Mushrooms

“Hand me the retractor, Jeff.” Doctor Emma Hawthorne held out her gloved hand and her assistant placed the instrument into it. She didn’t need to look at him, she’d worked with him for long enough that they were a well-practiced, highly efficient team.

Emma got to work cracking open the chest cavity and using the retractor to expand the gap. The heart, pink, threaded by darker pink veins, was exposed. In the centre of the organ was a tear; small, insidious and fatal. She leaned forward and studied the small injury. There was a darker pink, almost black smear along the edges of the wound. On closer inspection, she could see a half dozen more minor tears on the muscle.

“You know, I don’t think this guy knew what hit him, but we’ll go with the complete autopsy anyway.” She murmured and began cutting the major arteries so she could lift it out of the body cavity.

“You’d think these people would learn to duck, but no, they have to go all macho and expect bullets to bounce off them. Sad way to find out they don’t, huh, Jeff?”

Jeff made no comment. All she could hear was his rapid breathing against the face mask. Emma shrugged off his silence. As an assistant he was damn good, as a person outside of the morgue he was shy, tight-lipped and, well, socially inept. Sometimes that personality invaded the work area. Emma had known Jeff to remain silent throughout an autopsy regardless of what she said, so his silence didn’t bother her. She just assumed it was going to be one of his ‘quiet’ days.

“This guy has more holes in him than a sieve. What did they use on him? A chain gun or did they all decide to claim to have shot him.” She knew she was terse, but this kind of slaughter always pissed her off. Once a guy was down and dead, leave the poor bastard alone! It was de jour among the troops to claim a kill just because an enemy soldier had fallen down. Of course, there was the small matter of body count to ammunition expended. They could prove they’d shot the soldier because, gee, lookee here, a bullet or two dozen.

She heard Jeff emit a strangled sound.

Emma glanced up, down, then back to Jeff’s face. His normally pale skin was almost translucent, his doe brown eyes wide as he stared down at the body.

“What’s up with you?” She asked a little impatient and lifted the heart out. She slapped it onto a scale and looked up at the weight. “A little heavy, but within normal range.”

“Look.” Jeff whispered and cleared his throat. “Look, Emma. In the cavity!”

“Hmm, I wonder what I’ll see if I do look. Will I find more organs?” She asked with a smile and did what Jeff asked.

Emma froze. “Is that…?” She lifted her eyes to Jeff. He shrugged, slowly.

She found her eyes drawn to the alien thing resting on the dead man’s spine, behind where his heart had been. Her throat went dry and she swallowed. Sweat pearled on her forehead and a shiver of pure fear trickled down her spine.

“How does one get what looks like a mini nuke into a living man?” She asked softly and stared down at the shiny, blood smeared silver cylinder. There was a dent in the surface. From one of the needler bullets, she thought. The whole thing was the size of her hand. “You do realise that if the bullet had hit that dead on, or if I’d nicked it wrong, it would have…” Again they looked at each other, then backed away from the table.

“Yeah… I think that was the intent.” Jeff murmured, as if the very volume of his voice would set the bomb off. “Load up your troops with nukes, separate them and send them on a suicide mission. Make sure they’re in a populated area and wait for the enemy to gun you down, taking, of course, a few of the bastards with you.”

Emma stared at him and pulled her pale green mask down. “How do you know all this?”

Jeff tugged his own mask down and gave her a wan smile. “Just… stands to reason, doesn’t it? Fear makes the mind work, oh, so much faster, don’t you think?”

His cap had a thick patch of sweat across the forehead. As she watched, a trail of moisture slid down the side of his face. He licked his lips and swallowed. His eyes never left the body, as if he expected it to blow at any moment.

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” She agreed. “I think we should call someone about this, don’t you?”

“As you command, doctor.” He backed up towards the door and levered his way through.

Emma followed him out – backwards, her eyes on the cadaver. Of course, if the bomb went off, it wouldn’t make any difference whether she was standing next to the remains or in the office; or in the next building or one street over. The whole area would have been one large and unattractive crater.

Still, when the door shut, the tension rushed out and relief surged into her.

“Holy fuck.” Jeff said and slumped into a chair in her office.

“I can categorically, unequivocally, agree with that.” She tugged off her cap and reached out for her comunit. The local militaria were on speed dial and she punched the button.

“Captain Hartog.” A cold, aggressive voice said when the call was answered.

“Captain, this is Doctor Emma Hawthorn over at the morgue.”

“Yes, Doctor, what can I do for you?” His voice cooled and an element of distaste crept into his tone. Seems doctors who opened up the dead were less useful than those who opened up the living.

Emma cleared her throat. “You’re boys dropped off a Kadizurite a couple of hours ago.”

“Yes, Doctor, we’re interested in the cause of death.”

“Ahm, well.” She hedged, unsure of how to tell him about the bomb. It was too…

“Come now, Doctor Hawthorn.” Emma frowned at the comunit. The Captain sounded… amused. Then he made a coughing sound. “We have a pool on which bullet killed the bastard, so I’ll need verification of the weapon, calibre of bullet and striations on said ammunition. Can you do that?”

They had a… betting pool? On who killed him? What was wrong with these people? It didn’t matter who killed him, only that he was dead; that some mother was grieving for her son, a wife was mourning the loss of a husband, children were confused and lonely from not seeing their father! Damn it!

Outrage cleared her head and straightened her spine.

“We have another problem, sir. He’s got a bomb inside of him. From what we could tell, it’s a mini-nuke. I suggest you get someone over here to disarm it.” She was about to disconnect then thought of something else. “What killed your man was lack of oxygen to the brain.” She pressed the button and cut him off.

“Right Jeff, collect the staff and evacuate the building.”

***

Emma’s finger rubbed the edge of the brandy glass. “You were right, Jeff.”

He looked at her, but didn’t reply.

She stared down into the rich amber liquid. “I spoke with Captain Hartog before he went in. Seems a new thing for the Kadizurite militants. They have their own surgeon implants the bombs and insert a sensitivity monitor. The terrorists can throw themselves to the ground, off a staircase, balcony, building, whatever and the shock will detonate the bomb. Same thing with the bullets. That way, the suicide bomber can choose a passive or active ending. Either way, they take as many people with them as possible.” She sighed and sipped her drink.

“The bullet hit our bomb at just the right angle and disabled the sensitivity unit. I cannot imagine what kind of a sick mind came up with this, but the thought of people deliberately wandering into high population areas and shooting people, then blowing themselves up and taking half the city with them, sickens me to the very bones. No war is worth this, Jeff.” She gulped the rest of her drink down and raised the empty glass.

The barman came over and poured more Brandy for her. “Thanks.” She said with a smile that she didn’t feel.

“That’s not the worst of it, Em.” Jeff finally said. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d evacuated.

“I would think that was bad enough. What could possibly be worse?”

Jeff drained his ale. “How about kidnapping civilians and inserting micro-nukes.”

“You are kidding me!” Emma gasped.

Jeff shook his head and unbuttoned his shirt. There, beneath his collarbone was an angry red surgical scar. “The weekend I had off…?”

Emma felt the hair all over her body stand on end. “Jeff…”

“I can’t take it out, Em, that much was explained to me; it’s motion and metal sensitive, so no horizontal position and no scalpels. It’s also on a timer.” His expression went sad.

“A… a timer? And you thought to tell me now?” Emma slid off the stool. "We've got to get you to a..."

He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek. “I wanted one more shift with you. I was granted that. I'm leaving now, to go and do...” He slowly stood. "Well... something. Take a walk in the desert, maybe."

Emma’s eyes filled with tears and she clutched at his hand. “No, Jeff! I could have taken it out! I could have neutralised it, spoken to Hartog, could have…”

“Done nothing, Em, without killing yourself and a half million people, too. And we both know that’s what would happen. There’s no time. I don’t want you to die too. Just… just live for me, okay?”

He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. “One day, this war will be over.” He gave her a wry smile. “Bye, Em, it’s been fun.” He said and walked away. Emma watched him go, desperately trying to think of a way to save him.

***

The Kadizurite leader leaned back against the rocks of his mountain home and stared out across the plains. In the distance, he could see the city that he would soon reclaim, whether it was still standing or not. This land belonged to his people and he would not give it up to the invaders, no matter what they said their motives were.

Humanitarian! Pah! He spat into the dirt. More like imperialism!

It was instinctive, perhaps that he lifted his head and saw the beginnings of a mushroom cloud out by the edge of the city. To him, it was beautiful. The lowering sun illuminated the cloud as it expanded and grew. That must have been one of the police stations, and the surrounding houses of the traitors. Anyone who consorted with the invaders was a dog who needed to be destroyed. And if his bombs killed the faithful, well, they died for a good cause.

He chuckled, laughed and shook his head. This new plan of his using mules to destroy the invaders was brilliant. The best part was that no one knew who a bomber might be. His name gave new meaning to the word ‘terrorist’ and he revelled in it; in the destruction he wrought.

“My lord, I have captured another one for you.” He turned to his son and grinned.

“Where did you find this one?”

“Down at the morgue. I went to get Lario. To bring him back for a proper burial and I bumped into this one.” He slapped the man on the back and the captive winced. “He was all alone.” The son giggled. “So I took him.”

“What do you want with me?” the prisoner asked softly.

The leader smiled at him. “You seem familiar to me.” He narrowed his eyes.

The captive grinned back and opened his shirt. “Yeah, sure, and you all look alike to me, too. Go ahead and kill me now. I’m not doing anything for you stinking…” The son smacked him to the ground.

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Jeff looked up at the son, then the leader. “You wanna know what the worst thing about being a terrorist is? Yeah? Being terrorised right back. Problem is, you won't suffer like your victims did. Still, you dead is good enough.”

The Kadizurite stepped back. “No… You…!”

“Hell has a special place for assholes like you.” Jeff thumped his naked chest twice with his fist.

***

In the city in the distance, Emma stood staring at the mountains, pressed both hands to her chest and felt the surging grief as the mushroom cloud rose, dark and sinister.

She watched until the night blotted the cloud from her view. "Bye, Jeff. You'll always be in my heart." She whispered and blew a kiss towards the mountains.

(c)J Armstrong 2005