by RM Brewer
“You stay here for a minute,” Jodie said, opening the door. “I’ll just go and check this out.”
* * *
Mei slipped in and out of consciousness, sliding toward awareness, then retreating into darkness again. Whatever they had given her to make her sleep was starting to wear off, though, and her mind was gradually clearing each time she woke. Again, she came to. She was determined not to let them know she was awake before she watched and listened to what was going on. She didn't recognize the room and realized she'd been moved. The area was buzzing with medical equipment and two people, clad in white gowns, rushed about. Mei sensed anxiety in their voices. She dared open her eyes ever so slightly, immediately seeing the source of their angst. The room she was in was filled with patients on gurneys, their comatose bodies being connected to an intricate network of tubes and electronic equipment.
Mei made out a man’s voice. “Hana, how long has the cryo power been out?”
“Over twenty-four hours, now,” Hana answered. “The captain has set a course back to Nellis to restock. I told him our patients would never make it to the station. We don’t have enough supplies to treat them all for an entire trip.”
“Is restoring the cryo power out of the question? Are you saying we need to keep them medicated, instead of in cryosleep?”
“Yes, that’s the idea,” Hana said. Mei could sense hesitation in her voice. "This isn't our technology, so no one on board knows how to fix the power station. We'll have to wait until we get up there."
“That can’t happen.” The man sounded completely exasperated. “Most of them have already been in cryosleep for months. They'll be dead by the time we get up there. No one could live through the trip with only fluids.”
“It’s McKinley’s order. He doesn’t care whether they make it or not,” Hana said. “They were just a bonus for our friends’ amusement anyway.”
The man let out a nervous laugh. “Well, let’s hope they stay alive long enough to be amusing or our new friends will start experimenting on us, instead.”
The name Hana triggered something in Mei’s memory, but her mind was too hazy yet to place where she would’ve heard it before. Was this the woman she'd met earlier? But, this woman clearly didn’t care about her safety or that of the other patients in the room. From what she’d said, they were traveling toward a space station somewhere. The only people she knew of who had something like that was Gypsum. Little by little, her foggy brain was starting to comprehend the mess she was in. Gypsum had kidnapped her and put her in cryosleep. If not for the malfunction of the power station, she’d be well on her way to somewhere in the outer edges of the Milky Way. Mei felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought.
She pushed her fears aside, thinking that it sounded like they were headed back to the Air Force base they’d departed from. Mei hoped this would be her chance. Maybe Jodie would be there, waiting for her to return.
The first thing she had to do was to disconnect herself from the IV. If she could stop the flow of drugs, maybe she could clear her mind enough to figure out a way to escape from the ship when they landed. Thinking about all the people surrounding her in the room, she realized her responsibility was greater than just saving herself. She’d have to find a way to save them, too.
She closed her eyes tightly as Hana approached her bedside with a fresh bag of some kind of fluid. Mei could hear her hooking it up to the tube snaking toward her arm. She realized she would only have seconds to stop the fast-acting sedative from reaching her bloodstream. If she waited too long, she’d be unconscious again and at the mercy of her captors. Mei listened as Hana’s footsteps retreated to the other side of the room.
As quickly as she felt she could without being noticed, Mei slid her right hand across her body and reached for her left arm. She opened her eyes to a narrow slit, seeing the man who was speaking earlier with his back to her, changing an empty bag on another patient. Mei peeled back the tape and tugged at the needle in her arm. She winced as the needle turned under her skin, but didn’t come out. She was already starting to feel the effects of the drug. Knowing she only had seconds left, she clawed at the tube and yanked hard, tearing the needle from under her skin.
The man standing in front of her turned just as she covered her bleeding forearm with the bed sheet. She could feel the blood dripping from the open wound and pressed her arm tightly against her body to stem the flow, knowing that if he saw what she was doing, it would likely be her last moment of consciousness. If they realized she was up to something, they would be sure to keep her drugged until she starved to death, like the rest of the captives surrounding her.
“All finished,” the man said, walking past her bed. “That should hold them until we get back to base. Seems like a lot of work to keep them medicated if they’re all gonna die of starvation, anyway.”
“Well, at least we have job security,” Hana laughed.
Mei gritted her teeth, thinking that the first thing she would do once she was back on her feet would be to make sure Hana got a dose of her own medicine. A large dose.
The lights dimmed and Mei heard the sound of footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing. The room was suddenly quiet, save for the other patients’ shallow, drug-induced breathing. Mei blinked her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. She sat slowly and looked around the room as the sheet fell from her. Inspecting her arm, she found blood crusted over the wound she’d created. What seemed to be of more importance for the moment was her lack of clothing, which she’d need to remedy if she were ever to make an inconspicuous run for it when they landed.
Mei slid her legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, she stepped down to the floor, feeling her knees buckle. She hit the floor, landing on her side, and smacked her head on a gurney wheel. “Shit,” she said, pulling herself back to her feet, looking at the tube dangling down between her legs. "Forgot something."
Mei lay back down on the gurney and inspected the catheter. "It's now or never," she mumbled to herself, slowly pulling out the tube, stifling a scream by shoving the bed sheet in her mouth. She waited for the pain and nausea to pass, knowing she needed to move now. If one of the doctors came back, she would lose her chance. She wasn't strong enough to fight them off, but where would she run? Was there anywhere to run to? The best she could hope for would be to surprise them somehow when they landed and make her escape.
Mei pulled herself to a standing position. Her hands shaking, she realized that besides being cold and a bit in shock, she was very hungry. She grabbed a bedrail as she walked through an aisle between two rows of patients, gaining a little more of her footing with each step she took. Reaching a bank of cabinets at the far wall, she hung on for a moment until another wave of nausea passed.
Mei clawed at the cabinet door, opening it and finding a large stockpile of medical supplies. She moved on to the next cabinet and the next, finding more of the same. Glancing out the small window in the door, she noticed a light on in the next room. A jacket hung on a peg attached to the wall behind a desk. Naked or not, she’d need to get out of this room and do some exploring. Before she did that, there was something to take care of. She turned and counted the full beds in the room. There were thirty-nine in all. Better get started, she thought, as she lifted the tape from a woman’s arm and pulled the needle out. Thirty-eight more to go.
CHAPTER 7
Jimbo clung to the Eiffel Tower and screamed. He swung by one arm, dangling more than seventy-five feet above the ground. Momentary confusion gripped him and he wondered how he’d ended up in France. Wasn’t he just winning big in Vegas? Oh yeah, yeah. That was before he found his power. Before he became something bigger.
Jimbo lowered himself down a level and dropped to the ground, slamming onto the concrete, shattering the femur of his left leg. He felt it break, not because of the pain, but because he saw it break, the sharp bloody edge of broken bone tear
ing through his pants. This, Jimbo found very funny. He screeched with excitement and let out a hearty mucous-filled cackle.
He was unprepared for the response he received. From everywhere he could see, things -- things like him -- craned their necks and called back to him, growling and screeching. At once, they started to run toward him and he stood firm. Suddenly, he was surrounded by them, the spitting, growling mass of them, milling around him, their thoughts all entering his head in one instant. He could read their minds, feeling his brain expand to take it all in, the plates of his skull parting, making room for the burgeoning grey matter.
At first, the pain was overwhelming, but it subsided and he finally could make out their individual thoughts. Lead us, Father, they called to him. They were angry and needed to know what to do. They pled with him to tell them where they belonged. What was their purpose, they asked. Jimbo didn’t know the answer to anything, he just knew he wanted silence and he wanted it now. Lowering his head, he thought really hard about how to do that and all that came to mind was for them to kill.
Lifting his gaze to his followers, they responded by snarling and nodding at him, each turning and loping off in a different direction. Kill them all, Jimbo told them. Every last one of them. He climbed the tower again and watched as they carried out his commands. Hordes of tourists ran down the strip, stumbling and shoving, trying to escape the city or run back to the safety of their hotel rooms. Jimbo’s followers hunted them, tackling and clawing and tearing at their bodies, biting and ripping them into pieces. Below him, a door burst open, revealing a blackjack dealer fleeing, cards and chips flying as he was hit from behind by two of Jimbo’s loyal servants. Moments later, all that remained was a bloody pile of money, mixed with the unconsumed entrails of the man. “Gambling can be hazardous to your health,” Jimbo mumbled.
Sirens screamed from all corners of the city and a symphony of gunfire ensued. Jimbo watched a pale fat man attempting to flee, his shirt dripping blood, his eyes wild. It wasn’t clear if he was wounded or if the blood was someone else’s. The man turned toward a passing vehicle and raised a weapon, blasting the windshield out of a Toyota Prius. The car veered toward the sidewalk and slammed into a group of infected feasting on the remains of a family of four. The fat man, realizing he’d ruined his ride, continued running down the strip, firing random shots at vehicles passing by until he was smeared onto the pavement by a speeding fire truck that never slowed down once.
From his vantage point, Jimbo could see the driver’s side window of the fire truck had been punched out and that the driver was absent. “Someone had a meal, to go,” he laughed, bouncing up and down on the metal structure in a fit of laughter.
Slowly, the truck jumped the curb and veered onto the sidewalk, plowing through the escaping throng of tourists, waitresses, hookers, and bellboys. Jimbo slammed his hand down on the metal frame of the tower and let out a gleeful screech. “Now, that’s entertainment,” he cackled.
The fire truck cleared the sidewalk of pedestrians for about two blocks, until it changed course, hit a concrete barrier and careened into the fountain in front of the Bellagio with an impressive splash. Jimbo thought it looked beautiful, the laser lights flashing and fountain spraying in time with the emergency lights of the truck. He clapped as the water turned pink, blood oozing from the bodies embedded in the grille.
The air seemed heavy and Jimbo felt a popping noise in his ears. He sensed something coming for him and crawled up higher on the tower. Scanning the horizon, he saw what it was. From the west, a caravan of military vehicles raced toward the city at a precarious speed. Jimbo turned and saw the sky in the east filled with a swarm of what looked like bees. His eyes clouded and he blinked, trying to focus as the swarm moved closer. “Not bees . . . helicopters,” he muttered.
Jimbo screamed commands to his followers. All over the street, they stopped biting and tearing and eviscerating and looked up. One by one, they called out, the order cascading through the ranks as fast as sound could travel. Jimbo jumped down from the tower and ran to the middle of the street, yanking up a manhole cover, watching his followers do the same all down the avenue. Time to get out of sight. He jumped in and was about to pull the metal plate over the hole behind him when he saw a pile of thousand dollar chips, scattered across the pavement. He liked the orange color of the chips and decided to grab some. Jimbo swept the chips into his hand and shoved them into the tattered remains of his pants pocket.
Crawling back to the manhole, he could hear them in his head again. This time, there were thousands, all calling his name. Jimbo jumped down into the hole and pulled the cover over the top. At first, he couldn’t see much of anything, but slowly, his vision adjusted. He slid down into the slop lining the concrete tube and saw them splashing down from open manholes above. He waded forward, eventually coming to a central area where the other sewer lines deposited. Here, his followers converged as they grunted and screamed at him, acknowledging his superiority. They were young and old, men and women, covered in blood, their clothes hanging in shreds from their expanding bodies.
Jimbo looked down at himself for the first time, empowered by what he saw. His hands and feet were clad in talons. He guessed he stood about seven feet tall, having to arch his back at an unnatural angle to remain upright in the sewer line. He felt powerful, invincible, and almost immortal.
Deciding he needed some order to this growing mass of viral fortitude, he looked around the room and selected the three largest specimens he could find. To each of them, he handed a thousand dollar chip, deputizing them. This, he did without a verbal command. His thoughts and wishes traveled freely amongst the minds of the group.
Jimbo dropped to all fours, surprised to feel so at ease with the stance, resting on his armored feet and hands. For a moment, he thought he didn’t know what to do next, but the trickling water beneath his claws told him there was one way to go. One way to make sure his army of followers would be together. Jimbo called out to his deputies in his mind, telling them to lead the pack and follow the water downhill. He knew the route would lead them out of town, past whatever the military could bring on. If they went far enough, maybe they could find a way to get to the channel leading to Lake Mead. Jimbo had always wanted to see the Hoover Dam, anyway.
Jimbo shrieked and the pack acknowledged him by picking up the pace. He was anxious to get moving faster. There were sure to be tourists near the dam. It would be a nice place for his group to stop for lunch.
* * *
Fester slid down low in the seat as Jodie got out of the Land Rover. For some reason, he had a bad feeling in his gut and thought maybe Jodie had made a mistake this time. When the car was almost upon her, he could see Debi in the driver’s seat. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Fester started rummaging through his backpack, just as the silhouette of someone appeared in the backseat of Debi’s car. At first, Fester almost jumped out of the SUV, too, thinking that maybe it was Chuck and he was in trouble. Then, he saw the muzzle of the gun, shoved against the side of Debi’s head. Debi’s window rolled down and Fester could hear talking.
Jodie had her hand on her gun. Instead of grabbing it and pointing it at the person in the car, she slowly pulled it out of its holster, lowered it to the ground, and held her hands up. This can’t be good, Fester thought, continuing to search through his gear.
A second person got out of the car and approached Jodie at gunpoint. He twisted her arms behind her and bound them together with a zip tie. Next, he grabbed the back of Jodie’s collar and knocked her off her feet, dragged her to the car, and shoved her into the back seat, slamming the door behind her. Then, the man leveled his gaze in the direction of the SUV. Fester wasn’t sure the man could see him, but he slumped lower anyway as the man approached and yanked the passenger side door open.
“Out,” the man said, gesturing for Fester to get out of the car.
Fester shook his head. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Fucking litt
le brat,” the man said, lunging toward the vehicle.
Fester pulled the can out of his backpack and pressed the nozzle. The man howled in agony as he was blasted directly in the face with pepper spray Fester had packed away in case he ran across a stray bear.
Fester didn’t waste time. He thrust himself from the seat, knocking the man on his back. He grabbed for the man’s gun and felt a strong arm come up to pull his hand away. Fester kneed the man in the groin and slid over him, picking up a large rock lying next to the road. As the man raised his gun, Fester brought the rock down on his forehead, smacking him so hard that blood spurted from the wound. The man fired wildly, missing Fester, but hitting the door of the SUV. Fester brought the rock down once more, as hard as he could, finally silencing him.
Rolling off of the man, Fester felt his hands shaking. He started to gag and leaned over to vomit when he heard a muffled shot. He wiped his mouth and stood on wobbling legs, trying to see where the noise had come from. Debi opened her car door and jumped out, running into the woods. Fester thought she looked terrified.
The dome light in the car illuminated what was going on in the backseat. A battle was taking place and it looked like Jodie’s captor was losing. She had her zip-tied hands over the shoulders and around the neck of a man, whose face was growing darker purple by the second. Even from a distance, Fester could see the gun in his hand, which he was trying to angle at Jodie. She kicked at his arms with her feet and pushed herself forward, slamming his face into the window.
Fester turned around and looked for the gun the other man had. Seeing the man’s bashed-in forehead, he stifled his urge to throw up again. Then, he saw the gun still in the man’s hand. Fester reached over with his foot and kicked it out of his grip. He picked it up and ran to Debi's vehicle, the face of the man that Jodie held plastered against the window. Fester pointed the gun at his face through the glass. “Drop the gun. Now,” Fester said.
