FOURTEEN
Bobby and Grace finally reached her truck, parked at the Finder Mountain Trailhead. The man still hadn't said anything.
They had to fight to get him into the cab of the truck. He only wanted to walk forward. Finally, Bobby bound his legs together and hefted him onto the bench seat. The man stared forward, eyes blank, his legs continuing to move as if he were walking. He kicked the gearshift and kept shuffling his legs. Grace hurried around to the driver side and Bobby squeezed in next to the man. They had draped Grace's jacket over him, but because he refused to stay still, that was all they could do. He reeked of old blood and something else, a chemical smell Bobby couldn't place.
"Can you hear me?" Bobby asked him for the tenth time as Grace fired up the truck. She pulled out onto the gravel road. "What's wrong with him? I mean, other than shock?"
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it-those cuts all over him."
"They're not cuts, they're puncture wounds."
The truck jostled over a pothole, but the man seemed oblivious. He kicked the gearshift again, knocking it into neutral, and Grace cursed. "This is taking too long. We need to get him medical attention a.s.a.p."
The gravel road ended at a county highway and she turned toward Truckee, accelerating quickly. Bobby studied her face as she drove. Her chin stuck out defiantly and her cheek held a smear of mud. Her hands on the steering wheel were sticky with the man's blood.
She drove faster. Soon the lights of Truckee gleamed on the horizon. A few minutes later they pulled into the ambulance entrance of the E.R. Bobby stepped out and called to two nearby paramedics. "A man's been hurt."
They rushed over, gently pulling the man from the cab of the truck. "What happened?" one asked.
Grace stepped around to join them. "We don't know. Found him like this up on Finder Mountain Trail."
"Why are his legs tied together?" one of the paramedics asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
"He wouldn't stop walking," she told him. "We had to do that to get him in the truck."
One paramedic rushed off and returned with a gurney. They lifted him onto the stretcher and he kicked, trying to walk. His eyes stared upward, glassy and blank.
Grace and Bobby followed them in, watching while an E.R. doctor took over. He wheeled the man into an examination area and pulled a blue sheet across for privacy. Bobby and Grace stood waiting tensely on the other side.
They didn't wait long. The doctor threw open the blue curtain and called, "Code Blue! Crash cart, stat!"
Bobby peered in to where the man lay on the bed, still moving his legs, then moved aside as the code team rushed in. They performed C.P.R. and used the defibrillator, but the man continued to flatline.
"Doctor," one nurse said, "why is he still moving?"
"It must be some reaction," he told her, his eyes wild.
Grace stopped a paramedic as he left the tiny area. "What's happening?"
"There's no pulse," the man said, looking spooked, "but there's motor activity."
Through the curtain, they could see the man's eyes staring upward, his legs moving up and down as if walking.
The code team started talking excitedly, rushing around and checking the equipment. "Everything's working, doctor," a nurse told him.
The doctor's voice bellowed over the chaos. "Get this patient down to M.R.I. immediately."
"But..." the nurse started, confused.
"Do it!"
She and two paramedics hurriedly wheeled the gurney out from the examination area and raced toward the elevators.
Bobby and Grace followed after them, taking the stairs. They rushed down to the hallway below in time to see the hospital staff with the gurney disappear through the M.R.I. admitting door. They stood outside in the corridor.
"What the hell is going on?"
"I don't like this." Grace's brow furrowed. "What did they mean he didn't have a pulse? Do you... think he was like that in the car with us?"
Bobby shrugged. "Could be. Neither of us checked, we just assumed."
As they waited, more doctors rushed in, but none came out. Bobby started to wonder if any were left in the hospital at large.
Finally, the original E.R. doctor emerged, looking exhausted. Bobby stopped him, flashing his F.B.I. credentials. "Can you tell me what happened with the man we brought in?"
The doctor stopped, blinking dazedly. "What?"
Bobby gestured toward the M.R.I. room. "What were the results?"
The doctor's mouth opened and closed again. "We tried to sedate him so we could do the M.R.I. It didn't take. He kept trying to get up and walk away... and then finally, he just collapsed." The doctor stared blankly down the empty hallway. "We managed to run the M.R.I. and..."
When it became clear the doctor had fallen silent, Bobby prompted, "Yes?"
Slowly the doctor's eyes shifted up and met Bobby's. "He was full of organs. Other people's organs."
"What?"
"We counted at least four spleens, two appendices, enough intestines to fill up his whole stomach cavity and part of his chest." He met Grace's eyes. "And most of his own organs were missing. He had no lungs or heart, no stomach, or liver." The doctor's voice shook. "It was like someone had stuffed him full of parts and sealed him back up with some kind of super-sticky adhesive."
"What were those wounds?" Bobby asked.
"Puncture holes. The only marks on the body. His organs must have been sucked out through them, and the others pushed in through the same holes." The doctor flushed and covered his mouth. "Excuse me," he said.
As he walked away, Grace said, "What kind of messed-up killer would do that? Does that sound like the work of the murderer you're after?"
Bobby stared at her. "To be honest, I've never heard of anything like that. I need to find my colleagues."
"I need to go check in at the station." She squeezed his shoulder in a surprisingly affectionate gesture and returned to the stairwell.
Bobby stood a moment, collecting himself. He had no idea what they were dealing with, and that was unsettling. Most of his books had been destroyed in the fire that had consumed his house, though he'd stashed a few here and there. A trip to the Toiyabe College library tonight was in order. But first he was going to get as much information about the walking organ donor as he could.
As he headed after the queasy doctor, he hoped Sam and Dean were okay, out there in the forest with that thing.
