The Empty (19 page)

The man actually sounded sincere. He truly believed this bunk. Had she stumbled into some crazy cult or radical group? Donald certainly had the blank expressionless look of a brainwashed Moonie. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to maintain her calm professional demeanor before this obviously deluded individual. “Okay, so—not that I believe any of this—but, how do they infuse genetic information from others?”

Donald nodded and seemed to remember to offer his stock smile. “Of course, as a physician, you gravitate toward questions of a practical nature. There is a bed of needle-like protrusions lodged just beneath the skin on the right palm of each reyaqc. When the reyaqc seeks to infuse, these tiny hollow spines surface and puncture the skin of the donor—or ‘giver’ as the reyaqc call them—extracting genetic material. A careless reyaqc can severely injure or even kill a donor.”

“So, what then? The reyaqc has the victim’s genetic code, does he then magically start to resemble the donor? You know, I think this might be a good plot for Dr. Who.”

Donald cocked his head, offered a curious indistinct expression, and then rose, pacing before Julia like a college professor expounding on a pet topic. “Think of the reyaqc as an empty glass. Soon after birth, the glass is filled with water. This is the first infusion. Now, reyaqc chromosomes are unstable. They break down. So, to use our analogy, the water begins to evaporate. But, say we never want the glass to become empty. So we add more liquid. But this time we top off the glass with orange juice. Now the glass contains a mixture of juice and water.”

“Then more liquid evaporates and you add some tea and then some soda, and so on,” offered Julia in an effort to move him along.

“Correct,” said Donald, for the first time offering an expression, however obscure, that might border on genuine. “So, with each infusion the reyaqc acquires some characteristics of the new, but retains whatever was left of the old. Obviously, the first infusion is the one to establish the basic foundation of the reyaqc’s form—gender being the most obvious, full adult height being another. From that point onward, the reyaqc must infuse from this one sex alone or risk serious complications.”

Julia rose. The guy was creative. She had to admit that. But this was giving her nothing of use. It was late. She was tired, frustrated, and more than a little perturbed at herself for pursuing this obviously useless lead. “It’s a great story, Donald, but I think you’re full of it.”

“As promised.” Donald paused. “Consider Eduardo Kac.”

“And he is…”

“A Frenchman. The title he prefers is Bio-artist. Kac spliced fluorescent genes from a jellyfish into a rabbit embryo. Quite creative really, though borderline ridiculous. This modified embryo was then planted in a female rabbit. Once born, the bunny glowed neon green under ultraviolet light. Julia, the ability to splice foreign DNA into another species is the basis of all biotechnology. Do you find it so hard to believe that that which is done in the laboratory might also exist in nature?”

“Well, that’s a compelling argument,” she said, though her tone was doubtful. “Listen, I appreciate your time, but I’ve been running nearly non-stop for close to forty-eight hours. I really need to be going.”

Donald moved in her direction, hands clasped behind his back, lips pursed. Once again—manufactured mannerisms. “How do you hope to proceed? What is your plan for James Harrison’s care? What will you do for the next patient of similar circumstance?”

Julia paused. How did she plan to proceed? Jimmy Harrison had slipped back into coma. She had no leads, no ideas on how to help him.

“Allow me one more statement,” said Donald. “I realize this is quite difficult to accept. You most likely think me some fringe fanatic. And truly, in many ways it is better that you don’t believe. It’s far safer for the reyaqc that few humans know of them. But something is happening here in Las Vegas. In your position as an emergency room physician at the most centrally located hospital in the city, you may have need of further information. I will remain available to you should you need my services.”

Julia offered a smile as artificial as Donald Baker’s own. “Thank you, Donald. I’ll certainly—”

There was a sharp rap on the door, a muffled voice from the hallway beyond. “Doc, it’s Shane. Let me in. We’ve got trouble.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Donald made the door in three quick steps. As it swung open, Julia saw the young man who had accompanied Donald at the hospital. His white hair was tossed and unruly. His right hand was wrapped in a bloody white rag. His clothing was dirty and unkempt; his overall appearance being that of someone who’d barely survived a barroom brawl. But most shocking was that he supported a young woman, apparently unconscious. The girl’s left arm was draped over Shane’s shoulders; her head was slumped forward, her black hair spilling over her face. Shane looked as if he was about to lose his grip on her waist.

“A little help here, Doc. She’s about to drop.”

Both Donald and Julia moved forward, but Julia quick-stepped back as Donald reached them first. There just wasn’t enough room for both to assist.

“It’s Taz, Doc,” said Shane as they moved the unconscious form down into the sunken living room and toward the couch. “She’s still alive, but not in good shape. I told the hotel security guards she was drunk. I think they bought it, but don’t be surprised if they come knocking.”

“Bradley, my bag,” said Donald, calling the young man who had served Julia the wine. “It’s in the kitchenette.” Two young men appeared, one of which was Bradley. The other seemed remarkably similar in stature and facial structure, though his hair was dark where Bradley’s was light.

“Julia, a pillow please. No, two. Place them beneath her feet, prop her legs.”

“Donald, I’m a physician. I should be the one to—”

“Not now, Julia. This woman has little time.”

Bradley handed Donald what looked to be a medical practitioner’s bag as Julia grudgingly slipped two throw pillows beneath the young woman’s calves. Already, Donald was wrapping a blood pressure cuff around the victim’s arm. As he pumped the small rubber bulb in his right hand, Donald checked the victim’s pulse with two fingers of his left. “Pulse is erratic,” he said after several seconds. A minute later, “Blood pressure dropping steadily.”

Donald withdrew an IV bag from the case. Julia was amazed at Donald’s skill as he found a vein and inserted the IV needle. “Julia, hold the IV bag.” He shoved the bag into Julia’s hand before she could protest. Once again—she was the physician here!

“Mr. Daws, in the refrigerator you’ll find three medications. I need you to bring me the pale yellow liquid. Bradley, take the IV bag from Julia, hold it above the girl’s head. Julia, the hypodermic needle in my bag, quickly. Shane, the medication.”

Suddenly, the girl heaved, shaking violently and nearly flopping off the sofa. Gasping now, grayish bile dribbled from her lips. Her breathing was labored and shallow. Her pupils fixed, but not dilated. Julia had been shocked into tacit compliance by the sheer force of Donald’s personality. True, it was obvious Donald was prepared for this type of emergency, but now the victim was in crisis. Enough was enough. “Donald, you’re losing her. Get out of the way.”

Julia pressed in as Donald scooted back without protest. She went to work, recognizing the situation—the bloodless pallor, the hollowed cheeks, the muscle spasms. Yes, there they were, the white rash-like marks at the base of the skull. The pupils were still non-responsive. Breathing was shallow. Almost silently, the young woman expelled a final foul-smelling breath, and then went limp.

Julia’s heart leaped. Instinct birthed in years of experience took control. “She’s stopped breathing. Donald, do you have epinephrine in that bag?”

“I’m getting it now, Doctor.” Donald’s voice was even, emotionless.

Julia ripped open the woman’s shirt, put her right ear against her chest, and, not hearing a heartbeat, checked for breath. None. Cocking the girl’s head to the side, she inserted a finger in her mouth and cleared the remaining bile, thus ensuring an open airway. She tilted the head, sealed her lips to hers, and breathed forcefully twice. The chest rose both times, but did not continue to rise and fall on its own. Quickly, wiping the offensive bile from her lips with a sleeve, Julia straddled the woman, locked her hands one over the other and began chest compressions. She suppressed the urge to vomit. Just that short contact with the girl’s lips had been horrid. And disease! Talk about risk of exposure. “Donald, the epinephrine.”

“Ready, Julia.” Again, Donald’s voice was far too calm. The strange blank-faced man had seen this scenario played out far too many times before.

The syringe in hand, Julia injected the patient, listened for a heartbeat again, and then continued her efforts. Press, press, press. Listen. Breathe, breathe. Press, press, press, press…

The woman did not respond.

“Breathe, girl. Don’t you want to live?” Julia nearly screamed at the woman. How dare she give in so easily? Didn’t she understand the value of life?

“Come on, Taz,” urged the white-haired man. “Hang in there.”

Press, press, press, press. Listen. Breathe. Press, press. Longer. Longer. Time became evasive. Had she been at this only several minutes, or maybe an hour?

Press, press, press. Listen. Breathe. Press. Julia was becoming weary. Her arms aching, the space between her shoulder blades stiff and cramped.

“Come on, Taz.” She used the name the young man had spoken. “We’ve got to do this. You need to live.”

Press, press, press. Her arms were cramping. Press, press, press. She was sweating, little dots of moisture traversing her forehead, down between the eyes and across the nose, dripping onto the patient.

Press, press. Breathe. Press…

Suddenly the woman’s eyes opened. Her teeth clenched. She lurched upright, nearly smacking her forehead against Julia’s own. A gray-black vomit erupted from the girl’s lips like water from a fire hose, dousing the upper third of Julia’s body. Julia gagged, tumbled to the floor, as the woman went limp, slumping to her left, motionless, silent, dead.

* * * *

“You saw the rogue,” said Donald as he pulled Shane into the kitchenette. Julia was in the adjacent bathroom showering away the vomit.

“Yeah, Doc. Saw him, got attacked by him, beat him off with my flashlight.”

Though Donald’s face remained impassive, he roughly clasped Shane’s arms at the biceps. “You beat him? Was he injured? What did you do to him?”

Shane, surprised by Donald’s emphatic reaction, took a step back, shrugging off the grip. “I don’t know. Like I said, he was attacking me and Taz. I was panicked. I beat him away. Taz was hurt. I had to do something.”

“But, the reyaqc—what damage did you inflict? Is he in need of medical attention?”

Shane raked his fingertips through rustled white hair. “It was dark. Taz was already down. The rogue pounced on me. I swung my flashlight, pounded him off. He was going to kill us both. Do you get it? Can’t you see what he did to Taz?” Shane wanted nothing more than to leave right now, leave Donald Baker to his own devices and walk away.

“Did you draw blood?” Donald was only inches from Shane’s face; his right hand gripped Shane’s shoulder with an amazing strength. For the first time, Shane feared Donald Baker. The ferocity of his gaze, the near manic tone of his voice, these were so far removed from the civilized doc that he’d come to know. There was something primal in his expression, something hiding just below the surface, screaming for release.

Breaking the gaze, Shane contemplated the question posed. Had he? Had he actually injured the rogue, or had he just frightened him off? He closed his eyes, tried to visualize the encounter. “Doc, honestly, I don’t know. The reyaqc cut his hands while bashing in my windshield. Beyond that…I mean, he was able to run off on his own. He couldn’t have been hurt too badly. It was just a flashlight.” Shane purposefully omitted his own act of pressing the glass shard deeper into the reyaqc’s hand. No need to anger the doc further.

Donald released his grasp on Shane’s shoulder and stared vacantly at him. Shane felt a strange unease. This night, these things that had happened, now the doc’s reaction, he’d never experienced such as these. With the exception of his time with Gisele, so much of his knowledge of the reyaqc was far removed, hypothetical, disconnected. There were chat rooms, web sites, and of course, Donald Baker’s
Histories
. But those tomes were closely guarded. Shane had only seen one volume—and that for a very brief time. But these past several hours, these were something different entirely. Amazing, true, but different, much different. Very frightening.

Taz. What about Taz? She was dead. Shane had taken her with him and now she was dead. She was what, maybe twenty-five at the most? She’d been alive, vibrant, curious, smart. Now she was dead. And it was Shane’s fault. If he’d been more prepared; if he’d refused to let her tag along. Anything! If he’d done anything different, she’d still be alive right now.

Suddenly Shane realized the doc was speaking. He blinked, brought himself back to reality. “I’m sorry, Doc. What’d you say?”

“The rogue, he infused from Miss Taz. How long was the connection?”

Shane pulled a stick of chewing gum from his pocket, unwrapped it, and slipped it between his teeth. He hadn’t wanted a cigarette so badly in nearly four years. “I don’t know. I was just trying to get him off her.”

The doc nodded. “It’s important to know. Cross-gender infusions are inherently dangerous. The rogue must have been quite desperate.”

“Well, it sure was dangerous to Taz. She’s dead, Doc. In case you didn’t get that. She’s dead.”

“Yes, she is. Was he a molt?” asked the doc, oblivious to Shane’s rage. “Was the rogue a molt?”

Angered, but resigned that the moral outrage of the situation was lost on Donald Baker, Shane closed his eyes, tried to recall the encounter. He could still see the milky eyes, the wide gaping mouth with the missing and broken teeth, the near-translucent skin. There was hair, but very little of it. Shane envisioned the creature as it had been on the hood of the car. Was there anything else, anything to indicate animal essence in the rogue? “Doc, I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure.”