Convulsive Box Set

by Marcus Martin

  Lucy snatched the driver’s pistol and fired a single bullet directly into the woman’s skull. The deformed woman fell limp upon the tar, while grey goop oozed from her body.

  The driver took the gun back from Lucy’s hand and re-holstered it.

  “Next time, no stopping,” he said, heading back to the truck.

  ***

  As they reached the inner city perimeter, Lucy fully appreciated its scale and strength. The wall was made of giant concrete blocks that had been slotted together like Lego. It stood four stories tall and was topped with razor wire, behind which soldiers patrolled. The guards watched as Lucy’s group reached the vast steel gate in the center of the wall.

  The truck halted and the navigator climbed out, making his way to a sub-gate which had been built into the main one. A viewing hatch slid open and the navigator handed over a document. The hatch closed and the group waited while it was examined. The hatch quickly slid back open and the document was returned. The navigator had a curt exchange with the unseen doorkeeper, then returned to the truck.

  The vast steel gate creaked open just wide enough for the truck to enter. To Lucy’s surprise, they were greeted by a second wall, and a second gate. The first gate closed behind them, sealing them inside a gloomy concrete courtyard.

  A clerk approached the vehicle. She took fingerprint scans from the drivers, and swiped the ID cards they produced. She shone a flashlight into the truck, illuminating Lucy, Fliss, Jack, and the semi-conscious Ruth.

  “Help us – please, she urgently needs a doctor,” begged Lucy, as the clerk made to leave.

  The woman ignored Lucy and clicked off her light.

  “You know the rule about medicals,” snapped the clerk, reprimanding the driver.

  “This one was out of our hands. The Navy made her part of the deal,” said the driver.

  “You two wait here. Newbies, this way,” said the clerk, leaving the soldiers and beckoning Lucy’s group to follow her.

  “I don’t think she can walk,” said Fliss, glancing at Ruth.

  “Not my problem,” said the clerk, without looking back.

  Lucy and Fliss eased Ruth out of the truck and aided her across the courtyard to a building. Jack hurried ahead and caught the door for them with his good arm.

  “Sit,” said the clerk, pointing to a row of seats. They appeared to be in an office which had been converted into an immigration processing room of sorts. An electronic passport gate had been installed in the center.

  “Please, we don’t have time for this,” said Lucy.

  “Him first,” said the clerk, ignoring Lucy again and calling Jack forwards to the machine.

  Lucy and Fliss lowered Ruth onto a seat and sat either side of her. The sailor’s breathing was sharp and shallow, and her head dipped.

  “You - short hair – you’re up,” said the clerk, calling Lucy forward.

  Lucy stared at the robotic camera while it adjusted its height and focus to look her in the eye. The machine whirred as it scanned her, then, after a moment, the processing light blinked green.

  “Here,” said the clerk, handing Lucy a freshly-printed ID.

  Lucy swapped places with Fliss and examined her new card. It featured her current appearance, a long serial number, and an admission date. On the reverse side was a string of details about her identity, including her birthplace, age, and last registered voting district. Beneath the line Criminal Record was a single word: clean.

  Jack cried out in alarm; Ruth had slumped onto him, totally limp. Lucy caught the older woman just in time to break her fall, as she rolled off Jack’s lap.

  “Ruth, Ruth,” cried Lucy, shaking the woman and slapping her cheeks.

  “Oh my god, call an ambulance already. We told you she was sick!” cried Fliss, accosting the clerk.

  Lucy lay Ruth flat on her back and pressed her ear to her nose, listening for breathing. There was none. She felt for a pulse, but it had gone.

  “She’s in cardiac arrest,” urged Lucy, as the clerk radioed for help. “Fliss, I need you to do the breaths, I’m starting compressions now,” said Lucy, unzipping Ruth’s jacket, which was still damp with seawater and sand.

  She felt for the sailor’s sternum and placed the heel of her hand upon it. She stacked her other hand on top and interlaced her fingers, then straightened up. With her arms locked, she pressed down sharply in swift, stabbing motions. Ruth’s head rocked with each convulsion.

  “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” panted Lucy. “Two breaths – now. No, you gotta pinch the nose first, and tilt the head back – Jesus, Fliss, come on!” she urged, as the teenager fumbled the breathing.

  “What’s the ETA on the ambulance?” gasped Lucy, between compressions.

  “Six minutes,” said the clerk, whose dispassionate expression had given way to shock.

  “I’m not gonna make that, you gotta help us,” said Lucy, still weakened by chronic fatigue and hunger.

  “I don’t know CPR,” stuttered the clerk.

  “You’re learning it now,” said Lucy.

  “No - I – I can’t do that,” said the clerk, her eyes wide.

  “Then find someone who can!” bellowed Lucy, rocking back so Fliss could deliver the next breaths.

  Jack paced the room groaning, sweeping his hand through his hair in despair. Lucy’s shoulders ached as she threw her weight against Ruth’s chest.

  “Come on, Ruth, come on,” she gasped, staring at the older woman’s pale, clammy face.

  A siren sounded in the distance. The clerk disappeared from the room.

  “Hang in there, Ruth,” croaked Fliss.

  “She’s not gonna make it,” wailed Jack.

  “Shut up, yes she is!” yelled Fliss.

  Her brother slumped into a chair and cried, with his head buried against his knees.

  “Come on, Ruth,” yelled Fliss, sensing Lucy’s exhaustion and taking over the compressions.

  “Keep your arms straight,” puffed Lucy. She turned to the boy. “Jack, get down here and do the breaths, I’ll tilt her head.”

  Jack turned away from her, hiding his face further and sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Shit,” said Lucy, leaning over Ruth’s mouth and delivering the next two breaths, trying not to let dizzying head rush destabilize her.

  The door burst open and the clerk returned, flanked by two paramedics. One wore a standard medical uniform, the other wore a plain jumpsuit.

  “Step away please,” said the uniformed paramedic, kneeling down and cutting Ruth’s shirt open. Her assistant unpacked a defibrillator and placed the strips across Ruth’s chest. The machine scanned in vain for a pulse.

  “Clear,” said the paramedic, delivering the first shock.

  “No change,” said her assistant, staring at the monitor.

  “Clear,” repeated the medic, shocking Ruth’s body again.

  “It’s over, just accept it!” cried Jack, screaming at the medics.

  “We need the room,” said the paramedic, addressing the clerk sternly.

  The clerk chaperoned Lucy and the teenagers out into the corridor. Lucy glanced back as the door swung shut behind them. Fliss cradled her brother’s weeping head as they paced after the clerk, who led on. The medics’ calls of “clear,” faded as they crossed through more internal checkpoints in the serpentine building, where armed soldiers repeatedly checked their new ID cards.

  “You’ll need to be inducted at the Department of Labor before you can go to your accommodation. Take the Red Line to Judiciary Square,” said the clerk, placing a shaking palm on the door handle.

  “What about Ruth?” said Lucy.

  “I’ll make sure a message reaches you later,” said the clerk.

  She pushed the door open, revealing the street outside. In her daze, Lucy hadn’t noticed them pass beyond the second steel gate, which was surpassed in depth by the present building.

  The clerk ushered them out then snapped the door shut. Lucy surveyed the bustling citadel and was imme
diately overwhelmed. Scores of people traversed the streets on foot and bike. Workers poured in and out of the nearby metro station, while packed busses rolled by.

  “This way, I guess,” said Lucy, gathering herself and leading the two teenagers into the busy metro station.

  Fliss shielded Jack from the jostling commuters as best she could, with an arm placed firmly around his shoulder as they descended underground.

  “Watch it,” grunted a worker, knocking into Lucy as she traipsed in a daze from the illuminated corridor to the platform.

  Her eyes fell on the tracks which disappeared into the dark onward tunnel. The clattering sound of an approaching train seized hold of her senses.

  The train accelerated desperately, trying to escape the advancing creatures. The rear door twisted from its hinges. Great dents appeared in the roof as a beast tore through the steel hull with its claws. She stared at Dan one last time as the locomotive derailed, flinging her into the darkness.

  “Lucy!” yelled Fliss, shaking her.

  Lucy snapped out of the daze, realizing she’d been moaning. Other people were looking at her, warily.

  “This is our line,” said Fliss, drawing her inside the carriage in which Jack was already stood, surrounded by tired workers.

  “Are you OK?” said Fliss, squeezing Lucy’s hand, as Lucy blinked under the bright strip lights.

  The memory of Dan’s smile, his embrace, his liquefying body all tumbled through Lucy’s mind. She bit her lip hard, trying to escape the agonizing thoughts, but her mind leaped to the deformed woman she’d euthanized moments ago. Her crawling brain fixated on their shared fate. Dan’s death was quicker, she told herself. He didn’t die like that. He can’t have died like that.

  ***

  Lucy had absorbed little of the induction at the Department of Labor. Delayed shock had numbed her to the world, and the words had washed clean over her. All she knew was that the three of them had been taken to a repurposed halls of residence, which was to be their new home. Lucy and Fliss had been given a shared room on one of the women-only floors, while Jack had been assigned to the men’s dorms in the adjoining wing. There were at least a hundred others living in their block, something that became apparent as they shuffled slowly through the canteen line to get their first evening meal.

  The canteen was fully lit, exposing each resident’s hardened features. They were, in general, plumper than Lucy and the teenagers, but by no means was anyone overweight. The recurring look Lucy saw was one of weariness, as tired workers hungrily eyed up the serving station at the end of the line, willing themselves forward several dozen places.

  “‘If you ask me, the city’s full, but we keep letting people in, an’ I swear dinner portions are getting smaller. It don’t take a genius to put two and two together,” muttered a resident ahead of them, glaring at Lucy’s group.

  A siren sounded from the street.

  “That’s curfew. Another genius idea from up high,” grumbled the worker as the line edged forwards.

  With their meagre portions served, Lucy’s group took an empty table at the edge of the hall. They ate in exhausted silence, watching blankly as the last stragglers got fed. The food was hot, and salty. A stew of sorts. Lucy couldn’t tell what the vegetables were, or if there was meat in there, but something tasted like corn, and there was rice too.

  As people finished their meals, the air of hunger gave way to one of conversation. Lucy caught snippets, but her attention was limited. There were complaints about the food, praise for the food, and workers reminiscing about old dining habits. The second topic was the government’s incompetence, but Lucy could infer nothing specific beyond the general decrying of politicians that certainly predated the satellite failure.

  “What was it like growing up on a ranch?” said Jack.

  He didn’t smile, but some color had returned to his cheeks.

  “I told you about that?” said Lucy.

  “They asked you about it earlier – in your interview. You don’t remember?” said Jack.

  “Uh, sure. Sort of. Not really. I kind of blanked out for all of that,” said Lucy, knowing full well her mind had been trapped in the immigration control room, bent over Ruth’s flat lining chest.

  “Of course, sorry,” said Jack, glancing at Fliss in a way that suggested the pair had been discussing her privately.

  “What you did earlier for that woman – the soldier,” began Fliss.

  “Please don’t,” said Lucy.

  “I wanted to thank you. I didn’t have the courage,” said Fliss, her eyes dropping to her feet.

  “It wasn’t courage. It wasn’t anything,” said Lucy.

  “Was that the first time you-” began Jack, but Fliss kicked him under the table. “Ouch! What? I’m only asking,” he protested, nursing his shin.

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Lucy, staring the boy straight in the eyes.

  “Oh,” he said, blushing and looking away.

  “We know you did it for a good reason,” said Fliss, nudging Jack.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m not saying you’re a murderer or anything, I’m just-” started Jack.

  “I am,” interrupted Lucy. “We all are. That’s just how it is now. Most people haven’t done it yet, but they will, and others will have to stop them. Or help them. Either way, we’re all gonna end lives at some point, for better or for worse,” she said, before taking a swig of water.

  No one at their table spoke for a while, making them a rare source of quiet in the by-now noisy canteen.

  “Do you think Ruth’ll be OK?” said Jack, after a moment.

  Lucy didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Her mind was careering through the memories of those she’d tried to save and had failed. Somehow she was still alive. Mutated, diseased, traumatized, but alive. It made no sense to her. She clenched her fists as memories of Dan, Lopez, and Shona flooded her thoughts.

  A rattle brought her back to the table with a start.

  “Wanna play? They’ve got other stuff on the side,” said Fliss, sitting down and gesturing to the pack of dominoes she’d found.

  “Look out!” came a cry from the far side of the canteen, as a resident leaped away from their table, scattering a bunch of trays and plates as they rushed.

  A series of cries spread across the room, followed by a cacophony of clattering chairs and overturning tables as people sprung up in terror. Lucy spotted the creature just in time as it slithered into the center. Another cry rang out nearer to Lucy’s group – a second creature had been spotted. People crashed into each other as they fled in opposing directions.

  Both of the short, snake-like organisms began to swell to the size of melons. With a flick of its tail, the snake in the center flung itself up off the ground.

  “Get down!” cried Lucy, grabbing Fliss and pulling her to the ground.

  The snake exploded, spraying the room with flecks of acidic D4 enzyme. Screams of fear turned to screams of agony, as the second snake detonated, immediately doubling the number of casualties. Lucy stared across the room with her face pressed to the floor; at least a dozen people had been hit. Fliss and Jack were unhurt, but were cowering together in shock.

  Lucy crouched, tentatively, as others emerged from their makeshift refuge points and tended to the victims. Steeling herself, she crawled to the nearest table where a man lay, screaming, clutching his leg. Acid had burned through his clothes and into his skin. A friend clung to him desperately, as a dark purple hue spread across the man’s body, reaching across his shoulders and closing in on his neck. The man’s veins throbbed and his muscles seized up as the toxin spread through his bloodstream. His fingers twisted into a gnarled claw-like grip, while his eyes bulged as he asphyxiated. Purple lines spread across his face like roots, bursting the capillaries in his eyes until, with a final splutter, the man fell still.

  Within a few seconds, each screaming victim in the room had fallen silent. The onlookers stared at the deceased members of their community in disbelief.


  The silence was broken by the canteen manager emerging from the kitchens to see the carnage. He ordered the serving staff to cover the bodies while he radioed for help.

  Some time elapsed – Lucy had no idea how long. She tried to keep herself distracted by helping people re-right pockmarked tables and chairs, while stepping around the victims’ bodies. Their faces were draped in odd-sized sheets and towels, which did nothing to hide their twisted hands and contorted limbs. Members of the community consoled each other as best they could. Some wept openly, others stared on numbly, while a small number sat quietly and ate.

  The main doors to the canteen burst open as an immaculately dressed figure entered the room, leading four others cloaked in hazmat suits. The lab team unpacked a number of empty body bags and spread out, while the leader surveyed the scene. He wore a navy colored suit, topped by a long black trench coat. His hair began halfway across his scalp; it was cut short, but the grey and white follicles stood out strongly against his dark skin. A trimmed greying moustache adorned his face; a face which Lucy recognized immediately. Her heart froze as she processed something she barely dared to believe. Dan’s father was alive.

  FIVE

  Forensic

  _________________________________

  Lucy swiveled on her canteen seat, turning away from Dan’s father. She’d met him so many times when Dan was alive, but now the resemblance struck her like a hammer. Like Dan, Adrian habitually rubbed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes to think, even though he wore no glasses. His kept his back straight as a rod, just as Dan had done. When he spoke to the catering manager, the undulations of his brow conveyed the same pragmatic skepticism that had kept Lucy alive in San Francisco. A torrent of love, grief, hope and guilt collided in her core as she watched this older version of her soul mate move through the attack scene, unaware of her presence. She placed her hands on her knees and tried to steady her breathing, dipping her head so that it was shielded by her body.

  “Are you OK?” whispered Fliss.