Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

              “I burned my mother, you know,” he says, treading faster to keep up. “It was an accident, but it felt so, so good. I heard your father almost killed you. Why don't you burn him? I promise, it would make everything better.”

              I start to run. He easily traipses beside me.
Bye, dinner. It was nice knowing you. Truly.

              Blood drains from my face as my stomach sends its contents through the cardiac orifice. I halt and hunch over, my hands on my knees.
Gosh, this hurts.

              “Kandi...?” Brock's fingers wrap around my right bicep. That's the trigger.

              I feel the world settle its weight where his hand has made contact. My head throbs, my feet ache, and my stomach churns. Every organ and tissue inside me seems to flee my body through my mouth as I expel my dinner to the floor. An icy black sheet cloaks my brain.

              I crumble to the floor, my mind aimlessly drifting into oblivion.

              “Careful... Easy, now,” Doctor Smith coaches his apprentice as he slices the knife across my hairline. “Don't ruin that pretty face. Just cut slowly.”

              A nurse standing on the other side of me dabs blood from my forehead before it reaches my eyes. Apparently, Blue Skys is against giving me any sort of drug now, so I feel everything, see everything, and smell everything. I can even think about things. I try not to, however, given how they are in the process of cutting into my “thinking zone.” What, is this... the
third
time they have done this?

              I know why. They want to examine my brain while it is still working. Soon it may be too late to perform this little experiment.

              You know whose brain I'd like to examine? My dad's.

              I think about that for a second, then decide against the idea.

              The following day I am lying in bed pondering life’s biggest questions when Doctor L’s heel-tapping filters into my isolated quarters. My right arm is draped over my eyes, so my view is limited to her feet.

              “Patient 1, come with me, please.”

              My plastic gown rustles against the sheet as I slide off the cot.
Oh, yea
. Another unproductive interrogation/torture session. Humans never learn. I follow Ms. Hendricks through several corridors to a rectangular room full of children and adolescents. Perfect. I look up at the Doctor. She is eyeing each individual suspiciously as they obediently form a line against the padded wall.

              She nods toward the kids. “I have learned inflicting pain on you will not convince you to talk,” she explains. “But you seemed greatly affected by 108’s death, so I devised a simple test for you. Fail, and
they
pay the price.”

              The expressions they display come nothing short of awe and admiration as they gawk in my direction. They do not seem aware of their supposed impending anguish.

              I almost laugh, though laughing by now is as foreign to me as Pluto. There is a flaw in her plan, and if she doesn’t see it, I imagine she never will.

              “Take a seat, 1.”

              I robotically comply. Two nurses from the corners step forward to hook me up to an advanced polygraph machine. I stare calmly at the padded floor. The Patients before me don’t seem afraid. Why should I?

              “State your name.”

              I press my lips together. Thirty seconds pass in uneasy silence. I wiggle my fingers and toes, raw power vibrating under my skin. Without Theratocin, I am free. I retain uninhibited control.

              Ms. Hendricks signals a nurse to inject the youngest child of 10 with a harpoon-sized needle. I focus on it, and the syringe wriggles from the nurse’s grasp and embeds the wall behind me. The nurses and L gasp. A few children giggle and sheepishly cover their mouths, while the older Patients shift uncomfortably.

              Doctor L, promptly conjuring a new tactic, calls for backup in her earpiece and orders the nurses to vacate. When backup arrives, she orders them to direct the children to another room.

              “Come on, let’s move!” a man shouts as the Patients scuffle along.

              Once we’re alone, L yanks the syringe out of the wall and jabs it into my arm. I barely feel it. “You best behave, Kandi, or
all
of the Patients will suffer.” She straightens. “Get up. We are relocating to the gas chamber.”

              Soon I am sitting in a dark room, staring through a glass window at the 10-year-old girl. She reminds me of Traci. Her innocent smile tells me she trusts me implicitly.

              “You know the drill,” Ms. Hendricks states, pacing the room behind me. “Fail to answer a question...”

              ... And the girl will either die or pass out from noxious gas inhalation. Understood.

              “Tell me your name.”

              The funny thing is... I can’t. My voice box is frail from disuse.

              Ms. Hendricks is merciless. “Bills!” Her word is Doctor B’s command. He releases the gas into the chamber. The young Patient’s brown eyes widen and gleam. “Speak, Kandi!”

              The glass between our rooms shatters, and the gas wafts through. I unfasten the polygraph from my arm and gaze down at Ms. Hendricks as she writhes miserably on the floor.

              “Hit the alarm! Call security!”

              I will never speak, Leyla.
Never
.

             
“Tell me how you came here, Jeremy,” Leyla whispered as she nuzzled his neck. “Tell me about your home.”

              Jeremy chuckled deeply and shifted so the sheet slipped from his broad shoulders. “I would love to tell you, Leyla.”

              She stroked his chest with a long fingernail. “Well, why don’t you?”

              “Because your intentions are misanthropic. I have only told my daughter. She has a right to know her heritage. You have no such privilege.”

              Leyla scowled and lifted her head. “Then why am I here with you now?”

              He smirked and nipped at her nose. “Because you want to be.”

              Suddenly an image of my mother dead invaded my subconscious. I woke up in my tent screaming. Traci jumped awake and rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists as she yawned. “What's wrong?” she asked sleepily.

              I was shivering and sweating profusely. My sleeping bag was in a bundled heap at my feet. My throat was parched. I coughed and erupted in sobs.

              Traci tore out of the tent to fetch Mom. Mom climbed through the open flaps, whispering, “Shhh... Kandi, it's okay. What's wrong? Nightmare?”

              I confessed what I had dreamed to my mom in one breath.

              And for whatever reason, she took me seriously.

              Nostrils flaring, she left me sobbing in the tent and returned to the one she shared with Dad. Traci retreated to her sleeping bag and covered her ears as Mom and Dad screamed at one another. The fight extended the rest of the night.

              The Doctor looks up at me in a desperate panic, grasping her internally-constricted throat. “Please, Kandi. Stop this. Just...” she gropes for breath.

              The alarm sounds, and I step out into the unbearably-white hallway, where the Patients are gathered to escape the plume of gas. Their expressions are not cruel, but quite the opposite. They deem me with more respect than I have received from anyone. Where I go, they follow.

              “Are you going to save us, One?”

              I scan the faces of the young humans and decide I will do what I can. First, they need to run. I wave a hand forward, indicating they should scuttle. One of the older Patients, a girl approximately my age with black hair and olive skin, seems to understand and reiterates the command.

              “Run, guys! Security is coming!
Corre!
” She shoves them forward and vanishes from all eyes but my own.

              I look the other direction as men in masks tramp through this corridor. A tranquilizer dart impales my neck. I cast it aside and stand still, hoping to intimidate them with my laconism.

              “Security” freezes in its tracks, and the leader issues a cue for one of his men to move. “Take the girl.” He raises his voice. “Shut off the gas and lock down the building!”

              I let them move past me, but I will not permit physical contact. The moment the man’s gloved hand reaches for my arm, his fingers begin to disintegrate. He screams and retracts his filthy paw, cradling it against his chest. Via the other hand, he infirmly holds his weapon and fires a few rounds, which somehow do not achieve their mark.

              “Chuck! Grab her and let’s go!” I spy Ms. Hendricks’ comatose form flopping over the leader’s shoulder. The wide vents in the gas chamber close with a series of mechanical noises.

              Chuck hesitates, torn between following orders and surviving. His chest heaves with concealed pain. “Come with me, Patient 1,” he pants. “It isn’t safe here.”

              He can’t hurt me. No human truly can. I no longer have to be their slave. I am free of toxins, so I am free of them.

              When Chuck attempts to snatch me again, his hand cleanly detaches from his wrist.  I turn and walk away as his screams perforate the walls.

***

The Date

              May 25, 2017

                           
My senses gradually sharpened as my
strength was ostensibly ignited by Kandi’s piercing cries. I kept this newfound hope concealed as Doctor Hendricks entered the Death Room following the apprehension of the girl. She did not look happy.

              “I had hoped she would plead for your life.” The woman stamped her foot in a highly unladylike fashion. “I need her to say
something
!” She glared at me. “This is getting out of hand,” she muttered as she reattached the tubes to my body and replaced the shackles around my wrists. “I am sorry it had to be this way, Juan. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.” She sighed. “I wish I could help you understand.”

              “Just... tell me,” I whispered, feigning frailty. “I deserve to know.”

              “It was your father who signed you up for this project,” she reluctantly revealed, “back when Blue Skys was under construction, and we needed Patients. Unfortunately, due to your mother’s initial objection to the idea, we waited a few years for an ideal opportunity to take you in, in a furtive manner so your mother wouldn’t know. It was just as Jeremy predicted: you dropped right into our laps. Staging your death was effortless. Governor Garcia even agreed to support your mother while you underwent treatment here. For a tale spun so perfectly,” she remarked morosely, “I had expected a happy ending. I almost wish you didn’t
have
to die. Regardless, thank you for your contribution, 108. You will not be forgotten.”

              With that final poignant speech, she turned and walked out, her guards following closely behind, shutting the door roughly enough to shake the walls. After an echoing click as locks and bolts slid into place, I tested my energy level by wiggling my fingers and toes and bending my joints. I took a small moment to marvel Kandi’s magical spell that restored vitality to my bones. As powerful as she seemed, I yet inexplicably felt the responsibility to save her.

              I tossed the crisp sheets from my body and realized, like Kandi, I wasn’t wearing pants. How was I going to escape in my underwear?

              I recalled my last moments in Sunny Days while I unplugged myself from the machines, how I was sure the only way to destroy Blue Skys was from the inside. I realized there was still a way to wreak havoc, especially now that I was dead.

              Once the door was open, I had to move quickly. I raced down the hall, knocking anyone who happened to cross my path along the way, and descended the stairs to the ground floor. I knew the layout of the building pretty well after two years. There was a floor only administrative personnel could access: the basement, where all of their lab work transpired, and where the Doctors stored drugs like Zidivin and Theratocin. It was heavily guarded and required a handprint and code to enter, but this wouldn’t be a problem. I was heavily armed, thanks to Patient 1. Somehow, she had cleared my body of liquid death.

              The ground floor was bustling with Doctors and Nurses, so skirting around these obstacles would be difficult, especially in nothing but poorly designed underwear. I cast my gaze around for a closet, or perchance a convenient Doctor’s coat lying around.

              Crouching low to the floor at the bottom of the stairwell, I waited. In no time, a woman came around a corner, scanning papers on a clipboard. I grabbed her face and covered her mouth before she could scream. I knocked her in the head and took her coat, tying it around my waist after humiliatingly discovering it was unfit for my physique.

              I was working fast, because I knew any moment someone would catch me on camera and send a legion of idiots after me.

              Sure enough, just as this crossed my mind, the alarm shredded my inner ear. I tore through the corridors, throwing people aside along the way, heading straight for the command center.

              “Stop him!” someone yelled. Security dove for me, but my reflexes were hypersensitive under Kandi’s spell. Anyone who came close enough did not remain there for long. I burst behind the main desk to a glass cubicle I called the Command Center, where Doctor Hendricks signed papers and made phone calls to her enigmatic employers. I had not been aware of this room’s existence until I was admitted the second time.

              Inside, to my unmitigated astonishment, Eliza was sitting in a chair across from Doctor Hendricks in a patient’s sack, her dark hair tangled and unwashed, her face free of makeup. She looked up at me with the same face I was probably presenting her. “What are you doing here?”

              Two large men behind me grabbed my arms. “Eliza?” One of the men socked me in the gut. It didn’t faze me.

              Her large eyes dampened as she cried, “Get me out of here, Juan! You’ve gotta help me!” She knelt on the ground and vainly reached out to me.

              Doctor Hendricks stood abruptly. “Take him out!” I saw a fire in her eyes I had yet to see in anyone, including my own father. She was livid.

              I ripped my arms from the guards’ grasps and shoved them with all my strength to the floor, unsheathing one of their weapons. I shot them both twice, and aimed at the rest of the army gradually filling the hallway. “Don’t take another step!”

              They didn’t.

              The first man to take a shot at me received a bullet in the Adam’s apple. Doctor Hendricks gasped as she viewed the spectacle from within her glass box. I was desperate. I knew it; they knew it. Kandi revived me for a reason, and it wasn’t for me to die another way.

              I pictured her face as I snatched Eliza from the floor by her hair and pointed the gun to her temple. “Let me go, and she lives!”

              “Juan, what are you doing?” she exclaimed in Spanish.

              I answered her in the same language. “I need to find the basement. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

              She seemed to relax. I held the gun more forcefully and flexed my arm around her throat.

              “Juan, you must listen to reason,” Doctor L stated calmly with a hint of fear in her voice. “You would never hurt an innocent girl. Lower the gun.”

              I calculated my options and opted for the ‘turn and run’ tactic. I sprinted too apace for Eliza, so I lifted her into my arms and told her to scream. Thankfully, she listened. I turned right into a short passageway. At the end was the locked elevator. I dropped her and said, “Turn invisible and run.” She nodded and hastily obeyed. Security caught up with me a moment later. Now cornered by four muscular soldiers, I adjusted my grip on the trigger and narrowed my eyes.

              My unoccupied hand found the metal gate barring me from the elevator just in time to tear it off the wall and heave it at the enemy, temporarily disabling them. I moved so expeditiously that I was even a blur to myself. I regretted having no time to wonder at my newfound talents. I disarmed the least affected man and forced his hand to the scanner.

              “Tell me the code!” I ordered over the earsplitting alarm, bending the man’s hand until it cracked. He screamed.

              Another man, regaining his footing, attempted to shoot me, but I held his partner in front of me as a human shield, then threw his body with force great enough to pin him to the ground beside the unconscious remainders.

              “What is the code?!” I demanded adamantly, directing my borrowed weapon at his shielded face.

              He held his gloved hands over his face and whimpered in surrender. “One oh five oh eight oh one!”

              More security was on the way, I could feel it. I smashed his visor in with the butt of the gun, knocking him cold. I nimbly twisted around, typed in the code, and entered the elevator. The doors shut in time to block three bullets. I leaned against the back wall and breathed laboriously. My head spun as I tried to comprehend what I was doing. I couldn’t believe I was still alive. I closed my eyes and muttered a quick prayer, wiping my sweaty brow with my right forearm. I apologized to my mom for abandoning her before the elevator doors opened.

              The basement extended further than I could see. Small light bulbs embedded in the ceiling hardly lit either side of the room, with most of the room’s illumination emanating from desk lamps, microscopes, and glowing glass freezers situated along the walls. A soft, audible vibration filled the dank, frigid air as scientists studied chemicals, blood samples, and vials of various potions. Fog wafted from the transparent cases. Miraculously, my presence initially went unnoticed by the scientists, who were too engrossed in their work to observe their surroundings.

              ...Until I began demolishing them.

              I pounced on the freezer cases, each of which were labeled with a number, beginning on the right with
1
and ending on the left with
110
. I smashed these one by one with a chair. The lab employees called futilely for security and hid under untouched tables.

              When I was finished razing all that I deemed of import in the basement, I discovered a set of stairs leading up to an alternative exit – strategically located so people could deliver equipment covertly. Through this door, I made my escape into the night.

***

              For weeks, I have been hiding from civilization. I am starving, dehydrated, and filthy.

              And, as I'm beginning to suspect, delirious.

              This is evidenced by the fact that I am fevered for the first time in my life, and I can't sit still, much less sleep. I see things which I cannot decide are concrete or immaterial.

              Existing in a stranger's cellar, eating nothing but garbage for a month, can do that to a person, I suppose.

              I'm lying on an old, dusty couch under a scratchy blanket. It appears to have come from the seventies. If it wasn't covered in dust and cobwebs, I would be blinded by the combination and patterns of the colors printed on the material. My entire face is caked in lava, but the rest of me is frozen to the bone. I'm queasy, tired, and hungry.

              I am also too weak to move.

              I wonder if Kandi and Eliza are still alive. I know Eliza would have escaped long ago had she not been under heavy medication. She could only remain invisible for a few seconds, just as Brock could rarely emit puffs of flame. However, now that the Theratocin supply is running low, I hope the Patients at Blue Skys are taking advantage of the opportunity to flee. I fear that it may already be too late to save Kandi.

              Right now, I am so miserable that the mere
notion
of moving hurts. I'm shivering and burning. I can't decide whether to bathe myself in ice or light myself on fire. I'm sweating so badly that, even lying down, sweat is rolling into my eyes and scorching them.

              What should I do now? Do I dare get up to find something that will abate the pain? I'm not sure. My head's pounding so hard that I can't think.

              Hours pass. The sun is setting. I can see the oranges and pinks in the sky through the tiny cracks in the cellar's exterior entrance.

              A thud on the other side of the cellar abruptly startles me. I shrink into myself on the couch and cease breathing, hoping whoever made the noise doesn't discover me here. Whoever lives here – I'm speculating an old man – would likely shoot the likes of me on the spot.

              “Okay, let's see...” mutters a young woman with a Southern drawl. She trips on something and cusses. “Stupid Ned. He needs to clean up this dump before I kill myself.”

              She is talking to herself. How funny.

              I hear the clattering of glass bottles. “Ah, here it is,” the girl brightly remarks. She is behind the couch, and it sounds like she's inching way too close for comfort. Her footsteps are light and delicate. I hear her shallowly breathing for a moment, and then she begins walking slowly around the couch...

              Nukes erupt in my head.
Crap! What should I do?

              I close my eyes as my conscience commands.

              I feel a soft, round pair of buttocks press against my face gently before they suddenly fly into the air. The girl screams more profanity and steps back a few feet.

              I quickly open my eyes and sit up, but realize the moment I do this that I just made a terrific mistake. I'm going to vomit.

              “Who are you?” the girl squeals, clutching a bottle of wine in her hands as she looks at me with wide cerulean eyes.

              I cough and groan, unable to speak. My head falls back to the arm of the couch.

              “Oh, my gosh,” she gasps, cautiously walking toward me. “You don't look well.” She hesitates before placing the bottle of wine down on an old coffee table. “I'm... I'm going to fetch Ned. Stay right there,” she orders before zipping off into some fairytale land where someone named Ned might exist.

              I close my eyes and remember darkness.