Xenofreak Nation

by Melissa Conway

  Scott stepped out of range as the chemical coating on the Viscount’s skin caught fire with a crackling whoosh, spreading over his entire body. The crowd screamed in delight. One high-pitched scream lasted longer than the rest, however, and Scott looked over to see Bryn with her hands over her face, hysterically shrieking. Clearly, no one had explained the rules to her.

  The Viscount stood with his arms outstretched to the side as the flames died out into blue-tinged nothingness. He held his right hand out for the traditional finale, and Scott clasped it and allowed himself to be pulled into the flame as well.

  Through his protective eye-wear, he saw Padme on the other side of the chain link fence laughing her ass off at Bryn. He almost chuckled, too, but had to hold his breath until the chemical and its harmless flames burned completely away. The crowd applauded and hooted. The ones who’d bet on him chanted his name, “Cou-gar! Cou-gar!”

  He raised his arms and walked the victory walk through the crowd. No one patted him on the back or shook his hand. He and the Viscount went straight to the showers, a tiled area on the north wall that had originally been used by the chemical factory as emergency showers in case someone spilled whatever they’d been manufacturing on themselves. The water wasn’t heated, but it was free—well, technically, it was stolen from the city since the Warehouse wasn’t officially occupied.

  Although the ‘grease’ itself and the flames it produced weren’t harmful, after you burned it, a caustic residue was created. Scott and the Viscount soaped up thoroughly, rinsed and repeated three times, amiably rehashing the fight.

  It was times like these Scott almost enjoyed being a xenofreak.

  Back in his tent, he put on the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier, but left his hair loose. He automatically checked his holophone for messages, then lifted a secret flap near the bottom of the tent and checked his second holophone. The hidden one was a burn phone, the fourth one he’d had since living in the Warehouse. Each time he got a message, the phone went into the storm drain or the local pond or down the toilet at the corner gas station. He never called out on it.

  He was not surprised to see a message today. All it said was, “Report,” which was a bit problematic for him since he was due back in Exam Room Three.

  Chapter Nine

  Bryn hardly noticed her surroundings when Abel took her back to the exam room. At first she’d been outraged that Padme hadn’t told her what to expect—that she’d laughed at Bryn’s abject horror when the Viscount caught fire. Bryn’s anger wasn’t misplaced; it was just…useless. She wondered at herself for having such a stupid reaction. Padme was a xenofreak. She’d cut off her own ears and replaced them with those of a dead cow. She seemed to be perfectly comfortable being owned by a man. It shouldn’t have surprised her in the slightest that Padme found her discomfort humorous.

  Abel had asked Padme to accompany them, and when the three of them entered the exam room, he shut the door. Bryn went to stand as far away from him as possible on the other side of the exam table. She’d been looking forward to taking off Scott’s jacket, but as soon as she did, she saw the look in Abel’s eyes, and wished she’d kept it on.

  He licked his lips and said conversationally, “You’re sweet, aren’t you?”

  Drug-laced second-hand smoke may have clouded her thinking, but Bryn definitely didn’t like the way he was leering at her. “I don’t know about that, but I am hungry.”

  She regretted the admission as soon as she made it. He would send Padme to get food and then she’d be alone with him.

  Sure enough, he said, “Padme…” but Padme interrupted him.

  “Remember what Lupus said.”

  His horned head jerked around and he gave her a dark look, but then he muttered, “Right, right. I’ll just take myself out of the equation; have someone get you some chow.”

  Bryn tried to be cool, tried to thank him, but she choked on the words. When he left, her knees nearly buckled. She couldn’t help it; she looked to Padme, who met her eyes blandly.

  “You could do worse,” Padme said. “He’s high up in the organization. Powerful.”

  Bryn shook her head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? That’s gross! He’s an old man. He’s—”

  Padme shushed her with a loud, “Chht! These walls are thin and you don’t want to insult him. God, are you for real?”

  “Am I for real? Am I for real? Yes, I’m real and you and all the rest of the freakshows here are one big nightmare!”

  Padme laughed. “Feel free to pinch yourself all you want. It never worked for me.”

  Bryn sagged against the exam table and then decided to climb back up on it. Leaning back against the wall made some of the dizziness subside, but she floated on a strange, narcotic cloud for some time. It was impossible to guess how many minutes had passed, but some time later, she asked, “What did you mean when you said pinching yourself never worked for you?”

  Padme crossed her arms over her narrow chest. “Not every xenofreak is into self-mutilation.”

  Bryn closed her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Not to a spoiled American brat like you.”

  With great effort, Bryn opened her eyes to give Padme what she hoped would be a withering glare, but Padme had a hand to one of her ears and an almost vulnerable expression on her face.

  “Tell me,” Bryn said.

  Padme made a ‘tch’ sound and said in her accented English, “Yes, why not? I was the only child of wealthy parents. They were traditional, but wanted me to have a good education, so I was allowed to go to college abroad. They were killed in an automobile accident and my loving uncle tried to force me to honor an arranged marriage. It happens all the time in Pakistan. Instead of obeying, I attempted to run away with my lover, a student from India on scholarship. Such scandal! Such shame upon my family. Can you guess what happened?”

  Padme’s words were heavily tinged with sarcasm. It was clear to Bryn that this was the older girl’s compact version of events.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Have you never said the words, ‘holy cow’?”

  Bryn frowned. “What does that...oh.”

  “Yes…oh. In India, among the Hindu people—my former lover’s people—cows are sacred. My uncle is nothing if not imaginative. I had already ruined myself, so there was nothing to be done but to exact his vengeance upon me. Like you, I was kidnapped. Then I was drugged and taken to the Bestia Butcher’s lair to have this done.” She gestured to one ear.

  “That’s awful. But why did you stay?”

  Padme’s smile was bleak. “Where else would I go? My uncle ensured that I will inherit nothing from my parent’s estate. I am not an American citizen. If I’m caught I will be deported to Pakistan. Xenofreaks are not tolerated there.”

  Bryn hardly knew what to say. She’d completely misjudged Padme, who was a victim like herself.

  Padme scoffed and said, “Look at you. Are we BFF’s now?”

  The scorn stung, but Bryn understood it better. She was about to inform Padme that yes, under different circumstances they probably could have been friends, but someone banged on the door. Padme opened it and Scott entered. In one hand he clutched two fast food bags and in the other he balanced a drink holder with three sodas. Slung over his back was what looked like a rolled-up sleeping bag. Without greeting either Bryn or Padme, he set the meal at the end of the exam table and began rummaging inside one of the bags.

  He handed Bryn a hamburger and some fries. She barely peeled the wrapper off the hamburger before shoving it into her mouth.

  “I see you’re not a vegetarian,” Padme commented, accepting her own hamburger from Scott.

  Through a mouth jammed with food, Bryn said, “Nope, I’m a card-carrying carnivore.”

  “I hardly understand your logic in hating us,” Padme said. “How is raising an animal for food and clothing any different from what the xenos are doing? In the biolabs, they are raised in healthy environ
ments, which is more than can be said about the average food production farm.”

  “I never said I hated you.”

  “Your father does, and you certainly looked supportive at the rally.”

  Bryn didn’t bother denying Padme’s accusation. Her father did hate them, and Bryn had been there to support him. “Family is complicated. You should know that better than anyone.”

  When Scott raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Padme said quickly to Bryn, “I can’t believe how fast you ate that.”

  Bryn briefly considered licking the wrapper then looked at Scott suspiciously. “It wasn’t my last meal, was it?” And then, unaccountably, she began to giggle.

  Scott leaned closer to Padme. “Did Nurse Nancy give her something?”

  Padme shook her head. “I think she got a contact high out there.”

  “Is that why I feel so funny?” Bryn asked. “Funny, funny, funny. That’s a funny word.”

  “Lightweight,” Scott muttered.

  “You know what’s really funny?” Bryn reached out and put a hand on Scott’s arm. “That I got kidnapped today. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Hilarious.” He shrugged her hand away. “Eat your fries.”

  Bryn’s merriment disappeared as fast as it had arisen. She finished her meal in silence, enjoying the salty goodness of the French fries, even though they were cold and there weren’t enough squishy ones.

  When Padme swallowed her last bite, Bryn watched her gather up the wrappers and napkin. She shoved it all into one of the bags and said to Scott, “Have fun.” Bryn didn’t expect her to say goodbye, and she didn’t.

  When the door closed behind her, Scott began unrolling his sleeping bag in front of it.

  “What time is it?”

  “Around four.”

  “Are you going to sleep?”

  “I’m going to sit. Unless you want me up there on the exam table with you.”

  Unbidden, the memory of Scott’s lean, muscular body popped into her head. “Of course not,” she murmured and then remembered his tattoo. “Were you in the Marines?”

  “For about ten seconds.”

  “Why’d you—”

  “How about you stop asking questions? There’s magazines here if you need to do something.” He opened one of the drawers under the exam table, selected one for himself and sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag. When Bryn flipped through the stack in the drawer, she found only back issues of Xeno Design Quarterly.

  She didn’t know how much longer they planned to keep her here, but every time her mind went idle, she started to freak out, so she pulled a few magazines from the stack and settled down to read them. An hour later, she looked up from a mind-numbingly boring scientific article explaining nanoneuron technology and asked, “What’s ‘grease’ made of?”

  Scott shut his magazine. “I don’t know.”

  Oh, that’s right, she thought, he doesn’t know anything.

  He surprised her by elaborating. “One of our bioengineers discovered it, though. The flames barely even get warm, but they burn out real fast. I guess he wanted to market it, but no one could find a use for it.”

  “Oh.”

  Instead of ignoring her further and going back to his magazine, he said, “Um, so what did you mean when you said Padme should know more than anyone that family is complicated?”

  Bryn narrowed her eyes at him. “Why should I tell you? She obviously didn’t.”

  Chapter Ten

  Scott already knew the gist of what had happened to Padme, although she’d never told him herself. He’d been attempting from the get-go to win her over, but she didn’t trust anyone, least of all men, and from what he heard, she had good reason. But she was the key to getting in deeper with Lupus, a task that thus far, Scott had failed to accomplish. Sure, Abel trusted him as far as that sick psycho trusted just about anyone, but at this rate, Scott was years away from reaching the inner circle.

  And he didn’t have nearly that long.

  Bryn was waiting for his answer. He tried to think of something charming to say, something that would tempt her into giving up what Padme had said about her family. Not that Padme had necessarily told her anything useful; told her the truth even. Still, even mentioning to Padme that Bryn had told him what she said could give him the ‘in’ he needed.

  He decided on the sympathy angle. “Padme’s had a hard time of it.”

  Bryn’s face softened slightly. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Did she tell you everything?”

  Bryn nodded. Scott wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake it out of her. Maybe he should try a different tack.

  “I heard she deserved it though.”

  “What? No one deserves that! What’s wrong with you? Oh, sorry, I forgot, you’re the one who got furry fingers. Ooo, big man, with your furry fingers thinking Padme should get cow ears because her uncle’s a dickhead.”

  Scott restrained the urge to show her his claws—barely. New plan: tell Padme Bryn had told him anyway. Not like Bryn was ever going to talk to Padme again to refute it.

  He subsided into silence, content with his decision. Bryn suddenly gasped and he looked up.

  Her face was contorted, like she’d seen a ghost.

  “What now?” he asked.

  She’d begun to breathe hard and her eyes darted in all directions. Was she having a latent reaction to the pot?

  “Tell me the truth,” she said in a tortured whisper. The whites of her eyes showed all around. “What are they going to do to me?”

  Oh, shit, he thought. Nurse Nancy was due any second now, and Scott had just begun to think clueless Bryn wasn’t going to figure it out until after the fact. Now he had to calm her down or it could get very ugly, very fast in this little room.

  In a firm voice, he said, “They are going to return you to your father, alive.”

  Tears spilled out of her eyes and her chin quivered. “They kidnapped Padme, too.”

  The lie was on the tip of his tongue, despicable. But he didn’t have to use it. Before he could tell her that everything would be alright, a knock sounded on the door, like a toll bell ringing. It was the catalyst that set Bryn off into abject hysterics.

  “No!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet atop the exam table.

  Scott barely had time to get out of the way before the door swung open. Nurse Nancy tromped in, followed by Nurse Vonda. This wasn’t the first time Scott had seen the two burly nurses subdue a patient, but it was the first time he felt absolutely sick about it.

  Chapter Eleven

  When she was five years old, after a series of unrelenting sore throats, Bryn’s tonsils had been removed. She remembered bits and pieces of the event despite a sedative-induced fog: the reassuring hand-squeeze from her mother as she was wheeled down the hospital corridor, the smiles of the nurses and surgeon, the kind eyes of the masked anesthesiologist as he put something over her nose and mouth and asked her to count backwards.

  When she came out of her drug-induced fog this time, she knew there would be no unlimited ice cream or cartoons and video games all day. She opened her eyes to the dark interior of a vehicle. The steady hum of an engine and constant bouncing motion told her they were moving. Right away she remembered this wasn’t the first time she’d awakened. There’d been a grey room somewhere and masked people, and restraints on her arms and legs. Each time she’d come to, she weakly protested against the pain. She’d been scared, angry, and then nothing.

  The motion stopped and sometime later, not long, she thought, she heard doors opening. A fresh breeze, the first she’d felt in some time, cooled her hot face. Silent, shadowy figures appeared on either side of her. The dimly lit studded metal ceiling of the vehicle seemed to slide disorientingly over her until the night sky appeared and she realized the figures had pulled her out. She tried to move her head, but it was weighed down somehow. The sound of slamming doors was followed by the revving of the engine. She breathed in a wave of exhaust fumes as the vehicle d
eparted.

  “Hello?” she tried to call out, but her throat constricted. She swallowed a few times to lubricate it, but her mouth was too dry. Moving her hands, she found them unbound at last.

  Realization dawned. They’d released her. She drew a shuddering breath and felt the sting of tears, but didn’t pause to indulge them. Hands shaking, she reached up to her head. It was wrapped in thick layers of what felt like gauze. She lowered her hands to whatever she was resting on and carefully levered herself into a sitting position.

  She was on a sidewalk on a deserted street in the dark space between two orange streetlights. They’d dumped her, stretcher and all. Slowly, she moved first one leg and then the other off the side of the stretcher. Her clothes and shoes were gone, but they’d dressed her in a hospital gown and paper booties. Dizzy and nauseous, she slid to her feet.

  Bryn wanted to run, but was physically incapable of more than keeping herself upright. Turning her head was a challenge, so she twisted her torso to look up the street and then down. One way looked more promising than the other; a large, well-lit building beaconed. Walking unaided was out of the question, however, so she gritted her teeth and began pushing the stretcher.

  It was a long, slow journey, but soon after she began, a lighted sign came into view and spurred her on: Middleborough Hospital. The shuffling of her feet had long since worn the paper booties away when she reached the emergency room entrance. A man in blue scrubs came through the sliding glass doors and glanced her way.

  “Help me,” she said.