Created (Book 1 of the Created) (4 page)

The
eyes didn't scare me, not at first, as I believed it was the drugs phasing out
of my system an after affect I told myself.

Minutes
passed as the nurse with the yellow eyes prepped me for surgery. I never
allowed her from my sight, watching her every move. She was gentle and precise.

Her
hands were clad in gloves, but her fingers were delicate in approach setting up
my IV. She inadvertently brushed against my arm with hers as she slid the
needle into my arm and connected me to a dark liquid. She did not start the
drip. The skin of her arm was cold and smooth, no warmth, lifeless where it
touched mine. The sensation shook me to my soul.

I
avoided her gaze as her eyes passed over my body as she would periodically
check my vitals and restraints. Intently, I followed her movements as she took
measurements of my temperature and pulse, writing the information on a chart
which hung from the foot of my bed. It wasn't until she shined a small
flashlight in my eyes to check for movement that I was confronted with the eyes
again. Inches from my face, I could not help to notice the eyes.

The
drugs were mostly gone so there was no longer an excuse. I was unnerved to say
the least. Pulling my head to a side to avoid staring into her face resulted in
her forcibly turning my head by grabbing my face across the cheekbones with her
thumb and forefinger. She squeezed with enough pressure to get my full
attention as she straightened my head.

I
exclaimed tersely, "That hurt!"

I am
not sure she cared. The woman did not react or apologize. The nurse continued
in a professional, thorough manner.

It was
her eyes that were bothering me. I attempted closing mine then reopening.
Nothing.
The yellow eyes did not go away. Concluding it was
the lights and my freshly opened, but addled eyes playing tricks, I blinked
rapidly hoping it would clear. Nope. Finally, I tried to dismiss the coloring
to my own delirium, the drugs, contacts, or all three. The nurse never blinked.
She never ever blinked.

Hell,
I wasn't sure if she was alive because best I could tell with any certainty was
that she wasn't breathing. There was no rise and fall of her chest, no moment
of her nostrils or of the mask. She never adjusted or seemed agitated by
anything. She worked; a perfect employee.

Eventually,
she completed her tasks, leaving to attend to another tray of medical equipment
located near a bay of thick glassed windows and a heavy, riveted door of
brushed steel.

Preoccupied
with yellow eye, my new nickname for this unknown woman, I had failed to notice
the entire surgical team was standing side by side with eyes closed and heads
bowed as in prayer. The call to attention was located in front of a bank of
rather complicated looking machinery.

Curious
to see if my personal nurse was the only person with yellow eyes, I waited for
a member of the staff to show his or her eyes, but none did.

Soon
yellow eye was done busying herself with the items before her. Job completed,
she joined the collective, assuming an identical posture at the end of the line
furthest from the bed: head bowed, arms to her side, eyes closed.

Lying
back down on the cold metallic bed, I saw the soldiers above me stop pacing the
catwalks. Most of the men were running into predetermined positions, the
pounding of their boots belaying the urgency at which they moved. Confused, I
lay taking in my room.

The
facility was oversized and too complex for a medical ward. The room was
cavernous, the size of a basketball gymnasium. Along the far wall to my right
were rows of bindings in a variety of different positions made from silvery
steel chain. To the left were a darkened row of windows. Shadowy figures and
shapes could barely be seen through the glass. Through parted and restrained
feet, stood the series of windows where yellow eye had been spotted working.
Tilting and turning my head, I could see behind the bed were large pools of a
watery substance with empty cages strung several feet overhead.

Bored
and scared beyond belief, I opted to be a smart ass, I asked aloud, "Would
it kill any of you to get me a pillow?"

The
room remained eerily quiet except from the rising drone emanating from the bank
of strange machines brought in by the workers.

I was
becoming unhinged the longer I waited. I had to find out what was wrong with me
and what was happening with yellow eye. She was my focus of attention, the rock
that kept me from wigging out. Occasionally, I would roll my head far enough to
one side and off the bed to see if yellow eye and her fellow freaks were still
stoically standing by. Sure enough each member was there.

I
asked myself, how could people, if they were people, act in such a manner?

This
was beyond anything in my experience in regard to professionalism.

Screaming
seemed a great option to release my frustration and fear, but I wasn't sure how
the soldiers above would react. Looking skyward, I could see the difference in
posturing. In fact, they too were now too ready. A more subtle difference was
the unflinching nature of the stance and expressions that framed every face.
Complementing the body language, the weapons were no longer slung over their
shoulders. The guns were hanging over the
railing
, pointed down in my direction.

My
mind filled with questions I could not answer. However, a couple of things I
did know was the soldiers were ready for someone more dangerous than me, and
though attended to by a cast of bizarre medical staff, I was not being treated
for an injury. I was being detained for another reason.

I must have dozed off.

Through glazed eyes the room did not appear different. The
guards were still at the ready overhead, and any change in their position was
imperceptible. Rolling my head to the side, the hunt for yellow eye began. The
IV bag she had strung earlier was still full. The drip had never been started.

Past the end of the bed, yellow eye still stood with her
eyes closed. This sight somewhat relived me. The rest of the medical staff was
on hand. The group members were stationed along side my silent nurse with
identical, motionless, head bowed postures.

Drugged, restrained, guns trained on and cared for by
freaks, I was somehow at ease knowing yellow eye was nearby. I had once read
that captives often identify with their capturers as they broke under the
stress. I was sure I was breaking. She was a sweet comfort but it wasn't her
lack of caring that made me feel safe or the touch of her lifeless skin. She
was the only contact I had with anything resembling a person since I was
brought from the woods after the attack. If I had awakened without her there
then I would have been crushed.

The soft, low hum of the machines was calming. The
consistent droning had been the soft lullaby that had gently soothed me to
sleep and not the low grade cocktail of drugs mingling loosely within my
system. Quickly, I was finding myself drifting back into the ether.

A crackling pop echoed throughout the chamber as the seal
was broken around the heavy metal door allowing the atmosphere inside to escape
into the antechamber. The air seemed to be sucked from the room as a cluster of
men, among which was Mr. Smith and the angry gentleman from the hospital,
entered through the previously locked door.

"Ethan, how are you feeling? I hope the staff has
treated you well. I am Mathias
Dencourt
, Director of
Future Systems for the Chadron Corporation." The angry man from the
hospital was friendly in his attempt to make conversation with me as he flipped
through a chart hanging from the end of the bed.

"Sir, I feel fine I guess." I made it a point to
jerk at the bindings securing my wrists to call to attention my predicament
though I knew the man was well aware of my situation.

"Your medical staff is a little different in their
complete lacking of any bedside manner." The metal bracelets that held my
arms in place clanked again as I adjusted in the bed to attempt to sit upright
as much as my shackles would allow.

I spied yellow eye in the same posture as before the men
entered; head bowed, hands behind her back, eyes closed, face expressionless,
no rise or fall of her chest.

"Yes. The
Zs
are state of the
art. They can be trained and maintained at a fraction of the cost of
traditional human personnel. We can modify each to specific tasks through a
unique upload system that allows data uploads directly into the cerebral
cortex."

I asked, "Traditional human?"

"The staff in this part of the facility were created
two years ago from our previous medical personnel; one of my greatest
successes. The staff no longer becomes angry, sad, tired or even hungry. If one
does happen to break or be destroyed, then any grunt or street urchin we can
find can take his or her place. I am so proud each time I get to see them
managing the patients in this wing of the facility," The angry man
commented as he replaced my chart to its original home on the bed.

"Traditional human?”
I
inquired again since the question was not answered to anything nearing my
satisfaction.

"That is a pesky question that you have asked. I was
avoiding it because I was unsure how to explain something people can only
fathom in dreams. This staff is very unique, special so to speak, in that the
staff members that have been attending to your medical needs since your
movement to this wing of the hospital ward four days ago are all dead."

The truth hit me gradually. First seeing vampires and now
the undead in my short stay on the Farm, the smaller details were slipping
through the lapses in my understanding. The man had said it had been four days,
but the days lost were unimportant. I had to know about this surreal world of
monsters I had been thrust into with my decision to join the hunt.

Hands casually resting in his pockets, Mr.
Dencourt
glibly looked around the room as he spoke.
"The Constructs are different than the other projects we have undertaken.
They have limited, predetermined function with high rewards. Only a single
generation has been needed thus far which means we can maximize usage of a
smaller controlled group. This recent finding will be the basis for other lines
of
Zs
. A small change in formulation will save
billions in dollars and possibly revolutionize the medical industry. These are
exciting times, and you are about to witness the next step first hand."

Since the last observation, the other men who had entered
earlier had edged closer to the bed I was occupying. The entire group nervously
shuffled from one foot to the next in silence, staring heavily in my direction.
The expressions ranged from smiles to furrowed brows.

Worry began to emerge. Handcuffed to a bed in an
experimental facility surrounded by Constructs, armed guards and well-heeled
men, some in military garb, I came to understand the twist and ounce of truth
from my earlier assumption. The guards were needed to protect the room's other
occupants from what I was about to become.

Slammed with the thoughts, I felt ill at first then angry. I
would be a mindless, soulless yellow eyed medical technician. I was about to
become another test subject, another rat for
Dencourt's
game. I wanted to speak, to scream, but my body, my lips did not respond to my
pleas for movement. Only my eyes would do my bidding and it was an extreme
tiring effort.

Dencourt
smiled as he hovered over
me. The pristinely dressed man roughly clutched my head, using his thumbs to
peel away the skin around the bottoms of my eyes. Satisfied, he checked the IV
drip put in place by yellow eye.

Talking at me though not to me,
Dencourt
straightened.
"Our scientists have
produced a synthetic paralytic ten times more potent than any ever approved by
the FDA. It will allow the nanites to transition more fluidly throughout your
body and deliver the virus more efficiently. Unfortunately, the process is
excruciatingly painful, and we have had our share of deaths on the table, but the
most recent breakthrough I spoke of will rectify that side effect."

I was not feeling the confidence in the breakthrough. I was
so scared.

Turning away from me to face his audience,
Dencourt
spoke sadistically aloud, "The paralytic
won't take away the pain. I cannot stand the thrashing and the screams can be
horrific. This new drug will eliminate the nastiness from our prospective.
Ethan, however, will be tormented harshly for the next twenty four to thirty
six hours."

The man moved to speak quietly with his gallery. Only the
tops of their heads could be seen occasionally as the group debated my fate. I
alternated between watching the drip and straining to hear bits of information.
Luckily, my body was relaxed by the drug and my heart was not racing as best I
could tell. I wanted to hurl myself from the bed. A loud outburst from one of
men distracted me from the reality of my possible impending death. "He is
just a damn boy!"

I couldn't see the face, but the voice was firm.

The statement was rebutted by
Dencourt
.
"His memory will be wiped clean. He could be the bridge between the
generational lines we have already created. We need a young participant and he
is here. The time is before us to take the next step. The rest of his group is
dead, and we have already informed his family of his passing. This is not for
question or debate. The situation and timing cannot be more perfect. This will
be done Tobias!"