The Trace Trilogy (Book 1): The Wretched

by R. James Faulkner

  The guard with a mustache spit in his face, the cockeyed one punched him in the groin, both slapped at his face until the doctor arrived. He could hear the man talk to someone in a hushed voice, and the black-haired snake showed its yellow teeth.

  “And how do you feel?”

  Frank stared into the black eyes, hoping to glean a clue from them. He watched as the needle pierced his vein and tried not to let it have control over him. Another face replaced the doctor’s, clean-shaven and shiny, with a chin that reminded him of an ass crack. The man wore the black uniform, the same one from the first day they arrived. The man spoke and filled the room with his stern tone.

  “Can you hear me?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I am Major Rose. What is your name?”

  Frank felt the heat in his arm, the room became smaller with a sudden collapse inward and pushed the air from his lungs. He gripped the ends of the armrest as the world tipped over again.

  “What is your name?”

  Frank tried to stop himself, but he yelled aloud a reflexive response. He said, “Frank.”

  The doctor was back in his view and held each eyelid open to check his pupils.

  “Good,” he said. “He’s trying to fight against it. Not unexpected, but still, very exciting.”

  “Your real name?” the major said.

  “Franklin.”

  “Good. Now your last name?”

  Frank laughed, hysterical and involuntary. He said, “That is my last name.”

  “What is your full name?”

  “Fuck you, you ass faced—”

  The screams started, the uncontrollable, ear-splitting, throat seizing screams. Hours went by as they questioned him. They asked of Little Rock, how long he lived there, how long he lived in Memphis, what his wife’s maiden name was. The major punched him more than once before he left the room.

  Waves of nausea, fire on his flesh, it was cyclical and did not end. When one feeling would stop, another would take its place. It lasted for too long, he started to black out again. He could hear the doctor speak as he faded.

  “Yes…take us back…to that day…”

  His wife, their first kiss, first time sleeping together, the way she looked on the day he proposed to her. The smell of the perfume she always wore. Her laugh was soft, lingering, and feminine. Her face, the way her eyes glowed under the moonlight in the clear night air of Hawaii. The way she cried on their anniversary. Her smile, he loved her smile, until it happened.

  That day, that goddamn day, the sound she was making. The way she looked when he found her.

  “Yes.”

  The way she mutilated herself and the way she appeared to him. Her smile as she went back to the mirror.

  “Yes.”

  The smell from the oven, it called to him. He did not want to see. He never should have opened the oven.

  “Yes.”

  Then he saw what he did not want to see, but his mind was just too goddamn curious. Then he saw it as it was. And then he—

  “Yes?”

  “Get out of my head,” Frank said.

  He screamed and continued to scream until he had no more energy to do so. His body shuddered on the chair.

  “Go back to that day, to the oven.” The doctor stood away from the light, hiding in the shadows, his hand wrote as he spoke. “What did you see?”

  “Let me go.”

  “If I do that, why, you would not be cured.” His yellow smile grew larger as he leaned in.

  “From what?”

  Frank cried tears that served no purpose, his body shuddered with violent jerking motions. Doctor Wilson bent forward and hung his head under the light, his expression was of feigned concern.

  “The sickness out there, in the world, the plight we face today. You see?” He patted his thin hand on Frank’s chest. “Some people can get a shot to vaccinate them from the sickness. And others, such as yourself.” He stepped from the table to pace the room. “The sickness is not just viral. No, no it’s much deeper than that. Why, it is lodged within the brain, a form of psychosomatic reserve. Until we pull out the seed, it will only grow back.”

  “You’re crazy.” Frank wept as he saw another syringe in the doctor’s bony fingers.

  “We have to peel the onion, Frank. Get to its core, to the nature of the cause. Then we can treat the condition.” He smiled as he gave more liquid to Frank’s resisting blood stream. “Because, any good doctor knows, the condition is worth the cure.”

  His muscles seized, fiery droplets of molten lead fell on his skullcap, and he could not close his eyes. The shock waves of his own treacherous heartbeat pounded in his ears. He wanted death, he begged for death, anything to make it stop. The droning tone of the doctor assaulted his ears, the foul stench of his breath made his nauseated. The doctor was an inch or two from Frank’s face. He grasped Frank’s checks and pushed his thumbs into the soft flesh.

  “Then tell me, what did you see? What did you do?”

  The hours ground themselves against Frank’s skull, seconds felt like eternities. He was not aware when they placed him on the bunk. His eyelids cracked open and he saw the olive green knitting. He touched the smooth fabric and called out for Angela. The sweet mercy of sleep took him away for short spells until he saw her figure standing there in the hallway and he would wake.

  When they made him drink, he threw it up again. The guards beat him and give him more to drink. After they decided he had enough, they left him to crawl back onto his bunk. His body was too weak to pull himself up. A pair of hands lifted him to the mattress.

  Frank tried to sleep, but his body refused to become calm. He put his hands over his face to stop his eyes from opening. His mind sulked over his treatment and he thought about Angela.

  She was the one who wanted to come here, not me. That bitch. If I see her again…I should have left her, never should have went back. Never.

  “Did you find out what he wanted to know?” the stranger asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No.”

  Frank lifted his head form the thin mattress to look at the man, and there, in all his tormenting glory, was Theo. Frank jerked his head backward and put his hands over his eyes. The sight of the dead man scared him, it dredged up the memories he wanted purged from his mind.

  “It’s all right. Brent won’t hurt you.”

  Frank peeked past his fingers. He blinked several times to be sure his eyes were clear. Theo had vanished and before him was another man. The man who called himself Brent held up his hands for Frank to see he was not a threat. All but two fingers on each hand were missing. Brent noticed the way Frank looked at his amputated digits and he nodded his head.

  “He took one a day until I told him. Guess you can figure out how many that was. One each day until I screamed it for the whole world to hear. Did you hear it?” Brent laughed and wiggled his remaining fingers in the air.

  “No,” Frank said. He shook his head while he looked at the nubs of the missing fingers. “What was it?”

  “I left my family behind when they said the disease was in our town.” Brent smiled to himself, lost in his memories. “I was already so scared, for months they kept warning it, kept saying it was coming. Saying how bad it was. And then, they said someone in our town had it, and I went towards home as fast as I could drive. But I was so damn scared. I saw the turn for our street, and I couldn’t bring myself to make the turn. I drove past. I told myself, they probably already had it. I just kept driving. I’ve regretted that every day since. I left them to suffer alone. I left them to die…I told myself they already had it…”

  Frank watched the man speak. Tears fell from Brent’s eyes. His body quivered as he wept. He stood and walked back to the cover of his shadowy corner.

  “Maybe they did,” Frank said, in an attempt to comfort him.

  Brent dove from the darkness. He grabbed Frank’s shirt and shook him. He said, “They hadn’t le
ft the house in two damn months. I went to find some baby formula and…and…”

  Frank tried to remove the man’s grip on his shirt. He was surprised Brent could hold on so tight. Brent released him and sat on the floor with a sudden heaviness, propping up beside the bunk. His head hung and let out a loud sigh.

  “Did you know, this disease, it doesn’t just infect you? It doesn’t just make you sick. It feeds on you. It eats your mind.” Brent tapped his temple with his middle finger and looked at Frank. He wiped his tears away with the back of his other hand. “It eats away at everything that makes you human. And when it’s done, with all it can do to your mind, it eats your soul. Even if you aren’t the one who is infected, it corrupts the soul by what you have to endure. We are all witnessing the eating of souls, the last supper on earth. God has abandoned us. He has abandoned me…”

  Frank sat forward on the bunk. His head swam and left him disoriented for several seconds. He patted Brent on the shoulder.

  “Do you know another way out?”

  “No, the only way out is through that door.” Brent pointed to the metal door.

  “This used to be a parking garage right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how’d they get the cars in?” Frank said. “They damn sure didn’t drive through that door they lock.” Frank pointed into the darkness, toward the back of the chamber. “There’s a way out back there. I’m going to find it.”

  Brent stood and laughed. He said, “Don’t you think someone would have found it by now?”

  “Not if they never tried. Hell, everyone in here is too afraid to fucking move.”

  A loud pulsing siren sounded, Frank looked toward Brent for an explanation. The door swung open, and several guards walked in with rifles. One of them beat on the bottom of an empty metal wastebasket with his baton.

  “It’s hygiene day,” Brent said. “They carry us to the showers. We bathe and they get their kicks beating on us, or worse. This place is run by perverts and sodomites.” Brent shook his head.

  “Get in line,” the guard said. “Get in the line or we’ll beat your ass into the line.”

  All of the people able to walk gathered in a single file line. Brent motioned for Frank to follow and both joined the end of the line. They flowed into the stairwell, traveled one floor up, and entered a large community shower. Frank stood under the cold water to wash himself. He could not help but see the dozens of disfigured men and women around him. Not a single person was whole, all were missing a body part or two. The doctor had been busy.

  Once Frank finished shivering under the cold spray of the showerhead, he was marched back to the bunks by a narrow-headed guard. When he stepped past the threshold, the door locked behind him. He took his opportunity and walked as fast as he could into the darkness, feeling his way by hand until he his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The metal door opened, he froze, and waited as they let in another person. When the door shut, he continued his expedition farther into the darkened passage.

  He reached the back wall and moved along it until he came to a wooden barrier. His fingers felt across it until he found the edge. He tested it and pulled at it to see if it would slide. When it did not, he pushed at it, changing after that failed, and tried to pull outward. He slid his hands above and felt no purchase. As his fingers moved down the wood, a small pinprick of light shone on his hand.

  Frank fell to his knees and put his eye to the hole. He could see an empty street at the end of a concrete ramp. His fingers felt around the pinhole, he pushed, and the entire bottom moved out. He was flooded with light, his reaction was to dive through and run. His heartbeat and breathing had quickened. He stopped himself and pulled the board back into place, casting his body back into darkness.

  He pulled his knees to his chin and fought to keep quiet as he cried. It was right there before him. He had found a way to freedom, the way from definite torture, but he could not leave. He was not willing to because of her.

  Goddamn me. Why? Would she do the same? Maybe not, most likely not. No, she wouldn’t. Never…But I will for her.

  He lifted his body from the floor, hurried back toward his bunk as the door opened, and he saw Brent shoved headfirst to the hard concrete. The guard laughed as he shut the door and the sound of it locking filled the chamber. Frank smiled, the sound did not seem so threatening now that he knew the truth. The guards were locking themselves in.

  He helped Brent up, walked beside him, and followed him to his shadowed corner. He waited for the man to sit down before he got close to him so no one would hear.

  “Brent,” Frank said. “Will you be willing to escape if I knew a way out?”

  “Yes, sure I would, but how?”

  “Don’t worry about it just yet. When I tell you, you have to be ready. We’ll only get one try. After that…” Frank nodded toward the metal door.

  Brent scowled, watching the man as he spoke, unsure if Frank could be trusted.

  “Your weakest moment is the one before you learn the truth,” Frank said.

  He spoke as if he were back in his office counseling a client. It was a pleasant sounding lie, one he had used often enough. It gained the results he sought, and that is all that mattered to him back then and now.

  He lay on his bunk and looked at the metal wire support above his head. He had to find Angela and get her out. They had a beach to find, one with a ton of fish to catch.

  “I want to go with you.” The raspy voice from the shadows told him. It was followed by a lingering laugh.

  29

  Angela woke from a strange dream. Her head seemed dulled by a haze of medication. She stayed on the bed and looked at the pitted pattern of the ceiling tile. The dreams, evil and fitful dreams, made her feel unsettled. It seemed as if she was drunk, far too drunk to control herself, but not quite unconscious. Her body could remember the feeling, the touching, of a tongue.

  She thought about it some time, it felt too real, it was too intense to be a nightmare. Her hand went to her thighs, and she realized she no longer wore panties. She stood, swaying about, and managed to keep herself upright as she walked to the small bathroom. With the dim bulb lit overhead, she had a look at her face. There were still light remains of the bruises and her cuts were healing. She checked her wrists, saw the wounds with tender pink flesh on the borders, the beginnings of scars hidden under the bandages. Angela realized the gravity of the situation. The doctor had lied to her. He was not treating her. The man was drugging her.

  She was a sedated victim, an unwilling party, helpless to what was happening. Angela stumbled back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, resting while she gathered her strength.

  The girl, what about the girl? Where had she gone? How long?

  Angela did not see her on the bed across from her. She could not even remember the last time she saw her. Days had passed.

  How many?

  She did not know. The world was a blur of sleep, injections, and more sleep. She wondered about Frank and if he was even alive. He was only there because she asked him to bring her. The responsibility was all on her.

  Sounds of footsteps drew nearer. She got back under the sheet and pretended to be asleep. The doctor made a rapid entrance, always in a hurry, and flipped through his handful of loose pages as he stood by her bed. A prick of a needle in her veins and the world was alive with sudden vigor. Her body wanted to move, she wanted to leap from the bed, and her heartbeat fluttered under her ribcage. She opened her eyes and saw his hand place the syringe next to a small vial on the bedside table. She knew what was in the tiny glass bottle, epinephrine, he wanted her to be wide-awake. He lifted the head of the bed as she trembled, the medicine had her senses heightened, and she was more than aware.

  He was not alone, the man in the black uniform stood stiffly at attention and glared at her. Two of the guards stood behind him with their bodies also held at attention. The doctor removed his thick lens glasses and walked around the room casually, his mouth sucked at the earpie
ce with focused intent.

  “You say you are from Memphis?” He stopped walking and studied her with a stern frown.

  “Yes.”

  The doctor stepped once toward her. He said, “Your husband, or so you say he is, told us that he is from Little Rock.”

  Angela smiled, nervous, her mind raced in circles. “Yes, he was, before we were married.”

  “Funny you should also mention your marriage.”

  The doctor nodded to the large man standing behind him. Major Rose coughed, and Angela noticed he had his hand on his sidearm. His fingers were firm on the grip. She watched as a sly grin come across his square-jawed face.

  “See, he told Major Rose that he did not know your maiden name. What kind of husband doesn’t even recall his own wife’s maiden name?” The doctor slammed his papers down onto the empty bed.

  “A typical one,” Angela said. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

  The impact of knuckles against her eye socket, the flush of disorientation, followed by the wave of pain was swift and caught her unaware. She almost fell from the bed, but his strong crushing grip on her arm pulled her back upright. Her mind rattled, the major held her arm and raised his other hand back up for another blow.

  “Wait,” the doctor said. He held up his bony hand to stop the major. “She needs to understand. Wrong answers beget pain. Right answers cultivate trust.”

  Her eye began to swell shut. She turned her head as the thick fingers loosened from her left arm. Angela saw the small vial and needle on the table as she held her face in her hand. If only she could get the bottle. It would be of use later on. She averted her eyes from it, hoping none of them would notice.

  “Where did you come from?” The man in black asked as he resumed his static pose.

  “Memphis.”

  “With your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  Major Rose leaned down to make sure he was in her eyesight. He said, “And what the hell is your last name? The one you share with your husband?”