Hyde's Lament: A Dark Novella (Only The Few Book 2)

by L. N. Denison

  “We have separated you from the others for a reason, and the only way you’ll get to see them again, is if you cooperate with us,” the man said. “Do you understand me, Dench?”

  Marcus took in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “I understand fully.”

  “You need to get up,” the man snarled. “I suggest you move, or I’ll have my men move you.”

  Marcus rose from the bunk, pulling the khaki garments he was wearing back into place. The only clothes given to him upon his arrival at the bunker’s hospital wing were scrubs. They were loose and comfortable, but the bottoms were prone to falling. Not even the cord would hold them in place for long ... and it didn’t help the fact that he only had one arm.

  With his hand holding up the cotton scrub trousers, and his upper arms being gripped, Marcus had nowhere to go but forward. He wondered where he was being led. So far, his pleas had been ignored, as they led him towards whatever destination. Taking note of his surroundings, Marcus wondered whereabouts in the bomb shelter he was in relation to the others. He thought it best not to keep asking if Jas was alright. He had been met with silence on every mention of her name so far. But holding his silence regarding his own situation was another matter.

  “Where are you taking me? I think I have earned the right to know that much.”

  “No more questions, Dench,” the lead operative snapped. “You’ll find out all you need to know when you get there. Now, keep moving, and keep your mouth shut for the rest of the journey.”

  Marcus didn’t want to test what that implicit threat might mean and kept quiet. The bleakness of his surroundings was enough to occupy his mind, as his eyes followed every line, curve and flickering light in every corridor they walked through to reach their destination, which hadn’t been mentioned throughout the whole journey.

  Having been brought to a standstill, Marcus missed a step and his body dragged forward from his escorts’ grasp. The full force of one man’s weight pressed Marcus’ body up against the adjacent wall, the side of his face hitting the solid mass full on.

  “Didn’t we tell you to behave, Dench?” Marcus could feel warm breath in his ear and around his neck. A strong smell of coffee and cigarettes invaded his nostrils. “I suggest you heed what I say. or I’ll make your life very uncomfortable.”

  A metallic jangling broke the tension, as Marcus was pulled away from the wall. One of his escorts turned the key in the lock and the door opened. Marcus was shoved inside and was hit by a blast of freezing cold air.

  Stumbling forward, Marcus regained his balance as his escorts locked him in, leaving him alone. The room was empty, but a black curtain separated half of it, and a smell lingered in the air...a rancid, eye watering smell that had Marcus gagging for air. Slowly, he stepped close, and reached forward to grab the corner of the plastic material. With a quick jerk to the side, he pulled the curtain open to reveal a steel cage in one corner of the room. He placed a hand over his mouth and pinched his nose to block out some of the smell.

  What the hell?

  Marcus drew closer to the bars and stared at the hunched figure in the straitjacket with a black sack over its head, rhythmically swaying back and forth.

  “Who are you?” Marcus demanded. His speech, muffled.

  The figure stopped swaying and froze to the spot. Still it remained silent. Not even a murmur. Marcus found himself reaching in to try and touch whoever was hiding under that bag; being close enough to reach it.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Dench,” said a deep, penetrating voice from behind. “Step away from the cage, please.”

  A firm hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed military colours: khakis that swirled into one another to form the familiar pattern.

  “Who is that in the cage?” Marcus redirected his question to the young, fair-haired squaddie who had hold of his arm.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, Dench,” the man replied coldly. “In the meantime, you need to come with me.”

  Allowing himself to be pulled back by the strong hand, all Marcus could do was stare at the figure in the straitjacket and wonder why he’d been brought to this place at all.

  “Where are you taking me?” Marcus asked, panic rising as doubt about his own survival began to hit home.

  “I’m taking you to be measured up, Dench,” the man said in tone Marcus had heard so many times in the five weeks he had been in the bunker.

  “Measured up?”

  “Our technicians are in the final stages of building your prosthetic arm, as you will need two hands to carry out the work we need you to do.”

  What?

  CHAPTER 4

  Jas and Aggie sat huddled in the corner of their dank accommodation. Their own personal hell behind four grey walls. The only comfort of the room were two filthy mattresses and a bucket.

  “They can’t do this to us,” Jas seethed through gritted teeth, as she drew Aggie closer. “They’re treating us like fucking animals. This isn’t right.”

  Aggie inhaled a deep breath and exhaled a sigh, as she bit back the tears that welled in the lower part of her eyes.

  “We’ll get out of this, I promise,” Jas said, trying to reassure the slightly older woman.

  Aggie had every right to be scared, but Jas was not. For some reason she found she could shrug off the danger like water cascading down her back. Not that she was completely fearless, just that it stayed inside and didn’t get in the way. But Jas knew Aggie couldn’t hide hers. She radiated fright quite openly, and she wasn’t ashamed to show it.

  For five weeks, they had sat in their dingy cell waiting for something to happen and Jas had recorded each day as a scratch on the wall. But nothing ever did... until now. A pair of eyes stared down at the girls from the barred recess. A look of malevolence struck Jas as she stared back up at the guard.

  “If you’re going to do something, just do it.” Jas was angry, and why shouldn’t she be? He didn’t reply to her statement and moved from view.

  Aggie appeared too wrapped up in her own misery to realise what happened, and Jas left it that way. She had no need to know what Jas thought the guards’ intentions were. That would just send Aggie into a tailspin.

  “We’re going to be just fine,” Jas said in a whisper, not sure if Aggie was even listening, as she drew her in tighter. The only thoughts that ran through her mind as she tried to hold Aggie together, were for her father and Catherine. Where have they taken my father? Did Catherine survive the gunshot wound? Why aren’t we being told anything? It’s been five weeks now.

  AFTER A WHILE, THE guard returned with a friend. So now Jas had to contend with two degenerates leering at them.

  “Why don’t you two just fuck off,” Jas ground out as she clenched her fists in anger. “You come anywhere near us, and I will kill you, I can promise you that.”

  One of the guards stared at Jas and blinked. “I doubt that, little girl. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “Fuck you, dickless.” Jas instantly regretted her comment. The sudden look of menace on the guard’s face brought her out in a cold sweat.

  Jas tightened her grip on Aggie as the guard opened the door and the two men came into the cell.

  “Let me go,” Aggie mumbled into Jas’ ear, “you’re hurting me.”

  Jas shushed her friend, then let her go. She knew what was going to happen now, the predatory leers on the faces of the two guards left her in no doubt. She pushed herself back against the wall, in a blind instinct to escape. Beside her, Aggie gave a little moan of terror. But no sooner had the men reached the girls, another man appeared in the doorway. He folded his arms and cleared his throat. The two men spun round as he spoke.

  “If either of you touch a hair on their heads, I will personally have you castrated. They’re not to be touched, do you understand?” The voice was stern with just enough edge that Jas saw fear in the profiled faces of the two men and they didn’t stick around. Jas closed her eyes, m
ore out of relief than anything. How the fuck did he know they were in here?

  “Are you both okay?” the broad-shouldered figure in the doorway asked. “Did they touch you?”

  “No. Who are you? And how did you know what was going on?” Jas asked with suspicion.

  “Let’s say I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” He stepped back out into the hallway and closed the cell door behind him leaving them alone again. But Jas was sure something had changed. Was feeling that they would be safe from then on, a bit presumptuous of her? For now, she didn’t care.

  THE CLATTER OF A CELL door closing, awoke Marcus with a start. He sat up and scooched to the end of his bed. A pair of eyes peered through the eye level, wide and unreadable.

  “So that you know, Dench. I just saved your daughter and her friend from the hands of two of my guards,” the voice from the other side of the door paused briefly, as if the speaker was gauging the amount of concern on Marcus’ face. “But know, if you don’t help us, that I will allow the guards to carry out their original intentions. I suggest you heed my warning, as I don’t know how those women will be treated. My guards can be brutes.”

  Before Marcus could reply, the man moved away. Jas? No? What is she doing away from the others? Leverage, he’s using my daughter as leverage! That means I don’t have a choice. I must do what they want... bastards. The thought was broken by a jangling of keys and a moment later the door swung open. Two men in white lab coats entered; one held a cloth bag with something large in it. Marcus figured they were there to fit his prosthetic. But these men looked like they should be part of a security detail, not medical technicians. Both looked very capable of inflicting damage. “Get up, Dench,” one said as he approached and snatched Marcus’ good arm. Marcus was quick to oblige. He thrust his stump forward as best he could, but there was still a certain amount of pain in doing so. He grimaced at the thought of the prosthetic being fitted to the tender wound. The tech holding the bag opened it to reveal a metal construction that resembled an arm shape with a hand. The way he handled it suggested that it was lightweight, it had wires woven through the body, and little electrodes on the elbow joint.

  “Shouldn’t we be doing this somewhere a bit more sterile?” Marcus asked with a sense of disbelief.

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Dench,” was the curt reply. “We need to get you fitted up, so you can start work.”

  Feeling increasingly uneasy, Marcus concentrated on keeping still, but it was painful as they placed the prosthetic on the bandaged stump. The technician attaching the new limb didn’t seem concerned that he was causing pain. Marcus kept quiet and allowed him to connect the metal construct. The pain isn’t that bad... it could be a lot worse. If I just focus on my girl and my friends, I’ll get through it.

  “Now, Dench, we’re going to place these electrodes on your bicep. The arm activates through muscle movement. You’ll need to learn how to focus to make it work to your advantage. I wouldn’t try doing anything too much with it at first. We don’t want any accidents.”

  Once the technicians had given him a shot of pain medication, they left him to learn how to use his new limb. But it was not easy. Frustration bubbled up as he tried, and failed, to control the movement.

  “Damn it,” he cursed. “You will work, you bastard heap of junk.”

  As he spoke, the door swung open. Which was odd. Marcus always knew when someone was about to enter. They would always struggle with the key in the lock, but he hadn’t heard on that occasion. Yes, he had been preoccupied, but not so much that he wouldn’t hear anything that was going on around him.

  He recognised the burly figure who walked in.

  “I’m Sergeant Scott, we met earlier,” the new arrival said, eyeing Marcus. “You need to come with me. We need you to start work straight away.”

  “What do you want from me?” Marcus demanded “What could I possibly have that you want?”

  “Oh, Dench, you’ll be surprised.” They were the only words that Scott offered in response. “Now, hurry. We haven’t got any time for delays. We’re on a deadline.”

  Marcus stood up. He tugged on his scrubs and pulled them above his waistline ready to re-tie them. This was where he would try out his new hand for the first time. He allowed the muscles in his bicep to contract, so that the arm would move to where he want it to, but the whole process was proving frustrating. Why will no one show me how to use the bloody thing properly? All his new hand wanted to do was misbehave.

  “Well, if you want me to hurry up, you best get over here and do these fucking trousers up.” Marcus waved the offending limb in frustration. “This thing is useless. No good to me at all.”

  Scott looked unimpressed with the way Marcus was reacting. “You will do it yourself,” the sergeant snapped.

  Marcus concentrated on trying to control the limb again, but this time something was happening. With a steely determination, Marcus successfully controlled the arm, moving it down to take hold of the cord. Without falter, the hand grabbed the cord just tight enough. Strangely proud of his achievement, Marcus wondered how he was going to tie the cord.

  CHAPTER 5

  It took more time than expected but having finally mastered the art of tying his own trousers with an artificial limb, Marcus was ready to face whatever he was required to do to carry out his so-called job. Outside the cell, Sergeant Scott took a grip of his good arm at the elbow. and steered him along a corridor. Marcus squinted as the bright strip lighting from the corridor blinded him. The sergeant led him back in the same direction as the two guards had earlier that day.

  Marcus wondered if he would see the same figure in the cage. Was his job to do with the creature in the hood?

  “Stay put, Dench. I suggest you don’t try anything, as I have eyes on you,” The sergeant said as he rummaged for the door key tucked in the side pocket of his utility trousers. Marcus did as he was told and hid his frustration as he waited for his escort to open the door, glancing around to see what Scott meant by ‘he had eyes on him’. He caught a glimpse of something moving within the light fixture above his head. Cameras? How very nineteen-eighty-four, he thought as he averted his gaze. Scott had finally managed to open the door, after trying several keys and fiddling the last one around in the lock, much to Marcus’ amusement. It gave him hope to see that these people were not as ruthlessly efficient as they liked to pretend. But his amusement wasn’t as well hidden as he’d thought. Scott shot him a look of contempt.

  “Do you mock me, Dench?” he snarled. “I’d really suggest you don’t.” He took hold of Marcus’ bicep and pulled him through the doorway side on. Inside the room, Marcus’ eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost. There he was, standing by the side of the cage where the hooded prisoner he encountered before, had been held... Malcolm Judd, as large as life. But this time there was no hooded figure. Instead, cowering in the corner he saw one of the private’s who had escorted him to the training room the first time, trapped inside with a transitioning caver.

  “Look at me,” the caver said, her attention fixed on Judd, and not the man trapped in there. Her voice had become harsh and raspy, but Marcus recognised it and felt a deep gripping sickness in his stomach. Catherine Hyde. Part of him wanted to scream a denial, but he was mesmerised by the scene unfolding in the cage. Judd narrowed his eyes and turned his head to face the caver. His immediate reaction was one of revulsion as he saw her face. Marcus was not surprised, the whole of Hyde’s right side was now caver; scaly, rough skin and she had talons growing where once she had nails. The private tried desperately to shrink further into the bars that held him in as she moved toward him, but there was nowhere to go and as the caver-creature drew almost within grasping distance. The young man began to wet himself. Hyde’s expression betrayed that she loved what it was doing to him, was revelling in the fact his face held a rictus of fear. Judd stood and watched as the drama unfolded, but still did nothing to stop it.

  Just when Marcus was sur
e Hyde was going to press her attack, Sergeant Scott gestured at the guards to open the cage.

  “Get him out of there, now,” Scott yelled as he glared at his superior. “What had that boy done to deserve this sort of treatment, sir? What could’ve been so bad for you felt the need to chance his life with that... thing?”

  Judd went to leave the room, his face a blank canvas showing no emotion.

  “I’ll deal with you later, Scott.” he said in a stern whisper as he walked out.

  Scott took a deep breath to collect himself and repeated the order he’d given moments before. Without hesitation, the two men complied with the command.

  Scott retrieved his gun from its holster and aimed it at Hyde and pulled the trigger. Marcus gasped in terror and disbelief at what he’d just witnessed.

  Catherine? What the fuck? He turned on Scott, the anger drowning out his own fear.

  “What have you done?”.

  “Don’t shout at me like that, Dench,” Scott said as he holstered his pistol. “She’ll be fine.”

  “What do you mean ‘she’ll be fine’? You’ve just bloody shot her in the chest at close range. She’s going to die.”

  “No, she isn’t. She’s already started to eject the bullet from her system. She is a product of your making. The only caver to have made it through your processes.” Marcus felt the news hit him like a body blow. For a moment he felt himself struggling to breath and Scott’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. “You didn’t know, did you?”