“It’s okay,” Robert said. “False alarm. They just want to speak with you.”
The soldiers relaxed, as did Katy and Forrest. Dr. Terry, on the other hand, puffed out his chest, jabbed his cane into the floor, and marched down the hall with a stern expression etched on his wrinkled flesh. “And I with them,” he said. “It’s time we get that grid up, that the ruling body starts treating us like everyone else…”
The meeting lasted for more than an hour. It was tense at first, as the good doctor accused the general of favoring the rank-and-file over civilians, of lacking communication skills and a proper leadership structure. He expressed concern over the laws set in place, wondering whether aspects of the original US Constitution had been carried over into this “new” United States, causing the general to first wince, then dive into his plan for reorganization of the people and reconstitution of laws, attempting to fix the aspects of the original makeup he and his colleagues felt to be lacking. (This was news to Robert, for whom the Warrior’s Creed was the only document containing a set of rules and regulations he’d seen in his five months with the SNF.) Apparently comforted by this information, Dr. Terry continued, this time reading a list of complaints from his people, covering everything from defense boundaries to unsanitary conditions to quality of food to concerns over whether an education system would be in place for the younger residents to the segregation of a good number of their party. Eventually his ranting died down.
When it was Bathgate’s turn, he talked slowly, articulating every word, answering every complaint and accusation Dr. Terry hurled at him. He remained calm the entire time, never once raising his voice, and Robert stood in awe of the man. He really did have everything under control. And to think there had been moments where he’d questioned the man’s credentials.
At the end, Bathgate stood and shook the three visitors’ hands. A grin spread across his lips after he gave Katy a peck on the cheek, a peck she blushed and wrung her hands together after receiving. He motioned for Sergeant Jackson to get the door.
“So, I don’t know how much Bob here has told you,” said the general, “but we’ve been sorely lacking in the medical department for quite some time. We are truly honored to have you here, and I hope to move the lot of you into the city proper in the next week or so.”
“Thank you,” said Dr. Terry. “That is very much appreciated.”
“It is,” Katy reiterated.
Forrest said nothing, just as he hadn’t during the length of the meeting, just standing there were his hands buried in his jeans pockets, lips bent downward and looking a bit doubtful. Robert watched the general’s eyes flick in the old cop’s direction, and then he stepped out from behind his desk.
“In that vein,” he said, “there is an issue I’d like to know if you could answer for me. If you’ve been cooped up in that hotel for so long, you probably didn’t realize that of all the damage that occurred when Wrathchild reached its apex, hospitals took the brunt of it. With all those patients who eventually…changed…overloading the emergency rooms, those were obviously the first places struck. We’ve found virtually nothing of use in them. Every one we’ve come across looks like it’s been scorched from the inside out, including here in Richmond. However, I sent one of our reconnaissance teams to places like Ruckersville and Cumberland recently to pilfer the private medical centers. I guess conditions were better there, but still pretty bad. They ended up bringing back some equipment, most of which I’d have no clue what to call it. They’re stored here, in the City Hall basement. I was wondering if you would do me the favor of looking it over, inform us of whether any of it is useful or not.”
Katy’s eyebrows lifted. “You want us to do this now?”
Dr. Terry stroked his wife’s gray hair, nodded, and looked to the general for an answer.
“Well, yes,” he said. “You’re here already, it’s a good half-hour drive back to the campus, and I’m sure it won’t take more than a few minutes. All I’m looking for is a preliminary opinion, what’s useful to us and what isn’t. We can figure out what works later.”
“Very well,” said Dr. Terry. “Lead the way.”
Bathgate walked off, with Forrest right on his heels. He moved slower than usual, as if making sure to not get too far ahead of the gimpy old doctor. Robert followed behind them, with Jackson behind him. A sweeping sensation of relief washed over him. He’d been so nervous about this meeting, about the danger he’d put himself in, but it turned out that fear was all for naught. Everything was fine—more than fine, actually—and it seemed Forrest was only one who required convincing. But then again he was a cop, just as Robert’s father had been. From experience, he knew they were always the last ones to buy into any theory. Just part of the job, he supposed.
They moved down the hall and descended the rear stairwell—nine steps and turn, nine steps and turn, just like any stairwell in any town hall he’d ever been to. The uniformity of the design made him wonder if, with all the architects and previous residents of these buildings presumably dead, would those who now remained seek to go in a new direction when planning future structures, or cling desperately to designs of the past?
At the bottom of the stairs, the humming fluorescent lights overhead were replaced by silent, old-fashioned, yellow-lighted bulbs. They progressed along a narrow corridor ending at a thick steel door with a small viewing window. Robert swore he heard a strange thumping noise coming from behind the walls, but when he paused to listen—almost causing Jackson to ram into him—it had silenced. He passed it off to the sound of the building settling.
Bathgate seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he pushed on the handle. The door swung inward.
Sparks danced in Robert’s eyes, and the back of his head exploded in pain. People shouting filled his ears, followed by a gunshot. He staggered against the wall, hands flat against its smooth surface, trying to regain his bearings. When the flashes in his vision subsided, he saw Jackson dragging Forrest’s limp form through the doorway into the darkness beyond. A trail of red followed his body across the unpolished linoleum floor. The general stood to the side, his firearm raised, aimed it at the Terrys. Katy had her face buried in her husband’s frail chest while the Doctor scowled and mouthed, I knew it.
A headache spiked behind his eyes, and Robert felt the rear of his skull throb. He gently touched the spot with his fingers. The skin beneath his hair was split and bleeding, and a large knot was beginning to form. Jackson, that bastard, had pistol-whipped him. Grunting, he reached for his own pistol, struggling to unlatch the strap in his dazed state.
“Hands off, Bob,” he heard the general say.
Robert dropped his hands and stared ahead. The Terrys had disappeared into the darkness beyond the door as well, and now Jackson stood there, off to the side, barrel of his rifle trained on him. Robert gulped and stepped back, hoping to run.
Bathgate shook his head and gestured to the door. “No, Bob,” he said. “That’s not the way. Not for you.”
Jackson removed the gun from Robert’s holster and stuffed it in his own belt. Defeated, Robert tossed his head back, did his best to smooth his hair, and walked forward, trying to remain as strong as possible. If prison was what the general had in mind for him, then so be it. Things could’ve ended much worse.
On his way by, as Jackson smirked, the general grabbed his arm. The shorter man yanked him down and whispered into his ear. “I expected better of you, Bob. Remember the Creed. You deserve this. Oh, and the rest of them will get what they deserve, too. I promise you.”
With that, Jackson once again slammed him from behind with the butt of his rifle. Robert staggered, tripped over something, and almost fell flat on his face. The door slammed shut behind him. He regained his balance, bathed in near-complete darkness. He heard sobs in the background, and panting, and something else—something lower, more guttural. Like a growl.
“What the hell?”
Fingers brushed his arm, and he swatted them away. “It is o
nly me,” Dr. Terry said through the black. “I simply wish to thank you, and say I am sorry. We all are.”
“What’re you talking about?”
Katy screamed, as did the Doctor, and a harsh wind stinking of rotten meat blew against Robert’s face. A creature shrieked, and his cheeks were splattered with something warm and wet. Panic heaved through him, and Robert dashed for the door. He slammed into it, pounding his fists and peering through the small window into the hallway beyond, watching Bathgate and Jackson walk away, ignoring his pleas. Jackson nodded at the general, then sprinted up the stairs. The general followed very soon after.
“Don’t leave me here!” Robert shouted. “Come back! I’m sorry! It’ll never happen again! I promise!”
Gnarled, spiky fingers dug into the back of his neck. He felt those fingers snap his collarbone, and then teeth bit into his side. He was jerked away from the door, just as something pierced his stomach. His intestines flopped to the floor with a sickening thump.
Robert Lumley screamed.
-3-
It wasn’t so much the pain, but the repetitive yet inconsistent nature of it, that was slowly driving Marcy insane. She sat on the floor of her room at the University Forest Apartments, knees cradled to her chest, rocking forward and back. She felt like a child again, taking the same position as when she’d sit awake at night, awaiting Percy’s inevitable taunts and advances. But now Percy was gone, and a new horror gripped her. The old demon seemed kind by comparison. At least she knew what she was getting with that one.
The flow of thoughts passing through her brain were constantly in flux, sometimes virtually nonexistent, other times as crowded, busy, and tedious as rush-hour traffic on an eight-lane highway. The latter experiences, when her head felt full to the point it might pop like an overfilled balloon, made the lighter moments that much more stressful. She couldn’t control when the breaks came, and another episode of torment was always just around the corner.
And now she found herself in one of those episodes, listening to the thoughts of others, seeing what they saw, feeling what they felt, experiencing loss, pain, fear, heartache, dismay. It was the worst one yet, made even worse by the fact that she was alone this time. If only Leon had been there with her. Other than a strange occurrence seven days ago, when the voices suddenly stopped for no reason for a span of thirty hours, it was only in his presence, with his comforting hands on her flesh, that she was able to hold them even remotely at bay.
The front door opened, and soft footsteps treaded across the carpeted floor. Swallowing her pain, she struggled to cease her rocking and open her eyes. There he was, Leon, as if answering her prayers, his smooth black skin shimmering in the faint afternoon light.
“Why are you here?” she whispered, barely able to form words.
Leon shrugged. “Don’t know. I just wanted to see how you were. You want me to leave?”
“No.”
He knelt down and placed the back of his hand on her slick forehead.
“Damn, girl, you’re burning up. You should be in bed.”
Marcy nodded. Her throat felt too tight to breathe, let alone speak.
Leon’s strong hands slipped beneath her armpits, clasping behind her back. He lifted her to her feet, grunting while he did so. She wanted to help him, but every time she tried to move another spasm of thought would paralyze her. So instead, Leon slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom. It actually felt good to succumb to the strength of another, and for the first time possibly ever Marcy gave in. The images and notions in her mind withdrew ever so slightly.
Once in the bedroom, Leon gently positioned her on the bed. His face was close to her neck as he did so, and his hot breath against her skin caused goose bumps to rise up on her arms. The voices retreated further. His lips brushed against her cheek when he went to stand up, causing another swell of light, giddy sensations, and the voices drew back even more.
Excitement filled her and she regained use of her extremities. The pounding in her ears became but a dull thud. The blotches before her eyes crammed into the far corners of her vision, allowing her to see the man above her clearly. Leon gazed down on her, a look of confusion on his beautiful face.
Marcy smiled.
Reaching up, she twined her fingers behind his neck and pulled him toward her. She closed her eyes and kissed him, savoring the taste of him, the silky texture of his lips, the bitterness of his breath, the wetness of his tongue. She moved against him with the sort of passion she’d never released before to even the closest of lovers, as if a reservoir of desire had erupted from her center, dousing her entire being. She shivered, caught up in the moment, and all outside stimuli drifted away, save one. She saw herself through Leon’s eyes as her body writhed, heard the pounding of his heart in her ears, felt the rush of blood to his abdomen, listened in on his innermost thoughts. This isn’t right, he was thinking. She is in pain, she is not herself, I would be taking advantage.
Yet the desire he felt for her rose above all else.
“I want this,” she whispered.
He kissed her softly, and something within her snapped. She shuddered and sat up, so quickly that Leon almost fell off the bed. He gawked at her in shock and surprise, but she didn’t care. She was like a wild animal released, the wantonness inside her not letting her rest until it was allowed to roam free. Forcibly placing her palm in the center of his chest, she shoved him down to the bed.
Thrashing like she’d been possessed by a demon, Marcy unbuttoned his belt, yanked off his pants, and grabbed him, hard, where it mattered most. Thoughts and images projected from her, leaping from her head into his. Leon shot up, just as violently as she had, and ripped away her nightgown. Her panties were off her hips and strewn across the room a second later.
She grabbed him by the ears and forced him between her legs. He devoured her like a ravenous beast. His forcefulness hurt, but in a way she wanted. She gritted her teeth, threw her head back, and doused herself in the greed of the moment.
When her body began to tremble out of control, she pushed him back with her legs, then leaned forward, grabbed his arms, and pulled him toward her. Their lips met once more, his glistening and slick, just like her inner thighs.
He entered her, and Marcy howled.
Their flesh collided time and again in rapturous brutality. Leon’s eyes squeezed shut as he plunged into her. His lips peeled back, baring his teeth. Yelping with each thrust, Marcy closed her eyes. Her mind started to drift, floating away from the present and into a place where time ceased to matter. She was in the sky, soaring with the birds, pushing against headwinds that wanted to shove her back into her mortal body. The incorporeal forms of random people appeared, but she passed through them, never stopping, never considering, never caring, until she reached the end of the line—a deep, black void. Nothingness.
She snapped back to reality right in the middle of a whole-body quake. She screamed, and so did Leon. He stiffened inside her. She pressed her lips to his neck and accepted it, the vibrations that shook her body slowly fading. A warbling sigh escaped between her clenched teeth as wetness seeped between her legs. Tears formed in her eyes.
No more alien images perverted her vision, no more chatter overthrew her own thoughts. She’d been set free. She felt relieved.
That relief faded when she looked at her lover, at beautiful Leon. He’d moved from atop her and sat on the far corner of the bed, his underwear dangling in his hand, sweat pouring down his chest. Marcy sat up, leaned forward, and traced her finger down his glossy, muscular back. He shifted away from her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he muttered, not looking at her.
She draped her arms around him from behind, a motion he rejected by frigidly removing them and standing up.
His voice was somber when he asked, “What did I just do?”
“Um, you made love to me.”
“That’s not what I mean. Why did I do it? I didn’t want to
.”
Those words hurt, and Marcy shook her head. “You know what? Fine. Whatever.”
“Oh, don’t you get like that,” he shot back. “You forced me to, didn’t you? And that was not making love. That was…that was…dirty.”
She withdrew, crossing her hands over her bare chest. “But you said you wanted to.”
“I did not.”
She tapped her temple with her finger.
“Oh.”
In that moment, he looked so dejected it was pathetic.
Marcy tried to stand up, wobbled for a bit on shaky legs, and grabbed a towel from the dresser, using it to wipe the sweat and bodily fluids from her belly and thighs. Her insides felt like jelly, but it was a welcomed sensation. She then went to her bag—which she hadn’t really dived into since they arrived—and took out a fresh pair of panties, jeans, and a tank-top.
By the time she finished dressing, Leon had as well. He resumed his position on the corner of the bed, hands clasped in his lap, staring at the floor. Marcy sat down beside him and ran her fingertips along his forearm.
“I feel violated,” he whispered.
She rested her head on his shoulder. He’s right, said her newfound clarity. You took advantage of him, just as he feared doing to you.
“I’m sorry.”
Her chest hitched. Tears of disgrace were close to breaking through her ducts.
Leon’s arm inched its way across her back. He drew her closer and his warmth permeated her, even through their clothing. The steadiness of his heartbeat brought a quickening to hers. She suddenly wished to be naked again, to explore his body and the healing effect sex had on her state of mind.
Instead, she simply accepted his embrace.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It really is.”
“No it’s not,” she replied. “And you’re right, I wanted it, so I made you do it.”
Leon laughed. It was a hearty, calm sound. He took her shoulders in his hands and moved her away from him. His deep brown eyes stared into hers, composed and thoughtful.
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