Page 18 of Agent Zero
No headaches.No digestive problems.No dizziness.No bad dreams.No hives, trouble breathing.No, no, no.No degradation.
Different exam suite than last time.The tomboy nurse was nervous.Her pulse was up, and a serrated tang of fear rasped against his nose.What did they tell the medical personnel here?So far as Reese could figure, they thought it was allergy research.Which, he supposed, was incredibly ironic.
Heming probably knew something.He had to, looking at agent bloodwork.The big brains, the architects of this operation, were most likely far away in nice offices, looking down from their heights at the little chess pieces below.
Wait.
What was bothering him?That tickle of instinct again, one wrong note throwing everything out of tune.
“Go ahead and disrobe.”The tomboy had a cute snub nose and freckles, but the slight sheen of perspiration on her forehead was too much.Something wrong in her personal life, maybe.
Then why was he so damn uneasy?Maybe it was the fact that he had a coffee date after he finished here.He’d planned for this to take a while, but if they decided they wanted another MRI or something, he’d be late.Or miss it, and Holly would think...
Nowtherewas a distraction.Just thinking about that delicious, indefinable smell would make things really interesting once he got into the paper onesie on the exam table.
The nurse left, closing the door with a soft snick, and he almost unbuckled his belt.
Stop.
He stepped close to the door, tested the handle.
Locked.
Never done that before.He cocked his head.Sealed door.No windows.Huh.A quick glance up showed him the ceiling wasn’t standard, either.A slight hiss as something exhaled from a grillwork vent, and his skin roughened all over.
Time to think fast.
The ceramknife in his boot was great for avoiding metal detectors, but it didn’t have a thin enough blade to jimmy the door.Fortunately, nobody really looked at a keyring, so you could have all sorts of interesting things jangling there.
Paper clip.Always keep a jumbo for emergencies.A hot second to bend it, slide the wire into the small hole on one side of the doorhandle, and he paused only to yank the knife free of his boot before slipping through the door.The hissing intensified behind him, and whatever the fog was, it irritated the hell out of his eyes.Lock door on the way out, Reese.Quick exhale—he waited until he was down the featureless concrete hallway to inhale again, and the flimsy lock on the broom-closet door was no match for enhanced musculature.
The T-junction at the end of this hall was alive with the sound of movement.Someone was on their way, and he stepped inside the closet’s darkness, blinking his streaming eyes furiously.Damn.Am I blind?
The burning crested, and he almost knocked something over.Froze, the terror of a hunted animal bursting low in his belly, filling his mouth with chemical sourness.If the soldiers had been outside the door when the nurse exited, he might be bleeding out on the hall floor right now.
They came past pretty quietly, moving in standard bottle-it-up.They weren’t agents, which might have made him feel a little better if his eyes didn’t feel like they were being scooped out of his skull.
Just regular ol’ soldiers.Creak of gear, the brassy note of male adrenaline, the smell of discipline, canvas, and disinfectant.He weighed his options just as the tearing pain in his eyes receded.His fingers tingled, plus his toes.Some kind of nerve agent, maybe?Ithurt, goddammit, and he couldn’t wait to kill Hemings, that freckle-cheeked nurse, of whoever had given the go-ahead for this.
A slight sound—they’d tested the door to the exam room, found it locked.What precisely were their orders?
Analyze.Fast-acting gas—was it antiviral?The tomboy nurse’s nervousness.The reception desk, where Donna the friendly was pale and fidgety, checking ID the way she hardly ever did—had the bored NCO on duty at the “secured” door hesitated for a moment before passing Reese through?The itching from the tolerance jabs last time, lasting a little longer than it usually did.The extra blood draw.
The burning and tingling receded all at once.Sweat itched as it dried, sour with something inimical metabolized.He had the knife, keyring, wallet, and if he’d just been erased they were probably already at the apartment now, tossing it over and wrapping things up.
Whoever they sent to hit his residence would know more than these stupid soldiers.If he got out of here in time, he might be able to catch them at their work.
Bring the heartbeat down.Listen.
Five pulses outside the door.One of them was talking, muffled by something—probably a gas mask.A gossamer-fine tremor in the middle of his bones.Whatever they’d pumped into the room might have effects beyond the immediate.
Carefully, ready for the burning to return, he opened his eyes.
Sliver of light under the door, enough to give him something to work with.Mop bucket, a forgotten raincoat smelling of fried food and human dung, shelves of cleaning supplies.A hazmat cleaning station, with a bottle of eyewash he longed for, but the irritation had vanished.The trembling receded too, as his brain clicked through alternatives.
The physical changes were great, yeah, but not the most useful.Everything before he woke up in the hospital bed with his head bandaged and the fever-sweat thick as grease was gray and dull, seen through a fog.Challenged, they’d called it.Developmentally disabled.
Stupe.Retard.Moron.All those nasty little words.
