by Dan Decker
Good luck.
Respectfully,
General Seed
3
To say my body hurt was an understatement, it felt like I had been stuck in a metal drum somebody had hit with a baseball bat for hours on end. My ears rang and felt like they were filled with liquid. My skin was on fire as if acid had been poured all over and I had been beaten with spiked clubs.
“Where am I? What happened?”
My words were unintelligible. The voice seemed to be mine, yet it was wrong and lower in tone. Something was wrong with my mouth but I couldn’t tell what it was. I tried to check the clock on my bedside table but couldn’t move. It was dark, nothing to see.
Shouldn’t there have been light somewhere?
Monsters, I thought, remembering my dreams. Getting shot. The monster dream came back crystal clear. I had been on the ground, looking into the blue sky. On either side were buildings, like those in the alley after I’d stepped out of opposing counsel’s office building. They were different, but the overall structure was the same, like a blurry photocopy.
I tried to move my head, but it was fastened in place.
That was when I heard an engine, low and rumbling. It started quiet but grew to fill the alley, echoing off the buildings. It came closer and closer, louder and louder.
A strange creature bent over me. I opened my mouth to scream, but it was wired shut. It looked like a jaguar that had turned into an insect and grown wings, but that wasn’t quite right. Its mouth opened and I could see into a deep maw that was wide enough to swallow me whole. I could hear people as if they had been eaten alive.
The creature’s mouth opened wider and wider. Its teeth stopped inches from my face. Another creature came from behind.
That was where it ended.
There had been other dreams, but none as vivid as that. It was just a dream, I reminded myself. They had all just been dreams; nightmares, so vivid they were convincingly real but not quite there.
I shivered, suddenly cold.
My body was covered in sweat. My eyes stung, my hand wouldn’t move when I tried to wipe away the perspiration. The last moments of the dream where I’d been shot returned, the sudden reality of the warm asphalt on my head came like a breaking dam.
“Ricky! Ava!” I said. My voice was still unintelligible and wrong. Little details about the shooting came back, one piece at a time. The acrid smell of blood—my blood—as it covered the ground. A masked man.
The shooter.
He’d been crazy. He hadn’t listened to a word I said, even though I had tried to help.
More sweat dripped down my face.
Perhaps it wasn’t a dream after all. I swallowed, remembering he’d spoken through a prerecorded message.
Face the facts, Earl Anderson, I told myself, face the incontrovertible facts. You were shot. You saw blood. You smelled blood. You lost consciousness. I took another deep breath. But you are still alive. You can feel your body. You can think.
Think.
I was probably sedated. After another attempt to move my hand failed, I worked on my eyes. They were not secured. I could feel my eyeballs rolling around, I just needed to get my eyelids open. On the first try I saw a short slash of gray and felt a stinging sensation. The second time showed little more, but my eyes burned more as well, from sweat I assumed. After the burning went away I tried a third time.
It worked.
Everything was blurry. I could distinguish shapes and saw a light overhead.
There was a beeping that sounded far away.
“Where is my family?”
The beeping slowed, sounding in time with my heart.
I was in a hospital.
Not my favorite place but not the worst either, especially after getting shot. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I no longer had trouble distinguishing between my dreams and the reality of taking a bullet.
4
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The sound reverberated through my skull and down my spine, pulling me from a dream I could not remember. I heard voices but could not understand their words.
I opened my eyes.
Everything was blurry. I blinked and my vision cleared a little. I blinked again and swiveled my head sideways.
My vision slowly returned.
Things began to have definition. Colors began to separate. The dangling overhead light moved with the sound that had woken me.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Fabric flapped as if torn by the wind, making me think of a flag during a storm.
It took me a moment to realize the noise was unusual for a hospital room. I tried to get up, afraid my body would still be secured but found I could move. Relief coursed through me as I righted myself in bed and looked around.
Or at least tried to.
My head spun. My vision swam. I was forced to lie back down. My stomach grumbled and threatened to upheave its contents. I couldn’t remember my last meal. It was probably whatever I’d had the day I was shot.
It was surreal to think like that but I wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened. I wasn’t going to ignore it. That was how people got in trouble, ignoring what was right in front of them. I had a clear recollection of the last time I had awoken, my conclusion I was in a hospital was still firm in my mind as if I’d only been unconscious for a few seconds.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
What was that noise?
There had been an earthquake. Was this another one?
My stomach churned. I worried about my heart, but my chest seemed fine.
What had happened to Sam? Had he taken a bullet too? Perhaps he was in this same hospital. The last I could remember before everything went fuzzy was Sam and something flying overhead. A plane or maybe a bird. I tried to focus on Sam’s face, but it was a blur.
There was a rustle of heavy fabric and I rolled my head to the ceiling. Only it wasn’t a ceiling. Or at least, it wasn’t what I had expected.
I was in a large canvas tent.
My breath caught as I looked around, wondering if I was dreaming. I remembered the bullet. I also remembered the hospital afterward. I remembered blurry shapes and voices too far away to understand.
I examined my surroundings with a wary eye as best as I could from flat on my back. Was this where I had been when I had last awoken? I squinted, trying to decide if the light swinging above me was the blurry light from before but it was difficult to say.
My heart thudded. My breathing became rapid. It felt like I was going to suffocate.
“How did I get here?” I mumbled. At least, that was what I tried to say. This was not like before, where something had kept me from talking, it was more like I had come from the dentist and part of my mouth was numb. My voice sounded strange. It was deeper and scratchier than I remembered. My vocal cords hurt when I spoke.
“Subject one is moving.”
The voice was sharp and agitated, her words jumbled as if giving a report in the middle of something more important.
There was radio static. “Roger that.”
I rolled onto my side, my eyes focusing. The speaker was a woman in her early twenties. Her blonde hair was cut to the side of her head. She stood beside a man who sat on a cot. Neither looked when I moved. She held a device in hand I did not recognize, as if performing a diagnostic test.
When he shifted I saw a lump on the man’s head.
“Another grenling attack?” The woman asked, her voice tight. They stared at something I could not see.
“That’s what it sounds like.” The man’s voice was bored, he lifted a well-worn book, turning his attention from whatever they had been looking at.
A television screen? Were they watching the news?
Grenling. Perhaps I hadn’t heard the woman correctly. The woman had said grenling. Hadn’t she?
What on earth is a grenling?
There were several cots between them and me. The woman continued her examination with the device. The man gave me an evil grin
when he saw me looking at them.
“They’ll be glad you made it, but you’ll wish you hadn’t, I’ll see to that.” He looked back at his book. The cover was gone, and I couldn’t make out the title. The pages were yellowed and as he turned one, I was surprised it didn’t break off. He gently shifted the book to have a better angle.
I couldn’t make sense of his words. I blinked, trying to force my brain to work correctly. I am subject one. It was terrible she called me that. It made me sound like a rat in an experiment not a patient in a hospital.
There was something I wasn’t getting. I snorted—even that sounded strange—and tried to sit up again but didn’t make it far.
There are a lot of things I’m not getting.
Thinking was like wading through tar.
I tried to process the man’s words, the meaning wasn’t wholly lost on me, but the more I considered what he said the more questions I had.
Who were they? Why would I want to be dead?
And what the flip is a grenling?
“What?”
That was the closest word in the English language to what I said and even then it was difficult to tell because I couldn’t understand my own noise. It wasn’t even what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask who he was referring to. What seemed like a word to me was gibberish to these people.
My voice was not working the way it once had, in addition to not sounding like my own.
The man’s smile grew, there was now a touch of menace. “You heard me. If you knew what was good for you, you’d stand up, wrap those tubes around your neck and hang them over—”
“Quiet, Jeffords,” the woman said. “Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice?”
“I’m not sure my mother wasn’t just a nightmare. Doesn’t seem I have one here.” He looked around as if not impressed. “And here isn’t much to speak of, is it?
“Get out.”
He shook his head. “Not until I’m better. I like your company.”
“You’ll heal fine in your barracks. I suggest you duck the next time a recruit takes a swing at you with a rifle. Now go!”
After a deep breath that I held for the count of ten, I released the air and came to terms with my surroundings. There was a logical explanation, I just could not see it. I searched my memory for anything to explain my presence but came up with nothing.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Jeffords didn’t look up from his book, but Dolores turned her attention back to where she’d stared before. Her hand tightened on the device, her knuckles turning white.
I was sure I had never been here in my life.
Sweat broke out on my forehead when I thought of Ricky and Ava. I tried to sit up but fell back in bed. I had to get to my family. They would be worried.
The temperature had increased from warm to hot in the short space of time since I’d awoken. I hadn’t noticed before, but I sure noticed now as beads of perspiration trickled down my head. My cot was becoming damp as well.
Every problem has a solution, I thought. My first step is to gather information.
Why was Jeffords not bothered by the booming noise, but Dolores was afraid?
The sound was far away and while I was tempted to think of it as explosions I wasn’t willing to make the jump. Perhaps this was an emergency tent that had been set up after the earthquake. Perhaps the noise was innocuous and nothing to worry about?
My teeth clamped as I took in everything and finally came to a tentative conclusion. Judging by the look of their red and grey uniforms I was in a military camp.
The tent stretched for fifty feet with a row of cots down the middle.
I am in a field hospital, I thought, and it appears I’m being treated for a wound.
I could think of no reason why I should be in a military hospital. I braced my hands on the sides of the cot and sat up to the sound of gunfire.
That’s concerning.
I felt dizzy, as if it had been a long time since I had last been upright, reminding me of how I had felt after I had been wheeled from the hospital after my heart attack. Getting out of the wheelchair had been difficult. When the orderly moved to help me, I had insisted on doing it myself despite the pain.
I wanted to lie down as I braced myself on the cot but refused to do so.
Hands grabbed my arms. “Lie back down. Everything is okay.” I looked at Dolores. My eyesight blurred but I kept my eyes on her until it returned to normal. I would not do as she said. I opened my mouth to ask where I was but thought better of it.
“How are you feeling?” Dolores asked.
Information was power. Information had value. My mental state was the only information I had that they might want. So why give it away for free?
“Don’t…”—I had started to say don’t touch me, but that did not seem a wise thing to say to the person apparently taking care of me—“…push me.”
My vision swam. Everything came into focus a moment later.
Dolores eased up without letting go. She frowned and touched my forehead.
“You shouldn’t be up for a few more days. This is too soon. You aren’t ready.”
“What—” I stopped, refusing to finish the question. I had been about to ask what had happened, but I wasn’t going to do that. I turned my word into a grunt which wasn’t hard to do considering how poorly my mouth seemed to be working.
When I shifted I saw out the window to a red rock cliff.
Red rock?
The final ray of hope I was in an emergency military hospital after the earthquake disappeared.
“You must have questions,” Dolores said as if reading my mind. “Everything will be answered in time, but for now, I need you to rest. You are not strong enough to move on your own.”
I pushed myself off the cot and swung my feet to the floor, holding to the metal frame to keep from falling over. Dolores adjusted to compensate for my move but was not happy.
My head throbbed but not as bad as before. My vision went out of focus and I thought I might blackout but it soon passed.
“Sit down.” Her hand tightened on my arm and she tried to force me. “Your legs will not support you. They are still forming.”
Still forming?
I kept my face still.
I looked at my feet and was surprised I wore some sort of shoe that looked like a boot.
Patients aren’t supposed to be outfitted with boots.
There was a reason for this. Maybe the booming noise and gunfire had something to do with it.
Did I need to be ready to run at a moment’s notice?
I wore one piece of clothing that stretched from below my ankles all the way to my neck, covering my arms to my wrists. It was a camouflaged pattern, the primary color of which was an exact match for the red rock I could see through the window, the same color as Dolores’ uniform. I tried to keep my face devoid of emotion as I took all this in. This was not a hospital gown with an open back. The clothing had a substantial weight as if it were meant for everyday use.
I had been shot in the chest, blood had spilled out like I was a broken bottle, but here I was with a whole body and legs that were apparently still forming.
I frowned.
My legs were thicker than I remembered. My feet were bigger as well. That was when I noticed my vision was uncorrected. I wasn’t wearing glasses or contacts, I apparently didn’t need them any longer.
“Please, sir, lay down.”
Sir?
Was she being polite or was there a reason she called me that? I would have to be out of my mind to forget I am an officer in a branch of the armed services, my instincts to be quiet are spot on.
I tested one leg and then the other.
Despite her worry they seemed fine, as reliable as they had ever been, nevermind the fact they were different than I remembered.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly so as not to alarm Dolores, I shifted all my weight to them and leaned forward while letting go of the cot. Her nails dug into my arm like claw
s when she realized what I was doing.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I didn’t answer as I stood. I might have tried to shake off her arm but in my weakened state I didn’t think I could. She tried to pull me back to the cot as I took a step.
I growled, the sound surprising and comforting at the same time. It was a release of tension, a show that I wasn’t going to be pushed around and restrained. I had a family that needed me, if I had woken half the world away I wouldn’t stop until I returned.
As I took another step my legs burned with pain but didn’t give out. I pulled out three different tubes that were connected to my arms and walked to the end of the cot before turning back to Dolores.
I considered asking for an update, like I knew what was going on, but her comment about my legs still forming held me back. If my guess was wrong they really would think I was crazy.
“Take me to the man in charge.”
“You’re a strange one,” Dolores said without a hint of amusement on her face. “Most are too groggy to care they’re on a foreign world, at least not until they go through orientation. You seem to have put everything together minutes upon waking.”
I kept my face still but my mind spun like a top.
The words “foreign world” stuck out like a man with a gun pointed at my chest. The thought was unnerving, considering that’s how I got here.
Why didn’t she say foreign land or foreign country?
“Some think they went to heaven, others think they’re in hell.” For the first time, a small smile cracked her lips. “This is worse. You’re in between. Nowhere. You’re in no man’s land.”
I carefully released the cot and brought up a hand, waving it in front of my face. I touched one hand with the other, going so far as to pinch my skin. When my fingers didn’t respond well I pushed a nail into my palm until I felt pain. I was surprised at how open she was with information I wanted but had not been willing to ask for.
Since she had opened the door I did not hesitate to probe for more.
“If this is between, why do I have flesh? Shouldn’t I just have a spirit? My body feels real.”
