Dark Designs

by Flowers, Thomas S.

  Next to the chamber door I press both my hands flat against it. Every breath surrounds me. The warm air moves through me. It lifts me to my toes. My arm hairs stand at attention. Rough bristles of my twenty-four-hour shadow climb high like leaves on trees following the sun across the horizon.

  Bethany stands behind me now. I feel her. The smell of cooking flesh is overpowering. I am having difficulty breathing. My hand is on the doorknob. I can feel it the metal turning against the skin of my palm. The keys are in my pocket and the door is locked from this side. She puts a hand on my shoulder. Sharp fingers dig deep making my muscles tremble. Vibrations slip down into my fingers wriggling like worms on the end of a fly line.

  The door opens, Bethany peers around the inside corner grinning wildly at me. Her face lifts up staring with blank eye sockets, looking past me to the owner of the hand digging angrily into my shoulder. I tell myself to turn and look. Bethany reaches up with the burning remains of her hand. She gently caresses my cheek and mouths the word, “No.”

  I don’t look. I follow the hand’s insistence and enter the chamber. Illuminated only by the fluorescent hallway bulbs, the acoustic wedge shadows stretch long and sharp. I glance down at the mouth wrapping around the floor.

  “Come in. Come in.” Bethany waves me to her side. “We want to welcome you, Allie and me. Yes we do.”

  A shape slithers from between the wedges, rises from the dark floor and drips from the ceiling. Shorter than Bethany, a gray, cloudy hand holds her older sister’s through the smoke, swinging it back and forth.

  I turn a slow circle taking in the forms of the chamber I know so well. All warmth leaves my hand as it drops to my side. I stand by myself in the center of the chamber. Bethany and her shadow sister have gone. I want to move my right foot but find a bit of resistance. A small sliver of white fabric sticks out beyond the toe of my shoe. Lifting my leg, the crispy brown and red bandage unravels to the floor. I pull against the gummy residue and drop it wiping my fingers on my pants.

  The sliver of light is thinning. The breath sounds from the control room are fading away. Bethany is outside the door. The shadow wraps its small, girlish arms around her leg. The door opening has closed to no more than a crack allowing only a glint of light inside from the hallway. Enough inside to let me watch the shadow turn and face me before the sound sucks away, my ears pop, everything turns deeper than any black I understand and perfectly, completely silent.

  DISCERNING THE ADVERSARY

  Chad Lutzke

  “Well, doctor. You have me here. I have an appointment in an hour, so if you’d kindly get to this urgent matter of yours I would most appreciate it.”

  Chandler Worthington not so politely raced to the point. He dropped the butt of his spent cigarette on the tile floor and crushed it with his heel, only to immediately light another.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for coming, Mr. Worthington. I trust you were not followed, and no one knows your whereabouts,” said Dr. Bellinson.

  Chandler gave the doctor a hard stare. “No, I made sure both the CIA and the FBI tagged along.” He looked at his watch impatiently. “Heck, SWAT should be crashing through any moment.”

  “Forgive me, sir. As you know, we must protect our work, and your investment. Please come this way and I’ll show you our progress.” Dr. Bellinson motioned his hand toward the steel double doors of the compound.

  The doors led to a wide corridor; the spine of a large laboratory filled with independently funded experiments kept secret from the Federal Government. A small handful of rich investors around the country had gotten their hands dirty with the illegal goings-on at the compound, curiously referred to as Plan C.

  “Doctor, when I send you a check to continue with your research, or whatever hellacious experiments you’ve got going on in here, I expect to hear from you only when you’ve managed to make me an even wealthier man.” Chandler paused to take a long drag on his cigarette. Dr. Bellinson waited. He knew there was more.

  “I am here only because of the urgent coercing of my co-investors, who also happen to not be quite as busy as I am, nor half the asset. Nevertheless, they insisted. And I am here."

  More smoke inhalation. More waiting from the doctor.

  "That being said, Doctor, I’m trusting that the time I’m wasting here will be worth every minute. If not, I will have no hesitation in pulling my monetary support.” Smoke rolled out with each word, adding to his stained moustache.

  “I understand sir, and I can assure you this is no waste of anyone's time. I think you’ll find that what we’ve stumbled across is even more than you had expected,” the doctor said as he opened yet another door for Chandler.

  The door gave way to a large chamber. Random reflections bounced off the ceiling and surrounding walls making it evident that somewhere in the room was a body of water. Dr. Bellinson held open the heavy steel door making room for Chandler to enter. A wide catwalk grate secured with railings followed the walls of the enormous dome-shaped room; the same grate floor crossed through the center acting as a bridge to the other side. A pool twenty feet below filled the room with a yellow-green glow. What looked like algae littered the surface. The strong aroma of unfamiliar chemicals and rotten vegetation assaulted Chandler’s nostrils.

  "So. You've made a giant toilet. Congratulations," Chandler said as he flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the water below.

  With disappointment, the doctor watched as the cigarette dropped.

  "Sir, what you're looking at is merely the habitat for something that could potentially change our military's complete infrastructure. We have worked the entire year on this project, and now we feel we are at a point where enough progress has been made to share it with our investors."

  "And where are the others?"

  "Oh, they'll be along. They've seen most of the presentation, just not the next stage in our experiment."

  Chandler stared blankly at the doctor and lit another cigarette.

  "Okay, give me the spiel."

  "Well, basically sir, what we feel we have developed is a group of specimens that could potentially serve as replacements for much of our military. This one we are showing you today we hope could potentially be part of the naval branch, in particular the warfare unit."

  "Specimen? You mean, as in, alive and animate?" Exhaled smoke and stale coffee offended a handful of the doctor's senses. Chandler fought back the urge to wave it away and so remained in the toxic cloud.

  "Yes sir, that's exactly what I mean."

  "So we're not talking biochemical here, are we?"

  "No sir. In short, we are playing God, and we've created a living, breathing army that not only will instill panic within the enemy but also destroy them in the process. We have two stages left in our experiment; the first being that the specimens are able to accurately, and without fail, discern the enemy from us, and the second part being that we make them expendable; that is, in the occasion that one may be destroyed by the enemy, we are able to easily reproduce another."

  "Okay, Doctor. You've got my interest. Let's see this specimen of yours."

  Dr. Bellinson led the way to the bridge grate. The sound of their shoes hitting the metal echoed off the empty walls of the dome room. As they approached the center of the bridge, Chandler gripped hard onto the rails and tugged at them, testing the security they provided.

  "Yes, brace yourself, Mr. Worthington. What you are about to witness is very intimidating."

  A nervous chuckle erupted from Chandler as he took one last drag from his cigarette before, again, littering the pool below.

  "Lights!" shouted Dr. Bellinson.

  A loud pop filled the room. Submerged lights came to life causing the pool to glow, casting an even brighter green luminescence on everything within the room, while in the water what had looked like random patches of algae pulled themselves together into a single large mound equal to the size of a small house, dwarfing the two who now stood directly above it. It seemed to rhythmically
pulse from sporadic orbicular areas around its mass. Several feet beneath the water, countless thick, vine-like strands sprouted, swaying in random directions causing unpredictable ripples on the water's surface.

  "You created this... this abomination?"

  "Yes, sir. We were able to isolate and split very specific deoxyribonucleic acids from the Aurelia aurita and fuse it with that of the...."

  "Enough with the scientific gibberish, Doc. How does it work? How will this replace the military?" He pointed in disgust at the mass below.

  "The creature has very acute senses, in particular the ability to smell fear, animosity or any threat at all. Canines have been known to predict earthquakes, this creature senses the enemy. Obviously, all of our tests have been isolated here at the compound. We have been able to run the discernment tests using only animals, but so far it has been 100% successful. You, as well as the other investors," the doctor pointed across the bridge to a small group of well-dressed men watching from a room through a large glass window, "are here to witness the next stage in the discernment tests. You will be able to see firsthand the destruction that the abomination, as you called it, can cause to the adversary."

  “And they’ve all seen this?” Chandler nodded toward the group.

  “They have seen the creature, yes. They’ve been informed of the tests so far up to this point, although they have yet to witness the power of the creature. Our final discernment test will be witnessed by us all here today. There is still the matter of reproduction and of course transport but we’re making headway in those areas. Our main focus now lies in the creature’s ability to distinguish whom he should assassinate from those he should not.”

  “Let’s do this then. Bring on the test!”

  The doctor stood silent and stared hard at Chandler. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Chandler did what he always did to calm himself. He lit a cigarette.

  “I don’t like you all that much, Mr. Worthington,” said Dr. Bellinson.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Perhaps despise is a more fitting word. Yes, despise fits perfectly. I despise you and everything you stand for. Frankly, you make me sick.”

  “Doctor, I think perhaps you may want to consider changing your tone with me.” He blew smoke hard in the face of the doctor. “I’ll pull out of this project so fast that—”

  “You will pull out of nothing!” the doctor screamed.

  Chandler stood stupefied. He looked across the bridge at the investors behind the glass.

  “You are my enemy!” The doctor’s face reddened and his voice cracked with rage.

  “What is this?” Chandler looked around nervously then took more smoke into his lungs. A small, red bead of light settled on his chest. A wisp of smoke rose from the red dot and seconds later he felt a sharp, painful burn.

  Chandler let out a yelp and jumped back nearly sending himself over the rail; his cigarette fell and joined the others.

  “I demand to know what ridiculous initiation this is you are presenting here. I will be no part of this,” Chandler yelled as he rubbed at the small hole in his chest. He swiftly walked toward the exit when metal gates rose like drawbridges, blocking his way off the bridge.

  “We call it the incense, Mr. Worthington. With the beast's keen sense of smell, it helps to decipher which target is theirs.”

  “Target? I’m no target! I’m the reason this whole thing exists. Without me you would have nothing. You’d all be playing with your chemistry sets and watching mold grow in petri dishes. I’ve given more than any of those imbeciles combined.” Again, pointing toward the group of men.

  One of the beast's many tendrils rose up from the water and toward the bridge.

  The doctor ignored Chandler’s desperate babble and continued his own speech. “Of course, the building of tension toward the adversary by way of audible aggression quickens this process, and we have found it secures the confirmation of the target.”

  The tendril reached the bottom of the grate walkway.

  Dr. Bellinson resorted back to his rage-filled tone and pointed his finger at Chandler. “You are the enemy! You represent the greedy pig of this earth! You have—”

  “No, wait! Dr. Bellinson!” Chandler’s panicked face turned toward the audience.

  The doctor continued to ignore the man’s pleas. “You have sucked the well dry of every soul who has had the displeasure of making your acquaintance. You are the enemy!”

  The tendril fed up through the grate and quickly wrapped itself around Chandler's wrist. He screamed in pain as the vine sunk into his skin.

  “You are the enemy!”

  With one swift movement, the tendril snapped back through the grate, de-gloving Chandler’s hand. Two gold rings fell from the skinless fingers, clanged on the walkway, and dropped toward the water. The skin made a slapping sound as it was pulled through the grate. Chandler fell to his knees filling the dome with inhuman screams. He watched as the flesh that had formed his hand for forty years sunk into the pulsating mass twenty feet below.

  “You are the enemy, Mr. Worthington,” Dr. Bellinson said calmly.

  More tendrils ripped up through the grate, latching onto the legs and arms of Chandler. Each tendril brought home roughly cut ribbons of flesh and clothing to its throbbing body, slowly consuming it. The water changed hues, as blood trickled down like rain. Chandler lay in shock; his face pressed hard into the holes of the metal floor.

  Dr. Bellinson grinned. He had witnessed the final test in a very long year of hard work fueled by sweat, and now blood; the results of hard labor lay before him in a shredded mess.

  “You truly have given more than the rest, Mr. Worthington. We thank you for your investment. I suspect perhaps the beast saved you; saved you from a most elongated and arduous death, the result of those cigarettes of yours."

  UNDERNEATH THE FOAM

  Jeffery X. Martin

  A smack to the back of the head. A furious whisper in his left ear. “Are you happy now, dumbass?”

  A smack to the back of the head. A different angry voice in his right ear. “You fucked this up for everybody.”

  A third wallop to the back of the head. The bell rings. Chairs squeak across buffed tile floors. Jimmy raises his eyes, but not his head. Students file out of the chemistry lab, some of them muttering his name under their breath, like a curse. Jimmy rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands before walking to the closet and grabbing a broom and dustpan.

  Shattered test tubes and various liquids shimmer on the floor. Sighing, Jimmy begins cleaning up the mess he made. He didn’t mean to knock over the group project. It wasn’t his intent to make everyone on his team get an “F.” He is clumsy. He is bigger than the other kids. It was an accident.

  None of those things matter, though. He sees his teacher, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, watching disdainfully as Jimmy sweeps.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you, Jimmy,” his teacher says. Jimmy calls the man Mr. Scarecrow, because of his scrawny frame and ruddy hair. “I just don’t know.”

  Jimmy shrugs and keeps sweeping. He can’t look the skinny man in the eye. Glass crunches under his feet, the sound of disappointment. He is surrounded by the physical evidence of his failure. He sweeps until the mess is gone.

  Chemistry is the last class of the day, and Jimmy is grateful. Being here at the Academy was not his idea. After the death of his father, his mother freaked out, became smothering and overbearing. Sweet, but a bear to live with. She became convinced Jimmy was a genius when he brought home all B’s on a report card. She swooped in and yanked him out of his public school, which was suddenly not good enough, and slammed his ass into the Academy.

  The Academy. The oldest building in the county, The Academy used to be a government office building. The windows are painted shut. There are directional signs on the walls, pointing downstairs to the fallout shelter. Banners hang in the hallways that read, “Brains Before Brawn.” “Keep the Future in Mind.” “Sm
art is Strength.” Orwellian, bordering on Aryan. Jimmy is grounded enough to understand it is all bullshit, nothing but slogans. A form of control, as insidious as it is stupid. Behind it, a streak of superiority and meanness a mile wide.

  Jimmy keeps a list in his mind of the worst assholes at his school. He holds their faces in his mind, like a precious photo album.

  Trevor. A spindly little jerk, already going bald and only in eighth grade. Trevor enjoys slamming Jimmy into his locker and calling him names like “sausage fingers.”

  “Stupid fuck,” Trevor says. “Can’t even balance an equation. Do you know what an integer is, Jimmy? Can you even spell ‘integer?’”

  Trevor doesn’t really want an answer to that question. He just wants to hurt Jimmy.

  So does Bryce, a rich kid who has never worn the same clothes twice. Bryce already has his eye on running for Senate. He also has a strong interest in eugenics. Pretty hefty ambitions for a youngster. Jimmy is still trying to figure out how to play an F chord on his guitar.

  “When I’m in office,” Bryce says, “I will be able to outlaw people like you, Jimmy. I could take your DNA and destroy it, so no one like you ever walks the earth again. You and all the feebs like you, gone. How about that, Jimmy? Ain’t that a thing?”

  Bryce and Trevor are president and vice-president, respectively, of the Science Club. In a school focused on mental acuity, the Science Club swaggers through the halls like a switchblade leather gang from the 1950’s. Students with poor grades feared them. If you score a 90 on your calculus quiz, they know about it. If you are struggling through astrophysics, the Science Club uses it against you. If you accidentally destroy an elaborate distillation experiment, a group project that Trevor and Bryce are a part of, you’re doomed.

  Jimmy opens his locker and reaches in, force of habit, without looking inside first. He draws his hand back in pain. Embedded in his palm is a jagged shard of a graduated cylinder. He can see the measurement number on the glass. 60 cubic centimeters of revenge.