22: Hanging in the Balance

“Pardon me,” the young woman at the hospital’s emergency ward check-in said. “My name is Betty Collins. I’m here to see my brother, Al. He was the victim of the recent police shooting.”

The receptionist smiled patiently, leaning forwards. “I’m sorry, but he’s in intensive care and access is restricted. We’re trying to contact his parents. Do you have their number?”

Betty’s voice turned cold and she too leaned forward, glaring at the nurse. “If you call them, and he wakes up to find them here, he’ll be pissed. We’re both ... estranged from our family, and he’d rather they not be here.”

“He’s under restricted access and there’s a strict hierarchy to—”

“Look, my parents actively helped the man responsible for putting him here. He does NOT want to have anything to do with them.” She placed a business card on the desk before her. “Here’s his doctor’s card. Call him. You’ll learn that I’m his personal contact, not our parents. That was stipulated long before they betrayed him and put his life in danger. I’m his only next of kin as far as he’s concerned.”

“I see,” the nurse said, examining the card.

“I’m familiar with his complete medical history—he’s not taking any medications.” She laid another card on the desk. “This is the number for FBI agent Mark Anderson. No one else is to have access to him, including the police who tried to kill him and are likely to try again. If you don’t believe me, Ms. Ticard’s number is printed on the back, she’s the Director of Domestic Operations for the CIA who’s been tracking the person who organized this assault.”

“Ah, yes, the FBI contacted and warned us about your brother’s situation. There’s an agent currently guarding his room.” She took out a security badge, handing it to her. “I’ll give him a call, alerting him that you’re on your way up.” She leaned forward again, dropping her voice. “Your brother is in critical condition and in a medically-induced coma. He was shot multiple times and was saved because he wore a bullet-proof vest under his clothing, otherwise he’d have been shredded by bullets. You won’t be able to talk to him, even if he does recover. You need to be prepared for the worst.”

“Yes, I’m aware of his condition, but I’d rather be there, whether he’s conscious or not.”

Walking into the emergency room, the receptionist noticed her pulling her rolling luggage behind her.

“Pardon me, miss. You can’t take that with you.”

Betty turned, glaring at her. “I plan to support my brother. I’m not just visiting for a few minutes. I’ll sleep in a chair, but I want my possessions with me as I’m not planning to use a hotel room. I suggest you get me a spare bed, otherwise I’m likely to curl up on his gurney.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed in, pulling her luggage.

“Excuse me, Miss, but you can’t be here,” the burly agent in the traditional dark suit said.

Betty flashed her new badge. “I’m his sister. I’m here to take care of him in ways the hospital staff won’t.” She glanced in both directions before continuing. “Col. Powell was after us all. My brother sacrificed himself to save the rest of us. I’m not about to abandon him now.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll need to see some official ID. Hopefully more than one so I can confirm your claim.”

“Sure,” she said, glancing over his shoulder at the silent figure lying on the gurney. “We’ve been changing IDs several times recently.” She dug into her bag, digging information out of hidden compartments. “Here’s my legal driver’s license and the passport I used on an overseas high school trip. It’s still valid. Here’s the ID the FBI provided me with, under an assumed name. I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but you can see where this is going.”

“That’ll be enough,” he assured her. “As you can tell, if you know what you’re doing it’s easy to fake a single ID. My name is Special Agent Frank Evens. If you’re concerned about anything, or anyone, feel free to call on me. If I can’t get you an answer, I’m authorized to get it from someone with access to the information. This is being treated as a serious threat, and it has the FBI’s highest priority.”

He scanned the hallway, surveying the scene for any suspicious activity. “I was told about you and a few of your companions. Are you the only one here?”

“My brother ordered us to hide and not help him while he was being shot. The others are doing what he demanded. I’m sticking by his side. I’d rather be here in case he dies. But ... he’s a tough son of a bitch. I prefer to think he’ll recover faster with me here than without me.”

“You’ll be relieved to know we captured Powell. He suffered some injuries during his capture. The mob wasn’t particularly kind considering where his support led. He’s chained to his bed in another area of the hospital. We’re getting a judge to sign arrest warrants for the chief of police, everyone involved in the proceedings and anyone associated with it. There aren’t enough local police left to guard anyone, so we’re bringing in FBI agents from nearby facilities. They haven’t arrived yet.

“The public response has been harsh. I haven’t witnessed it, but I hear it’s horrendous. It’s being posted from dozens of different accounts and downloaded by millions. Many are sympathetic, almost all are critical of the police, but there’s an undercurrent of hostility towards your group.

“The FBI’s involvement started as a favor for someone in the CIA, but I’ve been fielding calls from the Director, so he’s aware of the situation. He says the governor is involved and they’re discussing disbanding the local police department. We’ll take over policing and managing the city until they can rebuild. It’ll be a strain, but it’s a confidence builder.”

He paused, considering her. “I’ve got to say, while Powell appeared unhinged for years, from everything I’ve heard, in this instance he wasn’t wrong. I’m hearing your brother did some unbelievable things. Some are claiming you’re all ... not-quite human.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, zipping her bag back up and stowing it in the corner. “You need to consult the source of those reports. I can only tell you that he’s injured and none of us asked for this. He’s never threatened anyone. We were only in the wrong place at the right times, and we’ve been persecuted for things we never initiated. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’d like to care for my brother in private.”

“Absolutely, miss. Take your time,” he said, closing the door.

He’d almost closed it when a voice called out. “Excuse me, hold that door.”

Instantly alert, Betty stood between Al and the door, not entirely trusting Frank to withhold the forces aligned against them.

“Hello, Dr. Barnes,” Frank said, as he opened and held the door for someone in a white coat.

“Hello,” he said, offering his hand. “I was informed you were here but was busy with other shooting victims. My name is Martin Barnes and I’m your brother’s surgeon. As you can tell, your brother is in rough shape. He was shot four times in the abdomen, with three flesh wounds in the leg, his arm and his shoulder. He’s suffered from extensive blood loss. I’ll be honest, despite my best efforts and those of the paramedics who brought him in; I’m beginning to believe what I’ve heard about him. If it was anyone else, we couldn’t have saved him. When I cut him open, the internal bleeding had already stopped. His blood vessels seem to have closed themselves, despite being damaged by his bullet wounds. That stabilized him and he’s being treated, but was in such extreme pain I decided it was safer putting him in a medical coma rather than stronger narcotics. He refused anything which might impair his judgment.”

“So he could speak when they brought him in?”

“Well, technically, no. However, he was conscious and could nod and let us know what he wanted. He was ... adamant about what we were allowed to do for him. Hopefully we’ll have an easier time discussing his medical options when he recovers.”

“So he is going to recover?” Betty asked.

“It’s still hard to tell. Your brother is a fighter, but the odds are stacked against him. It’s a miracle he survived the shooting, and I witnessed another when I saw how his body is recovering.”

Betty rolled her sleeve up. “I’d like to donate blood. We’re both the same blood type.”

“That’s not necessary. We have plenty of his blood type on hand.”