Mission Cure

CHAPTER SEVEN - M:FAC/1 - Charlie

CHARLIE

Melvin was inching closer, still making those horrible noises and looking like he wanted to murder Charlie. It was clear someone had tied him up for a reason. Should Charlie untie him?

That question was answered when the General started biting his one free arm again. Literally tearing through layers of skin and muscle, breaking capillaries and drawing blood. How much harm would he do if he wasn't stopped? Would he chew off his own limb and bleed to death?

Charlie decided not to untie him but to tie him up even more. He had to save the General from himself, he decided, looking around for something he could use to detain his friend. But this was the Hull - there was nothing aside from computers and more chairs. He needed a rope.

"I'll be right back," he told Melvin, edging around the room and heading toward the door. Quarter of an hour later, he returned with some of the jute twine he used to stabilize the plants in his room. It wasn't the strongest stuff, but Melvin looked like he was running out of strength. It should be enough.

He decided he would tie the General's wrist to the armrest, then get the whole chair to standing - which proved much easier in theory. There was a lot of grappling, a lot of quitting and then trying again. He had to use his feet to ward off the General's snapping jaws as he secured the rope. And just when he thought he'd saved the day as he struggled to heft the chair into an upright position, he realized Melvin was much heavier than he appeared. Also, the wheels on the chair weren't helping.

"I'm sorry, buddy," he huffed out.

Melvin was stuck on his side, one arm pinned under the weight of the chair. But the alternative would leave him on his stomach since Charlie couldn't seem to get him onto his back. No matter what he tried, the General struggled against him. But even though Charlie didn't succeed in righting the chair, he did get a good look at the Generals's head. There was no bleeding, no bumps, not even a scratch. And if it wasn't brain damage causing his strange behavior, what could be wrong? Maybe it was some kind of strange illness?

Charlie just hoped it wasn't contagious.

He checked his pocket for his phone. "Crickets," he muttered. It was his favorite bad word since the time the twins learned how to say 'shit' at three years old. It was fine at home where he could scold them gently and explain that some of the English language was reserved for grownups. It wasn't so great at the grocery store when Oren dropped an apple and cussed right in front of two elderly ladies. Charlie had calmly, and quietly, reminded him they weren't supposed to say that naughty word. Then - ultimately disappointed in himself - the child had shouted, 'DAMN!'

After that, crickets became the expletive of choice.

Charlie made his way across the room, passed the streaks of blood on the floor, to Melvin's laptop. He tapped the mousepad and watched the screen come to life. The battery was now at twenty percent - better than nothing. He quickly sent Adrian a message explaining the direness of the situation. Hopefully he got it in time to fix their new AIR-VAC problem. How many hours until oxygen deprivation? He'd told Jace they had a week, but that had been an optimistic guess meant to keep the kid from worrying.

Melvin paused in his attempts to get at Charlie who stood stock still, looking down at his poor friend with compassion.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," he whispered. "I don't know how to help you."

Melvin stared back blankly.

"I'll figure this out, okay? I'll fix this." Charlie wanted to believe that Melvin could understand him. But there was a glassed-over look in the General's eyes. "I told Adrian to link the ships as fast as possible. We'll get Dr. Moore in here to help you, alright?"