The Wretched

by R. James Faulkner

  “Go to hell.” She smiled, waiting, testing him.

  The major stood upright, his back straightened, chest poking into the air. He looked at the doctor for permission, to her dismay, she saw him nod in approval.

  “Mrs. Go to hell,” he said. His fist was balled and rising past his square head. “Such a lovely name.”

  His knuckles struck again, her jaw moved to the right, it shifted a split second before her head followed. The involuntary meeting of her teeth trapped her tongue and cut it open. Stars, bright specks of white light, twinkled in her field of vision. Her head hung loose for a few seconds until her brain realized she was still conscious.

  Thick drops of blood fell from her lips and landed in spatters on the white sheet. A hand pushed her head back, the bone tips touching her jaw, the doctor nodded to the major. He allowed her to regain her wits while Doctor Wilson sat and scribbled on the papers. Her eyes met the furious snarl of the major, his body had returned to his rigid posture.

  “Now, let us try this again.” The doctor smiled, his yellow teeth glinted in the light. “Who are you? Who is the man you call your husband?”

  “What does it matter?” Angela spit the words past the flowing blood from her mouth.

  “That is for me to decide.” His hands brushed the thick black hair to his skull. “Now, what is the name of the man you traveled with?”

  “Frank.”

  “Frank what?” The major stepped forward, yelling at her with his fists balled and ready.

  “Fuck off, you asshole.”

  Angela sat up, held out her left hand, and extended her middle finger. The force of the punch lifted her from the bed. She noticed in a removed and observant way, that her feet did indeed go over her head. She almost blacked out, her ear was deafened and started ringing afterward, a weird numbness washed over her body. The impact on the floor, the way her body knocked over the table and trash can, it all happened as if in slow motion. She felt the cool tile floor pressed against her face. It was comforting and stationary.

  The guards lifted her back up and slung her body onto the bed. She tried to kick the one with the narrow head, but he moved from her reach. They let her go, left her body lying on the bed face down. She tried to lift her head but gave up. The pain was too great.

  “Perhaps, you will come to the point of reason after tonight?” The doctor walked to her side and leaned downward, staring into her eyes with intensity.

  She tried to roll over, to pull the gown over her naked body, he slapped her hands away from the cloth. He had a guard hold her arm as he injected her with a needle in her shoulder. It differed from the ones before, it was hot and stung as if a wasp had attacked her. She could felt it enter her bloodstream.

  “What did you do?” she asked. Afraid of what might happen to her from the injection. “What the hell did you give me?”

  “Motivation,” the doctor said. “Maybe when they finish their form of encouragement, you will want to tell me the truth.”

  He walked from the room, leaving the wolves to lick their hungry chops. She rolled over onto her back and stared at their evil grinning faces. A feeling of battery acid coursing inside her neck made her groan. Angela pushed herself further up the bed to get away from them.

  “Oh, now, now, now. Save those tears for tonight, little sister. You’ll want them for when it’s over.” A wicked grin spread over the major’s face. “We’ll all be back shortly. Then we’ll take care of that sweet smartass mouth.”

  She watched in dread as they left the room laughing, and listened to the sound of the door as it locked from outside. A fevered fit of convulsions took over her body, she struggled to put her feet on the floor. The smells in the room were strong, the odor of her own blood was overwhelming, and she fought back the reaction to vomit.

  She could barely stand on her legs. The soles of her feet felt crushed under the weight of her body. Angela collapsed to her hands and knees. A sharp yelp passed her lips as she winced from the pain. She hunted along the floor for the bottle and the syringe. After an eternity of crawling, she saw them in the corner.

  Her body wanted to stop moving, and her control over her actions became less capable. She grasped at them and after several attempts, Angela pulled the needle and vial toward her. She tried to insert the needle into the rubber cap. The sound of the needle as it snapped in half was so incredibly loud and so completely heartbreaking. Angela held it up to look at it with her one opened eye and saw the broken needle. She stared at it in disbelief for several seconds. The sound of boots landing on the floor outside prompted her to move. Angela slid across the floor on her stomach and tried to crawl under the bed.

  The door unlocked and she cried out. Her hands felt along the underside of the bed frame. The voices of the men grew louder as they entered. She pushed the bottle and syringe into an opening. Their cheerful laughter rang out as they saw her on the floor. She tried to hold onto the frame when they pulled her up.

  Angela screamed. Her voice was high and loud. A deep and menacing tone from behind her filled the room. She knew it was the scowling, heavy-handed major.

  “Oh, now, now. I haven’t even started yet.”

  She continued to scream louder and tried to pull away, but his strong hands were on her shoulders. The heat of his breath brushed her ear. His foul stench was closer than she could stand. He whispered into her neck as he ripped away her gown.

  “The doctor says the little shot he gave you only grows more intense for hours and hours. You’re going to feel everything.”

  No, god. Not like this. Not again. Never again. It can’t happen again. Mike…please…help me…

  Major Rose squeezed her throat in his massive right hand. It caused her to cough and struggle for air. The men gathered around him and in front of her. They laughed, cheered, and clapped their hands. She strained to look around. Their disgusting bodies were coming out of their uniforms with depraved smiles etched on their vile faces. A strong hand pulled her head backward. The excruciating pain, stabbing hot anguish of ripping muscles, traced up her spine. She started into convulsions and her muscles tensed until they knotted under her skin. Angela fell forward to the floor, turned her head, and glared at the major. He found her defiance amusing and pushed her body to the tile floor with his boot.

  “You got something to say?”

  Angela forced a grin as she clenched her jaws from the pain. She tried to speak but her words were low and distorted.

  “What?” the major said. He held a finger to his lips to make the other men hush. “I didn’t catch that?”

  Major Rose knelt down in front of her and held his hand behind his ear. Angela swallowed and forced her jaw to open.

  “I said I’m going to kill you. You dumb son of a bitch. Do you hear me? All of you. Every last one of you. Dead.”

  The major roared with delight at her comments. His subordinates joined in his laughter. He stood up, grabbed her by the arm, and snatched her up from the floor.

  “All right men, watch how it’s done.” The major’s voice became shrill with excitement.

  He shoved her face into the wall. The impact almost rendered her unconscious. She wished it had, she begged gods and demons to let her slip into darkness. They pleasured themselves defiling her body repeatedly for hours, corrupting her flesh in despicable ways. She tried to fight them off, but it only encouraged them more.

  Dead…all of them…dead…

  Her body became a suffering temple of anguish and torment. Unable to stop them, unable to move, her body had reached a state of fully aware paralysis.

  I’ll kill them. God as my witness, I’ll murder each and every one of these sick bastards. They have no idea who they a fucking with. I’ll burn them…

  As the hours moved along, whimpers turned into screams as the drug wore off. The men already had their fill. Some kicked her, others spit on her, and they left her bleeding body lying on the floor. The door shut and she slipped into the sought after oblivion, the cherished and f
orgiving darkness. Her mind worked over a singular thought as she faded into unconsciousness.

  I’ll burn them all…

  She woke when she heard Frank’s voice call out to her. Various forms of pain spread across every part of her body and she could not move. The room was dark and she was unable to see him.

  “Help me,” she said.

  “I will,” Frank said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help me kill them.”

  “How?”

  “Fire.”

  She smiled and reached her hand into the darkness to touch him.

  “I want to hear them scream,” she said. “I want to smell their flesh burn.”

  30

  Doctor Wilson held his notepad and wrote down what he heard from the room. He pressed his ear to the door and listened to what spoken words he could hear. The things the men said to Angela, the way they used various profane words to her, he documented it all for posterity.

  We must know these things in the future. We must recall them verbatim. It is vital, necessary to the process.

  Hours passed as he scribbled at his papers, checked the time, and marked the moment she screamed for death. He smiled as he wrote.

  Four hours in. She is surprisingly tough. I personally would have given it only an hour.

  After he heard her beg for death, he rapped on the door, and put an end to his experiment. Doctor Wilson waited for the men to file from the room, and stopped each one to observe their physical condition. He detailed on paper their appearance, marked the ones for follow-up the next day, and dismissed them. The major was the last to leave the room, and cast disappointed look at the doctor. He sighed aloud as he stopped to be examined.

  “This what does it for you, Doctor Wilson, looking at other men’s business?”

  “Don’t be crude, Major Rose. It is essential to record this.”

  “For later,” Rose said.

  He turned around in front of the doctor, allowing him to see his whole body.

  “Yes, what if she has a disease? By keeping track of it all, I will be able to treat it all.” Doctor Wilson adjusted his glasses and finished his notes. “Meet me in my office in one hour.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Doctor Wilson glanced at his wristwatch and noted the time. He walked at a swift pace to the stairwell and bounced down the steps. At the bottom, he pushed the door open, and proceeded down the hallway to his office. With the door slammed shut behind him, he removed his lab coat with a careful and methodical procedure. He placed it on a hanger and hooked it on a small rack over his sofa. He placed the papers inside a large green colored metal filing cabinet, sorted them by proper order, and locked the drawers.

  His hands trembled as he checked his watch again. It was time for a dose of his treatment. He unlocked a tall metal case that hung on the wall behind his desk and removed a small glass vial. He wrote on the chart that hung inside the door the dosage amount along with the exact time. Doctor Wilson rolled up his shirtsleeve, tied a rubber strip around his upper arm, and rubbed an alcohol swab along the darkened skin on the inside of his left elbow.

  The tremble of his hands had intensified, making the needle dance over his skin. He sucked in a deep breath and attempted to steady his right hand. It took several failed tries before he found his vein. When he administered it, taking his time to push on the syringe, his hands lost the shake from before. He pulled the needle from his arm, placed it back inside the cabinet, and released the rubber strap. Moments passed as he observed how his pupils dilated in a small mirror fastened beside the chart. Noting the time it took to complete the injection, he closed the door and locked the cabinet before he sat down to his desk.

  The condition of his arms was distressing at best, he considered moving to the veins of his feet. Once, before the barrage of patients that required his treatments, he had thought to rotate to his legs, and allow his arms to heal. However, the sheer number of cases overwhelmed him. He had a duty to cure them all, so he waited until things calmed before he attempted to change his schedule.

  He rested his head in his hands and let his mind relax, drifting along on the warm wave the medicine created for him. In his mind, he saw the flashes of lights, swirling in an unrecognizable sequence, representing something he could not understand. His hands had filled reams of paper, copying down the pattern of the lights, but to no avail, they refused comprehension.

  Time moved from him while he sat and cradled his head. The lights worked over their chaotic and random flashes behind his eyelids. Doctor Wilson was aware when the door opened and the major strolled in.

  “One hour, on the dot, sir.”

  Doctor Wilson raised his head and put his glasses back on. He held out his hand and offered the major a seat in front of his desk. He studied the way the man pulled the chair backward, putting more distance between them before he sat down with his customary straight back posture.

  “Do you believe we are doing the greater good here?”

  “Yes sir,” the major said. “I know we are.”

  “As do I, Major Rose, as do I.”

  The doctor pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled at a notepad. He reclined in his chair, exhaled a long breath before he removed his glasses again, and rubbed at his eyes.

  “Do you believe she will talk?” Doctor Wilson said. He leaned forward over the desk. “That she will tell me what I must know?”

  “I think she will. If she doesn't, then she liked what she got.”

  The major shrugged his shoulders as he spoke. His eyes twinkled with satisfaction.

  “Please, Major Rose, be professional.”

  The major tilted his head back and scratched his chin, and smiled to himself as he considered what he said. The doctor opened a drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of whiskey. He made a presentation of retrieving glasses, spinning them in his hands to check for spots, before he poured each to the exact height of half-full. Counting to twenty inside his head, the doctor offered the major a glass, and lifted his from the table to toast the occasion.

  “Here’s to our second year, may we cure the world and bring about the next golden age of man.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Major Rose said. He lifted his glass and tilted it toward the doctor. “May you be the man who figures out what the hell to do about the virus.”

  Major Rose drank while the doctor held his condescending gaze on him.

  “But I have figured it out,” Doctor Wilson said. “You and your men enjoy the healing of my treatments. Do you not?”

  The doctor took a sip of his whiskey and waited for the other man to answer him. He checked his watch several times before the major spoke.

  “Yes, you give us treatment.” Major Rose swallowed another mouthful of his drink. “But you have to keep giving them to us. A cure means you stop getting treatments.”

  They held each other in fixed glares of resentment. The doctor was offended at the lack of respect, the major was upset because he felt reliant on the old man.

  “What happens when it runs out?” he asked.

  “The treatment?”

  “Yes. What will become of my men? Will they go crazy, kill each other?”

  “You have nothing to worry about major, I assure you of that.”

  Major Rose stood, snatched the whiskey bottle, and poured another drink into his glass. He placed it on the desk closer to his side, sat back down, and sipped at the dark colored liquor.

  “How do I know that?”

  “You have my word as a doctor.”

  “Sure, I have your word, but I don’t have proof. How long can the supplies last? How much of it do you have?”

  The doctor sipped from the glass in an attempt to stall. He made sure he could phrase his statement in a precise manner before he spoke. He could detect a change in the major’s mood the longer he took to answer.

  “I have enough in stock to supply you and your men with injections for the next fifty years. Do you believe that is enough?”
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  Major Rose smiled and gave a slow nod. “That’ll be enough if you can find a cure. Can you doctor? Can you find a permanent cure? Or am I guarding you for nothing?”

  “For nothing? Don’t be absurd. Without me, you’d have no injections, no treatments, you’d all be influenced by the disease within days.”

  “I know,” the major said. “There’s the problem, Doctor Wilson. I want you to show some of my men how to mix up that little concoction of yours.”

  “May I ask why? Do you not trust me?”

  “Oh, it has nothing to do with trust,” the major said. He poured another glassful of the whiskey and walked across the room to close the door. “But the way you experiment with those people. Well, I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they can be.”

  “No, you don’t. I am fully aware of the danger they pose.”

  “And, you could be injured by one of them. Hell, you could even be killed by one. Then what? What will my men do then? How will they receive their treatments?”

  “I see,” the doctor said. He lifted his glass and took another long sip. “I understand your position as a leader. You feel a responsibility to your men.”

  “I do, and I take it gravely serious.”

  “Of course, I can relate to that position in which you find yourself.”

  “I would hope so,” Major Rose said. He slid his firearm out and rubbed at the metal with his handkerchief, polishing the steel. “Do you think you could show some of my men how to mix up that juice then? It would make me feel a whole lot safer if you did.”

  “Yes, of course, send them to me at your earliest convenience, and I’ll gladly show them.”

  Smiling as he stood, the major raised his glass and tilted it to the doctor.

  “Here’s to you, the good Doctor Wilson.”

  They finished the drinks in relative quiet, sizing up each other as the time passed. The doctor questioned himself if he trusted the major any longer. He regarded the man as a violent imbecile, worth only his ability to order around the men who felt they were beneath him in station. It was amusing to the doctor at times, the men could leave the hospital at any sudden whim, refuse to follow the major’s orders at their own discretion, without the fear of any retribution, and yet, they stay and follow the orders given to them. There was no longer a functioning government, the military had ceased to exist, utilities and other resources were gone, never to return. Yet the men, his soldiers, still scrambled to complete the directions the major belted out, as though his satisfaction were paramount to their own existence. A small chuckle escaped the doctor’s lips before he could stop himself.