by Farley Dunn
Dr. Jimenez had joined them about the third fall, cutting Garik’s humiliation even deeper and adding raw sandpaper to the mix. And the things they’d been saying to one another. “The Director will be disappointed.” “He should be making progress by now.” “Even Marco could do the climbing wall after only three weeks.”
Three weeks? This was Garik’s first day, at least the first day he was off the “sleepy juice.” He’d show Marco in another three weeks.
Then someone, Van, Garik thought, said, “Marco? Marco Lopez? Whoa, I didn’t know that.”
Devon said, plenty loud for Garik to hear, “Yes, and he’s a confirmed failure.”
Garik had no idea who Marco was, except a confirmed failure, but now he knew he was worse than Marco. What was less than a failure? A slug? A blight on the research program’s record? One of the “things” on the Basement 5 level?
Is that what would happen to him? His body would degenerate into something soft and unrecognizable? He’d already lost muscle tone. The mirror that morning had proved that. Would he even recognize himself in the morning?
He looked up, the glass and hard surfaces surrounding him causing the conversations below to reverberate in his ears. He heard Vang, and he glanced down to see him at the doctor’s side, his mouth covered like that made it alright to talk so loudly.
“This is not what I hoped to see. I trust we don’t need to write off another of your subjects.”
“I still feel hopeful,” Jimenez replied. “The Director’s transformation spanned six months, and much of that was touch and go. Look at him now.”
“Agreed. This one? He’s too soft—”
“I can hear you,” Garik yelled down the shaft to the floor below.
They looked up. Jimenez smiled. “Then there’s that.”
“Yes, there’s that.” Vang dropped his hand, lifted his nose, and said the words grudgingly. “If it’s anything.”
Garik shook his head in dismay.
“Use the red grips this time,” Devon called, his voice light and positive. “We’ll try a different route.”
Garik, hanging from the ceiling, the straps on his legs making them into segmented sausage links, looked at his hands. The grips smelled . . . like people. Who, he didn’t know, but he had identified sixteen different people who had climbed the wall since it was last sanitized. Or maybe it was never sanitized. Who cared if confirmed failures transmitted viruses or other germs via the grips on the wall?
He knew one thing: Devon had climbed the wall, and he was good. Devon had helped attach his harness, tightening it around his waist, then giving him instructions on how to tighten the leg straps. At one point, he’d taken Garik’s hand and shown him how to place his fingers and grip the plastic protrusions on the wall. The aroma left on his skin was clean and fresh, a whiff of spruce and flowing mountain streams. His smell was all over the blue and nowhere else, meaning he was better than good, but not even Devon seemed to have made it to the part with the impossible grips.
Garik began making his way along the red route, stretching, suspecting that only tall people could do some of the routes, and that wasn’t him. He caught more odors, individual smells that were as distinct as the fingerprints on people’s hands, but not any he was familiar with. What did that mean? When one hand slipped off the same grip twice, he gasped, thinking, C’mon, people. I know how tall I am. Can’t you tell? Give me something I can do.
In a last effort to prove himself, he stretched and leaped for one of the “impossible” handholds. They were there for some reason. They couldn’t be just decoration. Maybe this was the way. He touched it, felt it slide through his fingers, and he was airborne, in freefall for what seemed forever, then the safety line caught him, jerking hard against his waist and legs, and he hung, limp, sweaty, and exhausted.
Devon caught him, let out a poorly disguised, “Oomph,” then muttered, “Man, even Amy could do the red route.”
Garik felt his eyes water, and he didn’t want tears. He squashed them shut. Even Amy was better than he was, and he didn’t even know who Amy was. Frustration and self-loathing seeped from under his eyelids. Devon was disappointed in him, Vang said he was too soft, and Van. Even Van had stopped calling out his bright if banal encouragements.
Leave me here, he thought. I can’t come down and face you people.
But he wasn’t so depressed that he couldn’t hear Vang say, “I can’t see anything positive in this subject.”
“I can still hear you!”
Were they trying to make him more miserable than he already was? Good luck with that!
― 4 ―
GARIK STRIPPED away the climbing gear, a volcanic level of shame and embarrassment at his abject failure forcing his eyes to the floor, where they caught nothing but feet, feet, and more feet, all of people who had found their niche in whatever program he had been sucked into in the dank bowels of the Corona Tower basement.
Deported. He was here, wasn’t he?
Marisa had been lied to, and there was nothing he could do about it! He couldn’t even climb the wall that Amy could do. What was he going to do, shout at them, force them into letting him go? They had the needle. They had Nurse Ratchett. They had all the power, and he had none at all.
Garik held the climbing harness, the magic that he had so recently strapped to his legs while his heart had raced with excitement. He fumbled with resetting the buckles, unable to get them to readjust to their original settings. He was going to show Airman Vang. He was going to be the best, maybe even be a success at the part of the wall that was impossible to climb. Now, his throat was a knotted rope, and it squeezed moisture from his eyes.
He wadded the harness in one fist and knelt to remove Devon’s shoes, forcing his shoulders to his face, pressing one to each eye, and he tried to stifle a ragged breath as he involuntarily sucked air down his windpipe and into his burning chest. He remembered the damp crescents from that morning. They would know. They would know he had been forced to tears. It was yet another mortification on top of every other failure that had bitten into his day and spat him back out, ragged and exposed for everyone to see.
A hand clasped him on the shoulder, and an open palm interrupted his misery. “Harness?” Four fingers flexed, reminding Garik of Arik when he wanted to confiscate something that didn’t belong to him.
“Harness,” Garik repeated and felt a tear run down one cheek, once more mortified. Just the one word had revealed his ragged emotions. His chest shook as another stumbling breath fought its way down his throat.
“Hey.” Devon’s face appeared at his side as the tall, blond man knelt beside him, leaning in and speaking in a whisper. His hand found the back of Garik’s neck. “It’s okay, kiddo. It’s your first time on the wall.”
“Amy could do it.” Garik felt his nose turn loose, and he brushed it with the back of his wrist. He refused to look at the man.
“You heard that.” Devon sat up and blew out a hard breath.
“Yeah, and Marco, and the Director will be disappointed. And Airman Vang wants to write me off.” Repeating it made him angry. “Is that what you think? And Van, he thinks I’m a disappointment, too?”
Devon leaned back in, his hand still on Garik’s neck. “No one thinks you’re a disappointment.”
“Van quit encouraging me, and now they’re all over there, probably deciding to kick me out the door.”
“You’re not lucky enough for that, I’ll promise you now.” Devon chuckled, and he squeezed Garik’s neck before patting him on the back. “C’mon, while they aren’t looking, and we’ll get you somewhere you can clean up. No sense in being more embarrassed than you already are.”
“Okay.” Garik glanced over to see Airman Vang looking down his nose and saying something to Dr. Jimenez. Neat, polite, but not nice. Garik frowned.
“What?” Devon stood, and he looked that direction.
“Terminate. What does Airman Van want to terminate?”
“You can hear that?”
Devon wrapped his fingers around Garik’s arm and pulled him to his feet. He called to the others, “Showers! I won’t let him wander off.”
Devon waited until Jimenez looked their direction and held up a hand in recognition before he dropped his arm. The good doctor was making an animated point with the calm, ever-polite Vang.
“So, what was the doctor saying back there?” Devon took Garik’s harness and the shoes. He tucked them into his fanny pack and held out Garik’s shoes. “You can carry these.”
“What do you mean?” Garik tucked the shoes under his arm. Devon had started moving, and he matched his pace.
“Just curious. I want your opinion.”
“You, first.” Garik was warming to the man, and he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. No one here, no one, meant good to him. They were all part of locking him away without his permission and lying to everyone about where he was. Every one of them.
“Right-o, kiddo.” Devon laughed as if this were an inside joke, one they had shared before. “I think they were saying they were wrong, and they expect you to exceed on every test they give you, put you at the top of every leaderboard in the facility.”
“Right. As if.” Garik caught Devon’s wink, the blond cowlick making him boyish and approachable, like Devon enjoyed a good time more than he enjoyed the people who were over him in this place.
“Your turn. Spill.” Devon grinned. “Give up the goods on the good doctor.”
“He told Vang I’m double fortunate to be in the program, and he would terminate me only when I proved I was a failure.”
“Ouch.” Devon stopped, causing Garik to almost run into him. They had reached what served as the locker room for the climbing wall, and Devon paused before opening the door. “I’m sorry you heard that. Hey, look, I don’t tell everyone this, but my mother died of ALS. Do you know what that is?”
“That baseball player’s disease?”
“Yes. It causes your muscles to waste away. And I’ll tell you this, my mother was no failure. Forget them. You come back to the wall anytime. You’ll get it eventually.”
“You’ll teach me? You’re good. You’ve done every blue route. I could tell.” Garik grinned. “Just none of the impossible ones.”
“How could you tell that?” Devon frowned.
“Your smell. It’s trees and water.” None of the impossible ones. Would he never learn? Garik pleaded with his eyes for Devon to forgive him.
“I—” Devon smelled of his hand. “I don’t—” He shook his head. “And you heard the doctor back there.”
“You did, too,” Garik said. “You must.”
“Have they told you what they, um—” He paused and looked around. “—what they mixed you with?”
“Oh, timber wolf.”
Devon shook his head and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he smiled.
“What?” Garik felt his frustration building. Just say it!
“Timber wolf. That explains a lot. I’ll need to watch what I say and the soap I use.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, kiddo. Wolf is good, better than what Hefferly got. I might even like you if you stick around. So, stick around. Now, inside and get cleaned up. Here, I even have a change of clothes for you.” He dug in his pack and pulled out a tee, pants, and underwear, all in Garik’s size.
“Mine are clean.” Garik accepted the clothes grudgingly only when Devon forced them on him.
“Not after that in there. Go all the way through. The shower room is in the back. Soap and towels are inside. I’ll wait here. Make it quick. They want you back again, and we don’t want them to wait too long. Right-o, kiddo?”
“Right-o,” and Garik slipped inside the door and let it close behind him.
WHAT HEFFERLY got. The words churned in Garik’s mind, leaving red-hot embers in their wake.
What did Devon mean? Garik had grabbed Hefferly’s arm, twisted, and the man’s arm had evaporated in his grasp.
Hadn’t it? Or had it only seemed that way?
Then, there was Amy, an unqualified success at the red route. Was she a “subject” also? Or Marco. He was a failure, and he had been a success on the climbing wall.
And why would Devon need to watch what he said around him? Or his soap? Garik was just Garik, with no differences, none except what these people had done to him.
He dried his face and, with the towel, cleared a small circle in the mirror. He studied his eyebrows, his nose, and his chin. He could hardly forgive them for his hair, but that was something they had done, perhaps to disguise his appearance. Who knew? The rest of him? Softer was from lack of exercise, that was all. With Van’s help, and now that Devon was offering him extra time on the climbing wall—
Still, through everything, Vang’s words kept toying with his mind. “The Director will be disappointed.” And, “I trust we don’t need to write off another of your subjects.”
Him. He was talking about him. Garik.
He pictured himself in one of the cages on the Basement 5 level, the sad eyes looking at him and Marisa, the grasping hands, and the hopelessness they’d seen there.
Marisa! He wanted to protect her as never before, and he couldn’t, not locked in here. They had lied to her, threatened her family, said they would destroy her family’s business if she said anything about the Tower’s basements and what they had found inside. It wasn’t fair!
He couldn’t bear to see himself in the mirror—helpless and soft and weak—and he wadded the towel and forced it to the glass, pressed hard, trying to make himself disappear into the steam and fog in the shower room.
Rage crawled out of him in a scream as he began to pound the glass. He wasn’t sure if it was his voice or the glass breaking, but before he exhausted his fury, warmth flowed down his arm, and sirens wailed around him. Devon burst into the room, groaned and said, “I’m in trouble now,” and he reached into his pack, pulled out a syringe, and plunged it into Garik’s arm.
Garik wasn’t sure if things were better after that or if he just didn’t care. He looked into Devon’s face, thought he saw his lips say, “I’m sorry,” and the alarm and lights faded away.
THIS TIME when Garik woke, he recognized the light. Not Heaven. He waited for it to morph into the familiar light fixture before looking around.
The machines. The clinic. He heard a sound behind him. “Am I getting another injection?”
“Why would you ask that?” A pretty voice, with a familiar undertone.
“Needles, needles, needles. Anything that happens, you people poke me with a needle. What was it this time?”
“You don’t remember?”
The unfamiliar voice moved into view, and for Garik, the room narrowed with shock. He tried to sit up, only to be gently pressed back to the bed.
“Not okay. You’re not badly hurt, but you are hurt.”
“I’m not strapped down?” He looked at his feet. His ankles were bare, but no straps. His wrists, none there, either.
“Not if you behave, and I suggest you behave.” She took his arm and held it to where he could see the bandages. “I don’t know how many stitches, but many. Now, lie still. Head back. Less talking.”
“I know you.” Big eyes. Black hair. Below her chin, though, things weren’t so normal. Scales on her neck, flaps that were perhaps gill openings, bigger on her right side, and webs between her fingers on her right hand. He noticed she continually kept her left side turned his direction, as if the changes bothered her. “You’re Marina.”
“Yes.” She smiled.
“Your mother was right. Marisa looks a lot like you.” Garik watched her face, seeing Marisa in her sister, and suddenly more heartsick than he had been yet.
“You’ll make me cry.” Marina looked away, and she patted her face with her fingers, finally wiping her cheeks. “I know of you, that you were captured to allow Marisa to escape. Thank you.”
“Okay.” He hadn’t thought of it that way at the time, but it made him feel a li
ttle better that she had escaped because of him, even if he’d rather that he’d escaped with her.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Marina smiled, clearly teasing him, so much like her sister.
“Mr. Choi thought Marisa was you, and when I saw you, I immediately understood.”
“That’s the wolf in you.”
“Aargh! Does everyone know?” Garik threw his head back and slammed his fists down on the bed. His right hand began to throb.
“I suggested you behave.” Marina patted his throbbing arm. “I really liked Mr. Choi. Thank you for telling me that he remembers. Now, we can head you back to your room. B2-17, right?”
“You even know that. Don’t I get any secrets?”
“I sincerely hope so. Here’s one you can appreciate. Wolf is very good, better than what they’ve tried on some of us. Enjoy your differences. If you see Marisa again—” She took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Never mind. Stand up. Let’s get you to your room. It’s two floors up. I’ll be going with you, just to see that you arrive, okay?”
“My jailor.”
“Your friend, if you want me to be.”
He grinned. “Any friend of Marisa’s—”
“—is welcome to be a friend of mine.” She pulled out a passkey, slipped it into the door mechanism, and when the metal deadbolts thumped noisily, she removed it and opened the door. “With me, please.”
Garik did look at his arms as they passed the climbing wall on the way back to his room. Two hands, one wolf and the other human. Is that how his life would play out? Is that why Marina was hidden away? Clearly, she was fully functional.
He didn’t want to be locked away in the basements of Corona Tower for the rest of his life. Surely there was a way out.
He just had to find it.
― 5 ―
“MARINA, DO I have to go back inside now?”
The sight of his door—B2-17—made Garik’s skin crawl. It might be filled with everything a body needed to live, including furniture, good electronics—if he ever got the chance to use them—and a closet filled with clothes, but it also had a lock on the door, one that he didn’t have a key to.
