Invaders were cute little mini-computers that, when plugged into a regular old AC socket, allowed the software on Mable’s computer to invade every computerized unit or system within twenty linear feet. It was also a tracker, recorder, and transmitter.
Mable opened her bag and removed the tiny surgical kit disguised as a sewing kit. From it she took the even tinier MTT. “Sandra should put it under your boob or in the wrinkles under your arm. You decide.”
“First time I was ever happy I had batwings and floppy boobs. Better do it high in the upper arm,” Dani said to Sandra. “They’ll probably strip me and hook me up to EKGs and IV’s to drug me.”
She watched as Sandra—the only one of them who had ever volunteered at a hospital and seen minor surgery—took the sewing kit and laid out her equipment: a tiny, sterile surgical scalpel, the MTT, and glue. Marvin pulled a pair of stolen gloves out of the drawer at the coffee maker, and some 60% alcohol hand sanitizer. It was the bare minimum, and not nearly as sterile as Dani wanted, but it was a short term implant. She hoped.
“I never …” She stopped and wiped her hands on her dress. “I’ve never done this before,” Sandra said, “and watching doctors use superglue on wounds and videos of the proper implantation procedures didn’t give me skill. Plus …” she heaved a sigh. “I’m going to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, Sandra,” Dani said.
Sandra didn’t respond as she pulled a chair and a small table to the sofa and cleaned everything with the sanitizer, including her gloves, before opening the scalpel.
Dani stood, looked at each of them, and said softly, “You— Please. Don’t leave me in there long.”
“We’ll be behind youtoday,” Marvin said, “even if I have to turn every car in the parking lot into garden dirt.”
He looked determined and stubborn, and if there was a little delight gleaming in his eyes at the idea of going rogue and destroying things wholesale, well that was okay by her.
Mable said, “We don’t have much time left in this hour. Marvin, give the woman some privacy.” She shooed Marvin into his own bedroom and shut the door.
“I’m sorry,” Sandra whispered, maybe to her God, or maybe to her very first patient, Dani wasn’t sure.
“I’d rather you than Mable fainting at the sight of blood or Marvin’s baseball mitt hands.” Dani pulled off her shirt, lay down on the sofa, lifted her am to expose the skin under her arm, took a deep breath, and prepared to suffer in silence. This was going to hurt. Probably not as bad having kids or some of the so-called painless surgical procedures she’d had over the years, but not comfortable, either.
Mable spun to look out the window. “Horrors. You know I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“But you beat people up,” Dani said, needing to lighten the mood.
“Yeah and then I walk away while they bleed so I don’t pass out, bang my face, and ruin my plastic surgeon’s excellent work.”
Dani chuckled, which was probably what Mable had intended.
Sandra
Zeddie approached the lunch table,pulling the dessert cart and carrying the mail bag. It was time. Sandra thought about Harold, pulling all the sadness and angst into her, to use it to fuel her acting. She focused her thoughts the way she did with prayer.
“Mail for everyone.” Zeddie put small piles of mail in front of each of them.
“I don’t know why you bother to bring all that stuff,” Sandra complained, as she did every lunchtime. “It’s nothing but AARP mail, Medicare garbage, and car warranty ads.” But this time she added, “And you people have already steamed them open. I hate that. And I hate that I haven’t gotten a letter from Carl since I got here.” Tears gathered in her eyes.
Zeddie patted her shoulder and motioned to a councilor.
Sandra sniffed. According to her falsified bio, Carl was her fake son, based upon her real son, Aaron, who had turned away from her in real life, when she developed magic and transformed his dad into Big Bird. Just like fake Carl, Aaron never accepted her calls and he never wrote. It had broken her heart. And that made playing out the scene they had planned so much easier. She whispered, “I miss my life.” All that was true. Her tears fell faster.
Dani reached over and took Sandra’s hand. “He’ll come around. I’m sure he will.”
“Maybe this will make you feel better. I’ve got dessert.” Zeddie reached back behind him to pick up plates from his rolling cart. “We have lemon cream pie.”
It wasn’t cream pie. It was gelatinous goo. Sandra dropped the envelopes into her lap and burst into tears. “I want Harold back!” she wailed. “I want Carl! I want my church and … and … I wantmy life back!” Tears flooded down her face, the emotions easy to feel, the words easy to say, because it was all true. She banged her fists on the table. “Harold. Harold.What have I done?”
The counselor, a void who helped the inmates deal with emotional trauma which could potentially set off unexpected, uncontrolled magic, knelt at her side. “Here. This will help.” She handed Sandra a pill. “Take this. You can skip afternoon classes and take a nap. You didn’t sleep well last night.”
“And how do you know that?” Dani shouted. “How do you know she didn’t sleep well?”
Dani shoved back her chair and it turned over with a thump. Loudly, she said, “The only way you would know that is if you reallyaremonitoring us! Hey, everybody!” Dani turned to the room. “They know Sandra didn’t sleep. They really are monitoring us! They watch us all the time!”
Several of the inmates shoved back their chairs too, getting up slowly. But what happened next wasn’t slow. It all happened at once.
