After a pause, the adult said to Andrew, "You are coming with me, my friend." Then he said to the others, "I'll be back tomorrow. You are very helpful. See what else you can find. There's always food or money."
"Not many of these around," the female said. "We want meat. How about some snakes, squirrels and such?."
"Let me see what I can do. I will need more boys like this one," the adult said. "Make sure you look for more. I need them for a plan I have."
There was wolf whistling. "That's funny," the female said. "That you like boys."
"Enough of that," the adult said. "It's not for that. I can take any of you and no one will care. Maybe that's what I will do if you can't get me another one. I'll experiment on you instead."
That evoked silence.
Andrew heard footsteps retreat. Then he smelled a sour, rotten odour in his face as the adult man spoke. "You need to go to sleep now," the man said.
The putrid smell was replaced with a chemical odour that overwhelmed Andrew.
Then darkness again.
CHAPTER SIX
"I WANT TO go home," it said.
"I can't let you go home," Doug said shrugging. "I want you here." The 'here' was Doug's small apartment. It was enveloped in darkness other than a dim light from a lamp. The windows were boarded up with slats of cheap splintered wood and used rusted nails.
"Please. Please," it repeated. Its lips quivered. Then its face contorted, and it appeared to lose control of its mouth. Tears glistened as they streamed down its cheeks. Its face reddened. It made a noise. Doug remembered it being described as crying. Yes, it was crying. That was interesting. It was suffering even before he hurt it.
"Please," it said. "I want to go home."
"You must stay here, my friend," Doug said to it.
"Why?" it asked.
"What is your name?" Doug asked. It didn't answer. Its chest heaved as it struggled to take in a breath amid its endless coughing and spluttering. The repetitive sounds, although from pain, were becoming rather boring.
Well, if it would not answer him, Doug had to make it. He walked over to it. It was splayed out on the floor, hands and feet bound. Doug smiled at it. He wanted it to believe it was a warm smile, so he tried his best to make it so. It didn't stop its spluttering, so he kicked it. Hard. In the stomach.
It ceased all movement. Its eyes bulged as if about to burst. Its mouth agape. Its body contorted into the shape of a half moon around its abdomen.
"What is your name?" Doug asked. He waited knowing it would need time to recover.
It squeezed its eyes shut as it let out a silent cry. It wriggled from side to side. As it retrieved its breath, it moaned.
Doug stamped his foot and made it startle. "What is your name?" Doug asked.
"Andrew." it said labouring each syllable.
"Well Andrew. You will stay here tonight. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? You see Andrew, I have several uses for you. You could be meat, an object for barter or a new volunteer.
"I've found my calling, my friend. It's to help boys like you find a purpose in life. This new city they are building is boring. It's pointless. They're going to make things like they used to be before the war. Do you know how stupid that is?"
The object - Andrew - said nothing. Doug thought about torturing it; making it talk. But he couldn't be bothered. It smelled of urine. It's grey school pants had a wet puddle around the crotch. He could see its fear. That was enough. He didn't want it to be damaged. He hadn't decided what he was going to do with it yet.
"I want to kill," Doug said. "Every day and I don't want anyone to care about it. That's what it was like during the war, my friend. So many people died, and it was nothing. I could kill volunteers whenever I wanted to. Now I can't even hurt them without that moron Mike badgering me."
Doug pondered. He looked wistful. "That volunteer today. It behaved as if it felt pain. It screamed. I couldn't believe it, my friend. I really enjoyed damaging it. It was my dream volunteer. Like a person. If we could have a war with that kind of volunteer I would be happy.
"There was something strange about it too. It had an emblem on its headset. I am going to test it on that idiot Ray. He will be a volunteer in the morning and then I am going to play with him. I am going to find out more about that headset and what it does to them. It's the key."
After a pause, Doug repeated, "It's the key."
Doug surfaced from his thoughts and looked at Andrew square in his fearful eyes.
"I've decided what to do with you. There will be other headsets like it. They never stop at making one. It's too valuable. I am going to experiment on you too."
CHAPTER SEVEN
NAKED UNCONTROLLABLE HUNGER defined it as it awoke in a dark concrete cell. Its vision wasn't reasoned. It geared its senses to a singular goal. It saw, heard, smelled and felt a deep pressing hunger. Its head jerked back and forth like a vicious, ravenous rabid hound. It had an insatiable hunger for juicy, warm human flesh. The fresher the better as if suffering was a delicacy, but in a desperate state, any would do.
Hunched in a tiny cell next to it were the volunteers. They stood motionless. It didn't know what they were. Their meat was poison.
Fresh moving nourishment with an aroma of ecstasy entered a narrow corridor in front of its cell. A luscious, sweet scent of fresh flesh. It had to have it. Devour it. It advanced to the sturdy bars of its cage trying to force its head between them. It acted desperately to breach the distance between its jaw and the meat. Its ravenousness was a part of the fabric of its existence.
It screamed and growled, vigorous in its frustration. No matter how hard it tried, it couldn't reach its fix.
A sound came from the meat. The words held no meaning to it. If it could have understood, it might have recognised the cackling voice of the round, bald man with piercing blue eyes.
Suddenly an object appeared in front of it racing to it. An emblem on the object caught the light and reflected a concentrated beam into its eyes. It twisted reflexively as if poked in the eye.
The object was suddenly upon it, gripping like a clamp on either side of its head and compressed against it. It growled. It struggled to release itself.
After a short time, it calmed. For the first time, it sensed more than just appetite and craving. It… he… peeked through the fog of gluttony. The veil rose.
There was still a niggling, but no desperation. The rotted, rabid animal had transformed into a volunteer.
Volunteers did not have a name, but if this one were to have a name, it would be Ray.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MIKE LEFT THE gentle morning behind him as he descended into the dank darkness of the volunteer warehouse. When he arrived deep underground to the holding cells he saw the devil himself - Doug.
Doug stood in front of two compact cells, each having a locked heavy duty steel sliding door. Bars on each door were tightly packed. Beastly unfocused eyes, crisscrossed with blood red veins and rotting sockets, glistened between the bars behind the volunteers' blackened masks. The volunteers were still in the eery surrounds.
Mike eyed the new volunteer. Mike's sleep the night before had been intermittent. In the early hours his eyes had popped open, and he could not switch off. His thoughts had swirled. An unbearable weight had rested on his chest. It shortened his breath. He imagined the police finding out about the stray volunteer, the operator and Ray. If asked, he wondered whether he would admit to the seemingly random events. If he didn't, would Doug? Even worse, would Doug put it all back on him? Then what would happen? Shouting, screaming, torture? A painful death?
What was the alternative? Being a slave to Doug's every whim with this hanging over his head for the rest of his life?
Eventually his body's exhaustion had put him back to sleep. But it was transient, and he had vivid nightmares.
Why am I here? Mike asked himself as he stared at the cage. Doug had commanded him to be in the cellars that morning and he had complied, albeit out of fear. It wasn't his place. It
was a matter for his subordinates to attend to before they transported the volunteers to the building site each morning.
Doug was standing in the shadows when Mike had arrived. A large, mud coloured hessian bag was at Doug's side.
My God, Mike said to himself. Am I going to be kidnapped?
He's hidden something in that bag. A knife? A gun? I hate being with this animal. I just want to get out of here. Help me, he screamed in his mind. Please God, if you exist then help me.
"He's okay now," Doug said, nodding toward what remained of Ray, sitting in a cell on its own. That was cold comfort.
Mike's mood matched their surrounds: grey and dank. They were closed in by cold, water-stained concrete walls several metres underground.
"He's calm now. He won't bite you, my friend," Doug said. The remains of Ray maintained silence as if in affirmation.
Mike was still in shock. He had not witnessed that horrid transformation since the V-Crisis. His fear was pathological.
"I can't believe he's a volunteer," Mike said.
"It's obvious that he is," Doug replied.
"Yes. I mean he was Ray only yesterday. I had forgotten how quick the process is." After a pause, he said, "This reminds me of the V-Crisis. God. I guess he's gone. Like so many others. I thought I would be used to this even though it hasn't happened in a while."
"I'm glad it has you thinking back to the war," Doug said. His voice was in the distance. "The war is over. Now maybe it will return." Doug paused. "What should we call him?"
"Huh?" Mike's thoughts were elsewhere.
"I will call him R47."
Mike said nothing. He had drifted to the far side of the room, perhaps subconsciously creating distance between him and Doug. His thoughts were fixed on what had happened to Ray.
My God, he thought, his insides sank; his chest heavy; his heart galloping. I never want to go through that. And then only to become a monster, and then a slave. He gasped. A wretched volunteer. It couldn't be reversed. It was one of those forever things.
A loud snorting drew Mike's attention. He looked up to find Doug galloping towards him. There was no time for evasion. Doug shoved him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The momentum forced Mike's body to skid along the cold concrete floor into a nearby wall. He braced reflexively with his arm, connecting his elbow with the wall. It struck him with a sharp pulsing pain.
"It's our friend's name!" Doug shouted. "It spells his name."
Mike grimaced, shocked and confused.
"R47 is the code for 'Ray', my friend." Doug grinned. After a pause, Doug growled and said, "It's lost on you, my friend. You stupid dumb fuck." He placed his hands on his hips. "Feed him."
Mike was lying on his side. He lifted his head. It seemed achingly difficult. Once he was able to sit up, grimacing, he rubbed his elbow. After a time he stood up and brushed grey dust off his trousers. He felt the sting of burning patches of skin. No doubt there were raw scratches and friction burns under his clothes.
Mike was disoriented. What's happened? Everything's upside down, he thought. I'm the boss. I was, he realised. How did it get to this? A nightmare. What is this animal going to do next?
Mike kneeled, then rose to his feet. He looked at Doug with disgust. He couldn't help it despite his fear.
Doug's eyes were fixed to Mike. I bet he hasn't taken his eyes off me the whole time, Mike thought.
"Go on," Doug said. "Feed them my friend."
Mike hesitated.
"For fuck's sake," Doug yelled. "Get the damn shit and fucking feed them."
Mike grudgingly limped to the door of a tucked away storeroom. He hadn't fed volunteers in a long time. He left it to his employees and Doug knew it. Mike just turned up to work every morning, and the volunteers were there. Presto. He didn't have to go off site to their cages or to help load them on the truck and drive them to the construction site. He didn't have to dirty himself in this depressing low rent shit hole a mere kilometre from the fucking Shit Belt. That was how it should be. For God's sake he owned the goddamned business. It was his right.
But Doug had forced him into this; to come down to the cells that morning because they were 'in this together'.
"I don't work for you anymore," Doug had said. "We are equal, my friend." Mike was sure the goddamned psycho meant 'equals'.
"Do you understand?" Doug had asked. Not only was he forcing Mike to do things against his will, but Mike had reasoned that there was also the need for psychological dominance. Mike had to explicitly agree to comply.
"Yes," Mike had said. Even passive resistance was futile because Doug required an answer.
Back to the present. In the dark claustrophobic space, the stench ate into him. He resisted taking a breath but couldn't hold out. It only made him take a deep breath. It was like inhaling poison. He barked a cough from deep inside his lungs, but he couldn't expel the dirty rotten gas.
Rusted metal shelves lined the walls, covered with unevenly placed transparent bags. Many of the bags leaked blood and slimy green fluids. Whoever packed them should have been sacked. Why had he never carried out an inspection? There was meant to be basic hygiene as prescribed by regulations.
He tried to resist looking at the ghoulish contents of the bags. Dead embryos. Placentas. Entrails, fat deposits, diseased organs and cancers from surgeries. All to feed the wretched volunteers. The only legally permitted human remains.
He couldn't bear to touch the dripping bags. Where were the gloves? He was desperate for them but didn't dare to check with Doug. Doug couldn't care. He would revel in seeing Mike suffer.
Mike's hands shook as he reached out to pick up a bag. The surface was sticky with the remnants of vile mucus. As he grabbed and lifted it, it spewed a dense slime into his face. Its tentacles spread into every orifice; his eyes, ears, nose and… mouth. He gurgled then spat reflexively, but could not expel the bitter, dark sludge.
He gulped as a part of it slid past his defences and reached down into his throat. He gasped, almost inhaling it into his lungs. He groaned; spat repeatedly as if to excise himself from it. To no avail. He stamped his foot in white hot anger. He scraped phlegm from the back of his throat, but there was none. All the dead rotting human sludge was in his stomach now.
He dry reached and stopped himself short of vomiting. He didn't need Doug to hear a fuss and force his way into the very confined claustrophobic space. It would be worse to have Doug's bulbous sweat ridden mug and harsh breath in his face. So he let the shit sit in his stomach. But it wasn't all in his control. Nausea rose from his inner depths threatening to induce him to vomit and provide its own response to his dilemma.
Fucking stupid Ray, he thought. Why did he have to be such a weak dumb shit? Letting that volunteer roam around uncontrolled and giving Doug an opening for mischief. Claiming it had malfunctioned to cover himself, all the time not wanting to admit to his fuck up. What a mess.
Hell, Mike thought to himself.
Then it occurred to him that he couldn't delay too long. Doug's going to wonder where I am, he realised. If I don't appear soon, he'll come after me. In here I'll have no distance from him.
Mike came out of the storeroom with two sagging entrail laden bags.
Doug grinned. He turned to face the cells and said calmly, pointing at the new volunteer, "He doesn't feel the hunger so badly but he needs to eat." It sounded like he was talking about a pet.
"There you go." Mike said. "Okay?" He was so flustered he blurted it out. He instantly regretted the edginess to his voice when he saw Doug's demeanour transform to a scowl.
"Why the hostility, my friend?" Doug asked.
"Sorry, okay. I'm really sorry for being gruff Doug."
"That's better," Doug said. After a pause, he said, "Now, you must remember…" His voice trailed off as he strolled towards Mike.
No, Mike thought. Please don't do this. Leave me alone. Get away from me.
It was too late. Standing opposite, and lifting his head so that he and Mike were face
to face, Doug said "Remember that we're… in… this." Then he slapped hard in a downward motion against Mike's arms with his hands. The force caused Mike to drop the bags to the floor. They landed with a squelch.
Mike grimaced. His eyes turned to the floor. No, he said to himself. Please. Please leave me alone.
"We," Doug said poking his index finger into Mike's chest. It hurt like hell. Like being stabbed. "Are." Stab. "In." Stab. "This." Stab. Doug paused. Then he said "Together" and slapped Mike across the cheek. Mike's eyes widened as he recoiled from the blow. His cheek turned instantly red.
My God. When will he leave me alone? When? Never, Mike realised. Never. God doesn't exist, he thought. That's why he doesn't help me. No god would ever allow the volunteers.
Mike turned to the volunteers, Ray in one cell and the rest cramped in the other. They were silent, their eyes unfocused. What did they know? The fresh volunteer blinked. What was that? Couldn't be. My eyes are deceiving me, Mike concluded. When Doug slapped me, I must have got a concussion.
"You know something, my friend?" Doug said, turning his back and walking to the volunteers. "I have something special for our new friend R47."
Mike hesitated. He wasn't sure whether Doug was baiting him.
"The new one," Doug pointed.
Doug burst out laughing. He turned so that Mike could see and hear his amusement. "Are you scared of him? Of our little friend, R47?"
Mike froze. After a moment he felt pressure to speak. He knew it would be pointless, but he said it anyway. "I'm not scared of him, okay." His voice wavered.
"Then feed him," Doug said. He threw the sewerage coloured hessian bag at Mike. It landed at his feet. It was the same bag he had noticed when he first came in. There was food in it? What kind of food?
"Pick it up, my friend."
Mike shook his head.
"If you don't pick it up, I'm going to make you eat what's in there," Doug said. "Believe me, my friend, you won't like it. I'll shove it down your throat piece by piece."
Evolution Z Page 7
