Chapter 12:
Spring, and the trees were showing beginning buds of leaves. John was still not fully recovered from the weeks of illness, but the constant rain would be a help. In spite of the lights, visibility would be poor outside at night. It was a gamble, as he hadn’t practised that unknown power since he’d been sick, and he was planning to try things he’d never done.
He had no dull colored shirt, and there had been no chance to steal one, so he went bare-chested. The cameras stopped working for a little while, a pillow pretended to be a body in his bed, his locked door was unlocked, and Peter and Nicholas somehow didn’t see him go. Two more locked doors were unlocked and he slipped through. More guards were evaded, and he rolled in the muddiest puddle that he knew. His horse had churned it up for him the previous day, pawing at the dirt while he laughed and pretended to Ernest and Adam that it was misbehaving. He was nearly black now, face, body and jeans. He wore no shoes.
He gave himself less than a fifty percent chance of success, so at least one fence had to be climbed, or they’d know for sure he’d done something inexplicable. He had to show that he’d crossed the barbed wire, though he didn’t know how they’d explain that he crossed the two electrified fences. He planned to make them rise up, so that he could wriggle underneath and not be touched.
A flicker of movement caught the eye of a guard as he made a routine scan of the screens in the large surveillance room. It was a long way from the Compound, closer to the external fences. He thought it must be a fox, slipping silently through the heavy mist. He called the attention of his fellow to it. Frowning, they watched. For a moment they saw it a touch clearer. The brief glimpse didn’t look quite like a fox.
Just as a precautionary measure, the watcher checked John’s room. The half light showed a figure in the bed. “He’s there,” he said to the other.
For a long moment, the two peered at the silent room. Then a switch was flicked, and suddenly there was a bright light in John’s room. There was no movement from the body in the bed, that didn’t look quite right. Zoster communicators vibrated, phones rang, more guards were alerted, but it was only when John was definitely discovered to be gone from his room, that Force B was alerted.
John, crouching and hurrying, was praying for the heavy mist to continue. The bright lights that generously lit even this area, were dissipated in the moisture laden air.
Sirens rang, and the headlights of jeeps swung, dipped and dived as they crossed the rough open area where he was caught. He ran, trying to get closer to the fence, filled with urgency to escape, though he really knew there was no hope as soon as the alarm went. Searchlights started wandering. He was closer to the external fence than he’d thought. He dropped and only wriggled along the ground, still hoping. Maybe he could hitch a ride once he was out. Maybe he could clean himself with magic so that he looked more innocent. Maybe he could still escape.
A jeep roared past a foot from his head, and then turned and backed around, between himself and the fence, the headlights shining back at him. He wished he would not be seen, and added that surge of power. He was not seen by those on the spot, but reports were coming in from those who watched from the cameras.
After a moment, the jeep turned slightly, and the lights were no longer on him. He started wriggling again, still headed toward the fence.
More jeeps appeared, the beams of headlights lighting the area, supplementing the lights from the poles that also carried cameras. But it was only when night binoculars were used that John was picked up almost under the feet of Zack. He knew he was seen. Slowly, he rose to his feet, black with mud. For a moment he glanced at the fences, so close.
Triumphantly, a Force B soldier approached, carrying handcuffs. “You’ve got him then,” and he added with a sneer, “Pretty careless, letting him get this far.”
Zack saw John’s eyes on the handcuffs. He was looking very tense, but Zack was furious with him, and was tempted to let the sergeant put on the restraints. But John looked at him, and said very softly, “Zack?” and he said instead that handcuffs were not needed, that John would give no trouble now.
John relaxed. The disappointment was extreme, but now that he’d found his power, there’d be other opportunities.
“In the jeep,” Zack said curtly.
John looked at himself. “I’ll make it awfully dirty.”
Zack stared, then laughed. “You nearly get yourself killed, and you’re worried about getting the jeep dirty?”
John got in the jeep. They took him to Ward 3, as he expected. There never had been a Ward 1 or a Ward 2, though there was a Sick Bay, occasionally used by staff.
They wouldn’t let him shower or put on dry clothing, only taking from him the small package of food bars that was attached to his belt. Colonel Bedville was well aware of the value of some fatigue and discomfort when a man was interrogated. Nicholas, Peter and Raymond surrounded him, the night guards he scarcely knew. Two others had been brought in as well. He’d never even seen Josephs and Cunningham. Peter and Nicholas were feeling vindictive. Somehow he’d got past them although they’d been on station right outside his door. They couldn’t understand it and they didn’t like it.
John was made to stand, shivering and just waiting, as Mark, Isaac and Zack watched film in the observation room next door. The technicians were checking through all film from the last three hours, finding the traces of his passage. He was seen in the corridors, once slipping behind a guard who should certainly have seen him. There was quite a good shot of him rolling in the muddy puddle, but then he wasn’t spotted until a glimpse was seen of him crossing the barbed wire of the first fence.
Isaac looked at the bedraggled figure in the next room, and said that there must be some deep cuts under the mud. Mark said briefly that no doubt he’d recover.
Again and again, the footage from the cameras in his room was run. The technician concluded, “The cameras in his room stopped working, I think, all of them, probably for about fifteen minutes.”
Mark looked at their subject. He wasn’t doing anything. Five guards surrounded him, and both Nicholas and Peter had their stun guns out in a tacit threat. John leaned against the wall, muddy hands in muddy pockets, and stared into the distance, his face impassive.
Mark finally went in and started questioning. John was trembling, although whether it was from fear or cold, they didn’t know. Colonel Bedville didn’t find it too difficult to harden his heart. The man had nearly escaped, and he surely must have used that strange power.
John, as the Colonel had expected, was not cooperative, only saying that he’d found the door open and thought it worthwhile having a go. He was silent as he was asked how he’d passed the guards without being seen, how he’d negotiated the electrified fence without being killed, how he’d gone through at least three locked doors.
After a half hour, the Colonel stopped. John asked if he could have a shower now. Colonel Bedville said coldly that his guards would tell him when he was allowed to have a shower. John looked after him as he left, and his eyes followed him also as he entered the room next door. Isaac was there, too, he could feel him. John fidgeted. There was a deep cut on his upper arm, that was paining with the mud in it. There were other cuts. Nicholas snarled at him, “Stay still or I’ll use the stun gun.” He stayed still.
Isaac objected. He wanted to look after his patient, but Colonel Bedville was in charge, and the Colonel was deeply disturbed. Losing the subject would cost him dear. Within himself, Mark felt aggrieved. John had been treated so well. It seemed ungrateful.
Two interrogators were brought in from B Force. For hours, they hammered at John, who stayed still, stayed silent, and endured. They were not allowed to touch him, Mark had made that quite clear. And each of the guards, individually, was told that they were to use the batons, if necessary, rather than the stun guns. Mark didn’t want his subject nearly killed by a zap from a stun gun.
Mark watched from the observation room, getting
tired as the morning wore on. The interrogators were taking it in turns, as they, too, tired.
John was silent. He was wondering when the expected head pain would strike. Maybe it would take a few days. Maybe even it would not strike. He smiled bleakly at that thought. He always had to pay when he used that mysterious power.
Nicholas saw the smile, and his anger rose in him again. Nicholas thought it a very good idea if he was knocked about a bit, teach him a lesson.
John’s eyes touched him briefly, but he only thought that there was nothing that the guards were likely to do to him that would hurt nearly as much as his head periodically hurt.
Mark and Isaac were speaking in Mark’s office. Even here, they could turn on a screen and watch what was happening in Ward 3. The picture was large, clear, and in color. The guards in John’s room had been changed and he was now surrounded by his more familiar day guards, Zack, Rudy, Bob, Lance. He was trembling again, and very pale now. He was on the verge of collapse.
Isaac said to Mark, “Enough?”
Mark nodded, and said, “We’ll have to do it now.”
“Next time he goes down? It’ll make it a lot easier.”
Mark said heavily, “Next time he goes down.” He paused, “If there’s a suitable cut on either of his legs, that, too.”
Isaac pleaded, “Mark, I can’t.”
The Colonel looked very tired. “It may not be on film, or witnessed, but I’m satisfied that he has a power and is learning to use it. Slowing him down is better than killing him. You just hand the dressing and the ointment to the nurse, and the nurse will use it as normal.”
Isaac said sadly, “The other thing won’t hurt him, but crippling him will hurt him.”
Mark was looking again at the image of the mud stained figure leaning against the wall. “I know.” He added, “I won’t punish him, and those two procedures are not for punishment. But he stays in Ward 3 while you treat him, and he’ll be under constant surveillance in his room from now on.”
Mark felt it his duty to watch as his instructions were carried out. John was swaying, white with fatigue, when he was finally allowed to shower, helped by Joe Price, one of the nurses. It was mid afternoon. His wounds were checked, Isaac pointed to one on his leg with a glance at Price, and then told John that the one on his arm would need to be stitched as it would scar too badly otherwise.
His patient smiled tiredly, and said that he had enough scars to be going on with, stitch it if he wanted. Isaac said, “It’ll hurt, and I suppose you’ll refuse an injection.”
John nodded. “No injections.” But he seemed almost asleep when the nurse dressed his wounds, including the one on his leg, and Isaac put a couple of neat stitches in the deep cut on his arm.
It was not until the early hours of the morning that he woke, ravenously hungry. Two guards and a nurse were in the room. The nurse was a woman, and he smiled at her as he swung himself out of bed, pleased. He liked women a lot better than he liked men, he thought. Not that he knew many. Clare was almost the only one, but he certainly liked Clare. He hoped he’d still be allowed to see her. No doubt there’d be punishment, and he sighed. His next attempt would be in the daytime, as he doubted he’d succeed in leaving his room at night again.
Nicki introduced herself and asked how he was feeling.
“Just hungry,” he answered.
She briefly checked pulse and temperature, and then said, “You can go back to your room, if you like, and a meal will be brought to you there.”
John was delighted. “I can?”
Nicki smiled at him. Peter put in, using an ominous voice, “You’ll be told what’s to happen to you in the morning.” He didn’t want him thinking he’d got away with it.
But John only nodded and looked for some clothes. There were some kept here as well as in his bedroom, blue jeans, and a vivid red shirt. They’d standardized the color now, though John said that he’d really prefer a variety, maybe even some brown or green shirts.
He limped slightly when he left his bedroom in the morning. The ointment rubbed into a cut irritated him, but Nicki only said that the dressings were to stay in place, and he’d be checked every morning before he left his room. John smiled his thanks. Life was easier when he was friendly with those who surrounded him, even if they sometimes were in conflict. He was astounded when Zack told him that there were no changes in the way he was to be treated, except that he wouldn’t be riding that day.
Davies welcomed him when he turned up at PT training. They’d taken their cue from him. They might come into conflict, but it was best to pretend, afterward, that nothing had happened. It was difficult sometimes. They’d all been out searching the night before last, and some had witnessed an argument between the commander of B Force and the Colonel. They had a very good idea where the subject was, and Hindmarsh had wanted to simply plaster the whole area with bullets. Luckily, Bedville outranked him.
The rain finally stopped and the sun shone, although the soldiers still squelched through puddles in their boots. Only PT that day, and John wandered off, his escort following, Zack next to him, Bob and Lance not far away. He swung himself up into his tree, thinking it wouldn’t be long now before the trees would be in full leaf, probably only two or three weeks. He needed the cover before he made the next planned attempt. Next to his habitual perch was a pair of birds busily building their nest, not disturbed in the slightest by the human who smiled on them.