Balot and Boiled remained still lest a final chance—or need to defend—presented itself. Soon, though, it became clear that their duel had come to a close, at least for now.
Boiled jerked the steering wheel to the right, bringing his vehicle onto the shoulder beside the highway.
That very same moment the fuse in Balot’s consciousness blew.
–The steering…
It was the last thing she said. As soon as she’d confirmed that the Doctor understood that he was back in the driver’s seat, she collapsed across the rear passenger seat.
“Balot?” Oeufcoque called.
All Balot heard was a ringing noise. Her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably, her lungs panted—rapid and shallow—and her whole body convulsed.
“Shit, why does this girl always have to try so hard ! Can’t she just take it easy once in a while?” the Doctor lamented from under his rain-drenched hair. “Is this the only way she’s ever going to be able to live? To survive?”
The Doctor caught a glimpse of the Humpty up in the distance, descending from the heavens as if the moon had decided to come down with the rain.
He cried out to the celestial object.
Not so much in prayer—more to demand of the heavens that it keep its side of the bargain, now that he had kept his.
≡
Boiled stared out through the shattered window with dark eyes. He turned off the uselessly rotating engine, and when its noise had died down he could hear the sound of the rainfall even more keenly. Suddenly the ringtone on his cell phone decided to add to the din.
–Boiled? Are you there? Have you done it?
It was Shell. He had been calling incessantly throughout the whole car chase.
“They escaped. Further pursuit is impossible at this point.”
–You haven’t done it, then?
“They’re worthy opponents. I’d advise you to consult your lawyers to prepare for the next stage.”
–What’s that? “Worthy opponents”? You sound almost as if you’re enjoying yourself!
“Enjoying myself…” Boiled frowned. Shell then went on to hurl a barrage of abuse at him, to which Boiled listened silently.
“What did they get away with?” Boiled asked quietly, when Shell’s tirade had finally subsided.
Shell went silent. Then he started muttering in a tone completely different from his previous one.
–“What,” you ask? How can I possibly explain that… I’ve long since forgotten myself.
With that, Shell terminated the call.
Phone still in his hand, Boiled called for a tow truck and a replacement vehicle. He then got out of the car and looked up to the sky with his steely eyes.
“Rune-Balot.”
He spoke the name out loud, as if he had just heard it for the very first time.
04
“She has a terrible fever. It seems that the fibers have started developing abnormally quickly, and this is affecting her own metabolic system.”
The Doctor hadn’t wasted a second. The instant they’d clambered aboard the Humpty Dumpty, he’d laid Balot flat out on a table, disinfected his own hands in the dining room, then prepared his equipment. Medical apparatuses, bundles of towels, his computer, his spectacle-monitor, biorhythmic diagnostics—and Oeufcoque.
“We’ll take preventative measures immediately. Wrap her up, Oeufcoque. Just like when we first saved her.”
“Got it.”
The Doctor rushed to clear the chairs out from under the table and made some space beside Balot on the table.
Oeufcoque jumped down onto the cleared space, turning with a squelch as he did so.
The Doctor nimbly took a pair of scissors in his hand and asked, “Did she like these much?”
“Like what?”
“These clothes!”
“I think so.”
“Well, looks like you’ll have to make her another set.” The Doctor had already cut the dress open from the hem at Balot’s ankles up to her chest.
With the utmost care, the Doctor went on to cut the dress off her at the shoulders, and then he cut the waistband on her underwear. Balot’s chest swelled up instantly, and a heavy breath escaped her lips. Those lips were now trembling along with her arms and legs, and all were covered in silvery fibrous threads.
The Doctor took a towel in his hands and poured a liberal helping of antiseptic onto it before patting Balot’s body down gently, as if he were treating a burn victim, peeling off the rest of her clothes as he went along.
“Excellent. Her skin isn’t sticking to her clothing. No signs of peeling or hemostasis either. She really is developing most impressively. I wonder if some of the fibers have moved into her blood cells and are absorbing all the iron there…”
Before long, the towel that the Doctor used to wipe Balot’s body was covered in silvery powder. He discarded the towel on the floor and prepared the next one. He used this to wipe down Balot’s brow, the back of her neck, her armpits, and all the major joints. Finally, he cried out in joy, like a prospector finding gold.
“Wonderful! She started perspiring again! There I was worried that she was just turning into a lump of metal!”
All the while, Oeufcoque had finished turning. He was now an all-purpose medical pod, the pinnacle of human technological and engineering prowess. Turning into a gun was child’s play compared to this. The Doctor lifted Balot up off the table with surprising strength—the situation required it, so he just did it unblinkingly—and placed her gently into the pod.
“The preventative measure that the girl needs most of all right now is to eliminate excess stimuli. Wrap her up in a hermetic seal.”
The pod responded immediately to the Doctor’s instructions and started filling up with white bubbles to envelop Balot’s body.
The Doctor quickly double-checked that Balot’s airway was connected to the respirator and covered her ear holes and eyelids with a protective gel before fixing Balot into position. The bubbles moved to cover her completely.
“The fibers have started developing out of control, right, Doctor?”
“Not exactly, no—they’re developing just as the girl wants. The rate of development might seem abnormal to us, but as far as Balot’s body is concerned, everything’s going according to plan.” The Doctor wiped her right arm down and prepared her intravenous drip. “What we need to do now is make sure we have adequate preventative measures in place to keep things from getting out of hand. Help bring a semblance of normality back into the poor girl’s life. Show the aimlessly meandering runner that the goal is in sight. In order for us to do that, you’ll need to consider yourself attached at the hip to her.”
“Attached at the hip?”
“Stay inside the pod with her, I mean. She’ll feel so much better knowing that it’s you she’s inside, not just some machine. I’ll feel better too.” The Doctor fixed the intravenous solution to the wall of the pod.
Then, just at the point when all there was left to do was sit back and wait, Oeufcoque screamed out in panic, “Balot’s responsiveness is fading! What should I do? Doctor!”
“Just stop trying to make her respond,” the Doctor said, nonplussed. Oeufcoque was at a loss for words.
“Let’s just allow her to rest,” the Doctor continued more gently. “She’s survived so far, hasn’t she? Using her own strength?”
The Doctor tapped the pod lightly to provide reassurance—to Oeufcoque, not Balot.
“I’m just going to transfer the data from the chips we won onto another drive, then get some sleep myself. We’ve still got a long road ahead of us, after all. Our next task is to go through all the memories of a man—and a serial killer at that.” The Doctor looked at Balot as she slept inside the pod. “Let’s just pray that they hold the key to victory for the girl.”