by Roger Hayden
The room looked like some kind of lab. There were lights everywhere, hanging over black countertops sitting in rows like some high school chemistry class. There were microscopes, freezers, test tubes, scales, and medical tools lying about—sharp tools: surgical saws, scalpels, and small, circular electronic cutters. A stereo in the back was playing light rock music. Aside from the medical equipment, everywhere she looked there were corpses.
The room was filled with wheeled gurneys—some openly displaying bodies, and some with bodies zipped in black body bags. It could have been a coroner’s lab, but nothing about the mutilated bodies conveyed the idea that these were conventional autopsies. It was quite the opposite. Veronica covered her mouth in shock and gagged as a sickness clutched her stomach.
Two torsos—a man and a woman—lay on the table in front of her, covered up to the neck with a small blue sheet. On the next counter over, the severed head of a man sat in a petri tub with wires coming out of his head connected to electric modules. At the end of each wire were long needles that had been inserted through his skull into his brain.
The skin of another body had been completely peeled away, leaving only the red muscle. The more Veronica looked around, the more terrified she felt. She couldn’t take another minute in the room and turned to go. Just as she was about to run as fast as she could from that horrific place, she heard footsteps outside, heading right for the very room she was in.
She looked at the grotesque displays surrounding her and desperately searched for somewhere to hide. There was a bolt on the door from the inside and she quickly locked it. The handle on the door jiggled, and she ran to the far right corner of the room, past the countertops and to a large filing cabinet. She squeezed into a space between the wall and cabinet and waited.
The door unlocked and swung open. She peered out from the side of the cabinet and could see two men enter, both dressed in white medical gowns, like doctors. They walked into the room, holding small brown paper bags and chatting up a storm. Veronica hadn’t seen the men before; they looked different from most people at the base. But there was a reason their faces were new to her.
Dr. Kagan and Dr. Costa, former CDC representatives, had primarily lived underground since the beginning of the mutiny, with free rein to conduct their experiments. They had promised Bill Hodder and his men that they could discover a cure for Ebola, or at least a breakthrough treatment; so confident were they in their abilities.
However, time had passed and their research had shifted to other, more unconventional experiments that had nothing to do with Ebola whatsoever. Soon their surgeries and autopsies didn’t seem to have much scientific merit, but nonetheless, Hodder frequently sent them fresh test subjects, some alive and some dead. There was no doubt that the time spent underground had had an unexpected effect.
“Did you lock the door?” asked the skinny balding man, whose name was Dr. Kagan. His counterpart, Dr. Costa, the heavier man with a ponytail, shook his head.
“No, I didn’t, did you?”
“Well, someone did.”
“How many times have you locked yourself out of this room?” Costa said. He held up three fingers. “Three fingers. Count ‘em.”
The men set their paper bags on the only clean table in the room, well away from their “experiments.” Arms, legs, and ligaments were lined up in clear bags at the last long counter directly in front of Veronica. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched the two men empty the contents of their brown sacks onto the table. She saw a sandwich and a pack of crackers fall out of each bag. The doctors then unwrapped their sandwiches and dug in.
“You know, if we don’t start showing Hodder some results, we’re going to lose certain privileges," Dr. Kagan said, talking with his mouth full.
“What privileges are those, exactly?” Dr. Costa said. “You call this job a privilege?”
“These turkey sandwiches, for starters,” Kagan answered. “They don’t grow on trees.”
“Well, if I gotta slice up one more perfectly fine-looking cadaver for signs of Ebola, I’m gonna scream.”
“Patience, my friend, we’re on the cusp of a medical breakthrough. I can feel it,” Kagan said.
Suddenly, a voice called out to them from the shadows. “The only thing you’re going to feel is a bullet through your head.”
The two doctors dropped their sandwiches and looked over to the side where Veronica stood, aiming a pistol at them. Dr. Kagan was first to put his arms in the air. Costa soon followed.
“What do you want?” Kagan asked.
Without further hesitation, Veronica pulled the trigger and shot him in the head. The bullet burst through his skull and his body collapsed against the table and onto the floor. Costa jumped back and began choking on the food that was still in his mouth. He struggled to breathe, chew, and swallow at the same time. Losing air, he hacked until the chunk of moist warm bread and turkey flew from his mouth.
“Please. Don’t shoot me,” Costa said, breathing heavily and trembling.
“Where am I?” Veronica said.
Costa looked confused. “Base 42?”
“I mean this room! What have you been doing to these people?”
Costa didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he could explain it. Where would he begin? “This is our research lab. We’ve been trying to develop a cure for Ebola.”
Veronica inched closer. “Last time they moved me from my cell, they put a blindfold on me, but I know that we’re underground. How do I get out of here? How do I get above ground?
Costa’s arm shook as he pointed in the direction where she had come in. “T-take the stairs up. Go down the hall, take another set of stairs up, and you’re outside.”
“Where are the guards?”
“They’re posted at the door. You can only get out with a code. I don’t know what you plan on doing, and I don’t care. Just don’t kill me, please.”
“Last question. Are these the only holding cells on base?”
Costa thought for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure of it. There’s only two underground bunkers. The other one is for supply storage and the armory.”
Veronica lowered her pistol. “Very well.” She began to walk away. “You stay in your little room of horrors and stay out of my way, and I won’t hurt you. I just want to get out of here.” She pointed her pistol at him. “Got it?”
Costa recoiled against the wall with his hands outstretched defensively. “Yes, yes! I got it.”
Dr. Kagan’s body remained slumped on the floor. She started to walk toward the door again when something caught her eye on one of the medical tables. It was something small and fragile. She approached the table as Costa inched along the wall, looking like he was prepared to run away. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was the body of a young boy. His chest cavity had been crudely torn open and his organs had been removed.
A heart, lungs, and bladder sat in small dishes circling the boy’s body. His pale blue skin indicated an empty vessel. His eyes were closed and he looked at peace. Next to the boy was a clipboard with documents affixed to it. She picked it up and read from it.
“Sedative experiment failed. Subject expired 11:47 a.m. Results inconclusive. Will examine mass density of organs to reach conclusion of mythos surrounding healthy eating among children.”
She dropped the clipboard to the ground in disgust and looked over to Costa. He stood petrified against the wall, shaking.
“It’s not what you think. The boy was ill. We were trying to save him. We didn’t know he was allergic to a particular barbiturate. It was a mistake!”
Veronica raised her pistol without saying a word.
“We didn’t know! Please!”
In the middle of his pleading, she fired a single shot. He never said another word.
Cell Block
With three bodies in her wake, Veronica was on a mission. In her sneakers and jumpsuit, she ran up the dark stairwell up to the holding cell area. As she ascended the winding s
teps, her mind counted her remaining pistol rounds: six rounds, two fired; four rounds left. It was simple math, but she wanted to be sure. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the top of the stairs.
Once she reached the door leading into the holding cells, she paused and listened. No movement could be heard. Her hand slowly pushed the door open into an empty hall. The cells along the walls intrigued her.
How many other people were they holding?
It would take some time to figure out which one Greg was in, if he was even here at all. Arbitrarily opening each door posed its share of risks as well. Veronica hesitated. For a moment she stood there, in the middle of the hallway, with no clue what to do. Her only option, it seemed, would be to start at any door and go down the line.
The doors were each covered in a thick green paint, chipped in spots. She started at the last door to her left. She knocked and called Greg’s name. There was no immediate answer. She knocked again and moved to the next door.
She tried the second door and heard the unfamiliar voice of a man. It was a scraggly, desperate voice that begged for help.
“Who’s there? Please let me out of here! I can’t see a thing!”
She moved onto the next door and heard the muffled voice of a woman. “Release me, you bastards!” the woman shouted.
At the next door over she heard nothing and was getting discouraged and desperate. Time was of the essence, and if she didn’t find Greg soon, they would surely die, especially after Hodder and his men discovered what she had done. The next room was hers, and she needn’t waste a minute finding out what was in there. She moved to the next door over and knocked.
“Greg, Greg!” she said, in the loudest voice she could manage above a whisper. She heard nothing and pushed on, only then hearing a faint voice call out her name. She turned and rushed back to the door, nearly falling over along the way.
“Greg, is that you?”
“Veronica?” the voice shouted. Greg. She almost fell to her knees. Of all places, they had put Greg in a cell next to hers. Had she known he was on the other side of the wall, she would have called out to him earlier. She pounded on the door.
“Greg! I can’t believe it. Hold on!” With the key ring dangling in her hand, she flipped through the door keys—all twenty of them—and tried the first one. It was frustrating to say the least.
“I’m going to get you out of there,” she said, glancing constantly to the end of the hall where she expected Hodder’s men to storm through at any moment.
The keys weren’t numbered or labeled in any way, but she had faith that she would find the right one in time. Her nervous fumbling didn’t help though.
“What’s happening?” Greg shouted.
Her thin black hair hung in her face as she frantically went from key to key, fitting each one in the hole and turning it. On the tenth try, she heard a click and turned the handle. Ecstatic, she swung the door open and rushed in, leaving the keys still hanging in the doorknob.
With the lights on in the room, Greg was lying on a wooden slab attached to the white walls in the corner of the room. He was tied at his wrists and ankles with thick zip-ties. His badly beaten face shocked her. He had purple bruises from forehead to chin, a swollen eye, and dried, crusted blood under his nose. She was appalled at the sight, frightened and angered at the same time.
“What did they do to you?” she said, rushing over to him.
He took one look at her face and thought the same thing. Her cheeks were swollen and her right eye was half shut. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, shocked at the other’s appearance.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Veronica said. “I managed to escape from my cell, but we don’t have much time.”
Greg held up his bound hands. “They got me hog-tied at the moment. Do you have anything that can cut this?”
Veronica looked around the room in haste. It was an empty white room with a portable toilet and sink just like hers. An idea flashed across her mind. She didn’t like it, but it was the only way.
“I know of a place, but it’s downstairs. I’ll be right back,” she said, running off.
“Veronica!” Greg shouted. But she was already gone. She closed his door and yanked out the keys just in case. Her legs ran at a speed unknown to her since running on the high school track team.
Racing down the hall, her vision got blurry and she became light-headed. She couldn’t stop no matter what. She made it down the winding stairs and entered the room of horrors, looking just as she had left it. She turned away from the bodies on the operating tables and grabbed the first scalpel she saw, then bolted back up the stairs with no desire to ever see that room again.
Greg lay in the room, squinting at the overhead lights. His heart pounded in anticipation of Veronica’s return as well as fear for her safety. He couldn’t believe that she had managed to escape. He didn’t know all the details, but he knew there wasn’t much time. Their only chance for escape and survival was to wage an all-out assault on Hodder and his men. Those men didn’t intend to let him and Veronica leave the place alive; that much he knew.
He heard the keys jingle outside the door and felt himself heave a sigh of relief. Veronica rushed back into the room holding a scalpel in her shaky hand.
“Easy there,” Greg said. He held his wrists out. “Take a minute to breathe and focus.”
“OK, I got this,” she said, leaning down. She placed the scalpel over the zip-tie and dug into it with a quick sawing motion. The thick plastic split and Greg’s wrists came apart.
“Awesome,” he said. “I’ll get my ankles.” He held his hand out for the scalpel and Veronica handed it to him. With one cut, he was free. He noticed the 9mm in the side pocket of her jumpsuit.
“Where’d you get that?”
Veronica looked down. “I got it from one of the guards. He… Well, let’s just say I won.”
Greg asked no more. He didn’t even think he wanted to know. He stood up from the wooden slab and tried to regain his equilibrium. His legs were wobbly and he nearly fell into Veronica. She caught him and he found his balance. In that moment, they wrapped their arms around each other and clung together without moving.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Veronica said as her eyes welled up. She moved her head from his shoulder and kissed him on the lips, taking Greg completely by surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“It’s, uh. It’s quite all right.”
She looked into his swollen eyes. They made her feel safe again. To Greg, her gray eyes were like an oasis. She passionately pressed her lips against his again, breathing heavily. This time he kissed her back. Then for a moment he just held her, rubbing his palm over her back, a kind of reassurance that they were going to be OK.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for getting me out of here.”
“Thank you for trying to rescue me,” she replied. “I’m sorry—”
Greg held his hand against her cheek. “No. No apologies.”
They stepped away from each other and began to strategize. Veronica’s pistol had four rounds in it; not nearly enough to take on Hodder’s army. Greg had heard of an underground armory from Joel. Veronica had heard the same from one of the doctors who had met his own fate at her hands. They both agreed that the key to any victory over Hodder relied on getting into the armory.
“There’s other people locked in these cells,” Veronica said. “I don’t know how many in all, but we can build our numbers. Give us a fighting chance.”
Greg was apprehensive about the idea. “We don’t know them. We don’t even know why they’re locked up.”
“We need them!” Veronica said, pacing. “They’re probably in here for the same reason we are: awaiting some ridiculous trial at the hands of these madmen.”
“I met a man we can trust,” Greg said. “I gave him and his family two rifles I stole from some guards. That gives us something.�
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Veronica opened her mouth, ready to object. Greg held up his hand. “I’m not discounting any of these people locked up. I’m just saying that we need to be careful.”
“The clock is ticking, Greg. How long before another guard comes waltzing in here wondering what happened to his partner?”
“We move now. You have the keys ready?”
Veronica rolled her eyes and put her hands over her face. “I left them in the door. I can’t believe it.”
“It’s OK,” Greg assured her. “Let’s get our heads straight and get ready.”
Veronica suddenly rushed into his arms again. He held her gently. “We can do this,” he said. “I know we can.”
***
Bill Hodder walked across the stage overlooking the public square—his favorite place to be. It was where he felt he held the most power. Microphone in hand, he spoke endlessly to the people lined up in rows as his men conducted headcount checks. They had come up a few short. Anyone not present was immediately flagged.
Hodder was confident of the men he had guarding the bunkers, even the CDC researchers he rarely saw. Those people didn’t concern him. At the top of his wanted list was Joel’s family and the Freeman couple. A search of the base hadn’t yielded any results, which infuriated Hodder, but he knew that eventually he would run them down. He kept the tired crowd out under the hot sun to the point of exhaustion.
“If anyone can give me information on the whereabouts of Joel Carson, Jordan Carson, Ruby Carson, Rosie Carson, and Rhianna Carson, please let me know. I’m also looking for an elderly couple you may be familiar with, Dolores and Pat Freeman. The sooner we find these people, the sooner you can all go back to your living quarters.”
From below the stage, overlooking the crowd, Marcus stood next to Specialist Santos. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “He really knows how to drag things out lately.”
Santos looked at him but he was hard to read, given the thick sunglasses concealing his eyes. “I hear ya’. We could be out here all damn night. He better hurry up, I got some tail to get with later.”
