GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

mistake.
    Lily scrubbed her hands and arms with some kind of solution out of a bottle and held out her arms, and Tucker disinfected his own hands before helping Lily into surgical gloves and a full set of scrubs.
    It was obvious the surgical field setup had been practiced often. Tucker, Lily, and the others were too efficient and fast for this to have been a one-time thing: the tent going up, everything in sterile packs ready to use, even the smooth way Tucker had gotten Lily into her scrubs. He covered her hair with a netted cap.
    The ground shifted beneath Thorn’s feet, the memories pouring out so fast she couldn’t stop them. Whitney approaching the table and that small child knew—
knew
—what was coming next.
You’re seven now. Not a baby, so stop acting like one. I’m tiring of your endless tantrums. Saber stopped your heart multiple times and you were just fine. This is the same thing
.
    It isn’t. It isn’t. This hurts
. Electric shock. The terrible pain flashing through her body, making her teeth clamp down so that sometimes she bit herself. She tried to tell him, but nothing fazed Whitney. He never lost control. And he never stopped.
    Science matters, Thorn. It is necessary to make certain every experiment is reliable
.
    Thorn could hear the child screaming, her mind nearly gone, her body and heart so weak now, she knew there would come that day when he couldn’t revive her—and she wanted it to come soon. This had to stop. She’d overheard him tell one of his assistants that her heart was weakening fast and the damage would be too great to continue and soon she’d be of no use to them.
    “Ms. Yoshiie?” Tucker indicated outside the tent. “Please accompany me.”
    Thorn found she didn’t want to leave Sam, which made no sense. His life was in Lily’s hands, and Thorn’s presence would have no impact on whether he lived or died. Yet, still, she didn’t want to leave. Her reluctance bothered her because it was so deep, almost elemental. She pressed her lips together, grateful for her father’s teachings. Her face was composed, even serene. Her hands weren’t even shaking, although deep inside, her mind was crumbling into pieces and her body felt shattered. Her childhood was far too close. She shook her head, uncaring what he thought. She wasn’t leaving, not yet. Her legs were rubber anyway, so she wasn’t at all positive she could leave.
    Father
. The child called to the one man who had steadied her, thought her worthy enough to save.
Help me. I’m lost again. Help me
. But he was no longer alive to hear her call even if she yelled at the top of her lungs. She was alone and left with no protection in place.
    Her eight-year-old heart still echoed in her ears, that shuddering thud that had lost its rhythm as she lay in the box, her nails digging into the lid, breaking off in an effort to get out. Had she been buried alive? No, she could hear voices. She was so cold—ice cold—for so long and finding it nearly impossible to breathe. She was suffocating in that tiny box, curled up on her side, desperate to know if she would ever get out.
    Darkness. A car ride through a strange city with strangers. The car had slowed, her door opened, and she’d been shoved out, hitting the ground so hard she was certain every bone was smashed. She was afraid to lift her head, to look around. The scent of garbage and urine was strong. Small red eyes glowed at her from the darkness. She had never been out of the compound where Whitney conducted his experiments, and this place was almost more frightening.
    She heard heavy footsteps, smelled a sweet, overpowering odor, increasing her terror. She closed her eyes tightly.Someone toed her with a boot. Hard hands moved over her body, and the man said something in a language she didn’t understand. A man laughed. She smelled the other—the man she would come to know as her father. The man who saved her. She would always recognize that wonderful scent.
    He arrived with no sound, like an avenging angel, complete with sword and fierce eyes, so alive, so warm, and he made her feel safe and warm and worth something. And now he was gone.
Father. I’m lost in this nightmare. I can’t close the door. Where are you?
    The danger in this mission had always been those nightmare memories that often were more vivid than reality. Daiki had warned her that her memories would surface and try to consume her, but she hadn’t considered that they would be so strong that