The Product Line (Book 1): Product (7 page)

--What the fuck, man?

Ernie slumps to the floor cradling his left hand. Gideon stands closely by, and the two stare intently at the mangled fingers as they start to twist and turn until they resemble their previous shape. Ernie continues to shriek through this process.

--It takes decades to learn how to fight through the pain. The volume on how you experience your life has been turned up. Pleasure, pain, at their limits they are one and the same, but it will all heal eventually, given that you have your treatment. Part of your job will require pain. It is unavoidable.

Gideon slides his hand under Ernie’s armpit and helps him to his feet.

--I have told you more than I am comfortable discussing. I want to be clear that this information is meant for your ears only. I am not a foolish man, nor am I one to simply share such a great deal of information with a youngling. You are an oddity, one who should not be in our unique… group, yet here you stand. Do not cross me, do not let me down. Do not falter in our agreement. Should your allegiance to me be questioned, or should my rules and warnings go unheeded, I can make every moment of your existence feel unbearable. As I said before, you will live quite a long time now, and if for some reason the idea of your own suffering is not enough, I am sure that…

Gideon withdraws the missing person flyer from his pocket and hands it to Ernie.

--I am sure that the idea of losing your beautiful Marie would be a strong motivation.

Ernie curls up, ready to lunge at Gideon. Gideon’s face harbors no ill will, just the matter-of-fact expression of an emotionally detached master manipulator.

--Ernie, that was not to be taken as a threat, simply as a warning. I cannot expect you to adhere to all the rules if you do not understand that there are consequences. I am not a bad man, or an evil man. I am simply a person who has lived a very long life and does not wish to waste time building an air of suspense. Do as I say and the rewards will be great, challenge me and the consequences will be immeasurably harsh.

Ernie nods, the pain from his hands subsiding as the dark purplish-black pooling blood under the skin of his fingers is reabsorbed into his body.

--There you are. Good as new.

Gideon signals to the door.

--This way.

Ernie obliges, realizing with each step that his choice to remain alive, to receive this “treatment” has just put his daughter at more risk than any other selfish, reckless thing he has ever done in his life. He walks through the door, not certain what to make of Gideon but concrete on one point: Gideon is not a man he intends to challenge.

As he walks with Gideon, he can feel the insides of his skull flutter, like a swarm of flies trying to make their way out of his brain. Based on what Gideon has told him, he assumes this is the Virus working to repair the years of damage done by the sauce and who knows what else. An uncomfortable electrified tickle eating away at lesions and decay. The Virus is gonna be pretty tired.

Ernie smiles to himself.

Chapter 9

Ernie and Gideon proceed through the interior of the large warehouse-like building. The innards look like a recently abandoned hospital, or a very well-kept public school. No lockers though. If not for the occasional person making their way through the building, and the subtle sounds of heartbeats in the background, he’d believe they were the only ones here.

The once overwhelming sound of the heartbeats is becoming fainter over time. Perhaps it has something to do with the treatment, somehow amping up his system shortly after receiving it, or perhaps he’s getting used to blocking the noise out. Whatever the reason, it’s odd nonetheless. The electrified flies in his skull stop their buzzing.

It takes several minutes of walking before Ernie realizes that there is only one light on in the hallway. Considering the length of the hallway, it is surely not enough to light the entire corridor, but still Ernie is able to see as clear as day. The walls and corners of the room all seem to have an odd pixelated glow to them. He reasons that all the people he has seen walk by are infected. That they work for or with Gideon. They would have to be in order to see in this darkness.

Also, there is a scent. He has been becoming more aware of it with each step. A sort of bittersweet essence that seems to be coming from Gideon and the others, like vanilla flowers and decay. At first he thinks it’s some sort of cologne, a fancy French name with multiple apostrophes in the title, but he can smell it on himself as well, but his is fittingly filled with more foul notes. It is coming out of his pores in almost visible puffs of translucent vapor.

Finally they reach their destination. Two large double doors located centrally to the inside wall, with a thumbprint scanner and keycard access panel. Whatever is behind these doors is important. Another door at the end of the hallway has additional security measures, alarms and keycard access panels.

Gideon holds an access card to the terminal, and then places his thumb on the scanner. A large magnetic deadbolt clunks open and Gideon reaches for the handle of the door.

--I suspect that what you are about to see will be difficult to palate. I ask that you suspend your judgment until you better understand the circumstances under which we are operating.

--Mmm. OK.

Gideon turns the large handle to the door and pushes the door open. The lights inside the room automatically come on. The security scanners buzz and a red light at the top of the entryway flashes accompanied by a beeping alarm.

As they cross the threshold, the first thing that Ernie takes in is the redundant security placed at the door, for those who would be exiting from this room back into the hallway. The next thing that hits him is the smell. The hideous smell. It hits him in the face like a baseball bat. Before he can even try to choke down the reflex he empties his stomach at the door.

--That is horrible. What is that?

As the scent molecules rattle around his nose like lightning bolts of smell, Ernie is able to pick out the individual notes of horror: excrement, bile, bleach, infection, dying flesh, rot, mildew, mold, vomit.

--No matter how hard we try to hide the odor, we will be able to smell through the barrier. I would say it is something you get used to, but that would be a lie. At best it is something that you learn to tolerate. It will… take time.

Ernie knows that this is the way others feel when they encounter him in the street. They cover their mouths as they throw money on the floor to get past him. Ironic that something like bad odor would be the thing to tip his guts.

After Ernie has collected himself and begun a rigorous mouth-breathing process, he is able to continue the nightmarish tour. Still, he hovers on the edge of losing it again.

--This is the intake facility.

A half-dozen people lie on flat tables. Their arms are stretched out on small mobile tables with IVs connected to them. Tubes and catheters run in and out of every possible opening. Each IV lead that runs from the arm of an individual is piped back up into a dialysis machine of sorts. He remembers seeing some of the guys at the VA hooked up to them, the guys waiting to sit down, eating salt and vinegar chips and cookies just before having their kidney-free systems washed. Getting the toxins pulled from their blood and then having it spat back into their other arm. These look different though.

Most faces are obscured by breathing apparatus or tubing, but he is able to make out one of the “residents.” He’d only seen his face briefly, but it is burned into his memory.

--That’s the little shithead who shot me!

Gideon nods.

--He shot us both.

Ernie keeps looking. The rest of the group is young kids, no more than twenty-five. Tattoos covering their necks and arms. These are the gangbangers from the alleyway. They are in bad shape. The one who shot Ernie is missing an arm. The larger one, the voice of the gang members, looks like he is barely hanging on; Ernie can smell the decay.

Their recent murder attempt on him aside, Ernie has always had issue with the gangs, their senseless violence and fear mongering.

As Ernie takes a few steps toward them, Gideon puts his arm out to stop him.

--These men are in what we call intake. They were injured when we brought them here and we have done our best to restore enough of their health for them to begin producing for us.

--This isn’t a facility, it’s a farm.

--Yes. It is.

Ernie is no humanitarian, but surely this is not something that should exist in a civilized world. People sedated and hooked up to machines that skim blood from them. Human beings acting as the delightful soft-serve for vampires? This is crazy.

--So there are more than just these few.

--Yes. Quite a few more. Each one yielding about a pint a week. We keep them sedated. Keep them in twilight so that they are not aware of what is happening. Before you jump to some sort of judgment, I want you to understand that these are not good people. These are killers. These are men who have stolen and slaughtered and polluted the city for years. Their lives do nothing but harm and in the end, they will die by the sword.

It makes sense in a perverse way. Gideon is having to explain less and less, and certainly only needs to give Ernie a slight nudge for him to accept the justification.

--So in your mind, these are people who would kill others, and because of those actions they deserve to die? By doing this, you spare them immediate death, prevent them from killing and use their blood to keep the infected from going berserk and devouring the city. Am I about right?

--Bravo. Yes. Exactly. It is not just a singular good, it is unilaterally good. Oh, I am excited to see where the Virus takes you.

As the two men begin to agree on the logic behind the Farm Treece makes a slight, barely audible moan. A guttural gurgle of sorts.

***

Through the opaque haze Treece is able to make out that the lights have been turned back on to the room he is in. He is no longer in pain, instead he is virtually numb from the neck down. He is aware of the tubes in his mouth and nose, but they do not gag him as before. Though he cannot hear, he is aware of some shadowed shapes near him. Two of them. He tries to ask for help. Only a gentle moan escapes.

He wants to wake from this nightmare, or at least return to the dreamless slumber that he was roused from.

***

--This one, I will admit, is being treated a little differently. I am not above being a little cruel to those I find especially detestable. I have him on a dose that is just low enough for him to come in and out of consciousness. To be painfully aware that his choices in life have been… unwise.

Ernie recalls the pain in his leg, the certainty of his death, how this punk was going to simply take his life from him.

--Fuck ’em.

--Yes.

Gideon escorts Ernie from the room, back out to hallway. The heavy doors close behind them.

--Come. There is more to discuss.

Chapter 10

Ernie leans casually against the railing of a glistening mirrored elevator. Not a smudge or streak to be seen. Gold trim runs along the seam of each piece of mirror. The light behind the PH button is illuminated. In his left hand Ernie holds a silver case. A thick chain runs from it to his arm where it is attached with a silver handcuff. He lets out a sigh. It’s been a long “day.”

It’s been more than a year since Ernie last closed his eyes for longer than a well-deserved sigh. There were a great many details provided during his first night with Gideon, but even more that had been left out of the conversation. Important points like ”you don’t sleep anymore.” Sure, some try out of habit, but there is no real use to it; you don’t feel rested, you don’t dream. Basically it’s several conscious hours lying still with your eyes closed. Maybe if he were good at meditation or something it would be nice.

Without sleep the everyday cycle of night and day, the sense that anything has a “conclusion,” goes away. There is no respite, no exhale or pause where you can think,
Glad that’s over with,
or
I’ll start fresh tomorrow
. No. It is just one long, unending day.

Having spent more than the last decade of his life on the verge of a blackout, or actually blacked out, it’s one of the things he often finds himself missing—being tired. The feeling of heavy eyelids and a need to organize the day. He misses dreaming. He misses booze more. Misses the sting of a stiff drink. The feeling as the burn runs down the back of his throat, numbing him to the pain of reality.

In the passing year his mind has definitely become more tuned, sharper. It’s as Gideon said, but also not. The Virus’ effect on him appears to be a cumulative process. Each passing month he can feel himself becoming more than just a man. He can read and understand anything that he commits effort to. His memory is photographic. He can access all the memories of his childhood, a sort of savant-like recall.

Although Gideon glossed over it that first night and is reluctant to indulge Ernie’s curiosity, Ernie knows that this Virus—this infection or curse or whatever it is—is doing more to him than simply making a better version of himself. He’s changing, there’s no way around it, and his metamorphosis is working toward a definite conclusion. There is a finish line for the Virus, an endgame. Ernie understands that there is subtext to Gideon’s comment that Ernie will not live forever, or Gideon’s offhand remark that the ancients are all dead and gone.

These are perhaps the most telling components of Ernie’s new condition: that his mind never stops, it never slows, it is constantly evaluating a situation and envisioning the components leading up to it. He can size people up pretty quickly. Gideon was the first to notice it. Ernie can see through people’s deceptions, he can evaluate a situation and know how it might play out.