He braced, his gut already knowing what was coming.
Boom. Right to the noggin'.
Boom. The eye.
The ribs.
He felt the mat, felt his body go limp and then convulse a little, as though he'd been zapped by a live wire.
The sweat in his eyes. The blood was flowing from the wound now. Something had snapped, broken. Couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't see anyhow. Consciousness was fluttering out of his grasp. The sound of the crowd was transient. Boos upon boos as the ref knelt down beside him. Then he was being carried out on a stretcher. The boos continued.
Before he knew it, Silvio was straining against the chair, writhing and slick with sweat. He opened his eyes, teeth bared and face red. In the viewing area, he found the assemblage slack-jawed, jotting things down as fast as their pens would allow. And Trask, his smile reflecting something like genuine delight for once, was clapping softly. “Very good,” he said through the microphone.
As he calmed down, Silvio was approached by a pair of researchers with needles. They needed just a few vials of blood to run some tests, they explained. In his agitated state, Silvio nearly reached up and slugged them, but did his best to regain his cool. Before long he was taking deep breaths, having the electrode patches removed and presenting his forearm for a series of blood draws. While the phlebotomists carried the samples off to a centrifuge, Trask ambled out, arms outstretched.
“You've done wonderfully, Mr. Echegaray. Top-notch. I feel confident that Mr. Aderhold will offer you this job. Of all the people we've tested-- and I assure you there have been thousands-- your results have been the best. Frankly, they've been better than we thought possible. Your abilities promise to take our research to the next level!”
Trask kept using that word, “abilities”, like it was supposed to mean something. Silvio was good at hitting things, and getting hit. Those were the only things he might consider talents of his. He nodded stupidly.
“There's one test left,” continued Trask, inviting Silvio to stand.
“Yeah, and what's that?”
“A spinal tap.”
Silvio nearly fell over. “Wait, what?”
Trask, apparently anticipating this reaction, placed a hang gingerly upon Silvio's shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. It'll be performed under sterile conditions. We must simply test your cerebrospinal fluid.” He spoke about it with such an airy tone, as though it were the most routine of procedures.
Gulping, Silvio looked out across the lab. Many of the observers were still gawking at displays, discussing something rather energetically. Just what them so worked up? Finally, he agreed, following Trask away from the chair and to a small room. “You sure this is necessary?” he asked, hoping there might be some way to weasel out of it.
“Positive,” replied Trask with firmness.
Silvio was delivered to the holding room, was scrubbed down, and then directed into a surgical suite, where a man in a surgical mask and forearm-high latex gloves awaited with a tray of frightful needles.
Oh, Christ. Here we go.
***
His lower back was sore as hell. Silvio tried his best to stay upright, allowing one of the staff to wheel him out of the surgery room and into a small, empty office. It was the very copy of Trask's office back at Aderhold HQ in many ways, except that in here there was no trace of the man to be found. There was a desk, a computer turned so as to face him, and little else. Courting the burning sensation in his back, he took it in stride, accepting a few painkillers from a woman in a white coat.
Everything was a blur to him. The entire episode, beginning with the interview process and ending in this very office, had probably occurred over the course of hours. His mind could only seem to grasp it as a series of moments however, sped up and smashed together as a sort of collage. His head hurt, his back hurt and more than anything, he was feeling apprehensive about everything he'd been subjected to. What did they want so many samples for? He'd expected the Aderhold guys to be thorough, but hadn't expected them to draw fluid out of his frigging spine.
He did his best to relax, and was startled as the monitor before him kicked on. The screen was blue for a moment, and then a desktop materialized. The cursor on the screen began to move as though controlled remotely, and a familiar-looking icon in the task bar was clicked. It was the icon of a video chat service, one he'd seen commercials for. Silvio leaned forward a bit as a new window opened, revealing the dark silhouette of a man. He studied it for a time, unsure of what he was looking at. Then, the silhouette shifted, and a man could be seen to move closer to the computer.
Mayer Goddamn Aderhold.
Silvio was stunned. To begin with, he never thought he'd be video-chatting with the guy, considered by many to be one of the most powerful in the world. Forbes had listed him near the top of their list of wealthiest people. Time had made him person of the year some years back. Staring at him through this screen, getting ready to have a chat, was damn weird.
But it was more than that.
Aderhold was recognizable, but didn't look exactly like he did on the cover of those magazines or in advertisements. No, something was different. Markedly so. Without Photoshop to ease the crow's feet, to erode the natural furrows of his brow or to spice up his greying hair with a bit of color, he looked tired. His resting face was one of subtle irritation. From the onset it became clear that the CEO would be donning no winning, million-dollar smiles for Silvio's sake. This was strictly business, and before he'd even said a word Silvio got the distinct impression he was wasting Aderhold's time.
His eyes seemed beady, animal-like as he began to speak. “Herr Echegaray?” There was a hint of an accent there. It reminded him of something like German. Werner Herzog-esque. “How good it is to see you.” He motioned to the dim room around him, a generic office space not unlike the one Silvio had been ushered into. Silvio had to wonder if Aderhold Corp. simply had a thing for these spartan, boring setups or if they just favored consistency. “Sorry that we cannot meet in-person. I am currently traveling, and as such, I have been asking Herr Trask to handle my affairs. I expect you are well?”
Silvio didn't have time enough to sputter a reply before the CEO glanced over a number of papers and continued. “I've some preliminary results here. They are impressive, very much so. I would like to have you onboard.” He leveled his dark gaze against the webcam, boring into Silvio even from half-a-world away. Bringing a hand to his chin, he worked the greyish skin for a time. He looked like a lizard of a man, everything about him exuding coldness, precision. Every word that came out of his mouth was a mere formality, and where Trask had earlier unsettled him, the gaze of Aderhold himself was sufficient to make Silvio a bit nauseous.
Time in the ring had taught him to size people up, and what Silvio found in Aderhold told him to run. It ain't worth it. Get the hell out of there. Nothing good can come outta someone with eyes like those, his mind seemed to say. But then Aderhold began to speak in a language he understood.
“I'll be sending you a small advance for your work. You have family, yeah?” The perfunctory smile on the man's lips was not unlike that of a boa constrictor preparing to unhinge its jaws. “This will come as a wire transfer. When we're through give Herr Trask your banking information and I'll see to it straight away.” Aderhold had read the flight response in Silvio's eyes and had administered the only sedative that could work. A cash infusion. “This way you will live comfortably before we begin.” He cleared his throat. “So, tell me, are you upset about never being able to fight again?”
Silvio cocked his head to the side. “Excuse me?” It seemed an unreasonably rude question.
Aderhold brought a hand to his right eye, covering it with a palm. “I don't imagine a man with only one functioning eye can be much of a boxer any longer, correct? Does it anger you? Does it make you feel weak?” Sheer, bestial amusement played out across the CEO's face.
Silvio lowered his gaze, searching for the right answer. “It's, uh... no bi
g deal. Ya win some, ya lose some, yeah?”
Aderhold smirked. “Yes, well, you will be quite the winner soon Herr Echegaray. Quite the winner indeed. I will make you one. And soon, you will draw larger crowds than any Pay-Per-View match could bring you. Mark my words.”
Silvio wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he sure as hell didn't like the sound of it. After a brief, uninspired goodbye, Aderhold signed off and left the screen a bright blue. And then the laptop powered down. A short while later, Trask entered the room, wheeling Silvio back out and announcing him fit to walk. The first few steps made his back act up, but after a time the sore muscles adjusted.
Pacing around the room, rubbing at his lumbar and wincing a little, he shared a few words with Trask and gave his thoughts on the interview. It'd been uncomfortable and vague; he probably had less answers about this job than he'd had upon first arriving at the lab.
But then he was asked for his banking information, and the thought of money hitting his checking account helped to ease the less pleasant aspects of the day's interactions.
“The money's on its way,” said Trask with a flourish, tapping a few buttons on his phone.
It sure as shit better be, thought Silvio.
6
The money was in the bank before Silvio even made it home, leading Sarah to accost him the minute he walked in the door. She wanted to know where it'd come from, and lamented that it was probably some sort of banking error. It was all he could do to tell her that, no, it hadn't been an error, but rather an advanced payment from the Aderhold Corporation, who'd offered him an exciting, if not vague, new position. Sarah was overjoyed, dancing around the kitchen with Leah in tow and talking about all the bills they'd be able to catch up on. There would be enough, too, to stock up on pantry staples and maybe even have a little fun. Apparently Aderhold had sent a hefty sum.
And so a week passed with virtually no disturbances from debt collectors. Family members quick to chastise Silvio for his joblessness were promptly silenced. The sort of peace that only financial security can bring reigned.
But with every passing day, Silvio felt increasingly sure he'd sold his soul to the devil for that money.
More specifically, a devil that looked like Mayer Aderhold.
***
It was a Tuesday night when Silvio got the call.
He and Sarah had just put Leah down for a nap and were nearing the end of a spaghetti dinner when the phone broke the calm with an uncharacteristic urgency. Silvio stood up and answered, recognizing at once Trask's calm voice and losing his appetite forthwith. “So sorry to bother you, Mr. Echegaray, but I'm calling about your new position with us?”
“Y-yes?” stammered Silvio.
“You start tomorrow. We've finally received all of the results on your bio-markers. Our tests indicate that you are indeed the perfect fit for this job.” The emphasis on that word, “perfect”, threw out a few red flags. “We'll be picking you up at your apartment tomorrow, 8 AM sharp.”
Silvio dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin and looked nervously to Sarah, who waited at the table with bated breath. “Sure, all right.”
Then, Trask dropped a bomb with such nonchalance that he might've been discussing the weather. “Oh, and we'll be shuttling you to the airport. You're off to Iceland for a three-month mission. It's a state-of-the-art testing facility, and the work is strictly confidential. Please make sure to have your affairs in order. You fly out on one of our private jets at 10 AM.”
Silvio was at a loss for words. He stared vacantly at his girlfriend, then at the phone in his hands. What could he possibly say now? He wasn't in a position to refuse, and should've known that he'd be called in to work before too long. He simply hadn't expected his assignment to take him to a whole new continent. “S-sure.”
Trask hung up.
Silvio set the phone down and returned to the table.
“What's the matter?” asked Sarah, running a hand along the length of her brown ponytail. “You look white as a ghost.”
“I start my new job tomorrow,” he said, wetting his lips with a sip of ice water. He worked over his lower lip, unflinching despite the lingering bruises.
“That's great!” she was quick to say.
“Yep... I'm going to Iceland,” he added, glancing up at her in a daze.
Her gaze narrowed. “Wait, what?”
Silvio nodded. “Yeah, I didn't see that coming.”
Sarah sat up in her seat. “Well, uh... that's sort of cool. You get to travel, huh? How long is the trip?”
He gulped. “T-three months, apparently.”
“Oh...”
***
Silvio spent the remainder of the evening trying to convince Sarah that the job would be a good one, a prime opportunity for him to establish a good career. He alluded to the fact that, someday, Aderhold's robotics research may lead to medical breakthroughs that could cure blindness. Or so he'd been told. On reflection he realized he knew precious little about what the company's robotics division actually did. She was agreeable to the idea, but extremely apprehensive about his leaving the country for three months.
“It's not such a long time, really,” he said, trying to make her feel better. “I'll be back before you know it, and if this goes well, maybe I'll make a career out of it. I spoke to Mayer Aderhold himself, remember? No telling what kinda doors that could open down the line!”
Having smoothed things over, Silvio began packing for his trip. He didn't have a proper valise, and instead stuffed what he could fit in the way of clothing into an old duffel bag. In it, he found some of his old training gear. A pair of boxing gloves, a mouthpiece. He cast them aside, refuse from another life, and tucked in what few dress clothes he had in their place. It was time to move on.
He settled into bed a little early, Leah stirring between them. He wasn't going to get a whole lot of sleep that night no matter what he did. He did his best to prepare mentally for the trip, and wondered what they were going to have him do out there. “Confidential” research, “state-of-the-art” facilities... none of that sat well with him. Flipping on the news, he leaned back in bed and tried to drown out his thoughts with the night's headlines.
The minute the screen flashed on, he caught sight of something awful. A large swath of forested land, absolutely pulverized. It was a lake, but its borders were somewhat murky. Fallen trees and tremendous flooding made it hard to know where the lake began and the surrounding land ended. A reporter could be heard speaking from the news helicopter as it hovered over the ruination.
“For those of you at home, this is just over Lake Liliana, where earlier today a freak storm or tremor reduced the entire town of Nanterre, Michigan, to ruin. There are miles upon miles of destruction here and virtually no survivors. Neighboring towns were also slightly damaged in what experts are calling a baffling series of events. What meteorological event could have led to this? Here in Michigan we are at a loss for answers. Experts are stumped, calling this one of the worst natural disasters in the State's history.”
A brief snippet from an interview with Nanterre's deputy-mayor began. The man stood upon a makeshift podium before a mass of reporters from all over the country. The town's actual mayor was missing, presumed dead in the catastrophe. “We are still unsure as to the exact nature of this phenomenon. We are working closely with both local and federal authorities, and will share more information as it's made available to us. We ask for patience and understanding during this difficult time. At this moment, we can only say that it was a freak accident of nature, a perfect storm of sorts. Completely natural, but unforgiving and unprecedented. Please keep the town of Nanterre in your thoughts.”
Silvio grimaced as new shots of the destruction flashed across the screen. Flattened houses. Here and there, despite the best efforts of the newscasters to edit them out, could be seen bodies sticking out from beneath fallen buildings. Some, too, were floating in the swollen lake. He shook his head and shut the TV off. “Natural disaster?
Yeah right. Something's up, and he ain't coming clean about it.” Something about the deputy-mayor's body language made it all too easy for Silvio to call his bluff.
Doing his best to quiet his thoughts, Silvio laid back in the darkened room and slowly fell asleep to the sounds of his daughter's even breaths.
7
The drunkard tipped his bottle skyward, tongue searching for one last drop like a sun-beaten worm straining for moist soil. Empty.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, casting it off into the lake. The bottle struck the brackish water and sank. He'd been sitting there since dawn, having shuffled lakeside after a brief visit to the liquor store. It was about time he was getting back, picking up his second pint of the day. His gut rumbled. A sandwich, too, sounded mighty fine.
The beach was quiet this time of day. Not a soul in sight. The shore ambled on for miles to both sides of him. It was a big lake, Liliana, every bit as big as it had seemed when he'd first laid eyes on it some thirty or so years back as a boy. His dad, God rest his soul, had taken him fishing there from time to time. Best tasting perch he'd ever grilled up had come from these waters. Maybe sometime he'd pick himself up a new rod and reel, he thought, recalling with absolute fondness those fishing trips of his youth.
The squawking knocked him out of reverie.
A few gulls took off at lightning speed, darting into the line of trees to his back and disappearing. He looked up at them dimly, his upper body swaying as he sought to sit up. It'd been sunny the last time he'd looked up into the sky, but it was overcast now and a curious mist hung about the canopies of the trees. “Lookin' like a storm,” he said, rubbing at his stubbled jaw and peering out across the water. A dragonfly dipped up and down in the air, landing upon the ratty knee of his shabby jeans. He shook it off and took in a deep breath. Air was a little moist today. He didn't much like it. Reeked of lake-bottom, of dead fish. They'd been washing up on the shore with more frequency of late. Then again, they always did this time of year.
Bonecrusher: A Kaiju Thriller (The Armageddon Tetralogy Book 1) Page 4
