Revelations of a Grey Coat Hunter

19

     Maddy attached herself to Arthur, refusing to let go of him or speak to anyone. She couldn't stay when the grey-suited attendants had come to collect Conrad. Arthur had run back at the sound of her screams and had been glomped by the traumatized teen. He'd wordlessly scooped her up and carried her away, heading toward the airfields where the transport choppers would land. She'd clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably as they'd gone. But Arthur hadn't even glanced at Monty. Good. Monty had nothing to say to him right now. He refused to go, remaining at his trainer's side, Conrad's white Stetson in his hands. Fortunately, no one was trying to make him leave as he trailed after the attendants. Either they'd anticipated his presence, or the look on his face had been warning enough. It was probably the latter. Either way, he was tolerated.

     He moved with the attendants as they carried Conrad's still form to a large, coffin-like case made of the clear containment Artifact. Monty idly remembered what Conrad had told him about the Artifact. It had been discovered long ago and was capable of neutralizing every ability and Artifact known except the telepathic communicators. The Foundation used it to cover all the training areas and Containment. It made up the walls of Tommy's crypt. Now Conrad was being contained in it himself.

     Conrad looked odd without his hat. The thin red hair at the top of his head ruffled slightly in the breeze, making him look old. Conrad had always been sensitive about that. To have it exposed like this seemed wrong. Monty watched as they slipped a clear plastic band around Conrad's head, holding a familiar small piece of metallic material against his temple. The telepathic communicator. Of course. Even now, the Board of Overseers couldn't let Conrad go. But at least he had a way to call for help if he should unexpectedly wake up, Monty reasoned. He supposed that was reassuring.

     The coffin was something that made Monty frown for multiple reasons. It was the perfect size. The securing straps were precisely placed for Conrad's chest, waist, thighs, and lower legs. It was as though the thing had been built specifically with the Hunter's measurements in mind. It probably was.

     They put in an IV, the tube trailing to a machine attached to the inside of the coffin. No doubt it would continue to dose him with whatever it was that had knocked him out. After that, the attendants put an oxygen mask over the Hunter's face and closed the lid. Pressing a button caused a hiss of escaping gas as the lid sealed tightly. The simple sound went through Monty like a knife, making him gasp. The coffin was airtight. When they added the metal clamps, screwing them tightly in place, Monty had to clench his fists and teeth to keep from screaming. Arthur had spoken of something like this. It was a living death. Containment. Forever. At least they had Conrad unconscious. That had to be better, right? Yes, he was sealed in an airtight coffin, strapped down, and clamped in, but surely that was better than being aware? And, of course, he wouldn't be in there forever. Right?

     He eyed the reservoir on Conrad's IV. How long could it keep him unconscious? What happened when it ran out? Would they replace it to keep him out? Surely they wouldn't just leave him trapped in there to die?

     His eyes went to the mask. He followed the tubing, seeing that it branched off into two tanks stored in their compartments in the coffin near the IV pump. One was labeled "oxygen." The other had no label telling what was inside, but an orange biohazard warning label was on it. Monty felt sick. He didn't understand any of this. What had Conrad done to warrant this? The way he'd acted, he'd known it was coming, and he certainly hadn't been alone in the knowledge. But the other Hunters had acted more sympathetic than anything else. Whatever this was, it didn't seem to be punishment. So why? Why?

     He noticed movement to his left, another figure in a grey coat. He glanced over, seeing Reynolds. The healer appeared exhausted. Naturally. He'd likely been healing the worst of the wounds sustained back at the fight, even with his own injuries freshly repaired. Reynolds was looking at Conrad, following Monty as he trailed after the crew with Conrad's coffin. It was exactly like a funeral procession, the mourners following the pallbearers as they carried the casket into the transport vehicle. Except Conrad wasn't dead. The rise and fall of his chest was slow but there.