Undercurrents

by Roberta Trahan

  A fierce and feral survival instinct flared. Before the syringe in his grip could clear the pocket flap, she knocked it out of his grip and sent it flying down the hall behind him with a single swift swipe of her left hand. With a jutting jab of her right, she sent Dr. Edam flying across the corridor and against the opposite wall.

  This was her chance. Deidre turned and sprinted for the double doors. The multi-dimensional effect that her visual cortex was creating made everything ahead look kaleidoscopic, but she knew how to interpret the images now. Beyond the doors was the waiting room, and beyond the waiting room, freedom.

  Seconds later, she was street side, in broad daylight. Her mind instantly calculated the light level and traffic and concluded that it was midmorning on a business day. Overcast, but not cold. The bus stop was a few blocks west.

  Although she knew exactly where she was, Deidre felt disoriented. She was more sensitive to light and sound now than she had ever been from the migraines. She was no longer incapacitated by pain, but the sensory overload was uncomfortable in its own way. It was difficult to sort through the stimulus and focus on anything.

  Twice she accidentally staggered into people on the sidewalk, before she had even reached the corner. Deidre stopped and stepped aside, trying to center herself. Her emotional centers were firing impulses like bottle rockets, driving her to run in any direction at all, just to put distance between her and Extragen Labs. Running blind was just as dangerous as standing still, maybe more so, but she had no idea where to go. She couldn’t stay here, alone and in the open, vulnerable to anything and anyone, including herself.

  Deidre felt more paralyzed standing on the street than she had on that gurney pumped full of vecuronium. A hipster talking on his cellphone and slinging a canvas messenger bag bumped into her hard as he wedged himself between her and the oncoming pedestrian traffic, knocking her backward into the brick wall behind her. Her backpack lurched off her shoulder, and she remembered her phone. She could call for help. Her roommate would pick her up, take her home.

  And then what?

  Deidre didn’t want to think about that now. What she needed most was refuge. She dug the phone out of the side pocket of her backpack, and dialed.

  *

  DEIDRE HUNKERED in the awning-capped side-alley service entrance to a sewing machine repair shop, like one of the countless derelicts and other desperate souls in similar spots, hoping her roommate would hurry. The businesses would be opening soon, and it was raining now.

  In twenty minutes, Deidre had managed to put several miles between her and Extragen, along a random cross-city foot route through the industrial district and two south-town neighborhoods, to an arbitrary rendezvous point she had snagged from Google Maps. Allowing for the early morning commuter traffic and lousy weather, Deidre calculated her ride should be arriving any minute now.

  It had stunned her to discover she’d been MIA for two days, although once she took the time to reflect she discovered she was able to determine the relative passage of time on her own, just by assessing her own internal processes. Sort of like a computer systems check or a self-diagnostic program. She had been unconscious in that lab a lot longer than she’d realized.

  A familiar dark blue sub-compact screeched to a halt at the curb. The passenger door swung open and a frantic Jamie leaned across the seat, shrieking. “Get in already!”

  Deidre slid into the passenger seat, focusing on the windshield rather than acknowledge her roommate’s horrified stare. “Just drive. I’m fine.”

  “Fine?” Jamie sputtered. Her heart rate and blood pressure escalated, but she turned her attention back to the road and pulled back into traffic. “Are you kidding me? We need to call 9-1-1.”

  “What good would that do? It’s not like they kidnapped me off the street.” Deidre kept her tone even, countering Jamie’s hysteria with logic and emotional distance. “I went there voluntarily. I signed the treatment forms.”

  “Bullshit.” Jamie’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel cinched even tighter. “No fucking way somebody can just put you on a 48-hour psych hold without your consent. There has to be a hearing or court order or something right?”

  A mild endorphin rush diffused the tension in Jamie’s body. She grinned. “Pretty badass, though, busting yourself out of that hell hole.”

  “Yeah.” Deidre was relieved her cover story was sticking. “But can we not talk about it right now?”

  “Sure. Okay.” Jamie cut one last assessing glance at Deidre before shifting her gaze back to the congested road ahead of her. “Fucking traffic.”

  In the pseudo-safety of her friend’s car, Deidre’s subconscious began to dissect and examine the events of the last two days, attempting to calculate likely next scenarios and project potential. Her left hemisphere was telling her that she didn’t have enough information to draw reliable conclusions. For now, she could just go home, go back to her life, pretend this all never happened.

  Or could she?

  Extragen would come after her. She had no idea what they wanted, but she knew they would come, and her medical records gave them all the information they needed to track her down. Where was she going to go, anyway? And how long would she last on her own? Deidre didn’t really understand what was happening to her, except that it was still happening. Her mind and body were still evolving, emerging.

  She was exhausted. And starving. She was in biochemical overdrive and the drain on her energy reserves was massive. She needed to refuel before she passed out. Apparently Deidre 2.0 was going to be very high maintenance.

  She spotted a minimart at the next intersection. “Pull over.”

  “What?” A confused but supportive Jamie responded on command, yanking hard on the wheel to nose the car into a loading zone.

  “Wait here.” Deidre shoved open the car door and crawled out. “I just need to get something to eat.”

  “Ok,” Jamie agreed, but then hedged. “Or, you could just let me go get it for you. Seriously. You don’t look so good.”

  “Its fine,” Deidre lied. Her blood sugar was plummeting and her hands were visibly shaking. “I got this.”

  Deidre stood straight and immediately realized it was going to be more difficult than she’d thought to continuously recalibrate her equilibrium. She was weak, and growing weaker by the minute. Her physiology was also continuing to expand, and the energy required to accommodate the rapid change was massive. And yet, even in this depleted state, her sensory receptors were registering movement and sound within a fifty foot perimeter. Her visual range was broader and more complex; even the minute refractive changes caused by the inconsistent density of the passing cloud cover and the indiscriminate directional shifts in the wind and how it altered the rain pattern imprinted on her neural pathways. She was aware of everything, even the distinct body odor of everyone who walked by.

  Deidre noticed the approach of a specifically acrid and particularly pungent stench produced by the adrenal glands of predators, warning of hostile intent. A short, square-shouldered male shrugged inside a dark hoodie, one fist jammed into the front pocket of his loose-fit jeans and the other cradled in the pouch of his sweatshirt, crossed the street between a small SUV and a sedan parked just ahead of Jamie’s subcompact. He angled through the sidewalk traffic toward the minimart half a block away, quickening his step as got closer.

  She was on him before she knew what she was doing. It wasn’t until after she had disarmed the threat that she realized no one else on the street had sensed danger. They had, however, seen Deidre fling a seemingly unassuming man into rush hour cross-traffic. And they were staring. Deidre saw her own horror, reflected in the eyes of strangers.

  The man was on his feet and running within seconds, apparently no worse for the experience, but Deidre was. She was nearly too weak to stand, and clearly not in control of herself. Every instinct Deidre had was goading her to retreat.

  Jamie’s blue subcompact lurched forward and stopped beside her. Deidre got back in
to the car. “Drive.”

  “Oh my god.” Jamie pulled around the corner at the intersection and sped away, as eager as Deidre was to escape. She slowed as she approached the next cross street, preparing to turn toward home.

  “No,” Deidre directed. “Keep going. Take the next right.”

  Jamie complied but she was clearly distressed. “So now what? You still need to eat, right? We should just go home.”

  Deidre did not respond, except to direct Jamie turn by turn, back along the route they had come. Home was the last place they should go. The more distance Deidre put between herself and her real life, the better it would be for everyone - at least for now.

  “Here,” Deidre said. “You can let me out here.”

  “What?” Jamie was stunned, but she pulled over anyway. “No way. I’m not leaving you on the streets by yourself.”

  “Yes, you are.” Deidre got out and closed the passenger door behind her.

  Jamie yanked on the emergency brake and jumped out of the running car. “What the hell are you doing, Deidre? Do you even know where you are?”

  “Go home,” Deidre said.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Jamie was confounded.

  “Seriously,” Deidre insisted. “Go home. I’ll meet you there later.”

  “But…”

  “Its fine,” Deidre cut Jamie off. “I just need a little time to figure some things out. I’ll go grab a coffee and a scone or something and take the bus back.”

  Jamie stared hard while she struggled to control her frustration and come up with an argument Deidre couldn’t fend off. In the end, Jamie caved to confusion and emotional exhaustion. “Whatever. But for real, girl. We need to talk when you get home.”

  “Sure.” Deidre hitched her backpack over her shoulder and waved Jamie away. She watched until the car was well out of view, feeling less and less sure of her decision with each passing moment.

  She wanted to go home, to back to her life, but Deidre realized that who or what she was now no longer belonged there. Worse yet, she was even more afraid of herself than she was of the people who had created her. She needed help, and as crazy as it was, there was only one place she could get it.

  Deidre took a deep breath, turned to face the three-story concrete slab building with two-foot high raised brass numbers next to a set of reinforced steel double doors with no windows, and pushed the call button.

  THE END