The Scrubs (2 page)

O’Keefe stormed over, putting his face in Keeler’s.
 
“You don’t get to take anything back.
 
You lost your rights the moment you came through those doors.
 
You don’t leave until all simulations are complete and your part is over.
 
Understand me?”
 

“I think so.”

“Good.”
 
O’Keefe took a step back.
 
“Let’s get things moving.”

Technicians darted back to their consoles, preparing for the simulation.
 
Medics attended to Jeter, clambering all over the Throne to check his vitals and make sure his nose tube was secure.
 
They treated him like a piece of equipment rather than a person.
 
Keeler glanced up at the gun nests.
 
All weapons were trained on him.
   

“You make a run for it, Keeler,” O’Keefe said conspiratorially, “and they’ll cut you down before you can take the first step.”

“What’s going on here, Governor?”

O’Keefe smiled and glanced down at his feet before turning to Keeler.
 
“Something amazing.”

Keeler’s balls tightened.
 
He wasn’t buying what O’Keefe was selling.
 
It might be amazing for O’Keefe, but he doubted it would be for him.

“Kit this man up,” O’Keefe ordered.

A technician, no more than a kid out of university, gathered up an armful of electronics and darted over to Keeler.
 
O’Keefe supervised Keeler’s instruction.

The technician’s name badge identified him as Peter Lyle.
 
Lyle said, “Right, here’s a mobile phone.
 
It’s got a two-way radio function as well as telephone capabilities.
 
Use the two-way for communication.
 
If it doesn’t work, try the number I’ve written on the back.”
 
He turned the phone over and showed Keeler a label stuck to the phone with a seven-digit number written on it with black marker.
 
“I don’t know if the phone will work while you’re in there, but it’s worth a shot.”

“In where?” Keeler demanded.
 
“Am I being released?”

Lyle glanced anxiously at O’Keefe.
 
The governor frowned and shook his head curtly.
 

Keeler snorted, took the phone and snapped it onto his belt.

“This is a digital camcorder.
 
Try and document what you see.
 
Again, it may not work, but try your best.”
 
Lyle flashed a feeble smile.
 

Keeler took the tiny Panasonic and pocketed it.
 
“You make it sound like I’m going on holiday—James Bond style.”

The technician winced.
 

O’Keefe guffawed.
 
“That’s the attitude, Keeler.”

“If I’m James Bonding it, do I get a gun?”
 
Keeler nodded over at the armed screws who’d taken over from Taylor and Barker at the doors to the North Wing.
 
“It looks like I’m going to need one.”

“Do you honestly think we’re going to give you a gun?”

Keeler shrugged and moved on.
 
“Where are Lefford and Allard?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell us.
 
That’s your assignment.”

“Am I a bounty hunter?”

“Of sorts.”
 

Keeler had already ostracized himself from his fellow inmates and now he was changing sides.
 
He was so screwed if this news got out.
 
“Great,” he responded.

“I can see that you’re raring to go, so let’s not waste any more time.
 
Prepare Jeter,” O’Keefe ordered and personnel snapped into action.
 
“We have a tradition here now before any volunteer goes into action.”
 
He snatched an unlabeled bottle of spirits off a nearby table and held it up for Keeler to see.
 
It seemed to be filled with a green gin.
 
“Centuries ago, before sailors went into battle they were given a tot of rum.
 
For Dutch courage, as you might say.”
 
He uncapped the bottle and filled a champagne glass three-quarter’s full and topped it off with a shot of soda.
 
“Here at the Scrubs, we do things a little differently.
 
Drink up.”

Keeler took the offered glass and sniffed it like a dog with an unfamiliar treat.
 
It didn’t smell like gin.
 
It smelled medicinal, like…like God only knew.
 
“What is it?”

“Absinthe.
 
Drink up.”
 
O’Keefe raised the bottle in a toast.

Keeler glanced at Cady.
 
He’d been silent all this time, an observer at O’Keefe’s heels.
 
Cady looked nervous.
 
No, not nervous.
 
The deputy governor was bricking it.
 
From the look on his face, he knew the shit was hitting the fan and he didn’t know which direction it was coming from.
 
But Cady needn’t worry.
 
In all likelihood, Keeler was standing directly in its way.
 

“Cheers,” O’Keefe said.

Keeler knocked the absinthe back in one gulp.
 
It was nasty shit, tasting like a mix of drain cleaner and cough syrup.
 
Although the spirit burned on the way to his gut, its effect went straight to his head.
 
His skull throbbed, feeling creased.

“Jesus,” Keeler croaked and cleared his throat.

“The only way to kill brain cells,” O’Keefe remarked and patted Keeler on the back.

“Feels like it.”

“Are we ready?” O’Keefe demanded.
 

“Yes,” a nervous voice replied from behind a console.
 

“Activate Jeter.”

The technicians pounded keyboards at their consoles, activating monitoring equipment scattered throughout the North Wing.
 
Hydraulic actuators hoisted the Throne into the air.
   
Jeter’s nose tube pulsed as a green fluid sped towards him.
 
The fluid resembled the absinthe Keeler had drunk.
 
Its aftertaste still clung to the back of his throat.
   

The fluid disappeared into Jeter’s nose, exciting him instantly.
 
He grunted, champing at his muzzle.
 
His hands strangled the Throne’s armrests.
 
His eyelids fought against their stitches and his muscles tightened into knots, bulging from his emaciated body.
 
He released a musk overpowering his previous unsanitary stink and Keeler took an involuntary step backwards.

Electricity charged the air.
 
Keeler’s body throbbed.
 
Although he couldn’t detect a sound, his eardrums vibrated, sensing the off-the-audible-scale activity.
   
His subsided absinthe headache returned with a vengeance, the agony forcing his eyes shut for several moments.
 
Although there were enough electronics to create a magnetic field all of their own, he knew the energy wasn’t coming from any of the machinery.
 
Keeler opened his eyes and stared at Jeter, and his heartbeat quickened.

Green fluid pumped faster and faster into Jeter.
 
He uttered a bestial roar into his muzzle and stiffened against his leather restraints, the material creaking under the strain.
 
Blood leaked from the corners of his eyes.
 
Awestruck, Keeler couldn’t tear his gaze away from the spectacle.

“We have to renew his restraints daily,” O’Keefe said, close to Keeler’s shoulder.

“You’ve turned him into an animal,” Keeler accused.

“Don’t bullshit me, Keeler.
 
He was an animal to begin with.”

Keeler snorted.

“He bit out his own tongue, you know.
 
He’s a very troubled man.”

He isn’t the only one
, Keeler thought.
 
He feared what could happen to him.
 
If Jeter was anything to go by, there seemed to be no end to what could be inflicted upon him.
 
He wondered what this technological freak show had to do with finding Lefford and Allard.
 

“Are you sure that isn’t my destiny up there?”
 
Keeler pointed at the writhing Jeter.
 

O’Keefe shook his head.
 
“Don’t kid yourself.
 
You may have killed a kid, but you’re nothing special—not like Jeter.
 
There’s only one Jeter.”

As if O’Keefe’s words were a cue, Jeter worked his magic.
 
Splitting and cracking masonry shattered the air.
 
A monitoring panel arced and fused, shorting out in a hail of sparks.
 
A technician jumped back from his console when his computer monitor imploded.
 
The North Wing throbbed.
 

“Are you telling me Jeter is causing all this?” Keeler demanded, having to shout over the din.

O’Keefe never got to answer.
 
A shockwave knocked everyone off their feet.
 
The wave seemed to have emanated from Jeter, but at the same time, it hadn’t.
 
Whatever the cause, the North Wing was immersed in an energy field that made everything pulsate.
 
Keeler felt as though he was at the bottom of an ocean.
 

This sensation lasted several seconds before the North Wall ruptured.
 
Keeler whirled as a diagonal rent raced across the stonework.
   
Other tears presented themselves, each one appearing faster than the one before.
   
Shards of masonry tumbled free and dust erupted from the cracks, forming into clouds.
 
Keeler clamped his hands over his ears to shut out the shriek of stone grinding against stone.
 

Standing only feet from the devastation, Keeler was transfixed by the spectacle, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.
 
Hands yanked him back.
 
Keeler turned to see and found it was Cady who had a hold of him.
 
His face was a mask of disbelief.
 

The technicians undoubtedly had witnessed this spectacle many times before, but they still bore looks of frightened primitives observing their first eclipse.
 
Jeter stood out of his chair as far as his leather restraints would allow.
 
Keeler noticed that Jeter had broken his wrist under the load.
 
Only O’Keefe seemed to lap up the event with something that Keeler recognized as pleasure.
 

“Is this the end of the world?” Keeler asked Cady.

Cady shook his head.
 
“Much worse.”

The spider web of tears became too much for the North Wall to bear and the stone lost integrity.
 
The wall liquefied and the resultant lava vaporized before it struck the ground.

“My God,” was all Keeler could say.
 
The guard at the entrance had been right.
 
This was hell.

An untidy twenty-foot high by thirty-foot wide elliptical rent gaped where the North Wall had stood.
 
Melted stone drizzled at the edges of the opening, but quickly solidified.
 
Beyond the hole, open countryside stretched out, disappearing at the horizon where London streets should have existed.
 
It was after midnight but through the hole, hazy afternoon sunshine fought to break through a yellow-green smog.
 
The impossible visage shimmered as if viewed through a heat haze.

O’Keefe took Keeler by the arm.
 
“Didn’t I tell you there was only one Jeter?”

Keeler stared dumbly at the governor then turned to Jeter.
 
The sociopath’s body was frozen in a permanent contortion.
 
Blood leaked from every orifice.
 
He looked as if he was coming apart at the seams.
 
Keeler didn’t understand how Jeter could cause all this.

“What has he done?” Keeler asked.

“He’s created the Rift.
 
That’s the name we’ve given the phenomenon.
 
We wanted to probe his mind, try to understand the beast that lurks within man, and he produced this.”
 
O’Keefe smiled.
 
“Fascinating, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Keeler replied without a hint of sarcasm.
 
For all the fear he felt, he still couldn’t deny the amazing spectacle.

“Instead of telling us what he did to his victims, he created this,” O’Keefe said.
 
“The Rift is the world where his thoughts thrive.”

Keeler glanced back over at Jeter’s Rift.

“You wanted to know what you’d volunteered for, well here it is.” O’Keefe pointed at the Rift and the world beyond it, “Through there are Lefford and Allard.
 
We need you to find them.
 
Bring them back and document whatever you can while you’re there.”