Symbiote

by Trevor Schmidt

  “Get him to the van,” Shaw said. “Gentle. We’ll need him.”

  •

  The vehicle bounced as it hit a pothole in the road. Detective Markov’s eyes creaked open enough for him to make out a couple of agents deep in conversation. The van smelled of motor oil, as though it had sprung a leak. From the way the van was situated he could tell they were travelling uphill and around some deep curves. Markov wondered how long he’d been out. His tongue was still a little numb, but his anger had never been more intense. He tried to ball a fist to test his strength. Worthless.

  Markov moved his head slowly to the left. The van had two small tinted windows, one on each of the back doors. Through them he saw a smattering of leafy trees. Everything in California was dead that time of year except some of the areas north of the city. They could be going past the Marin Headlands. Markov began to think they were looking for a suitable ditch to dump his body. Someplace a hiker wouldn’t come upon it for weeks or more. The California sun could do a number to a corpse.

  “We took the lab results from the Pathologist, the police have nothing,” a dark voice said. “What do we need with him?”

  “Lower your voice Brown. We need him for—”

  Agent Shaw held up a finger to Agent Brown and stopped talking. He turned to Markov and shook his head. “The effect is wearing off more quickly than I expected. Maybe I should have used a horse tranquilizer.”

  Agent Brown shoved a black bag over Markov’s head and pushed him up against the side of the van. He clasped a pair of handcuffs, his handcuffs, to his hands and around a steel ring on the floor of the van. The effect was Markov sitting awkwardly with his hands between his legs and up against the cold frame of the van. It was hardly a defensible position.

  “It won’t be long now,” Agent Shaw said. “And I apologize for the theatrics, but the location we’re headed to is secure. You understand.”

  Markov tried to form words but his tongue still felt like it’d taken several shots of Novocain. Instead, a conglomeration of incoherent syllables left his mouth. Markov could feel Shaw smiling.

  By Markov’s estimation, fifteen minutes passed before the van came to a halt on a gravel road somewhere north of San Francisco. He could hear the sliding door open and someone exit. A hand grabbed the black bag on his head and yanked, a pair of fingernails ripping at his bald head.

  Sunlight burned his eyes as they tried to focus. Most of his power had returned but he felt nauseated from the after effects of whatever Shaw dosed him with. An agent took off his cuffs and grasped the sleeve of his blazer, leading him out into a gravel parking lot surrounded by forest. A small metal structure stood in the center of the circular clearing, all of one story tall.

  “Body dump?” Markov asked, the numbness subsiding.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Agent Shaw led the way to the structure, his two subordinates following close behind, each with a hand on his shoulder. Markov looked for a means of escape. His curiosity told him to see what was in the building, but years of detective work told him to stay away. Ultimately, he didn’t have much choice. Either he did his best to find Karen, or he’d have to go back to the station and face the music. There was no going back. He had his mission and he was going to see it through to the end; whatever the result may be.

  They approached the structure, stopping before a large metal door. Shaw entered a four-digit pin into the keypad next to it and the door slid to the side. It was dark inside the building, but as Agent Shaw’s foot cleared the threshold numerous fluorescent lights flickered. The room was perhaps 10 feet by 10 feet, smaller than the bedroom Markov had when he was growing up. The single feature in the room was a metallic elevator. Shaw pressed the down button and folded his arms across his chest.

  A moment later the door glided open and Markov was nudged inside. The three agents stepped inside after him. Shaw removed a key from his inside jacket pocket and inserted it into the slot on the wall panel. When he turned it, a small square of metal beneath the key moved aside to reveal a single round button with the letter ‘B’ emblazoned on it. Shaw pushed it and it lit up orange.

  The elevator descended far faster than Markov expected, forcing him to grab the railing to keep his balance. They fell for several seconds before the descent slowed to a gentle halt. The doors opened and they were in what appeared to be a World War Two bunker. The concrete walls were lit by small bulbs placed every 20 feet. Despite the lighting, the hallway remained dark and dreary. Agent Brown nudged Markov off the lift and into the hallway. Markov could tell he was the muscle and Shaw was the brains of the operation.

  “Let’s get you settled in,” Agent Shaw said with a smile, putting a hand on Markov’s back and leading deeper into the facility.

  24

  1500 Hours – Day 3 – Somewhere North of San Francisco

  Detective Karen Hall lay flat on a table in a white room, a circular halogen lamp suspended a few feet from her face, coating her in bright light. Her clothes had been removed and replaced with a simple white patient’s gown with a slit down the side. Her bare feet trembled in the freezing room. The walls of the chamber were bare save for a mirror and a thick sheet of Plexiglas she’d seen slide aside acting as a doorway. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, but she was feeling disoriented from whatever sedative they’d administered on the van-ride there. All she could remember since reaching the facility was a few men in white gowns taking samples of her blood. Her stomach churned and she let out a gasp of pain, clutching her side.

  Karen was sure her sickness had faded, but that didn’t change the fact that she was craving pizza. A woman’s allowed to have urges. Most of Detective Hall’s vices revolved around food. She managed to roll onto her right side where she could watch the door. The position also relieved a bit of her hunger pains.

  Time ticked by slowly for Detective Hall. As a cop she knew the tactic well. Simply leave the suspect in an empty room for hours on end and eventually they’d break. The question was, what were they trying to get out of her? They hadn’t asked her any questions since she got there. No one had spoken a word.

  After what seemed like hours, the door slid aside and two men in white gowns entered the room. Karen looked to the mirror across the room. She knew there were agents behind there. She wondered why they didn’t interrogate her themselves. Maybe they had all the information they needed? That thought frightened Karen. It meant she wouldn’t have any leverage.

  “Can you sit?” One of the men said through his breathing mask with a distorted voice.

  Karen moved gingerly, a little slower than she was able. There was no use in letting them know she was feeling better. This way, maybe their guard would be down and she could find a means of escape. It was a technique she’d learned from wrestling with her father as a child. Though, it didn’t take long for him to stop underestimating her.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry,” Karen replied.

  “Can you stand?”

  Karen used her hands to push off the table. When her feet hit the ground she faked a stumble, using her hands to keep her balance. The two men maneuvered her to a specific tile in the floor. When her bare feet touched the cold tile it changed from white to red and a number was displayed in bright digits.

  “Weight loss acceptable,” one of the men said, marking a note on a pad of paper.

  One of the men retrieved a flashlight from his pocket and shined it in Karen’s eyes. She tried to stare through at the man’s eyes, which were obscured behind plastic goggles. When he removed the light from her eyes she shut her eyelids tight. When she opened them her eyes must have retained their sickly tint, because she saw green for a moment. It was a disorienting feeling when she saw those tints of green, like looking through night vision goggles for the first time.

  Detective Hall had a sickening feeling. What if the facility wasn’t meant to treat her at all? What if the government just wanted to nip whatever sickness she had in the bud, even
if it meant killing her? If so, what were they waiting for? One of the men gestured toward the table.

  “Please sit back down.”

  Karen sat down on the table, acting tired from the strain of moving. She’d lost about ten pounds from her usual trim waistline, making her feints a little more believable. She tested her strength by balling a fist. When she was satisfied, she smiled.

  “What’s next, doc?” Karen asked sardonically. “Anal probe?”

  The men in white didn’t respond. For some reason, that scared her even more. She was only kidding. She sincerely hoped there would be no probing.

  “I’m going to play a series of sounds and I want you to tell me the first thing you think of.”

  The man pulled a small digital recorder from his pocket. Through his thick gloves, he fumbled with the buttons before finally pressing play. The first sound was a series of wind chimes and a nice breeze.

  “Summer,” Karen said without a second thought.

  The doctor made a note on his clipboard and exchanged a look with the other man. The next sound was a rapid sizzling noise.

  “Fajitas,” Karen snarled. “Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

  The man in white made a note and fumbled with the recorder again. When he pressed play again there was a clicking, guttural noise emanating from the recorder. Karen became nauseated, clutching her stomach with her hand. The pain reverberated up through her spine to her brain, pulsating with pounding fury. Her pulse quickened and sweat beaded up on her furrowed brow.

  “What do you hear?” the man asked calmly.

  Karen responded in what she imagined was the same language. A familiar voice itched at her mind. She didn’t fight the voice, though she knew what it would mean. Her anger boiled up inside her and rippled out to her extremities. She tore the recorder from the man’s hands and crushed it in her palm. Behind the man’s goggles Karen saw the unmistakable look of fear.

  With one fluid movement she punched one of the men in the throat and thrust her legs around the other’s neck, riding him into the ground. She forced the broken recorder into the man’s airway, breaking a tooth or two along the way. She turned to the other man in white, who was now stumbling to the door clutching his throat and coughing. Karen moved in animalistic fashion, bursting onto the fleeing man and tackling him to the floor. He cried out in pain.

  “No, please no!” the man wailed.

  Karen balled her fist and hit his face. She could feel his cheek bone crush beneath her hand as his skull cracked against the stark white tile. The pain in her knuckles didn’t slow her down. Truth be told she didn’t even notice it. Did she have that much power before? At least one bone in her hand must have been broken.

  Karen stood up and crossed the room to the Plexiglas door, glancing at the mirror on the side wall sadistically before throwing her weight against the door. She tried to open it from the sides but it wouldn’t budge. A voice echoed throughout the room over a loudspeaker. She recognized it as Agent Shaw.

  “Stop,” his commanding voice said. “Return to the table, now.”

  Karen punched the door with every ounce of strength she could muster. A small crack began to form. She hit the same spot repeatedly until there was a fist-sized indent and a crack nearly a foot long. She stopped, looking at the lacerations on her bleeding knuckles and the purpling that was becoming more visible by the second. The voice in her head stopped. She had remained aware the entire time. For a moment she was frightened of what she was capable of; but only for a moment.

  A fan jumped to life and began to spin above her. A white gas filled the room. Karen coughed, becoming dizzy. She fell to one knee, coughed once more, and then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her vision became clouded. Her chest muscles wouldn’t contract anymore, her coughing ceased, and she drifted off, dreaming once more of a purple wasteland with jagged monoliths which jutted from the ground at all angles.

  •

  “Did you see that?” Agent Shaw asked Agent Brown from the observation room behind the mirror.

  The room was small enough that there wasn’t much room to sit, so they both stood near a small table which held only their coffees. Through the mirror Shaw could see Detective Hall stop moving. He hoped the gas didn’t have an unknown effect on the parasite. When dealing with an unknown entity it was always better to tread cautiously, but he was running out of time and had to neglect a few of the rules.

  “What does this mean?”

  “It’s really begun,” Shaw began. “It’s only a matter of time now. If we’re to have any hope we need to complete the procedure now.”

  Agent Shaw crossed his arms and frowned. He had waited years for this moment. Now that it was here he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Finally he was going to have a weapon against the enemy, but at what cost? This job had tested the limits of his morality time after time. How far was he willing to go to stop the end of the world? He steeled himself. He’d go as far as he had to.

  Shaw regarded Agent Brown. In the dark observation room he’d removed his sunglasses and seemed to finally relax. Brown was assigned to his unit a couple of months ago as part of a Department of Defense cooperation effort and Shaw still didn’t trust him. The man hardly spoke and seemed to have a heavy-handed way of dealing with issues. He never looked Shaw in the eye, which he thought was strange coming from a former military man. His suspicions would have to wait, they were working against a deadline.

  “Are you sure this is the right course of action?” Agent Brown asked. “There’s no guarantee it will work.”

  Agent Shaw rubbed his coarse facial hair and sighed. Brown was right, but there wasn’t much else he could do. He felt disgusting after not being able to shower for several days. But when would he have had time? They’d been going strong for more than 48 hours and he couldn’t afford to stop now. Shaw couldn’t have any more distractions. He picked up his cup of coffee from the table and took a sip, slurping to cool it down before it touched his tongue. Shaw didn’t have a choice. His orders came from as high up as they could come. They had to proceed. He had decided.

  “Clean this up,” Shaw commanded. “Move her to the Extraction Chamber.”

  25

  1730 Hours – Day 3 – The Underground Facility

  Detective Markov twiddled his thick fingers, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the metal table in front of him. He’d been in the interrogation room for more than an hour. The room was tiny. Apart from the metal table and chairs there were four concrete walls with a heavy door on one side and a wall covered almost entirely by a mirror on the other. They were icing him.

  Typical, he thought.

  Markov was a bit more disheveled than usual after being manhandled into the room. His hideous tie hung loosened partway, stained with specs of blood from the cheap shot Agent Brown threw at him when he resisted. He had a habit of wiping his face with his tie which annoyed Karen to no end.

  Markov lowered the legs of his chair to the floor and stood, turning to face the long mirror. He approached it and cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through to the other side. The tint was so heavy he couldn’t make out any shapes. He looked up and saw a single camera in the corner of the room. He raised his middle finger and made a crude face. A loud click bounced off the concrete walls and the heavy door swung open.

  Shit, Markov thought. If it were that easy to get some face time I’d have done it a long time ago.

  Agent Shaw entered the room with an angry Agent Brown in tow. Brown took off his black suit jacket and laid it across the table. His white dress shirt was far too tight, revealing biceps the size of Markov’s head. He wore a scowl far more menacing than most of the murderers he had dealt with in the past. Shaw quickly took the chair closest to the door and gestured for Markov to sit. He then plopped a tan folder on the desk and opened it, scanning the files within, an expression of consternation crossing his face.

  “Sit,” Shaw ordered.

  “I prefer to stand,” s
aid Markov defiantly.

  Agent Brown took him by the shoulders with his massive arms and forced him down into the chair opposite Shaw. He continued to stand behind him, holding his shoulder in place. Markov wondered where Shaw had gotten this guy. He should have been in the NFL rather than some lowly enforcer.

  Agent Shaw pushed a pair of photographs across the table. Markov separated the photos and looked at each for a moment. Both were photos of doctors in white gowns lying on the ground. They were clearly dead and had died by gruesome means. Markov pushed the photos back towards Shaw.

  “What do you want me to do with these, solve a murder? In case you haven’t heard, I’ve been suspended.”

  Agent Shaw frowned, appearing to be genuinely concerned. Something Markov knew was a farce. Shaw was a manipulator. It was striking the amount of similarities between federal agents and murderers. Both had Machiavellian ways of manipulating those around them.

  “These photos were taken less than an hour ago. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Shaw leaned over the table, a fearful expression crossing his face. Markov knew he was going to try some desperate bullshit to get him to do what he wanted.

  “Detective Hall is out of control. Our doctors can’t get close enough to treat her. I need your help.”

  Markov had to smile at that. Karen always was one to give people a hard time. He wouldn’t have expected anything less from her.

  “What do you want me to do about it? It looks to me like she’s doling out a bit of justice to her captors. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Agent Shaw sat back in his chair and flipped a page in the tan file. He kept up the charade, appearing concerned for her safety. Shaw changed the subject.

  “We’ve moved her to the Extraction Chamber.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s where we’re able to remove the parasite. We’re on a timetable here. If it isn’t removed in the next few hours, it will corrupt her brain. The Detective Hall you knew will be gone. I need that parasite.”