Specimen(84)
“We’re not armed,” Riley tells him. “We came to talk.”
“I will check her for weapons,” Anna says. She’s staring at me, and I know what she’s thinking. If the soldier pats Riley down, I’ll rip his arms from their sockets.
Anna checks Riley over quickly as she speaks to her softly.
“Are you hurt?”
“We had to parachute out of a helicopter close to the ground. We both got banged up, but I’m fine.”
“Is he back on his regular treatments?”
“He is.”
“How much does he remember?”
“All of it,” Riley says. “That’s why we’re here.”
Anna and Riley stare at each other for a long moment.
“You didn’t know, did you?” Anna asks.
“I had no idea.”
Anna nods and looks over at the grey-haired man.
“We need to get Spat into your office,” she says, “and get a call out to Merle. He needs to be here, too.”
“What about him?” the man asks, nodding toward me.
“His implant continuously transmits a signal to Mills. At this point, they likely already know he is here. We’ll need to block the implant and get him somewhere else as soon as possible.”
“If they already know, it’s too late.”
“That’s why we can’t keep him here. Spat has a device to block the implant’s signal. We’ll need it installed and then move them elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I’d rather not say as long as he’s transmitting data,” Anna says as she turns to the soldier who had grabbed Riley. “You can release him.”
“No, ma’am,” he replies. “I can’t do that. I’m well aware of what he is. You don’t have the authority to have him released into your custody.”
“Who does?”
“You’ll have to take that up with my superiors.”
Anna scowls.
“He is not to be harmed,” she says. “Place him in a holding area and watch over him, but do not harm him in any way. Understood?”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Galen,” Riley says, “you need to keep yourself as calm as possible. Can you do that?”
I look up from my kneeling position and nod at her. Riley watches me closely as I’m pulled back to my feet and lead down the hallway and out of her sight. As soon as we’re around the corner, one of the soldiers comes up behind me and slams me in the head again with his rifle.
“You killed a buddy of mine, asshole.”
I taste blood in my mouth. I have no idea who he’s talking about—I killed several as they took me hostage and even more during the raid.
“Cut it out, James.” The soldier who touched Riley pushes the man back and walks beside me. I glance at his shoulder, noting his higher rank. “Unless he provokes someone, keep off of him. This is detention only.”
“Ought to take him out and put him against the wall,” one of the other men mumbles.
“That would just piss him off.”
I know this last voice. I turn to the man who spoke and look him over, sure he was there when I was tortured before.
He held the nails they hammered into my legs.
“I know you,” I say as I look directly at him, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at me.
I slow my steps gradually until he’s right beside the man holding my left arm. With a quick step, I wrench my arm away and head-butt the one I recognize. He flies backward and into a wall, unconscious.
I’m hit in the side of the face and punched in the gut. I don’t care. I take the blows one at a time until they decide I’m subdued enough and drag me back to a familiar cell.
The same small cot, the same plastic chair.
My feet are bound. It’s the same type of metal restraint they used on my hands and easily broken. I don’t move. I sit on the edge of the cot and watch them closely as they all back up, weapons still pointed toward my body. They continue to keep a nervous eye on me.
Break restraints. Use chair as a weapon against the target second to the right—he’s standing slightly closer to me. Drop down and let them be caught in their own crossfire.
I do nothing.
The soldiers leave the room, locking me inside. One of them stares at me through the tiny slot in the door. As the minutes tick by, he stops looking at me and closes the slot.
Unlike my condition when I was here before, I’m alert and ready for anything. I could have taken them all down before the door was shut, but I did nothing. My hands shake, wanting the fight, but I just sit in the chair, motionless, as thoughts of escape continue to pound through my head.
Hours pass.