Chapter 9: The Hideout
Casey quickly carried Sarah's limp body into the alley and around the corner out of sight of the harbor. He hoisted her higher up over one shoulder in the fireman's carry so he could reach into his pocket for the key to the massive metal door in front of him. Unlocking the door and swinging it open, he spun smoothly, placing himself and Sarah inside the building, then pulled the door shut as quietly as the rusty hinges and the automatic lock would allow.
The windowless room inside was in darkness, and as Casey groped along the left-hand wall to find the light switch, Sarah began to stir, groaning softly at first and then shouting out deliriously, "No, no!"
Casey hurried over to the hospital bed near the opposite wall and gently laid Sarah's now-writhing body onto the mattress. He tore off his helmet and mask, bulletproof vest and utility belt and threw them to the floor before sitting down on the side of her bed and holding her shoulders firmly until whatever demons that still tormented her were through.
When she had stopped moving, she suddenly turned her sightless gaze to his face, asking, "Chuck, is that you?" before she began to cry, great wracking sobs heaving her body.
Casey pulled her into a comforting embrace and she clung to his neck, babbling incoherently, first about Chuck, then about never telling. She started to thrash around again, flailing out at his face and at imaginary enemies only she could see as Casey managed to get his arm behind her back and the other under her knees and pulled her onto his lap so he could hold her to his body.
The human contact seemed to help and Sarah calmed down, now merely crying softly, gulping for air occasionally and sniffling as a rope of mucous ran out of her nose. Casey reached over to a box of tissues on the night stand beside the bed and, pushing her chin up with his pinky finger, cleaned her nose and threw the tissue onto the floor.
Sarah's stare fixed on Casey's face. She had an other-worldly, almost angelic look in her eyes now as he tried to brush the wet, tangled strands of hair from her brow and mouth.
All of a sudden, she yelled, "Chuck!" and kissed Casey with a ferocity that he never would have expected. He had to struggle with her to break the contact and he tasted a bit of his own blood with the tip of his tongue when Sarah had finally gone limp again and collapsed back into his embrace.
He began rocking her and crooning softly, his chin on top of her head as she nuzzled into the dark hair of his chest that was curling over the top edge of his tee shirt. Twitching occasionally, Sarah pawed feebly at Casey's biceps in a weak hitting motion. The movement stopped as her body was gripped by a violent trembling, and Casey held her tighter on his lap, afraid she might slip off.
After about ten minutes, he could tell by her calming breathing that she was coming back into herself. Still rocking, he inquired, "Sarah?"
"Casey?" she whispered, barely audible through dry throat and cracked lips.
Casey stood, once again lifting her into the air. He turned and laid her down, placing one hand under her head to ease it onto the pillow. Bent over, he unhooked her fingers from his shirt front and whipped his face around to look at hers when she cried out at the pressure on her fingers and hands.
"Shhh, shhh," he directed, smoothing the hair from her forehead and gently kissing her brow. "You're safe now, Sarah. No one can get you here. I'll look after you."
He turned away to a cart up against the wall that held some medical supplies and implements. He ripped open a foil pack marked "Alcohol Swab" and rubbed the small gauze square against the inside of Sarah's lower arm as she watched passively. Selecting a package that contained a syringe set and a small brown bottle of sedative, Casey measured an appropriate dose into the syringe and carefully pushed out the air bubble. He then turned back to Sarah.
Taking her elbow in his free hand, he located a prominent vein and slid the needle in, depressing the plunger at a slow and steady rate. When he drew the needle out again, a small drop of bright blood followed it, and Sarah's eyes widened at the sight.
Luckily, the sedative was fast-acting, and Sarah's body went limp as her eyes rolled up into her head and back down again. She blinked rapidly a few times and then lowered the lids, her face relaxing into a peaceful expression as the sedative finally took hold.
Casey tidied up the medical tray, stooping to pick up the used tissue and paper wrappings that had fallen to the floor and disposing of them and the other used items in an orange biohazard drum. Picking up his discarded gear from the floor, he deposited it on a cot near the wall on the other side of the room to be dealt with later.
He then turned back to his charge and watched for a couple of minutes as her chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. Sarah's whole body jerked once as she relaxed further, and then she was finally in a deep, healing sleep where nothing and nobody could get to her, not even her nightmares.
Casey used the time well while Sarah rested in her drug-assisted slumber. He carefully removed the torn, grimy coveralls, cutting them off and sliding them out from under her so as not to move her around too much. He frowned angrily when he saw the purpling bruises all over her body and was especially careful as he bathed her, smoothing warm, soapy water and then clear water over her skin with a soft sponge. Selecting the fluffiest of the available towels, Casey dried her off, lightly blotting instead of rubbing.
Holding each of her hands in his two in turn, Casey tenderly checked to see if he could feel any major damage. It was hard to tell without an X-ray, but he didn't have any imaging equipment in the room. All the bones seemed to line up, at least, so he slipped hand/wrist splints on and strapped them with cotton gauze to hold them in place.
He then put a thin cotton hospital robe on her, picking up her arms one at a time, trying not to jar her hands as he slipped the sleeves over them, finally tying the trailing pieces of fabric at the top behind her neck. He decided he couldn't do anything about cleaning her hair right then, but he tried to run a comb through it anyway. There were too many mats and snags and bits of clotted blood in it to do a really decent job, and he finally gave up, satisfied at the moment that it was out of her face.
The usually smooth, clear skin of Sarah's face was marred by several cuts, but the edges of the lacerations were neither too ragged nor too far apart so Casey figured they would mostly just heal up on their own without scarring. He used dampened cotton swabs to gently dab dried blood from the skin surface and, as best he could, flushed the wounds out with sterilized water. The deepest cut just needed a couple of butterfly bandages to draw the skin closer together. Casey was relieved it wasn't any worse. His suturing skills were a little rusty.
Then came the job of changing the sheets. This was going to be tricky. He pulled the edges of the sheet out from under the mattress all the way around and bunched it up close to her body on one side preparatory to removing it. He then draped the clean sheet over the exposed edge of the mattress, bunching the edge up to abut the old sheet. Thinking that he could have used at least four more hands, Casey slowly rolled Sarah's hips in the direction of the bunched sheets with one hand, pulling the old one out from under her when it was free. He then rolled her in the other direction, pushing the new sheet as far as he could reach and then letting her roll back over it. Going around to the other side of the bed and tugging the accordioned portion towards himself, he smoothed the new sheet out as best he could under her, tucking the sides and top and bottom in with neat hospital corners.
Now she needed an absorbent pad. She might not be able to get up to use the toilet for a while. Repeating the rolling motion, Casey eased the plastic-lined cotton rectangle under her and finally Sarah was ready to sleep in peace.
No, one more thing. Casey trundled an IV stand with a bag of saline solution hanging from it over to the side of the bed. He swabbed again, at the other arm this time, inserted the small needle, taped the butterfly tabs to the skin, and adjusted the drip cock. He wrapped the whole thing loosely in cotton gauze to prevent her from accidentally pulling it out.
Finally covering her with another sheet and a blanket and tucking them in at the bottom and sides, Casey cleaned up the washing things and dirty sheets and came to sit beside the bed to watch her sleep, the occasional tic jumping in her cheek.
Casey could only tell how much time had elapsed by looking at his watch. He established a routine of checking on Sarah, first pulling up her eyelids to make sure she still had pupil reaction. He adjusted her IV and changed the bag when it was getting low. When she stirred a little too much, he gave her ever-decreasing doses of the sedative injected through her IV tube. He changed her position regularly and added massages so she wouldn't get bed sores, warming the lotion by rubbing it between his hands and covering her legs, hips, back and shoulders in broad strokes, and he bathed her and changed her robe, sheets and absorbent pad as needed.
The rest of the time he either sat in a chair by the bed watching her, made notes in a log book at a desk, or slept lightly on the camp bed on the other side of the room.
There was a fridge in the makeshift hospital but Casey didn't want to risk the smells of cooking being detected by anyone outside so he just made sandwiches and ate tins of cold beans, which reminded him of his tours of duty in the Middle East. At least here he got to eat them from a plate.
After almost 72 hours, Sarah's eyes opened. They were clear, and Casey could tell from the way she moved her head and looked around that she was aware of her surroundings.
"Hi," he said, moving his chair close enough to the bed so that he could rest his elbows on the edge, bringing his smiling face close to hers.
"Hi," she answered back, a look of confusion clouding her eyes. "Was I out long?" she croaked.
"Here, let me get you a drink," Casey offered, getting up to pour water from a carafe into a glass by the bedside and popping in a bendy straw.
He held the straw to her lips and let her take a few small sips. "Slowly, baby girl, slowly," he admonished, as she started to suck greedily, and he pulled the straw and glass back again.
"'Baby girl,' huh?" she asked, amused. "So I guess that means there's no audio or video in here?"
"No audio or video," echoed Casey, turning away to place the water glass back on the bedside table.
"And I guess that means it was bad," she added, frowning and trying to remember.
Casey sat down again and smoothed Sarah's hair back from her temple. "Yes, it was bad," he replied, a sorrowful look of compassion on his face.
"What about the others?" inquired Sarah. "I don't remember what happened." She tried to raise herself up on her elbows but Casey stood and pushed her back down gently but firmly.
He looked into her eyes and slowly shook his head no. Sarah's chin began to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. "But there were at least twenty. Not all of them?"
"I'm afraid so, baby girl," said Casey in a whisper. "I know it's hard, but you try to get some more rest. Let me know if you have to pee and we'll see if you can get up to go to the toilet. Other than that, your job is to stay quiet."
He pulled a tissue out of the box and gently wiped away the tears squeezing out from under her tightly closed lids.
After Sarah had cried herself to sleep, Casey went over to the desk and turned on the lamp. He slid a notebook out of the drawer and logged the time of Sarah's awakening and that she had had some water to drink to the end of a list of previous entries about her treatment and progress. Then he crawled onto his cot, shifting around restlessly as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to sleep himself.
Casey awoke some time later to the sound of Sarah stirring fitfully in her bed and moaning. He got up and hurried over to her side, quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Placing the back of his hand on her forehead and feeling that it was cool, he said softly, "Sarah, Sarah, wake up."
She stopped moving and blinked her eyes open, finally focusing on his face as he stood over her.
Sarah motioned with her splinted arm towards the side table. "Water," she said feebly.
After Casey had helped her to drink, he sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Where are we?" asked Sarah, her brows furrowed.
"We're near the warehouse. It's a secure location, but we can't risk staying here much longer," Casey explained. "You know the layout of the area. Not too far from the warehouses it's entirely exposed, and it would have taken too long to get you farther away. We had to hide rather quickly, so I set this room up and then came in to get you."
"You came in all by yourself?" asked Sarah, incredulous.
"Well, it worked, didn't it?" replied Casey, grinning. "We thought it would be best to get you out but not to rock the boat. We need these guys to be going about their business. Remember, there's still the matter of the disk."
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment as she remembered. They had taken it from her, of course, when she had been kidnapped.
Sarah opened her eyes suddenly and then opened them wider, looking into the middle distance.
"Uh, John," she said, hesitantly.
"What?"
"I think I have to pee. Now."
"Okay, here we go. Taking a little ride."
Casey ran over to the other side of the bed and scooped her up into his arms, careful not to tangle himself in the IV tubing. Once Sarah had hooked her elbows tightly around his neck, he removed the hand that was supporting her back so he could grab the IV stand. He turned and made a beeline as fast as he could to the toilet in the far corner. Depositing Sarah on the seat and letting go of the IV stand, he jogged back towards the bed and wheeled a folding hospital bed screen in front of Sarah to give her some privacy.
"The least you could do is whistle, you know," came Sarah's wry voice from behind the curtain as she began to empty her bladder.
Casey, more than a little embarrassed, turned away, went over to his desk and, sitting down, began whistling The Old Gray Mare.
"Is that the best you could come up with?" she asked, as she flushed the toilet. "Okay, I'm ready."
Casey returned to the corner and moved the screen out of the way. Sarah, still sitting down, was trying to finger-comb her tangled hair with the fingertips that were sticking out past the edges of the splints. "I don't suppose there's a mirror in here, is there?" she asked, as Casey once again picked her up and carried her back to the bed.
He laid her down, covered her up and went to the bottom of the bed. Cranking it into a sitting position, he replied, "I'll check."
He came back to the head of the bed and made sure the pillows were supporting her back and head as she wilted from the exertion. "Whew, I never knew taking a pee could be so exhausting," she observed.
"Well," said Casey, "I don't think I'll let you sit up too long, but you're going to have to build up your strength so we can get out of here."
Rolling an adjustable hospital bed table over so the wheeled apparatus slid under the bed and the upper table part was accessible for Sarah, Casey placed his hand on the lid of the storage section and hesitated.
"Are you sure you want to see this, Walker? Might be a bit of a shock."
At first, Sarah thought he was joking, taking a jab at her the way they usually sparred with each other, but when she looked up into his face, she could see his serious look of concern and she, too, hesitated before answering.
"Let's get it over with," she said decisively.
Casey lifted the little panel, bringing the mirror into Sarah's view. She looked at her face and almost couldn't believe what she saw. Both eyeballs were red with blood. Her nose had a large diagonal laceration over the bridge and up into her left eyebrow. There were two small butterfly bandages holding the edges of the wound together on her forehead where the cut had penetrated the deepest. Most of her face was discolored by bruising and her neck had a ring of bruises around it as though she had been strangled. There were other small wounds as well but they looked like they had already started to heal somewhat.
Sarah ducked her head a bit so she could see the state of her hair. After a moment, she turned to look at Casey. All she said was, "Scissors."
He nodded mutely and tugged on a drawer in the bedside table, finding a pair of scissors in the second one down. He pulled them out and snipped the air experimentally before laying them down on the chair.
Draping Sarah's shoulders with a towel to catch the cut hair, he began to hack off large hanks of her once-beautiful blonde locks, dropping it by handfuls into a small trash bucket. Sarah stared ahead of herself grimly and let him get on with his work.
When he had cut most of it off with the scissors, he found a razor in the drawer and some shaving gel. Holding the razor up in front of himself and raising his eyebrows, he waited for Sarah's nodded assent before covering her scalp with gel and shaving off the stubble.
With a wet washcloth and towel he finished the job and, removing the towel from her shoulders and brushing away stray pieces of hair from the surface of the bed, he surveyed his handiwork.
"Thanks, Casey," Sarah said quietly, looking forlornly into the mirror.
"That's okay, baldy," Casey replied, tenderly patting her on the shoulder.