Trying to move on, she cleared her throat and said, “So, when will you tell me about your work, John?”
His dinner remained untouched, his scrawny frame and pallid skin were a reflection of his permanent lack of appetite. At sixty-three, he was thirty years her senior, but he looked fifty years older. After consulting his wristwatch as if their meal had a deadline, he sighed, “I can’t. You know that.”
Without looking at her food, she speared some potato and put it in her mouth. Panic spiked in her chest when the big lump hit the back of her tongue and continued down.
After three dry swallows and another sip of wine, the fluffy vegetable disintegrated and finally slid down her throat. All that was left behind was the burn of a few dry scratches. Eating under John’s cold scrutiny made the choking much worse. He was right; it was all in the mind.
Avoiding eye contact this time, she ate some purple sprouting broccoli. The bland vegetable was flavoured with the rich tang of blood.
After focusing hard on mastication, she made sure to swallow all of the food. The strip lighting sent electric shocks through her eyeballs when she lifted her head. Squinting hard, she said, “Have the lights got brighter?”
John didn’t respond.
“The lights,” she repeated as she viewed the room through slits. “Have they been turned up?” Her world started to blur, and the beginnings of a migraine stretched its roots through her brain.
Returning to their conversation, she said, “I know you can’t tell me about your work, John. It’s just, as my professor, I long to understand more. You’re here to teach me after all.” Another sharp pain jabbed into her eyes, and she drew a short breath that echoed in the bare room. Pinching her forehead with her right hand, she shielded her brow and stared down at the white table.
“Are you okay?” There was little concern in his tone. If anything, he seemed to be awaiting her response as if it was feedback for an experiment. She expected to look up and see him taking notes. There was no downtime as far as John was concerned. The world was there to be viewed as an objective observer.
Nodding, she remained silent. What was the point of telling him something was wrong? One time, he’d even gone as far as to say the dyslexia that she’d struggled with since childhood was “a fabrication. A way for stupid people to get extra time in exams.”
Since then, she’d stopped asking for extra time on written exams. The humiliation was too much to bear.
Two hollow knocks sounded out when John dropped his pointy elbows on the table. Alice looked up to see his long and bony fingers entwine. His deep and languid voice rumbled, “Eat more. It will make you feel better. As for my work, you’ll have to keep wondering I’m afraid. Since the Second Cold War started with China, everything has been on a need-to-know basis.”
“The Second Cold War? That’s always your excuse, John. Since the terrorist attacks in 2023–”
“And the second wave a year later.” He spoke to her as if she didn’t know her history.
Taking a breath allowed her to withhold her snappy retort. In a battle of egos, there was only ever one winner. “The point I was trying to make,” she said, “is that nothing’s happened for the last fifteen years. We’ve had the silent threat of war hanging over us like a thick fog. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s just a way for the government to take our civil liberties. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a Doomsday Clock in every city just to remind us how much protection we need. Just so we obey their every wish.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alice. You sound like one of those new-age paranoid types.”
“As opposed to the old-age paranoid types? At least my beliefs don’t result in us stockpiling weapons of mass destruction.” Fire spread across her face and her core started to tremble.
His long face twisted against itself, but he remained silent.
“Besides, when you’re connected to those in power, I’m sure it does seem preposterous. You’ll be okay, John, you have a space in their fallout shelters when you want it. Ironic really.”
“What is?”
A gasp left her lungs as her stomach lurched. Coughing several times, she said, “The fact that the wealthy and privileged will survive if it all goes to hell, left to remake the world in their own greedy image. I mean,” she forced a laugh that fell dead in the sparse room, “that’s what got us in this state in the first place. It would seem that humanity is destined to repeat itself if they’re the people that will crawl out of the ground after this planet has been ravaged by a nuclear war.” She then took a huge gulp of wine, slammed the glass back down on the table and pushed her fringe from her eyes. The light in the room forced her to cover them again.
A gentle slur dampened her words, and the warm liquid that she’d tried to drink dribbled down her chin. “Anyway, maybe we’ll work together when I graduate.”
When she looked back up, she saw regret in his cold eyes. The flicker of emotion sat awkwardly on his stony face. “Maybe,” he allowed. “How’s your food? Wilfred is quite the chef, don’t you think?”
If Wilfred never cooked again, it would be too soon. Wriggling on the hard plastic chair, sweat cascading down her back, she paused before saying, “Yes, he is. However, the steak is a little rare for my liking.” Slapping her hands to her face and pushing against her eyeballs did nothing to stop the hard throb surging through them.
When she pulled her hands away, she saw John check his watch again. He then lifted a small black box and pressed a button on it. “I agree,” he stated. “Wilfred likes his meat bloody.” He said the word like a vampire with a thirst. “This is well done by his standards.”
A gentle whir was accompanied by darkness closing in from either side. It accentuated Alice’s tunnel vision. When she twisted her head, she saw heavy metal shutters closing over the windows. “When were they fitted?” she asked, her own words echoing through her mind.
A half smile twisted John’s face. It was supposed to be reassuring, but he missed the mark by a mile. He then said, “Earlier today.”
Every beat of her pulse crushed her brain. Her stomach tensed. She stammered, “W… why are you… um, why are you locking us in?”
His laugh echoed through her skull and her world spun. “I’m not locking us in, dear. I’m locking them out. We’ve had information that suggests the Cold War may heat up tonight. We believe that China and Korea have mastered biological warfare. This apartment is already well fortified; I’ve just added the shutters to prevent gaseous objects from entering.” As an afterthought, he added, “I’m sure that nothing will happen, but it’s better to be safe.”
Fire barrelled through her guts. Sweat gushed from her brow, and the thick black bars of tunnel vision swelled. Everything fell into soft focus. The words that came from her mouth didn’t feel like her own. “Oh, so we have to stay here?” Several blinks did nothing to clear her vision.
Dipping a sombre nod, John said, “Yes. We have plenty of rations though.”
Where? The apartment was empty. Or was it? She couldn’t see to the edges of the room anymore. Maybe there were supplies that she’d missed.
Another rush of heat forced sweat from every pore. John vanished from her view, the white coat blending into the surroundings.
Fighting her heavy breaths, Alice wheezed, “Is that why you’re checking your watch? You know when it’s supposed to happen?” Everything then went dark. She fell sideways. Sharp pain exploded across her cheek as it hit the table. The smell of bleach slithered up her nostrils.
“It won’t be long now, dear.”
She heard his chair scrape across the floor.
“Would you excuse me while I go and use the bathroom? I want to make the most of that luxury because we’ll need to stay in this room from here on out. It’ll be a bucket in the corner after thissssssssss…”
His words faded.
***
Although he was dressed in the same sterile uniform as his colleague–a full-length lab coat, white trousers and
black shoes–Wilfred liked to think that was where the similarities ended. He was nothing like John. Just looking at the long man curdled his guts.
After running his hand through his hair, he asked, “Is she okay?”
A leer cracked John’s angular face as he stared through the window. “No, I don’t think she is.” Looking at his colleague, his piercing blue eyes shining bright in his craggy face, he added, “But that’s the point, isn’t it?”
A cold chill ran the length of Wilfred’s body, and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. His hands balled into fists as he looked at the wrinkly man. How many times would he have to smash his face into the door to make him feel compassion? Would he still speak with his cold detachment if his nose was spread across his face? After clearing his throat, Wilfred spoke, the wobble he’d tried to ignore sending a quiver through his words, “How was the meal?”
Excitement lit John’s features; Wilfred hadn’t seen him this animated in years. “It went well.” He then turned back to the window.
The frown that crushed Wilfred’s face was automatic, and he let his words out slowly despite the urge to scream them at the man. “Why did you tell her I made it?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” John laughed. “She wouldn’t have believed I made it. The last thing I wanted was for her to be suspicious.” Lifting an eyebrow, he added, “We needed her to eat it after all.”
Reluctant to look into the room, Wilfred kept his attention on John. “And she ate the steak? It wasn’t too bloody?”
“It was, but it had to be; we couldn’t cook the virus.”
Heat radiated from Wilfred’s cheeks. Why had John done it?
Turing his long face back towards his colleague, John said, “What’s wrong with you? Are you letting your emotions get the better of you again?”
While grinding his jaw, Wilfred counted silently to three. He then took a deep breath, exhaled and moved next to the slight man. When he got close enough, the smell of bleach hit the back of his throat. The air tasted like a swimming pool. No matter how much time he spent around John, he’d never get used to it. He then looked through the window. Seeing Alice slumped over the table in the middle of the room clamped his stomach tight, and a rich shot of acidic bile lifted into his throat. A tearing pain cut through his chest when he looked at her blonde hair splayed out like a halo. What had she done to deserve this?
“It happened exactly like the dogs we tested it on, Wilfred. The blood vessels in her eyes exploded, turning the whites red in an instant. They even bled.” A huge grin opened up John’s long face, and his eyes spread wide. “I could predict exactly when to leave. Exactly!”
Unable to take his eyes off the woman in the room, Wilfred jumped when she twitched. The surge of adrenaline ran a gentle wobble through his hands. It was different seeing it happen to dogs. He didn’t have a relationship with them like he had with Alice. A lump rose in his throat that he swallowed against. “Is she okay?”
“Of course she’s not okay. That’s the point!”
Of course. Stupid bloody question, Wilfred thought.
Turning away from the window again, John said, “Are you okay? Is this getting a bit too much for you?”
The conversation was cut dead when Alice flicked her head up. Two sticky lines of blood stretched away from her eyeballs in thick tendrils. Her sharp head movements made her loose jaw swing.
“Jesus,” Wilfred whispered when he saw the lines of claret running down her cheeks. She then vomited blood onto the table in front of her. It covered most of the white surface and spilled over the sides, raining onto the floor. The thick splattering echoed around the sparsely furnished room.
Hot saliva gushed down Wilfred’s throat, and a slow heave rolled through his ample gut. Putting his hand on the cold wall to steady himself, he turned to look at John.
The scrawny man watched on with childlike fascination, excitement shimmering on his face. “Watch this, Wilfred,” he said. “This is the best bit.” He tapped gently on the glass.
Snapping her head to look at the door, Alice then jumped to her feet. The chair shrieked as it skidded away from her and crashed to the ground. The loud clap of her hands slamming down on the table echoed around the room, and it took all Wilfred’s concentration to hold onto his bladder.
John smiled, pressed the intercom and said, “Come to Dada.” Speakers in the room amplified his voice.
Alice twisted her head with sharp movements, clearly searching for the source of the noise. The jerky head movements threw her long blonde hair away from her face. Seeing the trails of blood that ran from her ears, Wilfred looked down and noticed the spreading patch around her crotch. His chest tightened and he muttered, “Good god.”
A low laugh murmured from John’s throat. “She doesn’t know where we are.” He tapped the glass again with one of his long, bony fingers.
Alice locked on to it and took off. With her arms wind-milling and her mouth wide, dark with blood, she ran face first into the observation window.
Crunch! The impact threw her backwards as if she’d run into a brutal uppercut.
Wilfred looked away and dabbed his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. He took several deep breaths to try and pull his heart down from his neck.
Looking back up again, he stared at the explosion of red on the safety glass. Inside, Alice was still on her back, rolling and writhing.
“Look at it, Wilfred. Beautiful, ain’t it?”
Every muscle in Wilfred’s body fell slack as he looked at the man. He then said, “Her! Not it!”
The bony scientist shrugged.
Scrabbling like a spider on ice, Alice got to her feet again. Heavy breaths rocked her body before she screamed once more. Within two steps, she was at full sprint. Within four, she’d hit the window again and was on her back.
“There’s no way this door’s giving, love.” John laughed as he turned to Wilfred. “It’s designed to withstand an atomic blast–literally. No one’s getting in and no one’s getting out. At points, there’s been information in here that in the wrong hands would give the East a huge advantage over us in this bloody stalemate.”
None of this was news to Wilfred. And it wasn’t impenetrable, but John didn’t need to know that. Not yet anyway.
“Also,” the long scientist pointed along the corridor leading away from his living quarters, “that corridor is broken up into four bomb-proof sections. Even if she got through one door, there’s no chance of her getting through all of them.”
Lifting a shrug through his thick shoulders, Wilfred asked, “So what now?”
“We observe. I want to enjoy this because we won’t get permission to test on a human subject again.”
“And you’re confident that you can find a vaccine?”
“Of course, Wilfred. I’m The West’s leading germ warfare scientist.”
And don’t we bloody know it! “You know that we had permission to test this on anyone, right?”
John nodded.
“So why her?”
The reply was instant. “I like a challenge.” It was all about him.
“A challenge?” Wilfred cleared his throat and took a step back. “But, John,” he said, balling his fists again, his eyes watering more than before, “she’s your wife?”
***
Twenty long minutes passed where Wilfred stood and listened to Alice attacking the door. Every time it went quiet, his pulse settled before she returned to it with more venom than before–growling, screaming, punching.
Only once everything had calmed down did Wilfred move next to his colleague again to look into the room. The glass was slick with blood that threw a red filter over everything.
They watched Alice, lost in her own private hell as she paced the room. She crashed into a chair, a loud screech tearing through her prison. Turning on the inanimate object, she dropped into a defensive hunch and snarled at it.
“Look at that,” John said with a laugh.
With a craving for violence twitching
through his muscles, Wilfred chose not to look at the man. Instead, he continued watching Alice.
Snapping at the air, blood spluttering from her mouth, Alice screamed.
The sound electrified Wilfred’s spine. Pulling a stuttered breath through his body, he asked, “Do you think she’s in pain.”
“Probably.”
The man didn’t have a shred of empathy. He should be the one on the other side of the door, not Alice. After several heavy gulps, Wilfred accepted that the lump in his throat wouldn’t budge.
The button on the intercom buzzed when John pressed it, and his cold voice came through the speakers in the room. “There there, my dear. Now listen to me.”
She stopped still, tilted her head to one side and shuffled up to the glass. It seemed that her frenzied mind still recognised her husband’s voice. When she was just an inch away from them, she stopped. She wasn’t about to run into the door again.
Wilfred only realised he’d been holding his breath when his head spun. After catching it again, he said, “How does she know where the door is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she can see.”
“Through bleeding eyes?”
After shrugging, John turned to Alice. “We’ll have a cure for this, my love. When we do, you can congratulate yourself for having helped your country. The vaccine will mean we can drop the virus on China and end this Cold War. You’re an integral part to keeping power in the West.”
This was the most compassionate Wilfred had ever seen John being to his wife. Having been one of the few people at their wedding, as a witness rather than a guest–a lab partner in an experiment–Wilfred had watched John recite his vows as if they were an apparatus list for the most basic experiment. For the entire service, he wanted to scream for it to stop. He’d have treated her so much better than John ever could. He treated marriage to his beautiful bride like it was a necessary inconvenience at best. Alice had tears in her eyes the whole day. When Wilfred asked her why she’d married John, she said she loved his wonderful mind, and she wanted to learn from him. She realised they were the wrong reasons but lifted her ring and said, “Bit too late now, isn’t it?”
Happy Little Horrors Page 3
