Operation Middle of the Garden 01 - Of Eternal Life Read online

  There’s no one here.

  What were they hiding when the civilians cleared the building? Weapons?

  Major Taylor seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts.

  “It’s for the military personnel here at the hospital. No need for you to be worried,” he said. Ah, this she was used to. Her short crop of blond curls, big blue eyes, and freckled nose often elicited this don’t-worry-your-pretty-little-head response from macho men. God, she hated that. But at least it ensured that they underestimated her ninety percent of the time.

  Not that she’d ever proved to them that they had underestimated her. But there was always a first time. She just knew it.

  “Of course not,” she assured in her best big-girl voice, which only made Major Taylor’s smile soften even more.

  “Okay, I’ll let you all get back to what you’re doing.” He eyed the petri dish still balanced in the palm of Abilene’s hand. “Keep up the good work.” He strode through the door, closing it behind him.

  One … two . . .

  “Oh, Abilene,” Olive burst out as Lisa and Mary started laughing, “you’re my hero.”

  “Yay,” Abilene mumbled under her breath as she finally set down her petri dish.

  “I’m starting a fan club right now. Ladies,” Olive turned to Lisa, Mary, and Dahlia, “care to join? Dues are only drinks at lunch.”

  “Honey,” Dahlia interjected as she made her way to Abilene’s side, “I’ve already founded that club. You can pay the dues to me.” She squeezed Abilene’s shoulder as she whispered for her ears only, “It’s okay. You were cute.”

  “Yeah, that’s going to get me far in the medical field.” She turned to the others. “How soon do you think we can leave for lunch?”

  Dahlia looked at the clock on the wall. “An hour. Come on,” she tugged at Abilene’s arm. “Diet Coke?” Olive, Mary, and Lisa clapped their hands in enthusiasm and jumped up and down like little kids. Abilene felt her lips tug up in a reluctant smile, recognizing their Valley-girl act as an attempt to cheer her up.

  “Diet Coke can’t solve every problem, you know,” she felt obliged to point out.

  Lisa gasped as Mary dramatically whispered, “Blasphemy!”

  “Hey, Duke, I thought you were supposed to be smart,” accused Olive.

  A genuine chuckle burst from Abilene’s lips. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” As she headed out the door she said, “Diet Cokes on me, girls.”

  • • •

  The rasp of a razor bounced off the unfinished stone walls as an orderly shaved Eli’s chin and cheeks. That his lower face had to be hairless for whatever was going to occur made Eli’s stomach twist in anxiety.

  What was it to be this time? The Tormentor relished suspense, saving the revelation of what was to kill him until the very last possible moment. He played a sick version of Twenty Questions with Eli, revealing symptom after symptom that he was soon to experience until Eli could either guess what was coming or — the Tormentor’s favorite — the focus of the experiment was whispered into Eli’s ear.

  A smooth jaw meant one thing: they needed something to seal over his mouth or both his mouth and nose. Ingestion. He felt himself relax by a degree. If he had to swallow something, then that meant he could fight it. Never mind that his efforts had always been overcome in the past; he was a man, damn it, and a trained one at that. He would fight with all the strength in his body if it were the only victory allowed him in this hellish place.

  The door’s hiss and whir announced the Tormentor’s entrance into the room.

  “It’s a beautiful day today, Eli. Bright blue skies, gentle breeze.” He flicked a negligent glance over the orderly’s progress and returned his gaze to the clipboard he was carrying. “I might head toward the coast for a bit.” He paused, enjoying his captive audience. “After.”

  Eli jerked his arms in his restraints. Hell, what he wouldn’t give to pound that smirk from the Tormentor’s horrid face. “Yuk it up, Doc,” he growled. “How long do you think this can continue?” You’re a pathetic man who gets his rocks off on keeping another man at his mercy. You’ll slip up. Someday you’ll make a mistake, and when you do,” he bared his teeth, “you’re mine.”

  The Tormentor showed no reaction. “Any idea of what we have planned for you today?”

  “Fuck you.”

  The Tormentor chuckled, “No? Come now. Smart one like you, you must have some clue.” He circled around Eli’s stretcher, maintaining eye contact all the while. “There’s the prep from the orderly … . ”

  Eli refused to give an inch in this battle of wills. He glared into the Tormentor’s eyes and ground his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

  The Tormentor tsked. “That’s okay, I’m feeling sporting today. How about a clue, hmm?” He made the circuit to Eli’s head and leaned over him. “Two to three hours.” He cocked his head like an animal to better gauge any telltale flickers of realization on Eli’s face.

  Fuck.

  Poison. He’d known that had to be it when he’d figured out the ingestion part. He steeled his features, revealing nothing, but his chin jerked up in defiance and the Tormentor noticed.

  “Ah, we’re getting warmer, I see,” he cajoled.

  Eli’s brain was scrambling. Two to three hours was pretty damn fast for a poison he would have to swallow. In just this moment he could think of maybe three poisons that would fit the bill. Cyanide, lye —

  The Tormentor leaned closer and whispered, “Convulsions.”

  Strychnine. Eli’s mouth went dry.

  “Well, well,” the Tormentor straightened in disappointment. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  Oh, God, Eli’s heart stuttered in his chest. Strychnine was a horrible way to die. The victim literally convulsed to death, his body contorting painfully as his muscles fought oncoming doom. And the best part? He’d be aware the whole time, completely cognizant of his surroundings, of his agony, until his body finally gave out.

  The snap of latex gloves ricocheted off the walls like a shot, and the Tormentor impatiently beckoned the orderly carrying a tray to come forward. “Since there’s no more fun to be had in that little game, we may as well begin directly.”

  Eli refused to crane his head around to watch the preparations. He’d learned that early on. Knowing every detail about what was to come only made it worse. It was bad enough that he now knew Number 140 was Strychnine poisoning; he wouldn’t threaten his tenuous control with more knowledge.

  “1200, proceeding with experiment Number 140: Strychnine poisoning. Prepping patient for introduction of toxin.” The Tormentor moved to one side of Eli’s head and motioned the orderly to the other side, “Open his mouth.”

  A warm, latex-covered hand gripped Eli’s chin while another covered his nose while grasping his cheeks. Eli gritted his mouth closed. When the burning in his lungs grew too great, he puffed air through his clenched teeth and parted lips, but he refused to open his mouth. The orderly grew more aggressive, covering his nose and mouth now, cutting off even that small amount of oxygen.

  Eli thrashed he head, but he was unable to shake the orderly from him. The burning in his lungs grew. And grew. His whole body jerked in protest, and his head kicked back as he gasped against the latex covering his mouth. In that second of surrender, the orderly removed his hand, and the Tormentor thrust clear plastic tubing into the side of Eli’s mouth and all the way to the back of his throat while the orderly worked a splint between his teeth. The hard scrape of the tubing against the roof of his mouth caused him to gag.

  “Uh-uh,” the Tormentor scolded as the orderly taped the tubing into place. “None of that.” He returned to his recorder, “1204, administering the toxin.”

  The Tormentor lifted the open ending of the tubing to shoulder height and flourished a beaker filled with cloudy liquid past Eli’s face. “It’s a grand way to die, you know,” he said. “According to legend, it’s what got Alexander the Great. You could do much wors
e than to share something this intimate with such an accomplished ruler.”

  The orderly eyed the Tormentor over Eli’s head. Eli was not the only one who noticed the unholy delight the Tormentor took in these actions. Weak prey always seemed to know when a dangerous predator was nearby.

  The orderlies quit and had to be replaced often. It didn’t take long for the lies the Tormenter told them about Eli’s past to become less-appalling to them than the Tormentor’s own actions.

  Eli had no idea what happened to those who quit, but he couldn’t imagine the Tormentor ever letting them go.

  The Tormentor grimaced at the orderly’s scrutiny and moved the lip of the beaker to the tubing. Eli’s eyes followed the movement of liquid from beaker to tube and down toward his mouth with alarm. The tubing ensured fighting would be unsuccessful. Why hadn’t he foreseen this possibility?

  The moment the liquid hit the back of Eli’s mouth he gagged anew, this time at the taste. It was bitter. Metallic. If death could have a taste, this would be it.

  The orderly covered Eli’s nose again, and he knew he was screwed. He would swallow it; his body would demand its own doom in a quest for life-giving air.

  Even knowing this, Eli struggled until his throat gulped convulsively. The poison burned all the way into his gut, and his hacking coughs rang out over the snick of the recorder being turned on.

  “1208, toxin administered successfully.” The Tormentor settled on a utilitarian stool at Eli’s shoulder and eyed him expectantly as the orderly removed the splint and tubing. “Now,” he sighed, “we wait.”

  Chapter Three

  Eli’s back bowed off of the stretcher, the entire weight of his jerking body resting on his shoulders and heels. His facial muscles tightened in a soundless scream as his toes curled under his feet.

  The convulsions had begun just five minutes after he’d swallowed the poison, starting in his neck and face. Over the last two hours they’d increased in intensity and frequency until he was suffering episodes like this. Excruciating stretches of agony that caused him to wish for death as soon as they ended.

  This one was lasting longer than he thought he could survive. Oh, God, let it end. Let this be it. He was finally able to wrench his mouth open, and his scream rent the air, increasing in volume as the convulsion grew more intense.

  And in that second, it happened.

  His brain was so nearly mush that he almost missed it, but at the height of his body’s arc, as his arms thrashed, he felt the restraints give.

  Time seemed to stop.

  That can’t have happened. You must have imagined it.

  He felt the restraints give a second time. His mind scrambled to make sense of it. They must not have anticipated the increased strength his body’s convulsions would generate.

  Time resumed and then sped up as he realized what this meant. This is your chance! His pain spurred him on, giving him inhuman strength, and he gathered it into the core of his being. Bellowing with all of his might he flexed his biceps and pulled. The groan of straining metal brought the Tormentor’s head up from his clipboard.

  “Good God,” screeched the Tormentor, vaulting to his feet. “Put him out, man!” he yelled at the orderly. “Put him out!” The orderly scrambled toward the tray, trying to fill a syringe with sedative while the Tormentor whirled to the door. “Guards! Get in here!” They both snapped to order. One hastily keyed the code into the door, and the other removed the gun from his holster.

  The Tormentor swung back around just as Eli overpowered the restraints with a primal yell. He held the Tormentor’s alarmed gaze as the orderly approached from behind with the sedative. Without looking, Eli grabbed the orderly by his throat and wrenched him around to hold against his chest. Eli tore the syringe from the orderly’s grasp and stabbed it into the man’s jugular. As Eli growled low in his chest, never breaking eye contact with the Tormentor, his thumb depressed the plunger. The orderly sank to the floor.

  With one hand he reached for the restraints at his ankles, keeping an eye on the guards at the door. The door hissed, and the guard with the gun rushed into the room, aiming at Eli’s chest. With only one leg free, Eli grabbed the Tormentor to use as a human shield just as the guard pulled the trigger. The Tormentor’s body jerked in his hands, and he heard the guard swear and fumble to reload his gun as the other guard pulled his own weapon.

  Reload?

  Tranq gun. They were shooting tranquilizers. Eli dropped the Tormentor and gazed in wonder at the bright floral marker of a tranquilizing dart protruding from his shield’s chest.

  Jesus, I might actually make it out of here!

  Eli reached for his other ankle restraint as the guard who had already fired yelled, “Don’t waste your shot! Make sure you can hit him or we’re fucked!”

  “You already are,” Eli informed them as he moved to a crouch on the stretcher and waited for one of the idiots to take a shot. He knew he was due for another convulsion any moment, and it could be his last. He had to get far away from here so he could find someplace safe to die.

  It took only a second before the guard to the left decided to take a shot, and Eli leapt to the side as the tranquilizing dart sailed past. Eli reached him in three strides and wrapped his arm around the guard’s head. A quick twist and the satisfying crack seemed to freeze the remaining guard in horror.

  The dead guard’s body fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Eli crooked his finger at the other guard who now knew, with absolute certainty, that he was dead.

  “P-please,” the guard stuttered. “I never did anything to you!”

  Eli lifted the corner of his lips in a cruel smile. “You’re right.” He stalked closer. “You’re worse.” He stopped right in front of the guard and snarled, “You. Watched.”

  Eli sprang forward, punching the guard in the throat hard enough to crush his larynx. The sick voyeur would never draw breath again.

  Eli didn’t stay to watch the guard drop to his knees and struggle in vain for breath. He felt the beginning twinges of another convulsion and knew he was out of time. Outside and to the right of the lab a staircase rose, ending in a solid wall.

  Eli didn’t understand this, but, with no other exit, began to climb. He only made it halfway up before the convulsion was on him. His muscles spasmed, throwing him forward onto the stairs.

  Don’t give up! You’ll never get this chance again!

  He shrieked as the spasms threw him from his front to his back. His spine ground into the edge of the stairs, ratcheting the pain to new levels.

  Move, damn it! His mind and body were screaming, and he used all of that energy to roll himself over again.

  He was able to pull himself to his hands and knees. With strength he did not know he possessed, he crept up the remaining stairs until he reached the top. His forehead bumped the wall that topped the stairs and, because he had no other choice, he stopped.

  He banged his head in frustration against the only remaining barrier to his freedom and was shocked as it gave way. The entire wall began to swing away from him, revealing a room filled with medical equipment.

  A false wall. Leading into a…supply closet? His strength was at its end, and his vision flickered and then went black. The poison had robbed him of his sight, one of the markings of the end.

  It’s over. He hadn’t made it, and he would never get free now. Well, he’d be damned if he died one more time in that fucking room.

  Moving by feel alone, he dragged his body over the threshold and into the closet. His legs were useless, and the numbness was creeping up his thighs toward his torso. The absence of feeling was a relief as it meant the end to at least some of his pain.

  He heard the wall swing back into place and shuddered as it clicked shut. To finally die alone, even if he would awaken shackled to a stretcher again, filled him with peace.

  He drew in what he knew was to be his last breath and jolted at what his brain latched on to. Peanut butter and jelly. The warm, yeasty smell of bread and t
he earthy aroma of chocolate. And … woman?

  Fresh sunlight mixed with fabric softener and another scent that he couldn’t quite place, but knew was unique to just her.

  His body revolted, trying in vain to reject the death that was only a moment away. He had to live. He had to fight.

  She was his, and she was in trouble. She needed him, but even beyond that —

  I need her.

  His heart stopped beating.

  • • •

  Abilene stared in bemusement at the retreating taillights.

  “Bye, suckah!” Olive crowed from the backseat window as the car jumped the curb in its haste to be gone. Abilene shook her head. Sometimes, they really were just a bunch of kids.

  She twisted the hem of her Princess Bride T-shirt and pondered, one more time, the pressing feeling she had that she was supposed to be here right now. She turned toward the hospital entrance.

  Common sense dictated she should be in that car right now, headed toward an afternoon of napping and old Dexter episodes. Instead, she was here “to run labs” if she believed the excuse she’d given her co-workers.

  She didn’t.

  Her Converses squeaked as she stomped in frustration down the hallway. There was nothing she would do today that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. They didn’t exactly have deadlines here at the hospital God forgot.

  She passed the supply closet. Stopped. Turned around.

  An overwhelming feeling of loss bowled her over. She looked toward the ceiling as wetness seeped into her eyes. Homesickness. Though, that didn’t feel quite right. This was much more intense. Much worse.

  She shuffled to the door and leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against the wood. Her hand crept up to be placed at heart level. She ached to be on the other side of that door. Her labs could wait. She twisted the knob and pushed the door inward … it met resistance. Had something fallen from the shelves to block the door? She pushed harder, pressing her shoulder against the door. Whatever it was, it was freaking heavy. She glanced down to check if she could see the problem, only to light upon the curled fingers of a man’s hand.