by Reece Hinze
“Why didn’t your mother drop you off in the toilet bowl with the rest of her slimy turds?” James replied. He was sure they heard nothing but mumbling through the chocking gag they forced on him.
“What did you say you piece of shit?” The bald man laughed at his own joke, spraying putrid breath like a fog. As the gurney turned a corner, the bald man grinned. “This will teach you to talk back.” His stocky elbow slammed into James’ undefended stomach. The blow winded him instantly but James had his revenge for an involuntary gob of snot flew out of his nose to dangle on his jailor’s cheek like an icicle.
A horrified gurgling sound crept out of the bald man’s mouth. “Ass hole!” He screamed, punching James full force in the jaw. This time no gob of snot escaped him, only a muted murmur of pain. He wasn’t in the cell anymore but nonetheless, his world faded to black.
“That’s enough!” Ordered a booming voice. James could tell the man giving the orders belonged to the giant who murdered the policemen and tackled him after he destroyed his cell camera. “Proceed to medical bay 3,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir!” The bald man said with insolent sarcasm.
After a few heartbeats of foggy haze, James regained enough of his senses to recognize the big man’s head above his own. He pushed the gurney now. He almost imperceptibly glanced down at James and shortly after, when the bald man was well ahead of them, began tapping on James’ shoulder. The taps came at different intervals, some slow and some fast. Annoyed, Lasko shook the gurney and growled. The bald man glanced back suspiciously. When he turned away, the big man poked James hard, almost painfully and tapped again. Lasko’s eyes shot wide with the realization.
Morse code.
It had been years since James had communicated using the code but he picked up what the man was saying nonetheless.
Out… Soon… Stay… Strong…
The big man glanced down, in a way no one else could see his gaze, to make sure he understood. James was taken aback. This man was a professional.
He blinked back at the scarred face.
Why… Trust… You…
The big man tapped back instantly.
This… Wrong… Must... Stop… Infection… Spreading…
He paused for a moment.
Others… With… Me…
James thought for a moment and then blinked.
Infection…
The man said nothing so James asked a different question.
When…
Soon…
James started to blink but was stopped by another painful jab of the man’s tree trunk finger. The threshold of the medical bay passed overhead along with a feeling of dread. A moment after bumping through the doorway, the bald man locked James’ gurney into place. Droning machines hummed all around. James had never seen these machines before but recognized their sound, and what that sound meant for him.
“Why is the prisoner’s head uncovered, Sergeant?” The voice was familiar to Lasko and he began to sweat from an uncontrollable fear induced Pavlonian reaction. He always heard the haughty British voice before the torture began.
“Sir, the prisoner received head trauma and I felt it necessary to monitor his health, sir,” the big man, who Lasko now knew as The Sergeant replied stiffly.
“Head trauma?” An aged skinny rail of a man with a stooped back came into Lasko’s field of vision. His pale skin was the same color as his lab coat which was impeccably clean and pressed. A tuft of thin wispy white hair stubbornly clinging to a balding head. James watched as the man’s empty black eyes peered down at him, magnified by his thick glasses. It was like staring into a void. His long insect like fingers, clad in latex gloves, prodded the head injury James received courtesy of the bald man. There is an innate fear in a person when they cannot see a clear danger they know is close but James, even after finally seeing this man in person, was racked with paralyzing fear.
“Bumbling barbarians,” the Doctor mumbled savagely. Lasko winced as the man poked and prodded his bruises. “Patient eleven-thirteen is of utmost important to the success or failure of this facility. Everything we have done and are prepared to do here could be brought to an end because of such thoughtlessness!” The Doctor turned his wrathful eyes to the Sergeant standing at attention at the side of Lasko’s gurney. “If something like this ever happens again Sergeant, you will replace eleven-thirteen on the table.” The Doctor’s insect fingers prodded the Sergeant’s massive chest. “Do you understand?”
The Sergeant snapped a quick salute. His deep voice, such a contrast to the wispy spider voice of the Doctor, rumbled Lasko’s gurney as he replied. “Sir, yes sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
The Doctor slowly turned his head and looked down his long beak nose at the bald man like a starved vulture, waiting for a corpse to feast on.
“And what about you, imbecile?”
The bald man fired off a salute just as quickly as the Sergeant. “Sir, yes sir,” he replied. Whoever this man was, he inspired just as much terror in those around him as he did in James.
The Doctor turned his attention to James. “Sergeant, you may stay.” He waved his skeletal fingers at the bald man in a way you might wave at a fly buzzing around the room. “You will leave.”
“I’m sorry about your recent trauma eleven-thirteen.” He apologized while removing Lasko’s gag. “I assure you, you will be treated fairly from now on.”
Lasko glared at the skinny bald creature, trying to hide his fear. The man prodded his head wounds again.
Remember your training.
“Captain James Lasko. Serial numb…”
“You were Captain James Lasko. Who you were is irrelevant.” The Doctor retrieved a circular steel device from his operating table. “Who you are now is of utmost importance.” He paused to lick his thin lips hungrily before continuing in his haughty British voice. “What you will become is everything.”
James felt a cold shiver as the man’s absent black eyes bore into him, a sight which tormented him now more than the red blinking light ever did. Like switching on a light switch, the Doctors obsessive dull eyes lit up as he turned back to the task at hand. “Now, back to business eleven-thirteen.” The Doctor shoved the circular device into Lasko’s mouth. Lasko could feel his jaw stretching and just when he thought it would snap, he heard the metallic click of the device locking in place. James muttered something unintelligible in protest.
“No!” The Doctor snapped as if scolding a puppy for urinating in the house. “No more talking, only the frontier of progress.”
James drove deep into himself. A few short minutes in the presence of this creature drained all the fight out of him like the blood out of a slaughtered animal. Now, he simply prayed for unconsciousness. The Doctor swung a long light from the ceiling into his face. When he switched it on, the heat baked James while the light blinded him. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. He struggled against the straps on the gurney, desperate to escape whatever evils the demon in the lab coat had dreamed up for him. James’ panicked eyes flicked to and fro. He thought not of home or of his imprisonment or of anything in his entire life. The one obsession, overwhelmed all.
Fear.
Just then, his eyes fell on the large gauge syringe the Doctor held and the deep orange liquid swirling within. “You might feel a little prick,” the Doctor mumbled. The needle swung out of James’ view. He felt a sharp pain in his undefended neck. The Doctor stabbed expertly but not gently and Patient eleven-thirteen screamed as the strange orange liquid, like magma rolling from a volcano, burned through his veins. It burned across his neck and down his chest. He thrashed back and forth. The uncontrollable urge to itch spread to his abdomen and arms, down his thighs, and finally the palms of his feet and hands. James struggled and screamed through his wedged open mouth.
“Hmm, hives. I admit I did not expect an allergic reaction to the serum,” the Doctor mumbled. “It matters not, he is strong enough to continue with phase two.”
Tears ran freely
down James’ cheeks. Through his blurred vision, he saw the next syringe. Blood red with an impossibly long needle. James held his breath as the Doctor inserted the tip into his chest. He pushed down, further and further. Only when the syringe touched James’ chest did the Doctor squeeze the liquid into him. He felt the pain and the discomfort melt away, closing his eyes in relief. When he opened them again, the world was tinted in a strange shade of red.
James was confused but when the Doctor came back into view, he became angry. Not just angry but consumed by an unbridled obsessive rage. And not because this man tortured him but simply because he was there. Lasko howled and screamed, not in pain, but in frustration for at that moment, he would sell his soul to kill the man in front of him.
Patient Eleven-Thirteen would sell his soul to kill anything.
“Paul…”
“Paul, wake up sleepy head!”
“Paul, we’re here!”
Paul Slaughter opened his eyes. To his great surprise he wasn’t upside down in the forest but resting comfortably in the backseat of a familiar suburban.
“You slept the whole way here silly.” She smiled at him and he almost cried.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Paul asked. She was so young, not a trace of grey in her hair. “Am I dead?”
“Oh don’t be silly! I knew I shouldn’t have let you read those nasty Stephen King books. Your father and your brothers are already in the water. Grab your sunscreen and go have some fun.” Her smile broke his heart.
There was no sign of the sprawling dark forest, the bloody eyes, rapport of machine gun fire, smashing of vehicles. Only the gentle crash of the dark blue waves on the sand. The vehicle was familiar but an impossibility because his Dad had gotten rid of the old suburban over a decade ago. He searched his face and body. No beard hung from his jaw. His arms were skinny and without tattoos.
“Come on Paul!”
He heard the voice but couldn’t believe it. He unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car. The warm sand squished between his toes. “Come on!” Luke shouted. Paul smiled. He couldn’t be more than twelve. He stood there grinning with a pool noodle slung around his chest like Chewbacca’s bandolier. Paul could see his other brother Wade and Dad splashing and laughing in the waves. An overwhelming happiness spread through him like a brushfire. He sprinted to his brother and enveloped him in a great bear hug.
“I’m so sorry Luke! I’m sorry man,” Paul cried into his brother’s shoulder.
“Gross!” Luke protested and squirmed and wiggled until he pried his older brother off of him. “What’s wrong with you, dork?” He punched his older brother in the arm.
“Nothing,” Paul said, smiling. “I’m just glad to see you bro.” And Luke gave Paul a weird look and decided the only sensible response was to shove him. “Come on!” He shouted and wobbled towards the water as fast as his oversized finned feet could carry him. The three brothers splashed and played in the waves with their Dad as Mom watched and laughed from the beach.
After a while, too short a time for Paul, Mom called out to them. “Ok boys, time to come build a sand castle.”
Luke, Wade, and Paul laughed and pushed each other as they raced to the beach, each boasting they would build the better castle. Dad walked up as the boys grabbed their plastic sand tools.
“Boys, come here for a moment.” The boys, eager to build, whined but lined up in front of their Dad nonetheless. “We are all going to build the same castle today.” The boys groaned. “Now, now, listen here. We are a family and we are going to use our gifts to help one another.” He looked at each son individually in his familiar, deliberate way. “You boys understand?” The three looked at each other. Paul was the one to speak up. He was the oldest and had always been the trio’s spokesperson when they were growing up.
“We understand Dad. Let’s build!” And Paul, a kid again with the worries of the world far from his mind, set to work on a great sand bridge. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to build the bridge but build he did. He used a bucket to craft sand over three great arches, delicately carving sand crenellations and placing seaweed gargoyles. When the boys agreed they were finished, the three of them stood back to marvel at their accomplishment.
“See boys, look what wonders you can create when you put your minds together,” Dad said. The boys smiled proudly. “Now come on. Let’s get a picture.” Dad pulled out a big Polaroid camera and took a few shots with the grinning boys standing behind their castle. “Now why don’t the three of y’all look underneath the arches of that bridge?” Paul and his brothers jostled and pushed to be the first one in position.
“Cheese!” The boys sang in unison. Dad snapped the photo and Paul and his brothers ran to see the result. An eight year old Wade said, “Ah cool!” but Paul stopped cold when he saw the picture. It was the beach portrait from ’97 that hung in their living room as kids. Suddenly he became dizzy, swaying on his feet.
Where am I? What is this place? I must be dead. I shouldn’t be here.
“Paul.” Mom said. “Paul, Paul, Paul…” She repeated. “Yes Momma?” Paul asked, turning to his mother. She stared at him with a blank look, void of any emotion.
“Mom?”
Paul looked back to his brothers and to his Dad but they were gone. He ran a few feet down the beach, stomping through their sand castle. “Dad? Luke? Wade?” He screamed their names but they were nowhere in sight. Just off shore, a lightning strike blasted the water. The gentle waves turned to crashing white caps. Hurricane force winds swept away the remainder of their carefully constructed sand castle.
“Paul, Paul, Paul…” Mom spoke his name in a haunting monotone. Paul glanced back to her with tears in his eyes but she just stood there, chanting his name. Paul gazed in horror as her eyes were sucked through their own irises. The black holes, where his beautiful Mother’s eyes once were, grew larger and larger. He screamed but without sound. The stark darkness devoured the rest of his mother cutting a hole through the beach and the torrential storm around him.
“Paul, Paul, Paul…”
In the void he saw the destroyed windshield of a flipped Cadillac. The hurricane drowned away and he heard the cicadas singing their lonely songs from the tree tops. The sound of water returned but this was slow and gentle like a running stream. A woman’s face appeared upside down in front of him. She had disheveled brunette hair. A smear of red lipstick ran down her cheek. Dried blood decorated her forehead.
No…
Paul wanted to stay on the beach with his brothers forever.
“Paul, Paul, Paul…” Danielle screamed.
Paul shook his head and looked around. There was a tight pain in his chest. He was dangling upside down in the driver seat of Danielle’s Escalade. “Paul, can you hear me?” She asked.
“No,” Paul stammered.
Danielle placed a trembling hand on his cheek.
“No!” He screamed, jerking his head away. “Take me back!”
Danielle put her hands around his mouth. “Shhh! Shut up! Shut up! Some of those crazy people followed us!”
“Take me back,” Paul pleaded pathetically. Tears formed in his eyes and fell to the roof of the mangled Cadillac. Danielle stared at him in horror.
Finally, when enough of the dream had passed, Paul realized he wasn’t going back. He had woken from a dream into a nightmare. His head throbbed and his body ached. Paul reached for his seat belt and fell with an unceremonious crash to the roof of the Cadillac. As he crawled out, his survival instinct, honed in the life or death environment of Bexar County Corrections, took hold. A bright moon shone broken white rays of light through the branches of the dark trees. A swerving path of destroyed foliage and undergrowth lay in the wake of the battered Cadillac. The hill that had launched them into the air stood looming behind, an impossible distance away.
Danielle lunged at him desperately, the frantic fear on her face startled him. Paul hugged her shaking body as he ran a hand through her hair. “It’s going to be okay,” h
e mumbled while scanning their surroundings. “Everything is going to be okay.”
She mumbled something incoherent and started sobbing hysterically. “Calm down Danielle.” Paul took her to arm’s length and shook her shoulders. “You have to calm down and focus.”
The wind cut eerily through the tree tops. The distant sound of gunfire had subsided slightly but the screams and crashes of metal had not. The sound of rushing water persisted. No more than fifty yards away he guessed, but impossible to tell in which direction. The unmistakable smell of wood burning came with the wind yet he saw no flames. Unsure of how else to comfort his hysterical companion, who was clawing her plastic nails into his back, Paul kissed Danielle gently on the forehead. “Listen sweetheart. I have a plan but we have to get moving...”
“Oh great!” Danielle interrupted, her earlier caution forgotten.
He put a big hand over her mouth. “Quiet!” he said. There was rustling in the bushes on the other side of the wrecked S.U.V. He thought he heard heavy mouth breathing. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as an instinctual feeling of danger overwhelmed him.
Danielle jerked her head away. “Don’t even go there with me!”
There it was again. Paul scanned their dark surroundings. Unfamiliar shadows shifted everywhere. The woods were alive. They were not alone.
“I spent God knows how long trying to wake you up, scared shitless, and did I mention we almost just fucking died!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Paul snapped. He grasped around in the undergrowth.
Danger near. DANGER NEAR.
“The fucking army was shooting at us,” she screamed, twisting away from Paul’s grasp. The smell of fire grew stronger. “I got ejected from a vehicle!” She paced back and forth now. Paul heard the unmistakable swishing sound of human legs, running. Paul’s body shot full of adrenaline when he saw a black clad soldier skid around the side of the Cadillac. The man had labored and raspy breathing, reminding Paul of someone trying to breathe with liquid in their mouth. The remnants of army issued equipment hung loosely from his body. A sickening gash on his forehead oozed dark blood. Danielle had her back to the man. He lunged for her.
