Dead Six

“You’re welcome.”

“I just don’t think I could do the kind of things that you do. It’s nothing personal, but I just don’t know if I could live in your world.”

So that was it.

I held out a slip of paper. “That’s a number I check periodically. If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me for anything, leave a message. don’t use any names. I’ll know who it is.”

She took the paper from my outstretched hand. “Thanks. You know . . . if things were a little different . . .”

“Things will never be different.” I smiled. “If you change your mind and decide to come with me, you don’t have to wear the blindfold back to base.”

“Goodbye, Lorenzo,” she said softly. “Good luck. Thank you for everything.” Jill closed the door and walked down the pier.

I watched her climb onto the boat. She never looked back.

Chapter 22:

Casualties

VALENTINE

Location Unknown

Date/Time Unknown

Someone was singing. It was a woman’s voice, soft and warm. It seemed to fade in and out. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I couldn’t see anything or feel anything. That voice was the only thing I had to focus on as I tried to collect my thoughts. It was like a dream.

I don’t know how long it took, but eventually I was able to open my eyes to find an unfamiliar gray ceiling. The singing continued, but now I could hear it clearly. I wasn’t alone, wherever I was. The room I was in was small. The walls appeared to be metal. Against the far wall was a small desk. A woman sat at the desk, facing away from me, hunched over a laptop. She had long black hair.

My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak. My throat was sore. All I could manage was a hoarse, raspy cough. The woman in the chair perked up and turned around, pulling small white earbuds out of her ears as she did so. Ling?

Ling stood up and quickly crossed the room. “Mr. Valentine!” she said. “My God. You’re awake.” I struggled to sit up. Ling helped me. I pulled an oxygen line from my nose. I had all manner of tubes, hoses, and IVs stuck in me. A cardiograph rhythmically beeped with the beating of my heart. “You should leave those in,” Ling said.

“Where am I?” I croaked. “What happened? How . . .” I trailed off, coughing again. It hurt to talk.

“Hold on,” Ling said, hurrying to the door. “I’ll get the doctor!” She was gone, and I was alone again.

A minute later, several people rushed back into the room, including a man who strongly resembled Albert Einstein. He had a bushy mustache and a wild shock of white hair. He was wearing a lab coat. He put a hand on my shoulder and asked me to look at him. I slowly turned my head, only to have a flashlight shined in my eyes. I flinched; it was so bright it hurt.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Valentine,” the doctor said. He had a German accent. “You’ve been in a coma for more than a week. Oh. Forgive me. I am Dr. Heinrich Bundt.”

I took several deep breaths. “Where am I?” I asked again.

“You’re on the Walden,” Ling explained. “It’s an Exodus ship. You’re safe here.”

“How did I get here? Why . . . ?” I trailed off again. My head hurt.

“You were very badly injured,” Ling said. “We almost lost you.”

Dr. Bundt straightened his glasses. “Mr. Valentine, I’m afraid you sustained a coup-contrecoup injury. That is to say, a traumatic brain injury affecting both your frontal and occipital lobes.”

“Brain injury?” I muttered, suddenly very worried about my aching head.

“That’s correct. You had a subdural hematoma to both the front and back of your brain. We were forced to place you in an induced coma after neurosurgery. Given the—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, interrupting. “What the hell did you do? Drill a hole in my head?”

“That’s correct,” the doctor said, sounding very reassuring, all things considered. “It was necessary to drain the hematomas to reduce the pressure on your brain. You should consider yourself very lucky that you suffered no permanent brain damage, given the time that elapsed between when you were injured and when we were able to treat you.”

“So . . . am I going to be okay?”

“Time will tell, but I believe so.”

I rubbed the sides of my head. “Where’s Sarah?” The room suddenly got very quiet. Ling, the doctor, and a couple of orderlies just looked at each other stupidly.

“Where is Sarah?” I demanded, sitting up.

“Mr. Valentine, please!” Dr. Bundt said.

“Let me talk to him,” a familiar Tennessee twang said. “Give us a minute.” The doctor, Ling, and the orderlies left the room, leaving me alone with Tailor. “Hey, brother,” he said quietly.

“Tailor, where the hell is Sarah? What happened?” I was getting scared.

“Christ . . . You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what, Tailor?” I asked, a pit forming in my stomach.

“Sarah didn’t make it, bro.”

I looked at Tailor for a few seconds, then closed my eyes. My stomach twisted into a knot. I rubbed my head again, struggling to remember. Images flashed in my mind. I fell into the mud. I was hit. Sarah turned around. She came back for me. I was screaming at her to keep going, but she didn’t listen. She was hit. She went down. She died.

“Oh God,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God.” The knot in my stomach began to hurt. My chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.

“Yeah,” Tailor managed. “Bad op, man.”

“Bad op,” I repeated, my voice wavering. “What the hell happened? How did I get here?”

“You were hit,” Tailor said. “So was Sarah. A grenade went off near you. Hudson saw you go down, then lost you in the smoke. There was a lot of shooting. Then the charges on the wall went off. We had to go.”

“Why did you come back for me?”

“We didn’t. I told Hudson to get in the truck. We took off. I thought you were dead.”

“Wait,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “How did I end up here, then?”

“We managed to get out of the city, just by pure luck,” Tailor explained. “We went to that contingency safe house south of the Al Khor district. You know, the one Hunter told us to never use unless it was a dire emergency.