Marcia looked over at Ken. He looked ill. Glancing a second time she thought maybe he looked guilty; like he had let the worms out of the can.
###
After the meeting with Cynthia and Ken, Marcia didn't find herself in a cosy office or a quiet lab. She was exposed in an open space under constant observation. She stood on tiring feet surrounded by a u-shaped, pristine, gleaming white bench. The smell of bleach stung her airway. She felt a burning heat coming from the bright overhead lights. The equipment resting on the bench in perfect order was unfamiliar. Spotters were positioned strategically, arms crossed behind their backs and faces absent of expression. The 'experiment room'.
Marcia stared at the equipment struggling to discover its purpose. She felt a sting of panic. What if I can't figure this out, she asked herself?
She didn't try to calm herself. No thoughts of "I'm important" or "I'm safe". Her prior muted confidence had been stripped away. This was her worst nightmare. She wasn't safe. Neither was Andrew.
How could it be any worse? Then she reminded herself that she could be thrown in jail or summarily executed. It was the absolute antithesis to being "safe" and she felt powerless. Cynthia was holding a gun to her head. Russian roulette anyone? If she was lucky, she might end up a starving vagrant.
Large opaque glass doors faced opposite at a distance from the bench. They slid open revealing a narrow, lit corridor. A man in a flawless doctor's coat marched like a robot from the corridor through the toothless mouth of the doors to Marcia. The doors slid closed a few seconds after he came through. He carried a dark, compact box. He pushed past Marcia, his elbow connecting with her ribs. She winced. Likely unintentional but did he have to act like such a brute? Marcia suspected that the doctor's coat was a thin veil for another guard. It's all about appearances, she remembered.
Marcia sensed an odour if hospital grade antiseptic. In combination with the bleach it was overwhelming. She held her breath for a moment.
The man offered no apology; just delicately opened the box on its hinges as if its contents were priceless. "Lens HUD," he barked displaying the box in front of him without looking at Marcia. He placed it on the bench carefully. Then pushed past her to exit the work area and disappeared through the reopening glass doors.
Marcia stared at the box for what seemed like forever.
The brute returned without warning, holding another box. It was larger with round edges. He repeated the process. "Prototype volunteer headset," he said, but this time looking at her sternly. Then still keeping his eyes on her, he pointed to the headset and said, "That's to be kept in full sight at all times." After that he left the room.
This covert behaviour was keeping Marcia's attention away from thoughts about Andrew. Without the distraction she would have been eaten away with concern.
The headset carried a familiar gold emblem like the one on the first prototype. The emblem was unsubtle. Ken's attempt at advertising no doubt.
Now what was she supposed to do? She trembled with anxiety. Her life was in chaos. Everything she had been deeply afraid of had manifest into reality.
She stared at the bench inertly, like a student taking an exam who hadn't studied. Her breath was shallow; laboured. She was waiting. For what? For someone to call her out on being stupid and incompetent. She wanted that to happen. It would break the uncertainty. It would be a relief, she thought. No more pressure; just surrender.
But what about humiliation? That would be agony. Her reputation in tatters. She couldn't face a painful failure. It was like the vivid nightmares she had of blemishing a perfect record. In them she would fail an exam. In other dreams she would lose her job. She didn't want to be disfigured by failure. Her success in the eyes of others was affixed permanently to her self worth.
The thought of disgrace was worse than homelessness or starvation.
Marcia paused for an eternity. She couldn't tell how long she had been staring blankly at the equipment.
Come on, she said to herself. You can't give up. You've got to keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
She exhaled. Come on, she pleaded to herself. Don't give up. It's not over yet. You can do it. It's up to you. You can do this. You'll be safe again if you do this well.
She took a deep breath to slow her anxiety. They needed her. They were counting on her. It was up to her to make it safe. For her. Andrew. For all of them. Don't give up. You can do it.
She was terrified, but it motivated her to continue. The worst hadn't happened yet. She wasn't destitute or in jail or dead. She still had some control, and she needed to change the things that she could and ignore the things she couldn't. There was still fight left in her. If she was quick and efficient, she might save Andrew. That stirred her motivation.
Marcia reached into the smaller box and touched a transparent contact lens. She made sure to be meticulous so as not to damage it. It was self installing, so she held it in front of her eye and waited for it to attach. It was seamless and painless. The familiar HUD interface appeared, and the headset was at once detected.
The HUD illuminated the equipment on the bench. Marcia switched to subtitle mode, and a caption appeared next to each item labeling it and providing a quick summary of its use. Marcia felt a jolt of exhalation. Her instinct had overcome the first hurdle.
Marcia focused on a circular metal object somewhat like a large coin. "Headset modulator" was the caption. She read the description. "Switch between standard and prototype." That was neat. Better than the original prototype. The new one could emulate a standard headset and its mode could be changed during operation. She could test the volunteer's reaction to the change in a change in its mode.
The next piece of equipment was ominous. Caption: "Pain indicator." Description: "Administer and measure pain." It comprised a screen containing a touch button and output oscillator.
Next to the Pain indicator was a bigger screen with an image of a human brain. A button stamped with a camera graphic sat beside it. Caption: "Neuron activity indicator". Description: "Displays brain function by region and captures images from consciousness." Did that mean they could see pictures from the volunteer's mind? How amazing, she thought.
But it wasn't the genius of the technology that amazed her. People starved but the company, the police and the army were pouring all of their resources into the volunteers. Did they need them that much? Or were they still afraid of them? It's fear, she suspected. That's why we must enslave them. Not just for labour; for control.
At least the equipment she used was at the forefront of technology. Few had that privilege. Maybe she was valuable after all.
Thoughts of Andrew intervened. They evoked guilt and dulled her feelings. She continued with her work but with less optimism.
The last item's caption read, "Terminate interaction." The description: "Emergency only." Strange. The HUD already had a kill switch. It's certain that fear of them drives all of this, she said to herself.
She would soon find out why. Her concentration peeled away as a horrendous noise intervened. The sound was violent.
She lifted her head and involuntarily shrieked. Two guards were wheeling a trolley across to her. She had been so focused on the equipment she hadn't seen them enter. Standing on the trolley was a large rectangular prism. Marcia guessed from the sound of scratching from within that they constructed it from a reinforced clear plastic. Inside was a ghastly beast bearing the shape of a human being. The monster was raw. Bones were exposed on its arms and jaw. Rotting flesh was peeling off its body. There were isolated tendons dangling and large uneven blobs of congealed blood.
The thing was immensely agitated. Its head was shaking violently in frustration. Its bony jaw was agape in an ugly scowl; it's leathery tongue pressed against the plastic wall, searching.
Marcia stepped back, heaving in a deep breath. Her eyes bulged and her mouth twitched. She remembered what it was. Even in this form, it needed to be called a volunteer.
Now it was clear to Marcia wh
y there was a kill switch unconnected to the HUD. The HUD was useless without a headset affixed to the volunteer. She knew that she would have to attach the headset to neuter it. The prototype. But she froze. She backed away. It's wild, she thought. Completely out of control. A beast.
Why hadn't they killed all of them when they had the chance? She didn't want to experiment with this grotesque creature.
She stepped forward, shaken but determined, until she reached the bench. I'll end it, she thought. I need to put it down, like a rabid dog.
Marcia placed a hand over the kill switch. She wanted to squash it like a cockroach. The majority had turned to killing when the volunteers appeared.
She remembered how squeamish she had been killing cockroaches. She recalled near misses when she damaged their hind legs and they limped around like wheelbarrows. Or when she half squished the abdomen and the creature would drag its own entrails around in a circle. It disgusted her because she could see it suffering. The crunching sound of crushing a cockroaches' body had horrified her. She imagined being in the same position, feeling the pressure exerted increase until her body exploded. It would make her sick.
She was even sickened using bug spray, seeing the insect's nervous system break down in front of her.
She only killed them because she perceived them as a threat. She was scared of them. It hadn't made it any easier. She had done what she had to do. Gritted her teeth and murdered. Surely she could do that now? Killing this abomination of a thing was necessary. Just the press the button.
Anyway, she didn't know how it worked. It might burn the creature down to ash whilst it suffered and screamed. Or explode the monster into globules of puss and fragments of bone.
Instead of murdering it she would have to learn not to fear it. I'm not scared, she told herself. I'm safe. It's caged. Just attach the headset to it. She observed that the plastic cage encased the volunteer. Where could the headset penetrate?
Tired of questioning, Marcia took a punt and used the HUD to activate the headset.
She heard the whir of a tiny motor and the top of the plastic cage retracted. The volunteer jolted. Its arms snaked upward, trying to squeeze through the widening gap. Its grotesque moan became a whale and then a scream. Its head was animated, searching for an exit.
Marcia hoped the cage wasn't under strain. Unexpectedly, one of the volunteer's hands crept out of the small opening and the motor stopped dead.
She thought she saw the whole cage move. She stared, frozen, trying to detect movement. It was like waking up from a vivid nightmare watching shadows in the darkness. Did it move? Would it tip over?
Her fear of the creature returned in an instant. This time she held her hand to the termination switch with intent. She couldn't have a grotesque hungry monster on the cusp of ending her. She could imagine the pain of having her flesh ripped from her bones as it mauled her to death. Or worse. If it didn't end her, she would become a vile creature as well and, if they decided she could live, she'd end up a slave for eternity.
As the temptation to hit the switch rose, Marcia looked around. Would they try to stop her? If so why wasn't anyone closing in? Her intent was clear. She could press that switch at any time. Maybe it was a test. Maybe the switch did nothing other than expose her weakness and then she would never see Andrew again.
Be strong. She had to persevere. For Andrew's sake. So she could save him. She lifted her hand from the switch and took a deep breath.
"Don't touch that," a voice yelled out. Marcia raised her eyes. Ken stood on a staircase above the wide atrium. "That volunteer's expensive," he said. "It was bloody risky getting it here. Don't do anything stupid."
"Why don't you come down here and say that?" Marcia asked.
The cage filled with gas and the volunteer calmed.
CHAPTER FIVE
LOOKING AT THE fading afternoon sun, Andrew's anger at his mother rapidly transformed to panic and fear.
Where is she? Where in the hell could she be? I bet she's stressed. I upset her again this morning and now she's held up. It's all my fault.
He collapsed his head into his hands and rubbed his face sighing. Is she okay? he thought. Maybe she's angry with me. Maybe she's teaching me a lesson. I know I'm an irresponsible brat but please mom; he prayed. Please pick me up. Please.
Should he wait? He had always waited. But then she had always been on time. Did she not care anymore? Had she finally given up on him?
He had no way of contacting her. He had been taught in history class about people carrying phones with them in the world before the crisis. History was boring as shit, but not when it came to things he dreamed of having. Now he wished more than ever that he had a "mobile" phone. He had seen pictures of them from ads they ran to sell them back then.
He had been told in class that there weren't any real ones left. A lot of tech had been burned in the war, but Andrew didn't believe them. How could millions of phones all be burned? His mom had told him that the military had seized a lot of tech after the war so that they could control it. That made more sense. He bet they were hoarding a lot of mobile phones.
He was standing outside the empty classroom. It had been pouring with rain, so he tried to keep undercover. The door of the classroom was locked, so he made do keeping as close to the facade as possible.
It wasn't much of a school. It had two classrooms that were once adjacent houses flattened in the war, now rebuilt in part by those weird volunteers. It was fenced in, but that was hardly protection, especially when everyone had left and it was only him in this desolate place.
He had heard stories about kids being bashed or taken away and never heard of again. It wasn't scaremongering. A patchwork of crumbling remnants of the pre-crisis suburbs surrounded their small community. He had been told about the desperate and starving that eked out a futile existence in that inhospitable mess. They didn't have jobs or money. Not like his mom.
A feeling of gratefulness overcame Andrew as he thought about his mom providing for him and keeping him safe. True responsibility dawned on him as he endured a feeling of naked vulnerability. He felt like a sitting duck.
Where was she? I understand now, he said to her in his mind, squeezing his eyes shut. Desperation almost choked tears from his eyes, but all he could manage was a deep groan. I'm grateful. I'll be better. Just come on. Please. Just be here.
He heard a snap of twigs. He froze, instantly afraid.
Should he try to get home some other way? He could have asked for a lift with one of the other kids. Maybe not. No one he knew was very welcoming. Parents still didn't trust each other. They thought that helping one another would give someone else an advantage. So competitive. All afraid of losing their security.
He could just imagine the conversation. Asking for a lift, getting a suspicious look and then the predictable "What's in it for me? Why should I help you?" Obviously more subtle that that, but along those lines.
At least it was better than the tribes that had emerged after the crisis, killing each other for scraps of food. Sometimes just to show dominance. There were still people like that living in the ruins. The Shit Belt. Dumb name but accurate description.
Getting home without his mom picking him up was a last resort.
There was another sound. This time he could hear footsteps. Was it his imagination? Sometime it was difficult to tell fear from reality. Hell, he had to get out of there. A surge of adrenaline jolted him and he broke into a sprint. He ran away from the classroom to a small path that needled through the surrounding rubble, ending at the narrow road that the cars used to snake home.
After a short time the road was in sight. He kept moving, chest heaving as he gulped breaths of air. He was soaked, his clothes heavy and uncomfortable. God, I'm so unfit, he thought. He had wanted to exercise more. Turn his shitty skinny frame into the brawn that he thought would attract girls. If only he had acted on that resolution. He needed it now.
He was almost at the road when his legs gave way and he t
umbled over and slid across the path. A puddle in the slippery mud. Stones and gravel stuck to his skin biting into him. As they dragged him, he felt a sting of friction burns. Something squeezed around his ankles as he tried to recover.
The tightness around his ankles increased, and he felt himself being dragged off the path into the surrounding shrub and rubble.
Panicked, he screamed.
His hands reached between his legs as he tried to break free. He felt something. A rope? He was ensnared, helpless. Imprisoned to move in whatever direction his attacker might choose.
The rope slackened, and he heard a voice. Suddenly a face was in front of his. It had hollow cheeks and skin that hugged the bone. It was stained with dirt and grease.
Andrew tried to sit up, but a heel drove into his chest to keep him down. Then darkness.
###
Andrew surfaced to consciousness. He heard sounds, not knowing whether they were voices from a dream. He felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. He opened his eyes to find that he was blind. He screamed but only managed a muffled gurgle because there was soggy material tied across and sinking into his mouth. He gagged. Came close to vomiting. When he blinked, it became clear that something was covering his eyes.
He tried to move but someone had bound his hands and legs.
"He's woken up," a voice said. It was child-like.
"Shut up," another said. "Don't interrupt while we're talking money." Female. An immature tone to the voice.
Then there was whispering. Andrew couldn't make all of it out but there seemed to be some kind of barter going on. There was an earthy smell mixed with pungent body odour. He felt the coarseness of stone and gravel against the skin of his cheeks and neck.
"Okay, my friend," someone said aloud. A male voice. An adult. "I'll have him".
Evolution Z Page 6
