Where was she? Her eyes were opening slowly, her field of vision turning from the back of her mind’s eye to something else, to a series of shapes, colors, and textures that she simply didn’t recognize.
“Okay, Jamie,” she said. “Try to think. Try to think. Where were you? What were you doing?”
The strange shapes of the room she was in weren’t helping her concentration, so she closed her eyes again.
That’s when it came to her, the memory of exploring a property, looking for food.
Had she found it?
Yes. She had. She remembered a root cellar. As well as a drone.
And then what?
Shit. She couldn’t remember.
Her head was really killing her.
She opened her eyes again, squinting against the light.
She’d never been a big drinker, but she was starting to realize that she felt hungover. Very hungover. As if she’d been on the bender to end all benders.
But how was that possible? She certainly hadn’t had anything to drink in quite a while. It wasn’t like she’d have gotten drunk in the root cellar while waiting for Matt and Judy to reappear.
Matt and Judy. Where were they?
“Matt!” she yelled out, her voice as loud as it would go. “Judy! Help!”
She waited, hoping for footsteps. For something.
But there was nothing.
Just her own ragged breathing.
Her eyes were open wider now, and things were swimming around in her field of vision.
“What the hell...?” she muttered, suddenly understanding that what she’d been looking at had been some type of industrial ceiling with large ceiling fans and air ducts equally spaced out. The ceiling was quite high and made of all steel.
Where was she? What sort of building had a ceiling like that? Certainly not a private residence, or normal business.
It had to be something like a warehouse.
But what was she doing in a warehouse?
Her head was still killing her, her body was still feeling horrible, as if she’d been run over by a car, or as if she’d run a marathon yesterday and completely forgotten it.
But she was finding that she was beginning to feel a little more alert as the minutes slowly passed. The pain was there as bad as ever and in fact, seemed to be getting worse. But the strange dreaming feeling that was clouding her consciousness started to fade away.
She needed to get a better look at where she was.
It seemed to take all her energy and she grunted in pain as she did it, but she began to lift her head up.
The idea of lifting her whole body up seemed an impossibility. So she focused just on her head.
She got her head up, with her eyes now fixed on what was in front of her rather than what was above her.
“What the hell?” she muttered, her words horribly slurred, as she took in the scenery.
It wasn’t a factory. At least, it didn’t appear to be one.
It seemed to be some sort of laboratory. There were lab tables here and there, with their black fireproof chemical-proof tops. She remembered them from high school chemistry courses.
But this was no schoolroom. This was the real deal. The machinery and equipment that was scattered around made it very clear that this was some sort of high-end professional laboratory.
She didn’t have the remotest idea what any of the lab equipment did, but she did know that it must have cost a lot of money, just judging by its appearance.
Curiosity was starting to overcome the inertia of the body pain and dreaminess.
In one single motion, she jerked her body up, intending to get into a sitting position.
But she couldn’t.
Something stopped her.
Her body jerked back.
“What the hell?”
Her torso wouldn’t move. Her arms wouldn’t move. Neither would her legs.
Everything was held in place somehow, whether by straps or rope or by something else.
Nothing would move except her neck and head.
Shit. This wasn’t good.
The reality of her situation was starting to pierce through the dreaminess.
Her heart was beginning to pound and she felt a gulp of terror in her throat.
This was like something out of a horror movie. She was trapped, immobilized, in some professional laboratory.
From somewhere above her, she heard a noise. A swish. Then a bang. Metal on metal. What was it?
More noises. Footsteps, maybe?
Yes, they were footsteps.
“Hello?” she called out.
No answer.
But the footsteps continued. Heavy ones. And they were getting closer.
It sounded like boots on metal. It must have been a staircase.
“Who’s there?” shouted Jamie, straining now against her restraints, hoping that there was a weak spot, that somehow she could break free.
But she couldn’t break free. She was stuck. Almost completely immobilized.
The footsteps disappeared.
She was sure that the person hadn’t disappeared, but had instead just moved onto a different type of surface.
And she was right. Her suspicions were confirmed when, about twenty seconds later, a figure appeared before her.
Jamie had to crane her neck forward in a horribly uncomfortable way to be able to see the figure. But the person was definitely there.
At first, she didn’t know if it was a man or a woman.
All she could see was the large puffy white suit. It looked somewhat like a space suit.
Then she remembered, flashes of memory coming back to her. There had been two suited figures coming at her on some type of souped-up hybrid cross between a golf cart and an ATV. She’d tried to fight, hadn’t she? She remembered clearly that she’d had her gun with her.
“Who are you?” said Jamie. “What are you doing with me? You can’t hold me here. I’m a US citizen. I have rights, you know. You can’t do this.”
But the words, even if they hadn’t been slurred, really meant nothing and she realized that now. They were hollow.
So what if she was a US citizen? It didn’t matter if the US had fallen, if it had become nothing but complete chaos, with all branches of government crumbling into nothing but skeletons of their former selves.
The suited figure didn’t answer her. But it moved closer to her, the head turning toward her.
There was some type of respirator apparatus around the nose and mouth. In front of the eyes, there was a clear material. Probably plastic.
At first, Jamie caught a glimpse of just two eyes. She couldn’t tell if they were male or female. After all, they were just eyes.
But as the suited figure got closer, as it moved, and as certain angles presented themselves, and as Jamie strained her neck, she caught occasional glimpses of a large, bushy mustache.
“What are you doing with me? What do you want?” said Jamie, fighting to try to make her words understandable.
Why was she slurring so badly?
Suddenly, the realization hit her that she’d been drugged. That must have been why she felt so horrible. It must have been why she was slurring her words, and maybe it was why her legs were twitching, as if she had an extremely bad case of restless leg syndrome.
“You bastards!” she screamed. “You can’t just drug me!”
Probably, the man in the suit heard something along the lines of, “You dashers. You can shit plug lee.”
But she couldn’t do anything about it.
She writhed, her body straining against whatever bound her.
But it was no use.
The suited man was approaching her. Something was in his hand.
What was it?
A large syringe. A clear tube filled with many milliliters of a clear liquid. A long, pointed needle, drops of liquid forming on the tip.
Jamie immediately broke into a cold sweat. It felt like ice water ran through her veins.
She’d never
thought of herself as someone who was afraid of needles. It had never been a phobia of hers.
However, now that she saw the needle coming at her and she imagined it sticking into her immobilized arm, her body responded with pure fear.
Fear and terror. That’s all she felt.
She found her mouth opening, a sort of guttural scream issued forth, completely uncontrolled, completely involuntary.
A cold gloved hand was grabbing her immobilized arm. She tried to pull away. She tried to shake it off. But it was all useless. It was all hopeless.
The needle plunged into her vein. She felt it piercing her skin. She felt it in the vulnerable crook of her arm.
Her scream didn’t cease.
Was this her new life? An involuntary participant in some science experiment gone wrong?
She would rather have died from the virus.
8
Matt
Matt had left Judy behind. He was running as fast as he could across the high desert, heading toward the horizon, heading toward the point where the tall figure had disappeared.
He was pushing through the fear and terror as best he could. He was mad at himself for letting his body get the best of him, for letting those thoughts take control of him.
He was pushing on now, through sheer force of will, through the sheer power of his own mind.
He didn’t need breathing. He didn’t need exercises. He just needed a strong will. Which he had.
It was the application of that mental power that allowed him to keep going, that allowed his feet to pound into the dirt, that allowed his lungs to struggle for air as he pumped his legs.
There was no point in rationalizing with himself. There was no point in telling himself that he shouldn’t feel the sensations of terror and fear and paralysis that he’d felt, the same ones that were creeping back now, trying to impede him.
There was no point in telling himself that now he was out in the wide open. There was no point in telling himself that it was the complete opposite of the tiny little cellar that had provoked the claustrophobia that he hadn’t known he’d had.
The only thing he knew how to do was to push on. The only thing he knew how to do with his mind was just force himself to keep going.
He was exhausted. His muscles were burning with fatigue. His throat felt as dry as it ever had, as if there wasn’t a drop of moisture left in his body.
He knew all those feelings were just signals. They were things that he could push through if he forced hard enough with his mind.
So that’s what he did.
It seemed like he’d been running forever.
He didn’t check his watch.
He didn’t count the seconds.
He didn’t even think.
He just kept pushing.
There was nothing on his mind. It was completely clear. As clear as the sky above him, the blue sky from which all clouds had apparently disappeared for the moment.
The mountains served as a sort of guidepost, far off in the distance, where they towered up toward the sky.
The ground was nothing but dirt, the occasional juniper tree and the remains of weeds that had and hadn’t survived the winter. As the spring progressed and turned into summer, the ground would become covered once again with the fast-growing, strange vegetation that could survive in the harsh desert.
His shirt was soaked in sweat and the sun felt as hot as it ever had, as it beat down on him.
For quite some time, as his feet slammed into the ground, kicking up the dry dirt that seemed to somehow hurt his throat and lungs as he breathed it in, it seemed as if time were barely passing.
It seemed as if he’d never catch sight of the man again.
The more he ran, the more sure Matt was that the man was connected with Jamie’s disappearance.
He vowed silently to himself that he wouldn’t turn around. No matter what.
So he ran.
Then, when it seemed as if the whole exercise was nothing but futile, when it seemed as if he would never spot that man again, he did.
He was there. Tall. Just standing there.
Matt didn’t hesitate.
Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have tried to take stock of the situation.
But he just ran right at him, trying to move so fast that the man wouldn’t know what hit him.
And it worked.
Matt collided with the tall man.
The impact was so hard that it knocked the air right out of his lungs.
“Ooofff,” went the man, as the two of them fell like huge tree trunks toward the dirt.
The impact was hard.
Matt had hit him like a linebacker.
There was a gun. Matt realized it in a flash. The man had a gun.
Not anymore.
The gun had gone clattering to the ground.
“Get off!” yelled the man.
Matt had landed on top of him, somehow losing track of his gun.
Matt had acted on instinct rather than thought. He’d done the opposite of what he logically should have done.
And he’d made a mistake, losing his gun.
But he still had his hands and they were good weapons. They were strong enough for the job.
The other man’s hands were on Matt, trying to go for his neck. Why had he bothered yelling? He was only wasting his breath, his time, and his strength.
Matt wasted no time. He put his hands right onto the man’s neck.
Matt squeezed.
Hard.
He squeezed with everything he had.
The other man was gasping now, his hands shooting toward Matt’s wrists, desperately trying to get himself some air, desperately trying to do something to keep Matt from strangling him.
But it was no use.
Matt was stronger.
Matt’s training over the years had worked. His grip strength alone was far greater than the average man’s.
Matt repositioned himself, getting his knees onto the man’s chest, pressing down hard with them.
“Where is she?” hissed Matt. “What’d you do with her?”
There was intense anger in Matt’s voice. It surprised even himself. It was something even more than anger, perhaps.
The man’s mouth was open, but he couldn’t speak.
Matt dug his knees harder into the man’s chest and, at the same time, loosened his grip a little from the man’s throat.
“What?” croaked the man.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” hissed Matt. His voice had never sounded more frightening, more intense.
Suddenly, the man moved. His arm jumped out to his right, toward something on the ground.
He was trying to go for his gun.
Not on Matt’s watch.
With his left elbow, Matt moved quickly, smashing it into the side of the man’s head.
The man let out a noise of pain, something between a groan and strangled cry.
Matt’s right hand shot out, pinning the man’s wandering arm at the wrist.
Matt took a moment to ascertain the position of the gun. It was his own. He grabbed it quickly, getting his finger within the trigger guard, pressing ever so slightly on the trigger itself.
Full of anger, almost overcome with rage, Matt now pressed the muzzle of the gun as hard as he could into the man’s neck, making a huge indentation.
“You’d better tell me,” growled Matt, “where she went. Or you don’t have long to live.”
“Who?” said the man, practically squealing. There was terror in his eyes. His pupils had grown dramatically, as if swelling in his bloodshot eyes.
“A woman,” growled Matt. “Jamie. Fairly tall. Attractive. Long hair. I know you did something with her.”
“I swear,” squealed the man. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Then you know who I’m talking about,” growled Matt, pressing the muzzle even further into the man’s neck.
The man sputtered, issuing forth a horrible squealin
g noise of pain as the gun dug into him.
“I can’t...breathe.” he managed to say.
Matt pulled the gun back. But just a little. He had to almost fight himself to do it.
He could rarely remember feeling this overcome with anger.
Maybe he had feelings for Jamie that he wasn’t admitting to himself.
Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just wanted his friend to live.
None of that mattered now. He needed to find her.
And this man was the key. He had the answer.
“Where!” growled Matt, the word coming out as more of an order than a question.
“I don’t know,” said the man, sputtering his words, struggling to take in oxygen.
“Where!”
“I don’t know. I swear. But I saw something. Something...”
“What!”
“I saw a little vehicle. I don’t know what it was. Two figures in suits.”
“Suits?”
“Not business suits. Like space suits or something. They must have been from the lab.”
“The lab? What are you talking about?”
“There’s a lab nearby...not supposed to know about it...but a few of us do...it’s unavoidable...they had to hire some contractors to build it...word got out....”
“Who are you?”
“Brian.”
“Live around here?”
“I’m a neighbor of Joe’s. I was just coming to see what was up with him.”
Joe. Joe. The name rang through his skull. Who was that? It was familiar.
Oh. It was Judy’s cousin. The dead one. The corpse he’d just seen. The corpse he’d just help take down.
How could he not have remembered?
“You knew Joe?” said Matt, suspicion all through his voice. But he did ease up a bit with the knees, letting the man who called himself Brian breathe a little easier, not that he necessarily deserved it.
“Yeah. We were neighbors, like I said.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I don’t know,” sputtered the man.
There was something about the way he was talking, something about the way that he was acting, that made Matt think he might be telling the truth. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it though, and he certainly wasn’t going to give up his suspicion. Not just yet.
“Keep talking,” said Matt, pushing the muzzle of the gun back against the man’s neck. Not too hard, though. Just enough to let him know it was there. Just enough to make him aware of the threat.
Last Pandemic (Book 3): Escape The Chaos Page 6
