by Eve Langlais
She didn’t let his apparent dislike of her person deter her from being friendly when she ran into him in the hall. Not actually into him this time. She managed to walk and smile at the same time, which was harder than it sounded. The man had the ability to unsettle her.
“Hey there, Jett. How’s it been hanging?” She would say at least eight inches, more than a hand thick and slightly to the right.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “But funny thing, the patient is missing. Do you know what happened to JR?”
“Who the fuck is JR? And why the fuck would I know?”
“JR was the guy sleeping in this room.” She jabbed a finger at the door. “He’s gone.”
The big guard shrugged. “Probably woke up and got moved.”
“To level five?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Well I do,” she huffed. She was possibly the only one who did, and did those snooty nurses on level five care? Nope. They wouldn’t tell her anything. They had a cone of silence that no amount of cheerful banter would break.
Becky hadn’t quite reached the point of despair when it came to breaking the story she knew hid in this place, but at times she wanted to scream in frustration. An impatience fueled by the almost constant tickle in her lungs.
Just a cold. People got them all the time. Never mind what the MRI said.
“You’re not paid to care,” he retorted.
“That seems cold.”
“Listen, you seem like a nice girl, so let me give you a piece of advice. Do your job.”
“I am doing my job.” Spoken with an indignant note.
“No, you’re not. You think it hasn’t been noticed you’re asking questions? Lots of them.”
How did he know? She thought she’d been discreet. “Curiosity is healthy.”
“It also killed the fucking cat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why must it always be doom and gloom with you?”
“Always?” He snorted. “Seems like a rather broad statement given we barely know each other.”
“And whose fault is that?” The sassy reply actually snapped his mouth shut.
Not for long. “What is your problem?”
“You are my problem. You and that perpetual scowl. Would it kill you to be nice once in awhile? Maybe even try a grin, or has it been so long you’re afraid it will hurt?” Yes, she threw down a challenge. She just couldn’t help herself.
His lips pulled apart, the smile cold, and yet somehow sexy. “I know how to smile. But only for people I like.”
Oooh. Definite dig. “Why don’t you like me?” For some reason it seemed important to find out. Every other guy in this place panted after her. Not Jett. Problem was she saw him watching her all the time. She’d enter a room, and his gaze would zero in on her. Or she’d feel that prickle between her shoulder blades, and when she turned, she’d find him walking away.
It wasn’t her imagination or conceit that made her believe he found her attractive. And yet he seemed determined to be a dick and push her away.
“Why the fuck do you care if I like you?”
Good question. “We have to work together.”
“No. You have to work in that room.” He jabbed a finger at a closed door. “I make sure no one throttles you while you do it.”
Her hand went to her neck, his words reminding her of the incident a month ago in the hospital. “How would you even know if I needed help? It’s not like you’re in the room with me when I’m dealing with a patient.”
“I’d know.” He patted his hip, indicating the hand-held unit clipped there. “Someone is always watching. And listening.” The last sounding like a warning before he turned on his heel and strode away, the clomp of his boots as expressive as his scowl.
She stuck out her tongue. Jerk. He obviously couldn’t help himself. Just like she couldn’t help finding him interesting.
That afternoon she started her shift by checking on Larry—what she’d named the beak-nosed guy in room four oh four. She’d noticed him sweating earlier, which seemed odd given the rooms were climate controlled and he didn’t run a fever.
Entering his room—which had much in common with a cell given the sparseness of it, bed, a few pieces of equipment, and nothing else, not even a bright picture to liven up the space—the first thing she noticed was how still her patient appeared. Usually she could see his chest rising and falling. Not only did nothing move, she didn’t hear him breathing either.
“Oh dear.” She rushed to Larry’s side and put her hand to his chest, exhaling in relief at the steady thump of his heart. “Naughty boy, giving me a scare,” she chided. She noted the clammy sweat of earlier was gone. His skin appeared dry, and a press of the back of her hand against his forehead showed his temperature normal. Not the most scientific method, but experience with fevers meant she could tell by touch.
“Let’s check your vitals, shall we,” she chirped as she turned around to grab a few things. She had the tendency to talk to the patients. Mostly nonsense chatter about her day, the antics of the guards, the yummy soup she had for lunch. She didn’t know if they could hear but didn’t think it would hurt to let them know someone was there, caring for them.
When she turned back around, she uttered a gasp. Larry stared at her, his eyes open wide, the blue irises so pale as to almost be translucent, the pupils, tiny pinpricks of black.
“Well hello there.” She smiled. “You’re awake. How wonderful.”
He said nothing. Didn’t even blink. Kind of freaky and just like Pixie had done once before. Probably some kind of muscle reflex. Still, those in charge would want to be informed.
“I should let the doctors know you’re conscious.”
“No.” The low, gruff word slipped past his lips and sent a shiver down her spine.
He really was awake. How wonderful.
“You don’t want me to get them yet? I can understand that,” she gushed. “I mean you just woke up, and probably aren’t too crazy about having some doctors poke and prod you. How are you feeling?”
“Hu-u-u-n-n-gry.” The word rolled out of him and raised goosebumps on her flesh. And was it her, or did his eyes seem to shine a little too bright?
“Hungry? I can fix that. Let me just go grab you something from the cafeteria.” She took a step away from the bed, Mr. Lowry’s warning suddenly echoing in her head—"If they so much as twitch, you are to notify us immediately. There is a red button. Press it and vacate the room.” Problem was the red button was by the door, on the other side of the bed.
“No.” The single syllable emerged stronger this time. However, it was the fact Larry sat up in bed and then pivoted so his legs dangled off the edge that kind of worried her.
How remarkable he could manage it. Most coma patients had muscle atrophy issues and coordination problems as their bodies woke from their long healing slumber.
Not Larry. He braced his hands on the mattress and pushed himself to his feet.
He didn’t fall.
Didn’t wobble.
And yes, his eyes were definitely freaking glowing, cold ice chips lit from within.
She took another step back. “I really should get a doctor.”
“No doctor.” A rumbled demand joined by a curled lip.
Utterly spooked, she decided to stop screwing around. Despite knowing it was dumb, she turned her back on Larry and ran for the door.
She didn’t make it.
A fist tangled itself in her hair, grabbing hold and yanking her off her feet. Sharp agony stabbed at her scalp. A pained cry escaped her, and her hands went to the grip in a vain attempt to pry it loose.
Larry didn’t seem inclined to release Becky. He swung her around, the sharp tug of hair bringing tears to her eyes.
“Please, let go.” She wasn’t above pleading.
“Hungry,” he stated, the syllables thick, the intent menacing.
“I’ll get you
food.”
“You food.” The most chilling thing she’d ever heard.
Becky stared at his face, the eyes wide and freaky, his mouth open, and his teeth glistening. Teeth that appeared rather pointed.
And what was wrong with his face?
Having cared for him close to a month, how had she never noticed the odd slope of his forehead, the jut of his lower jaw, and hadn’t she shaved him this morning? Yet he sported a thick growth of hair that spread across his face, covering his chin and cheeks and even extending down his neck.
He released her suddenly, and Becky made a dash for freedom, only to find herself falling, the foot he’d extended tripping her.
She hit the floor hard and cried out again. Then, for good measure, let out a piercing scream as he pounced her.
The feeble attempt at struggling did not stop him from flipping her over. He straddled her body, his eyes glowing brighter than ever, his teeth, definitely longer and sharper than before.
He reached for her neck. Grabbed hold. Squeezed.
Despite her mouth being open wide, she couldn’t scream. Couldn’t make a sound at all or even draw a breath.
Spots danced before her eyes, and she realized in that moment, I’m going to die.
Chapter Six
Jett almost didn’t hear it. He was about to leave Ward D to patrol the next wing when a faint scream, abruptly cut off, caught his attention. He didn’t need the crackling walkie-talkie clipped to his belt barking, “Code Red room four oh four,” to know he had to move his ass
It took too many seconds for his key card to unlock the door. By the time he entered, Becky’s lips were turning blue and her eyelids fluttered shut.
“Oh, hell no, motherfucker. Get your hands off her!” he yelled.
The gun was in his hand without even thinking, and he fired the darts at the patient. One, two, three. Not enough to take the adrenalized guy down, but enough to draw his attention.
The patient released the nurse and came at Jett, his eyes glowing eerily, his pupils shrunk to only pinpoints. The subject’s lips pulled back in a snarl.
Not one to be intimidated, Jett snarled right back. “Get on your knees, asshole.” He steadied his weapon, conscious of the fact he had only two darts left. Would it be enough?
“Hungry!” yelled the patient, spittle flying. He lunged, and Jett quickly fired, the darts hitting and having no effect.
As the patient slammed into him, the gun went spinning from his hand. Not that it would do him any good. Jett shoved at the heavy man and swept his foot around his ankle. He didn’t manage to topple the patient, but he did gain some time, enough to dance back and set himself into a more defensive position.
Bracing his legs slightly apart, Jett crouched a little, his body loose and limber. “You wanna wrestle? Let’s go.” With no darts left, he needed to buy time. Those watching would have called reinforcements. He just had to distract the patient—whose strength exceeded his own—and stay alive.
Not for the first time, he cursed the doctors for not using restraints. Part of their trying to make things look normal. Regular hospitals used them only in extreme cases. The clinic counted as extreme in his mind because, while not all those who woke went psychotic, enough did to be an issue. The nurse, lying prone on the floor, who’d yet to twitch since his arrival, would probably agree.
He’d bitch at his bosses later, once the patient was subdued. Right now, he dodged ham-fisted swings. A roundhouse kick got the fellow in the face. He was sure he heard a crack.
The patient didn’t even flinch. But it did piss him off. The guy roared. He also got bigger.
And bigger.
His whole body bulged as the muscles expanded, adrenalized and pumped.
Not good.
“Would someone get their fucking ass down here with some more tranquilizers,” Jett bellowed as the patient rushed him. He dove under the thrown punch that would have probably broken something if it had landed. At times like these, he really wished they’d arm him with bullets instead of sleeping agents.
Only those outside got to use real guns. The doctors weren’t about to see their projects killed because a guard might foolishly value his own life.
The fucker managed to back Jett into a corner, well away from the nurse, with his back to the hallway door.
The patient thought he’d won and grinned. Not a pretty sight. A face not even a mother would love with a sloping forehead, jutting cheekbones, and a nose that was flattened.
Jett smiled right back and held out his hands. “That’s right, you big fucking dummy. Pay attention to me.” Because that meant the patient wasn’t looking behind him and the guards who came rushing in could fire their darts.
This time, there were enough of them hammering the subject’s body that he went down, a surprised look on his face. A face that smashed into the floor with a crunch that probably meant a broken nose. As Jett walked by, he gave the guy a kick. “Get him down to level six,” he barked. “And make sure he’s tied up tight.” Next time the beast awoke, they’d want to avoid an incident.
Speaking of incident, his boss would want him to take care of the dead nurse. He knelt by her, confused by the sadness filling him as he stared at her still body. A body that gave a rattling gasp.
“Shit, she’s still alive.” He glanced up at the camera watching. “She’s not dead. What should I do with her?” Because this close he could see her throat was damaged, possibly crushed beyond normal repair.
Normal for a civilian hospital. But this was the Chimaeram Clinic, where the impossible happened.
The walkie-talkie at his waist crackled. “Bring her to my lab,” the big cheese himself replied.
“Right away, sir.”
First, though, he should stabilize her neck before he caused more damage. Jett rummaged in the cabinets until he found something to keep her head from wobbling around. The process quickly accomplished yet not fast enough as her breathing grew labored, each inhalation rattled.
“Don’t you go dying on me, Red.” For some reason the soft words emerged from him, almost as if he cared what happened to her. He should be glad that, for once, she couldn’t run her motor mouth. Yet, the apparently masochistic side of him missed her bubbly attitude.
Jett scooped the nurse into his arms and stood, noticing the slightness of her frame. Just a wee thing against a brute. She’d never stood a chance.
Running would jostle her broken neck too much; however, time wasted. Jett walked briskly, his steps loud in the hall, louder than the doctors rushing past him, their chatter excited—“…showing signs of incredible strength.” Never mind the fact their test subject tried to kill a woman.
He slipped into the elevator and snapped, “Habitat level.”
Because Chimera didn’t work amongst the other doctors. He had his own lab, a secret lab, and only a few knew about it and had access. Exiting the elevator, Becky cradled in his arms, her breathing shallow with long pauses in between the wheezing, he glanced quickly for anyone watching. Seeing no one, he strode straight forward into the section marked “Under Construction,” past the curve in the hall that hid him from sight, right to the rock wall at the back.
Usually he would have to press his badge against the hidden console, but Chimera must have been watching. The secret door slid open with only a whisper of sound, and to anyone watching, he would have appeared to walk straight through the rock wall. Holograms hid the entrance.
He entered a hallway, seemingly benign if you ignored the grills running the length of it. Should the wrong sort get this far, the security measures would kick in and, depending on Chimera’s mood, either drop the person into a deep sleep or turn them into pink slime with no chance of recovery.
Not a pretty sight he might add. He’d seen it only once, an assistant of Chimera’s thinking he could steal secrets and get away with it.
Ned’s death served as a lesson to others—and made the monsters in the cages happy at the change in diet.
Loo
king down at the nurse’s face, he could only hope she wouldn’t be dumb enough to tell anyone what she saw. Chimera would fix her and, in doing so, make her part of the secret.
A secret that might kill her as easily as fix her. Not everyone reacted the same to the medicine in this place. Some became better versions than themselves. Others…others got locked away to never see the light of day again. But what choice did he have?
Becky wouldn’t survive without special help.
As Jett reached the far end of the hall, he did his best to not react at the sudden hiss. Decontamination was a must if you wanted entry. The gas didn’t hurt, but it did ensure no live microbes made it into the inner sanctum.
He stood with his burden until the door opened onto a state-of-the-art lab. Pristine white and glistening clean.
He entered and found Chimera waiting for him. The man wore a white lab coat over his usual preppy clothes, pressed trousers and a collared shirt.
“Put her over here.” Chimera pointed, and Jett obeyed, laying her carefully on the bed, noting the pole with its hanging sack of dark liquid ready by its side.
Kyle, Chimera’s assistant—who was silent not because of fear if he talked but because he had no vocal cords—rushed to help. He rolled up the woman’s sleeve. With deft fingers, he inserted a tube into her arm. The liquid began its drip.
Chimera turned to Jett. “I need you to hold her down while I apply the osseous compound to her neck.”
Hold her down because it would hurt, and Chimera obviously didn’t think they had time to waste tethering her to the rails. Jett straddled her on the bed, his body pinning her lower half, his hands gripping her shoulders.
Even as Jett positioned himself, Chimera approached with a big fucking needle, the glass vial filled with a bright green fluid. The osseous compound, made specifically to heal bone injuries. Nasty shit that he’d thankfully never needed.
Jett retained a placid expression as the doctor began to poke and inject, the needle sliding into skin already a dark, mottled color.
At the third pinprick, the nurse’s eyes opened wide and unseeing. Her lips parted, and she struggled for breath.
