Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

moment. “Yeah, that’s basically it,” said the stereo.

“I think maybe we should get Father Andy in on this,” said St. George. “This whole discussion is getting into a weird area.”

“Feel free,” said the speakers. “Nothing against Barry, but I’m feeling very talkative.”

“And then?” Stealth asked.

“Then what?”

“Why return yourself to life only to be mortal and face death again? What do you gain from it?”

“Well, I’m not dead, for starters.”

“Not yet. All of us will face an end, though. Will you then attempt to cheat death again?”

“Believe me, Stealth,” the stereo said, “in the end all of us try to cheat death. I was just better prepared to do it than most folks.”

SINCE THEY’D MOVED all the Mount’s medical facilities to Hollywood Community, there was plenty of room for Dr. Connolly to have an actual office. There still wasn’t enough of a medical staff for her to be far away from the patients, though, even with Eddie Franklin and some of the others. And being by herself in the mostly empty hospital gave her the creeps at night. Instead, she set up camp at the nurse’s station of whatever floor had the most patients. It was where St. George found her.

“Morning, doctor.”

“Good morning,” she said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’m visiting some of your patients.”

She nodded. “Eddie’s finishing up some tests with the girl, Madelyn. I should have complete results for you soon.”

“What do you think so far?”

“About her?” Connolly shook her head and swept back a lock of crimson hair threaded with silver. “I can tell you I might have been wrong earlier. I don’t think she’s an ex.”

“What?”

“I don’t think she’s an ex. She’s just … dead.”

“But she has to be,” said St. George. “She’s walking around and she—”

The doctor shook her head. “I’ve run her blood work twice. I can’t find the ex-virus in her. Not a trace of it anywhere. Not a trace of anything, in fact. No secondary infections, no old scars, nothing. My first impression is she’s in incredible health.”

“Aside from being dead.”

“Aside from that, yes. She just seems like a normal seventeen-year-old girl in so many ways. Did you know she sleeps?”

“What?”

The doctor nodded. “Twice now. She got tired and fell asleep the night you brought her in. When she woke up later I had to explain where she was and who I was. Last night she stretched out on the bed, wrapped her arms around her pillow to cry for a few minutes, and she was out cold. No pun intended. And when she woke up a few hours ago she didn’t know who I was again. Or where she was.” Connolly paused. “Or that her parents were dead.”

St. George sighed. “Yeah, she said she had some memory problems.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said the doctor. “Captain Freedom sat with her and went over the whole thing again. I think it might’ve been harder on him than her, watching her go through it all again.”

“Crap.”

“It’s not too surprising, to be honest.” Connolly gestured at a chart on the counter. “I hooked her up to an EEG the first night before she fell asleep. Even exes give off basic readings. There’s still electrical activity in their brains, it’s just very, very low. Below comatose levels.”

“And Madelyn?”

“Her readings aren’t that different from your standard ex-human. I’m sure a specialist could spot some little nuances, but nothing stood out for me. Stealth might want to take a look.”

“Okay.”

The doctor held up a finger. “Then she fell asleep. Her EEG went to a complete flatline.”

“Flatline meaning …?”

“Meaning corpse. I got nothing from her. Absolutely nothing. A potato would give me more responses. It was more like she died—really died—than fell asleep.”

“Is that what messes up her memories?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug. “I don’t know how she even has thoughts, let alone memories. Her brain completely shuts off when she sleeps. Her blood isn’t circulating. Preliminary results from her tissue samples indicate her muscles aren’t manufacturing lactic acid. Every test I know how to do says she’s just … dead. I have no idea how she’s thinking or talking or moving around.” She shrugged. “Then again, I have no idea how you can fly. I’ve gotten used to things I can’t explain.”

“Great.”

“One more thing,” said Connolly. “She’s been in a mild degree of pain because of lividity. Most of her blood’s all pooled up in her feet and legs. I’d like to sever the arteries in her ankles and drain it off. It should take care of her pain issues and give me more material for further tests.”

St. George’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to drain off her blood?”

“It’s the easiest solution I can think of.”

“Won’t that …” He stopped himself.

Connolly smirked. “She’s already dead. It shouldn’t have any effect at all.”

He frowned. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s dead, George. They did cover it in medical school.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter. “How’s Jarvis?”

The shift threw her for a moment, and then her face dropped. “Not good,” she said. “He’s on antibiotics right now, but there’s at least three symptoms they’re not affecting at all. I’m still waiting on blood work to figure out how many infections he’s got so I can start targeting them better.”

“How long will that take?”

She sighed. “Longer than he’s got.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You know how this works. There’s just nothing else I can do.”

“How long’s he got?”

“A day at the most. I’m amazed he lasted this long.” She looked at her watch. “It’s been almost forty-two hours since he was bitten. That’s practically a record.”

“Is he awake?”

Connolly nodded.

Jarvis looked dead. A web of wires and tubes ran like mechanical ivy from his chest and arms to the machines around him. His face was dry and pale enough that in places it blurred with the white and silver speckled in his beard and scalp. It made his hair look thin. Where he wasn’t pale his neck and arms had patches of dark pink rash spotted with red. Something