9 Tales From Elsewhere 12

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  Dr. Derosa put his free hand on Matthews back.

  “You'll be ok son… Long deep breathes….” he instructed Matthew.

  Doctor Derosa shuffled over to the storage unit. He reopened the unit and placed the vile, filled with water and food coloring, back inside.

  Hidden by the helmet a nice grin plastered Matthew’s face. Half a minute later, Derosa was back. He helped Matthew straighten up and guided him to the same door they entered through. He punched in the code and scanned his eyes. After hearing the four “clinks,” he then pulled down the lever. They stepped into the air-lock room. Another set of codes, a scan, clinks, and the pull of the handle on the door behind them, and they were back in the prep room.

  Dr. Patel grabbed Matthew by the arm and immediately helped him out of his BSL suit. While so, Matthew was able to retrieve the SARS 21 live vile from the pit of the suit jacket. He switched it from right- to- left hand until the suit was off, then placed it into the right pocket of his medical scrubs.

  At this point there was no worry about being caught. Dr. Derosa was focused on removing his own suit. And Dr. Patel was staring at Matthew's face, as if it was melting like a candle. He was waiting for some kind of explanation.

  “I had –hada- panic attack,” Matthew stammered, doing his best to sound and look scared and embarrassed.

  Dr. Patel was about to berate Matthew but caught himself. He paused a moment, took a short breath, then cracked a smirk and said, “I guess it's good we had a little test run today instead of this happening in front of the whole team on Monday.”

  Matthew was taken aback by Dr. Patel’s unexpected sense of humor

  “I'm very sorry Dr. Patel. I just felt a bit claustrophobic.”….

  “Well it could have been worse…. Let’s get you some air and we'll discuss this on Monday.” Patel Said.

  Dr. Derosa cut in, “You gave me a bit of a scare for a second Matthew.”-He sounded very annoyed.

  Matthew didn’t respond. He just held his head low like a beaten dog until he was behind the curtain of the changing station. When done changing Matthew held the vile in front of his face. He smiled before sliding it into the right pocket of his jeans.

  Matthew pulled the curtain back and was sure to avoid eye contact with either doctor. It worked. Without another word spoken, Dr.Derosa grabbed a clipboard and wrote something down. He then punched the code to the exit door, and out they were.

  Dr. Patel had no parting words as he paced out the door and toward his office.

  Dr. Derosa broke the thick silence. “Ya know Matthew…. this cannot happen again.”

  “It won’t sir, I can assure you…..Really, you don’t have to say another word.” Matthew said.

  “Well I didn’t’ t plan on it” Dr. Derosa replied.. “Listen..get some rest and we’ll see you Monday.”

  They shook hands, and then Matthew was on his way.

  That night as he sat on the couch after a shower and frozen dinner, Matthew rolled up his left sleeve. In front of him, lying on the cheap glass coffee table was the SARS 21vile. Next to it sat a syringe he had taken from the stock room in one of his lab classes. Then without a care in the world, he proceeded to inject the contents of the entire vile into his left arm. The emotional concoction of elation and determination he felt was beyond description.

  The next day around 7:00am Matthew awoke. After downing a large mug of black coffee, he loosely packed a black duffel bag with: a pair of sneakers, two pairs of jeans, some boxers, socks and a fistful of t-shirts grabbed from the bottom dresser drawer. He then phoned for a taxi to LaGuardia Airport. While waiting he counted out 6,000 in cash saved mostly from Birthdays, Christmas' and his time interning. He pocketed a cool grand in Ben franklins before stacking the rest into 5 separate piles, each bound with a fresh rubber band, then sealed in its own manila envelope.

  20-25 min later his phone rang. The taxi was outside. Before leaving Matthew was sure to grab his passport and wallet. He settled in the cab, exchanged quick pleasantries with the cabbie, and was off. Maybe 5 minutes into the ride Matthew began to expel a series of coughs without covering his mouth-(though it was nothing too extreme as to arouse the cabbie's attention.) Some minutes later, again without covering his mouth, he let out a simple series of coughs. The cabbie never batted an eye as he sliced and diced through the city streets to avoid the morning congestion.

  9:05 the cab began to slow down along the British Airways Departure terminal. As the cab was coming to a halt, Matthew spit a nice quarter sized wad of saliva into the palm of his right hand. He rubbed it through the fingers of both hands thoroughly, like a germ-phobe who just squirted sanitizer in his hands. He then ran his hands along the back seat door handles. Once outside, the cabbie handed him the duffel bag. And with a 5 dollar bill snug in his palm, Matthew offered his right hand-(full of SARS 21)- to the cabbie, giving a firm hand shake and smile.

  Inside the airport Matthew stood for a moment and took in his surroundings. A vast variety of classes, races and creeds went about their way. Seemingly out of nowhere, A yuppie dressed in a fine Armani suit jogged past, his luggage in one hand trolling behind him, almost colliding into Matthew. Looking over his shoulder Matthew noticed a small group of Hasidic Jews. They were huddled together and rocking back and forth, deep in prayer, reading from a Torah.

  Matthew spent the next 4 hours spreading germs as well as a 5 year old with the flu. He coughed his way through every terminal. He spat in his hand and wiped it on escalator rails and the flush handles of urinals. Also, he asked about two dozen men and women for directions to this or that terminal. After the unfortunate victim directed him, Matthew returned the favor- a handshake full of SARS 21…..(And really, how many people will refuse when someone offers to shake their hand as a gesture of gratitude?- especially when that someone is caught off guard?? Exactly….) And this all might sound very silly, yet we all know this is how easy disease can be spread-saliva, thousands of saliva droplets per cough. And so for the next 19 days, starting at his first stop in London City Airport, Matthew did just that- utilizing the same methods he did in LaGuardia.

  Thereafter, he continued to spread the nuclear disease throughout airplanes and intercontinental airports, all located across Europe then Asia. From there he hit up Australia before flying east to Africa, then South America, and finally back to LaGuardia. He spent no longer than 12 hours, usually less, at each airport. When he was tired he either slept on a plane or in a terminal.

  On day 20 Matthew arrived back in New York around 6:00am. And for the next 18 hours straight Matthew rode the subways throughout out all 4 boroughs of New York City, performing the same deed he had the last 19 days- spreading germs. He had lost 10 lbs and gained dark puffy circles under his eyes with a spotty beard to boot. None of which was a result of the SARS 21 speeding through his bloodstream. After all, Dr. Derosa had been right thus far, day 20 and no symptoms. His new haggard appearance was brought on from the wear and tear of all the traveling.

  At 11:00pm he arrived at the front steps of his apartment. Before entering the lobby, he spied his surroundings for cops or suspicious looking characters. He did not want to spend his last days in jail. It was unlikely anyone would have reported him missing for two reasons. First, he had been working on a covert assignment at the hospital. Had Dr. Derosa reported his disappearance, an investigation could have prompted a media circus. Also, Matthew had no friends and hadn’t spoken to his mother in months after she ran away to Florida with a man she met on-line.

  Second, suppose Dr. Derosa discovered Matthew had stolen the vile? The last option the doctor would choose would be to report it to the authorities. Forget losing his medical license, he would be rubbed out before the media could get hold of him. Captain Franklin or someone else in the military would likely bury him in a dune off Long-Island….

  On top of all that, Matthew had read the NY Times and Post each of the last 20 days as they were readily available in any and all international airports. There were no s
tories about a missing med student, or worse yet, a missing vile containing the next pandemic.

  Still, maybe, the land lord might have reported him, and that was enough for Matthew to be cautious.

  All was clear. There was nothing out of the ordinary to report as Matthew stood on the steps- just the sounds of an old city with a mind of its own, and so many buried secrets.

  Matthew pushed through the lobby doors and kept his head down to avoid any eye contact as he made his way to apartment 1 D. The lobby was clear. Matthew put an ear to his apt door just in case. Hearing nothing, he opened the door, shuffled in and plunged onto the couch. The apartment was just how he left it.

  Day 21....

  Upon awakening, Matthew glanced at his alarm clock. It was 8:16am. He sat up, then tried to stand in one motion, but collapsed back onto his bed. A huge gush of vertigo swarmed throughout his throbbing head. He let out a terrible cry.. It felt like a parade of drummers was marching around the inside of his skull, banging out patterns on his brain.

  After a couple of minutes the vertigo subsided, but not the drummers. Still, he made his way to the bathroom and proceeded to shit his brains out.

  …… SARS-21…. The genetic mutation worked... just as advertised.

  Besides the headache and diarrhea, Matthew felt very weak. It took him an hour to clean himself up from the toilet and make his way to the couch. His body was burning up, and an hour or two later brought on the dry coughs. Though suffering, he did not worry in the least. This was his plan. And he had one last button to push.

  It was now 10 after 11:00. The symptoms continued to wreak havoc in Matthew’s body. The dry coughs intensified. He called 9-1-1. With a faded voice, he told the dispatcher he was going to kill himself. The dispatcher utilized his training the best he could. With a calm voice, he asked Matthew routine questions: “Where do you live?” “Are you hurt?” Matthew did answer these questions. After all, he truly wanted the cops to arrive-the more the better. The dispatcher also asked Matthew if he had any firearms. He was sure to tell the man that he did not have a gun. Police breaking down his doors, pistols out, was not what Matthew planned.

  After a few minutes Matthew hung up on the poor fellow who desperately tried to keep him on the line. Then, with all the strength he could gather up, Matthew made his way to the bedroom and slid out a shoe box from under his bed. He took the top off and grabbed the item inside-a military M9,Ontario, which he had ordered off Amazon a month earlier(In laymen’s terms, an M9 is a 7 inch black stainless steel knife) And when it had arrived Matthew took great care to sharpen it.

  Matthew felt a quick surge of adrenaline as he held the knife with his right hand. He then walked back to the couch. For the next 5-10 min he set a cold stare on the apartment door.

  There were 3 loud knocks..

  “Matthew Brackus??!! …This is Officer Perez, NYPD...Could you please open the door?”

  “Yes, this is Matthew, give me a second please” he yelled back, sounding calm.

  For a last burst of energy Matthew slapped himself in the face a few times. He then gripped the knife in his right hand and walked toward the door.

  What happened next lasted all of about a minute, a minute and a half. After he unlocked the door latch Matthew pressed his body against the wall behind the door, so that when it opened, he would be out of the cops’ line of sight and could catch the door knob before it hit the wall.

  Next, in one quick motion as the door knob turned, Matthew tilted his head back and put the blade of the knife against his neck, just below the right ear lobe. And with all the strength he had left, he began to slice deep and downward through the flesh of his neck and through his jugular. Instantly, hundreds of deep red droplets sprayed against the door.

  Matthew then grabbed the door knob for leverage and swung his body forward toward the first cop, now taking his first step into the apartment. It looked like a scene straight out of a cheap 70’s horror film-like a zombie pouncing from behind the door and onto the clueless blonde.

  Just as the cop was turning his head toward him, Matthew greeted the law enforcer by plunging the knife into his right eye. The young cop was tall and lanky with an innocent face, and way too innocent to have been a veteran on the job. Matthew thought he caught a glimpse of the man’s name plate,“J. Perez,” as the blade slid through the socket- almost to the handle. A thick splash of blood from Matthew’s neck painted officer Perez’s face, getting into the whites of his eyes. Matthew yanked the blade out of the eye socket as officer Perez stumbled, falling ass backward over an end table. His head made a hollow THUMP against the wooden floor. The bloody blade had bit pieces of eyeball along the length of it like bits of a hardboiled egg.

  Matthew noticed a second officer in the hallway. The poor bastard just stood there with a wicked expression of shock and terror about his face. He too was young, but had a much thicker build than Officer Perez. And as blood continued to spurt feet from the gash in Matthew’s neck, he lunged at the officer, wrapping his left arm around the man’s waist in an attempt to give some sort of clumsy bear hug. With his free hand, his right, Matthew tomahawked the knife toward the officer’s neck.

  The officer shielded his neck and let his forearm take the blow. Matthew felt the blade pierce the bone before pulling the knife back out. He now had the officer pinned against the hallway wall with his left forearm. Blood ran down the officers light blue shirt turning it a shade of dark purple, almost black. With each beat of his heart, a fresh stream of blood continued to spurt from Matthew’s neck, coating the cop’s chest, face and wall behind them.

  Again, Matthew took a hack at the officer’s neck with the knife. It was slower and weaker than the first. The cop pushed Matthews forearm off his chest and weaved his body away from the blow. The blade stuck into the wall behind them. Matthew’s knees began to buckle from the major loss of blood. And within the few seconds Matthew tried to steady himself and pull the blade free from the wall, the officer, with his right hand, pulled his glock 19 from its holster. Matthew turned his head toward the officer, his left hand still trying to pull the knife handle free from the wall.

  The officer released the safety and pointed the gun toward Matthews face. He squeezed the trigger. The first two bullets snapped Matthew’s head backwards. The rest of his body followed. The officer squeezed off four more shots, two of which went into the ceiling. The other two struck Matthew’s stomach and left thigh as he was falling to the floor. The officer, his back against the wall, slid down onto his ass. Matthew’s blood covered most of the officer’s face and shirt; and blood was still drizzling from the gaping wound to the officers left forearm. He was panting, taking short quick breathes- the gun still clutched in his right hand.

  He glanced over and saw Matthew lying face up, eyes wide open, -DEAD. A chunk of skull was missing from the left side of Matthew’s forehead, exposing his brain. His left eye was also protruding from its socket like a bull-frog’s. Most disturbing, however, was his ear to ear toothless grin.

  As the officer recovered his wits he called for backup. While doing so, something scurried out of Matthew’s left ear, and down the hall it went. It was the same grotesque creature that crawled into his ear so many years ago…So many years ago when he met Mike and his dog Lampwick.

  THE END.

  Pete Markson lives in Rockaway, N.J. with his wife and son. He teaches special education and gives drum lessons(his true passion.) Pete considers writing as a form of therapy rather than a hobby, and "SARS 21" is the first story he has ever submitted to any publication. About the story, "I try to write about things that could actually happen. It freaks me out knowing there are many microscopic organisms out there that could wipe out all of humanity."

  TRAP by Eliot Foerester

  Davis frowned as he crouched in the damp forest underbrush. Behind him, his five remaining comrades shifted uneasily, weapons at the ready, armor speckled with morning dew. From the clearing before them came the steady metallic beat of steel on rock: un
changing and mechanical, drawing his mind ever back to the trap before him.

  They had been on the road to Dennum, a small town in the heartland, to provide the local authority with much needed clout to clean up a messy administration. The new leaders were far from virtuous. No one expected saints, but it was hoped they would be mindful of order and decency.

  The citizenry of Dennum, feeling betrayed by the old administration, were now entrenched against any authority. Davis and his six knights had been chosen for a two-year stay in Dennum to help enforce the newly re- established law. Two years easy work, a proud and honorable task.

  In the last town, Davis had made sure to check with the locals to see what menaces lurked in this part of the world.

  Domen Craih was still at large. Davis noted briefly that the bounty was finally starting to drop. The sketch of the wild old man with a long beard and a black eye painted on his forehead was the same one used for almost thirty years.

  Liss the Hunter was rumored to be prowling about again. Stalking the unwary and lost through the woods and valleys. A creature like the hunter would have little interest in Davis and his well armed crew.

  Finally, the inevitable poster, kept away from the others as if it would infect them. Someone had come by with dark paint and blacked out the dreadful face of the nightmare that was wanted across the land.

  The Witch King. Pariah.

  According to rumors, she was burning the world to the ground in the mountains of the far north.

  The three previous criminals were fearsome, to be sure, but no imminent threat. There should be no nightmares waiting for them in the shadows.

  Halfway to Dennum, Kilton vanished in the night.

  It was hard to imagine thieves or bandits absconding with a fully armored knight from his camp, and stealing nothing else. However, the knights at dawn found a ragged hole in the underbrush leading deeper into the quiet forest. Davis nearly expected to find signs guiding them to the trap, but the culprits were not so tacky.