to help the boy.

Before anyone could say anything the boy rolled himself over.  In his hand was a sidearm.

“You were armed?” Janet asked the emergency team.

“The receptionist said it was a stabbing,” one of the men said defensively.  “It’s standard procedure.”

Janet slowly raised her arms showing the boy she meant no harm.  Oddly, the boy was ignoring all of them.  His attention was firmly focused on the weapon.

“No one is going to hurt you,” she said in a soothing voice.  “Now hand over the weapon before someone gets hurt.

The boy’s eyes widened as he found what he was looking for.  Quickly manipulating something on the pistol, he took aim at his own leg.  Before Janet or the emergency team could stop him the boy had pulled the trigger.  A small pulse of light struck his open wound.  The emergency team didn’t have to wrestle the weapon away as the boy was unconscious a moment later.

“Why’d he do that?” the nurse called from around the corner.

In the blink of an eye, the nurse who had been following her had disappeared in self-preservation.  Janet examined the wound.

“I’ll be,” she said in awe.

“What is it?” the nurse asked.

“He cauterized the artery.”

The nurse quickly closed and inspected the wound herself.  To the mutual surprise of those gathered, the boy had stopped the bleeding
just
before losing consciousness.

“Get him to the operating room,” Janet ordered.  “He’s not out of the woods yet.”

Nodding, the nurse and the emergency team quickly got the boy back on the stretcher.  As they disappeared into the operating room, Janet headed back toward the waiting room.  Something wasn’t right.  The boy had shown both military and medical training.  The receptionist was at the girl’s side when Janet returned.  The waiting crowd had thinned to just a handful of truly sick citizens.  A cough or ache no doubt seemed irrelevant compared to the scene the hypochondriacs had just witnessed.

“I can’t get her to stop crying,” the receptionist whispered.

“I’ll take it from here,” Janet said as she sat next to the girl.

The girl was in a tight red dress.  From the tattered condition of her outfit, assault was possible.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a gentle voice.

The sniffling girl looked at her, not seeming to understand.

“Did he hurt you?”  Janet asked directly.  “If you were just defending yourself you won’t get in any trouble.”

“What?” she asked in a choked up voice.

“It’s not your fault if he attacked you.”

Without warning, the girl started crying again.  Janet tried to put a hand on the girl’s shoulder only to have it violently pushed off.

“It’s all my fault,” the girl said between sobs.

“That’s not true . . .”

“Yes it is!” the girl screamed.

The few left in the waiting room quietly moved away from the girl.

“He got hurt because of me.”  The girl’s sobbing intensified.  “He was defending me, even after all I’ve done to him.”

“Defending you?” Janet asked, not understanding.  “From what?”

The girl was crying too intensely for Janet to understand her words.  Abruptly, the girl turned and grabbed her.

“He will make it . . . won’t he?” she asked, half pleading.  “He
has
to.”

“We’ll do everything in our power to save him,” Janet said reassuringly.  “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Allergies or if he is on any medication right now.  That kind of thing.”

“Not that I know of,” she said as she tried to stop crying.

“Is there any local family we can contact?”

“No,” the girl said thoughtfully.  “He doesn’t have anyone nearby.  Just me.”

“What’s your relationship?  Sister?”

“Our relationship?” the girl seemed to get lost in her own thoughts.

Large pools of water started to build up in the girl’s eyes.  Janet readied for another burst of weeping.  Instead the girl balled a fist.

“Is there going to be an official record of this?” the girl asked in a trembling voice.

“I’m afraid so,” Janet said apologetically.

“Good.  I don’t want to keep it a secret any longer.  I want everyone to know Owen and I are a couple.”

The bony old man was laughing hysterically.  Swiping at his bloody lip, the Weaver spat the blood toward the annoying man.

“Would you shut up?”

The bony man’s laughing didn’t pause for a moment despite the venom in the Weaver’s voice.

“Oh relax, Connor,” the bony man said as his laughter slowly subsided.

“You dare use my name?” the Weaver shouted.

“Don’t get back on your high horse just yet,” the bony man said with a content smirk.  “The almighty
god
of a Weaver just got beaten by a simple boy.  I wonder if that makes him divine too.”

Things hadn’t gone exactly to plan.  Just when the boy was on the verge of slitting the girl’s throat, he diverted his thrust and plunged the blade into his own leg.  Without warning the injured boy lunged at Connor.  Emotional control was pointless.  All of his power had no effect on the attacking boy.  His body was moving of its own accord.  The emotional state of his mind had no sway at all.

It had been all Connor could do to avoid half the blows.  It had been mortifying to have to
limp
to the meeting point after ducking out of the apartment.  The bony man had already been waiting on the rooftop when Connor arrived and hadn’t ceased his laughter for a moment.  Apparently, the bony man had been watching the entire affair.

“There was nothing
simple
about that boy,” the Weaver said angrily.  “What monsters are you setting me against?”

“Ah, not divine but a monstrosity.”

“I’m serious.”

“Blame me if that strokes your ego.”  The bony man shrugged, uninterested.

Just as Connor was about to shout, the bony man casually tossed a pad to him.

“What’s this?” he asked as he looked over the information.

“The complete personnel file on that
monster
.  I did suggest you read it, but a god like you had no need.”

With renewed interest, Connor devoured the pad with his eyes.

“A medic?” he asked in disbelief.

“The great and mighty Connor Benedict was bested by a mere medic,” the bony man said, restraining a chuckle.

“This can’t be right.”

“I’ve double checked it myself.  He’s nothing more than an instructor on the academy.”

“An instructor?  Impossible.  He’s a year younger than I am!”

“Times are tough.  Plus, he apparently has quite a talent for it.  Talent is something you should be familiar with.”

“That almost sounded like praise.  I thought you detested us Weavers.”

“Oh I do, but even
I
have to admit you have your uses.  Not that I’ve seen it yet.”

“You’d openly mock me?”

“Need I remind you a mere medic just showed you the door?”

“I still don’t understand how.”

“That boy is indeed an oddity.  How someone so plain could attract such a delicious young thing eludes me.”

“That’s all you’re interested in?  You old pervert.”

“You’re one to call names.  I noticed you enjoyed tearing her outfit.  Copping a feel perhaps?”

“Don’t lower me to your level.  I needed to suggest she had been unfaithful.”

“Ah yes,
one
of your
many
limitations.  You need an emotion to work with.”

“At least I’m not limited to thinking through my genitals.”

Connor laughed mockingly.  In a single instant the bony man changed.  The light, argumentative playfulness faded and was instantly replaced by seething hatred.  Before the Weaver could react, the skeleton of a man was at his throat.  A glistening blade was resting against Connor’s neck.  In a single instant the bony old man had crossed the rooftop without making a single sound.

“I’ll entertain your ego for only so long,” the bony man said in an icy tone.  “Remember that you are the puppet and I am the master.  Your strings are mine to cut.”

“You honestly think I couldn’t stop you?” Connor asked, putting as much bravado into his voice as possible.