by Dan Yaeger
“Regal? How so? Explain the connection?” I said, quite sharply, mocking his earlier statement to the same effect. He was baffled and speechless for a moment so I continued to expose the facts. “Do you claim to link back to an ancient king from Angkor Wat on your Asian side or from another kingdom of Asia? Or are you the King of England’s long lost cousin? Perhaps some other European royal link? Even if you do, what does it matter? It means nothing, especially now. What YOU do makes a difference.” I continued before he could answer or butt-in. His mouth moved, quivered but no words came out, and the table watched on with disbelief.
“Rubbish!” he yelled. “A man’s pedigree is everything.” he scoffed and sneered. I had worked him up, had hit a raw nerve, and would continue.
“Genealogy is fascinating and great to know, but it doesn’t mean anything or make someone better than someone else.” I sipped my drink and cleared my throat as the Doc went redder than I thought he could. “Well then; why am I here, head of this table and the ruler of these idiotic people then?” he smirked not realising that he was digging himself deeper in as a tyrant and someone they would want to oust.
I pressed on. “Face it: you’re not royal or better than anyone else!” I spoke powerfully and over various attempts to shut me up. My tone was frank and with an amused note that bit into the ego of the Doc. “Enough! Enough! ENOUGH! Fuck you arsehole!” the Doctor raged, standing up. His regal poise gone and accent returned.
Rob was a little shaken and nervous as to what would happen next; guarding a dangerous prisoner with a volatile warden. I was ready to enact a plan to make a difference.
The Doc came over to me, and spoke down at me. I could smell his hot, foul breath as he spat the words. “I am the lord and master here. I am regal and you will obey me-show some RESPECT!” he slapped the table and then walked over to Sam. He grabbed her by the hair and put a hand to her breast “Can a peasant do that when he likes?” he smirked and asked. All eyes gazed upon him with disgust but not the same fear they would have once afforded him.
“A good man, even a peasant, doesn’t have to force it with women and can do that, yes, and the woman might even like it. But not like that, you fat rapist pig.” I looked at him with hate now; no fear. He was visibly shocked and somehow scared of me, a man in chains who would never respect or bow to him. I was about to break him in more ways than one. I would break him in front of people, people who would tell others, laugh about it and spread it through everyone there. His days were numbered. But for that moment, Sam and I endured the pig-man’s halitosis.
His breath stank; no two-ways about it. He breathed hard over Sam and she noticeably shivered as he clumsily headed in for a dominant kiss on her lips. I could feel her discomfort and said “You could use a mint, Doc, don’t you think Sam?” Penfould turned to me with hate and embarrassment. He had missed the opportunity to indulge, to revel, in a kiss with his slave, turning his attention to me.
He stalked over, getting up some red wine courage and stood over me. “You will pay for your insolence!” he raised his hand. It was all I needed. I gripped the cross-bar at the front of the chair and reefed both hands upward, standing up. The splintering sound and the sudden movement stunned all in the room, including the Doc. The shackles were freed and I held a sharp piece of wood: “Hey pig-face: let’s go!”
In a release of hate and rage and pent up frustration, I was the instrument of justice on that sick bastard. I beat Penfould with that piece of wood until he cowered on the floor and was covered in blood. He was whimpering like a child and I yelled “How does it feel?! Good huh? Now you know what a beat-down feels like!” The Doc was in the foetal position and wailing like a bullied kid. I had a feeling someone had been horrible to that wretch as a child. But that did not justify him. In the many hours in captivity I had convinced myself of that; a bullied or mistreated child, with no evidence to back up such a theory. It was too hard to accept that someone could be so evil and callous without some sort of conditioning. From what I learned later, he was just plain bad. Nonetheless, I had steeled myself for such an attack; no sympathy was coming for me. I continued my attack on the Doc and the Rock.
I stabbed downward with the sharp ends of the dowel in both hands and plunged it into his right shoulder. Penfould howled like a wounded dog. Rob looked on, frozen and unwilling to help his former boss. Sam looked shocked but inspired and was rooting for me. The Doc’s eyes were swollen shut and his face was like a full moon. Not the lunar kind, the bum of a dirty teenager pulling his cheeks apart. By now I expected Penfould would have had some assistance. I looked at Rob and Sam and neither spoke out or spoke up, neither of them moved. Nor did Leon; paralysed. I didn’t want to die there and my plan needed me to surrender at that point; for two reasons. I needed this to become public and we needed a cure. I needed more time. It was an obvious stoppage; the plan to escape demanded it. “Fuck it,” I thought. “Dish him out some more!”
I laid boots and hammer fists until he was drifting in and out of consciousness. It was a fine balance between breaking him and beating him to death. If it were just about me, the Doc would have been on a funeral pyre by nightfall. Burned alive. I was conscious that the cure was something that was needed but I was unaware Angela had already achieved that breakthrough. I could arguably have beaten him to death, then and there, and I would have saved lives, but I didn’t know and I would not gamble the lives of others again.
Twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing.
But I still wasn’t finished with this bastard: he was responsible for Jen. “This is for you Jen!” I shouted as I kicked Penfould in the balls, stomped them, until he wet his plaid pants. The damage was significant and he would have struggled to get it up again if he lived that long. Sam smiled as she knew she would be off the hook for carnal favours for a while. I hit him double-handed across the face, digging in the handcuffs. He writhed and then returned to being a whimpering ball of pain.
My plan had been contingent on Penfould having some support, someone to lock me up in that armoury prison. I needed the Doc alive a little longer, long enough to be sure of a vaccine but broken, shattered and weak.
We waited a moment, only I dared look at the cowering wretch that was Kian Penfould. To my surprise, Rob spat on Penfould and said in a broken up, emotional voice; “It serves you right! It serves you right for doing what you done. You’re a fucking rapist and a murderer!” He even kicked him. The Doc was out to it but I knew that he knew, he felt, he could see; he was over, the Rock was over.
Elsom entered abruptly with his AR-15 Assault rifle. “What the fuck?” he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Hands up!” he roared at me and gestured with his weapon. I put my cuffed hands up and Elsom had me under control. Elsom kept looking around in disbelief at the fact a handcuffed prisoner had done so much so quick. I smirked at him. His face held fear and disbelief. “Die another day,” I said to myself. I would indeed; not my time.
No sooner had Elsom taken control, the Doc, who also knew how to play possum went off like a firecracker. “That’s it! Get him out of here! Fuck him! Beat him! Take him to Barlow!” Penfould lost his temper and the Asian-Australian accent was back. His true self; the toxic, fraudulent, childish narcissist had nowhere to hide in that encounter. He had no real power over anyone anymore; it was just old habits dying hard.
Elsom looked disgusted but, for now, knew no better and would take me off to the brig. I was in for a rough night, we all were.
Rob glared at Elsom who was looking directly at him as if to say “How the fuck did this happen?” Rob was free from whatever mental hold Penfould had on him. He felt free, he was not yet, but he felt the winds of change upon him. I could see it on his face.
Before Elsom and I left for Barlow’s armoury and prison, the Doc said. “Chain her to the cupboard! So she can help me, a long chain- so she can get to me. Hurry up Shit-head! I need care! Bring me some supplies from the clinic!” The Doc crawled to his chair and slumped back into it. Sam sighed
. She was tired. She watched him with disgust and no sooner had she paused; the wretched Dr Kian Penfould had a gun pointed at her. She was to be his nurse, his companion, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do they part. Sam sighed again, with some finality. I looked at her and gave her strong eye-contact and a nod; she knew I would be coming back for her. She nodded in response but I would later realise that exchange had meant something else to her: “Do what you have to do, Sam.”
“Rob you useless bastard! Get back to the Pen. NOW!” Penfould was still trying to control things. He was feeling out of control and out of the game and was trying desperately to hold on. Rob gave him the finger and shook his head. In truth he was going to the Pen, but not on Penfould’s orders. His actions were about getting back to Alicia and the hope they could be cured and have a life together. The fat, battered toad had no power over or allegiance with Rob anymore. Rob left, walking at his own pace, on his own route to the Pen to see his future.
As I was marched out and down to the brig, Elsom said “Barlow has free reign with you now mate. You are in for a rough night.” He shook his head. I couldn’t help myself and I stupidly jeopardised my whole plan as I said “Barlow? Who is Barlow? Where is Barlow?” No-one had yet worked out what had happened. I gave the clue to Elsom and he said “Shut up, you’re not making sense. Just shut up or I will hit you in the head with this:” The assault rifle. The clue was wasted on him.
“Too stupid to work it out.” I thought. I was right: he locked me up in a cell, waiting for the secretive Barlow to return to deal me punishment. The truth was that I had lured Barlow into my cell and killed him the night before. He had simply needed to hear one phrase “Everyone needs someone, Barlow.” It was true; I needed Jen and that fat bastard had been keeping me from her and against my own free will. I knew Barlow would have done unspeakable things and was a vital link in my captivity and the Doc’s power-base; it was enough for me to feel justified in my actions. Barlow had been deceased, beheaded with Orion so he couldn’t turn. He had been dead for the last 24 hours and no-one knew. My plan and its gamble had worked. I would be out that night. But I didn’t realise it was out of the fry-pan and into the fire. The heavenly smell of uninfected, fresh human flesh was about to make all hell break loose at the Rock.
Chapter 11: Heaven Scent
Jesse waited for time to pass to unlock his cell and leave a free man. Meanwhile, Sirocco had not obeyed orders. He had sent out what was left of Squad 4 to gather food while he would investigate the cure’s progress himself. He didn’t trust the Doc, in fact, hated him, and knew that they were being deceived. “Everyone at the Rock was being played,” he told himself as he strode down the hall toward the clinic. He had an extra bit of swagger.
Siro arrived at the clinic and checked out what was going on. He could see that one person was there working hard at it; Angela and not the Doc. “Fucking lazy pig,” Siro concluded and walked into the clinic. While not educated, a sense of logic and cunning had kept Sirocco Silva alive through some serious shit in his life. That logic and cunning told him the Doc didn’t want a cure. It was clear to Siro that the Doc didn’t know what to do next; an imminent cure meant freedom. The penny dropped; “The fuckin’ bastard wants to keep us infected!” he said aloud.
Penfould wasn’t working on it; just hoping it was impossible or would go away. With that moment of revelation, Sirocco was sure of the Doc’s intentions and that everything else was unsure. He was going to do what he did before a big fight; cover off all bases for himself.
“Hey Ange, how’s the cure?” Siro asked as an ice-breaker. Angela looked up from her work for a moment, somewhat in shock and unsure of his motive. “I thought the Doc had sent you for a patrol? For food, yes?” She drew her small uniform down and lab coat around her and looked fearful and felt the sense that she could have been in danger. “Fuck the Doc!” he tossed his head upward and continued “He wont give none of us that cure. That’s why I’m here, Ange. I wanna help and I want answers. We need a cure yeah?” he nodded at her. He realised himself and took off his black military cap and bunched it in his hands. She was still scared and unsure of his intentions.
”Sorry for the swearing and being a rough guy,” he was embarrassed and she shook her head. “It’s OK,” she stepped back, not sure where he was taking things. The scrunching of the cap and his earnest look deactivated her sense of fear. He smiled at her like a small boy, for the first time. Raj cautiously entered from another part of the lab and looked concerned, almost edging around the room. Siro knew he was there but ignored him; not out of rudeness but in acknowledgement that he wasn’t a threat.
Angela nodded at Raj as if to confirm the tough and brutal henchman of the Doc was no threat. He trusted her judgement with wide eyes and a deep exhale.
“Its OK Sirocco;: I know you aren’t a bad guy. Help us to make that cure. Yes?” Angela smiled and spoke to the man not his previous role. “I just feel people don’t know me. You don’t trust me, I can tell.” He said deflated.
“No, no,” she gently touched his shoulder and said “It’s OK; we have all been through a lot.” There was a mutual smile and embarrassment; at the whole damn mess. “I just wanna help.” Sirocco looked her in the eye and then to Raj as he said those words. “You are with us,” Raj added, extending his hand in friendship. Siro took it emphatically and with a smile. “Angela leads, we follow,” Raj said.
Angela and Raj looked to one another and loosened up a bit. “Please, yes, get involved in the cure,” Angela said. She brought him over to the various visualisations, set-ups and apparatus she and Raj had assembled. They walked him through their progress, what they had done and achieved in their research. To their surprise Sirocco was able to grasp much of what they had described. “So Jesse gives us the anti-bodies. Got that. But his blood group won’t be for everyone right? We’ll separate the anti-bodies out from the blood? That’s the cure?” Siro was more interested and more astute than they could have imagined.
“So that is how far we have come,” Angela said. “Raj has been essential,” the scientist made a side to side movement with his head and mumbled something in self-deprecation. “We make a great team Angela,” he said in conclusion.
“Yes we do,” she flashed him another stunning smile with perfect white teeth. “But a test Angela, we can’t go ahead without a test,” Raj said looking at her with some resolve and concern/
“So gentlemen- You’re not going to believe it; we are are now ready to make the cure.” She said, unable to contain her excitement she giggled. Raj and Sirocco looked at her quizzically; unusre what she meant.
“I tested it and it seems to work!” She said excitedly. The two men looked at each other and Siro gave Raj a powerful, albeit a little awkwardly received high-five and hug. They came at her for some celebratory gesture and she backed off a little and said “Not so fast guys,” almost laughing. “I only tested it on me, I need you both to try it also,” there were nods and comments in the affirmative. The excitement grew.
“But first, we need to make enough for everyone, can you help me with a few things? We will get it done quicker that way.” Angela asked. Siro nodded, happily taking on the role of assistant in place of shock troop, enforcer or jailer. They got to work on finalising a vaccine. Angela coordinated Raj and Sirocco and they worked under meticulous and procedural instruction.
Sirocco looked at the flask of blood, blood in the vials and he thought of all the blood spilt fighting, struggling toward a cure. He was mesmerised for a moment, as though lost in the facets of a giant array of rubies and garnets. Raj approached him after noticing the pause. “You have seen much blood, it doesn’t bother you at all?” Raj asked the loaded question as his new friend contemplated the crimson liquid. “Too much, dog, too much. But god bless Jesse,” Siro mumbled, looking through the blood, past all of what had been spilt.
Sirocco never expecting to utter such a phrase. He realised, in that moment, that he had been doing the wrong thing a
nd fighting for the wrong side. Sirocco was always on “his” side but there was some good in the man that meant he was not completely selfish. “But we will do good on this cure, eh Raj?” The scientist scrunched his nose and pushed his glasses up and said “Right my friend, we are doing well now.”
As they worked to the beat of Angela’s drum, for a number of hours, making few mistakes on the way, the cure was coming ever closer.
Thanks to Jesse, the once mythical survivor, they all had hope. Ironically, Jesse had largely destroyed the Rock and most of the infected people in it but, for those left, he would save them.
Sirocco Silva, former champion MMA fighter, worked alongside a leading scientist and virology nurse with every bit of focus needed to complete the production of a cure. At first, Angela had been sceptical as to just how much he could have helped and started to hand off tasks, expecting to do it for herself in the end. She was pleasantly surprised and impressed at every step of the way and with Siro’s quick learning and ability to follow a routine. His many years of rigid training and application of mental effort to a task had been one of his strengths in mixed martial arts. The same skills came in handy on that very important of occasions.
“I could have been a professor, eh?” he smiled and winked at them after emptying an autoclave under instructions. He enjoyed showing the pair that he wasn’t a trained buffoon. Sirocco did his part in pursuit of the cure.
“Thanks, Sirocco.” Angela said. He nodded, “All part of the plan.”
While they embraced him whole-heartedly, he still kept something to himself. Siro did not mention some of the other elements to a broader plan he had enacted for his own survival. It wasn’t all about him; he intended to help the innocents, including Dimi. He had picked up his assault rifle when on the Doc’s orders to get more food. At that time, he had marched into the armoury and brig, handed his chits over to Barlow and made a quick move. He had altered the sights on Elsom’s weapon so it wouldn’t shoot straight as an insurance policy. He knew he would have to fight for his own freedom; the alteration had been insurance. The two AR-15’s were only to be taken out for the most deadly of circumstances, according to the Doc. Siro had unwittingly obeyed orders; the greatest threat to the Rock was on its way and the assault rifle would be needed.
