“Mmm.” I snuggle into his chest and enjoy his warmth.
I notice Paul sigh, turn and walk over to Stuart, who’s looking down at his hands.
Over the next few days people are taken away and come back looking different. Some come back shivering, like I had, while others are sweating and panting.
Everyone is reacting differently to the experiments. I prefer the black rock, personally. I don’t like the cold. I look down at the cut on my right palm. The wound is still pretty red. I notice a tiny fragment of blue crystal glittering in the wound. I reach for it to pull it out, when something weird happens. It pulses as I look at it, then it slowly fades until it’s vanished. Then as I continue looking at my hand, the wound closes and the redness fades away. I rub my palm. There’s no more pain. The skin is now perfectly smooth.
I laugh nervously, as I stare at my hand. I notice Beth looking in my direction, then she walks right over.
“What happened?” She asks.
“My cut just healed by itself.” I reply in amazement.
Beth checks my hand and then looks back up at my face.
“Hey, your eyes.” Beth says.
I shrug. “What?”
“Britney, they’re changing color.” Beth says in shock.
“What?”
“They’re turning blue. Wow.”
“What now?”
“Britney. They’re beautiful.” Beth says, then leans in closer. “They’re pulsating.”
“Pulsating?”
“Yeah. Cool.” Beth says.
Then she tilts her head to her right as if listening.
“They’re coming.” Beth says.
Just as she says it, I hear the click and the door swings open.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee enter. They’re both carrying guns this time.
“Oh, no. Now what?” I grumble as they unlock the cage door and point their guns at me.
I sigh and raise my hands in a peaceful gesture, then walk towards them. The tallest gunman walks backward slowly while holding the gun level with my chest, while the other guy follows behind me with his gun pointed at my back. They lock the door behind me. The tall gunman in front gestures to the right with his gun.
It’s with a sense of slowly building dread that I begin to walk slowly towards the operating room. The last time I entered that room, I woke a week later, in pain.
I stop at the door with my heart hammering in my chest. The first gunman knocks roughly and then steps back. The old man from before opens it and the gunman shoves me inside.
“Hey, there’s no need for that!” I fire back at him.
“Wait outside.” The old man says in a European accent.
Where’s he from? Sounds like a German accent maybe, I’m not sure. His English is pretty good. He closes the door and locks it. Not a good sign. His lower face is again covered by a white cloth mask. His cold grey eyes look hard and cold, emotionless. My legs begin to tremble as he looks at me. He points to the metal table that lies in the middle of the room with his rubber-gloved hand.
“If you please.” The old man says.
I look at the table with fear. There are fresh spots of blood on the floor around the table. Again, the surgical implements are arranged in neat rows to one side on a movable metal trolley. I walk to the table and hop up. I eyeball the old man. His tanned wrinkled face is expectant and eager now, like a child getting ready to play with a new toy for the first time.
I lie back and look up at the circular light and close my eyes.
Just hurry up and get it over with. I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. I hear something sharp scrape against metal.
My eyes snap open.
The rubber gas mask is then pressed against my face. I hold my breath like last time. I’m still holding my breath when he peers down at me with a puzzled face. He frowns and disappears, then the hissing grows louder. I continue holding my breath while he holds the mask in place.
It’s strange. I don’t feel anxiety as I hold my breath. I feel strong. Calm. Like I could hold my breath easily for an hour maybe. He then turns and looks at the huge mirror that fills one wall to my left and shrugs.
“Proceed.” The familiar strange mechanical voice booms out.
Proceed with what?
I watch as his rubber-gloved hand, now holding a six-inch scalpel, moves down to my right leg. I feel something hard touch my skin and then I feel pressure as he pushes down. I close my eyes tight and wait for the cut and the inevitable pain that must surely follow. But it doesn’t come.
I open my eyes to see his hand come away.
The blade is still clean. His hand begins to tremble.
“Proceed.” The mechanical voice orders.
“Get up.” The old man barks at me.
I sit up.
He points to the wall behind me. “Go!”
I slide down from the metal table and look at the wall. There are several small round indentations in the red brickwork, below on the floor there are dark red spots and small bits of brick and dust. I frown as I walk over to the wall.
I think I know where this is going.
I turn at the wall and gasp. He’s putting on some dark grey ear protectors, then picks up a gun. The size of the gun makes me recoil in shock. He looks like a pensioner playing at being Dirty Harry. It’s huge and looks ridiculous in his hands. I’d laugh, if I wasn’t so terrified.
The old man holds it with both hands and aims it at me. He’s still trembling as he aims the hand-cannon at my chest from ten feet away. I stare into the dark barrel pointed at me and begin to cry.
“Why not aim for my shoulder, or leg?” I volunteer quickly.
Too late.
As I see him squeeze the trigger, I close my eyes and raise my left arm over my face. Every muscle in my body tenses. My heart pounds. It thunders in my ears like Niagara Falls. I love you Dad.
My head explodes in pain and I hear a high-pitched ringing in my ears for a second, then it’s gone. What the hell was that?
Then I hear the terrifying thunderclap as the gun is fired.
Six
My ears reverberate with the gunshot. It echoes inside my head like a raging bull, trashing everything inside my mind. Every thought, every feeling I have, ceases. There’s just the pain in my head. I wait for the impact that is sure to come.
I wait some more. Then I open one eye and take a peek.
The muzzle flash is still dissipating. The bullet has only travelled three feet from the gun barrel. I watch in fascination as it flies slowly over the metal table, spiraling towards me.
I have time to move out of its path, but something keeps me rooted here. Maybe it’s curiosity. The scalpel hadn’t harmed me, so why not test this as well?
So I stand and watch the bullet as it gets closer.
I feel like an explorer in this moment. Stepping out into the unknown and staring down my fears, hoping that I wasn’t making a huge mistake.
The old man is no longer standing like a statue with his hands out in front of him. His arms are forced up by the recoil and he staggers backward in slow motion.
I focus back on the bullet just as it arrives and move to my left, so that it hits my right shoulder, just-in-case.
There’s a loud clang, like a metal hammer striking an anvil, as the bullet hits me.
I look down and watch as it slowly falls to the concrete floor.
“Ow!” I moan and rub my shoulder.
I examine my hand, and stare in amazement when I don’t see any blood.
“Holy guacamole!” I mutter.
Then I see my chance and I take it. I race towards the old man as he stumbles backwards with the gun pointing towards the ceiling.
In a heartbeat, I clear the distance between us and find myself with my nose buried in the red-brick wall.
Huh?
I step back. There are three round holes in the red brickwork. A large one of my head and two small holes where my hands had been. I cough the dust from my mouth
and turn around.
“Oops.” I murmur, as I look at the old man lying on the concrete floor at an odd angle.
His back’s bent at a forty-five degree angle halfway up his spine, with his feet pointing towards the wall to my left. His head and shoulders are facing the long mirror to my right. Ouchy!
His face is twisted in agony.
The cloth mask is gone, probably got ripped off when I hit him, I guess. His mouth is open in a silent scream. His jaw’s moving up and down, but no words come out.
“I’m sorry.” I say as I look at his broken body.
I didn’t mean for this to happen.
Then he exhales. A long drawn out gurgling breath, then he lay still, with his eyes blank and staring at his own reflection. I see myself in the mirror.
My new blue eyes are pulsing brightly. That’s freaky.
I blink and wipe brick-dust from my face and hands.
The door to my right opens. The two gunmen stand there with their reflective visors looking down at the old man, then they look at me.
A moment’s hesitation. It’s all I need.
I rush forward and shove them both in the chest. They fly like ragdolls outside to the hallway, slam against the wall and then crash to the floor.
I take a step towards the mirror.
Just who’s behind there?
I raise my fists above my head and hammer the mirror. It shatters instantly and reveals another room.
But to my disappointment, there’s no one here. Three security cameras are mounted on tripods, pointing towards the now shattered mirror. They all have small red lights, indicating that they’re recording. They’re attached by cables to a computer.
I hop over the small section of wall and race to the computer just in time to hear a drip kind of a sound. I see a smooth, tanned, manicured hand, before the screen goes dark and vanishes.
Damn!
Walking over to the two unconscious men in the hallway, I snort in disgust. Time to see who you are. I reach down and pull their helmets off.
The one who had shot the poor man, has a buzz cut, his hair is dark. He has thick dark eyebrows and a crooked nose. His thick pale lips are slightly parted. He looks around thirty years old.
The other guy is more muscular and has a thick neck. His hair is a mousy blond and also quite short. He has thin eyebrows, a slender nose and thin lips. He’s not bad looking, for a murderous thug.
I stand up and walk down the hallway, opening doors and peering inside. I don’t find the meteorites, or our clothes, but I do find two rooms that have been setup as makeshift bedrooms.
In one room, there are two mattresses lying on the concrete floor. Next to them are various magazines that lie scattered about carelessly. Old issues of Combat, and Mixed Martial Arts lie discarded on the floor near one of the beds.
There’s also a Playboy magazine lying on the mattress, next to a glass ashtray, filled with cigarette butts. Next to the other bed lies a neat pile of books. A couple of Jack Reacher novels and a copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
In another corner is a stack of pizza boxes with the words, North Beach, written on them. Next to those there’s a black rubbish sack full of burger wrappers. The room smells like sweat, rotten meat and the strong aroma of tobacco and something else that I’m gonna try and forget. I search the room quickly, while trying not to touch too much.
Geez, these guys are disgusting. I wish I had some gloves. Yuck!
But after searching the room carefully, I can’t find any wallets, or IDs. Other than the magazines and books, there’s nothing personal lying around. I leave and go into the next room. It’s much neater and smells like apples.
One bed is neatly made, while the other is a little disheveled. Next to the bed is a stack of books with wording on them that I don’t understand. I’m not sure what language they’re written in, but there are lots of photos of bodies being dissected. On the floor near the books is a Rubik’s Cube. It’s half completed. I continue searching the room.
Damn, no IDs anywhere.
I grab an unused black plastic sack and turn it inside out. I push my right hand inside, then pick up the Rubik’s Cube. I pull the plastic sack back over my arm and turn the sack inside out again. Now the black plastic sack is back to normal, with the Rubik’s Cube safely inside. Someone must have touched it. I sure hope there’s some fingerprints.
I hurry back to the cage room. I reach the room at speed and plough through the door with a single punch and skid to a stop. The ruins of the door lie scattered around the floor like kindling.
Everyone gasps and some jump back in shock. Then they stare at me blankly as I stand clutching the black plastic sack. Then they begin to cheer and clap. I walk over to the cage and grab the bars of the door with my right hand. I pull with all my might. There’s a grinding, crunching sound. Then with a rending clang, the door comes off in my hand. I throw it to one side.
I open my arms as Mitchell races towards me and give him a hug.
“Oh my god. How?” He asks as he holds me.
“Who cares.” I reply and shrug. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” I call out.
I walk towards the broken door, which is now just a doorframe, and begin opening the doors one at a time until I find the recovery room, where I had awoken on the gurney next to Mitchell.
Once inside, I head to the wall that has the small barred window.
“Go ahead.” I say to Mitchell. “Punch it.” I encourage him.
“What? I’ll break my hand.” He replies and shakes his head.
“Watch.” I tell him, then punch the wall lightly.
A few bricks come loose and daylight filters through the small hole.
“Now, your turn.” I say to him and step to one side.
“Okay. Here goes nothing.” Mitchell says.
He closes his eyes and takes a swing at the wall.
The wall explodes in a shower of dust and brick. We all shield our eyes and cough as the dust starts to settle. The entire wall is gone. We can see outside at last.
“Whoa. Don’t mess with The Mitch.” Paul says and slaps Mitchell on the back.
I step over the rubble and emerge on to a parking lot, under a clear blue sky, and raise my arms. The sun bathes me in its warmth, but for some reason, I can’t feel the heat as the sun hits my exposed flesh.
I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air.
“Where are we?” Mitchell asks.
I open my eyes and look at what has been our prison. A simple one-storey red bricked building. No markings. The parking lot is fenced in on all sides.
As the rest of the prisoners emerge into the parking lot, they begin to gather around Mitchell, looking at me expectantly.
“Hmm.” I murmur, then turn and listen.
Ah, there it is again. The little bell tolling in the distance. I walk in that direction and press my face against the chain link fence and peer out.
Beyond the sidewalk, a wooden tram with pale blue trim is proceeding up a steep street. There’s a dark slit in the ground that the tram is following. I read the writing on the side. I turn and look at the others.
“We’re in San Francisco.” I say in disbelief.
Seven
“San Francisco?” Mitchell asks.
He strolls over and looks out.
He grabs the chain link fence as he leans against it and it tears like paper in his hands.
“What the….” Mitchell says and steps back. “Wow.”
I giggle and grab another part of the chain link fence and rip it away. Once it’s out of the way, I wave the others over and then step on to the sidewalk. The road inclines steeply downwards to our right, while it climbs at a fort-five degree angle to our left.
“Okay guys. Now what?” Paul asks as he joins us on the sidewalk.
Stuart and Beth join us as I look around for a police officer.
“Come on, guys.” I say and lead our large group to the right.
I’m feeling
pretty weak from hunger. The hill going up doesn’t appeal to me. We pad our way slowly downhill, while the adults carry the young children.
We must look like we’ve just escaped from a mental asylum. Thirty-one pale and confused people in green hospital gowns wandering the streets. A few cars slow down as they pass us. Some honk their horns. I see a squad car approaching.
I step into the street and flag down the black and white. The police car’s red and blue lights flash and rotate in the light bar on the car’s roof. It stops and two officers in black uniform step out. They look at each other, as if asking silently, okay now what?
“Officer. I’d like to report a kidnapping.” I say as clearly as I can manage. My mouth feels dry. I’m so thirsty.
“A kidnapping?” One of them asks in a deep but friendly voice.
“Yep. And murder.”
“Murder? Where?” The officer asks and looks at his partner with concern.
“Not far from here. Two people at least.” I say.
“And who was kidnapped?” The officer asks.
Cosmic Girl Rising Up Page 4
