Dietrich Pelham allowed Mason to open his door and resisted the urge to rub the blood back into his sore buttocks as he stepped out of the coach. His servant had a light coating of road dust covering the front of his clothes. A pair of goggles rested around his neck having left a clean spot over each eye.
A female Army lieutenant, dressed in BDUs with a flag patch of The Shore on her arm approached the coach. “Welcome, Councilman Pelham. Lieutenant Silver am I. Expected you are inside. If you’ll follow me, some refreshment will be available.” She pointed to a fenced paddock with a few horses grazing, an open shelter to one side. “The barn is otherwise occupied. Your man can feed and tack your horses over there.”
Dietrich gave his servant a double pat on the shoulder. “Get yourself washed up, Mason, and sort out some food for yourself after you’ve dealt with the horses.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dietrich turned back to the soldier. “Lead on, lieutenant. Fascinated I am to see what we’ve got.”
“Apologies in advance, Councilman. Circumstances required that the doctors proceed with their examination a bit ahead of schedule.”
“Circumstances?”
“Showed themselves to be untrustworthy the captives did. Tried to make a violent escape they did. No one was hurt.”
“Hmm. Well, proceed, Lieutenant.”
Olsen met Dietrich in a dank space outside the observation room. “Ah, Pelham. Not too late, man. Good trip I hope.”
The cobwebbed and moldy stone walls of the original basement were intercut with piping from the hot water heater and ducts from the oil burning furnace in the corner. The rest of the space was walled off with new construction. Two reinforced doors gave the impression of a prison space.
“Shitty digs you’ve got here, Josh.”
Olsen offered a slightly pained smile in response. “Step inside. Sandwiches being sent down if you’re hungry. Extraordinary experiment going on.”
As they entered the observation room, Dietrich’s heightened curiosity turned into an effort at keeping a frown from his lips. What he observed on the monitors was both fascinating and utterly disturbing. “Are you administering electric shock to that woman?”
“Precisely,” said Dr. Mitchell. “The demon that you see blindfolded has been also made temporarily deaf. The other demon is able to observe, but is incapable of traditional communication to either the woman or the hooded one. Nevertheless, when trauma is inflicted to the subject on the bed, the other two immediately react.”
Dr. Harrison said, “We have been aware of the demon’s ability to act upon the mind since they were encountered as infants during Omega. This is our first opportunity to determine just how wide ranging that communication can be.”
There was a knock at the door. Olsen opened it a crack and received a tray of sandwiches from an unseen deliverer.
Dietrich found himself staring at the monitors with morbid curiosity. He became aware of his pulse quickening and took a long breath through his nose to offset his anxiety. The female creature was something unholy to behold. The thing was staring hard through the one-way mirror before it. Tears and snot coursed down her face. It was disturbing, but the sweat drenched woman on the bed was even more discomfiting.
Olsen offered the tray to him. Dietrich absently pushed it away. “Torture, Josh?”
“Just a mild electric shock, Pelham. Nothing harmful.” Olsen spoke through a bite of sandwich. “Weak in the stomach you’ve become, man.”
Dr. Mitchell said, “A remarkable adjustment, they made.” He nodded at Dr. Harrison who reached out to the box with the dial. He then pointed to another bank of monitors that showed a 3-D model of three brains surrounded by various wave forms and graphs. “Observe the monitors here as we create what should be some discomfort.” He nodded at his colleague.
Harrison twisted the nob. Once again Eliza’s body stiffened and she arched her back.
Mitchell said, “Look! The moment the electricity is applied, what should be the demon’s supramarginal gyrus is activated. The spike in the waveform shows a clear correlation with the bedded subject’s thalamus, here.”
Dietrich stood transfixed, his features squished up in an unconscious state of revulsion.
Dr. Mitchell continued. “Remarkable. Though the subject shows the physical response to the electrical jolt, the pain indications that should be spiking here, here and here are absent. Almost as though the subject is sedated. Assure you, I can that it is not.”
Dietrich rested his hand on Dr. Harrison’s and gently pulled it away from the nob. “It, is a woman strapped to that bed. You understand that, correct?”
Olsen said, “An enemy combatant, the woman is, and in no danger of real injury. Pull yourself together, Pelham.”
Dietrich cleared his throat. “Is there a place that I might clean up? The road was long and dusty.”
Olsen offered a slight sigh that barely concealed a sneer. “Follow me. A couple of drinks I’ll make us while you wash.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fire
From their small camp by the bay, Full Face, Patch Of Blue, Extra One, and Teeth Broken On Bones, felt the call of The Five. They had just finished delivering yet another boat to the marina they’d been filling with vessels for months. Having just gotten settled for the evening, they stood and folded their blankets and tarps. Though night approached, their vision easily navigated the woods, roads, fields, and farms between them and the Chosen camp.
By morning they stepped over a rise and stopped in awe at the sight of the army below. Fire-warmed encampments covered the landscape almost to the horizon. A smattering of skinny cattle grazed in a scattered pattern among the odd assortment of temporary shelters. In the far distance, the Ancestors stood. Thousands of criminally insane zombie parents of the Chosen were kept in check by the mental gymnastics of select handler children. The four Watchers locked onto the area far to the south where the humans rested in a huddled mass. The long deprived Watchers felt their saliva glands ache with the prospects.
Full Face looked upon the army and let a thought escape to her fellows, They are without happiness. How have they come this far and not arrived with happiness?
As was the norm for their species, the pleasure of living was not manifest. The temporarily sated Chosen army gave off an air of collective weakness in its general well-being. It wasn’t just the lack of balanced nourishment, it was pervasive ill health. A wave of exhaustion and sourness filled the ether.
They have marched for countless lights and darks, thought Extra One. Pleasure will return soon enough.
In the center of the field, they observed The Five stepping out of a wood poled lodge and beckon to them.
The lodge was covered with stretched hairless animal skins of assorted colors. As they drew closer, it became clear that the skin was of human origin.
The Watchers, having had advance warning of this pending debrief, gathered up an offering of the finest edibles that they could muster. As they stopped in front of The Five and kneeled, Full Face pushed her offering out in front of her. Inside the refurbished mayonnaise jar was a large collection of spiders and other crawly things writhing over each other. She let a thought pass to them of the pleasure of the bite of tiny pincers, delicate strong legs and the feeling of a thorax bursting on the tongue. She received mild thanks in return.
She blushed with the feint praise. She had never been this close to her leaders. The strength and confidence that shone from them was only mildly tarnished by the same weariness that was everywhere.
Paul thought, Come eat. Tell us the details of what you have watched.
They were guided into the lodge tent, which was filled with candles, comfortable seating, and a banquet table already set with the meal; a thin but well muscled female Fresh One lying naked on a wooden slab. She was surrounded by cutlery of various shapes and sizes as well as pliers and small saws for working on bones. The girl was trembling slightly, her body otherwise held rigid by a female Chosen ov
erseer. She had a wound on one leg that appeared to be new. Full Face took a deep sniff of the air and felt her stomach twist in delight with the anticipation of fresh meat. A male child Chosen squatted on the edge of the table, his legs pumping slightly up and down, his ravenous eyes locked in anticipation on the meal. A fleeting thought from Paul told Full Face that the boy was the son of he and Mary. The boy glanced briefly at Full Face and shared with her his mental connection with the meal lying before him. My favorite part is called the liver. My father told me the name. It quivers and melts on the tongue. What’s your’s?
The horrified meal-to-be understood the basics of what the boy was thinking, and sent out a wave of angry response. Full Face deciphered it as, I pray that you die a horrible death also.
The boy bounced and laughed.
Dr. Sampson Littlefield had watched Marlena limp of her own accord into the tent occupied by The Five. The girl appeared to be walking under her own will, but the doctor knew better. No human entered the tent of a Chosen and walked back out. Rather, within an hour or so, stripped bones and viscera would be carted away and provided to the Ancestors.
From his position sitting on a damp blanket on a small rise on a rocky scrub covered knoll, he guessed that he was a little more than one hundred yards away. A rugged group of Chosen appeared at the edge of the forest, briefly scanned the camp and walked toward the tent of The Five. Dinner guests, he thought. Only a small matter of time before they feast.
Unlike every other time he had witnessed such an atrocity, Littlefield felt sudden outrage. As he struggled with the answer why, he glanced around the camp and racked his brains for something, anything, that he could cause a disruption with. He had no idea what he might do with such a distraction, but at least it might cause a delay. Then his eyes settled on the oil wagon. The Chosen hauled barrels of the stuff for creating light at night. Cans filled with soaked rags were interspersed around the camp every evening in order to mark the paths and delineations that such a massive army required in order to remain organized. The wagon remained connected to a pair of oxen — the beasts contentedly eating hay with no one otherwise employed around them.
It wasn’t unusual for humans to be moving about the camp. No person dared move of his own accord, but they were frequently beckoned to for the menial tasks that were the life of a slave. Littlefield gave his best impression of having his mind controlled — stood as though beckoned — and walked with practiced purpose toward the wagon. The two dozen or so 55 gallon drums were stacked on their sides in order to make for an easy effort at rolling them off as needed. Each drum was individually tied to the one behind it with all of the strapping coming to a single point near the driver’s seat. If one was released from its mates at the end of the wagon, the rest were held firm. Littlefield angled for the driver’s seat. As he walked, he made sure not to look around or otherwise seem occupied by anything but a designated task.
He was somewhat surprised by his feelings about the girl. He’d turned a mostly blind eye to so many wretched people. Why was she different? What is it about this one? Then a smile briefly broke across his lips. You don’t want your work spoiled, you rat bastard. You hate the idea that you helped mend someone and she didn’t even get to heal up before getting shredded apart and eaten. It’s about you, Littlefield. So be it. He’d clearly come to some point of, fuck if he wasn’t fed-the-fuck-up.
When he reached the wagon, he continued to move as though he was under the orders of another. A few Chosen glanced at him, but were polite enough not to interfere with whichever of their brethren was utilizing this Fresh One, and so left Littlefield’s mind un-scanned. Grabbing the pry-bar that was used to pop the caps on the drums, the doctor stepped to the back of the wagon and swiftly pried off the cap to the last one. The thick black stuff gurgled out of the drum, sending a strong whiff of benzene up his nose. He allowed himself a glance toward the nearest lit oil-can-torch. It sat burning and smoking about forty feet away. Dumb asses, he thought.
One Chosen who squatted outside his tent, no more than twenty feet further, looked up from his supper and cocked his head at Littlefield. Sampson doubted the beast could hear the splashing oil, but he might be able to see it. Damn creatures had amazing night vision. The doctor didn’t pause. He walked to the front of the wagon and climbed up to the driver’s seat. The oxen barely took notice, their faces happily buried in hay.
It occurred to him at that moment that he was going to die. Everyone contemplates how their final moment will play out. Most choose to quickly pass over the most gruesome prospects. Littlefield didn’t have that luxury. He was going to die horribly. He paused and nodded to himself — at least this way, he would do it on his own terms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the big male Chosen set down his meal and stand. Littlefield grabbed the two pins that held all the strapping and triumphantly yanked. The pins didn’t budge. He had nothing to cut with and the knots were far tighter than anything he could undo. As he stared in frustration at the wooden pins, the Chosen began walking toward the wagon, his eyes casting about for whomever might be controlling this Fresh One. Sampson looked at the heavy pry-bar that he had set on the seat, lifted it, and with all his might, swiped at one of the pins with a blow aimed at its side. The pin snapped and the ropes sprung loose. The oil drums slightly settled, but otherwise didn’t move.
As the doctor stared at them, willing them to fall, he felt the unmistakable sensation of a Chosen probing his mind.
Who is your master? Where?
Littlefield turned in the seat, grabbed the whip that hung limply in its sheath, and snapped it at the oxen, hitting one of them firmly on the buttocks. The surprised beast reared its head, and as though their minds were linked, the two beasts heaved forward as one. Oil drums tumbled off the back of the wagon, crashing against each other. Just as he’d hoped, the open one rolled freely toward the nearest torch, bumped up against it, then bounced slightly back, its contents still gurgling onto the ground.
Nothing. No fire. No explosion. Just the gurgling oil and a badass, confused, and angry looking Chosen marching toward him.
Inside the tent, Paul had just gotten his brothers and sisters settled around their feast, when the oil drums made their enormous racket, startling them all. A quick scan with his mind found the Chosen who was descending upon the doctor. A brief interplay between the two ended with the Chosen outside agreeing to bring the doctor to the tent.
On the table, Marlena found herself suddenly free of the Chosen mind control — her handler as caught up in the commotion outside as all the others. The creatures had become so distracted that she was temporarily forgotten. Glancing at her tormentors as they stood and stepped to the tent’s entrance, she briefly noted her nakedness and the still aching wound on her shin. She rolled off the table and scrambled as quietly as she could toward the edge of the tent where it met the floor.
Littlefield felt a jolt of agony as he was forced to thrust back his shoulders beyond anything approaching natural posture and step jerkily toward The Five and their guests at the tent. He could feel their anticipation of him as fresh meat, dissecting him with their eyes. He stumbled and felt actual pain as a dirty looking female with tangled hair imagined pulling his calf muscle off the bone.
Full Face took in the fresh male captive and felt her mouth flush with salivary desire. The scrap on the table behind them was but an appetizer. This…this was a meal.
Marlena shoved her face under the heavy human leather edge and breathed in the outside air; the general rankness of the camp and its thousands of unwashed bodies was mixed with a dash of petroleum. Several Chosen were now milling about, their dinner interrupted by the crashing oil drums. She shoved her torso out, roughly scraping her breasts, pelvis, and knees, hardly noting the pain it caused her. As her back scraped along the rough canvas she felt her legs almost take on a life of their own with the shoving, her fear growing to a point where she felt nearly mindless. As she slipped outside she forced herself to think. S
he was as yet unnoticed. Just as Littlefield had observed, it wasn’t uncommon to see a naked desperate human being driven across a camp. She hoped to blend in as such a sight. The hopelessness of the situation didn’t stop her from trying. What else was she to do?
Littlefield looked at the leaders of the Chosen and tried mightily to send out a great big mental FUCK YOU, but the grip that the bastard behind him had on his free will was all encompassing.
When the explosion happened, there was a blink of a moment when his shadow shot out in front of him like a black arrow pointed at The Five. The sound of the concussion coincided with the male Chosen who had been controlling him, being heaved off its feet, plowing the doctor into the ground.
Littlefield must have blacked out for a moment. When he opened his eyes, bright orange light lit the dead grass and dirt in front of his face. With his left cheek mashed to the ground, he had an insect level POV of hell. Flaming gouts of oil were dousing the surrounding area. Tents were on fire, Chosen were writhing on the ground or running around engulfed by flames. Repeated concussions told him that a daisy chain of oil barrels were erupting behind him. The weight of the Chosen on top of him made it extremely difficult to breathe. Then he felt the heat.
Marlena found herself wrapped in reeking hides and darkness. One moment, she’d been walking away from the tent attempting to look like a zombified human slave, and the next she was surrounded by that tent as it was blown apart and heaved on top of her. She kicked and shoved and scrambled her way in the direction that felt right. She made it to the outside edge, only to duck back under cover as more explosions erupted, sending liquid globs of fire splattering across the camp.
Paul screamed in agony as his face and upper torso became engulfed in flames. The effect was to send a shockwave of mental anguish throughout the camp, which then moved at the speed of light to all their kind across the globe. Full Face had been blocked by her companions from the bulk of the force. Teeth Broken on Bones lay on the ground with his limbs at awkward angles. The rest were in various states of pain and shock. Mary lay prostrate, her body burning brightly, the stench of cooking flesh, fat, blood, and bowel filling the air. With her ears wringing, Full Face turned to Patch of Blue, who was on the ground, groggily moving but otherwise unharmed. She reached under his arms and dragged him away from the ruined tent that was becoming engulfed in flames.
A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Page 19
