As the man turned, Patrick closed his eyes and considered his options. Should he wait until morning and then try to get away? Clearly, that wasn’t the best option. There might be more than one person coming in the morning. Not only that, but there would undoubtedly be more people in the building.
No, this might be his last chance to get away. He had to act now.
The man arrived at the bed. The room was silent save for the sound of the man’s breathing. Patrick wanted to look but didn’t dare risk being seen with his eyes open. He would wait for the first touch, then…
The man pulled the covers off the top half of his body, and his hand grasped Patrick’s forearm tightly. Patrick smelled antiseptic as the man wiped the spot he was going to inject.
“Just one more little prick for you,” the man whispered to himself.
When the needle touched his flesh, Patrick sprang like a leopard. He reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking him over the gurney rail. Patrick hooked an arm around the man’s neck, cutting off his attempted shout.
The man flailed and kicked, but his struggles were in vain. Patrick held him in a vise-like grip, his muscles tightening with every move. A half minute later, the man’s body went limp, and Patrick loosened his hold. Is he dead? Patrick pressed two fingers against the man’s wrist and detected a weak pulse. He was still alive.
Where did I learn how to do that? Strangely, he felt as though he’d performed the maneuver hundreds of times before.
Patrick used both hands to pull the man onto the gurney. He reached into his pant pockets and found a set of keys. Hopefully, one of them would unlock the restraints. He inserted the first two, but neither fit into the slot. He searched through the other keys and found a third one that seemed to be the right size. Much to his relief, it slipped in easily, and the cuff clicked open.
After freeing himself, Patrick lowered the gurney rails and slid onto the floor. He was one step closer to freedom but knew the task would only get more difficult from this point forward. People were being held here against their will, which meant there would likely be cameras, checkpoints, and armed guards.
He searched the man’s coat and found a penlight, an iPod, and a money clip. He held the money clip up to the window and saw it was filled with euros. I’m in Europe. It was a start. At least he knew what continent he was on.
He unbuttoned the man’s coat and found two items looped around his neck — a stethoscope and an employee badge with the man’s picture on the front. He flipped the badge over and noted a single metallic strip on the back. It was exactly what he’d hoped to see. That strip might be his ticket out.
Before leaving the room, Patrick removed the man’s shoes, pants, and lab coat. Obviously, the clothing wouldn’t hide his identity at a checkpoint, but it might prevent someone from recognizing him at a distance.
After changing into the new clothes, Patrick cuffed the man to the gurney and stuffed a sock into his mouth, a simple move he hoped would buy him a few minutes. His preparations complete, he crossed to the door and eased his head out. The corridor was dimly lit. To the left, the hallway stretched into the distance, with several other halls turning off to the right. Muffled voices came from somewhere in that direction. As best he could tell, the speakers were in another room or right around the corner.
With that route eliminated, he looked right and saw a door about twenty yards away. Based on its position at the end of the hall, he guessed there was a stairwell beyond. It was exactly what he had hoped to find. He would take the stairs to the bottom then slip out and make a break for the woods.
After checking in the other direction one more time, he stepped out and moved quietly toward the exit. About halfway down the hall, he noticed another door on his left. A sign next to it read 11.
Eleven.
The number reminded him of the conversation between the two men.
“What about Eleven?”
“Her programming is going well so far.”
Eleven was the other person they had spoken of, and it was reasonable to assume she was being held there against her will.
He paused, unsure of what to do. Should he try to help her? Even if she was awake, she was probably under heavy sedation. Maybe he should leave her where she was and focus on escaping on his own. Once he made it to the nearest town, he would alert local authorities.
No, contacting law enforcement was out of the question. For all he knew, the government might be behind the work being done here. The facility could be involved in some kind of state-sponsored experimentation. At this point, he couldn’t take any chances. Until he gathered more information, he couldn’t trust anyone on the outside.
His decision made, Patrick stepped over to the door. An electronic reader was affixed to the wall, so he removed the badge he’d taken from the man. Hopefully, the magnetic stripe would provide universal access to all the rooms. If it didn’t, he’d have no choice but to leave her behind.
He swiped the badge through the slot and waited. After a short pause, a small light on the panel turned green, and the lock clicked in response.
He let out a sigh of relief. It worked.
He grasped the handle and turned it slowly.
It was time to meet Eleven.
Chapter Two
The room was dark, so Patrick left the door cracked as he stepped inside. From what he could tell, the interior looked just like the room he’d been held in. A small table sat to the right, and on top of it was a tray filled with small glass vials and syringes. It didn’t take a doctor to know what was in the vials.
Across the room, a gurney was pushed up against the wall. He could see someone was lying on top of it, covered by a mound of white sheets.
It’s her. Number Eleven.
Patrick stepped farther into the room. The sheets rose and fell in rhythm, evidence she was sleeping soundly. How would she react when he woke her? He had on the white lab coat, so she would probably assume he worked there. If she spoke loudly or called out, it might alert someone down the hall.
It was a chance he’d have to take if he wanted to help her get away.
He padded quietly over to the gurney. A shock of blond hair protruded from the covers. It was a short bob cut, probably one they had given her when she was first brought in. He leaned over her and examined the soft lines of her face. She was young, probably late twenties or early thirties. She had porcelain-white skin, dark eyebrows, and a button nose. She was certainly feminine, but Patrick could also sense a toughness about her, even in sleep.
A door closed down the hall, followed by footsteps. Patrick froze in place for a full minute, but the sound faded into the distance.
He had to wake her now. It was only a matter of time before someone came to this end of the hall. He pushed her shoulder gently. She groaned and drew the covers around her more tightly, like a teenager refusing to get up for school. He nudged her again, this time harder.
“No, not now,” she mumbled, pulling a sheet over her head. She spoke English with a distinct American accent.
Another door closed in the hall, this time closer. Patrick’s pulse quickened. At some point, they’d find the man he’d tied up and sound the alarm.
The time for gentle persuasion had passed. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her roughly. Her eyes opened immediately, and she turned in his direction. When she saw him standing there, she drew back, her eyes lit with fear.