"c212" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

12:24 A.M., Friday, February 4, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree had walked by the nursery twice already, pretending to look deeply engrossed in tracing some ducts. During the second pass she'd had to flatten herself against the wall as two grunts shepherded a half dozen hostages by on hands and knees. She turned her head away to avoid any of them recognizing her. Each hostage wiped at the floor with a wad of rags and pushed along a bucket of filthy water. The Strong had seemingly discovered that a tired hostage was a less threatening hostage. When at last they'd rounded the corner, she rushed into the nursery. The nurse on duty looked taken aback, then recognized Desiree. "Oh my God! Mrs. Hyland!" She quickly led Desiree by the elbow over to Jeremy's incubator. "He's grown so much!" Desiree said. Inwardly she thought, He's so tiny! Translucent skin wrinkled over chicken bones. His little chest rose and fell with his rhythmic breathing. "Do you think I could hold him?" Desiree asked tentatively. "Well... he's awfully fragile," she started, but perhaps seeing the longing on Desiree's face, continued, "but I'm sure a mother's love would do him more good than anything. Here," she said, and handed a tiny sack of blanket and baby to Desiree. Warmth and joy flooded Desiree. She squeezed the blanketed bundle close up under her chin, rocked him, kissed his downy soft forehead, stroked his head, breathed deep of his sweet baby smell. A grunt walked by the window, staring at her suspiciously. She'd have to leave now. She wiped at her eyes with her palm. Damn them for this! If only she could do something. Not so much for revenge, though that would be sweet, but to rid the world of these apes. She reluctantly handed Jeremy back to the nurse, and left, looking back until the small bundle was out of sight. She ductwork-inspected her way to the dispensary. She didn't know how she'd sneak the drugs past the exit pat down, but put that off until she at least acquired something to sneak out. A goon, rather than a pharmacist, guarded the closet-sized room. Desiree pretended to trace a duct through the ceiling, pointed lazily upward with her finger, until she bumped into the counter. The guard, slightly cross-eyed but with Arnold Schwarzenegger arms, looked distractedly at her. Desiree smiled perfunctorily at him and walked behind the counter. "Hey, you can't come in here!" She put her hands on her hips. "You an expert on ducts, mate?" she asked in her best fake accent, really really hoping he wasn't. "Of course not," he said with disgust. "Well if you don't want a blow out, you won't slow me up here. Think your commander Knaggs would be happy if you carked up this whole lot of drugs?" She walked on in. He followed her to the back. While he watched she thumped the wall, looking concerned. Thumped high, thumped low. She moved boxes and tubes of medicines aside to thump the wall. He kept watching. She kept thumping. Eventually he gave a sour face and went back to his post. Desiree quickly went back to where she'd located the ketamine ampules and demerol tabs. She made sure she thumped rhythmically so he wouldn't get curious. She loaded half a dozen ketamine ampules into her baggy jumpsuit pockets. She thought she heard his footsteps and jumped, dropping a box of fentanyl patches to the floor. She quickly bent to pick it up. He appeared just as she was visibly placing the box back on the shelf. "Too bloody cramped in here," she offered. She thumped a bit more, thumping her way back toward the exit. He blocked her way. "D'you mind?" He grudgingly moved aside. Desiree thumped her way out, and hurried back to Matty's basement lair to hide her booty and wait out the end of her shift. Alone in the damp, stinky bowels of the building she experimented with ways to smuggle the loot. Given how thorough a job they'd done when she arrived, she settled on two of the small vials of ketamine in each shoe under her toes and a baggie of pills in her panties. She was tempted to go with some demerol tabs under her tongue, but the speech impediment made her fake Kiwi accent even more bizarre. She'd be dead if they caught her. She took the drugs out of her mouth, and hid them with the rest of her loot for Matty to smuggle out. Unless Matty wouldn't approve of smuggling. She might have to swap with Matty again to do the job. She wondered if she'd have the nerve. She stole another hug with Jeremy before her shift ended. As was Matty's custom, she left a bit before seven. Sir Howard was, Matty explained, punctually on time, but he first inspected the main floor breaker room—and, as Matty added with a wink, the break room. He never arrived down to her preferred station in the basement until a good ten after the hour, and she'd had it out with him right off that she wasn't waiting around for him. Desiree felt like everyone was staring at her as she shuffled through the kitchen. They must be thinking she was walking funny, what with drugs under her toes and in her crotch. She tried to smile. What a way to die! She stiffened as some barely pubescent boys patted her inappropriately. They spent plenty of time checking her for contraband, but they were too busy with their hormones to notice anything before they were distracted by another delivery. Desiree even paused just outside to watch. She assumed at first it would be the same dog-food reject muck she and Morgan ate while prisoners, or perhaps the same cold beans or ramen noodles with tepid water that she and Matty were subsisting on now. Instead delivery boys carried in delicious smelling loaves of warm bread, buckets of ice with fresh lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, white-paper wrapped packets redolent of beef, salmon steaks, veal cutlets. It was too much for Desiree; it burned her up that the Nation of the Strong leadership should eat so well when others were suffering. Indeed, to eat so well on proceeds from selling medicine that should be helping the sick inside. She stormed off before she did something she'd regret. Matty was waiting in the car. Desiree collapsed into the passenger seat with a huge sigh. Her heart raced, calming slowly as they exchanged tales while Matty drove to Axton's. Desiree swore she would someday, somehow, make sure the Nation of the Strong would find justice. A consummate slacker, Axton had yet to arrive, but had left a note with Lai Wang for Desiree. In the note he said to go ahead and leave the goods in his desk drawer. Hah! Desiree thought, called in to HHF to let them know she'd be late, and sat down with Matty to wait. Matty promptly fell asleep. Desiree took out her notebook and began another letter to Morgan. She doodled instead. She couldn't tell him what she'd done; he'd throw a wobbly, as Matty would say. She couldn't even say she'd seen Jeremy. That couldn't be explained. She remembered the joy she felt at holding him, and simultaneously her stomach churned that she couldn't share that joy with Morgan. After an hour staring at the doodles, Axton appeared beside her and gave her a start. "'Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He struck Peter on the side and woke him. "Quick, get up!" he said, and the chains fell off Peter's wrists.'" Axton spread his arms wide. "Am I not an angel of the Lord today, Ms. Hyland?" She wanted to snip back that he could take his bible quotes to hell with him, but simply smiled noncommittally. With minimal fuss they concluded their business. A diesel fuel truck would deliver a week's worth of fuel to the hospital tonight, which Matty would oversee. Desiree fretted the rest of the day at HHF whether Axton's word was worth the spit it was written on, but Axton's word proved honorable for once. Twice a week over the following weeks Desiree snuck into the hospital as Matty, balancing her heart-crushing need to hold Jeremy with abject terror that she'd be spotted. They settled into a routine, Desiree swapping for Matty on Tuesday and Saturday mornings. Matty joked that with two nights' different work, she almost felt guilty she was getting a normal work week while the rest of the slobs in the world were working all seven. Desiree's letter writing schedule slipped to weekly—with a special extra one on Valentine's day, complete with arrowed heart—but she had found a way to relate the joyful feelings of cuddling Jeremy for which she lived. She simply attributed them to Matty. "Matty said" became the most common phrase she wrote. To ensure to herself that the literary reversal was complete, she even claimed responsibility herself for Matty's muff at PS&B of spilling coffee on a day's worth stack of orders and rendering dozens utterly unreadable. If it weren't for the pat-down on leaving, she'd seriously have considered sneaking Jeremy home with her. The doctors with whom she conspiratorially consulted said he was as healthy as they could get him under the circumstances, and agreed Yes, he'd be better off at another hospital, or even at home; Axton's brother could supply them medicine. Such a contrast to his brother, he'd stopped by the flat once to see that they were doing well, and even inquired whether she might sneak the boy out. But there was no hope of this so long as the Strong controlled the game. The radio kept reporting imminent restoration of power, to where it had become the joke of the day. "What's new?" one might ask. "Power'll be up today," might be the reply. Yet Desiree knew it was inevitable that once they did, soon thereafter the police would move on the Strong. She'd lost all faith both in the police's ability to peaceably resolve such a situation, and in the likelihood that the Strong would give up without bloodshed. She felt the floor and ceiling compressing as in a bad horror movie. The Strong's opulence further enraged her. Twice a week she had to watch and smell their gourmet treasures being unloaded, while they fed their prisoners moldy bread and skanky milk; the prisoners weren't good enough even for leftovers. She berated herself for wishing that the Strong would get their comeuppance "if only Jeremy weren't in there"; so many other innocents would get hurt too. She secretly reveled the day a lackey grunt beat another lackey grunt in the kitchen. "The sub-commander got an upset stomach, you low-grade moron!" he said as he punched the other in the gut. "Couldn't you see that bread was moldy? Of course you did. What do you think, you get promoted if the sub-commander gets sick?" he said with another jab to the solar plexus. Desiree could feel the charge in the air. Their resolve was failing. The game was losing its fun. The grunts knew this couldn't go on forever. With the right push she felt sure they would disintegrate into a mass of roaches wriggling away to hide from the light. Only the stern hand of the leadership kept them bound up. If she could somehow blow apart their leadership, collapse their middle pillar of strength, Desiree daydreamed... And it came to her. What if she could? What if she actually could? Her confidence grew as she ruled out objections. The very food they ate set them apart, and made them vulnerable. Poison it. It was trivially simple. With Stefan Axton's help, she could spike their gourmet food with food poisoning. Nothing lethal, so they could stand trial and she wouldn't be a murderer. But painful, oh, so painful. Yes! She could do it! She would give their leaders a stomach ache they'd never forget.

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Chapter 21.2

12:24 A.M., Friday, February 4, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree had walked by the nursery twice already, pretending to look deeply engrossed in tracing some ducts. During the second pass she'd had to flatten herself against the wall as two grunts shepherded a half dozen hostages by on hands and knees. She turned her head away to avoid any of them recognizing her. Each hostage wiped at the floor with a wad of rags and pushed along a bucket of filthy water. The Strong had seemingly discovered that a tired hostage was a less threatening hostage. When at last they'd rounded the corner, she rushed into the nursery. The nurse on duty looked taken aback, then recognized Desiree. "Oh my God! Mrs. Hyland!" She quickly led Desiree by the elbow over to Jeremy's incubator. "He's grown so much!" Desiree said. Inwardly she thought, He's so tiny! Translucent skin wrinkled over chicken bones. His little chest rose and fell with his rhythmic breathing. "Do you think I could hold him?" Desiree asked tentatively. "Well... he's awfully fragile," she started, but perhaps seeing the longing on Desiree's face, continued, "but I'm sure a mother's love would do him more good than anything. Here," she said, and handed a tiny sack of blanket and baby to Desiree. Warmth and joy flooded Desiree. She squeezed the blanketed bundle close up under her chin, rocked him, kissed his downy soft forehead, stroked his head, breathed deep of his sweet baby smell. A grunt walked by the window, staring at her suspiciously. She'd have to leave now. She wiped at her eyes with her palm. Damn them for this! If only she could do something. Not so much for revenge, though that would be sweet, but to rid the world of these apes. She reluctantly handed Jeremy back to the nurse, and left, looking back until the small bundle was out of sight. She ductwork-inspected her way to the dispensary. She didn't know how she'd sneak the drugs past the exit pat down, but put that off until she at least acquired something to sneak out. A goon, rather than a pharmacist, guarded the closet-sized room. Desiree pretended to trace a duct through the ceiling, pointed lazily upward with her finger, until she bumped into the counter. The guard, slightly cross-eyed but with Arnold Schwarzenegger arms, looked distractedly at her. Desiree smiled perfunctorily at him and walked behind the counter. "Hey, you can't come in here!" She put her hands on her hips. "You an expert on ducts, mate?" she asked in her best fake accent, really really hoping he wasn't. "Of course not," he said with disgust. "Well if you don't want a blow out, you won't slow me up here. Think your commander Knaggs would be happy if you carked up this whole lot of drugs?" She walked on in. He followed her to the back. While he watched she thumped the wall, looking concerned. Thumped high, thumped low. She moved boxes and tubes of medicines aside to thump the wall. He kept watching. She kept thumping. Eventually he gave a sour face and went back to his post. Desiree quickly went back to where she'd located the ketamine ampules and demerol tabs. She made sure she thumped rhythmically so he wouldn't get curious. She loaded half a dozen ketamine ampules into her baggy jumpsuit pockets. She thought she heard his footsteps and jumped, dropping a box of fentanyl patches to the floor. She quickly bent to pick it up. He appeared just as she was visibly placing the box back on the shelf. "Too bloody cramped in here," she offered. She thumped a bit more, thumping her way back toward the exit. He blocked her way. "D'you mind?" He grudgingly moved aside. Desiree thumped her way out, and hurried back to Matty's basement lair to hide her booty and wait out the end of her shift. Alone in the damp, stinky bowels of the building she experimented with ways to smuggle the loot. Given how thorough a job they'd done when she arrived, she settled on two of the small vials of ketamine in each shoe under her toes and a baggie of pills in her panties. She was tempted to go with some demerol tabs under her tongue, but the speech impediment made her fake Kiwi accent even more bizarre. She'd be dead if they caught her. She took the drugs out of her mouth, and hid them with the rest of her loot for Matty to smuggle out. Unless Matty wouldn't approve of smuggling. She might have to swap with Matty again to do the job. She wondered if she'd have the nerve. She stole another hug with Jeremy before her shift ended. As was Matty's custom, she left a bit before seven. Sir Howard was, Matty explained, punctually on time, but he first inspected the main floor breaker room—and, as Matty added with a wink, the break room. He never arrived down to her preferred station in the basement until a good ten after the hour, and she'd had it out with him right off that she wasn't waiting around for him. Desiree felt like everyone was staring at her as she shuffled through the kitchen. They must be thinking she was walking funny, what with drugs under her toes and in her crotch. She tried to smile. What a way to die! She stiffened as some barely pubescent boys patted her inappropriately. They spent plenty of time checking her for contraband, but they were too busy with their hormones to notice anything before they were distracted by another delivery. Desiree even paused just outside to watch. She assumed at first it would be the same dog-food reject muck she and Morgan ate while prisoners, or perhaps the same cold beans or ramen noodles with tepid water that she and Matty were subsisting on now. Instead delivery boys carried in delicious smelling loaves of warm bread, buckets of ice with fresh lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, white-paper wrapped packets redolent of beef, salmon steaks, veal cutlets. It was too much for Desiree; it burned her up that the Nation of the Strong leadership should eat so well when others were suffering. Indeed, to eat so well on proceeds from selling medicine that should be helping the sick inside. She stormed off before she did something she'd regret. Matty was waiting in the car. Desiree collapsed into the passenger seat with a huge sigh. Her heart raced, calming slowly as they exchanged tales while Matty drove to Axton's. Desiree swore she would someday, somehow, make sure the Nation of the Strong would find justice. A consummate slacker, Axton had yet to arrive, but had left a note with Lai Wang for Desiree. In the note he said to go ahead and leave the goods in his desk drawer. Hah! Desiree thought, called in to HHF to let them know she'd be late, and sat down with Matty to wait. Matty promptly fell asleep. Desiree took out her notebook and began another letter to Morgan. She doodled instead. She couldn't tell him what she'd done; he'd throw a wobbly, as Matty would say. She couldn't even say she'd seen Jeremy. That couldn't be explained. She remembered the joy she felt at holding him, and simultaneously her stomach churned that she couldn't share that joy with Morgan. After an hour staring at the doodles, Axton appeared beside her and gave her a start. "'Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He struck Peter on the side and woke him. "Quick, get up!" he said, and the chains fell off Peter's wrists.'" Axton spread his arms wide. "Am I not an angel of the Lord today, Ms. Hyland?" She wanted to snip back that he could take his bible quotes to hell with him, but simply smiled noncommittally. With minimal fuss they concluded their business. A diesel fuel truck would deliver a week's worth of fuel to the hospital tonight, which Matty would oversee. Desiree fretted the rest of the day at HHF whether Axton's word was worth the spit it was written on, but Axton's word proved honorable for once. Twice a week over the following weeks Desiree snuck into the hospital as Matty, balancing her heart-crushing need to hold Jeremy with abject terror that she'd be spotted. They settled into a routine, Desiree swapping for Matty on Tuesday and Saturday mornings. Matty joked that with two nights' different work, she almost felt guilty she was getting a normal work week while the rest of the slobs in the world were working all seven. Desiree's letter writing schedule slipped to weekly—with a special extra one on Valentine's day, complete with arrowed heart—but she had found a way to relate the joyful feelings of cuddling Jeremy for which she lived. She simply attributed them to Matty. "Matty said" became the most common phrase she wrote. To ensure to herself that the literary reversal was complete, she even claimed responsibility herself for Matty's muff at PS&B of spilling coffee on a day's worth stack of orders and rendering dozens utterly unreadable. If it weren't for the pat-down on leaving, she'd seriously have considered sneaking Jeremy home with her. The doctors with whom she conspiratorially consulted said he was as healthy as they could get him under the circumstances, and agreed Yes, he'd be better off at another hospital, or even at home; Axton's brother could supply them medicine. Such a contrast to his brother, he'd stopped by the flat once to see that they were doing well, and even inquired whether she might sneak the boy out. But there was no hope of this so long as the Strong controlled the game. The radio kept reporting imminent restoration of power, to where it had become the joke of the day. "What's new?" one might ask. "Power'll be up today," might be the reply. Yet Desiree knew it was inevitable that once they did, soon thereafter the police would move on the Strong. She'd lost all faith both in the police's ability to peaceably resolve such a situation, and in the likelihood that the Strong would give up without bloodshed. She felt the floor and ceiling compressing as in a bad horror movie. The Strong's opulence further enraged her. Twice a week she had to watch and smell their gourmet treasures being unloaded, while they fed their prisoners moldy bread and skanky milk; the prisoners weren't good enough even for leftovers. She berated herself for wishing that the Strong would get their comeuppance "if only Jeremy weren't in there"; so many other innocents would get hurt too. She secretly reveled the day a lackey grunt beat another lackey grunt in the kitchen. "The sub-commander got an upset stomach, you low-grade moron!" he said as he punched the other in the gut. "Couldn't you see that bread was moldy? Of course you did. What do you think, you get promoted if the sub-commander gets sick?" he said with another jab to the solar plexus. Desiree could feel the charge in the air. Their resolve was failing. The game was losing its fun. The grunts knew this couldn't go on forever. With the right push she felt sure they would disintegrate into a mass of roaches wriggling away to hide from the light. Only the stern hand of the leadership kept them bound up. If she could somehow blow apart their leadership, collapse their middle pillar of strength, Desiree daydreamed... And it came to her. What if she could? What if she actually could? Her confidence grew as she ruled out objections. The very food they ate set them apart, and made them vulnerable. Poison it. It was trivially simple. With Stefan Axton's help, she could spike their gourmet food with food poisoning. Nothing lethal, so they could stand trial and she wouldn't be a murderer. But painful, oh, so painful. Yes! She could do it! She would give their leaders a stomach ache they'd never forget.


back | next home