The December Protocol

by Devin Hanson

  Anton left after giving each strap a tug to make sure they were secure. The gurney was cold against the bare skin of her legs.

  She didn’t have long to wait before the woman Angeline had seen last time returned. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes, visible despite her makeup. Without so much as meeting Angeline’s gaze, she hooked a small test tube to Angeline’s catheter and took a blood sample.

  Anton came back with Adora and set about strapping her to the next gurney. Adora let herself be strapped in peacefully. When Anton turned to leave, Adora gave Angeline a broad smile with absolutely no humor in it, then smoothed her face out when the woman returned to take Adora’s blood sample.

  Angeline wanted to ask Adora what was happening, but she didn’t want to do it while the woman was there. Adora winked at her then turned her head to stare at the ceiling.

  When Anton returned, he kicked the door open and flung Jasmine into the room. “Stupid little whore scratched me,” he complained.

  Jasmine scrambled off the floor and lunged for the doorway. Her arms were bound behind her back with a pair of zip ties, and when Anton kneed her in the stomach, she couldn’t catch herself when she collapsed. Angeline heard the crunch of Jasmine’s nose breaking when she fell to the floor face first.

  Anton kicked her over onto her back and pinned her in place with his foot. Jasmine wriggled wildly, trying to get away. Anton sneered down at her then pulled his stunrod from his belt. He snapped it open and jabbed it into Jasmine’s stomach.

  Jasmine’s muscles seized then started jerking uncontrollably when Anton finally pulled the stunrod back. He grinned down at her and raised the rod again.

  “I think she’s got the message,” the woman said quietly.

  Anton lowered the stunrod, but didn’t take his weight off the foot keeping Jasmine pinned to the ground. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, Dr. Lenbroke. Don’t tell me how to do mine.”

  “My interest is in the girl’s health,” Dr. Lenbroke said firmly. “Not their mental wellbeing. If you shock the girl too much, you could disrupt her menstrual cycle.”

  Anton sniffed, but he took his foot off Jasmine. “Sounds like you’re going soft to me. Maybe Dr. Chung should take over for you. Just for a little while.”

  “Jie Chung is a butcher. He couldn’t keep a houseplant alive, let alone care for a group of girls.” Dr. Lenbroke said frostily, but she turned away, waving one hand in dismissal. “But do what you like.”

  Anton jabbed Jasmine with his stunrod again, looking at Dr. Lenbroke, daring her to turn around. Angeline saw the doctor’s back stiffen, but she just bent her head and ignored the sound of Jasmine’s choked shrieks. After a moment, he pulled the rod back. Jasmine twitched feebly on the floor. Blood from her broken nose was smeared over her face and matted into her hair.

  With a grunt, Anton picked Jasmine up and flung her onto a gurney. Jasmine seemed only partially conscious, her eyes were rolling in her head and flecks of white foam sat in the corners of her mouth. Dr. Lenbroke walked over and pushed Anton away.

  “I think you’ve done enough. I’ll have to keep the girl overnight to make sure you didn’t do anything permanently damaging to her.”

  Anton shrugged. “Whatever. No skin off my back.”

  Angeline saw Adora smiling at Jasmine, clearly enjoying the girl’s suffering. For her part, Angeline only felt sad. As much as the violence seemed fitting and just, she couldn’t take pleasure in it. She didn’t feel any sympathy either, though.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Dr. Lenbroke said. “Shouldn’t you be out finding the next batch?”

  “I would, but that idiot Lucien got himself killed. He was following the marshal and got made.”

  “Someone had better put an end to Marshal Yang before he finds his way here. I’m not going down because you got sloppy.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Word is the boss pulled some strings. His own people are hunting for him now.”

  “Good. Though I won’t be happy until we get word he’s dead. I’ve heard stories. The man won’t give up until we’re dead or he is.”

  “You worry too much. Want me to stop by later? Help take your mind off things?” Anton leered at her.

  “I’d rather stab my eyes out with a fork,” Dr. Lenbroke smiled.

  “That a yes then?”

  “You should leave,” she said. “And contemplate the meaning of justifiable homicide.”

  Anton laughed and left with a wave.

  Dr. Lenbroke watched Anton leave then sighed. “God I hate that man. Alright, let’s see what he’s done to you.” She put on a stethoscope and held it over Jasmine’s heart. After listening for a minute, she peeled back Jasmine’s eyelids and shone a penlight into them.

  “This might be a bit late for you,” Dr. Lenbroke muttered as she took Jasmine’s pulse and blood pressure, “but you’ve really got to learn which men are dangerous.”

  She took a blood sample from Jasmine and brought it over to her workstation before hooking I.V. bags up to each girl.

  Angeline watched as Dr. Lenbroke ran tests on their blood samples. She was close enough this time so she could look over the doctor’s shoulder. She didn’t recognize any of the tests being done, but even Angeline recognized when one test showed up glaringly positive.

  Dr. Lenbroke cursed and repeated the test. Again the clear reagent turned milky when she stirred in a few drops of blood. The doctor’s shoulders sagged then moving slowly, she tapped out a number on her tablet.

  “What can I do for you, Kim?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Another one is ready, Jie,” Dr. Lenbroke said, and hung up.

  She turned in her chair, moving with renewed purpose. Quickly, she stepped up to Angeline’s gurney and injected something into her I.V. bag, then repeated the action on Adora’s. Almost immediately, Angeline felt her eyelids start to sag.

  Angeline struggled to stay awake. Whose blood had made the reagent react? She didn’t think it was her. As far as Angeline knew, she hadn’t started her period yet. But since she hadn’t experienced it yet, she didn’t really know what to look for. There was no blood between her legs, or in her urine when she woke up.

  The lab was going black. Concentrate as she might on staying awake, whatever drug Dr. Lenbroke had put into her I.V. was dragging her under inexorably. Distantly, she heard the door swing open.

  “Which one?” a man’s voice asked with undisguised excitement.

  “On the end, the bloody one.”

  “Ha ha, good one. The bloody one.” He chortled, enjoying the joke.

  Dr. Lenbroke’s voice was exasperated. “The one with the broken nose.”

  Angeline felt her grasp on consciousness slip away. The last thought that went through her mind was that Jasmine hadn’t made it. A marshal was coming for them, but for all Jasmine’s cold-hearted attempts at staying alive, in the end they had come to nothing.

  Angeline woke slowly. Her thoughts were sluggishly chasing themselves in circles as she sat upright and rubbed her eyes. Her mouth tasted foul and her head throbbed painfully. While they had been unconscious, someone had swapped out her used bucket with a clean one containing the day’s rations.

  She got out of bed, her movements stiff and painful. Adora was awake, sitting against the cage mesh, her eyes closed, head leaned back and a distant smile on her face. Angeline emptied her bucket out on her cot and relieved herself, then put the bucket in the furthest corner where the smell wouldn’t be too bad.

  It wasn’t until Angeline had rinsed her mouth out and taken her first bite of food that she realized Jasmine’s cage was empty.

  Adora laughed when she saw Angeline’s reaction. “Your friend started her period last night.”

  Angeline put her food down. She wasn’t hungry any more. Jasmine was dead. She closed her eyes and prepared herself to cry, but the tears didn’t come. She felt… relieved.

  “I’m glad,” Adora declared. “After what she did to Eva, it is almost poetic
justice that she had her period next.”

  Angeline hugged herself. “Jasmine… wasn’t a good person. But I don’t know that she deserved to die.”

  Adora shrugged. “We’re all going to die.”

  “There’s a marshal coming,” Angeline said. “We just need to stay alive until he gets here.”

  “I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  Angeline’s stomach growled and she started eating again, one slow bite at a time to make the food last. “I’m scared,” she finally said. “I haven’t had my period yet. I don’t know when it will start. It could be tomorrow. It could be in a year.”

  Adora rolled her eyes. “I know exactly how long I have.”

  “How long?” Angeline asked.

  Adora shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you that.” She tapped her ear. “They’re probably listening. If they want me, they’ll have to work to get me.”

  Angeline finished eating and put her food away. The cage next to her felt hollow, like there was someone there but every time she looked, it was still empty. After a while, Adora started her exercises again. Angeline watched her. She thought about getting up to copy the other girl, but she felt drained. What was the point? Adora finished her first set and started back with pushups again.

  With a sigh, Angeline rolled from her cot and joined her. There might not be a point, but at least it was something to do. The thought of waiting for a year for her period to start, every day wondering if it was her last, galled her. She had to find some way to break out.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Excerpt from Dr. Everard’s journal, dated April 10th, 2108.

  How do you choose who will live forever? The Helix Rebuild works, there is no doubt of that. But should I release it to the world? What consequences will such technology have upon our society? One thing is certain: life will never be the same again.

  The Rebuild is simple to perform, once you know what to do. It requires some sophisticated equipment, but nothing that is not in every hospital in America. The question is, whom should I permit it to be used on? Should it be open to everybody? Should I restrict access? I think it is safe to say that there are women who should not be allowed a chance at eternity: the criminally insane, the mentally unstable, the dregs of society that we try to forget.

  Those are the obvious ones. But what about those with a criminal record, but had acquired it through an act of justice? Our laws are far from perfect. Should a woman convicted of murder be forbidden the treatment? What if the murder was to protect or defend? It would be rank folly to create a society of immortals who could not protect themselves.

  More thought is needed on this.

  Marcus Truman’s breath came shallowly. Through the haze of pharmaceutical numbness, he could feel the soggy tearing in his lungs. Every breath he took did a little more damage to the scarified tissue. He no longer had the energy to sit upright on his own, and straps held him into his wheelchair.

  “Almost there, Mr. Truman.” Dr. Bannister’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.

  Marcus tried to reply, but couldn’t get a deep enough breath to make the words come out. The effort left him dizzy, with pain coiling in his chest that the analgesics couldn’t suppress. He badly needed to cough, but lacked the energy to do so.

  I’m dying.

  The thought seemed to come from a great distance and Marcus struggled with it. How had he come to this? The stone ceiling over his head seemed miles away. Was this his life now? Forever trapped underground, never to feel the bright sun on his skin or grass beneath his feet?

  Was an eternity of caves something he even wanted? When he had first received his diagnosis, he wanted nothing more than to live. But now that he was here on Mars and knew the reality of his future existence, it didn’t seem worth it.

  He lost track of his surroundings. He didn’t go unconscious, not really; it was more like he saw and heard everything going on around him, but lacked the energy to focus on it and bring meaning to what he saw.

  Something settled over his mouth and cool, sweet air filled what was left of his lungs. He was still breathing shallowly, but the rich oxygen mix brought life back to him. Death still lurked around the corner, but the final embrace seemed more distant now.

  He grew aware of a bright light shining into his eyes and he flinched.

  “Cutting it close, Marcus,” a male voice said. “Dr. Bannister has vouched for you, so you’ll get your treatment. The first injection of the Womack Process…”

  The voice droned on, but Marcus found his attention drifting. The wow and flutter of his hearing was more interesting than the meaning in the man’s voice.

  The lights overhead were painfully bright. Marcus felt himself being lifted. Vague pain bloomed in his chest, but his nerves were so saturated the signals seemed to come through delayed, with strange echoes.

  He never felt the needle that punched through the skin of his shoulder.

  A strange, gritty, burning sensation tingled in his arm and shot down to his finger tips. It hurt the way your arm hurts when you sleep on it wrong and blood starts returning. The nerves in his fingers fizzed uncomfortably. Gradually, the sensation spread out from his shoulder.

  The sensation grew as it spread. It wasn’t pain, not like what he was used to. This was something different. It was sensation, magnified ten times, a hundred times. The touch of his shirt, the pressure of his shoulders against the bed, the constriction of his socks, all of it came through more powerful than any feeling he had ever experienced.

  Marcus moaned in panic. The sensations were too much. His mind flailed feebly against the onslaught, unable to cope with the sheer volume and scale of what his nerves were sending him.

  The pain in his chest spiked upwards, as if all the pain signals that had been muffled by drugs over the last week finally burst through the dam and flooded his mind. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t breathe. He thrashed, but he was strapped down. He couldn’t move, and the pressure of the nylon straps digging into his arms burned like a brand on his arms, legs and chest.

  Starting from his scalp, a wave of new agony washed over him, rushing down his spine and crawling out to his extremities. Every hair follicle felt like a red-hot needle was stabbing through his flesh. The pain rose higher and higher, each new wave ratcheting up the agony until Marcus was sure he would go insane.

  He had been wrong. Getting the Womack treatment was worth than death.

  Then, when he was sure his mind was slipping and the last tenuous fingerhold on his sanity was on the brink of failure, the nature of the pain changed. It still hurt, but with it came an undercurrent of pleasure. The shrieking pain under his fingernails gave way to pleasure first. One by one, the individual sources of pain changed their nerve signal to pleasure.

  It was a relief, but only for a short while. The sensations grew ever stronger. The brush of his wrist against the sheet sent stabs of ecstasy shuddering through him. If the pain was bad, the pleasure was worse. His body shook and trembled as his muscles twisted in an uncontrollable spasm. It was like he was experiencing a full-body orgasm, magnified over and over again.

  Marcus screamed, his back arched against the webbing. Distantly he was aware of someone cheering, but he couldn’t spare any attention to see who it was. Euphoric waves shot up his body and detonated behind his eyes. The pleasure was so intense it became indistinguishable from the pain that had wracked him earlier.

  Finally, something in his mind snapped. He couldn’t take the sensations anymore and blackness swept in on him, blessedly enveloping him and pulling him down into unconsciousness.

  Marcus opened his eyes.

  The sheets were cool against his skin. When he shifted his legs, his hairs brushing the sheets sent shivers up his spine. An echo of the overwhelming sensations was there, but faded in moments. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel any pain. It wasn’t the distant numbness of analgesics, it was real, true lack of pain.

  He took a
deep breath and felt nothing but cool air fill his lungs. The edges in the room seemed sharp, the colors vivid. Gingerly, Marcus sat up, marveling at the strength that seemed to surge through him. He was naked beneath the sheets, and someone had laid out a set of clothes on the side table for him.

  Marcus dressed. Every movement seemed larger than life. He felt expansive, too big to fit in the confines of his flesh. He finished putting the clothes on and sat down on the edge of the bed. Wonder filled him, and he felt humbled by the miracle of life.

  He had been on the brink of death, separated only by the slender finger grip of tenacious determination, and even that had been failing. Another hour, another minute, and he would have given up and let the final dark sweep him away. And now he was wondrously, vibrantly alive.

  Someone knocked and the door swung open. Dr. Bannister walked in, a wide smile on her face. With her was a tall, slender man in a white lab coat.

  “Welcome back from the dead, Marcus!” Dr. Bannister exclaimed.

  Marcus smiled, genuine pleasure at seeing her bubbling up in him and making him laugh. It was the first unencumbered burst of laughter since he had been diagnosed with cancer. It felt good, like a scab coming off.

  “I feel amazing!” he said. “Better than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

  “You’re a lucky man,” the man said, and held out his hand. “I’m Eric. We’ve got some tests to run on you before we can release you out into the wild again. Those tumors in your lungs might need extra work.”

  Marcus shook Eric’s hand. “I feel fine,” he declared, taking a deep breath to prove it.

  “It’s routine. Any lingering tissue damage will be repaired in the next treatment, but we would be remiss if we let you go with potentially dangerous conditions still extant.”

  “You’re the doc,” Marcus shrugged and grinned. Even the thought of more tests didn’t worry him. If someone asked him to count out the grains of sand in a full bucket, he would have agreed cheerfully. He was alive!