The staff at Grevelton Clinic knew Sheridon well. His mother had died there, and now the building was under his protection. When he walked in the front door gripping his bloody shoulder, the nurses swiftly rolled a wheelchair over to him and notified the emergency room.
Treen, Ariel, and Russell surrounded their big buddy. They wanted to wait at the clinic but Treen felt it wasn’t safe since the Awakers were probably searching everywhere for them. They wouldn’t be hard to find with the red Humvee, parked right outside the clinic entrance.
“Everything will be alright,” said Treen taking Sheridon’s hand. “We’ll be back for you.”
“They’re ready for him,” said the nurse, who’d walked up behind the wheelchair and gripped the handles.
“Wait a second,” said Sheridon. He pulled Treen down to him and whispered, “I know a place you can hide ‘til I’m done here...” Sheridon spoke of Dale’s Quality Used Cars. It didn’t matter that it was 4:30 am and the place was closed, because the owner was a close friend who lived in a trailer on the lot. Dale would let them hide the Humvee in a garage until Sheridon was ready to leave the hospital, which, in his own words was, “Soon as they dig this bullet out.” Everyone watched as the doctor rolled Big Sheridon away, the wheelchair fading down a long, dim hallway.
“Think he’s safe here?” asked Ariel.
“Let’s hope so,” said Treen. “We’d better hurry to Dale’s...”
Although Dale’s lot was only two miles from the clinic, the scattered clunkers parked atop the weeds in front of his trailer were more than fifty miles from quality. “Must be hard to sell cars that are missing doors, wheels and windows,” said Treen, over Russell’s snoring.
Ariel drove to the back of the lot then stopped in front of the trailer, where an unchained German Shepard lay stretched out below the steps. The dog raised its head, squinted into the Humvee headlights, then flopped back to the ground. Its master then opened the door and stepped out into the cold. He shivered towards the passenger side as Treen lowered the window.
“I’m Dale. Been expectin’ you,” he said with a combination of liquor and tobacco on his breath. “Follow that rock path behind the trailer and you’ll see the garage. Door’s open and there’s a fresh pot of coffee waitin’ for ya.” With his hands tucked in the pockets of his overalls, Dale stepped back and studied the Hummer. “Lookin’ to trade this thing in? I can make you a real good deal.” The dog raised its head towards Dale, groaned, then flopped back down.
Ariel leaned across Treen’s lap to make sure Dale could hear him clearly; “No thanks.” Dale grinned. He patted the hood loudly, stepped over the dog, then headed back inside, while Ariel maneuvered the Humvee onto the stony trail.
A rickety white barn (with even more pitiful cars out front) stood atop the slight hill at the end of the trail. It definitely didn’t look like a garage and Treen realized the powerful possibility of chicken feathers floating inside the coffee pot. Ariel backed the Humvee inside then jumped out to pull the barn doors shut. Treen stepped out into a mound of hay, then weaved between the rusty lawnmowers and old tires until she reached the workbench where the coffee had brewed. The pot sat between two burning lanterns, which in sharp contrast, illuminated greasy wrenches, and two gleaming white coffee cups with matching cream and sugar bowls. “Save some for me,” said Ariel, who pulled off his bandanna and let his hair out.
An hour later, Treen and Ariel sat on a bale of hay and decided that Dale’s coffee was the best they’d ever tasted. They were also awake enough to study the disk that Treen had taken from Mr. Wellbay’s office and had established that the fluid flowing through androids was poisonous.
“Look at that red mechanism in the chest area,” she said, pointing at the laptop screen that displayed the android anatomy. “It’s called a Merafuel Pump. It pushes the fuel through these thin tubes that wind throughout the skeleton.”
“Like blood running through veins.”
“Exactly. I overheard Lance tell Mr. Wellbay that the Newberry’s drank the Merafuel accidentally. Shortly after that, they got sick — just like Mrs. Blue.”
Ariel scratched his head. “So Garrison Blue’s old lady also drank that stuff accidentally?”
“I don’t know, it sounds shady. I think we’ll visit Mrs. Blue at the mental hospital once we get back to Mallyview. She must know something about all this.”
“Well for darn sure, that Merafuel stuff is better off inside an android than a human.”
They continued to study the disk until they’d sipped away the last of the coffee. However, the caffeine wasn’t enough to keep their eyes open so they moved inside the Humvee to rest.
Another hour had passed and Russell was still snoring. Treen had curled up in the passenger seat and Ariel had slumped forward, his forehead resting on the steering wheel —
“Wake up! Wake up!” Dale shouted, slapping the window.
Treen and Ariel took flight in their seats as if the Humvee had hit a tree. They squinted at each other with twisted faces, until Ariel turned the key so she could lower the window. Dale moved his nose back from the descending glass. Russell just kept on snoring. “The Awakers stormed Clinic, tore the place apart!” said Dale, panting with booze breath.
Treen glared at Ariel then back at Dale. “What happened to Sheridon?”
“Don’t know. Receptionist said he disappeared — even left his cell phone in the room. Dale took a trembling drag from his cigarette.
“Let’s get to the Clinic,” said Ariel.
“No,” said Treen quietly, “The Awakers are probably watching the place. Besides, if Sheridon’s gone there’s no reason to go there.”
Suddenly, like a malfunctioning jack-in-the-box, Russell popped up. “Who’s smoking a cigarette?” he asked, wide-eyed, hair pointing in every direction. Treen and Ariel slowly, simultaneously, looked back at him.
“Here you go,” said Dale, hand shaking as he extended a pack of cigarettes through the window.
“Russell you don’t need that,” said Treen, grabbing Dale’s wrist and politely pushing it away. “What you do need is to hear that the Awakers have raided the clinic.”
“Oh man,” he said leaning forward. That means they got Sheridon!”
“No it doesn’t because he may have escaped,” she said.
“Think he might come here?” asked Ariel.
“Naw, he’d be here by now,” said Dale.
“We have to search for him. Dale, do you know where he lives?” she asked.
“Farrington Street, not far from where you’re opening that bookstore. You’ll pass an old phone booth full of soda cans...”
When Dale had finished giving directions, Treen gave him a card, asked him to call if Sheridon turned up, then thanked him again. Dale patted the hood then stepped back as Ariel sped out of the barn.