Chapter 6.10
Wednesday, May 15th, 2002
"You are a cast-iron bitch, you know that?" Dawn
wasn't about to go quietly now that the tape had been removed
from her mouth.
"Yes, I know that. In fact, I take it as a compliment.
You Americans are all soft. You don't know what hardship is, and
you expect everyone to play along with your soft little world-view.
So, yes, I'm a bitch. I am what life has made me. But what you'd
do well to remember is that I'm a bitch with lots of scalpels
and needles and a prisoner who's taped to an operating table.
I could always decide I need another sample or
two, if you don't keep quiet."
"Well, if you don't let me off this table you
might find you get a urine sample that's kinda difficult to collect."
"You should have said." The older woman continued
with her task of administering the milky looking contents of a
hypodermic syringe. "It's a smaller dose than your sister received,
so it may take some time to take effect, but our tests confirm
that it is sufficient to do the job." Only then, did she open
one of the lockers and pull out something that looked like a papier
mâché potty.
She slit the tape around Dawn's arms, shoulders
and forehead leaving the tape at her knees and ankles still intact.
Her panties weren't going to be a problem as Sam had removed them
somewhat earlier in the proceedings. Passing Dawn the wide-rimmed
bowl, Sam remarked, "You should be able to manoeuvre just enough
to be able to use that."
"I was thinking more of using a toilet."
"And why would I let you do that? We haven't
finished our tests yet?"
"What? You want to stick me on a treadmill and
see how long I run for before I say, "Fuck you!"? We can skip
that one. The answer is no running."
"Actually, the last test is simply one of observation."
Sam pressed a button and an opaque plastic screen slid back to
reveal a barred cell no bigger than a shower stall. Huddled in
the bottom of the cage was an unkempt old man, wrapped in a woollen
overcoat that smelled as if no one had allowed him use of a cardboard
potty. Clasped tightly in one hand he held half a bottle of bright
purple liquid.
"How can you do that to him?" Dawn asked.
"Do what?" Sam countered. "Ninety nine percent
of what has been done to him he did himself. We're merely giving
him somewhere warmer and keeping him supplied with what his addiction
demands."
"You can't really think it's okay to treat people
like that. He could go blind drinking that stuff."
"People die, little one. All my life I've seen
people die from cold, hunger, disease, alcohol and war. His death
was already ordained by the time we picked him up. This is more
humane than letting his addiction take its course. Have you ever
seen a hospital ward where they keep the alcoholics before they
die? Not, of course that that is why we chose him. He's simply
convenient."
Sam drew a heavy baton across the bars making
them vibrate and clatter like a child dragging a stick along a
set of metal railings.
The man seemed to be startled into wakefulness
and his arm immediately came up to shield his eyes.
"What is it?" Sam probed, pulling another plastic
bottle of meths from a nearby locker. She waved it in front of
the cage, but, of course, the man couldn't see it unless he removed
his arm. "Tell me what you see, old man, and you can have an extra
bottle."
"Oz," the shrivelled heap that had once been
a man replied, a trembling hand stretching out through the bars
of his cell for his reward even though he couldn't see where Sam
was holding it.
"That is not an answer."
"Yes, it is. You just don't get it," Dawn protested.
"Then why don't you explain it. Before I open
this bottle and pour it on the floor to watch him lick it up like
a dog."
"It's a kid's story, with wicked witches and
dwarves and stuff. All the heroes think they need help with something,
so they all travel to see this powerful wizard who lives in Oz,
the Emerald City. Then, when they get there they find the Wizard
isn't a wizard at all he's just a man with a lot of neat tricks
to make him look impressive, and Oz isn't made of emeralds it's
nothing but green glass."
"So he sees the Key's energy." She turned to
the unfortunate in the cage. "You see the light? Is that it?"
"But then, you did pick him because he's at that
stage where he's seeing things that aren't there, didn't
you? So, it might mean nothing at all. Well, either that,
or he knows you're just an impotent little sadist with no
true power or ability, who's just trying to look like someone
important."
"I think I liked you better when you still had
the tape on your mouth." Sam picked up the roll of duct tape and
ripped herself off another strip.
Dawn opened her mouth as wide as she could trying
to prevent the woman from replacing the tape over her mouth, and
while she had her mouth wide she figured she might as well go
for a good old scream. There had to be someone on this train who
wasn't a psycho, right?
"Keep your mouth open, little one, and you will
be the one drinking this." Sam held up the bottle of meths and
Dawn immediately decided that given the choices, she'd put up
with the tape, thank you very much.
Sam walked over to a phone that was mounted on
the wall at one end of the carriage. She picked up the receiver
and spoke to the train's driver. "I've finished here. You can
quit stalling any time you like." As she passed the old man's
cage, she tossed in the bottle of alcohol before she pressed the
button that slid the plexi-glass into place. "Hoo. I guess we
could do with some fresh air in here." She pulled open what seemed
to be a freight door at the opposite end of the carriage.
"I'll tell you what?" she said as she slit the
tape that bound Dawn's legs and hauled her to her still somewhat
shaky feet before pushing her out the open door. "Just to prove
I'm not really a bad guy," the dark-haired woman reached into
a pocket and tossed something small and metallic to land at Dawn's
feet. "You might need that to call your precious sister, assuming
you don't collapse before you get to a phone."
Dawn looked on stunned as the train pulled away
without her before she reached up to pull the tape from her mouth.
She looked up and down the tracks. Aside from
the fact that the train had gone one way, no particular direction
seemed any better than the other. Part of her wanted to go as
far and as fast as she could in the opposite direction from the
train, but Sam might be counting on that, perhaps dropping her
off where the next town back was twenty miles away and the one
ahead was only two. Maybe, if it had been daylight she might have
climbed one of the nearby hills to get an overview of the terrain.
Then, she corrected herself, if it was daylight and she had any
shoes. Dawn picked up the quarter that Sam had thrown and tossed
it. "Heads I go on, tails I turn back," she told herself as she
caught it and slapped it down on the back of her left hand.
Spike squirmed uncomfortably as Buffy's finger
drew patterns on his abs under his shirt, causing the bike to
swerve slightly before he righted it. Then, he became aware of
a certain impatience that began to accompany the gesture and realised
that the pattern she was drawing wasn't random, but an arrow pointing
to one side. Finally, he did what she wanted and gradually pulled
the bike closer alongside Wes's. Somehow, with nothing more than
eye movements Buffy managed to communicate to Willow what she
wanted. Either that or the witch just decided to take the easy
route to finding out what she wanted.
"What is it, Buffy?"
"I need you to set up one of your special
conference calls for the four of us."
"Hokay, but we'd best warn the guys so
we neither of us end up in a ditch."
Buffy simply raised her visor and leant forward
to speak to Spike. Willow had a slightly more difficult job and
eventually resorted to the very telepathy that she had been supposed
to be warning Wes about in order to issue the warning.
"So, what's with the cloak and dagger,
Buff?" the redhead asked when she had established a
mental link between them all.
"I think Riley's getting twitchy. I
think he's not only having second thoughts, but third and fourth
and fifth ones. When I mentioned Angel's crew he pretty much lost
it. I think by the time we get wherever we're going, he's going
to have just about convinced himself it's all a misunderstanding,
that Sam has a good reason for anything she's done and that he
really should be on her side rather than pal-ing around with a
bunch of vampires and demons."
"And we all know what comes after denial."
Willow added.
"He's not going to just go home and leave
wifey to a bunch of demons and demon-lovers. So, what do you want
to do about it?" Spike asked.
"I was thinking, when we get to Simi,
we're probably going to end up following the track, which goes
through these tunnels, which might be like an opportunity to put
up a barrier that would give us enough of a head start to get
Dawn out and take Sam. I guess we need to wait and see what happens
when the train starts moving again."
"You mean we go through, and then, pouf,
barrier before the first truck gets there? That's quite an order."
"But can you do it, Red?"
the vampire asked impatiently.
"Sure. I think."
"Cool..." Buffy laid out one last surprise.
"There's just one more thing. Riley wanted me to send Angel
to Burbank, but it turns out they were already headed up the I405.
They'll meet the train at Chatsworth, but I think, for now, it's
safer to let Riley think he's got a few more miles of track to
play with."
"But how are they going to stop the train?"
Wes asked. "Isn't Riley's man in the control room going
to think he has a bit more time to get it somewhere out of the
way?"
The glee in Spike's "voice" was apparent
even through the spell. "Well, how would you stop it,
if you were them?" he asked.
"Probably with more finesse than any
of the others except Fred is capable of."
"Just when I was thinking you got my
idea of fun, Watcher. At least, long as Bit's safe."
The minutes dragged on as the convoy continued
to eat up the miles between them and the train. Skirting Oxnard,
they travelled on through Camarillo. At Thousand Oaks they turned
off the 101 taking a link road that would become the 118 at Simi
Valley. They had already followed the railway tracks for several
miles when Riley's contact called back to say the train was, once
more, on the move.
"You're sure this is the right place?"
Angel looked at Fred. "This is definitely the right line."
"Well, assumin' they're usin' the passenger
lines. There's all sorts of freight lines, but I figure this is
the most likely way they'll come," Fred replied.
The entire LA gang had piled into Gunn's truck
and Angel's car and now stood around beside the two vehicles,
watching the level crossing in front of them as if they expected
it to suddenly do something.
"So, just as a purely theoretical question,
I don't suppose anyone has any ideas on how we're actually supposed
to stop a hundred ton train?" Lorne asked from beneath his
baseball cap, "or were you and junior planning on doing the
father and son Superman act and just standing in the middle of
the track?"
"You know, when I was checking up on the
Net, there were all these stories from like ten, fifteen years
ago where they reckoned gangs would push cars onto the tracks
and wait for the next train to smash into them. Eventually they
started running patrols to check the line in front of all the
scheduled trains. but this isn't really a scheduled train. Thing
is, the train would have to stop to check there was no damage
before they could go on. Sometimes maybe a bit of debris could
damage a brake line or something so they couldn't take any chances."
Angel turned and looked at Gunn's truck with
an appraising eye, at least until the young man realised what
he was doing.
"Get real, I sold my soul for this truck.
You want to write off a car for a kid I only met once, use
your own."
"But—"
"No buts. This truck is staying this side
of that there barrier and that is final."
"But I don't have insurance," the downcast
vampire almost whined. |
