Brain Worms Read online

  Chapter 3

  Harry arrived at the hospital before dawn to check on his patient one more time before signing off to his partner. Dressed in his fishing clothes, he did not have the appearance of a distinguished neurosurgeon, but looked quite comfortable in his non-medical attire. When he arrived at the ICU, he found his patient missing. The nursing staff was upset and tried to explain. They had been working on a tough code and when things settled down, they realized Harry’s patient was gone. Hospital security had notified the police but they had not yet arrived.

  Harry objected, “How could you lose my patient? The patient was in no condition to leave the hospital. Was he even awake?”

  The ICU nurse let Harry vent, knowing he was a gentle giant. She finally interrupted him saying, “Dr. Harry, it wasn’t our fault.”

  Harry was quiet for just a minute before replying, “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind. Having this patient disappear doesn’t help. If he shows up, call my partner. I’m going fishing.”

  The two-hour drive to the river put-in gave Harry time to settle down. Pulling over at the scenic overlook, Harry spent a minute looking at the changing browns and grays of the canyon walls. To the far left, the river was a blue ribbon with the white rapids looking like pearls sewn on. When he had first seen this high desert country, it had been a scene of desolation. But over the years, the open sky and the scent of sagebrush had won his heart. Before he dropped down into the Deschutes Canyon and lost contact with the outside world, he called the hospital one last time. His patient had not been found and the police were not very interested. When he spoke with the pathologist, he was surprised to learn that his surgical specimens had never arrived in the lab. None of this made any sense. But then a lot of things in his life were not making any sense.

  Harry’s thoughts returned to the argument he had with his wife as she was leaving. How could she be so unhappy and not understand his need to work. Medicine gave his life meaning and seemed somehow to compensate for his previous life in the military. Saving lives balanced the ledger with the ending of lives he had been so good at previously. His anger rose just thinking about how his wife had called surgery a mistress she could not compete with. She wasn’t competing with it. He tried to create balance in his life, but she was never happy with her share. A week of solitude on the river doing battle with only his flyrod would help.

  Harry’s attitude was just beginning to improve as he descended into the steep canyon. This jewel of a river snaking its way between the basalt cliffs in the high desert canyon held the promise of healing. The first three days of solitude battling white-water in his old battered raft settled Harry down enough that he began to actually enjoy life again. The fishing was fantastic, but the catching a bit slow. It didn’t matter; life was regaining a better perspective. His thoughts of his wife were no longer so angry and upsetting. Maybe he had been working too much. She used to enjoy the river trips even if she didn’t fish. The sunshine and quiet time to read were her rewards, even if she clenched the raft rope with a death grip every time they bounced through the rapids. It had been a couple of years since they had done a river trip together.

  Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he recognized the big bend which ended at washout rapids. When he had first started rafting the river, he would lower his raft through the rapids with ropes rather than risk losing control in the huge trough and standing wave. As his confidence built, he learned to run the rapids and enjoyed the challenge. He set up on the far right side with the bow pointed at the bank. As soon as he passed through the chute he would pull hard back to the center of the river below the standing wave. He did a quick inspection, making sure all his gear was secured, and stretched his shoulders. The roar of the rapids was growing and his raft accelerating, when he heard the distinct sound of a rifle shot. As he entered the chute he noticed his left raft tube was beginning to soften and pull the raft to the left. Harry worked hard with the oars trying to keep the raft to the right of the turbulent water. Pulling for all he was worth, he was thrown backwards when his left oar broke off. The drag of the deflated left tube sucked him into the main flow of the rapids, with Harry struggling to regain his seating.

  He could feel his raft being sucked into the boiling water but time had taken on a different dimension. In slow motion his raft went vertical as it began ascending the standing wave. In agonizing slowness, it flipped over and slid back into the trough. Harry had time for one last breath of air before he and his raft went under. He was in a giant washing machine that tumbled continuously. Harry held on to the raft rope as tightly as he had ever held onto anything. The agitation of the roiling water kept trying to tear his grip free. Harry’s lungs began to burn with the desire to breathe. He now understood the old-timers saying, “The danger is there is too much air to float but not enough to breathe.” Suddenly the raft shot upwards, dragging Harry with it. He had time for only a single breath before he was again sucked below. He kept his grip on the raft, knowing that without the raft’s buoyancy, he could be kept below indefinitely. The urge to breathe became overwhelming. Harry felt the darkness coming; he was losing his ability to fight. The river was winning.

  Harry was barely conscious, yet held onto the raft. His powerful hands felt the stronger surge of the rope as the raft was ejected from the trough. But Harry was no longer aware. His life preserver kept his head above the water as he floated downstream. Awareness gradually returned and produced violent coughing as Harry tried to clear his lungs of water. Still clutching the rope in a death grip, Harry regained some control as he drifted into an area of large boulders along the shore. Harry let go of the raft and it continued downstream. He lay hidden, half submerged amongst the boulders. His coughing gradually cleared and he regained some semblance of thinking. He wasn’t sure which side of the river the shot had come from. The current was now on his left as he faced upstream; he had landed on the west shore.

  Harry lay as motionless as he could, trying to stay unseen, but the cold was seeping in through his wet clothes and he began shivering. The shadows were advancing down the canyon wall as the sun settled in the West. Hypothermia was setting in, but Harry refused to move from his protection; his survival instincts overriding his physical discomfort. When the canyon shadows finally covered him, Harry was shivering so much it was difficult for him to crawl on to dry land. His waders were full of water and his feet and legs appeared massively swollen. He worked his way between some sagebrush and a large boulder and lay with his head pointed downhill, allowing most of the water to run out of his waders. As he stood up, he heard the distinct rattle of a snake that was not happy to be sharing his rock with Harry. Harry froze until he heard the snake moving off in the rock crevices, which seemed to amplify the sound of the rattle. He began stripping his clothes off. He wished he were wearing the high-tech clothing which his wife kept buying for him, with its quick drying characteristics, instead of his preferred jeans and flannel shirt. He leaned up against the stone, trying to absorb as much heat from it as he could. The coolness of the evening was coming on as he finished wringing out his wet clothes. The stone’s heat helped, but he needed to get moving just to get warm.

  Harry had no proof that someone had tried to kill him. His instincts had kept him alive while he was in Special Ops with the Navy; he wasn’t going to doubt them now. He took stock of his armament which consisted of a small pocketknife, his car keys and the miniature flashlight on his key chain. He was 10 miles from the nearest road and it was going to be a dark night. His only shoes were the wading shoes with the felt soles and metal cleats. It was going to be hard to traverse the rocky terrain without making noise from the metal cleats. His life preserver would provide some warmth, but it was bright yellow. Better to be not seen than a bit warmer. Harry tried walking in the wading shoes without the waders but there was no way to tighten them up enough to keep his feet from sliding around. Traversing the canyon walls with the wa
ders on would have been impossible. He used his pocketknife to trim the feet off of the waders and laced his boots up as tight as possible. It was not mountain climbing gear. But it was all he had.

  Time to get going. Whoever shot his raft would be looking for him. Harry policed the area, trying to remove any trace of his having been there. Nothing he could do about the water he had dragged up. He let the life preserver float down the river, but packed his waders with him until he could hide them properly. He moved uphill slowly, stopping next to rocks and sagebrush to listen for other movement. As Harry moved up the canyon wall, he could see the band of darkness approaching from the east. Soon the blackness of night would be upon him. The climb up the steep canyon walls warmed Harry and his thinking improved. It was 10 miles to the take-out, depending on how far he had drifted below washout rapids. Once he reached the high country, the going would be fairly easy. But there was a small rock wall he would have to traverse first. The light reflecting off of the opposite canyon wall provided him with his last chance to plan his route. He studied the wall as he moved higher, trying to memorize his every move. The band of blackness reached him before he reached the wall, and the darkness of night set in.

  Harry kept moving upward until he reached the rock face. He worked his way to the right until he found the pyramid shaped rock that signaled the start of his climb route. He rested for a few minutes. Looking down towards the river, he saw a light moving slowly. For just the briefest of seconds, he thought of calling out and asking for help but his survival instincts took control. A rescue party would almost certainly involve a helicopter with searchlights. And who would know he even needed rescuing? He wasn’t due at the take-out for another three days. Whoever was moving with the small light did not appear interested in rescuing Harry.

  The evening was cooling off quickly and just a few minutes of rest allowed the chill to settle back in. Harry’s feet were already hurting. These wading shoes were not meant for serious hiking, much less mountain climbing. Exploring his route using his hands was tedious, but Harry made steady progress. The trail he had chosen was worn and he discovered a small pile of oval pellets. Deer have been going this way. Harry moved upwards, feeling his way and following his mental map. The going was slow, but he made steady progress until the deer trail and his planned route diverged. Harry took another rest and considered his options. The deer trail headed up to the right along a small shelf, but Harry’s planned route followed a rock fault to the left. Critters had established their trail over the centuries and Harry had planned his route in the failing light. The deer knew where they were going. But were they going where Harry wanted to go? Harry decided to follow the deer trail. Covering his tracks would have been ideal, but the small cleats in his wading shoes left marks everywhere. He doubted anyone would be crazy enough to try and follow him in the dark.

  The starlight provided just enough illumination for Harry to distinguish shades of blackness. Navigating mostly by feeling the worn rock and soil with his hands, Harry lost track of time and was surprised when he felt level ground in front of him. He rested and got a fresh bearing from the stars. He could no longer see below, but listened intently for sounds of pursuit. The night was silent except for the muted sound of a coyote in the distance. His rest period ended with a shivering. Time to get moving. Harry figured he had only a little ways to go until he reached the old railroad grade. Glancing at the North Star, he picked another star ahead of him as his guide. With a shuffling gait he moved on feeling his way amongst the rocks and sagebrush. He thought, “At least the rattlesnakes are all holed up.”

  Harry’s speed picked up considerably when he reached the old railroad grade. The going was much easier, although Harry’s feet were paying the price. He moved in a semi-automatic mode, his mind occupied with the mystery of why someone was trying to kill him. It had to be connected with his disappearing patient. His hospital surgical specimens had vanished. There must have been something special about the brain worms. Why would someone care so much about an intestinal parasite? He thought about the specimen tube the nurse had given him to show his patient. Where did he put it? He remembered having it in his shirt pocket when he went to the hospital so he could show the patient. What shirt was he wearing? Harry reflexively padded his shirt pockets and felt the small tube in the left shirt pocket. He lifted it out, but could see nothing in the darkness. He slipped it back into his shirt pocket. His thoughts were interrupted when his foot wedged between two rocks and he stumbled. His attention was drawn back to the present.

  The problem with being in the present was that his feet hurt and he was chilled. It was only October, but the night was cold and he was still damp. Midnight had past before Harry arrived at the take-out. It was deserted except for the empty vehicles and trailers in the parking lot. Harry watched silently for several minutes listening. He took off his wading shoes to avoid any sound of his metal cleats, and walked on the gravel in his stocking feet. Each step seemingly contacted a different blister. Circling the parking area, Harry was like a large cat on the prowl. When he was satisfied there was no one else around, Harry moved amongst the parked vehicles. He found his Jeep and unlocked the door. The dim interior light seemed as bright as a spotlight.

  Harry grabbed his cell phone and quietly closed the door. He walked away from his Jeep, putting a little distance between himself and the light. He wasn’t sure who he should call. Would his wife even care? He decided to dial 911 and report the incident and his survival. The phone rang three times. Just as the call was answered, Harry was engulfed in the explosion of his Jeep. The force of the explosion threw him down, violently knocking the wind out of him. Heat from the explosive gases rolled over him. The dampness of his clothing saved him from bursting into flames, but his hair burned and curled. His face, protected from the heat by the gravel, was scraped and cut.

  The force of the explosion was over as quickly as it started. Harry lay quietly trying to breathe for only a few seconds before his instincts had him crawling away gasping for air. Only after he reached the edge of the parking lot and crawled between two sagebrush clumps did Harry turn and look at his still burning Jeep. The only other car close to his was rolled onto its side and burning as well. Someone had definitely gone overboard in an attempt to kill him. Harry’s breathing was still difficult and he wondered if he was developing a pneumothorax. His attention was drawn back to the fire when he detected movement. Someone was examining the wreckage.

  Harry moved further away from the light keeping to shadows. He decided to retrieve his shoes and wait for the arrival of the fire trucks. As he worked his way back to where he had stashed his shoes, Harry was confronted by someone with a semiautomatic weapon. The man spoke with a Middle Eastern accent, “You are sure hard to kill. Keep your hands up and walk back to the parking area.”

  Harry started to do as he was told. He continued his turn though, and planted a kick into his assailant’s midriff, and followed with a karate chop to his larynx. He felt the man’s larynx crush, and knew his assailant would die quickly of suffocation. Harry grabbed his shoes and ran off to higher ground again keeping to the shadows. Only after he had put a half-mile between himself and his now dead attacker did Harry stop to listen. This moment of silence allowed the nerves from his feet access again to his brain. A more acute pain from the many ruptured blisters and desert thorns replaced the previous complaints of pain and discomfort. Harry had to sit and remove his stockings; he could feel blood saturating the stockings. Turning his socks inside out, Harry removed as many thorns and burrs as he could. Just pulling on the stockings reignited the pain. Harry heard a sound of movement. He could not tell if it was another attacker or a natural citizen of the desert. Pulling on his boots as quickly as he could, Harry moved further away; still no sign of emergency vehicles. Maybe there was no one around to have heard the explosion or seen the fire.

  Harry debated making his way to
the freeway to flag down a car, but figured that would be where his assailants would expect him to go. Instead, Harry decided to try and catch a ride on one of the many freight trains making their way through the Gorge. Taking a fresh bearing on the North Star, Harry headed north by northwest. He visualized the route of the railroad and decided to try and reach the tracks where they made a major curve around a cliff before entering a tunnel. The train would have to slow down. Harry tried looking at his watch with the miniature flashlight. But he discovered the watch had been smashed against a rock. He looked again at the North Star and realized the Big Dipper had rotated around and the pointer stars were now facing westward. It would be dawn in a couple of hours.

  Finding the railroad tracks, Harry worked his way west until he was at the sharp turn. He now allowed himself some rest waiting for the next train. A little sleep would be welcome, but the pain in his feet kept him awake. After 30 or 40 minutes, Harry felt the ground begin to vibrate, indicating an approaching train. Harry stood up and his feet complained bitterly. Even as it slowed, the train would be doing better than 20 miles per hour. The brakes squealed as the train slowed. Light from the signal was enough to give definition to the individual cars. As the train sped past, Harry sprinted along the tracks, trying to keep up with the moving cars, without much success. Finally, he reached out and grabbed the ladder on one of the freight cars. Only his powerful grip allowed him to hold on. He was jerked off his feet and his shoulders felt as if they were being jerked out of their sockets. Pulling himself up the ladder until his feet perched safely on the bottom rung, Harry relaxed a little until the train entered the tunnel. Despite pulling himself tightly against the ladder, Harry still felt as if the tunnel wall was about to crush him. The tunnel blackness added to his anxiety, and he began sweating profusely despite the chill of the evening air. Harry knew he was in the tunnel for only a few minutes at most, but the time seemed to go on forever. Memories came back of the blackness of the solitary confinement pit cell he experienced as a POW, and with those memories a powerful anger began to build.

  Dr. Harry Williams was a respected neurosurgeon with good academic credentials, who lived in a civilized society. The other Harry was a Navy SEAL who specialized in the most dangerous anti-terrorist Special Ops. This Harry was coming back to life and wanted to know who was trying to kill him and why. As the train rumbled towards Portland, Harry held on and thought. Using one hand to check the specimen tube in his pocket, Harry wanted to make sure it was still intact. He needed to talk to someone about why these brain worms were worth all the trouble someone was going through.

  His thoughts of parasitology brought back fresh memories of Laura, the post-doc fellow who taught his class. He was so enamored with her that he really didn’t learn as much as he should have. Harry was surprised that thoughts of Laura and their dramatic breakup were still so emotional. Her anti-war stand destroyed their budding relationship when she learned of his military experience. This rejection had hurt and the pain came back to the surface now. Harry wondered whether asking for her help would be worth the pain.

  The cold was again becoming a factor. Wind pushed through his clothing and brought back the night chill. He climbed up and down the ladder repeatedly just to stay warm. It was a miserable choice between moving and generating some warmth or staying stationary to protect his painful feet. Climbing on top of the freight car would allow him to lie down, but making the transition from the side ladder to the top while the train was moving seemed to be more effort than it was worth. The train slowed and then stopped at a siding to allow another train to pass in the opposite direction. Harry took this opportunity to find an open boxcar and climb in. After just a few minutes, the train moved out and Harry sat in the corner, out of the wind but still chilled. He must have fallen asleep because he noticed the train had stopped. Stiffness in his joints became evident as Harry clumsily stood and climbed out of the boxcar. The rail yard was fairly busy despite the very early morning hour. Not knowing which way to walk, Harry moved perpendicular to the tracks and found himself penned in by a fence. He walked north until he came to the barrier at Powell Avenue. The Oregon mist was enough to gradually dampen him, allowing the cold to sink in even further.

  He climbed the barrier and found himself in the parking lot of a striptease joint. He went to the dilapidated phone booth and called for a taxi. Harry sat on the curb until the taxi arrived. When Harry opened the door the driver remarked, “Must have been one helluva night, buddy.”

  Harry responded, “More action than I wanted. Take me to Northeast 23rd and Marlboro Road.”

  “I think you should show me some money first.”

  Harry dug his wallet out, extracted two wet $20 bills which he handed to the driver and said, “Turn up the heat.”

  Harry warmed up only a little during the short taxi ride. He got out of the taxi and walked the last few blocks to his house. Oregon dreariness was now an advantage because he was pretty much invisible. Walking past his home, Harry circled around behind the house. The metal cleats on his shoes made stealth more difficult, but Harry was not taking any more chances. He moved as carefully as a cat on the prowl. No one seemed to be watching his house, and Harry approached the back door. Before trying the door, Harry checked the phone line and found it severed. Someone had disarmed his security system. He wished now that he had put in a failsafe security system, but had ceded to his wife’s wishes and installed a standard system which was now easily bypassed. Rather than using the door which might have been booby-trapped, Harry decided to enter through a window. Taking his shoes off, Harry climbed up on the back porch and removed the screen from his den window. The rough roofing on the porch made the blisters on his feet bleed again but he ignored the pain. Although the window was locked, it took Harry only a few minutes of jiggling to forcibly break the lock and slide the window open.

  Harry’s den was in shambles. Someone had searched the house thoroughly with no regard to being subtle. Tapping his shirt pocket to assure himself the specimen tube was still intact Harry thought, “These brain worms sure must be important to someone.” This followed by the realization that his wife's decision to visit Minnesota was a real blessing…who knows what they would have done to her.

  Harry wanted to take a long hot shower, but settled for clean dry clothes. He looked for his old, worn and comfortable hunting boots, but they were not in his fishing closet. Running shoes would have to do. Even though they felt too tight on his swollen feet, they were definitely better than the wading shoes. He opened his gun safe which was hidden in the attic, and took cash and his Lugar 9 mm pistol out of the safe. After loading the pistol, Harry strapped on the underarm holster beneath his Pendleton wool shirt. The tightness of the holster strap and the weight of his pistol provided some comfort. Closing the safe, Harry did a quick tour of the house. It had been thoroughly trashed. Grabbing a hat and his favorite Gore-Tex jacket, Harry departed the house via the window, which he closed before securing the screen again. A dog barked as he circled around his neighbor’s house, but the fog kept him relatively invisible. He looked almost respectable with a hat covering his burned hair. Dropping his wading shoes and damaged clothing in a public trash bin, Harry again checked to make sure the specimen tube was safe in his shirt pocket.

  Harry bypassed all his favorite breakfast places and went to one of the chain restaurants to eat. Ordering two large breakfasts, Harry easily ate both of them. He was now warm and fed and his thinking should have been more logical. Instead of proceeding to the police, he considered his options for getting to Seattle. If he rented a car, there would be a record of his credit card use. No way of getting on an airplane armed. The train seemed the best choice. Walking to the train station was out of the question because of his feet. A cab ride would be worth the risk of identification. Harry walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab.