“Viruses.”
“Ah. Biological warfare! I knew we should have put more effort into that. Somebody’s head is going to roll for this one. But it’s not going to be mine!”
“You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear that.”
“What are they going to use? Bird flu? West Nile? SARS? We can lick anything they throw at us….”
“No, I think this is a new one they’ve produced just for us.”
“Even better! A clean slate. Just give us four or five years and we’ll beat this thing, no matter how many lives it costs!”
“We may only have a few hours.”
“What?? We can’t come up with a defense for some foreign virus in a few hours.”
“That may be all we’ll have.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Was there something else? I’ve got to get to the hospital.”
“We’ll be there afore ye.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. We have a court order to come in and talk to some of the patients. See what they might be able to tell us.”
“About what?”
“About when and from where your visitor is leaving.”
“What makes you think they know anything about that?”
“That’s why we’re going in. To find out if they know anything!” He leapt from the tree and ran down the driveway. Out of nowhere a huge helicopter roared into view above the road. Dartmouth grabbed the ladder dangling from it and started up, followed immediately by Wang, and they were still climbing toward the hatch as the chopper rumbled off toward the south. I saw Dartmouth slip once, but his partner grabbed him and pushed him back up the ladder. Perhaps they were finally even.
Karen came out of the house. “Bill Siegel’s on the phone. He wants to know what the hell is going on over here.”
“Tell him the elephants just left.”
* * *
When I got to the hospital the empty helicopter was sitting on the lawn, its rotor blades drooping; it looked for all the world like a huge dead insert. Several of the patients were milling around it, pointing and laughing. Dartmouth stood nearby, guarding it with his massive weapon. Wang was in the building looking for fled and interviewing some of the other residents, the rest of whom were huddled together on the back forty. All except for Georgie, the football star with the IQ of forty. Dartmouth watched him suspiciously as he spiraled the ball far into the air, then ran and caught it before it hit the ground. As long as he’s been here, I’ve never seen him miss it.
I don’t know which I enjoyed more: Georgie’s athletic ability or Dartmouth’s fascination with it. Up and up went the football along with the G-man’s dull, narrowly-spaced eyes. Over and over again—ten, fifteen, twenty times, neither of them losing an iota of interest. As luck would have it, the twenty-first toss went high into the air and plummeted straight down to where Dartmouth was standing. I could see his indecision mount as the ball came down and down and down…. At the last second, with Georgie running hard toward him, he dropped his weapon and lunged for the ball. There was a collision. Georgie and the football bounced a few feet away. While our athletic patient climbed to his feet, a look of surprise on his face, Dartmouth went for the ball. As he bent down to pick it up he accidentally kicked it instead. He went after it again, reached down with his hand, kicked the ball with his foot. All over the lawn the charade proceeded, Dartmouth following the footbalclass="underline" kick, reach, kick, while Georgie watched in bewilderment.
Whether it was the size sixteen AAA wingtip shoes stabbing the ball, or his uniform: worn blue suit and red tie flapping in the breeze that produced the eruption I can’t say, but suddenly from the back forty came the sound of laughter—giggles, howls, roars, guffaws—and leading the pack was Barney. Dartmouth, oblivious to the commotion, chased the football as it bounced off walls and patients, reached down for it, kicked it again. He might be out there even now but for a perfect tackle by Georgie, who grabbed the fumble and ran the entire length of the lawn for a touchdown, to deafening cheers from his fellow inmates.
By the time Dartmouth came to his senses, picked himself up, and ran for the helicopter, it was crawling with patients. There came a whine, and the rotor started to turn. The lanky agent went for his weapon, still lying where he had left it, but it flew out of his hands, end over end, seemingly in slow motion, and when he finally grabbed it he promptly shot himself in the foot. The rotor turned faster, and in a matter of seconds the aircraft was up in the air and over the wall, fled at the controls. The pilot, who had gone into the building to use the facilities, came running out, followed immediately by Wang, waving his own huge sidearm, but it was far too late—the helicopter was already circling over the Hudson. It turned southeast toward the Empire State Building, the first stop on a city-wide tour, as Dartmouth hopped around the lawn, yelping like an injured animal.
Cliff Roberts and some of the nurses appeared and began to attend to him while someone called for an ambulance. The patients who hadn’t made it to the helicopter in time scrutinized the proceedings with considerable interest. Cliff was very much in command the whole time and quite solicitous toward the injured agent, who was in considerable pain and crying like a baby, and I thought: even Roberts has redeeming qualities. He may have seemed less than serious about his profession, but perhaps that was all an act to compensate for some buried neurosis or innate kindness, and when the crunch came he didn’t hesitate to pitch in. This was the kind of doctor I would want if I were a patient here. I found myself hoping that the Bullocks were aware of our good points, despite the obvious negatives. Whether they came or not, I realized, we would all survive this world or perish together.
Barney was still giggling softly as he watched Georgie toss the football high into the air, run and catch it, toss it again.
* * *
That afternoon fled dumped the helicopter at LaGuardia, much to the chagrin of the traffic controllers and the FAA, and brought the patients “home” in the usual way—by light and mirror. Fortunately, Wang and the pilot had accompanied Dartmouth to the hospital, so there was no problem attending her arrival. Nevertheless, she didn’t stay long; presumably she still had a few last-minute arrangements to make. Just before she left the lawn she waved at me, but whether it was just a “See you later, doc,” or a final farewell, I couldn’t be sure. I waited the rest of the day for her to return, and finally decided to stay overnight at the hospital in case she came back after hours.
In the meantime I took a fresh look at the patients I encountered. I saw them now in a different light, not the cold, clinical one necessary for their treatment, but as fellow human beings who had made it this far despite devastating travails, the horrible ordeals they had experienced (and, in their minds, always would) at the hands of their parents and others whom they should have been able to trust. Yet, despite the cruel and even sadistic treatment, they were still in there pitching, refusing to give up. Suddenly I felt great pride in knowing them and what they had tried courageously to overcome.
I watched Phyllis as she hid in front of a small shrub. She was no longer merely the psychiatric problem that I and the rest of the staff had dealt with, but a human being who had suffered terrible damage to her psyche, someone who hurt every single minute with never a letup. After experiencing God knows what pain and suffering, is it any wonder that she tried to become invisible, desperately hoping that no one, especially her parents, could see her and inflict further unbearable damage? What else had she gone through that even I, a trained psychiatrist, didn’t know and didn’t want to know about? How much have countless others outside these walls had to endure as the price for being born in this world? Even for those of us who escaped parental or sibling abuse, the world is a harsh enough reality. How much longer must we turn on the television set and see the faces of millions of people starving all over the world? Or count the arms and legs blown off by the weapons you and I sell to whomever will buy them? Is it any wonder that so many people want to go to K-PAX, or perhaps take their chances on any planet other than this one? At least a hundred thousand, according to fled’s website. And with the roster filled well before the departure date, how many had to be turned away?