The Tenth Legion (Book 6, Progeny of Evolution) (15 page)

“Let ‘em have
it!” the Team Leader shouted through the microphone. To escape the
line of fire, Lorna dropped to the ground. The hammering cacophony
of automatic weapons’ fire eclipsed every other sound, even the
buzz inside of everyone’s head that doesn’t stop until you die.
Bullets ripped through the steel tables, pushing them around in
jerking movements. The male lycan bounded over the disintegrating
furniture, returning to human form when he landed on Lorna.

Turning her
over to face him, he snarled. “Traitorous bitch!”

In human form,
she nowhere matched his strength, and she couldn’t morph while
wearing the damned protective vest. Staring up at the powder-white,
square-jawed face, more peril faced her than any time in a decade
or more. The glaring blue eyes opened as widely as could be. The
black line around each, whether natural or eyeliner, presented an
image of enraged insanity. A gold ring, anchored to the sliver of
skin separating his nostrils, dangled inches above.

In another
instant, he’d morph and rip out her throat. Pulse racing, she
prepared to meet death when from the right, a single gunshot
thundered out above the rest. Her superior eyesight separated the
sequence that happened next. A whistling object struck the lycan’s
temple with a thud, erupting out the other side of his head in a
splash of blood and brains. The impact knocked him off Lorna,
flinging the corpse across the pavement through the splatter.

Lorna stood
up, dusting off. Seconds after the lifesaving shot, the firefight
ended. Later, she learned that the cop out back would live, but
lose an eye. Everyone in the storage unit was dead.

Looking
around, trying to figure who’d rescued her, she lingered on a crowd
gathered around someone located about where the shot would have
originated. Sticking out from the circle of people, lying flat on
the pavement, a familiar pair of blousy pants legs ended in worn
brown shoes.

Her heart
leapt into her throat. “Oh, no.”

In an instant,
she shouldered her way to his side. Mike lay flat, a pool of blood
growing out around him. “He took one in the side,” muttered the
Team Leader in her ear. “I think it got a lung. Help’s on the
way.”

Lorna squatted
next to Mike. His eyelids fluttered in recognition. “You saved my
ass.” She choked back tears.

Mike grimaced.
“I guess just goes to prove lycans can’t take lead in their diet
any better than we can.” A dribble of blood materialized at the
corner of his mouth when he coughed.

“How’d you let
your side be exposed?” she asked. The side of the torso presented
the most vulnerable part of the type vest OPD wore. Techniques to
minimize exposure were a prominent part of required training.
Following correct procedure minimized chances of an accident.

His answer
came back. “Just wasn’t paying attention. I probably saw a chance
to get a peek at your crotch and paid the price.” The wise assed
answer caused shock all around.

Ignoring the
awkwardness Mike’s remark caused, Lorna surveyed the scene from
where the lycan pinned her, then back to him. In a second, she
understood what had happened. Mike did what policy recommended
against. Upon turning to get off the shot to nail Lorna’s
assailant, he exposed his side to the path of fire from both
directions. A shot coming from inside got him.

His hand
seemed frailer than she remembered it being from their time
together, and a lot colder. “You damn, loveable fool,” she said.
“You didn’t have to risk your life. I would’ve been okay.”

Coughing
again, more weakly this time, he sucked air in through the hole in
his side. Fighting for breath, his eyes widened. In the distance, a
whooping siren announced the approach of the emergency vehicle. An
alert uniform covered the bullet hole, allowing Mike to breathe
normally. Catching his breath, Mike focused on Lorna. “At your
funeral, how would I explain to your new boyfriend what happened to
you?”

“Boyfriend?
You know better than that. A weekend of pounding headboards does
not a relationship make.” She did her best to sound cheerful and
witty, even as tears made a straight trickle down each cheek.

“Listen to
me.” Mike mustered as much passion in his tone as a collapsed lung
allowed. “Don’t give up on the guy too quick. I’ve known you for
almost twenty-five years, and I never saw you as happy as you were
when you came back from being with him. Not any time. Even when we
were together. Not ever.”

The EMTs
arrived and took over.

With
reluctance, Lorna stepped away.

* * * *

At the
hospital, the surgery staff operated the same night. Every day, she
visited him. By the third day, he sat up in bed, cracking jokes
with the nurses. On the fourth day, while she worked a case file at
her desk, a shadow fell across the green blotter. Above, the face
of a deliveryman hovered.

“Lorna
Winters?”

“You’re
speaking to her.”

Without
ceremony, he presented a small, oblong gift-wrapped package. The
paper and bow were white, interlaced with silver and gold, all high
quality. An engraved card accompanied the small box.

The card bore
her name written in a small, precise handwriting. Slitting the
envelope open with a fingernail, she pulled out a scented note and
read:

Dear
Lieutenant Winters,

Please accept
the enclosed expression of our thanks for your help in retrieving
documents so precious to us. Although we have never met, I feel we
know each other well.

Sincerely,

Samantha
White

All the way
from Mars! Well, not exactly. A trip to Mars took up to two months,
but the Internet traveled at the speed of light. Correspondence
between the planets was a lot cheaper than personal appearances,
taking minutes, even with facsimile signatures.

Lorna took off
the wrapping paper. Rather than tear into it, she undid the tape
holding the folds together in order not to cause damage.
Eventually, the rich paper lay in a single sheet on the desk top,
spread out underneath a small, blue, felt box. The Tiffany logo
first caught her eye, generating an expectant flutter in her chest.
Threatening to snap shut and pinch her fingers at any time, the
strongly-hinged lid opened with difficulty. Resting in padding
overlaid by stretched pale-blue silk, a diamond tennis bracelet
shimmered and sparkled. Inside, she found another note, recognizing
Ed’s handwriting the second she opened it. Her heart skipped
another beat as she read:

There are no
diamonds on Mars. These are the best we could find. I hope you
enjoy wearing them, but remember that they are nothing compared to
you. With your help, I promise to have more fun.

Ed.

Closing the
box, she got warm and mushy inside. A wide smile lit up her face
while she eased back in her chair to enjoy the moment. At about the
same time, Captain Gregg showed up in her doorway. From his
expression, the purpose of the visit boded nothing good.

“It’s Mike,”
he said.

Lorna snapped
out of her reverie. “What’s the matter?” she asked, dreading the
answer. Her stare locked him in crosshairs.

“He’s taken a
turn for the worse. I don’t have any more details. Perhaps one of
us should go see.” Gregg avoided her eyes. “You’re his old
partner.”

Pretty much
what she expected from the good captain. Lorna stuffed the small
blue box and its contents into a side pocket. With coat and bag in
hand, she headed on her way.

Mike had
contracted Hospital Crud, or just
Crud
, a staph infection to make MRSA seem like a cold. In the
century-and-a-half since antibiotics had come into general use,
their over-application had created families of resistant bacteria.
Crud was the worst. Any lapse in cleanliness or disinfectant
protocols provided the conditions for it to sweep through patients
whose immune systems were already weak. A worldwide scourge, the
contagion showed no sign of abating. Lorna recalled reading an
article about how in medieval times, people viewed hospitals as
places to go to die. Over the last fifty years, the perception had
made a hardy comeback.

When Lorna
arrived, they issued her a mask. A lycan’s physical constitution
provides immunity, but to prove it required filling out complicated
liability releases. They led her to a room sealed off from the
others. After passing through an airlock, she arrived. Mike lay in
a small, wheeled bed, hooked to I.V. s and monitors.

“We’re trying
our best,” the harried nurse in attendance told Lorna. There were
eight other patients, including a newborn.

Lorna wondered
how short-sighted humans were to get themselves into such a
mess.

“Hello,
Princess.” Mike made a weak attempt to rise, but she waved him
back. The monitors beeped, made occasional grinding noises, at
times displaying numbers. His vital signs seemed pretty good for a
mid-fifties human who never learned the meaning of the words
“healthy lifestyle”. When they were together, everyone had called
him a cradle robber, especially the last year or so. It had
happened so often, she had to remind herself how few years
separated them.

“Hello,
yourself,” she answered, forcing a smile. “How are you
feeling?”

“Still with my
hands.” He chuckled weakly at the joke he’d made.

Lorna pulled a
chair to his bedside and sat, cradling his fingers. A needle that
struck Lorna being more at home on a commercial quilting machine,
punched into a vein on the back of his hand. Clear tape held the IV
in place. “I got more holes in me than Swiss cheese,” he commented.
“What’s up at work? How’s the investigation on the evidence room
break-in going?”

“A complete
dead end. The afternoon clerk disappeared. Cleaned out her
apartment, bank account—everything. Circumstantial evidence points
to her, but there’s no clue as to who she works for.” Then her face
brightened as she continued, “Our little raid opened up a huge can
of worms full of bad guys. They’ve been making arrests all over the
state, as far away as New Orleans. They uncovered a region wide
network, selling organs overseas, especially in China.”

Mike
snickered. “That’s rich, lycans carving up humans without eating
them.”

“Watch
Commander Bell says we made the department’s biggest bust in twenty
years. He’s talking about awards in addition to spot promotions for
everyone involved.”

“Yeah, if I
live long enough. Hospital Crud’s got me by the balls.”

“Don’t talk
like that. You’re fine,” she said with more optimism than she felt.
The infection was a treacherous foe. No one who had it counted
themselves safe until blood tests declared them bacteria free.

With a feeble
grasp, he drew her close. “I know I’m done.” When she tried to
argue, he shushed her and resumed. “This stuff never lets old farts
like me get out of jail free.”

“Your signs
look good.”

Grinning
without enthusiasm, he said, “Don’t believe all you see. The drugs
I’m getting aren’t curing fast enough. They’ve arrested the Crud,
but that’s all. The treatment is as bad as the disease
and if they run short, being
the oldest in here puts me sucking hind tit on the priority.” He
nodded toward the baby. “He rates it more than me
anyway.”

“They can’t
just cut you off.”

“They can and
they will. Come hell or high water, my treatment ends in
twenty-four hours.”

“
It’s
not going to happen.” Lorna took out her cell phone. “I’m calling
someone who might help.”

“Edward
White,” a voice answered.

“Ed, it’s
Lorna. I need your help.”

After
explaining Mike’s situation, as well as his involvement with saving
the documents, Lorna asked, “Can you transfer him to a corporation
facility? They’re going to let him die here.”

“I’ll have
someone there in two hours.”

After the call
finished, Mike relaxed in anticipation of corporation, instead of
government, medical care. Lorna hoped Ed’s help had arrived in
time. A few minutes of silence passed between them. Then Mike said,
“If things don’t work out, and I take the old dirt nap, promise me
one thing.”

“What’s
that?”

“Reconcile
with your parents.”

“What do you
mean? They’ve been dead for thirty years.”

“No, they
still live here.” Raising a trembling hand, he pointed to her
heart. “They’re still in there. Because of that, unresolved
resentments are eating away at you every day. What I’m saying is to
reach in and forgive them. Forgive them because when you do, you
also forgive yourself. Then you’ll find peace. Trust me, I
know.”

The effort of
holding his hand aloft proved too much. Slowly, it sank back onto
the bed.

An hour later,
corporation personnel transferred him to a facility outside of
Tampa. Holding his hand all the way to the ambulance, she
discovered there was no room for her. “Catch me tomorrow,
Princess,” he said, just before they applied the oxygen mask.

* * * *

Those were the
last words he ever said to her. The medications administered by the
corporation doctors had to be withdrawn, also. The unfortunate
consequence of the concoction feeding into him was congestive heart
failure if administered too long. If not eradicated, the Crud would
return as virulent as before. The infection took him midway through
the next day’s shift. The head of the facility called her with the
news.

On the day of
Mike’s funeral, Fate smiled, providing a warm, sunny day, uncommon
for late February in Central Florida. All of the OPD attending wore
uniforms. Lorna had hers dry cleaned, presenting a crisp image of
dark blue and silver braid standing at graveside through the rifle
salute followed by the minister’s sad but hopeful words. Commander
Bell presented a folded Southeast Region flag to a thin, blonde
woman seated in the front row. Beside her, a teenage boy stood,
thin like the woman.