Chapter 7 - The Living Ghost
I pulled the heavy door open and descended into a brightly lit, sterile concrete staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs lay a subterranean room that looked like a cross between a cleanroom laboratory and a hospital intensive care unit. Medical monitors flickered against the whitewashed walls, their rhythmic beeps cutting through the hum of high-efficiency air filters.
And in the center of the room, strapped to an inclined hospital bed, was a man.
I dropped the crowbar. It clattered loudly against the epoxy floor, but I didn't care.
“Mike...”
The man’s head moved weakly. His hair was long, matted, and streaked with gray. His cheeks were hollowed, his skin an unnatural, paper-thin parchment pulled tight across his skull. An intravenous drip was hooked to his right arm, slowly administering a clear, viscous fluid. Around his neck was a tight collar with a miniature microphone and a UHF transmitter unit attached to it.
He opened his eyes. They were clouded, sunken, but as they focused on my face, a spark of electric life ignited within them.
“Claire...?”
The voice was the exact voice from the earpiece. Broken, raspy, but real.
I collapsed beside the bed, throwing my arms around his emaciated chest, burying my face into his neck. He smelled of antiseptic and sweat, but underneath it all, he smelled like my husband.
“You’re alive... you’re alive,” I sobbed, tears soaking his hospital gown.
Mike’s trembling, skeletal fingers lifted from the mattress, weakly tangling into my hair. “Claire... God, Claire... Mia... is Mia safe?”
“She’s safe, my love. She’s with Elena. She heard you, Mike! Mia heard your voice through Harold’s earpiece!”
A grimace of pain and realization crossed Mike’s pale face. “Harold... he keeps the receiver on... to hear if I give up the master encryption key in my delirium. He poisons me... every few days... just enough to break my mind, but not enough to kill me.”
“We’re leaving,” I said furiously, reaching for the IV line to rip it from his arm. “I’m getting you out of here right now.”
“Claire, no,” Mike whispered, his breathing shallow. “The door... he knows.”
Behind me, the heavy pneumatic hiss of the vault door echoed down the concrete corridor.
May you like
The sound of slow, rhythmic clapping followed.
***
