Firedrake Chapter 30

“I hate elevators,” Drake grumbled. His nostrils twitched.

“They’re not my favorite, either,” said Skye Webb. The female booster was supine on a hospital gurney, sharing the space within the small freight elevator with not only Drake and a trauma nurse named Burke, but Agents Matthews and Breckenridge from the Department of Justice. Each of the Agents were armed with a short-barreled weapon that experience told Skye was a submachine gun of sorts, but the bores of the weapons were large enough to indicate a shotgun round was their projectile of choice.

Matthews touched an earpiece with his left hand, cocking his head slightly. “Backup’s en route, sir,” he said. “Ten out.”

“Five’d be better,” Breckenridge said with a wry grin. As opposed to Matthews’ crisp port-arms positioning, Breckenridge held his weapon muzzle-down with his hand wrapped around the butt. He used the sling to stabilize his grip, keeping the weapon directed at the door of the elevator during their slow descent.

“Wishing ain’t gonna make it happen,” Drake said. He spared a glance toward Skye. “You all right?”

“Been better,” she admitted, clenching her jaw against the bumpy ride.

“You will be again,” he promised.

“Garage One,” Breckenridge announced. He brought the butt of the compact weapon up to his shoulder and crouched slightly, aiming for the doors as a bell chimed to announce their arrival. The doors began to open, and his weapon tracked back and forth across the gap as it expanded.

“Clear,” he said, taking a step out into the underground parking area. The air stank of exhaust and dust, with a hint of urine and blood thrown in for good measure. Drake’s lips peeled back as the scents assailed him.

“Think I liked the elevator better,” he said. He gestured to the nurse. “Let’s go. Head for that van,” he ordered, pointing toward a nondescript grey box van situated about fifty feet away from their position.

As the nurse pushed on the gurney, Drake used one hand to guide it and add further forward momentum. Together, they covered the fifty feet in a short span. Matthews and Breckenridge kept the pair covered as they moved, though Drake still held one of his enormous pistols in his right hand in case it was needed.

“Once we get moving, have the backup team rendezvous with us on the fly,” Drake said as he wrenched open the back door of the van. He reached under the gurney and extracted a heavy backpack of bright orange hue, tossing it into the vehicle. Then, with one hand, he easily lifted the rolling cot and thrust it into the van as well, muscling the heavy bed into the space while simultaneously collapsing the base of the gurney down onto itself.

“It’s not quite an ambulance,” the nurse objected, looking at the sparse walls of the van.

“Yeah, well, think of it as a field trip.”

“Yeah. Kind of like ‘back in time’, you know?” Breckenridge added as he closed the rear doors. A moment later, he and Matthews were in the front of the vehicle and they were in motion.

“Now what?” Skye asked, gasping as they drove over an aptly-named speed bump. Agent Matthews had eased up on the gas just before striking it, but his primary concern was putting distance between them and the hospital. Drake had made it clear that, at least for the moment, her personal comfort was secondary.

“For now we drive,” Drake said. “We were kinda hoping you could stay in the hospital for a while, you know? At least until you were in better shape. As you can tell, that plan went straight down the crapper. So we’re gonna link up with some other folks, get some extra muscle working, and take you to a government hospital. You won’t like it as much as Saint Michael’s, but it works.”

“Why not?” Skye wondered. “Is it some kind of butcher shop?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Drake said. “Just that, when they bring the meals, about the only thing edible is the Jell-O, and even that’s kind of crunchy.”

He leaned down close to Skye, his head a looming green presence in her vision. “I think the cooks are actually convicts on a work release program,” he said with an exaggerated wink. “Probably figure they’re getting back at me the only way they can.”

“Is it…is it working?” she asked, wincing as they took a corner sharply enough to make the tires chirp.

“On me? No. I can eat rocks if I really want to,” he said with a chuckle. “I remember once, I was -”

His phone sounded and he immediately stopped speaking, raising the instrument to his ear. “Drake,” he said. He listened intently for a minute, then nodded. “Good to hear. We’ll stick with the plan anyway, since we’re already in motion. Have the second team intercept at Flagler and Twenty-fifth. They can lead. Let the gate know we aren’t stopping. We’ll come around to the loading docks. Have a medical team waiting there. Let me know if anything changes.”

He folded shut the screen against his hip and smiled down at Skye. “They found Thrash. She took our surveillance team down and was headed out of town. Somebody at the NSA got a satellite link going. They’re tracking her now. Saves us from getting anyone else hurt, at least. Of course, that means some suit from NSA is gonna want something in return, but that’s just the way it goes.”

“And we’re still going to this, this government place? I mean, I really don‘t want to,” the nurse said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to Saint Mike’s once we’ve dropped Miss Webb off.”

“But do we have to go to a govern --”

“Yes, we really do,” Drake interrupted. “Your hospital is good, no question. But since we’re already driving, we’re going to get her someplace secure.”

“We have security,” Burke protested.

“And we have an underground bunker that can withstand a ten-kay nuke. We also have machinegun nests, ultrasonic pain generators, and geneboosters on patrol. Now, if Saint Mike’s can beat that, you let me know and we’ll turn this little circus around.”

Rather than reply, Burke simply turned and began a series of checks on the equipment to which Skye was connected. Shrugging monstrous shoulders, Drake turned his attention back to the front of the van, leaning across the barrier that separated the cockpit from the cargo area. He explained the details of his call to the pair of Agents in the front. They accepted the knowledge with no real change to their current activities. Matthews continued driving as he had been and Breckenridge kept scanning the surroundings. The weapon he carried was in his lap, his hand still wrapped around the pistol grip.

Satisfied that he was dealing with competent Agents, Drake sat back in his chair, content to let the road roll by outside the vehicle. A few minutes later, Matthews announced that the backup team had joined them. Drake nodded and a solid black partition rose from behind the drivers’ seat, separating the cargo area completely. Lights snapped on, illuminating the area with a watery glow.

“What’s going on?” Burke asked, eyes flicking about her. Her nostrils flared and Drake could hear as well as see how shallow and rapid her breathing had become.

“Relax,” he urged. “Security precaution. You can’t see where we’re going. National Security thing. You’ll come back the same way. So just sit back, relax, and keep an eye on your patient. We‘ve got about an hour‘s drive ahead of us.”

“An hour?”

“Never said it was downtown.”

“Who wants to play Twenty Questions?” Skye mumbled, her eyes barely open.

“Get some rest,” Drake said.

“S’all I do is rest.”

“Your body needs it,” Burke said, smiling down at the supine woman. “You heal quicker that way. Your chart doesn’t say anything about any regenerative ability, so we have to assume that you heal naturally, at least in a relative sense. I mean, no one really knows if the Metahuman genetic system is predisposed toward faster healing rates or not, but -”

“I get it,” Skye said, trying unsuccessfully to raise a hand and wave away the comment that had rapidly become a dissertation.

Drake leaned his head back into the ‘V’ formed by his wings. “Y’all wake me if anything happens,” he said.

“You’re going to sleep? Now?” Burke asked, eyes widening.

“Might as well. Nothing going on. Might need the rest when we get where we’re going, you know?”

Sighing and shaking her head, Burke returned her attention to her patient. In moments, Drake was emitting a steady stream of low snores. He remained like that until the van slowed and the opaque partition slid down, once more revealing the two Agents in the front.

“Are we there yet?” Drake called out, pitching his voice to sound like a bored child. Breckenridge chuckled at the joke, while Matthews accepted it with his usual stoicism.

“We are,” he replied, wheeling them around and beginning to back the vehicle down an incline. “Pulling us in to the loading docks now.”

“Ground floor. Sporting goods, electronics, ladies lingerie,” chanted Breckenridge, throwing open his door and stepping out. The bulky weapon was, as always, in his hand. The only difference was the fact that he was not actively training it on his surroundings. As the van came to a halt, Breckenridge rapped twice on the metal door at the dock. It rolled upward, revealing two armed men standing in front of a medical crew.

“Breckenridge. Metahuman Response,” the Agent introduced, extending his credentials. “Matthews and Drake in the van, along with your patient and a civilian trauma nurse. Our others are in the other vehicles. Should be a few of them.”

“Good enough,” replied one of the security officers. He and his partner stepped aside, allowing the medical personnel to surge forward. After a few gasps and muttered comments about Drake’s presence, they managed to extract Skye from the vehicle and in seconds had wheeled her away and into the depths of the facility.

“You guys got some kind of cafeteria or something around here?” Drake asked as he emerged from the rear of the van. He jerked a thumb at Breckenridge and the now-disembarked Matthews. “My boys need a break. Somewhere to get something to eat before they head back.”

“A bathroom would be nice, too,” called Burke. She was still in the van, sitting stiffly in her seat as though afraid to move.

“Sir, we, umm, we don’t really have anything that’s not, well, secure,” answered one of the officers, swallowing as he stammered out the words.

“Ah,” Drake said. He turned to Burke. “You ain’t by chance got a Secret or Top Secret Clearance you ain’t said nothing about, do you?”

“Uh, no,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “Why? Are you saying I can’t even use a restroom without one?”

“Well, technically…Hang on,” Drake said. He leaned over and whispered in the ear of Agent Breckenridge. A large grin split the man’s features.

“Ma’am, please come with me,” Breckenridge invited a moment later. He held out a hand to guide the woman from the vehicle. Their progress took them directly toward the two security officers, who moved to block their path.

“Step aside, gentlemen,” Drake said, waving a hand at them. “Don’t make me come after you for interfering with official government business.”

“Sir?”

“Yeah. You see, I’ve been a little concerned about Agent Breckenridge, there. He’s a little squirrelly, sometimes, you know? So I ordered him to submit a specimen for urinalysis to be examined by an independent third party…Saint Michael’s Hospital. Nurse Burke there is just going along to see to it that there’s no funny business.”

Both officers smiled knowingly and stepped aside for the Agent and Nurse to pass.

“Nicely played,” Matthews said.

“Girl had to listen to me snore for an hour, least we can do is let her pee,” Drake replied.

“I’ll show you how to get to the canteen,” one of the officers volunteered. He paused before turning away, then grinned up at Drake. “Should your man have his nurse accompany him there as well, sir?”

“Why, that’s right forward thinking, officer,” Drake said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Wouldn’t do to have him away from his minder, would it?”

Drake and the two officers laughed. Matthews even managed a brief smile. Along with the two security officers and several members of the recently-arrived backup teams, the taciturn Agent disappeared into the bowels of the building. Drake sighed and sat on the back deck of the van.

“The things I’ve gotta do in this job,” he muttered to himself. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in the extension for Colleen Hart’s office, listening in silence as it rang several times before going to voice mail.

“I hate this ‘leave a message’ crap,” he grumbled before the tone announced it was time for him to record his message. “Hart? Drake. We’re here at the hospital. Everything went smooth. I’ll be here with her if you need to reach me. You’ve got my number, but in case you misplaced it, it’s 1-800-kiss-my-giant-scaly-green-ass.”

He closed the cell and prepared to drop it into his pocket, then stopped. Opening the cover again, he punched in a different series of numbers.

“Sala? Drake. Hey, I got roped into some shit here. I need some help. See if you can get hold of anyone that can hack the NSA. What? Yes, I’m serious. Yes, I know what kind of trouble that brings. I also know those monkeys were supposed to be keeping a sat-lock on Thrash. I got some news on her for you, too, when I’ve got more time. Yeah, just let me know. Bite Monster on the ear for me and tell him I said hi. I got another couple of calls to make. Thanks.”

His next call was more businesslike and entailed him going through a series of call transfers by Department of justice switchboards until he got the line he wanted. By the time he was connected, the line was fuzzy and he was fairly sure that a half-dozen agencies were listening in.

“Hey, kid. Drake here,” he said. “I, uhh, I need a favor if you’ve got time. Call HeartBreak’s office. Tell them you need to meet with me ASAP reference the Webb incident. She’ll know what you mean. No, I can’t go into detail right now. This line ain’t secure. I don’t know…FBI, CIA, NRO, pretty much anybody who uses initials. For all I know, the damned IRS is on here with us. Hey,” he suddenly called, voice much louder. “I’m all paid up, ya bastards! Go audit your mama!”

He listened for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Sooner the better, pal. I’ll owe you. Again. Thanks.”

One more call, and he was once more leaving a message for Colleen Hart. “Hey, it’s Drake again. I put in a call to that Splicer guy. He’s not too far away and he’ll be calling you for directions to this place. Don’t give him a hard time. I figure he can help.”

It took several hours for the elements of his newest plan to come together. By that time, Agents Matthews and Breckenridge had already left to return Burke to her hospital. The backup teams had departed as well, and Drake was left alone and waiting for Splicer’s arrival. A matte grey van rolled in, cutting across the tarmac to where Drake stood waiting. The side door opened and out stepped Splicer.

The military-style haircut was still there, as was the matching BDU pants and blouse in urban grey coloring. The rest was not at all what Drake had been expecting. Splicer looked as though he had aged twenty years. Streaks of grey had shown up in his hair and his eyes were weary and nestled in darkened circles. Fine lines were etched in the corners of his eyes.

“What the hell happened to you?” Drake asked as the van drove off.

“Been a rough couple of weeks,” the healer explained. “I’ve been spending some time volunteering in a children’s ward. Saw a few things I wish I hadn’t,” he added, lowering his gaze and swallowing heavily.

“It stays with you, don’t it?” Drake replied with a sigh. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of the youth. “You done good, though. Anybody takes a shot like that? Good to go in my book, even if you hadn’t already saved my tail a few times.”

“Well, I figured out a few things along the way. My healing is proportional, at least on my end. If I heal a kid, it’s not as rough on me as an adult is. That means I got to deal with more of them in the same span of time. Still hurts, though.”

“I would have figured it’d be worse,” Drake said. “You must not get the emotional stuff.”

“So what’s the deal here?” Splicer asked, eager to change the topic of discussion. “Hart gave me a few statements, but not much to go on.”

“Yeah. She’s good at that. Anyway, got a woman inside. Name’s Skye Webb. Got herself toasted pretty good. Sounds like a lightning attack. Took a pretty solid beating, too.”

“Are you going to find out who did it?”

“Already know,” Drake said with an angry scowl. “I’m working on locating them.”

“So I get to play burn victim and she gets to go home?”

“Anything you can do to help would be appreciated. I ain’t askin’ you to take on the whole thing yourself. They’ve got a world-class team of docs in there. Just figured you could maybe give them a little something to work with.”

“I can try.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Drake said, leading the healer to the waiting doors. “I wouldn’t have called you if -”

“I know,” Splicer said, easily cutting off the apologetic tones. He lowered his voice, doing his best Don Corleone imitation. “One day, I will ask a favor from you…”

“Any time,” Drake said with a laugh.

They entered the facility and passed through a series of winding halls. A roving security officer provided them with directions to the hospital ward, and they were soon outside the room which had been set aside for Skye. It was next to a small booth that had once been considered sufficient for a nurses’ station, although the two doctors and three nurses crammed into it at the moment might have argued that it was time for an expansion. There was a collective gasp as Drake rounded the corner, followed a moment later by a sigh of relief as he was recognized from the delivery of their newest patient.

“How’s she doing?” Drake asked.

“She is stable,” replied one of the doctors, a thin, rangy woman with short brown hair. “The staff at Saint Michaels was able to handle the main problems. We are able to play catch-up for a while until we see how everything else is going. She has suffered some pretty severe internal damage, and the method by which you brought her here leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Yeah, I know. Then again, she could’ve been in a body bag if what we thought was happening had happened,” he replied. He pointed to Splicer. “This is Doctor Marks, from up at the Pentagon. He’s gonna take a quick look at her.”

Before anyone could voice any objections, Drake shuffled Splicer past the booth and into the small room. Skye Webb was once again connected to more machines than Drake had suspected could be crammed into one room, and he shook his head at the sight of her on the gurney.

“You get used to it,” Splicer told him, maneuvering around Drake’s bulk to get closer to the bed. “By the way, you know I’m not a doctor, right?”

“Really? I put your name on all my insurance papers,” the reptilian booster quipped in return. “You know, where it says ‘Primary Care Physician’?”

“Thanks,” Splicer said dryly. “Now I’ll get a call from the AMA about practicing without a license.”

“Let me know. Seems I can make paperwork just disappear. All I have to do is pay someone a visit.”

“I will,” the healer promised. He settled himself onto a stool beside the gurney and raised his hands, rubbing his fingertips together. “Watch the door. I’m gonna try to ease this up a bit and I don’t need them all barging in on me. I need to concentrate.”

“Not a problem,” Drake assured him, standing with his back blocking the doorway. For good measure, he spread his wings out a bit to block the vision of anyone who might open the door.

Splicer gently placed his hands on Skye’s exposed skin, eyes rolling back slightly in his head as he focused his thoughts. A quiet moan escaped his lips and his teeth began to chatter madly. Tremors passed through his arms and in seconds his entire body had begun to shake. So suddenly that Drake jumped in shock, Splicer was thrown away from the body and back against the wall. He coughed and a fine red mist spewed from his mouth. Drake stepped forward to reach out and support him, but the youth looked up at him with terror-filled eyes.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t heal her.”