"She was moving!" Albie whispered, grabbing her belt and lifting her hips off the floor. Rayford plugged her nose, forced her mouth open, and clamped his mouth over hers. Her tiny frame rose and fell as he breathed into her, and Albie applied pressure to help her breathe out.
"Shut the door," Albie told Plank.
"You don't need the light?"
"Shut it!" he whispered desperately. "We're going to save this girl, but nobody but us is going to know it."
Plank steered his chair to push the bed out of the way, then shut the door.
"She's got a pulse," Albie said. "You OK, Ray? Want me to take over?"
Rayford shook his head and continued until Hattie began to cough. Finally she gulped in huge breaths and blew them out. Rayford sat heavily on the floor, his back against the wall. Hattie cried and swore. "I can't even kill myself," she hissed. "Why didn't you let me die? I can't go back to Buffer!"
She collapsed in tears and lay rocking on the floor on her knees and elbows.
"She doesn't recognize anybody," Albie said.
Hattie looked up, squinting. Rayford leaned over and turned on a small lamp. "No, I don't," she said, peering at Albie and glancing at Rayford. "I know Commander Pinkerton here, but who are you losers?"
Albie pointed to Rayford. "He saved your life. I'm just his loser friend."
Hattie sat in the middle of the floor, her knees pulled up, hands clasped around them. And she swore again.
"You're not going to Buffer, Hattie," Rayford said finally, and it was clear she recognized his voice.
"What?" she said, wonder in her voice.
"Yeah, it's me," Rayford said. "There are no secrets in this room."
"You came?" she squealed, scrambling to him and trying to embrace him.
He held her away. She looked at Plank. "But…"
"We're all in this together," Rayford said wearily.
"I almost killed myself," Hattie said.
"Actually," Albie said, "you did."
"What?"
"You're dead."
"What are you talking about?"
"You want out of here? You want the GC off your back? You go out of here dead."
"What are you saying?"
"You called your old friend to rescue you. He refused. You were despondent. When you gave up hope and were convinced you were going to Buffer, you lost all hope, wrote a note, and hung yourself. We came to get you, discovered you too late, and what could we do? Report the suicide and dispose of the body."
"I did write a note," she said. "See?" She pointed to a slip of paper that had fallen off the bed.
Rayford picked it up and read it under the lamp. "Thanks for nothing, old FRIENDS!!!" she had written. "I vowed never to go back to Buffer, and I meant it. You can't win them all." "Sign it," Rayford said.
Hattie massaged her neck and tried to clear her throat. She found her pen and signed the note.
"How long can you hold your breath?" Albie asked. "Not long enough to kill myself, apparently." "We're going to wheel you out of here under a sheet, and you're going to have to look dead when we load you on the plane too. Can you pull that off?"
"I'll do whatever I have to." She looked at Plank. "You're in on this too?"
"The less you know, the better," he said. He glanced at Albie, then Rayford. "She never needs to know, far as I'm concerned." They nodded.
Plank told them to leave the sheet the way it was, with the light fixture still embedded in one end. "Use the other sheet from the bed to cover her, and do it now."
Rayford ripped the sheet from the bed, and Hattie lay on the bare mattress. He floated the sheet atop her and let it settle. Plank opened the door. "Mrs. Garner!" he called, "we've had a tragedy here!"
"Oh my-"
"No, don't come! Just stay where you are. The prisoner hanged herself, and the GC will dispose of the remains."
"Oh, Commander! I-is that what I heard?"
"Possibly."
"Could I have done something? Should I have?"
"There's nothing you could have done, ma'am. Let's let these men do their work. Bring the gurney from Utility."
"I don't have to look, do I, sir?" "I'll handle it. Just get it for me. I'll dictate a report later."
Despite her ashen countenance and protestations, Rayford noticed that Mrs. Garner watched the "body" until it was loaded into the minivan. He was amazed at Hattie's ability to look motionless under that sheet.
Plank agreed to call ahead to the former Carpathia Memorial Airstrip to clear the way for Deputy Commander Elbaz and his driver to pull Judy Hamilton's vehicle right up to their fighter jet in order to load a body for transport. No, they would not need any assistance and would appreciate as little fuss as possible over it.
Hattie slipped back under the sheet a few miles from the airstrip, and though curious eyes peered through the windows, Rayford and Albie carried her aboard without arousing undue suspicion.
SEVEN
Buck pulled the Hummer out of the garage under the Strong Building after dark, lights off. He had spent the afternoon rigging up a special connection to the brake lights and backup lights. Once in regular traffic outside Chicago, he didn't want to risk getting stopped for malfunctioning rear lights, but neither did he want those lights coming on when he braked at Zeke's place.
Zeke himself was an expert at this and walked Buck through it by phone. It would be great when Zeke was tucked away at the new safe house, available to help with just those kinds of details. The brake lights were now disengaged, so with his lights on or off, Buck would have to manually illuminate them when applying the brake. A thin wire led from the back, through the backseat and up to the driver's side. If he could just remember to use it.
No one knew how frequently, if ever, the GC invested the time, equipment, and manpower to overfly the quarantined city their own databases told them was heavily radioactive. It didn't make sense that anyone would be near the place. If the readings were true-which David Hassid and the Tribulation Force knew was not the case-no one could live there long.
Still, Rayford's plan was to come and go in his helicopter from the tower in the dark of night. And Buck, or anyone else coming or going, would do the same from the garage. It was tricky going, because no light sources-outside the Strong Building-were engaged in the city. Unless the moon was bright, seeing anything in the dark was almost impossible on what used to be those miles of city streets.
Buck pulled away slowly, the gigantic Hummer propelling itself easily over the jagged terrain. He wanted to get used to the vehicle, the largest he had ever driven. It was surprisingly comfortable, predictably powerful, and-to his delight-amazingly quiet. He had feared it would sound like a tank.
Driving around Chicago in the dark was no way to familiarize himself with the car. He needed open road and the confidence that no one was paying attention. Half an hour later he hit the city limits and took the deserted frontage road that would deliver him into the suburbs without detection. He turned on his lights and set the manual brake light switch where he could reach it with his left hand.
Near Park Ridge a rebuilt section actually had a few miles of new pavement and a couple of working traffic lights. The rest of northern Illinois seemed to have regressed to the earliest days of the automobile. Cars made their own trails through rubble, and rain sometimes made those routes impassable.
Buck saw a couple of GC squad cars, but traffic was light. When he felt safe, he tested the power of the Hummer and practiced several turns at varying speeds. The faster he went and the sharper he turned, the more violently his body was pressed against the safety belt. But it seemed nothing would make the Hummer tip. Buck found a deserted area where he was sure no one could see him and tried a couple of fast turns even on inclines. The Hummer seemed to ask for more. With its superwide stance, its weight, and its power, it had unmatched maneuverability. Buck felt as if he were starring in a commercial.