CHAPTER 9
Quentin Miller re-acquainted himself with his desk after arriving back from Central London. The Consortium’s offices were situated in Hertfordshire, but the precise location was ‘need to know’ only. It was a very private set of companies, which nobody else knew anything about. One thing that was known about the consortium; it was a group that commanded everything. It was even thought that they had been the ones to drop the bombs. They knew they had fucked up with the caver program, and the only way to rid themselves of their mistake was to vaporise it and disguised it as an act of war.
Miller had been the one to tell Hyde the true reason behind the bombs after her arrival at the bomb shelter. The fact that they were a catalyst to draw her out into the open. To test her unrealised abilities. To see what she would do under adverse conditions. It was one big test that went horribly wrong. Now was the time to try and put things right, and the only way he was going to do that was by getting the program up and running again. This was where Hyde played an important role. It was her blood cells that were going to be used to start it all up again. The extraction of the blood from her body would be the platform for the new batch of super soldiers. Miller hadn’t long found out about what would happen to Hyde once all the samples had been taken. He was the one that had to give the order to execute.
He relaxed back into the large leather lazy boy chair that sat just across from his desk. His eyes closed, and his breathing became heavy as he thought about the trip back to London in a few days. His thoughts were broken by the intercom buzzing. At first, he ignored it, but the person on the other end was annoyingly persistent. Miller gave up, rose from the comfortable chair and headed over to his desk to take the call.
“What is it?”
“If you’re having a bad day, I suggest you take it out on someone else.” The voice at the end of the transmission made Miller cower inside.
“I’m sorry Mister Stanford, I didn’t–”
“I don’t want to hear it, Miller.” There was an uneasy silence, which seemed to last forever before the other voice spoke again.
“Has everything been finalised in London? This needs to happen as planned, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir... fully.” The intercom went quiet, but this time for good, as Stanford had clicked off his end.
Miller returned to the chair in the corner and slumped into it. Recent reports from the bunker suggested that the task of removing any trace of Hyde’s human self was all but done. A matter of days remained. He stared at the small suitcase of clothes and paperwork he had dragged in behind him a few hours earlier and shook his head. Miller pulled on the lever at the side of his chair and a leg rest sprung from the front. The thoughts swirling around his head had exhausted him, as well as the obstacle laden journey back to the offices. Yes, it was a luxury having a vehicle, but the debris from the bomb attacks that littered the roads made for a hazardous journey. One that took twice as long as it should...and the thought of having to make the same journey again grated on Miller’s mind. Closing his eyes, he pushed it all away and let himself sleep.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Miller jolted from his slumber. What the hell does the old fucker want now? Can’t a man get a decent kip around here?
He struggled out of the lazy boy and crossed to his desk to answer the call.
“Yes sir, what is it?” he snapped.
“Again, Miller? Adjust your tone,” was the equally curt response. “You need to get to my office and bring the ‘Bunker’ file. I want the paperwork from your last visit before you head back to London.” The intercom shut off again.
Miller gathered what he thought he needed for his impromptu meeting...all the notes from the bunker that he had stashed in his travel bag. One file, an inch thick, was tucked under his arm as he headed towards the door. He tripped, nearly losing half the papers in the process. He gripped the file tighter and left, heading down the corridor to his right before entering a stairwell.
Four flights of steep steps awaited him. It was times like these where he wished that the building had working lifts. But like everything else, they were unfixable. He paused and looked up to where he needed to be and sighed deeply before starting his ascent.
OH JESUS, I NEED TO exercise more. Miller wheezed between breaths as he reached the end of the fourth flight. He was a young man, early thirties, but his fitness levels were verging on zero. He had no stamina. After composing himself he left the stairwell. This was the upper level, where the higher up’s had offices. His boss was the founder of the consortium and had sway over everything. Not even the board could override any decision he made. The caver program was also out of bounds as far as the board were concerned and would remain so for the duration of its renewed existence.
Stanford’s office lay at the end of the top floor. Four other offices, all empty, and the conference room were passed on his way through. On his final approach, Miller slowed his pace, and out of pure anxiety, he gripped the file tighter. Once outside the old man’s door, he took a moment to breathe, rapped on the hardwood and waited nervously for a reply. What felt like a lifetime of seconds went by before there was any answer: a cough, a wheeze, and then the call to enter.
“Come in, Miller. Don’t dilly-dally.”
Stanford was so old fashioned with the way he spoke it made Miller laugh inwardly. Taking a moment more to be sure he appeared completely composed, he entered the office and walked over to the chestnut desk. A nameplate with the words, ‘Arthur J. Stanford, CEO’ stamped on it sat at the front of the desk. The old man kept him standing in silence for a few minutes whilst he pretended to be busy with something he had in a folder. Then he put the folder to one side, glared up at Miller and started berating him.
“I suppose you think this is good enough, do you Miller? I am fed up with the shoddiness and vagueness of your reports. This last report tells me nothing.”
Miller blanked out Stanford’s words, fixing his thoughts on the deed he was about to be forced to carry out.
There was a sudden very pregnant silence and Miller was snapped out of the trance that he had been lost in.
“Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying?” Stanford snapped angrily. “I sincerely hope I haven’t been wasting my time on you.”
Miller took a deep breath and sighed. “No sir, I heard every word.”
“Regardless, you still appear to be incapable of giving me a report on the progress at the bunker. Kindly leave the file. Hopefully that will tell me more than you are willing to. Now get out.”
The old man waved a dismissive hand and Miller turned on his heels and headed toward the door. He paused when he reached it and closed his eyes for a moment then carried on, trying to block out the increasingly persistent thoughts of harming the old man.
MILLER FLOPPED INTO his chair. The files were discarded, and the intercom turned off. He didn’t want anyone contacting him again that day. His thoughts again rested on how to handle the situation at the bunker. Orders were orders, and Hyde would lose her life once the consortium had taken what they wanted from her.
His mind strayed off into another world, as memories came flooding back of how he helped his father in the potting shed at their allotment every Saturday when he was a child, taking him far away from his work and anything else that reminded him of the consortium. Then a thought hit him. He needed to start his journey to London now, if he were to get there on time. He sprung from his chair and grabbed his travel bag. He knew from the last time that the journey would be hazardous and didn’t want to take any chances.
CHAPTER 10
About fifty yards from the entrance of the bunker, a car weaved over.
A soldier engaged the intercom at the edge of his desk on recognising the vehicle. “Mr Miller is on his way.”
“Thank you, private,” Major Clark responded. “Let me know when he’s at the entrance.” The comm went dead.
The soldier watched the battered black four by four pull up outside the
bunker’s main entrance. Miller stepped out of the vehicle, His movement’s sharp and tense. He walked to the concealed entrance and buzzed for entry. The soldier depressed the button on the intercom again.
“He’s here sir, shall I let him in?” the soldier asked.
There was a short interlude before he got an answer from the other end.
“No private, you will not. I will meet him personally.” The private watched his monitor and waited, his heart kicked up a beat as the hatch opened. Two soldiers with semi-automatic rifles greeted Miller at the entrance, and he raised his hands above his head. Major Clark appeared shortly after and gestured for Miller to enter. The private couldn’t see what was being said, nor could he see what would happen beyond the cameras. The conversation looked heated, but he couldn’t be sure, and then the gunmen got behind Miller and started pushing him through the bunker entrance.
MILLER FELT ACUTELY aware of the threat of the men behind him as Major Clark walked ahead. He had no idea why Clark was doing this and that scared him.
“Where are you taking me, major?”
Clark stopped and turned to face the younger man.
“Not one more word, sir,” Clark snarled. “You will remain quiet, do you understand?” Miller nodded frantically, and he felt a sharp nudge from behind.
“Move it, you,” a gruff voice barked. Miller stumbled forward, his hands still raised above his head.
“M-my bag, I need it,” he stuttered. Clark turned around, walked up to the terrified man and glared at him.
“Gag him.” The soldier produced a cloth and forcing Miller’s mouth open, shoved most of it inside.
“I warned you not to say another word. Why did you feel the need to try me?” The major turned away and carried on walking. The further they went through the network of corridor’s and tunnel’s, the darker it got.
“You will be our guest for the foreseeable future, Mister Miller. We have many things to discuss.” The major said as they entered the cell block. Much to Clark’s bemusement, the door had been left open.
“We should restrain our guest once we get him to his accommodation,” the major said. “I don’t want him removing his gag.”
Miller’s eyes widened in horror. What the hell was going on? He began to think something terrible must have happened as they arrived at the door of the last cell on the wing.
“This is what I call the blackout cell. We use it for unruly guests,” the major told him whilst unlocking the door.
The room smelt damp and had one flickering light bulb that swung in the breeze from the air vent near the ceiling. The walls were covered in mildew where the outer brickwork had been open to the elements. The cell had one bed with restraints attached either side. There was a wheelchair with restraints fitted at the back. Miller tried to shift away from his captors, but the men behind him pushed their rifles into his back and forced him to enter his new residence.
“Strip to your underwear,” the major ordered, “then lay on the bed.”
With his guts twisting in trepidation, Miller undressed, all the time staring at the thin, damp looking mattress that adorned the metal bed. He kept thinking of his comfortable lazy boy recliner and wondered if this was some terrible dream he was having. Maybe he would wake up in a moment, safe in his office. Left standing in his boxers, Miller felt uncomfortable with the two privates leering at him as the major gestured to the bunk.
“Place him in the restraints, and make sure that gag is firmly pushed home,” Clark ordered, then he looked at Miller. “I’d advise you not to struggle, as you know, the restraints tighten if you do.”
Once he was lying on the bed, the two privates clamped Miller’s hands and feet just tight enough to cause discomfort.
“I will deal with you later,” the major said as he ushered his staff out of the cell and closed the door behind him.
Miller shivered and goosepimples covered his body. The damp mattress pressing tightly against his naked skin made his flesh crawl as he listened to the boots getting farther away. Then there was nothing, nothing but the cold, the smell, the flickering light - and his own imagination.
MAJOR CLARK PRESSED his comm, “Judd, come to my office now, please.”
There was an instant reply:
“Yes, sir...on my way.”
Clark sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. His thoughts took him to the deeper realms of depravity as he tried to conjure up images of what he would do to Miller when the time came. A loud knock on the door jolted him into an upright position.
“Come in, Judd,” he snapped.
The door opened, and the captain entered in regimental style. He came to the front of the big desk, stiffened his stance, then saluted.
“At ease, captain.”
Judd placed his hands behind his back and set his feet shoulder width apart.
“I have a mutual friend in custody,” Clark said, “and I want to discuss what we might do with him.” Judd stood in silence. “We need to dispose of him in such a way that the consortium knows that we’re no longer their puppets, and that we mean business. How do you wish to handle the situation?”
Still, Judd stood in silence.
“Do you have anything you want to say. What are your thoughts?”
There was a delay in Judd’s reply and the slightest smirk lifted his lips at the edges.
“Miller has been troublesome since the restart of the caver program. He’s done nothing but undermine us with every step, and I agree, he needs to be dealt with. We still haven’t gauged Hyde’s feeding patterns, and I want to see what would happen if we starved her. I want to see what lengths she would go to, to feed. Remember, cavers are cannibals, sir... and this will mark a full transition. Do you still have the comms link to the consortium’s offices? We need to send them footage of our little experiment.”
Clark beamed at the captain.
“When can you get started?”
“I can start the starving process today, sir... she’ll need to feed in three days, or she’ll die.”
“Why such a short period, Judd?”
“It is a flaw in Hyde’s makeup that still hasn’t been ironed out yet, but I have that issue in hand. Once she has gone through the full transformation, the length of time which food will be needed will be extended greatly, sir. She will be able to go for at least ten days without food.”
“Good, dismissed.”
Judd straightened up, saluted, turned on his heels and left the office.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning Judd sat at his console and turned the screen to the blackout cell camera. It had been secreted in the light fitting’s rim and offered a good view of the restrained prisoner. He watched as Miller wriggled. The goosebumps were visibly standing out on Miller’s skin like a plucked chicken. A bit cold, are we? Let’s turn on the heating for a bit. What he meant by heating was in fact a stifling, humid, breathless heat that would loosen the skin and suffocate at the same time. Not good if you have a gag shoved in your mouth.
Judd watched to see how long it would take for Miller to start struggling to breathe. It took a full ten minutes of the constant barrage of hot air to send Miller into panic mode. His victim’s eyes widened, and he struggled against the bonds. The restraints tightened and were cutting into his wrists and ankles. When a tinge of blue showed on Miller’s lips, and his eye began to shut, Judd turned the dial back to cold. But it wasn’t a comfortable cold, it was a cold worse than when Miller had first entered. Bored with his game, Judd broke away from watching the tortured consortium representative squirm and pressed to see the main feed into the dormitory, where the rest of Marcus’ group had been placed upon arrival. He didn’t look in on the small group daily, maybe every other day. He only looked in on the two girls, and Marcus, a man he didn’t trust, nor like, on a daily basis.
FROM HIS MONITOR, SCOTT had been watching the dormitory where all the other survivors had been placed. For days now, he had spent hours just watching... hoping to spot his
brother. A hunched figure caught his eye and he drew closer to the screen. There you are you old fucker. He smiled to himself as he glared at the haggard old man in the holey jumper and felt a sudden rush of adrenalin. There was a moment of clarity before he realised that he needed to see his brother. With one swift movement, Scott rose to his feet. He turned off his monitor and headed for the door, running as fast as he could toward the front of the bunker.
“John Cummings, show yourself,” Scott said, trying to disguise his voice as he entered the military-style dorm. He wasn’t expecting the whole group to appear in front of him. They were in what he called protection mode. John pushed his way through the other survivors and greeted his visitor warmly.
“Gregory...what are you doing here?” Then his tone changed. “And more to the point, what are we doing here? Are we prisoners?”
“Follow me, I will tell you everything. I can’t say a lot here.” Scott took hold of John by the elbow and led him out of the dorm. John gestured to the others to stay where they were.
Now out in the corridor, Scott whispered to John, “I’m going to take you to my office, there are no cameras in there. We can talk freely, and I can fill you in on what’s about to happen. For now, you need to look like my prisoner.”
The pair began to walk again, and for effect, John started to pull against his brother’s grip, to give the cameras a good show.
Hyde's Lament: A Dark Novella (Only The Few Book 2) Page 4
