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She lay on a pallet near the yurt’s pot-bellied stove. Amu’s people had tied her down to keep her from thrashing around and taken off her boots for good measure, just in case she got free to give anyone a good kick. A blessing on both counts, actually. The last thing he wanted was to get his bell rung with a swift kick to the head. Although he’d noticed something else about the skin just above her socks, an odd, discolored mottling of the flesh that gave him pause. He would have to check that later.
She wasn’t sleeping. But she sure was restless: finger taps, fidgets, head rolls from one side to the other. Every so often, her tongue would dart from her mouth and worm over her lips.
“Hey, can you hear me?” he said. “Are you awake?”
At the sound of his voice, her eyes snapped open. They were dark but somehow fogged as if she either couldn’t focus or was confused.Her eyes were moving, too, in short, fast herky-jerky movements from side to side.
Oh, boy.“Hi,” he said, putting on a smile, “you remember me? John Worthy?”
Her mouth opened and for a split second, he thought she might speak. But then her face twisted, her lips skinned back from her teeth, and she snarled.
Behind him, John heard Driver swear. “Easy, Driver.” He craned over a shoulder. “We’ll take care of her.”
“Yeah? You know what’s wrong? Did they…” Driver raked a hand as shaky as his voice through his hair. “What did theydoto her?”
“I think they tried to sedate her, only it backfired. Easy,” he said, again. “Take a breath. Look, I need a hand, okay? This is a quick fix, but I need help. You going to be all right?”
“Yeah.” Pulling in a breath, Driver backhanded a line of sweat from his upper lip. “Yeah, just tell me what to do.”
“I need to hold her left arm really still so I can find a vein.”
“You got it.” But, as Driver clamped down, the woman gave a strangled growl and showed her teeth. “Stop, it’s me.” Driver’s voice was stricken. “Don’t you recognize me? You’ll be okay, we’re going to help you.”
“That’s right. Listen to Driver,” John said, said, quickly looping a rubber tourniquet just below the woman’s left elbow. After a few seconds, a blue worm of a vein plumped along her forearm.At least she’s not dehydrated. He supposed he should be thankful for small miracles. “Okay,” he said, swabbing herskin with alcohol then popping the cap from the business end of an IV needle, “little stick now.”
In reply, the woman frothed and struggled. Heaving against her restraints, she snapped, her teeth coming together with an audible click a few inches from John’s ear. He pulled back in the nick of time as Driver planted his free hand on her forehead and shoved her back.
“They really messed her up,” Driver said.
“Just hold her still.” In another two seconds, John had pierced the skin, get a nice flash of blood back in the hub, then slid the Teflon cannula into the vein. “Okay, we’re in.” After attached the IV, he started up the flow of saline into the woman’s vein, watched for a second to make sure he hadn’t blown the vein, then tore off pieces of tape. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Driver to see if there wasn’t some kind of pole they could use to get the IV above her heart, when the boy, who’d been sitting atop a stack of luggage, jumped down, then pushed a large trunk across the yurt.
“Here,” the boy said. “You can use this for the IV.”
“Thanks, that’ll work great.” He saw that the boy’s eyes were now both brown. “You okay?”
“Yeah, you’re not going to be sick or anything, are you, kid?” Driver asked.
“My name is not Kid,” the boy said, calmly. “My name is Poya, and my father was a doctor. I am fine.”
One smart kid.Pawing through the med-pack Harvey had turned over, John found what he was looking for.Kid must have a stash of lenses.Smart thinking, too. So long as the boy kept that left eye covered, no one would be the wiser. How he’dcometo have that stash was, well, an interesting question. If the boy’s father was a doctor, he might be able to get ahold of colored lenses, of course. There was a story there for sure but one that would have to wait.
“Okay.” Selecting three prefilled syringes, he said, “If I’m right, this will do the trick.”
“Yeah?” Driver asked as John pushed the syringes’ contents, one after the other, through a stopcock in the IV catheter. “How fast does that stuff?—”
All of a sudden, the woman let out a long sigh and stopped moving. Her limbs relaxed; her face slackened. Her lids slid shut and a few seconds later, she let go of a soft snore.
“That fast,” John said.
“Wow,” Driver said. “Whatisthat?”
“Benztropine.” He capped the empty syringe. “With a smidge of antihistamine and a nip of valium to put her out. I might have to slip her another cocktail, but if this is an acute reaction, the symptoms won’t return. She’ll sleep it off.” He looked at his watch. “Give it an hour or two and then maybe we can get something coherent out of her. Figure out this mess.”
“Do you know what they gave her?”
“Pumped her full of an antipsychotic. Haldol would be my guess. Easy to find, common as dirt. It would make her sleepy and might knock her out, but she’d certainly be more pliable. Not quite a truth serum, but a good sedative for most and you don’t build up a tolerance. You can use it again and again, which I think they’ve done. See here?” He showed Driver the crook of her left arm. “That bruise? And look at the back of her left hand, all those smaller bruises.”
“Needle sticks.” Driver’s features darkened. “They shot her up.”