The self-deprecating humor died in the air between us. But my stomach fluttered with sudden, unexpected anticipation. I was getting the sense that we were on the cusp of uncovering something vital.
“Well, find some words you understand and go from there. Larsen and Matthews are going to walk through that door any second.”
He flipped through the pages, then stopped. He stared at the document, motionless except for the slow, steady downward movement of his jaw. Looking at me, he tried to speak, but the words disappeared into a squeaky rasp.
“Holy shit,” he said after swallowing and massaging his throat. “What? Holy shit, what?” I said.
“It’s a man. The Serpent is a man.” He turned the folder around to face me. There was an outline of a man, longhand notes jotted in boxes next to red marks on the figure.
“What does the title say?” I said, pointing at the text running across the top of the page.
He reoriented the folder again. “It says… ‘Serpent. Healing.’ Healing something. ‘Healing ability,’ uh, ‘skeleton, muscle, organs.’ There are some other words in there I don’t know. Medical stuff, maybe.”
Blood pulsed through my temples. The information set my imagination spinning, but I tried to ground myself by asking more questions. “The text, the handwriting… what does that say?”
“I can do that. I can read this.” Even across the table, I could hear that Campbell’s breathing had accelerated, too. “This one here on the guy’s left forearm-wait, no, it’s his right forearm, he’s facing us-says ‘break, much blood inside.’ No, not inside, ‘internal.’”
“A fractured bone, massive internal bleeding. Is that all it says?”
“No, there’s a time written next to it. 1100, 09/19/05. And then underneath it… I’m not an expert, but it looks like a different person’s handwriting… it says… dammit, I don’t know that word. Something ‘complete.’ It’s referring to the bone.”
“Probably a notation about the fracture healing. Keep going.”
“‘Scans show… density 110 percent normal. No… evidence of harm in tissue. Scar tissue small… ’ er, no. Not ‘small,’ but something like that.”
“‘Minimal,’ I’m guessing. The bone has repaired itself to a strength beyond its original condition, that’s what the density is telling me. And the massive bleeding seems to have been controlled rather quickly if there’s no evidence of tissue damage.” A thought plowed into my consciousness, knocking aside my medical evaluation. “Wait, that’s not all it says, is it? There’s a time and date by the second entry, isn’t there?”
It was tough to tell in the artificial, shadowless light of the mess room, but it looked like some of the color had drained from his face.
“Yeah. Yeah, there’s a time. It says, ‘0234, 09/20/05.’ But that can’t… maybe I’m misreading it.”
“I thought they used Arabic numbers.”
“I know. It can’t be right, though. Can it?”
The dimness of the hallway to my left seemed to take on sinister qualities, providing a breeding ground for my fears. What could hide in the uncertain light? And could these walls and corridors offer us a place to hide if it came after us?
“Doctor? You with me? Look, this can’t be correct. It’s saying that a broken arm healed in something like fifteen hours. I’ve had a fucking broken arm, OK, and it took weeks to get back to normal.”
I blinked, still focusing on what we couldn’t see. “Read another entry,” I said. My voice sounded flat, disinterested. It was an instinctive facade hung over feelings I hadn’t even begun to sort out.
“But what about-”
“Just do it.”
“Uh… here’s one for the upper body. Looks like his stomach area. ‘Bullet wound. Thirty-caliber handgun… ’ It just talks about the gun for a bit. ‘Bullet perforated lower… ’ I don’t know what the hell word that is. Uh, ‘liver damaged.’ More massive internal bleeding. This one’s 1300, 10/31/05. On Halloween. Motherfucker.”
“Hold up the chart where I can see it,” I said. He did so, and I noted where the red mark was. “It probably says perforated intestine or bowel. I can see why the liver was damaged. Now read the rest. There’s more.”
“‘No… ’ something — wait, I think that’s wrong. ‘No… no… no transfusion. No transfusion needed. Bleeding half-normal after two minutes; stopped after five.’ What?” He saw me lean forward on the table and cradle my head.
“Nothing. Keep going,” I said without looking up.
“‘MRI’—hey, they just use the English letters for that—‘shows… ’ dammit, there’s that word again. Let’s say it’s intestines. ‘MRI shows intestines undamaged. Liver functions test normal.’”
“And?”
“And… ‘2350, 10/31/05.’”
I looked up and saw the concern on Campbell’s face. “I’m sure you’re picking up on a trend here. A broken bone healed in less than a day; tissue and organ damage healed even faster. They’re deliberately injuring the subject — the Serpent — and keeping track of how his body reacts.”
“But this is impossible,” he said. “Fucking impossible… he’s gutshot, but totally fine hours later?”
“Scan a few more of those. Tell me if they don’t fit the pattern.”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes flitting across the page. “‘Stab wound… shoulder’… shit,” he said under his breath. “It’s just a bunch of injuries. Just looking at the dates, none of them took more than 24 hours to heal. What the fuck is this? Some kind of a super soldier?”
“You knew something important was on this sub. So important that they sent you guys out to capture and control it. So important that its entire crew is dead.” I was dismayed to find that I still couldn’t put any emotion into my words, not even fear. “Weapons research. That’s what my dossier said was onboard, weapons research. Well, this right here, if we’re reading it correctly, is one hell of a weapon.”
“Wait, what are you telling me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to summon reserves of discipline to bolster my professional detachment. “Just keep reading. See if you can find a page header for ‘physical abilities’ or ‘changes’ or ‘growth’ or ‘transformation’… shit, I don’t know. Something like that.”
He gave me a confused glance, but dived back into the folder.
“I don’t have any clue what you’re looking for. There’s a ton of information in here. If there’s some kind of specific data that you’re trying… wait, how about this? ‘Physical timeline.’”
“Timeline? Maybe. Tell me what it looks like.”
“Bunch of dates and times down the side with typed entries next to them. Really fine print.”
“Let’s hear ’em.”
“The first entry is for 1200, 07/07/05. ‘Gene sequence modified.’ That’s all it says.”
“Next?”
“Same day, an hour later. ‘IQtest. Subject’s intelligence shows 45-point increase.’”
“Smarter. Next?”
“Same day, thirty minutes later. ‘Strength test. Subject’s upper- and lower-body abilities show 165 percent increase.’”
“Stronger. Keep going.”
“Same day, another half-hour later. ‘Subject shows signs of paranoia.’”
“Too much of a good thing can be bad for you, Campbell.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said. He looked worried, as if my words held malice toward him.
“Read me the last entry on the page, and I’ll spell it out for you.”
“Fine, the last entry; ‘1800, 07/16/06. Serpent frozen for transportation.’”
I leaned back, trying to brace myself against the solidity of the wall behind me. “You getting it yet?”
“Getting what? You said you’d spell it out, now spell it the fuck out!” Footsteps in the hall ended as Larsen spoke from the doorway: “Spell what out?”