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Inthrallis – Chapter 61

January 31, 2015

Inthrallis – Chapter 61

Can he see or is he blind?

Water.

He mouthed the words for all the good it did. At least they had him out of the restraints.

The way one FBI agent–he assumed he was FBI, he had that look–glared at him, you’d have thought Moller had parted the Red Sea or walked on water.

His voice was hoarse from the feeding tube, the oxygen tube, and his body was weak. How long had he been out? He wasn’t sure.

It was the doctor though, a man of Indian descent in his late 50s or early 60s, who had Moller the most concerned. He appeared as though he wanted to get down to business and soon. Moller wasn’t sure if that entailed dissection, autopsy, or cold fingers where the Sun don’t shine. The gleam in the man’s eyes gave the impression of some of all three.

A male nurse, and a distractingly gorgeous one at that, finished taking the third vial of blood for analysis. With that, the nurse and the Doctor Jellyfingers left the room.

Moller noted no less than seven federal agents in the room. It was difficult to figure out who was who apart from the obvious Elliot Ness. Two women out of the seven, Moller figured that was progress, though this thought was dampened a bit since one of them looked like she wanted to see if vice grips would loosen his tongue.

Waterboarding: A fun activity for the whole family.

They handed Moller a pen and a legal pad. He held the pen for a moment in his hand as if it were the first time in a decade. It was a strange sensation, like re-learning how to write. This was made a little more difficult with the needle and drip still in his arm.

He looked up from the minty green hospital gown which he realized was all he had on, and the Q&A began.

Moller explained that he had been mugged, stabbed with a needle during the struggle, and gave the best descriptions he could of his attackers. It had been dark and he didn’t notice much that would be helpful apart from one having an afro cut that seemed to pop right out of an old 70s TV show.

He dodged as best he could questions regarding the pager. Apparently the battery had died and the memory was wiped as a result so he didn’t have to explain away sup_dawg’s messages. He explained that he had been laid off and it wasn’t really in use anymore. If they took a closer look at the innards of that thing and noticed the encryption chip…

They already knew he had been working for Medidyne via Second Chance and were very, very curious about that however. So much surrounding the surprising popularity of candidate Cain would naturally cause some concern about his business dealings. Driving a truck for Medidyne, Moller had little to offer apart from pickups and destinations.

So Moller left out the part about the dead bodies. He wasn’t sure why. Probably something to do with Martin being dead. He just didn’t feel comfortable discussing it until he got his wits about him. By now, Cain’s people would have cleaned the place up anyway. Moller would look like a crazy person and they would keep him long enough to wonder if there weren’t some connection to Martin Z’s twisted departure from life.

Thankfully, they didn’t seem overly curious about anything regarding any of that. He knew that would change, though, soon enough. Once they followed up the leads they had, they would start asking more about his whereabouts at specific dates and times and then wham, slam, no thanks, man, and off to federal would-you-like-to-be-a-white-supremacist-or-a-statistic prison.

For now, the doctor said, he was under quarantine until they could figure out exactly what caused the phenomenon.

He had been out for nearly ten days. He wondered what else had transpired while his mind was stuck in a dark, dank, well.

It was nearly 6am and Moller felt as though he jumped three feet in the air when the alarm went off. His first inclination was to hide under the bed.

He noticed that the power was off and there was a lot of shouting. He got up, cursed as the I.V. stand got caught on something in the dark, and fought a wave of dizziness. He stumbled to the window and parted the shades, but it was still a few seconds before the purple left the center of his vision and he could see what was happening outside.

He was on the third floor. Outside, there was a yard surrounded by a high fence with barbed wire at top.

The fence, about a hundred yards to his right, had been breeched by a schoolbus. There were people with torches and some SUVs driving around in the yard. Some lights seemed to be coming on top of the building and spotlights were attempting to locate dozens of armed people in the yard.

The place was under siege. It wouldn’t be long, Moller guessed, before DHS or the National Guard, or whomever was guarding the place put the intruders down.

It’s now or never.

The alarm continued to blare. He wondered if it was handcranked and wondered if that was a job in the military.

Moller pulled on the blinds to get them out of the way. Hilariously, they resisted his attempts, but from this he did notice the string and was able to grab it and pull the blinds most of the way up.

The window had only a small operable pane on either side a larger fixed one. It would have to do.

He unlocked it and rolled it open. He stuck his head out and looked and became dizzy again.

Short on blood and energy, he figured trying to jump out and land on the ground an not break something wasn’t a good idea.

He shuffled back to the bed. The mattress was too large to stuff out the window and he wasn’t sure he could lift it anyway in this state.

Moller grabbed the pillows and the bedding. They got caught on his I.V. tube. He got frustrated and yanked. Something gave and he continued the shuffle back to the window.

He dropped the items as best he could straight down. The wind caught the blanket and sheet and blew them away, tragicomically.

Two pillows. Yeah, this is gonna be painful.

His pulse quickened when he heard semi-automatic gunfire. Whatever was happening out there, it was getting serious. Then he decided this wasn’t time to ponder any regrets about not having signed up and chosen Handcranker as his MOS.

He pulled a lounge chair over and stepped up into the seat. He got one foot out onto the ledge, nearly slipped, but managed to catch himself by grabbing the window sill. He repeated the process with the other leg and began slowly, his arms shaking, lowering himself sideways into a crouch.

At last outside, he tried to lower himself a little so the fall would be a few feet shorter and fell.

When his left ribcage hit the pillows and his pelvis and legs slapped the ground, he wondered if the pillows had made any difference whatsoever. The wind knocked out of him, it was several seconds before he managed to force air back into his lungs and stop the beginning of suffocation panic.

He got up slowly. Though it didn’t seem as if anything was broken, he had definitely pulled some muscles in his back. One side was very painful attempting to hold him up, so when he took his first step it was excruciating. He had to limp in order to keep the weight off of the weaker side of his body as much as possible and favor the other.

Hobbling along in this way, he saw one of the SUV’s drive by him which only reminded him of his ludicrously slow pace.

Then the vehicle stopped and slipped a little sideways in the grass. A side door opened.

“Hurry,” one of the passengers, a 20-something blond guy with a tattoo on his neck, motioned for him.

Seeing that he wasn’t able to bridge the gap quick enough, two men jumped out and grabbed him. He winced at the shift in weight it put on his back, but was quickly boarded into the SUV which sped off into the darkness.

He mouthed ‘thanks’ and tried to sleep. Every bump in the road reminded him that his back just wasn’t going to allow it.

“See, man? I told you it was some fake s— the government was up to. He look like he’s in a coma?”

The young blond guy looked at Moller and smiled.

Hmmm…so right, so wrong…

Beach…beach…beach…

Moller smiled through the pain and closed his eyes.

Moller had bled all over himself and the back seat of the SUV. The IV had come apart somewhere and so he had lost additional blood. Blondie, as he came to refer to think of him, helped him get the needle out and applied pressure with a napkin to stem the flow that way. If the dude hadn’t noticed and woke him, he might have just slipped into a real coma.

Now, there was a roadblock ahead on whichever highway they had taken. Though it was still a long way off, the lights flashing were a giveaway in the light fog that had risen in the morning.

Despite this, Moller was caught unaware by the sudden turns the truck took, reversing their direction. The man in the front on the passenger side–clearly Blondie’s brother–was listening and occasionally saying something into a walkie-talkie. Moller couldn’t hear the other end because he used an earpiece.

They turned again. The side road they took started out as gravel but then became suddenly paved. Moller could see a large building up ahead that resembled a sports stadium. As they got closer, he could see many, maybe over a hundred, cars in the parking lot.

Oh, Christ. A megachurch.

They pulled up and Moller was hauled into a wheelchair. They threw someone’s coat over him and wheeled him in. Moller tried to glance over his shoulder, but could only hear the SUV peeling rubber and accelerating away.

The lights hurt his eyes as he was suddenly thrust into the main auditorium. He got dizzy looking up at the steel members high overhead holding up the top of the dome.

Moller tried to stay awake for a time and even mumbled a few of the words to one of the hymns he sort of knew.

When the open call to be baptized came, he mused that he could use a good bath. Rather than testify, he passed out.

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From → Inthrallis, Novels

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