Convulsive Box Set

by Marcus Martin

  “Oh shit,” yelled the soldier, firing twice into the turtle’s soft, powder-covered underbelly.

  “No!” cried Lucy, barging the soldier out of the way, and staring in horror at the turtle-dillo.

  Gen Water and blood seeped out from the bullet holes in its belly. One by one, its flailing limbs fell still, and its long, slender tongue fell limp across the floor.

  “You idiot! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” cried Lucy, looming over the soldier with rage.

  “Get down, all of you, on the ground, now!” came a cry from the wall, as a sentry trained his rifle on the group, while two more soldiers rushed into the courtyard through the doorway.

  Lucy, Ruth, and Karys knelt down swiftly, placing their hands behind their heads.

  “What the hell happened?” said the sergeant, inspecting the trailer as her colleague rose to her feet.

  “They were trying to bring a hostile into the city, ma’am. I neutralized the creature, before this one blindsided me,” said the solider, pointing to Lucy, angrily, as she picked herself up off the ground.

  “We told you to leave it. Now you’ve killed a vital research asset – you’ve set us back days,” protested Karys.

  “No-one’s told us about any research assets. You brought a hostile into the city, when we have a strict shoot on sight policy. You should all know better. On your feet,” said the sergeant.

  “I’ll be reporting this,” said Karys, standing up angrily.

  “I’d watch your tone, soldier, if you still want to get inside the city,” said the sergeant, darkly.

  She slammed the lab door shut, and signaled the other soldiers to stand down.

  “I suggest you three learn to follow orders quickly. The last thing we need is a friendly fire incident,” said the sergeant, heading back for the doorway.

  The guard glared at Lucy as she, Ruth, and Karys returned to the cockpit. The orange lights flashed above the second gate as the metal barrier retracted with a series of clunks until it came to rest half-way, just wide enough for the lab vehicle to pass through.

  “Something going on?” remarked Ruth, as they made their way through the city, towards the hospital.

  A soldier stood before a make-shift barricade, comprised of cones and tape, and waved them away from the main road. Behind him, a group of several hundred protestors were staging a sit-in, blocking the entire street. Each wore a white armband, and chanted in response to their enigmatic leader’s proclamations through the loudhailer.

  Lucy recognized the speaker as Raya, the woman she’d seen stirring a crowd on her first Sunday in the city. Her support had clearly burgeoned in the past week or so. Lucy wondered if Fliss was in the crowd; the girl had been intrigued by the woman, and who could blame her? She was a powerful orator. Raya stood before the seated congregation, with her wavy black hair tied back in a ponytail, and castigated the Government behind her.

  Lucy heard little of Raya’s words as they diverted away from the protest, but her energy was infectious. A sense of injustice and oppression ignited in her belly. As they headed towards the hospital, she felt ready for a reckoning. She had no idea what state Lopez would be in by now, or whether he’d even still be alive, but she was here to fight for him. Their specimen had been killed, but they had the white powder; irrefutable proof that Harvey’s repugnant tactics were unnecessary.

  The streets were bustling as workers milled about on their lunchbreaks reading, talking, or – if they were lucky – listening to offline music via a colleague’s solar-charged phone. Each worker had an empty bowl or tub beside them. A handful were still eating – savoring every mouthful of that day’s lunch ration. The adjacent block was less jovial. Its workers were lined up on the sidewalk, hungrily awaiting their portions. Some wore white armbands. They tended to be in groups of three or four, talking to other armband-wearers. Before them were two military catering trucks, each serving one side of the street. The staff moved fast, ladling out hot portions at a blistering pace – often to the complaints of their customers – knowing the next block was waiting hungrily, as were the blocks after that.

  They continued onward, following signs for the hospital. Lucy’s eyes fell on an electronic billboard. A newsfeed – presumably direct from the Government – scrolled across the bottom.

  …attacks · President accuses striking workers of undermining national security · Secretary of Education unveils new intranet resources for…

  Above the scrolling feed was a large image with the title Public Health Warning. It showed two smiling workers in hard hats. The pair greeted each other with a wave, despite only being positioned a foot apart. Beside their image was a short message, reading; Talk don’t touch. Contact costs lives.

  The screen transitioned to a severely lesioned patient, along with a list of symptoms to watch out for, before concluding with a message urging citizens to report to the hospital for treatment if they developed any of the above, and to do their patriotic duty by reporting anyone they suspect of being unwell.

  As the billboard faded from view, another police cordon barred the road ahead.

  “They’re spreading,” said Karys, leaning over the steering wheel for a better view.

  Lucy followed her gaze. Inside the cordon stood three discrete office buildings. The central stone building was partially destroyed. Half of the front wall had crumbled to the ground, exposing the plant-covered desks and levels inside. The exterior was covered from top to bottom in a thick coat of purple and blue algae. Rust colored branches had erupted from the bowels of the building through its windows and doorways. The branches stretched out onto the street and buildings around. Likewise, the algae had spread to the two neighboring buildings, which had each succumbed by half.

  At the foot of the building was a van, attended by two people in hazmat suits. A broad yellow pipe trailed from it into the stone entrance. Yellow smoke poured out of the shattered windows in the level above.

  As they passed by, Lucy glimpsed another building behind the central one. The roof had caved in. Its brick was scorched, and its windows shattered. The vines protruding through its frames were charred and grey, like aged driftwood.

  A flash of movement brought Lucy’s eyes back to the first building. A lemur-like creature leaped out of the second level, onto the ground below. It appeared to be choking. It lay twitching, unable to run more than two paces before another seizure took hold. One of the hazmat suit figures retrieved a shotgun from the van and terminated the creature with a single shot.

  Lucy gasped as a second creature scarpered out of the fumigated building – this time from a side window. It scurried across a rusty vine, into the neighboring building, where it vanished.

  Before Lucy could relay this, a siren rang out across the city. The people on the sidewalks reacted with panic; they turned and fled for the nearest building, with fear written across their faces.

  “You heard that before?” said Ruth, as they watched people dash by.

  “No, but it doesn’t sound good,” said Karys.

  A busload of people were pouring out of the vehicle and into the nearest buildings. Karys hit the gas and swerved across an intersection, making a beeline for the hospital. The siren rang out again in pulses, as they skidded into the hospital parking lot.

  “Inside, quickly!” yelled Karys, sprinting from the trailer.

  They rushed to the main entrance, but the doors were locked shut. The three of them banged against the glass, calling to the security personnel inside, but the staff shook their heads in fear.

  “This way,” called Ruth, forcing open a fire exit.

  They rushed down the steps into a pitch-black basement, sealing the door behind them. The piercing siren became muffled, but quickly gave way to an altogether more sinister sound. Rustling and moaning echoed through the darkness. The stench of human excrement hit Lucy’s nostrils hard.

  “Don’t move,” breathed Karys.

  Ruth clicked her flashlight on. A shaft of light shone dow
n the corridor, revealing a long boulevard of glass cubicles. Side-avenues branched in all directions, suggesting the network extended across the entire level. Lucy and Karys flicked on their flashlights and examined the cells around them.

  Nausea swept over Lucy. Rows of infecteds stretched before them. Many of the prisoners shielded their eyes, and shuffled further into the corners, shying away from the prying lights. Others sat despondently and stared at the newcomers in vacant bewilderment. A handful rose to the glass and yelled, banging their palms against the walls, causing a ripple of fearful murmurs throughout the enclosure.

  Aside from the bedraggled human occupants, the cells were barren, containing only a waste bucket, and a thin blanket no bigger than a hand towel.

  A cry of pain sounded out from the middle of the floor – from one of the cells beyond their corridor. It was swiftly followed by the slamming of a door, and the jangling of keys.

  “Who goes there?” called Ruth, raising her rifle.

  Footsteps echoed towards them, approaching through one of the dark avenues ahead.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” replied a familiar voice. “Would you be so kind as to dip your light? It’s somewhat dazzling,”

  As Harvey approached them through the darkness, Lucy felt a knot in her stomach. A pair of night vision goggles hung around his neck, and a pair of discarded latex gloves protruded from the lip of his grubby lab coat pocket.

  Lucy could feel herself reaching for the trigger. She could end him there and then. She could liberate the shivering, hallucinating, lesion-covered infecteds all around them. She could get revenge for the torture he’d meted out to Lopez, and God knows who else.

  But loathe as she was to admit it, she needed him. She needed his trust, his stamp of approval on her diversionary project. If she killed him, the authorities would find out – one way or another. They’d never listen to her or Karys again. The powder would never see the light of day. All that would survive would be Harvey’s bloody legacy.

  She let out a deep, shuddering breath, and edged her finger away from the trigger.

  “Karys, back so soon? And, my goodness, is that Lucy Young?” said Harvey, beaming.

  “You know this creep?” said Ruth.

  “Unfortunately,” said Lucy.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Harvey, Director of Pathology at the hospital. And you are?”

  “I’m wondering what kind of person hangs out in a pitch black basement that stinks of shit and appears to be full of slaves,” said Ruth.

  “Someone searching for the truth, my dear. It would appear that the dreadful disease affecting our friends down here is also something of a blessing – if you’ll excuse the parlance. Indeed, these brave subjects have become both our greatest burden, and our greatest asset. But I think you’ll agree, that’s quite enough about me. What, may I ask, brings two scientists and a soldier down to our humble basement?” said Harvey.

  “A siren went off as we were driving here. The hospital wouldn’t let us in the lobby, even though everyone seemed to be running for cover. So we broke in here,” said Karys.

  “A sensible move,” said Harvey, rubbing one of his fluffy sideburns thoughtfully. “Butterflies. They’re the latest manifestation of the D4 pathogen to be plaguing the city. That’s the third siren in two days. They are, dare I say it, devastatingly beautiful. But that’s something of an irrelevance. As with all things, they are an opportunity for us to learn,” said Harvey.

  “Is that what you tell the people you’ve trapped down here?” said Lucy.

  “The darkness is for their comfort, Lucy. Many of them become hypersensitive to light during the course of their treatment. I would love to share some of our latest findings with you all – and indeed, to hear how you got on, Karys,” said Harvey.

  “How we got on, you mean,” said Ruth, revealing her blood pouch.

  “Ah, I see there are no secrets between friends. Quite right, and for which I thank you – you’ve tripled my sample size. Though I’m curious as to how you achieved this. Did you divide the additional blood pouches three ways? Or did the first one last longer than we expected?” said Harvey, excitedly.

  “Maybe we can talk upstairs,” said Karys, bluntly.

  “Of course – this way, please,” said Harvey.

  They followed him past rows of cowering infecteds to the elevator. As they approached, a thin white glow appeared in the crack between the shutters. The glow descended from the level above. With a ding, the doors slid open, casting a shaft of light across the corridor. Alexi, the pathology receptionist, stood in the elevator, clutching a tray with empty syringes.

  “Ah, Alexi, where were you? You’ve missed the boat, I’m afraid, my rounds here are done for the time being,” said Harvey, jovially.

  Alexi stared straight ahead. Lucy trained her flashlight on him, revealing a sheen of sweat across his skin. His lips parted fractionally, but no words came out.

  “Alexi?” said Harvey, edging forwards.

  The receptionist slumped to his knees, then collapsed spread-eagled across the floor, sending the tray’s contents scattering. Lucy’s eyes fixed instantly upon the bleach mark at the top of his neck. A transparent wing flapped gently upon it, dissolving further into his skin with each slowing beat.

  “Get away from the elevator. This way – quickly,” said Harvey, spotting the same thing.

  The group hastened after him, back down the corridor. The wedge of light continued to spill outwards, expanding and contracting as the doors jammed against Alexi’s body. Harvey pulled out a set of keys and fumbled through them, searching for the right one.

  “Hurry,” urged Karys, as a fluttering shape emerged from the elevator.

  Harvey clicked the lock open and dashed inside the cell, beckoning the others in behind him.

  “What the hell?” said Lucy, as her eyes fell on the slumped figure in the corner. The woman was unconscious, and her hands were zip tied behind her back.

  “Ignore that – kill the lights,” urged Harvey, sealing the door.

  All three flicked their flashlights off, leaving them with only the elevator’s overspill. As the butterfly crossed from the light into the shadows of the corridor, an iridescence spread across its wings. The gentle, white glow was soothing. Lucy felt herself relaxing as the butterfly bobbed through the air towards them.

  The insect landed delicately on the cell’s clear wall, and climbed steadily upwards towards the join between the glass and the ceiling. It explored the crevice further, then tried flying into the glass several times more, before fluttering away down the corridor.

  Karys let out a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t be fooled – it’s not gone. It’s looking for a way in,” said Harvey.

  “How do we get out?” said Ruth.

  “I can kill it. But it’s risky. It requires a volunteer,” said Harvey.

  “For what?” said Karys, warily.

  “Bait,” said Harvey.

  “I vote we use you,” said Lucy.

  “A reasonable suggestion, Lucy, but I cannot be both bait and killer. The maneuver requires two people,” said Harvey.

  “I’ll do it,” said Karys.

  “Excellent. You’ll have to remove your blood jacket, then roll your sleeve up,” said Harvey.

  Karys took off her yellow-striped flak jacket, then rolled her left sleeve up to her elbow. Harvey produced a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed the nozzle, and sprayed a transparent solution onto Karys’s skin.

  “When it lands, strike the match and hold it to your arm,” said Harvey, handing her a matchbox.

  “Wait, this stuff’s flammable?” said Karys, sniffing the sheen nervously.

  “But of course. You can’t swat or crush these butterflies, they dissolve upon such contact – into the host. At the present time, burning them is our only option. But it only works if you see the butterfly first. And for that, you need to lure it. Stay perfectly still until it lands. Good luck,�
� he said, opening the cell door.

  Karys stepped out into the dark corridor and cast her eyes around. “It’s coming back,” she said, fearfully, her voice muffled through the thick glass.

  Lucy held her breath as the ghostly white glow of the butterfly danced toward them through the shadows. The insect fluttered onto Karys’s sleeve and folded back its silky wings. First, it explored the crevices of her jacket. Then, with its fine antennae raised, it crawled over the hem of her sleeve and onto her exposed forearm.

  “The match, now!” cried Harvey.

  Karys hastily pressed the match to the strike pad, but it snapped in two. The butterfly bristled; its antennae stiffened. Karys pulled the box open, but her hands were shaking; matches spilled out onto the floor. The butterfly’s wings unfolded and descended symmetrically towards her skin.

  Harvey wrenched the cell door open and drew a lighter from his pocket. He seized Karys’s wrist and sparked the flame, sending a streak of fire across her arm. Karys shrieked in fear but he held her firmly, staring at the fire for two long seconds before throwing his lab coat over her arm and patting the flames out.

  Ruth flicked her light on. Karys tore herself away from Harvey and stared at her arm. Apart from a few singed hairs, she was unharmed, and there was no trace of the butterfly.

  “What part of that could you have not done yourself?” said Lucy, stepping out of the cell, with Ruth in tow.

  “We gained valuable data from Karys’s bravery. We’ve learned that a fail-safe is still necessary. But we’ve also expended my limited supply of the solution,” said Harvey, locking up the cell behind them, and returning Karys’s flak jacket to her.

  “Are there more of those things in this building?” said Ruth.

  “Almost certainly. But they are outside, too. We must get to the safe zone. I’ve installed a rudimentary deterrent on Level Five, where I’ve been producing the solution. If we can make it there, our chances of survival will be greatly improved. Follow me,” said Harvey.

  “What’s the point of the damn siren if people are just as vulnerable indoors?” fumed Lucy, as they approached the elevator.