Part 33 (1/2)

”What??”

”Nothing's where it's supposed to be!” Simmons was mid-forearm deep, straining. ”Lemme see those d.a.m.ned X-rays!” He stopped. ”No, wait! I got it!”

He took the muscle in his hand, squeezed it. Her heart squeezed back.

And Jane opened her eyes.

Tanya stared down, aghast. Jane looked right through her, her eyes fixed on some inner distance. Tears welled in her eyes, rolled down her cheeks. ”s.h.i.+T, SHE'S AWAKE!!” Tanya cried.

Across the room, bedlam. ”WHAT THE f.u.c.k?” Brinks yelled. ”DAMMIT, KEEP HER UNDER!”

”How?”

”Another ten milligrams of morphine!”

”But . . .”

”DO IT!”.

Tanya grabbed another dose, fed it into the loop. Jane went under again. Just as her eyes closed the cardiac monitor went off: a piercing alarm slicing through the chaos of the room.

”SHE'S FLATLINING!”.

The team watched in horror as the sagging peaks dropped off, disappeared entirely. ”Motherf.u.c.ker!” Simmons spat, sliding his hand out of the hole. This was insane. ”Prep for direct cardiac shock, set it for twenty-five joules.”

Nurse Hillary appeared beside him, a pair of surgical steel paddles in her hands. The paddles were cabled to the electroshock machine, a squat gray box on a rolling cart. She set the dial, handed him the paddles. Everyone braced themselves: direct shock was potentially lethal. Too much juice would burn her heart, literally cook the muscle inside her chest.

Simmons grabbed the paddles, quickly slid one inside the chest cavity and positioned it over the heart, then placed the other on her breastbone. Simmons backed off, as everyone held their collective breath.

”CLEAR!!”.

There was a sizzling buzz as the current hit home. Jane's body arched and stiffened on the table. The jolt shut off; Jane collapsed back onto the table. A ripple rocked her flesh like an earthquake aftershock, spreading through her extremities.

On the monitor, nothing. The alarm wailed maddeningly.

”d.a.m.n!” Simmons yelled. ”Increase voltage to thirty joules!”

”You'll fry her!” Brinks argued.

”She's dead anyway! DO IT!!!”

Hillary upped the voltage. Simmons repositioned the paddles. ”Ready,” he said, standing back.

”CLEAR!!”.

Another searing jolt, followed by a faint burning smell. The room went deathly still.

Then, on the monitor, a spike.

A cheer went up as another followed, then another. The peaks grew higher, gaining strength.

Yes.

The team breathed a collective sigh of relief, watching her vital signs climb back onto the charts and then set about the task of holding that hard-won ground. Pulse, respiration, blood pressure: all began, bit by bit, to normalize. Her blue color faded, was restored to its previous deathly pallor.

But as they worked, Tanya was struck by the palpable silence that had now fallen over the team. This was not a typical reaction to success. Ordinarily, a victory over these kinds of odds would inspire jubilation. But these people seemed troubled; and even more, they seemed confused.

It was a reaction she completely understood. She felt exactly the same way. And all you needed was one look around the room to see that the perception was unanimous. The faraway look in Dr. Simmons's eyes suggested he'd switched over to autopilot now: wheels were spinning in his head, already groping for plausible theories. Brinks kept furtively glancing at Simmons; he smelled medical history in the making, was hoping that he'd find a way in.

The eye contact between Parker and Hines, the techies, was just a little more naked. What the h.e.l.l is going on? was what they wanted to know. That went double for the orderlies-especially that lip-flapping weasel Mancini, who kept sneaking little inquisitory looks around the room.

What the h.e.l.l is going on? It was an excellent question. And she had little doubt that, once it hit the rumor mill, it would take Huntington Memorial by storm. She could practically smell the buzz already, and it hadn't even left the room.

Because n.o.body could have survived all that damage, much less the procedures it had taken to bring her through. Not to mention the weird blood, the improbable X-rays, the skewed location of the heart. In the heat of the moment, there'd been too much going on to stop and hold a discussion group; but she knew that everybody here was quietly keeping score. This wasn't good luck and a strong const.i.tution. This was Ripley's Believe It or Not.

Already, Jane Doe's readings were pegging up and holding, coming on strong. You should be dead, Tanya found herself thinking again.

And as they prepared to take her up to surgery, Tanya wondered gravely about the ordeal this woman faced. Simmons would want answers, that much was for certain. And then everybody would want their piece of the pie. It was no fun being a medical anomaly; there would be tests-lots and lots of tests-plus endless, exhaustive monitoring. If they thought they had a live one here, her little odyssey through the American health care system had only just begun.

Poor girl, she thought, as they wheeled the woman out. Recovery would be the least of her worries. I don't envy you this part one bit.

Then the elevator came, and it was out of her hands.

I have to ask you something, he said, and she told him she would tell him what she could. He nodded and buried his shovel in the mud once again.

He said: you have to tell me what I am.

The old woman was silent for a time. Her pain was palpable, as was her anger. He waited, while the rain continued to fall. He was knee-deep now. It would soon be dawn.

He tossed up a shovelful of mud, sank the blade deep again. At last, she spoke.

We are what we are, she said, because we know we are.

Another shovelful, another pause. And me? he asked.

What you are, she told him, remains to be seen.

He kept digging. The ground kept bleeding back into the hole, mud and runoff from the infinite rain. The woods hissed and rustled around them. His arms were numb. His back was numb. He continued to dig, tried not to blame himself for thinking so slowly. He had to keep reminding himself that he was still in shock.

I'm sorry, he said. I don't understand.

We're creatures of imagination and will, as much as of flesh and blood, she explained. The power to Change sleeps in everyone.

But not everyone is a wolf he said.

No, she said. Not everyone.