by L. A. Cruz
And then she slipped.
Chapter 41
She tightened her fingers. The cable was shredding her palms. She squeezed her soles against the cable to slow her slide, but she still slipped.
An inch. Another. A foot.
Suddenly, the shaft flooded with white light. It invaded her eyelids and she blinked and looked up. It was too bright to see. She was dead; she knew she was dead. She hadn’t even felt the fall. Any minute, she’d be lifted out of the shaft, a tractor beam taking her to heaven…or maybe throwing her off the cable and tossing her down the shaft to the afterlife beneath. Maybe that was the punishment for aiding those creatures, the punishment for treason.
But as soon as the light had come, it shut off, and the shaft faded back into darkness.
She slid another foot. Metal splinters from the cable embedded in her palms.
It wasn’t an unreasonable place to die, she thought. She was already in the cemetery, already buried. She’d fall down the shaft and the creatures would drop down on top of her broken body. Then maybe she’d come back to life, her bones all broken inside her skin like a bag of broken pretzels. And then they’d all sing church hymns around the mess hall as they rotted together.
The cable shook. Vibrated.
It was impossible to hold on any longer and her fingers let loose. She slipped, feeling her stomach rush up to her throat.
But then she stopped abruptly and bounced, dangling. Someone had grabbed her by the collar.
“This ain’t no flexed-arm hang, bitch. You climb like a girl.”
She looked up. One of the Keepers had slid down the cable to meet her. He—or she—was wearing the other extraction suit. The helmet was on and in the darkness, she couldn’t tell who had grabbed her, but the sleeve of the suit had retracted and in between the cuff and the glove, Helia could see a number inked on the Keeper’s wrist.
One hundred and fourteen.
“C’mon let’s get out of here,” the Keeper said.
He—or she—climbed up the cable with one hand, the other hand on Helia’s collar. It was an amazing feat, the strength remarkable. The Keeper wasn’t pulling her up, but it took enough weight off her emaciated figure—fifty pounds or so—that Helia was able to resume the climb.
Together, they inched up. One story. Another story. Three. Gravel from the Keeper’s boots fell into her eyes, and Helia kept them closed. She climbed into the darkness, willing herself not to give up.
“My baby sister climbs better than that,” the Keeper said. “And she’s a double-amputee.”
It took only ten minutes, but felt like hours. At the top level, the elevator gate was open and the chamber was flickering with candle light.
“Hang in there for a moment,” the Keeper said. He—or she—climbed up another foot, swung both feet onto the ledge, scooted back, and then reached down, grabbed Helia in the armpits, and pulled her into the crypt. The Keeper dragged her on her back and lay her down on the cold tile.
Kneeling there at Helia’s feet, the Keeper removed the helmet. Helia’s eyes were half closed, but in the flickering light she could see the face of a cherub. A true angel.
It was Pinder.
“You came back,” Helia said.
“I was on my way out, but I heard you scream,” Pinder said. She looked at Helia’s wrist. “You’re bleeding like a girl who really meant it. We need to get you to the hospital.”
Pinder grabbed a walkie talkie leaning against the wall and thumbed it. “I’ve got one more down here. It’s Crane. She made it.”
Then Pinder took Helia’s hand, dragged it across Helia’s body, and pressed the hand down on the bleeding wrist. “Squeeze the wound. Do it tight.”
Helia nodded. She tried, but there was no strength left in her grip. The warm blood welled up between her fingers.
“Tighter.”
“I’m trying.” She was choked up, trying not to cry.
“Where’s Dunning?”
“He didn’t make it,” Helia said.
Pinder was quiet. “Damn.”
“Where are the other Keepers?”
“They’re outside. You’re the last.”
“Where?” Helia said and tried to sit up. “I want to see them.”
Pinder held her shoulders down. “Relax. The horror is over. Keep the pressure on your wrist.”
“We can’t leave the others down there. They have families.”
“It’s too late,” Pinder said. “It’s protocol. The whole facility is shut down and will be shut down for at least month.”
She pictured her brother roaming through the living quarters in the darkness, looking for blood. She pictured Dunning, risen from the dead, following her trail of blood back to the bathroom. She thought of them all, slowly wasting away.
“What happens to us?” Helia said.
“We’re on permanent leave,” Pinder said. “We’re all civilians now.” She unzipped the extraction suit, reached inside, and pulled out a syringe. “This is also protocol.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, honey. Go to sleep.”
Before Helia could roll out of the way and protect herself, Pinder jabbed the needle into her thigh and injected half the liquid. Helia felt it work instantly and her eyelids fluttered.
“That’s half a dose, so it’ll take about twelve seconds,” Pinder said. She wiped the needle on her sleeve.
Helia counted backward from twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine.
“What about the other half?”
Pinder just smiled.
When she got to six, everything blurred. She could barely see Pinder’s angelic face. In the fog, she wore a halo of candlelight.
Pinder suddenly jabbed the syringe into her own neck and drained the rest of the liquid.
“See you in the clouds,” she said.
Helia tried to hold on. She made it past twelve. Pinder went down first. She slumped over with her face in Helia’s stomach. Helia cradled her head. Stroked her sweaty hair. It was comforting, in a way. Helia’s eyes got misty and the liquid pooled, blurring her vision. A large tear escaped and ran down the side of her face and entered her ear. It was cold in her ear and it muffled the patter on the stairs, just like water trapped in her ear after swimming.
The last thing she saw was a team of black boots appearing on the concrete floor. Then everything faded to white.
Chapter 42
Her eyelids fluttered. Everything was white, her skin the darkest thing in the room. White on top of white. She blinked repeatedly and closed her eyes. Drops of blood trailed across the darkness of her eyelids like an animal had gorged itself and was running around with a bloody corpse in its teeth and shaking its broken neck.
She forced her eyes open. She was lying down, staring up at the white ceiling. There were no corners in the room, no lines, just white everywhere. Her bed sheets were white. Her gown was white. Even her arms were wrapped in gauzy white.
She blinked. The walls looked puffy. Like the suit. Clouds? Was this heaven?
Or was the room padded?
Her wrist itched. She tried to move it, to scratch it, but it was restrained. There was a cold hardness against her wrist. She yanked harder, but her arm would not move. She yanked again. Chains jangled. She tried to move her legs, but they were restrained too, cuffed by the ankles to whatever bed she was lying on.
A long, white tube snaked away from her arm. It led up to a white balloon dangling over her head.
IV. She was being drugged.
Across from her, a rectangle in the whiteness flooded the room with more bright light and a woman wearing a white coat entered. She seemed to float across the room, her white slippers silent on the tile.
“So are we awake now?”
Her voice was condescending. As if she were speaking to a child. Helia tried to respond, but the words would only dribble down her chin. Her lips were numb, as if her face had been shot full of Novocain. She glanced down at her arm. The bright light from the door had caught a
band of silver around her wrist.
Handcuffs.
She managed to form a few words. “Where am I?”
“In the hospital,” the woman said.
“What hospital?”
“Bellevue.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Of course not.”
“Why am I chained?”
“It’s protocol.”
Those were words were familiar. Very familiar. Why were they so familiar? Helia tried, but could remember nothing in the soldier’s Manual of Common Tasks that prescribed bedrest and handcuffs.
“Let me go. Please.”
The woman didn’t respond. Instead, she wheeled a stool across the white floor, the casters squeaking. She sat next to Helia’s bed and adjusted the IV drip in her arm.
“You’re lucky your friend found you when she did.”
An image flashed. A woman kneeling in front of her. Praying? No, helping. A halo. An angel?
“My friend?”
“Yes. Down the hall. She’s doing fine.”
“Can I see her?”
“Relax. This will make you feel better,” the woman said.
There was a slight prick on the inside of her arm as the woman adjusted the needle’s insertion point and then there was a rush in Helia’s veins and she filled with chemical happiness.
Her eyelids grew heavy again. She wanted to drift off to sleep, but she blinked hard and fought the sleepiness. She jerked the chains again.
“I want to see this friend. When can I see her?”
“That’s not a question for me to answer,” the woman said.
“Then who?”
“I’ll send for him,” she said. She put a remote control on the bed. “Enjoy.”
Then she left.
For half an hour, Helia fought to keep her eyes open. Eventually, she picked up the remote control and pressed a button. In the whiteness across from her, a square lit up. The television turned on. She flicked through the channels. There was one for the hospital and its services—the cafeteria and the outpatient services—and finally the Disney channel. Her vision blurred and she recognized the voice of one of the princesses from when she was child, a flowing graceful figure in a colorful dress with doe-like eyes and white skin.
But in her haze, she couldn’t tell which princess. Not for the life of her. She watched the cartoon for half an hour. The princess, flawless in every way, was falling in love with a handsome beast. She wracked her brain for the title, but simply couldn’t dig it up.
The drugs were working.
Some time later, the door opened and a large man stepped through. He walked up to the edge of her bed, his polished dress shoes clacking on the white tile.
She blinked him into focus. He was dressed in his service uniform and tie, a pistol at his side. Very formal, as if he were headed to an awards ceremony.
“Hello, Crane. How are you feeling?”
A flash. The Colonel? Colonel something.
It came back. “Colonel Gates?”
He stood over her, blocking her view of the princess on the television, and smiled. “Very good. Although, you’re looking at a full-bird colonel now,” he said and proudly touched the insignia on his chest. “Promotion.”
More flashes. An elevator. A chamber. All hazy. “What—what happened in—in—“ she paused, fighting to make sense of her memories.
He glanced at the IV bag. “At your post in Salem. It was a breach. An uprising. We had to shut the facility down.”
“What breach?”
“The enemy, Corporal. You of all people should know. It seems your brother was acting out of line. Going nuts. Inciting a riot.”
Helia swallowed hard. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried hard to remember. A flash. Another soldier’s face. A name. Matt? It was hazy. He was lying on the floor. And her brother was crouching over him. But as soon as she saw the images, they were gone again.
“My brother?”
“Yes. You deceived us, Corporal. And to protect the country, I took decisive action. Regrettable, but the only realistic action.”
More flashes. A frenzy in the day room. Her fellow guards being attacked. A deadbolt. Jail cells. An elevator. Matt Dunning.
Blood.
“What happened to Sergeant Dunning?”
The Colonel shook his head. “A casualty. A damn shame. He was a fine soldier.”
“I need to talk to someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. A friend. A girl down the hall. I need to see her.”
The Colonel patted her shoulder. “You’ll get to see her soon. Very soon. In a few months, all of this will fade into background noise. You’ll go back to life as it was before the military with a dishonorable discharge. Not too bad considering your crime. You got off lucky. There are plenty of jobs for people like you. You’ll land on your feet.”
Her head hurt. “My crime?”
“Yes. You aided the enemy. You endangered your fellow soldiers. Some would call it treason, but I consider it more of a misunderstanding.”
Helia shook her head, fighting the conflicting images. “No. I was trying to help someone.”
“After a few months of therapy, the nightmares will be buried deep down in your brain coils. They might surface in your sleep here and there, but nothing to worry about. If I were you, from now on, I’d keep your Glock in a lockbox. Or better yet, toss it in the marsh.”
Her Glock? She got another flash. Her father. The vending machines.
Helia gnashed her teeth and rattled her chains. “I want to see my friend. Now.”
“I’m sorry, Corporal. It’s protocol.”
There was that word again. The Colonel stepped toward her IV bag to inspect the drip. But as he moved, his dress pants rode up and pulled away from his ankle. She realized she had never seen him in dress shoes before, only boots, and his black socks were low, his ankle exposed.
Inked right there on the bone was a number.
Number one.
One of twelve.
It all came rushing back. She remembered Dunning. The shower. The numbers. Dunning had said the numbers counted from the very beginning of the prison’s history. Hundreds of years ago. She saw a flash of the second-tier cells, of the inmates slumped against the wall.
Had they never actually been bitten? Was the entire prison the Colonel’s feeding pen? Far away from the sunlight, hidden away from those who would persecute him, he had kept himself alive for centuries.
The Colonel was number one.
“You—you—“
“Me what?” the Colonel said. He glanced down and saw his pant leg was riding up, exposing the number and he adjusted it. “You know, it’s too bad you never got your number. But there’ll be a new crop of Keepers to take your place. Usually, we have very little turnover. It’s a post for life. Hopefully, this new group will be more…loyal.”
“You killed Sergeant Dunning.”
The Colonel smiled. Then he grabbed the IV balloon and squeezed it as if he were choking someone. It forced more liquid down the tube. A bubble ran down, a gap in the medicine, and an excruciating pain traveled up her arm. Then there was a euphoric burst as the medicine flooded her system.
“Sleep well, soldier,” the Colonel said. He turned for the door and crossed the room. “I best be going now.”
The whole room seemed to shift. Her eyelids fluttered. She fought the medicine and tried to hold on. “Colonel Gates?”
He stopped in the frame. “Yes, Corporal?”
Helia’s eyes were half-closed. She was lightheaded, drifting away. “You asked me before about the snake on my arm.”
He glanced at the tattoo. Its head was buried in the sleeve of her gown, the tail exposed. “Yes. I remember.”
She thought of Dunning. Of the shower. She closed her eyes and tried to savor the details while she could still remember them.
“Well it’s not a snake. It’s a serpent. And it was more crafty than any of the wild animals t
he Lord God had made.”
The Colonel smiled and nodded, considering. “You feel that medicine snaking up your arm? You feel that headache coming on? That’s the pressure from my heel,” he said. “Try not to choke on the dust.”
And then he closed the door behind him.
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