Then she turned away, leaving behind a thick print of blood.
The space was filled instantly, and Wilfred covered his face. “No,” he said again, but it was too late. The image had left an imprint. John’s piercing blue eyes were buried beneath a film of blood that ran claret tears down his pale cheeks. A snarl hung off his limp features.
A thick and nauseating pain swelled in Wilfred’s chest and stomach. Was he going to shit himself where he sat? There was nothing he could have done about Alice. John, however, was totally his doing.
The white corridor was blurry when he pulled his hands down. Not blurry enough to prevent him from seeing the huge gash in John’s neck. Not blurry enough to hide the bloody crater where his ear used to be.
Biting down so hard that his teeth hurt, Wilfred turned to the security camera. Pointing up at it, spittle shooting from his mouth, he said, “How dare you do this to me? How dare you drag me into this mess?”
The camera turned to get a better look at him.
“That’s right!” Wilfred shouted. “Stare at me from behind a lens, you fucking cowards!”
His raised voice irritated Alice and John, who were now both at the window, banging against it with bloody fists. They had no interest in one another; all they wanted was Wilfred.
“You’ll be judged when your time is up. You’ll pay for this with your souls!” Getting to his feet, Wilfred walked over to the camera until he was directly beneath it. It was too high for him to grab, but he stared up and shouted, “And before that, you’ll be judged in the courts. Permission was given for one death. One!” Throwing an angry finger at the door, he continued, “John wasn’t an accident. John was murder! Murder that I realised should have been prevented. But you wouldn’t let me. I realised it was wrong, and you overrode me. You’re the ones to blame, not me!”
The camera moved away as if it had stopped listening, and Wilfred was left with the sound of his own ragged breathing and the banging on the window.
As his fury died, he looked back up at the camera. It was watching John and Alice.
He followed its line of sight.
Warm urine soaked his trousers.
He muttered, “Oh shit.”
The red light on the door’s control panel turned green.
Shunk! The bolts retracted into the door.
***
“We had to do it, Frank.”
Unable to remove his sore eyes from the monitor, Frank said, “We didn’t have to do anything, Artem.” He flinched as he watched John and Alice tear into the portly Wilfred. Alice, who seemed to have earned alpha status already, went for the neck while John attacked one of Wilfred’s ample thighs.
Clearing his throat with a wet cough, Frank added, “Wilfred didn’t deserve that.”
The room was dark save for the glow of the monitors. Artem’s fingers danced over his keyboard. The clicks continued as he said, “All of the other doors are fine. The locks are solid. They’re safely quarantined up there.”
Looking at the high-five his colleague was holding up for him, Frank returned to watching the scene in the corridor. His tone was dry as he stated, “There’s nothing to celebrate.”
The limp form of Wilfred had been abandoned by the other two. For a moment, he was immobile, but Frank knew what was coming.
First, his left arm twitched. Then his left leg jumped from the floor. Thrashing his head from side to side, he snapped at the air, his paralysed body clearly waiting to catch up. His throaty growl was lessened by the tinny speakers in the control room, but it still sent a chill running through Frank.
Shaking his head, Frank said, “I know they’re in the penthouse, and we’re about as far away as we can possibly be in this building, but it still feels too close.”
Artem’s booming laugh pulled Frank’s shoulders to his neck. It was the kind of laugh that, when you heard it in a restaurant, you discreetly asked if you could move tables. Knocked forwards by his colleague clumsily patting his back, Frank ground his jaw when Artem said, “You’re paranoid, mate. We’re in control here. There’s no way this is–”
Thwip!
Frank looked across to see Artem crash onto his keyboard. Warm metal was then pushed into the soft patch just below his left ear. Tilting his head as far around as he could, he said, “What the–”
“Don’t look at me,” the man behind said. He had a thick Chinese accent. “Keep your eyes on the fucking screen if you want to live.”
A surge of adrenaline pulled Frank’s stomach tight. Holding up shaking hands, he said, “O… okay. Sorry.”
The man behind pushed harder, the barrel of the gun feeling like it would break his skin.
“Ow!”
“Shut up, pussy.”
When Frank blinked, a tear fell onto his desk. “What do you want?”
The man pulled the gun away, and Frank relaxed. Then a sharp pain exploded in the back of his head. The loud crack made his ears ring, and the barrel was shoved into the base of his skull again.
“You don’t ask the fucking questions! Got that?”
Frank nodded.
Crack!
The butt of the gun hit the back of his head again, and his world spun. “Yes,” Frank said, rubbing the already huge lump from the impact. “I’ve got it.”
“I just want you to know that your wife, Juliette, and your two boys are okay.”
Frank’s stomach lurched. “What have you done to them?”
Crack!
“Are you fucking deaf or something? You don’t ask the fucking questions! They’re fine. That’s all you need to know. If you do everything I ask of you, then that’s how it will stay. Fuck me over, and we’ll kill them. And I don’t just mean a bullet through the head.”
The man leant so close to Frank that he could smell cigarette smoke and his breath tickled his ear. “We’ll make rats eat through your boys’ stomachs. Your wife will be forced to watch while my men take turns on her.”
Tears soaked Frank’s cheeks, and a shudder ran through him. “Anything,” he said, his lips trembling. “I’ll do anything you want.”
Pointing at a screen, which showed a family of four in the lift, the man with the gun told him, “Take control of that lift. Stop it there.”
It was hard to type with shaking hands, and Frank hit several wrong keys.
The gun was pushed against him so hard that his head spun. “Don’t fuck about, Frank. Hurry the fuck up!”
Shaking like he had hypothermia, Frank typed furiously. When he checked the monitor, he could see the family looking like they were about to alight the lift. Just before they arrived at the next floor, he hit enter. The lift stopped.
Releasing a stuttered sigh, Frank swallowed against his dry throat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “There.”
The pressure beneath his ear eased off slightly. “Good. Now redirect it to the penthouse.”
“But they have children with them!”
Crack!
Everything sounded like he was listening to it from under water. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth, and he gulped a huge swill of metallic saliva. A wet heave threw half of it back up into his mouth. He swallowed it back down, the bitter taste making him shudder.
“Well?” the man demanded.
Speaking with a slur, Frank said, “You’ve got to stop hitting me. One more, and I’m done for.”
The barrel was pulled away from behind his ear, and Frank flinched as he anticipated another blow.
It never came.
The man behind him calmed down. “So, I have you on side?”
Frank nodded.
“I swear, your family are fucked if you mess this up. Eight of my boys are sat in your front room right now with them.”
It was hard to focus on the bright screen on the man’s phone, especially as it was shoved so close to his face, but when Frank’s eyes adjusted, he saw a picture of his family surrounded by Chinese men with more weapons than a small nation. Gulping another mouthful of blood,
Frank said, “Okay. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Redirect them to the penthouse.”
The little girl with the family was no older than three, and she had a doll in her hands. Her brother was playing a game on a phone. With more tears rolling down his face, Frank quickly typed on the keyboard and pressed ‘enter’ again.
The lift came to life. The family inside visibly relaxed, and the dad hugged his daughter.
When it passed what was clearly their floor, the dad pressed the button on the panel. At first, he pressed it hard. Then he jabbed it. Before long, he was hammering it repeatedly.
With his sweaty fingers flying over the keyboard, Frank managed to hit ‘enter’ before the guy pressed the emergency call button. By the time the dad had pushed it, it was ineffectual.
As the family elevated, the man in the room with Frank said, “You know who we are?”
“I’m guessing you’re with the Chinese government.”
“Check you out, brainiac. The accent gave me away, huh?”
Frank shrugged.
“We found out about your little experiment going on today. About your plans to drop it on us.”
I wouldn’t know anything about what they planned to do with it.”
“Bullshit!” The barrel of the gun was now cold, but the bruising pain was still fierce against the back of Frank’s ear. “It doesn’t matter though. When we’re done, you’ll wish you were dead. You’ll probably wish your family were dead too.”
Making tight fists, Frank said, “Leave my family alone. You said you wouldn’t do anything to them if I do as you say.”
“And I won’t, Frankie-boy. I won’t.” His voice dropped to a low hiss. “You’d wish I had though.”
At that moment, the lift reached the penthouse.
“Now open the doors.” The voice of his captor had moved farther away.
After typing again, Frank pressed ‘enter’ and the doors to the lift opened.
The family stumbled out and looked around. The sterile environment was clearly not what they expected. Then they saw the scientists. The scream from the little girl made even the boy look up, and he dropped his phone. All of them backed into the lift, and the dad pressed the buttons again, clearly trying to close the door.
“They look hungry,” the voice said. “Now let them out.”
“What?” Frank asked.
“Do I need to hit you again?”
When Frank hesitated, the man said, “Think of your family, Frank. My men haven’t had sex in a long time.”
Frank started typing. He did it by touch because he couldn’t see the keys. Everything was a blur.
‘Enter.’
The three remaining doors between the infected and the lift popped open. Each one was flung wide as the scientists charged forwards.
Forcing his children behind him, the dad held a defensive arm up to the attacking mob.
Alice bit a huge chunk from it.
The family screamed.
Wilfred and John crashed into the lift.
The family were silenced.
They were all in the lift when the man said, “Close the doors.”
Hot bile rushed up Frank’s throat, and he vomited on the floor. After wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he quickly typed and pressed ‘enter.’ The doors closed.
“Now send them to the foyer. Once you’ve done that, we’re getting out of here. Both of us can make it out.” The whistle of a launched object culminated in keys landing on the desk next to Frank. “We’ll both have time to escape. You’ll have time to get to your family.”
Frank pulled the keys close. Looking up at the sky, he drew a deep breath. Twisting towards the door, he typed his final command.
‘Enter.’
Jumping from his seat, the chair scooting out behind him, he looked at the door to see the man with the gun had already gone. The door was closing.
Grabbing the handle, he yanked it open and headed for the car park.
The car keys were his own. How did the man get them? It didn’t matter. He knew where he was parked.
Imagining the lift descending to the foyer, he pushed as hard as his weak legs would carry him.
His lungs burned.
The taste of sick and blood lined his mouth.
He kicked the external door open.
The car park was on the other side of the road. It was something that had always bothered him; negotiating the traffic each morning and evening was a pain. Today it was a blessing.
His shaking hands made hard work of finding his car key. Weaving in and out of traffic, he crossed to the sound of beeping horns.
He pressed the button on the key, and the hazard lights on his black estate lit up.
Jumping into the driver’s seat, he slid the key into the ignition.
The screeching of tyres distracted him, and a tinted Mercedes destroyed the exit barrier fifty metres away.
Frank turned the key.
Then he saw the wire hooked into his ignition.
“Fuck!”
The flash was blinding.
The roar was deafening.
The heat was searing.
Ends.
***
Book 1 of In The Name Of Science will be coming out soon. If you would like to be kept informed of my new releases, my mailing list can be found at:
Www.michaelrobertson.co.uk
Rust
The Iron Lady sits on a park bench, still and forgotten like a shipwreck resting on the ocean floor. Confusion clouds her glare; her once sharp mind tumbling like a falling vase.
The lady has turned.
Like an unemployed miner, she stares at a closed mine shaft as if it will reopen; as if everything she’s ever known has been locked away forever. The disease has eaten away at her mind like a parasite on the welfare state.
The lady has turned.
Walking with a stick and a helper, she’s gone from iron to origami. The slightest breeze could send her sprawling.
The lady has turned.
The image of frailty fades with her passing. She returns to the forefront; once more dividing right and left, once more receiving equal condemnation and reverence.
The lady has turned.
End.
The Chest
Opening my eyes, I can't see anything other than a creamy blur. Despite laying on my front, not even the floor I'm pressed against is visible to me. Where am I? Lethargy grips my muscles—or what muscles I can feel. I have no sensation below my waist.
The sound of a fierce wind and the thrashing of metal chains surrounds me. They run straight to my core, rattling my very being. Strung out and fractured, I'm a bag of broken glass, a sack of used and infected needles. What's happened to me?
Every blink sends shattering pain splintering across my face like a fist to a mirror. The frozen wind bites down to my bones, cutting to the marrow. It flaps in my ears. It gives sharp teeth to my migraine. It drills down through the top of my skull.
Where am I? How did I get here?
My world slowly comes into view. Lucidity and clarity expand in equal measure as my perception stretches outwards. Dressed in nothing but my boxer shorts, I'm lying on a gray steel floor. The chill of the frigid metal bites into my exposed skin.
The muscles in my neck ache as I lift my heavy head. The thick beat of my pulse swells in my eyeballs. The steady and wet throb grips them so tightly it feels like they'll burst and leave two sticky trails of blood down my cheeks. Closing my eyes does nothing to either stop the pain or steady my spinning world.
***
After closing my eyes for a few minutes, I allow everything to settle down, pressing my forehead against the freezing floor. When I lift my head again, I see about a meter in front of me. Frowning, I try to make sense of my environment as my stomach turns on a spin cycle.
The muscles at the base of my skull burn seconds before giving out. My head falls forwards, white light exploding in my vision as my brow cla
tters against the unforgiving floor. The memory of the impact stings just above my right eye. I close it to shut out the pain. I want to rub it, but my arms don't work. I inhale, my body lifting slightly as my lungs expand, the metallic reek of the floor filling my sinuses.
With my nose pressed against the ground, I grit my teeth, fighting to send strength to my muscles. It does nothing.
***
As more of my world comes into view and the strength returns to my body, I lift my head again. Long, parallel grooves, a centimeter wide and deep, run the length of the cold floor. The design must be to reinforce the steel walkway although the gullies look like they would be good for draining fluids. Almost like the floor of a slaughterhouse. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
With sheer will, I finally manage to lift my arms by a few centimeters. The effort sends my world spinning, and I fight for breath as I hold them there. Panting, my tacky trachea pinches, lifting my concave stomach in a heave.
Lowering my head and arms, I press my nose against the ribbed steel again and close my eyes, fighting to regain my breath.
***
The loud, rattling chains tear a jagged trail through my delirium, and I open my eyes again. My nose is still pressed into the steel floor. The sharp grooves have left a pair of paper cuts on its tip—a stinging bite from my harsh environment.
How close are the chains? What are they for? Where am I?
My vision is still blurred. Although I can see farther than before, it's no better than a few meters.
The biting wind burns my eyes as I search the fog. Blinking does nothing to relieve them. Hot tears run down my icy cheeks.
The stabbing pain returns to the base of my neck. It gets worse with every passing second. I can't look up for long.
While lowering my head, I stop. What's that? It looks like a hole no bigger than a plughole in a bath. What's it for? Drainage?
Zombies, Vampires, Aliens, and Oddities: A Collection of Short Stories and Flash Fiction Page 6
