by Amy Cross
“It's fine,” I mutter, heading around to the rear of the car and looking down once more at the various bags that fell from the trunk earlier. “Just stay focused.”
Grabbing the bags, I start pulling them over to one particular spot. I figure I can sort through them properly and make them ready for when Pickles and the cops arrive, so I crouch down and open the first bag again, just so I can make a mental note of its contents. Shining the flashlight inside, I see several more tins of beans. Just as I'm about to close the bag, however, I spot a zipper on the inside of the top section, and I realize I must have missed a hidden section. I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether this is really my business, but then I slide the zipper open.
I'm gonna show Pickles that I've got initiative. I'm gonna show him that he can really rely on me.
The zippered section turns out to contain a square, flat silver box, a little like a cigar case. It's quite heavy, though, and I think I can feel something moving about inside as I tilt it over. I glance at the car, before reminding myself that it's not like I can actually upset Doctor Charlotte by going through her things. I find the clasp and give it a squeeze, before opening the box.
Inside, there are three small glass vials, each containing some kind of clear liquid. Water, maybe.
“Huh,” I whisper under my breath, squinting as I try to read the tiny writing on one of the labels. “Myro... Myrocillin... Myrocillicorti...”
Sighing, I realize there's no point. Whatever's in these vials, it's a load of scientific mumbo-jumbo and I don't have a hope in heck of getting my head around any of it. I tilt the box, watching as the water sloshes about in the vials, and then I slap the lid shut. I guess this lady is -
Suddenly I hear a brief, loud cracking sound coming from the other end of the car.
I turn and shine my flashlight that way, but the sound has already stopped.
I wait, my heart pounding, although the forest is now completely silent again. Still, I definitely heard a clear cracking sound, so I get to my feet and step around the bags, heading along the car's side. When I reach the front, I shine the flashlight's beam all around, just in case there's anything out there in the forest.
“Hello?” I call out, before realizing that I'm being more than a little jumpy. “Great,” I mutter under my breath. “Now you're talking to yourself, Lucy. How's that for -”
Suddenly I hear the sound again, this time coming from somewhere behind me. I spin around and shine the flashlight toward the wrecked car, but now all I hear is silence again.
“What was that?” I whisper, taking a step closer. A twig breaks beneath my right foot, but I know that's not the kind of sound I heard just now. The sound I heard just now was more of a firm, twisting crunch.
I wait.
Nothing.
And then the sound returns, but slowly this time. I stand completely still, listening to a series of brief, connected cracking sounds that seem to be getting very slightly closer together. Raising my flashlight, I shine the beam directly at the car, and then I take a cautious step forward.
Something's moving inside the car.
A wild animal.
It has to be.
Maybe a badger or a deer, or something dangerous. Great, it'd be just my luck to get mauled on my first night.
“Shoo!” I shout, hoping to scare it away. “Beat it! Whatever you -”
Before I can finish, I realize with a sickening thud in my belly that the sound is definitely coming from inside the car. Edging closer, with the flashlight still aimed at the crumpled door, I brace myself in case some kind of thing suddenly jumps out at me. By the time I get around to the side, however, I'm starting to think that the sound is coming from the driver's seat, from the exact spot where Doctor Charlotte Cole's frozen body came to a rest following the crash.
I'm almost too scared to aim the flashlight directly at her, but finally I force myself. The first thing I notice is that dribbles of water are still running down from her frozen hair, tracking over her face. And the second thing I notice is that her mouth is slightly more open, and she seems to be shuddering as chunks of ice continue to crack all over her body.
“Oh heck,” I whisper, taking a step back.
She's alive.
Two
“Stay calm!” I shout, as she continues to try opening her mouth. “I'm gonna get help, okay? I'm gonna make sure you're okay!”
I turn and run around to the rear of the car, before stopping suddenly as I realize that we're all alone out here. Grabbing my radio, I try desperately to get in touch with Pickles, but of course he's nowhere near being in range. Even thought I know it's futile, I try the radio a few more times before stopping and looking down at my trembling hands.
I have no medical training.
None.
I've never kept anything or anyone alive in my entire life. I even killed my brother's goldfish by accident when I was five.
And yet, behind me, Doctor Cole is continuing to move.
I turn and shine the light at the car. Sure enough, I can see her silhouetted figure twitching as she tries to pull herself free of the wreckage, and a moment later I realize I can hear a faint gasp.
“Oh God,” I whisper, “tell me what to do. What the heck am I supposed to do here?”
Suddenly Doctor Cole lets out another, slightly louder gasp, as if she's in pain.
Of course she's in pain.
Get a grip, Lucy. Get a goddamn grip! A woman needs you!
Figuring that I can't just stand here panicking like this, I make my way back around the car and look in at her again. Her face is trembling and a persistent, slow hiss is starting to emerge from her mouth. I hold back for a moment, before reminding myself that there's no reason to be afraid. Stepping closer, I crouch down and look up into her face. She's still staring straight ahead, as if she hasn't noticed me yet.
“My name is Lucy Shaw,” I tell her, trying to sound at least vaguely like I know what I'm doing. “I'm with the forestry and parks division. My colleague went to get help, okay? Help is on the way, and they're gonna know what to do to make you better. They're gonna take real good care of you, so you just have to hold on for a little while longer. Okay?”
I wait for a reply, before realizing that she's in no fit state to say a goddamn word.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
Wait.
That's the dumbest question of all time.
“I'll find a blanket,” I stammer, stumbling to my feet and hurrying back around to the rear of the car. I hold the flashlight between my teeth as I start rooting through the bags. At first I only find food and a bunch of clothes, but finally I pull out a large, thick sweater. “This'll have to do for now,” I mutter, heading back around the car and crouching next to the mangled door again. “Hopefully it should help a little,” I explain as I arrange the sweater over her chest. “Give it time. Think warm thoughts.”
I wait, but she's still shivering, and she's still not said or done anything to suggest that she knows I'm here.
“I'm not a doctor,” I continue. “I don't have any real training for things like this, but people are coming, people who'll know what to do. Just try to stay alive.”
I sigh.
I've already told her all of this.
“Your name is Doctor Charlotte Cole,” I continue. “Do you remember that? You're a -”
Suddenly she lets out a deeper, more rasping groan, one that seems to be coming from the back of her throat. I think she's trying to say something.
“Does that mean you remember?” I ask, feeling a flash of hope. “Does it? Can you give me some kind of sign? Even just a little one'd be good, just so I know you can hear me.”
I wait, but her groan is continuing and she seems to be trying very hard to force her mouth further open.
“Is the sweater helping?” I ask, looking down at the sweater and seeing that it has a fir-tree pattern on the front. I reach in and rearrange it a little. “It's really nice,” I continue, hopin
g to cheer her up. “I used to have one like that, but I lost it somewhere. I probably loaned it out to a friend some time and then we both forgot. You know how things are, right?”
Her groan changes again, becoming more of a dry rasp.
“Hang on in there, Doctor Cole,” I continue, forcing a smile. “Help's on its way. You just -”
Suddenly her right hand moves, crunching slightly as she lowers it to her side. She seems to be trying to do something, but honestly I'm not entirely sure what. I want to help her, but I've never been very good at the whole common sense thing, and for the life of me I can't figure out what she wants. Still, she continues to groan as she raises her right arm and reaches slowly toward the car's wrecked door.
“You want to get out?” I ask. “Is that it? Oh, I don't know that that'd be such a good idea. I think maybe you should stay right where you are until the medics get here, even if it's a little uncomfortable.”
Her groan sounds very dry now, as if she's struggling to get any air at all out of her lungs.
“Now, you wanna take it easy,” I continue, trying not to panic. “I mean, I think so, anyway. Come on, just stay where you are and -”
She leans forward slightly, bumping against the twisted door-frame. As she does so, a syrupy dark liquid starts dribbling from her open mouth and spatters down onto her arm. I stare in horror at the liquid, which is followed a moment later by a sudden hissing sound that seems to be rising up through her body.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She leans a little further and starts sliding against the door, and then suddenly she tips out of the car, crashing down against the snow.
“Whoa there!” I stammer, instinctively stepping back but then quickly moving closer to help her. “You really need to take things easy!”
She's on the ground now with her back to me, but her body is trembling more than ever. At first, I was just assuming she was cold and injured, but now I'm starting to wonder whether something more serious might be wrong. I'm no expert on these things, but I guess maybe extreme hypothermia can really mess up a body. The sweater slipped off her chest as she fell, so I rearrange it over her shoulders. It won't be enough, though. I think this lady is gonna die if I don't figure out what to do for her fast.
Her left arm moves slightly, and I hear a crunching sound, as if ice crystals are shattering beneath her frozen skin.
“I need to heat you up a little,” I mutter, starting to slip off my jacket so I can place it over her torso. After a moment, however, I pause. What if heating her up is the wrong thing to do? What if I just make everything worse?
I hesitate, and then I finish taking my jacket off. I guess I just have to hope common sense is enough, so I place the jacket over her shoulders and then I carefully take her left arm and slide it into one of the holes. I can feel something clicking at her shoulder, but I keep going until the arm is all the way in, and then I do the same to her other arm too. Now she's wearing my big, thick jacket, which should hopefully warm her up a little, and other than that I guess I just have to keep her spirits up and hope Pickles gets back soon.
I step closer, but then suddenly I spot something red and wet glistening on the car seat. Peering closer, I'm shocked to see what looks like a chunk of somebody's intestines and a patch of flesh, as if part of her remained stuck to the seat.
I pause for a moment, before reminding myself that it can't actually be something so horrific. No matter what it looks like, I must be wrong.
“Okay,” I say, turning to look back down at the doctor's shivering body. I force a smile, even though she still hasn't actually looked directly at me, “the important thing is not to give up hope. Do you hear me? Hope is your friend. It's hope that's gonna get you through this. Well, hope and medical assistance, but the medical assistance is still a little way off so you've gotta focus on the hope right now. But that's alright, 'cause I'm here to keep your spirits up.”
I wait, just in case she replies, and then I lean down to give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. As soon as I touch her, however, she lets out a low, gurgling groan, almost a growl. I instinctively pull my hand away, figuring that I must have accidentally hurt her.
“Don't worry about that,” I continue. “You're not being rude. I'm gonna go look in your bags, okay? Maybe I can find something for you to eat. Are you hungry?”
***
Tipping the next bag open, I watch as assorted cans of beans tumble out, followed by some sachets of powdered soup. So far, I haven't really found anything much that I can quickly cook up for Doctor Cole, but I figure I really need to get something into her so she can start to regain her strength. To be honest, I'm starting to feel completely helpless, like nothing I can do will help her. After this is all over, I definitely need to get some training so I know how to act in these situations. Yeah, I'm going to sign up for a few courses.
For now, however, I guess I just have to make sure I don't make things worse.
“Still looking!” I call out, before glancing up toward the side of the road.
I wait, but all I see is snow and all I hear is the howling wind.
“Come on, Pickles,” I mutter under my breath, “can't you just get back soon? I know you'll know what to do. You know everything.”
I grab my radio and give it another try, just in case some miracle allows me to get in touch with him. All I hear is static, however, so I guess the bad weather is truly screwing everything up.
Grabbing the last unchecked bag, I tip its contents onto the ground. More tins fall out, but this time there's something else. A blue plastic ring-binder drops against the frozen snow, so I pick it up and open it to take a look at the contents. I immediately see a logo for the Meltringham Institute for Advanced Research, but the next few pages are filled with graphs and scientific mumbo-jumbo that makes absolutely no sense to me at all. I continue to flick through, however, until I come across some grainy printed photographs that seem to show contorted, screaming human faces. The first face is a woman with blonde hair, straining against some kind of leather strap that's wrapped around her neck. The second face, in the next photo, is a man who has the same strap holding him down, and he's screaming so hard I can actually see broken blood vessels in his eyes.
I turn to the next page, and I let out a gasp as I see a picture of young girl. She must be no more than six or seven years old, and she's tied down with several thick restraints that are holding her to a table. Various tubes and wires are running into her body, but the most shocking part of the photo is her face.
She's screaming, and it's not a scared scream.
She looks angry, angrier than I've ever seen anyone look in my entire life.
A moment later, I see that she's gripping the sides of the table with such force that her fingernails have shattered and blood is trickling down to the floor.
“Oh,” I whisper, horrified by the image. Still, I can't help staring for a moment, before finally turning to the next page.
This photo is even worse. It shows the same girl, still restrained, but this time her body is horrendously bloodied and twisted, as if she's struggled against the restraints until they began to wear thick holes in her flesh. In fact, there look to be scraps of skin hanging loose, and some of her ribs are poking through. Her fingertips are worn to stubs now, but her face is the same as before. She's screaming and furious, and her eyes are completely red as if all the blood-vessels have broken. Her lower jaw is blurred slightly, as if she was shouting angrily at the exact moment the photo was taken.
I turn to the next page, which shows another picture of the girl. Now her head is tilted to one side, and her body is no longer blurred, as if she was completely still at the time of the photo. There's a lot more blood than before, and after a moment I spot a scribbled note at the bottom of the image.
“Meconti... Meconticithixyclon withdrawn,” I read out loud, struggling to decipher the spidery words. “Patient now dormant. Strap worn through neck.”
Taking a closer look
at the image, I'm shocked to see that the leather restraint around the girl's neck looks to have torn all the way through, leaving her head detached from her body. I stare for a moment, convinced that I must be wrong and that it's just some kind of optical illusion, but finally turn to the next page and find what seems to be some kind of report.
“In their post-mortem states,” I whisper as I read out loud, “subjects exhibited a tendency to constantly repeat the last few words they said while they were alive.”
Well, that doesn't make a lick of sense. Turning to the next page, however, I find that the report goes on and on. Clearly somebody was taking this stuff seriously.
“Subjects are capable of great speed at times,” I read, “although the condition is mostly characterized by long periods of relative lethargy. While initial reports of spectral phenomena associated with the subjects were discounted, it is this department's belief that these reports should be considered carefully.”
I close the folder and sit in stunned silence for a few seconds. I don't quite know what I just saw, but it can't be real. I mean, this is America in the 1980s, not Nazi Germany in the 1940s, so people just don't tie little girls to tables and do awful things to them. These must be photos from a movie.
I turn to the front page again.
“The Meltringham Institute for Advanced Research,” I whisper.
Sure doesn't sound like a movie studio.
I pause again, before sliding the folder back into the bag. I guess there'll be time later to figure out what the photos mean, but I'm sure there must be some kind of reasonable explanation. Still, my hands are trembling slightly and I can't get the images of that girl out of my mind, and for a few seconds I simply sit in silence as I try to make sense of the whole sorry mess.
She wasn't real.
