We didn't see Hicks when we were all walked down to sick bay to have our exams. The guys were separated from the girls, and we were shuffled into a large room, where we were told to strip and put our clothes on a bench.
We were going in alphabetical order, so Crowe was first. We were lined up, completely naked, and unable to do anything. A medic was going down the line, taking our blood pressure and temperature. I winced when the pressure band was tightened around my arm. Spunkmeyer grunted in pain.
Fifteen minutes later, Crowe emerged. "Good luck."
I sighed as I stepped into the next exam room. A masked doctor took my height and weight, and then told me to open my mouth. He looked at his assistant. "Tonsils were removed. Write that down." He felt my neck, and probed my chest and belly by gently pressing with his fingertips. Afterwards, he put the stethoscope to my chest, then my back.
He put the stethoscope away, and proceeded to check my private parts. I'm not going into detail here, but I will say that the soreness from the antidote made everything that's usually sensitive a lot more sensitive. I shrieked, and spent the rest of the exam cussing out the doctor.
When I went back into the larger room, I was met with stares and silence as I made my way to the bench to put my clothes back on. "He fucking pinched it," I grumbled. "Spunkmeyer, I know you are ten times more sore than I am. You brace yourself, bud."
The blood pretty much drained from Spunkmeyer's face.
I was happier once I got my clothes back on, but I was going to hurt for a while. It was about an hour before everyone else got dressed and returned to their daily activities, and I noticed poor Spunkmeyer holding himself as he limped out of sick bay.
I usually see the regular exam as a minor inconvenience, but that wasn't the case today. I'll try to sum it up as best I can.
Several hours later, I was brought back in because traces of an unknown substance were found in my blood. I assumed it was the doctors baffled about the antidote, but that wasn't the case. I was thoroughly checked over again, and given both an X-ray and an MRI scan. Both showed a cluster of twelve marble-sized anomalies underneath my diaphragm.
I really struggled not to panic. With the amount of time I waited to hear results, it was impossible not to panic. Worse yet, I was alone in the exam room. I sat there in a flimsy hospital robe, crying, unsure of what these . . . things were in my body.
Someone in there must've had some common sense, because they brought up my experience with the silver flowers. Long story short, they phoned Doctor Hornby to see what he knew, and his answer was this: "They're basically organic capsules of poison, a byproduct of when Drake was placed in hypersleep immediately after his encounter. They deposit themselves between organs, not disturbing a thing. In a sense, they are waste when the poison has flushed itself out. You tend to see incredibly large 'silver pearls' in animals that've died as a result of the flower. With Drake's case, they are completely harmless unless the shell is penetrated. I believe the only reason it showed up in the blood tests was the antidote; it 'shaved off' a microscopic layer of the pearls, and sent it through the bloodstream."
In all honesty, I didn't feel much better. "Why won't those fucking flowers leave me alone?"
"I didn't cause this, Drake," Hornby replied. "If you let me remove them, they won't reappear. They aren't parasitic, and it should be a smooth operation. Give me a few days, and I'll get back to you."
I was dismissed from sick bay, and I immediately went to find Hudson and Wierzbowski. There was silence after I told them what was going on.
"I know this probably ain't helpful, man, but, at least you're not dying," Hudson said.
Wierzbowski glared at him.
"Just saying, man."
I sighed. "I-I really don't care. I just can't believe this."
"At least all you need is one operation to deal with it, and then it's all over," Wierzbowski replied. "And we're all gonna be here for you when you're recovering."
"I'll be out of action for awhile." I rubbed my face. "This is gonna be a stain on my record."
"No, it's not, man." Hudson patted my shoulder.
"The USCM is gonna see me as a burden and I'll be sent back to prison."
"Drake, no. Everything'll be OK, man."
I took a deep breath.
"You're just nervous. You're not gonna get kicked out, man."
It didn't take long for the whole unit, including Hicks, to find out. After dinner, I approached Apone in private. "I'm not going to be looked at by the brass over this, am I?"
"What gave you that idea?" Apone asked.
"I've had several medical incidents over the last several months. They don't see me as a burden?"
"You're not injuring yourself or making yourself sick, Drake. No, you're not getting kicked out. Trust me, I've seen worse than this. Just relax, OK?"
I next went to Ranelli. I guess he had heard everything, too, because he simply gestured for me to sit before saying, "At this point, Drake, it's up to you whether or not this will set you back."
"I don't want to deal with this anymore. Every single time I think I've gotten away, I . . . it comes back. Y-You know I've been getting along better with some of my teammates. I was focusing on that. I'm helping Wierzbowski with his love life. Why do those fucking flowers have to come back and yank everything out from under me again?"
"I've already told you that they can't do anymore damage than they've already done. You endured the worst. You have more power over this than you think you do. Trust yourself, Drake."
"I don't think I can. I'm tired of being set back. I was doing so well. Why does this come along a-and throw everything off? Obviously it means I'm not meant to have peace of mind!"
Ranelli barely reacted to my outburst. "When you accept this, you'll calm down. Besides, once you have this operation, you'll be fine. Think of it as a final cleansing."
At the time, I wasn't thinking clearly. I spent the rest of the evening fuming about this, and feeling sorry for myself. I think everyone else noticed, but they didn't say anything. No one said a word when I refused to go down to the lounge with everyone.
I decided to go to bed early. I knew I probably wasn't going to sleep well with the knowledge that there were a bunch of silver pearls nestled in the lower parts of my chest. Why bother going to bed if I wasn't going to sleep? Why bother?
I just wanted this to end. I didn't want to wait anymore.
Tears rolled down my face as I stared down at the razor in my hands. I didn't want to bother removing the blade from its case; I can just jam the thing down on my wrist and that should do the trick-
Dear God, what am I thinking?!
I dropped the razor in the sink, and sank to my knees, sobbing. I didn't think I was crying that loud, but someone heard, and that someone was Wierzbowski. He entered my room, and was about to knock on the bathroom door when he changed his mind; he threw open the door, and he saw the razor in the sink. Kneeling front of me, he took my hands from my face, looking at my wrists. When he saw I hadn't done anything, he squeezed me. "Drake, don't do this. Please."
For the next several minutes, there was silence, aside from my crying.
"I couldn't do it. I can't do it," I said.
"Of course you can't." Wierzbowski shook me. "Do you have any idea how the rest of us would feel if you did this to yourself? Do you?"
I nodded.
Wierzbowski's shock gradually faded. "This isn't going to last forever. You killing yourself will last forever, and it won't solve anything. You can't do this to me. You can't do this to Vasquez, or Hudson, or Hicks. Jesus Christ, can you imagine how Hicks would react? And Vasquez . . . you see a future with her. You've told me about how much you want to spend the rest of your life with her, to start a family with her. Why would you take that away from her?" He looked in my eyes. "You've touched the lives of so many people, Drake. Don't ever forget that." He gripped my arms. "You can beat this. You've come so far. Don't throw it away."
I nodded again.
"I don't know what else is going on in your head right now, but I'm going to stay up with you tonight. You did it for me, and it's my turn to return the favor."
I managed to get to sleep, but, as I said, it wasn't very restful. I tossed, turned, moaned, and twitched all through the night. I was dreaming that the silver pearls were rotting inside me, killing everything they touched. The doctors were telling me organ failure was inevitable. I dreamt that they had rendered my skin too thin; when I simply touched the base of my chest, it split open, and the pearls were falling out, dropping through a clear membrane that hung out of the wound.
I described everything to Ranelli in the morning. He could see just how disturbed I was, but at least he didn't overreact.
"Truth be told, I was worried about you when you left my office last night," he said. "Turns out I was partially right. Doesn't it . . . make you feel better that you have people who love you and would miss you?"
"It does. I-I don't want to tell anyone else about . . . what happened. Especially Hicks."
"Hicks is the first person you really should be talking to. Explain to him what happened. Let him know Wierzbowski answered your cry for help."
"He'll be upset that he wasn't the one responding."
"I don't think so. The act of you informing him will be satisfactory, Drake. You didn't wait for him to hear it through the grapevine. All he wants to know is that you trust him."
I nodded. "How's he been doing?"
"Better. I let him know that he needs to sit down and have a talk with his girlfriend, preferably with someone acting as mediator. He actually wants that someone to be you."
"Why?"
"He trusts you, obviously."
I sighed. "Did he say when he wants to do this?"
"No. He needs some time to think and make sure he has rational questions and answers lined up for Carlisle. It isn't her fault this happened, and we don't need her thinking that."
I was quiet for a moment. My nightmares were surfacing in my mind, and I rubbed my face while sighing again. "What do you think is going to happen after the operation?"
"I think you're going to feel a lot better, psychologically. You're not going to magically get better, but I have a feeling you'll be taking a couple steps closer to being more confident. Remember this: the majority of mental illnesses have no cure. They can go into remission, but it's only a matter of time before they re-emerge. Your goal is not only to push your PTSD into remission, but to have better control of it if and when it should ever return. Any little thing can set it off. I understand you're worried about that happening when you become a civilian and you're on a job."
"Yeah."
"And I've said before that's not something you should worry about right now. I'm trying to teach you how to control it, so that when the day comes, you'll be able to handle it, OK?"
"OK."
"Now, serious question, how do you feel at this moment?"
"Tired. Frustrated."
"I don't have to worry about you having those dark thoughts during the day?"
"No. I promise."
"Good."
"You actually believe me?"
"Of course I do. You're both my patient, and a friend. I trust you, genuinely. Plus, trusting you allows for the growth of confidence. If I said, 'no,' and placed you on suicide watch, you'd probably feel as though you can't be trusted to do anything on your own. I've had a lot of experience with you. I know a good chunk of your behavior patterns, the way you think, etcetera. You believe what happened last night was a mistake. You overreacted, and you know now it wasn't right. You want to succeed in this."
I frowned. "You know this isn't the first time, right?"
"Oh, I know. That was why Apone called me all those months ago. You may think about it, but you haven't acted on it. There's a difference. You've built up a large enough support around you to where that is a major stopping point for those kinds of thoughts. Deep down, you know that it would hurt those around you. You always think about that first. That's why you can't bring yourself to do it."
I thought for a moment. "Does that mean I'm smart?"
Ranelli laughed until tears were streaming down his face. "If you want to interpret it that way, go right ahead."
I gave a lopsided smirk. "Wait till I tell Vasquez I'm smart."
I found Hicks in the courtyard after breakfast. He was staring up at a cherry tree that hasn't blossomed yet, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I sat across from him, saying, "Mind if I talk to you?"
"Sure, go ahead," Hicks replied, turning his full attention toward me.
I explained what happened last night. His expression didn't change all the much, and I was bracing myself for an explosion. However, that didn't happen.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
"For the most part, yeah."
"And . . . Ranelli's not concerned-"
"No."
Hicks looked back up at the tree. "That's good."
"You're not . . . upset?"
"No. Why would I be upset?"
"Because I know this is a touchy subject for you."
"Drake, you told me when you could. No one got hurt."
"What about you? Are you OK?"
"I'm more concerned about you right now. I mean, the good news is that Hornby called not that long ago, and said he was able to fit you in for surgery next week. But, I know that you'd rather get this done now."
"Hey, I don't have control over that. Next week is fine. I don't care." I sighed. "Did he give the details on it?"
"Some. It'll be about a four-inch incision, might take about two hours or more, and you are going to need to be really careful afterwards. You gotta watch how you sit, stand, and you can't bend over, or slouch. And you'll need to wear a protective brace at night to keep from curling up and potentially damaging that incision."
"Lemme guess: I'm gonna be out of action for a long time."
"Actually, no. Three weeks, but that's if you leave everything alone and don't tear the incision open."
"If it completely gets rid of the fucking pearls, I don't care. Let's just get it over with. I won't argue."
The one thing Hicks and I didn't talk about was Carlisle. I was tempted to ask, but I chose not to.
In all honesty, I did feel better now that I knew when the surgery was going to take place, and I tried to focus on something else. On Tuesday, I had exactly one week until I went under the knife, so I started working out harder, that way I wasn't too weak when I recovered.
Other than that, everything largely remained the same.
I awoke Thursday morning hoping that I'd be able to leave base and have fun with some friends, but then I remembered I had surgery next week and shouldn't be drinking. I know it's morning, but I wouldn't mind a stiff drink at all.
Wierzbowski was still anxious about his date with Eliza that night. He approached me after breakfast, and asked, "Do you think I should get her a gift or something?"
"If you want to get her some flowers, yeah," I said. "A small bouquet, not a big one."
"Thanks. You wouldn't mind tagging along with me when I get that, would you? I think it'd do you some good to get out and walk around. You've seemed down the last few days."
"Sure."
We didn't leave until afternoon, mainly because Wierzbowski didn't want to be carrying the flowers around all day. As we sat on the Metro, Wierzbowski glanced at me. "I noticed Vasquez has been taking the news about your surgery pretty well."
"She's really not. I don't know why she's keeping it all in, but . . . I feel she's really upset. She'll say something eventually to me, in private."
"Has that been a problem in your relationship?"
"Yes and no. I know when to pressure her to talk and when not to. It's just in her nature to bottle things up and keep it to herself. I tell her she can talk to me about anything, and I know it's not my fault. It's just . . . her."
"Geez, you two aren't even married, and yet you act like you are."
"We're past the right time where we should've said our vows, but we can't yet." I shrugged. "We'll get there when we're civvies again."
Wierzbowski nodded. "I hope you invite us all to your wedding."
"Oh, I will. I already promised Hudson I'd make him my best man, and I'll be his when he gets married."
"Well, if things work out with me and Eliza, I . . . I wouldn't mind asking you if you'd . . ."
"Sure, I'll be your best man."
"Thanks, Drake."
The train stopped at a point along our route to Crystal City. The platform was crowded, and people looked panicked. Two Marines stepped on board the train, and one of them picked up a radio. "Attention: the D.C. Metro system has been temporarily shut down. We are asking everyone to evacuate the area immediately. All Marines stationed in this area, return to base for briefing ASAP."
I stood up. "What the hell's going on?"
"Hospital by Howard University's been bombed. The place is almost overrun with hostiles. Come on, I'll get you two to your unit."
I looked at Wierzbowski. "You'll have to put your date on hold. Sorry."
We were driven back to base, where everyone was already getting suited up. Even Hicks (who shouldn't be because of his shoulder injury) was shouting orders at everyone.
Vasquez grabbed me to help me get my harness on. Once we had our smartguns hooked up, we were shoved out to a waiting armored vehicle. Hudson and Frost jumped in after us, and I noticed Hudson's face was deathly pale. As Dietrich and Wierzbowski climbed in, Hudson whispered, "I wanna make sure Miranda's OK, man."
"You will," I said. "Don't let it distract you now." I patted Hudson's shoulder.
Looking out a small window, I saw traffic had come to a standstill. The only vehicles moving were military, law enforcement, and medical. I don't know how many units were involved, but I heard two jets scream overheard, followed by several choppers. We stopped, and Apone pushed us out. "Go, go, move it!"
I followed Hudson and Wierzbowski as we charged toward the main entrance of the complex. An APC had already crashed down the gates, and the security checkpoints had been abandoned. I noticed the bodies of four campus guards laying on the concrete. Three had clearly been shot, but the fourth had a viscous silver substance flowing from his mouth.
"They're using gas!" I hollered. "Silver flower gas! Put your masks on!"
As Hudson was helping me fit my mask to my face, I spotted three Marines attempting to run in the hospital with flamethrowers. At the top of my lungs, I yelled, "No! DON'T!"
A massive bang shattered the glass doors and nearby windows, and sent the Marines flying backwards. Two were screaming, but the screaming was swiftly stifled by the inhaled poison. I became dizzy as I thought about my time in that lab, but I tried to swallow past it.
"No flamethrowers. Got it." Wierzbowski's voice was slightly muffled by his gas mask. He raised his pulse rifle. "What's the plan, Drake?"
"Rain down hell upon them," I growled.
We dashed inside, greeted by a thick cloud of gray gas. We could see a variety of bodies-some had been shot, others suffocated-in the lobby. Gunshots rang out in the hallways, and I heard Marines shouting orders. As we came to a hall leading to the labs, someone ran over to us, pausing occasionally to shoot an AK variant at hostiles behind him.
I recognized the tan trenchcoat, and grabbed Delhoun's shoulder. "Get behind me!"
Delhoun, his face obscured by a gas mask, got behind me, but he refused to stay out of the fight. "Be careful! I let all the Annexers out!" he hollered.
I really wasn't listening to him. I could see the uniforms of the terrorists were similar to the ones I fought in the Bahamas, and I quickly put two and two together.
This was a revenge operation. They knew where I had taken the antidote, and they were trying to keep us from duplicating it. Good fucking luck, I thought.
I heard the battle scream of an Annexer, followed by the scream of someone who just had their guts torn out by one.
"Did they take the lab?" I asked.
"For a short time," Delhoun said. "Hornby's been shot."
My heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"I said, Hornby's been shot!"
"Can we rescue him?" Wierzbowski asked.
"I don't think so."
We continued to push our way through the complex. Despite the gas, the Annexers were taking advantage of the ventilation system to launch surprise attacks on hostiles. We would come across their handiwork in the hallways or in laboratories. Sometimes, we found patients and doctors choking to death on the gas. Wierzbowski was dragging as many people as he could outside, and then ran back in for more.
"What about the students?" I asked, thinking of Miranda.
"Most of them are home. All others were evacuated," Delhoun replied. He looked at Hudson. "Your girlfriend's OK."
Hudson released his breath. "Thank God, man."
I hoped that knowledge would allow Hudson to perform better. I'm not sure how long we were plowing through the complex, but I did know the gas masks had a limited amount of time they could function, especially with the air almost completely saturated in poison. In short, it wouldn't be long before we ran out of oxygen.
It had to be just our luck that the emergency tanks scattered around the hospital were contaminated. Wierzbowski was unsteady on his feet, and he started falling behind us. "Drake . . . Hudson . . ."
Slinging his pulse rifle over his shoulder, Hudson grabbed Wierzbowski. "You can make it, man, we're almost out."
"No, we're not," Delhoun said. "We're on the bloody fifth floor!"
"Can't this shit dissipate already?" I growled.
"That takes time."
"You're not helpful."
"I've been saving your asses with extra bullets."
"Hey, I hate to interrupt your marital problems, guys, but we need to get 'Ski outta here before he runs outta oxygen!" Hudson yelled. "I'm starting to run out, too, man."
We ran down several flights of stairs, panting, and starting to feel dizzy. Delhoun had to lean on me as we made our way out of the lobby, through the hole in the wall where the doors once stood. Once we were a safe distance from the building, we ripped our masks off, gasping for breath. The air smelled of smoke, but it was better than what we were just in.
Taking my harness off, I collapsed against an APC. My mind was catching up with my body, and I involuntarily covered my face as I was gripped by panic and flashbacks.
Hudson knelt by me. "Hey, you did great in there, Drake. Everything's OK."
Hicks raced over to us, carrying a spare oxygen tank. "Is he hurt?"
"Just rattled, man," Hudson said.
With no time to chat, Hicks jogged off, searching for people in desperate need of air. Hudson was called over by Apone, leaving me alone with Delhoun and Wierzbowski, who was sitting on the pavement with a fresh tank.
Delhoun sat next to me. His pale face was covered in soot and red marks from where his gas mask had been tightly sealed to his colorless skin. "They shot him first."
"Who?"
"Hornby." Delhoun took a breath, and swallowed. "They shot him first."
"So . . . he's dead?"
"Yes. Good, clean shot through the heart. He was gone before he hit the ground. I was in the back of the lab, taking my weapon out of my locker, and letting all the Annexers out of their enclosures." Delhoun glanced at me. "I know you didn't get along with him too well, but . . . he did care about you. And Hudson."
I had an awful clenching feeling in my chest. "I was pissy with him a lot, but not enough to where I'd want him to die."
Delhoun nodded. "He could get caught up in his work, but he wasn't a bad guy." He looked toward the severely damaged hospital. "I'm glad I got to work with him."
Question: What would be different if Hicks had been the one who heard Drake crying in his room?
