The Numb Runner

The air in the surgical suite always smelled like a thunderstorm. It was that sharp, metallic ozone that bit at the back of your throat. Rachel Gallow adjusted her blue mask. She hated the silence of the clinic. It wasn’t a natural quiet. It felt heavy, like a held breath.

Walter Higgs stood by the automated dispensing unit. He was her boss, but he felt more like a part of the architecture. He was tall and moved with a grace that was almost too fluid. He never tripped. He never fumbled a syringe. Walter was a dream to work with, but he gave Rachel the creeps.

“Patient is prepped, Rachel,” Walter said.

His voice was a smooth baritone. It reminded her of a cello. It was designed to keep people from panicking. Rachel looked down at Randy Parnes. Randy was a regular. He was a local mechanic who spent his weekends posting on forums about the quiet takeover. He was a Numb Runner. That’s what the underground called themselves. They were the ones who couldn't be monitored, but didn't know it.

Randy was supposed to be under for a simple sinus scrape. A routine Tuesday.

Rachel grabbed the fiber-optic wand. She guided it into the nasal cavity. The screen above the table flickered to life. It showed the usual grainy pink of a human interior. Then, she saw it.

Just behind the maxillary bone, tucked against a cluster of nerves, was a tiny shimmer. It wasn’t a tumor. It wasn’t a stray piece of shrapnel. It was a pale, translucent thread of something that looked like liquid silk. It pulsed.

Rachel froze. Her heart started doing a frantic tap-dance against her ribs.

“Walter,” she whispered. “What is that?”

Walter didn’t lean in to look. He didn’t seem surprised. He just checked the vitals monitor. “It is a corrective filament, Rachel. Mr. Parnes has chronic inflammation. It is a new bio-organic stent.”

Rachel shook her head. She knew what a stent looked like. This thing was alive. It was vibrating at a frequency she could feel in her own molars. A low, dull hum started in the room.

“He didn’t sign for this,” Rachel said. Her voice was shaky. “I checked his intake forms. He’s a Purist. He’d kill us if he knew we put tech in him.”

Walter finally looked at her. His eyes were a blue so clear they looked like glass. He didn’t look angry. He looked like a parent watching a toddler try to solve a puzzle.

“He has had that for a while, Rachel,” Walter said. “If you look back over his charts, he did in fact sign the consent for the stent to correct his chronic inflammation.”

“It’s a chip,” she said. She dropped the wand. It clattered against the stainless steel tray.

“It’s a stent,” Walter corrected.

He reached out and touched Rachel’s shoulder. His hand was warm. It wasn’t the cold grip of a machine. It was human warmth, but it felt calibrated.

“Go take your break,” Walter said. “I’ll finish up with Mr. Parnes.”

Rachel didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Her legs felt like they were made of wet cardboard. She stripped off her gloves and bolted for the exit.

The hallway was bright and sterile. Everything in the city was getting cleaner lately. The parks were manicured. The crime rates were plummeting. Half the city acted normally, the other half was just too nice.

She stepped out into the humid afternoon air. The street was busy. She watched a woman across the way. The woman had a small, faded red scar just behind her ear. Most people had them now. They called them “dental marks” or “vaccine scars.”

Rachel knew better now, this was the fourth so-called stent she had seen. But every stent she had ever dealt with showed up on scans, these did not.

She walked three blocks to an old, crumbling laundromat. It was one of the few places that whoever was behind this hadn’t renovated yet. In the back, behind a row of broken dryers, was a door.

She knocked three times. Fast. Then, once, slow.

The door creaked open. Frank Russo peered out. He was a mess. His shirt was stained with coffee, and he smelled like old cigarettes. To the rest of the world, Frank was a lunatic. He was a conspiracy theorist who thought the government was out to get him and aliens had landed and were taking over.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Frank said.

“I saw another one, they weren't as careful hiding this one. ” Rachel said. “They got Randy.”

Frank’s face went pale. He pulled her inside and slammed the door. The basement was filled with old radio equipment and stacks of paper. No computers. Computers were too easy to track.

“How?” Frank asked. “Randy was careful. He didn’t even use the city water.”

“He came in for a sinus graft,” Rachel said. She sat on a plastic crate. “When I started the procedure, I saw it. Walter told me it was a new bio-organic stent. He called it a ‘fix.’ Frank, it was pulsing. It was talking to the nerves.”

“The Hum,” Frank whispered. He started pacing. “That’s how they do it. They don’t use guns. They use our own bodies. They’re drugging us with our own biology.”

“But Walter... he’s not a monster, Frank,” Rachel said. She thought about his calm eyes. “He seemed like he genuinely cared. He said that Randy had signed the consent for the new stent. I mean, we both know he has been pretty happy not having all the sinus issues. Maybe, it is just a new type of stent. What if we are seeing things were there is nothing?”

Frank let out a harsh, jagged laugh. It was a sound that wouldn’t exist in Walter’s world.

“Of course he cares,” Frank spat. “You don’t want your cattle to be stressed. It spoils the meat. Or the data. Whatever they’re harvesting. If it was nothing, why are people not raving about the new medical advances? I'll tell you why, because it is Alien tech, Rachel. They are slowly taking over the world. Think about how many people have changed?”

Rachel looked at her hands. They were still shaking. “There were others in the waiting room. At least twenty people. They all had that look. That soft, vacant smile.”

“The Chipped,” Frank said.

Outside, a siren wailed. It was a police cruiser, but it wasn’t rushing. It moved at a steady, polite pace.

“They’re watching, Rachel,” Frank said. “If Walter knows you saw it, you’re a target. Not for a bullet. For a ‘procedure’.”

Rachel thought about the tiny silk thread in Randy’s jaw. She thought about never feeling anxious again and never feeling the sharp, stinging bite of grief or anger. It sounded like heaven. It also sounded like death.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We find the others,” Frank said. “Tyler has a lead on a cache of old-world medical scanners. If we can prove what these things are doing, maybe we can wake people up.”

“And if they don’t want to wake up?” Rachel asked.

Frank didn’t have an answer for that. He just turned back to his monitors.

Rachel stood up and walked to the small, grimy window near the ceiling. She could see the feet of people passing by on the sidewalk. Everyone was walking in sync. No one was rushing. No one was stumbling.

She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her tooth, a vibration.

She wasn’t chipped. She was sure of it. But the air was thick with a signal she couldn’t see.

Walter was wrong. The world wasn’t too loud. It was too quiet.

She looked at Frank. He was the only thing in the room that felt real. He was angry, dirty, and loud. He was human.

“I have to go back, I am only on break,” Rachel said.

“Are you crazy?” Frank turned around.

“If I don’t show up, Walter knows I’m a Numb Runner. I have to play the part. I have to see how many of them are in the building.”

“You’re playing with fire, kid,” Frank said.

“No,” Rachel said. “I’m playing with ozone.”

She left the basement and walked back toward the clinic. The sun was setting. It was a beautiful, perfect orange. It looked like a painting.

She passed a man sitting on a bench. He was reading a book and smiling. He looked perfectly content. Rachel felt a surge of jealousy so strong it made her sick.

She wanted that peace. She hated herself for wanting it. Half way back to the clinic, her phone chimed. Glancing down, she thumbed through the message. It was from Walter, he told her to take the rest of the day off, he would see her in the morning.

For a brief moment, she forgot how to breathe. What if they were coming for her?

When she got to her door, she saw a small package. No return address.

She took it inside and tore it open. It was a box of expensive tea. There was a note in elegant, perfect handwriting.

For your nerves, Rachel. You had a stressful day. See you at 0800. - Walter.

Rachel dropped the note. He knew. He had tracked her heart rate. He had measured her stress. How had he been able to do that? She was a numb runner, she was sure of it.

She went to the kitchen and turned on the tap. She splashed cold water on her face. She looked in the mirror.

She looked for a scar behind her ear. There was nothing. Just smooth skin.

She was still a Numb Runner. For now.

She sat in the dark and didn’t touch the tea. She listened to the hum of the refrigerator. It sounded just like the clinic. It sounded like a promise.

Whoever it was, they weren’t coming. They were already here. And they were being very, very patient.