Rescue

Once we get to the infirmary building, you’re kind of on your own.“
    “Got it.“
    “I’ll be waiting outside, motor running.“
    “And if I can’t find Eddie?“
    “Then try to look around enough to make a good affidavit for a warrant so we can go in, fast and official, sometime later today.“
    “And if I get challenged?“
    “Fight your way out.“ He looked down at my left leg. “Really can’t see the calf rig at all.“
    “Good.“
    His cruiser got to the gate and I tipped my chin to my chest, my hand to my forehead.
    Tidyman pressed a button to lower his window. “Got one of yours, went sick in a store out on the Overseas.“
    “You want us to take him in, sir?“
    “No. I got him this far, might as well provide door-to-door service. The infirmary still at the end of your main street in there?“
    “Yessir. Should we call ahead for you?“
    “No. We’ll be there before they can pick up the phone. That is, if you boys’ll be so kind as to open the gate for me.“ ‘Right away, sir.“
    I heard the gate as Tidyman sent his window back up. ,?n We were off again and making a hard left pretty quickly. Not exactly the Emerald City, is it?“
    I tilted my head up. The streets seemed to be a simple grid, running off the main—and apparently exactly central—drag we were on. The houses were as Dawna and Mack had described them: small, plain bungalows of white stucco and blu e trim, only a little landscaping. There were men, women, and children, all dressed the way I was. Adults seemed to greet each other with a wave and some words as they walked. In fact, we were the only vehicle except for a half dozen of the navy blue GMC pickups, some with camper shells, some without. Most of the people stopped to stare at us as we went by.
    “Whit?“
    “Yeah?“
    “Open my window so I can hear what they’re saying.“
    He did. I heard a smattering of “Have a very blessed day“ followed by “Praise Him“ or “Praise Jesus.“
    Tidyman said, “This one in front of us is the infirmary.“
    I eyed it carefully. A bigger version of the small bungalows, as though the architect had just quadrupled all the measurements.
    I said, “Any last suggestions?“
    “Yeah. Once you’re inside, take off the shades and don’t use any cuss words.“
    I smiled at him as the cruiser came to a stop. I got out, holding my belly.
    Inside the door, another clean-cut, guardlike guy stood up behind a desk with nothing on it. “What’s the problem.’ Brother?“
    “Sick... pain...“
    “I don’t believe I know you. What’s your—“
    “Please, my stomach... doctor?“
    He looked at me strangely. “Let’s go to one of the nurse rooms.“
    “Praise Jesus.“
    The man took my left elbow gently, bringing me down an empty, sterile corridor to a small examining room without anything in the way of modem equipment in it. “Wait here, Brother, and I’ll get someone.“
    “Have a... very blessed... day.“
    I waited only until I heard his heels on the floor outside fading, then got up and opened the door. Looking left and right, I saw nobody, so I went out and farther down the corridor, where it ended at a T-intersection. There were no signs on which way to go, but to my left there was a big, NO ADMITTANCE on the door that looked promising.
    I eased the handle on the door, risking an alarm going off, but none did, at least not that I could hear. On the other side of the door, the corridor tapered down, then ended at a second door, which had no signs on it. I tried that handle. Also unlocked and again no alarm. Going through it, I. was in a small, pebbly courtyard with a raised concrete platform, almost like a small stage, in the center of it. The walls of the courtyard were high, twelve feet at least, with no windows and only two doors, one to what appeared to be a double version of the bungalow plan on the far side. I ran low across the courtyard.
    As I reached the bungalow door, a voice sounded off behind me, near where the platform would be. “Well, I’ll be goddammed. The Good Samaritan.“
    It was like hearing a ghost instead of seeing one.
    Turning slowly, I faced Cody, his small head against the stock of an M-16, sighting in on me, a silencer over the muzzle. Next to him was the ghost, the red hair still shaggy under the Atlanta Braves cap and over the jug-handle ears, the tan still in place.
    Another silenced M-16 rested in the crook of the redhead’s left arm. “After we go see Big Guy, Samaritan, I got