by Dan Yaeger
Chapter 6: Good Penmanship
Rob entered the pen to see the many faces of the women that inhabited its confines. When they saw it was him, they all got back to their business, uninterrupted. As far as being a good, caring watchman over the women, Rob was the best. As for being Dr Penfould’s henchman, Rob was not very good at his job. He just didn’t have it in him to be nasty to innocents. None of the orders, methods of control and plain nastiness needed to enforce that sort of a role came to him. It just wasn’t him. Rob was nothing like Maeve who had been the Doc’s favourite.
Rob’s mission was bleak and he reluctantly walked over to Sam, who knew what she needed to do. She equally reluctantly accepted the handcuffs and sighed; another night of abuse. It was a cold night and she tried to put on her cardigan and Rob stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “The Doc said he wants you to look “demure and sexy”, I think. His words- I’m sorry.” Rob felt very awkward but did not want to enrage the tyrant doctor nor did he feel right handing over this woman to the wretch. He waited patiently, looking away and occasionally glancing Sam’s way to make sure she was making progress. He felt ashamed and avoided the gaze of the other women, especially Alicia who gave him a knowing but forced smile. Everyone felt ashamed. Sam, brave and self-sacrificing as always, finished putting on some make-up and earrings. “Do you mind?” Sam asked Rob to zip her up and do her necklace up. He felt so awkward that she trusted him to do such a personal thing and yet he was going to feed her to a shark. But he did it, looking nervous and uncomfortable. The only plus was Alicia’s jealous look their way; Sam engineered it and she was doing him a favour.
He knew it and he felt rotten because he was doing nothing for Sam. “This is going to stop, I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but it’s gotta stop.” Rob said to himself. Rob, with a genuinely good nature, was now feeling the air of revolution about him. He would have to break the rules a little, for a change.
But Sam was smart and she had a plan in mind. “It’s cold Rob; I’m taking my cardigan until we sit down. I will take it off and everyone will be happy: yeah?” There was hidden meaning in her words. Rob nodded in compliance. He wasn’t sure if there was a plan or something was up but he wanted to be nice and complied with the request. Even if it was simply to break the Doc’s rules a little. Sam touched the small bulge in her cardigan pocket and she whispered the simple word “freedom,” to herself. It made her smile and shudder.
Rob walked slowly with Sam, neither of them talking at first. “Hey, Sam,” Rob started quietly, almost in a whisper. Their shoes made hollow echoing noises on the linoleum floor. “You ever been to the basement?” the young man asked. “No, just heard about the carpark, below. What of it?” she whispered back, nervous she was the leak and it would come down on her. “Doc says he has friends down there. He said roaches but I don’t believe it.” Their footfalls continued to echo. “He said that? Ah, good.” She was relieved. “I don’t believe him, I’m going to check it out.” Rob said frankly, talking as though he felt free and empowered in saying it. “Yes, yes, you do that,” she urged him, her voice also loud for a moment. It was back to silence and they said nothing more, walking the hall.
“They both noticed how tired the halls of the Rock looked; cracks and marks all over the walls and floor as they walked. The Rock, the building, its structure and people had cracks, everyone knew it. Change was coming, already happening, and no-one knew just what was around the corner. Both of them walked, thinking about what changes were coming and hoping for the best. Both thought of some way in which the Doc could be taken out of power and they would be cured. Everyone in the Rock, except for Dr Kian Penfould and perhaps Barlow, were thinking that very thought.
Rob and Sam arrived at the clinic to collect the other captive dinner guest; the infamous survivor.
Jesse was in the clinic, strapped down and in a patient’s robe. He was awake and staring outside through the windows. He looked sad, sombre and without joy. It was a like a wild animal in a zoo; broken. The rollercoaster love he had shared with Jen, with such rapidity, had been lost so quickly and with it, went his heart. He looked crushed and battered as Rob considered him for a moment. He was watching “the Survivor” and concluded that he posed little or no threat. With that thought, Rob’s shoulders relaxed and he breathed a proverbial sigh of relief that he would not face the deadly resistance a deadly man like Jesse could muster when at his best.
Sam also considered Jesse and she saw a good man, a man of change; she saw hope. He turned to regard them, just for a moment. His gazed passed over Rob and landed squarely in the eyes of Sam. She blushed a little as that hardened, tough warrior stared deep into her soul for a moment. While she thought he was regarding her with some consideration and possibly some thoughts she would find flattering, he was trying to recognise a pattern. His mind had computed a tall woman, attractive, Caucasian woman in captivity. He wanted her to be Jen, hoping it was so. When he could trick his mind no longer, he cast his gaze back into oblivion.
“Jesse?” Rob inquired. Jesse looked at him blankly and without emotion. Rob repeated his name, a question as if to ask “Are you there, are you OK?” That one question, a name, meant so much. The stillness and subjugation was telling and confirmed and reaffirmed that Jesse Stadler was not OK. He was a shadow of the same man that destroyed the squads, killed Maeve and threatened the Doc’s power base. He was broken and needed to be fixed, he needed a spark. “Safe for now, anyway,” Rob thought to himself. Rob would prove to be more astute in his observations than he realised.
Angela entered from the lab, where she had been busily using Jesse’s blood to create antibodies; the cure. Raj remained, working at the cure diligently. Angela gently and affectionately touched Sam’s shoulder and gave her a knowing but warm smile. Sam returned the gesture, in chains.
“A cure?” Sam whispered. Sam would not normally have been able to ask a question but Rob didn’t care and also wanted to know. “I’m trying, we’re trying. It will be soon but there are no easy answers, Sam. Raj thinks we have something but I am not sure.” Angela said. With that one exchange, Sam was beginning to lose hope that a cure would ever be real. It seemed too far off to save her from another night with the awful, wretched Dr Kian Penfould.
But no-one could know, perhaps just dream, what that cure would bring. It meant strife and survival in one fell swoop. Change was usually painful for some and Sam had felt she had more than had her share of pain.
There were weak, awkward smiles, except from Jesse who remained blank. “Doc wants to know how the cure is going. What do I tell him?” Rob asked, using the Doc’s name to ask a question of his own. “I think a few more days to identify the antibodies for the Divine virus.” she smiled at him, answering his question with a degree of respect, knowing it was his question. She liked Rob and knew he was a pawn in the Doc’s game of chess. Angela was closer than she was letting on. Angela would not reveal her game, for the good of everyone.
Rob nodded and smiled appreciatively. “A few days more,” he nodded, daydreaming about running off with Alicia, living a good life and being free.
The tune he hummed stirred something in Jesse. It was a rock song from the 1960s that was a little redneck and a lot of rock. It had been one of Jesse’s granddad’s favourites. He remembered it on many a journey out hunting. Jesse’s head moved a little to the beat. Rob noticed and stopped whistling the tune. Jesse was humming and moving his arms to the music, tapping and rocking out a little.
They sat and watched for a while as Jesse stirred from his haze.
Rob was feeling safer that such a dangerous man was somewhat subdued. He would have happily sat there with Angela and Sam for a lot longer but he realised another dangerous man would want his guests soon.
Rob unbuckled the leather straps that bonded the mythological survivor. As though a freed Prometheus, Jesse tried to get up.
“Jesse, wooow there mate,” Rob said, steadying the man as though he were an unsteady foal
. Jesse fumbled a little but found his feet with just a simple “thanks,” uttered.
“First words for today,” Angela said aloud. Sam nodded watching their patient and prisoner intently. “It looks like he will be OK.” Angela thought to herself. Sam and Rob watched Jesse with a fear and intrigue usually afforded to a caged zoo animal. Angela was less fearful; she would need him. He would need to lead or participate perhaps, but she would need someone who could be tough, determined and kill. Jesse was that man. Sam and Rob were thinking the same thing. “This guy is going to help us get out of here.”
The strong, hardened mountain man swayed a little like a tree on a windy hill but righted himself. The drug-induced coma had knocked him around but he was quick to regain his bearings. For what was coming, he didn’t have a choice. He looked out at the sky, from the little plate-glass window and could see a storm brewing. An eagle soared in the air, its flight feathers out. Jesse watched it for a moment as it majestically circled and then dove with daring and speed to drop onto some unseen rabbit or field mouse. “Time to strike,” he whispered to himself, almost hypnotically, a number of times. No-one could hear his inaudible words as he said them again, a few more times. Rob was about to ask what he was saying or inquire if Jesse was asking for something. The simple image of that eagle took Jesse another step out of the funk he was in. Jesse turned and slowly but surely sat on the bed with a careful effort to lower himself. His movement surprised Angela who expected him to be fumbling around for a few days. Leaning forward, Jesse looked at them with an alertness; expectantly. Rob could see he was parched and starving and fumbled with some supplies, a little embarrassed that they were turning the situation of watching Jesse into a spectator sport.
“Here, mate,” Rob said gently. Jesse took the bottle of water and drank the 600 millilitres like he had been in a desert for a week. “Aaahhh, thanks. You don’t know how much I needed that.” Jesse spoke clearly and with strength. Rob offered a muesli bar; unwrapped and devoured by Jesse, like he was a hungry dog. He looked at the three faces who regarded him like they were looking at a Tasmanian Tiger. Jesse smiled for effect, as if the tell them “It’s OK, I’m a friend.” Another bar was proffered and devoured with the same enthusiasm. They all smiled involuntarily and relaxed a little as Jesse looked up at them with inquisitive but gentle eyes. His exploits and being such an effective killer could not be ignored or forgotten. There was a pause as Jesse looked at them, seeing both fear and hope in their eyes.
“Time to get showered and dressed mate,” Rob said carefully; orders delivered with care. Jesse nodded and allowed himself to be ushered to a bathroom where there was an ambulant shower and toilet. Jesse looked in the mirror, saw himself and returned to his body in some way. He was back; planning how to survive and help the others in that god-forsaken place…
As I stared in the mirror, I realised I was feeling somewhat like myself again. Three days on my back and absorbing drip-fed nutrients meant I needed to clean out my system. That toilet had no idea what it was in for on that day. After I flushed and washed my hands with that characteristically “hospital” smelling hand wash, Rob opened the door a little and handed me a toiletries bag and a towel.
I took the kit and wasted no time in turning on that water and felt the clean, warm, restorative waters wash over my sore, aching body. I opened my mouth and drank in gulps of water as the shower rained on down. They were in such a rush to drain my blood that they had only given me a cosmetic wipe-down. My hair and the t-shirt and shorts shape of my body was filthy underneath the medical gown. I suspected Angela had given me a quick once over. It looked like the reverse of the good old Canberra suntan many of us had; brown face, neck and arms to the t-shirt line. The “Canberra Tan” was what coastal locals had called it: when lily-white kids turned up from the capital and took their shirts off for a swim. It was easy to tell who was who when I would go on those long, much-loved summer holidays as a young boy. The fact my brain had cast back to that memory, filed away in a distant archive in my head, told me my faculties were returning.
I smiled at that thought and scrubbed and cleaned and washed away the dirt and blood, and with it, the failure, the grief and despair I had felt. Just when I was feeling comfortable, the hot water stopped. I didn’t care. A final 30-second blast of freezing water shocked me into a lucid and edgy state.
I was invigorated by those waters that had trickled down from the highest peaks and into the river systems, lakes and onto my skin at that moment. The water was sourced from near my home. “Home,” I said to myself as I leaned against the tiles and breathed hard at the shock of cold water. There was an outside, a freedom and the water embodied and encapsulated that.
“I’m back!” I said loudly, for the world to hear. I looked in the mirror and realised I needed to enhance myself and take a moment of care to get myself looking imposing. If I was to unfold a plan to take down the Doc, looking my best was important. I needed to be a powerful, rugged but charismatic persona to sway the people in this place toward me and toward freedom. If I did not act, I knew I would be disposed of. The Doc had no intention of letting me live, to remind him of the damage I had done to his empire. I was sure the Doc needed to die. There would be no other way.
In the meantime, I needed people who sympathised with me and I needed supporters. All guns trained on me would result in a win for the Doc. My mind was set; dress for success and outclass the Doc before dealing a final killing blow.
I used all the hotel lotions and potions in the shower bag Rob had given me. The body lotion, a moisturiser of sorts, made me wince as the fresh smelling cream hit wounds or my hands covered injuries. I put on some aftershave and hit a small cut on my face; it stung but felt sanitising. After a few minutes of clean-up, I looked in the mirror and concluded; “human again.”
“Hey, mate,” I called out. “Got any clothes?” I waited, looking in the mirror and checking my injuries. Rob knocked on the door shortly thereafter and passed in some clothing and some boots. Again disobeying orders, Rob had given Jesse clothes that were from his own kit. It was a little country but exuded strength and the frontier; suiting Jesse just fine. I emerged a new man; clean, rugged and dangerous. The ladies in the room seemed to notice my improvement as I emerged from the steamy bathroom.
Rob reluctantly began to cuff me like he had Sam. I looked at him quizzically and could not help a slightly defiant smirk as he fumbled with my shackles and could not make eye contact. Angela and Sam watched on, not sure if I would try something or what I was thinking. What was clear was that we all knew I could have killed him where he stood, but didn’t. Rob eventually managed the task and the final click of the shackles indicated their increased safety and my captivity. I had no intentions of hurting anyone in that room. It was the Doc and anyone stupid enough to help him that I wanted.
It was as if every passing moment helped me regenerate; I gained power over myself and the people there. I held out my arms compliantly and looked Rob in the eyes. My presence and being was challenging the values, the reasoning and actions Rob had been taking. I could see a shame in his role and he would not be hard to sway in stopping the injustice at that place. I smiled at Rob as he looked at me, as if to say “Ready to go?”
I gave Rob a simple nod and smiled somewhat passive-aggressively at him. Rob could not or would not hold my gaze. I stood next to Sam as Rob knelt down carefully, and vulnerably, and shackled our ankles. We were joined together at the feet and hands. I looked at Sam, gave her a nod and a smile and she smiled back, embarrassed and blushing a little.
For some reason Angela looked a little unhappy at that moment and said, with just a little scorn, “You guys are going to get along just fine.” She gave us a forced smile and a gesture with her hand as she walked off to the lab. “I have a cure to make.”
Chapter 7: Me and Jimmy Ruffin
Despite being recharged in spirit and energy, the walk from the clinic to the other side of the facility was a simple but telling physical test for
me. Everything hurt; every breath and every step as I was led down that hallway, in chains. I sported a split lip, a limp and swollen and discoloured look about me, almost all over. No shower could have rid me of my actual wounds. The old ribs hurt and were bruised but not broken; typical MMA or boxing injuries I was familiar with. But it was the other wounds I wasn’t accustomed to. The physical pain reminded me of my other pain: Jen. I could put her out of my mind but it was only momentary.
The wounds of the heart and mind needed to heal; I wasn’t ready to take on the Doc in full. My plan was to sate primal hunger and hope I would be given enough time to recover before taking the Doc on directly. I had an idea and would make a gamble which could go either way. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself.
Suddenly, my walking turned to a stumble. I winced and righted myself as I moved a little and a sharp pain shot down my side. I realised no-one had noticed; Sam looking at the floor gloomily and Rob’s mind appeared to be on other things. I breathed an internal sigh of relief and kept moving, trying not to show pain as we trudged and our shackles clinked on the lino floor. I didn’t want to show someone a particular weakness that could be preyed upon. I pushed through injuries; I would have to on that day. If my gamble was to work, I had no other choice.
We walked toward much-needed food, no matter who was the host. I needed to heal and proper food was the key to that important recovery process.
In some ways I would have traded dinner for starvation and freedom but my world was different then. For a few moments I was on auto-pilot, suppressing my painful injuries and thinking about saving the people of that place from the Doc. “How would I do it? What would be the aftermath?”
I wanted to save them like I wanted to save Jen. “Maybe I’ll get it right next time?” I lay the burden back onto myself for Jen’s loss. As we walked through those lifeless halls, my mind wandered back to a world I had once existed in, a time when zombies were just fiction. Before the Great Change, one might have said I had flourished but that world was a place I considered a cage. The Rock reminded me of my cage. The captivity of the Rock was fundamentally like the former bars of society; mortgage (owing someone something), employment, too much structure and monitoring. That lost world was a gluttonous hell on Earth before the Great Change. I somehow preferred the new world; however, the Rock challenged that resolve.
