Pines (3 page)

The air bag explodes out of the steering column but it’s a millisecond late, just missing his head, which slams into the window with enough force to punch through.

The right side of the Lincoln Town Car implodes in an apocalypse of breaking glass and bending metal, and Stallings’s head takes a direct hit from the truck’s grille.

He can feel the heat from the truck’s engine as it tears into the car.

The sudden reek of gasoline and brake fluid.

Blood is everywhere—running down the inside of the fractured windshield, splattered across the dash, in his eyes, still erupting out of what’s left of Stallings.

The Town Car is sliding crosswise through an intersection, being pushed by the truck toward the side of that brownstone with the phone booth near the alley, when he loses consciousness.

A woman was smiling down at him. At least, he thought those were a mouthful of pretty teeth, although his blurred, double vision made it difficult to say for sure. She leaned in a little closer, her two heads merging and her features crystallizing enough for him to see she was beautiful. Her short-sleeved uniform was white with buttons all the way down the front to where the skirt stopped just above her knees.

She kept repeating his name.

“Mr. Burke? Mr. Burke, can you hear me? Mr. Burke?”

The headache was gone.

He took a slow, careful breath until the pain in his ribs cut him off.

He must have winced, because the nurse said, “Are you still experiencing discomfort in your left side?”

“Discomfort.” He groaned through a laugh. “Yes, I’m experiencing discomfort. You could certainly call it that.”

“I can get something a little stronger for the pain if you’d like.”

“I think I can manage.”

“All right, but don’t you be a martyr, Mr. Burke. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable, just name it. I’m your girl. My name’s Pam, by the way.”

“Thank you, Pam. I think I remember you from the last time I was here. I’d never forget that classic nurse’s uniform. I didn’t even know they still made those.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m glad to hear your memory’s coming back. That’s very good. Dr. Miter will be in shortly to see you. Would you mind if I took a blood pressure reading?”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful.”

Nurse Pam lifted a blood pressure pump from a cart at the foot of the bed and strapped the cuff around his left biceps.

“You gave us a good scare, Mr. Burke,” she said as she inflated the cuff. “Walking off like that.”

She was quiet while the needle fell.

“Did I pass?” he asked.

“A-plus. Systolic is one twenty-two. Diastolic seventy-five.” She un-Velcroed the cuff. “When they brought you in, you were delirious,” she said. “You didn’t seem to know who you were.”

He sat up in bed, the fog in his head beginning to lift. He was in a private hospital room—he thought it looked familiar. There was a window beside the bed. The blinds had been drawn, but the light creeping through seemed timid enough to be either early morning or early evening.

“Where’d you find me?” he asked.

“Mack Skozie’s front yard. You’d blacked out. Do you remember what you were doing there? Mack said you seemed pretty agitated and confused.”

“I woke up yesterday by the river. I didn’t know who I was or where I was.”

“You’d left the hospital. Do you remember leaving?”

“No. I went to the Skozie residence because he was the only Mack in the phone book.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Mack was the only name that held any meaning for me.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because Mack is the last word I read before the truck hit us.”

“Oh, right...it was a Mack truck that T-boned your car.”

“Exactly.”

“The mind is a weird thing,” the nurse said, moving around the end of the bed and walking over to the window. “It works in mysterious ways. Seeks out the strangest connections.”

“How long has it been since I was brought back here?”

She raised the blinds.

“Day and a half.”

Light streamed in.

It was actually late morning, the sun just clearing the eastern rim of cliffs.

“You had a bad concussion,” she said. “You could’ve died out there.”

“I felt like I was dying.”

The early light pouring down into the town was stunning.

“How’s your memory?” Pam asked.

“Weirdest thing. It all came back when I remembered the accident. Like someone just flipped a switch. How’s Agent Stallings?”

“Who?”

“The man who was riding in the front passenger seat of the car when the collision happened.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t make it, did he?”

Nurse Pam walked back over to the bedside. She reached down, put her hand on his wrist. “I’m afraid not.”

He’d assumed as much. Hadn’t seen that sort of trauma since the war. Still, to have that suspicion confirmed was a sobering thing.

“Was he a close friend of yours?” the nurse asked.

“No. I’d met him for the first time earlier that day.”

“Must’ve been just awful. I’m so sorry.”

“What’s
my
damage?”

“Excuse me?”

“My injuries?”

“Dr. Miter will be able to fill you in better than I can, but you suffered a concussion, which is resolved now. A few cracked ribs. Some superficial cuts and bruises. All things considered, it could have been much, much worse for you.”

She turned away and headed for the door, stopping as she started to pull it open for a quick glance back over her shoulder.

“So,” she said. “We’re sure about your memory coming back?”

“Absolutely.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Ethan,” he said.

“Excellent.”

“Could you do me a favor?” Ethan asked.

Big, high-wattage smile. “Name it.”

“There are people I need to call. My wife. My SAC. Has anyone been in contact with them?”

“I believe someone from the sheriff’s office got in touch with your emergency contacts right after the accident. Let them know what happened, your condition.”

“I had an iPhone in my jacket at the time of the collision. Would you happen to know where it is?”

“No, but I can certainly put on my Nancy Drew detective hat and check into that for you.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“That little red button on the side of the railing? See it?”

Ethan glanced down at it.

“I’m one click away.”

Nurse Pam flashed one more brilliant smile and left.

* * *

There was no television in the room, and no telephone. The best and only entertainment was the wall clock hanging
above the door, and he lay in bed for several hours watching the second hand make its endless orbit as the morning turned to midday and then to afternoon.

He couldn’t be sure, but his room appeared to be three, possibly four floors up. Nurse Pam had left the blinds open, and when he tired of clock-watching, he turned carefully over onto his good side and studied the happenings of Wayward Pines.

From his vantage point, he could see straight down Main Street and several blocks back on either side.

He’d known prior to coming here that it was a tiny, sleepy town, but the sheer inactivity still surprised him. An hour elapsed, and he counted a dozen people strolling down the sidewalk past the hospital, and not a single car driving down the town’s busiest thoroughfare. The most effective object of distraction was two blocks away—a construction crew framing a house.

He thought about his wife and son back in Seattle, hoping they were already en route to see him. They’d probably caught the first plane out. They would have had to fly into Boise or Missoula. Rent a car for the long trek out to Wayward Pines.

The next time he glanced at the clock, it was a quarter to four.

He’d been lying in this bed all day, and Dr. Miter, or whatever his name was, hadn’t even bothered to stop by. Ethan had spent significant time in hospitals, and in his experience, nurses and doctors never left you alone for more than ten seconds—someone always bringing some new medication, always prodding and poking.

Here, they’d practically ignored him.

Nurse Pam had never even shown up with his iPhone and other belongings. How busy could this hospital in the middle of nowhere be?

He reached for the control panel attached to the railing and jammed his thumb into the
NURSE CALL
button.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to his room swung open and Nurse Pam breezed through.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see that you rang until ten seconds ago. I think we’re having some issues with our intercom.” She stopped at the foot of the bed and put her hands on the metal railing. “How can I help you, Ethan?”

“Where’s Dr. Miter?”

She grimaced. “He’s been tied up in an emergency surgery all afternoon. One of those five-hour nightmares.” She laughed. “But I filled him in on your vitals this morning and the fantastic progress you’re making with your memory, and he thinks you’re doing A-OK.”

She gave Ethan a double thumbs-up.

“When can I see him?”

“It’s looking like he’ll make his rounds after supper now, which should be coming up in the next half hour.”

Ethan struggled to mask his growing frustration.

“Any luck finding my phone and the other things I had with me before the accident? This would include my wallet and a black briefcase.”

Nurse Pam gave a half salute and marched in place for several steps.

“Working on it, Captain.”

“Just bring me a landline right now. I need to make some calls.”

“Of course, Marshal.”

“Marshal?”

“Aren’t you like a US Marshal or something?”

“No, I’m a special agent with the United States Secret Service.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I thought you guys protected the president.”

“We handle some other things too.”

“So what are you doing out here in our little slice of heaven?”

Ethan gave her a cool, thin smile.

“I can’t discuss that.”

He could actually, just didn’t feel like it.

“Well, now you’ve got me all intrigued.”

“The phone, Pam.”

“Excuse me?”

“I really need the phone.”

“I’m on it.”

* * *

It was when supper finally came—servings of green and brown goo compartmentalized on a shiny metal tray—and the phone didn’t that Ethan decided to leave.

Sure, he’d slipped out once before, but he’d been out of his mind at the time, suffering from a severe concussion.

Now, he was thinking clearly.

The headache was gone, he could breathe easier and with less pain, and if the doctor had any real concern regarding his condition, maybe the asshole would’ve given him the courtesy of stopping by at some point during the last ten hours.

Ethan waited until Nurse Pam had left, her parting shot assuring him that the hospital food “tastes so much better than it looks!”

When the door closed, he tugged the IV needle out of his wrist and climbed over the railing. The linoleum floor was cold against the soles of his bare feet. He felt a few pegs down from completely stable, but still light-years ahead of his condition forty-eight hours ago.

Ethan padded over to the closet, pulled open the door.

His shirt, jacket, and pants were on a hanger, his shoes on the floor underneath.

No socks.

No briefs.

Guess I’ll roll commando.

The only pain came when he bent over to pull on his pants—a sharp twinge high on his left side that went away when he straightened back up.

He caught a glimpse of his bare legs, and as always, the nexus of scarring jogged him out of the moment, fighting to pull him eight years back to a brown-walled room whose stench of death would never leave him.

He checked and found the pocketknife still inside his jacket. Good. It was a relic from his early twenties when he’d worked as a helicopter mechanic—more of a talisman now than a functional tool—but it offered some degree of comfort to know it was there.

He stood in front of a mirror in the bathroom, fumbling with his tie. It took him five attempts to get it right. Fingers misfiring and clumsy, like he hadn’t tied one in years.

When he’d finally cinched down a mediocre Windsor knot, he took a step back to appraise himself.

The bruises on his face looked marginally better, but his jacket still bore grass and dirt stains and a small tear across the left pocket. The white oxford shirt underneath was also stained—he could see the smattering of blood near the collar.

He’d lost several inches from his waist over the last few days and had to fasten his belt on the last hole. Still his pants felt too loose.

He turned on the tap, wet his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Fixed his part. Tried to assign it some semblance of order.

He swished with lukewarm water several times, but his teeth still felt mossy.

Sniffed his armpits—
stink
.

He also needed a shave. It had been years since he’d looked this rough.

He stepped into his shoes, laced them up, and headed out of the bathroom toward the door.

His first instinct was to leave without being seen, and this puzzled him. He was a federal agent with the full authority of the United States government. This meant people had to do what he said. Even nurses and doctors. They didn’t want him to leave? Tough shit. And yet, some part of him was resisting the hassle of an incident. It was stupid, he knew, but he didn’t want Nurse Pam catching him.

He turned the doorknob, opened the door an inch from the jamb.

What he could see of the corridor beyond was empty.

He strained to listen.

No distant chatter of nurses.

No footsteps.

Just blaring silence.

He poked his head out.

A quick glance left and right confirmed his suspicion. For the moment, the place was empty, even the nurses’ station fifty feet down the corridor.

He stepped out of his room and onto the checkered linoleum floor and closed the door softly behind him.