Chapter 6 - The Blade and the Pulse
"Emma," I said, my voice dead calm. "I need you to be my assistant. Can you do that for me?"
Emma wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded bravely. "Yes, Mom."
"I need you to go to the kitchen, get every ice pack from the freezer, wrap them in clean towels, and pack them around Lily's legs and arms. We have to bring her body temperature down right now."
While Emma ran to the kitchen, I sterilized my hands with rubbing alcohol and laid out the scalpel, curved forceps, and a heavy-duty industrial magnet I had pulled off the cabin's refrigerator—a high-potency neodymium magnet my grandfather used for retrieving lost iron tools from wells.
I didn't know the exact "magnetic pulse sequence" David had mentioned, but I knew basic physics. An electromagnetic field of sufficient strength could disrupt the internal circuit board of a micro-device before it could send an execution command to its micro-valves.
I turned Lily onto her stomach. The green light pulsing through her skin was flaring faster now—once every second, like a panicking heart.
103.9 degrees.
"Ice, Mom!" Emma said, running back with four towel-wrapped ice packs. We laid them along Lily's torso and thighs.
"Lily, baby," I whispered, leaning close to her ear. "You're going to feel a pinch, okay? Uncle David and I are going to take the seed out now."
"Will... will Grandpa be mad?" she whimpered through dry, cracked lips.
"Grandpa would be so proud of how brave you are," I said, tears blurring my vision as I picked up the scalpel.
I injected a small dose of lidocaine around the margins of the previous incision. My hands, which had been shaking for six hours, suddenly went dead still. The nurse in me took over; the terrified mother vanished.
With two precise strokes, I opened the outer layer of skin along the scar line.
The device was larger than I thought—a sleek, titanium-and-glass cylinder embedded deep in the fascia layer near her spine. Small, hair-thin plastic capillaries were pulsing with dark red fluid, pumping it from her blood vessels into the central chamber.
The green light shifted to a flashing, amber warning signal.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The internal temp sensor in the capsule was reading her elevated blood temperature. It was getting ready to release the toxin.
"Now, Evelyn," I muttered to myself.
I grabbed the heavy neodymium magnet and slapped it directly over the exposed titanium top of the cylinder.
A high-pitched whine emitted from the capsule. The amber light flickered violently, then flared bright white.
Click.
The tiny mechanical tendrils attached to her tissue suddenly relaxed, releasing their grip on her muscle fibers.
Using the sterile forceps, I reached into the incision, hooked the lip of the titanium capsule, and pulled it free from Lily's body with one swift, smooth upward motion.
I threw the device into a heavy steel soup pot on the bedside table and slammed the lid down over it.
Inside the pot, a faint fizzing sound echoed as the internal mechanism dissolved itself in its own self-destruct acid.
On the bed, Lily let out a long, deep sigh. Her head dropped back against the pillow, her breathing instantly smoothing out into a soft, restful rhythm.
I checked her forehead. The cold ice packs were doing their job. The fever was already beginning to break.
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I stitched the wound closed with quick, expert sutures, bandaged it with clean gauze, and collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, burying my face in my hands.
We were safe for the moment. But we were still fugitives.
