by D.C. Clemens
Chapter Twenty-Two
Retrieval
It was the fourth night of our stay. I was in the cafeteria having a late snack with Yitro and Bervin, which had become somewhat of a ritual, when we were upset by what sounded like a wrecking ball crashing into the first floor below. The reverberation was stifled by the walls and floor, making taking a refined guess as to what had created the crash impossible. The whole room was then swallowed by an influx of red light as all the emergency bulbs turned on. Next, separated only by the difference in speed between light and sound, the piercing blare of the alarm siren choked the previously composed air every two seconds. Bervin and Yitro ran for our room while I left to discover what the cause of the disturbance was.
As I was running, I attempted to contact Liz with the radio I never parted with, wishing more than anything that this wouldn’t be the first time she would let me down.
“Liz!” I screamed closely into the radio. “Are you awake? Lizeth!”
“Roym?” she responded. “I heard something. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’m going down right now.”
I was running too fast to feel my legs moving and I paid no attention to my heavy breathing. When I reached the foot of the western stairs, which meant Liz’s lab was to my right, I attempted to ask anyone who passed by me to tell me what was happening. Most ignored me. Only a woman, who appeared to me to be a lab technician, turned back to say, “We’re being attacked! I think one of the Injectors is inside!” She was gone in another blink.
Almost on cue, my ears began ringing with the discharge of gunshots rushing from farther down the hallway, near where Liz’s lab resided. Next, briefly overpowering the barrage of bullets, I heard the shattering of glass, steel, and concrete. Screaming followed.
Not that I needed any other confirmation of what had just occurred, as the chillness that encased my bones made it irrefutable, but Liz exclaimed, “Roym! Something is breaking the lab doors!”
Without any thought for my own life, I ran down the hall. The gunfire magnified the nearer I drew to the lab, and the spectacle itself shortly became discernible. The half dozen soldiers lining the hall appeared to be bestowing their ammo into the barren air, that is, until I saw the towering, but still crouching, undefined outline of an unyielding object placed before them. Even without ever witnessing one before, I knew exactly what it was; the invisible foot soldier of our enemy. I observed the fiend begin to rise what I could only assume was one of its arms and aim it toward the source of its provocation. My body dethroned my mind and it instinctively rushed me into an adjacent room. Luckily, the door was not fully closed and easily gave way, leading me into an empty office. It was less than a third of a second later when I heard a strange and intense whizzing sound rocketing down the hall. The gunfire was severed in that very instant.
Out of wonder and inevitability, I stuck my head out the door, with as little exposure as possible, to see what I expected to see, but still wasn’t prepared for. Each soldier was lifeless on the ground, blood seeping out from the small holes in their heads. Many of their eyes were wide open, haphazardly staring at whatever they happened to look at when they unceremoniously toppled to the floor. Some seemed to have perished in mid-blink. I had a suspicion their lives had been forced out of them so quickly that their eyes did not yet know their possessors were deceased. Deceased? Why had the Injector killed them instead of infecting them? The Injector’s indistinct form was nowhere to be seen, but that did not mean it could not be detected. It was still alongside the lab doors it had smashed and was now walking over the remains, uncaringly crunching the glass and debris with every step it launched forward. Its presence was made even clearer when the second access door and walls splitting the lab from the hallway was effortlessly broken through by the Injector making its way in.
The screaming of those inside conquered my ears and I was just able to catch Liz’s voice yelling out from the radio, “Roym, stay away! It’s in here!”
What could I do? I prayed to the Spirits for an answer to my predicament, but they must have been as stumped as I was, for no reply came. My heart was at war with my mind. Consequently, my body would do nothing. There was no stopping it. Millions more capable and with more means than I had already clashed with them, and they had failed miserably. Ignoring Liz’s warning would be on the verge of insanity, but insane I was. I couldn’t leave her alone, and most certainly not helplessly trapped in a derelict cage. No one would or could help her, evident by the many people passing me by as they ran out from the lab. Again, something was off. They were escaping, freely. The Injector was obviously letting them go, but why it decided to pity its supposed targets and spare them either the fate of the soldiers or of the accursed was less so.
I sprinted to the newly formed entry the Injector had fabricated, disregarding the dead I had to step over, and peered inside. The glass that once separated Liz from me laid fragmented on the floor. I didn’t even hear it shatter, which I blamed on my negligent rumination. Liz’s brief shriek was cut off in an apparent fainting spell as her body became flaccid and collapsed to the floor. I would have thought she died if I didn’t catch her chest still heaving with heavy breaths. Her body then slowly started lifting into the air, as if possessed by a demon. I knew that was not far from the truth. Starting from her lower torso, she began blending into the background as some tentacle-like cables wrapped themselves around her until she was completely made invisible underneath them. It was taking her? The theory did not offer any more variety of options. Firing my gun was suicide, as the earlier combatants inexorably discovered, and was as likely to bear as much fruit as sensibly arguing with the abductor. Between the alarm’s blares, I started to hear the drumming of boot-laced feet advancing on the lab. I saw the faces to the marching drumbeat belonged to more warriors taking the worn path I had taken.
“It has my wife!” I told them. “Don’t shoot! It will only kill you!”
The sharp cracking of glass behind me stopped my dire appeals. It was faint, but it didn’t matter, the sound punctured and twisted into my brain like a serrated spear. I gingerly half-turned my head. There was nothing for my eyes to focus on, but I didn’t need them. I knew it was only two, maybe three feet from where I was standing. Imagination or not, I sensed it. No warmth did it release, no sound did it eject. There was nothing to indicate it was there, but I still felt the aura of a great hallowed entity consuming my presence. So much so, I anticipated it to breathe down my neck at any moment or snuff my life out with a mere thought. The thought never formulated. The aura began to fade away as the otherworldly construct headed for the access it wrought when it first entered the building. I was left deliberating whether that thing was truly a machine.
My pleas proved to be spent on deaf ears. The freshly arrived soldiers rifled for their target, not knowing their probing would be to no avail. Some stayed in the hall, others roamed the lab. By the time one of them asked me if I knew where it was, it was far too futile to ask such a question.
“Back outside by now,” I answered.
He was staring at me, but I was not staring back. In truth, I do not know if I had answered out loud or not. I tried to think, but my brain felt as though it had been squashed to strain out all the notions of structured thought and only allowed me to recreate what I had just experienced. Liz was being taken and I did nothing but watch, as though it had all been some sort of production on a stage. My wife, the mother of my child, was carried away by a monster, in both spirit and body, and I didn’t attempt to impede it, struck cold by doubt and trepidation.
The soldiers left me, undoubtedly seeking to catch up to our enemy. I was holding an assault rifle in my right hand, picked up from the cooling hands of a fallen soldier by a mind set on autopilot. I was led down the kidnapper’s path by sporadic nerve pulses, not letting me know what they were planning, if they were planning anything at all. Before I left, I thought I caught a glimpse of Liz’s deserted radio at the corner
of her chamber.
An enriching breeze swept across my face. Along with the night’s darkness, distant gunfire enclosed the building. I had now partially stirred and, once I recognized where I was, I gathered that there wasn’t just a single Injector making a foray into the base. I looked down at the gun I was still holding and no small part of me desired to join the soldiers. There was no better way to end it than to fight alongside soldiers much braver than I and die alongside them. It would have been preferable than having to go back to my group. How could I face Neves and Delphnia and tell them I couldn’t take care of their daughter after I vowed to do so in front of them and a cleric? How could I face Dayce’s big, pure eyes and tell him I was a coward? In the end, I was simply prolonging the unavoidable. Between my walk from the open air to the staircase, the building’s alarm had terminated for an unknown reason. Halfway up the stairs, I met Bervin coming down them.
“Roym!” he said, looking relieved to see me. “Are we being attacked?”
I nodded meekly.
“Are you okay?” he asked, with equal parts confusion and worry. “You don’t look well.”
“It took her,” I said feebly, not knowing who was speaking for me.
“Her?” Bervin processed audibly. “You mean Liz? Who took her?”
Hearing the words spoken aloud turned it into scripture. My feebleness went to my legs and they obliged me sit down on the steps. “An Injector. It came into the lab and just… snatched her.”
“Spirits…” Bervin sat down next to me and placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry my boy.”
Knowing saying any more was pointless, we sat there for an untold sum of moments.
I don’t know how long his hand lingered on my shoulder, on account that my entire body froze to the point of numbness. Whether my own skin was still attached to me was left in uncertainty. There was the perception my thoughts were crisscrossing and zig-zagging in every direction, and yet, I never had less cognizance in my life during that suspension of movement and speech.
At some point after the abduction of Liz, I heard Bervin say, “We need to join up with the others. Can you walk?”
I rose without saying a word or giving him any kind of gesture and trailed him to wherever he would lead me; into euphoria’s gate or into pandemonium’s abyss. He coaxed me into our room where the first person I saw, as usual, was Dayce. He was sitting on a bed next to his grandmother, not noting which one, and our eyes met. I could not stare straight into them and lowered my own. He ran toward me as soon as he saw me and put his arms around me tight. I thought them stronger, but it wasn’t until later did I realize my rubber-like body provided the extra sensitivity. I suspect I did not embrace him in return, not like I normally would have, at least. He knew immediately something had changed, that something was not right in his father’s demeanor. It hurt me so much to know I did not have the strength to hide my depression from him.
“Daddy?” he asked, with his inquisitive eyes boring into mine once we separated.
Using its attached strap, I slung the rifle behind me and mutely picked him up. Bervin was with Neves and Delphnia, quietly telling them what had happened. He whispered, but to me he was shouting the verses. He told the rest soon after and I was merely left standing there, holding my son in my arms and letting the guilt sweep over me, imagining what they were thinking. Of course, I knew they couldn’t blame me, but none of that really mattered. In the corner of my eye I saw Delphnia fall into Neves’ arms as she started to weep. Silence disbursed to everyone else, including the handful of strangers, and their eyes stared dazedly at no specific thing.
Raging was the battle outside. No authoritative voice told us what to do or where to go, so we stayed where we were, not knowing where else to go. There was only one window in our company and we made sure to stay away from it. The fear of needles or stray bullets troubled all our minds and it was without issuing a warning to each other on the subject. Being too careful was no longer an adage, but a truth. The lights of our room had been switched off, but unplanned darkness soon absorbed the whole base. The reserve power triggered, giving everything an orange hue. I was still holding Dayce as we sat on the edge of the bed. I felt as though he was having a battle of his own, one within his own head.
Finally, the concern for his mother overcame the fear of the question and he asked me, “How’s Mommy? Can we talk to her?”
I grimaced when he said it, even though I primed myself to hear the query. “They’re taking Mommy somewhere else. We can’t talk to her right now.” How could I tell him the whole truth? Was this the time or place to disclose to him such horrid information? Could there ever be a right time?
The outlying echoes articulated the tale of a one-sided battle. Gunfire, the booms of heavy artillery, RPGs, and other weapons I couldn’t recognize, showered upon our auditory organs. An occasional explosion would accompany them, some I knew to be the mark of a crashed helicopter or vehicle, which sometimes shook the structure if it happened close enough. Nothing compared, however, to the bulging, shrill screams of a freshly corrupted soul. I say screams, but they were far worse than that. The screams of this world came from logical emotions and conviction, but these screeches conveyed not agony or death, but something considerably more monstrous; joy. They were the mad exclamations of crazed laughter bellowed out by the euphorically insane.
Time rambled lazily and bleakly. The open air resistance began to abate. The prospect of escape abated with it. Beneath half an hour, the gunshots were fewer, but they resonated closer. We perceived them outside our own walls, the sound waves migrating into our hall. I clutched the gun with one hand as I stared at the closed door, hearing the indistinct beating of footsteps climbing up the stairs.
I clutched the gun tighter before I heard a familiar voice cry out, “Anyone up here!?”
It was the colonel’s, making me loosen my grasp of the rifle, but not completely.
We were all out of the room and observed the summons was not limited to only us, for as many as two dozen other personnel revealed themselves from within their own rooms. Given that they were being as discreet as we were, we never knew so many were sharing in our torment only a few feet away. Among them was another familiar face in Dr. Gaffor. Wanting to know what was happening and what our next step was, I handed Dayce to my mother and went with Siena, Bervin, and Yitro, who were gravitating toward those huddling in front of the colonel, craving any instructions he would give us as to what we needed to do to survive.
Someone in the front of the crowd was not shy to expose those very thoughts without hesitation, asking the colonel, “Are you getting us the fuck out of here?!”
He responded more tolerantly than I would have supposed he would do when he answered, “We can’t right this minute. There are several Injectors surrounding the base and they seem especially intent on blocking access to the port.”
“So we’re stuck here?!” cried another man in front of me. “Just get us some helicopters! Surround the building with tanks! This is a military base for Spirit’s sake!”
“We have fighter jets with laser guided missiles and two destroyers just offshore,” he continued, his voice not gaining volume, “but none of that matters if we can’t see the bastards. Now everyone calm down. They don’t like coming into buildings, so we can hold out here until preparations are complete.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? One of them came into this very building!”
“And you’re still alive,” the colonel replied. “Its goal wasn’t to infect.”
Dr. Gaffor spoke next, which was a nice change from the others. “Colonel? What preparations?”
“We’re going to make a break for the port,” he answered her. “Within the next ten minutes I’m going to request an all-out bombardment from our ships and fighters. Shortly before then, I’ll order every last man, woman, and child off this base.”
“Ten minutes?” asked the doctor.
“If we wait a
ny longer there won’t be much of a convoy left to escort survivors. If everything is timed correctly, we’ll have cover and a ship waiting for us. Once my men tell me they’ve gathered everyone they could, we’ll make our break. Until then, we need all of you to be ready at a moment’s notice. It’s preferable to stay in this hallway. My men and I will make sure no infected make it up here.”
While I went to hold Dayce again, Bervin and Siena occupied themselves by recounting to the others what was spoken, at least the details of it, for it wasn’t difficult to hear what was said from where they were. The wait was quicker than the colonel said it would be, for it must have been no more than five minutes before he returned to inform us that the trucks were waiting for us and to board them without delay. On arriving downstairs, we saw two canopy-roofed trucks blocking the crude entrance, the one created by the Injector I encountered, with their beds facing the building, permitting us easy access without baring ourselves to the chaos of the outside world.
The battle seemed to lose decibel levels in the mostly new moon night, signaling the situation was graver than ever. After loading as much as could be filled, one of the two soldiers accompanying us gave a hearty slap to the truck’s metal frame, sending us off in a new flight that felt anything but original. The second truck followed close behind a few seconds later. Not much could be seen at first. The truck’s canopy hid our surroundings until it became perceptible from the back opening, but with the only lights coming from the head and taillights of each truck, it was difficult for us to see anything. The convoy that the colonel was concerned could not be made in time was presently formed by the merger of other vehicles. The weapons fire became patchy, and there was almost a synthetic serenity that settled over the base as they died away completely, before the pliable atmosphere was radically transformed.
The port was a mile and a half away when a massive explosion could be heard ahead of us. Two ticks of the clock later, a wall of flames fervently ascended a hundred yards behind the procession, but I felt its hot flares as if they were no more than an inch in front of me. A bright, scarlet light illuminated the truck and it quivered with its reception. The detonations were deafening, drowning out all other noise. New infernos would appear unceasingly, and for the first time since the first alien ship fell, I was in awe by the prowess of our military. I was amazed by the precision of the missile strikes and bomb dives, imitating a waterfall made of steel and fire as they dropped and impacted. They felt so close, but not once did I feel as if we were in any danger of getting hit with friendly fire.
A half mile from our desired terminus, a succession of double-barreled tanks, which couldn’t be ignored even with the vision of firestorms in the backdrop, publicized to us the extensive defensive measures this military outfit knew they had to undertake to give us a chance. Each tank was constantly firing at every angle, not appearing to aim at anything in particular. Nonetheless, it still looked as graceful as though it were rehearsed, something I never imagined was feasible from these robust machines of war. Their uproars sounded much like an orchestra, with the melodious thuds of their shells exiting their barrels generating a rapturous tune. This unusual arrangement appeared to be working well for the convoy, for not one of us was besieged throughout our escape.
I was so captivated by the scene that I did not realize how close we were to our deliverance until we crossed into the pier itself. The boarding was done hurriedly and there was no incident that befell us. Oddly, I felt less safe on the ship than I did in the truck, which I could not completely explain away. We were corralled below deck into some cramped compartments by several expectant crewmen, making the grand warship shrink considerably. There we restlessly waited for the maternal embrace of the open ocean. The reports from the huge guns of the warship thundered into our enclosure, their pulsations giving no sign of relenting even as the ship began to move. They remained unbroken for a dozen or so minutes before all the reports finally died away. The collective sigh exhaled by everyone’s relief temporarily supplanted anything else as the loudest sound. It was not until then did I recognize how firmly I was holding on to Dayce and how tightly he was holding me in return. In any case, the realization did not loosen our grips. The crew was stirring to and fro and they appeared to pay little attention to their new company. All the same, I doubted there would have been much they could tell us.
“Is Mommy on the ship?” Dayce suddenly asked me.
I anticipated such a question and replied with my equipped response, saying, “No, Dayce. She’ll be moved somewhere else. We might not be able to see her again for a while.” While it was not technically a lie, I still could not look into his eyes for long.
“Oh,” was the only reply he muttered as he looked sadly at the ground.
I wondered if he knew I wasn’t telling him everything.
Time did not penetrate the floating transport. The sole reason I knew time persisted at all was the crumpling of the unceasing waves against the exterior of the ship, rocking it from either side and letting us know who still reigned over the seas. Several hundred of these watery batterings later, a crewman darted his head into the compartment and impassively said, “This way.” With those words, one and all and all at once, like we were gears spun by the same hand, followed him. We went through a labyrinth of narrow corridors before we entered the sleeping quarters. “You can stay here until we can put you ashore somewhere. Restrooms are farther down and breakfast will be served in an hour. I’ll come back then.”
The sleeping arrangements were as rudimentary as could be fathomed in what was an older model of warship, established by the traces of rust on the floors and walls. Twelve could sleep in one room with cots that could easily be hauled down from the wall they were secured to. Of course, sleep would not come easy for most. Still, there was nothing else but to lie on the plain green cots, look up at the bare steel ceiling, listen to the isolated sounds of the external tumults, and wait for the beckon of food that was to come.
Late in the afternoon, or so I was told, for not once had I seen the daylight since our arrival, the news was spread of our journey's final destination. It was to be a naval base located on the Boca island chain about six hundred miles northeast of our present location. Over a full day was consumed before we reached the islands we sought. The Boca chain was a picturesque and twisting set of generally small islands with only a handful large enough to be able to cope with the burden of a notable population. The only benefit these islands served before the world was adversely overhauled was for their use as upscale tourist destinations. Now their ports and beaches were congested hubs for absconding refugees who were fortunate enough to have access to a boat.
The island we came ashore on was used purely as a Navy base, so we seldom encountered other exiles, which included sailors and soldiers, who, I imagined, were either assigned to a ship or on the mainland. So with most troops being elsewhere, and as the majority were part of the military anyhow, many of the evacuees aboard our ship were allowed the opportunity to use the barracks, making it a tight fit, though the working power prevented the fit from being uncomfortable. The first order of business had us refreshing ourselves and resting up in housings not dissimilar from those we left, except they were smaller and we did not have to share with other people. A revitalized body did nothing to ease a mind Liz always occupied. The small amount of comfort came in telling myself that the demonic entity did not desire her death, or at least did not take it in front of me, which I knew would have killed me one way or another.
Two and a half days after our preliminary steps onto the island, disquieting new information reached the port. Every last Tower was gone. The last sighting had been the day before and there was the impression that they all went missing at the same time, an action, by all previous accounts, they had yet to achieve before. With their sanctums away, reports of Injector attacks decreased, adding to the mystery. I could not imagine their mission already completed, for I was still standing. In trying to come up with p
rospective explanations, an image of Liz in one of those Towers flashed over my insight. Had the Injector taken her into a Tower? Where else could it have taken her? And if it did, was it a fluke that the Towers disappeared soon afterwards? Was this a thought created by an insensible mind or did it hold some merit? My reason was too much in ruin to astutely answer it myself, so I decided to seek out Dr. Gaffor. I found her just outside the doors, speaking to a soldier. The conversation they were having ended as I walked up to meet the doctor.
“Did I interrupt something?” I asked the veteran doctor as the soldier strolled away.
“No, Mr. Rosyth,” she replied politely. “I was just submitting another request to be transferred to the lab at Avron University. I know it’s a tall order for them, but I think it’s important we get back to work studying the data we were able to gather.”
“You were able to share the data with AU?”
“Yes, we had a satellite up-link with them, something our enemy has not touched. They helped put more eyes on the problem, plus they served as a backup. Unfortunately, we are now over two thousand miles away, making it likely my request will be denied again, unless the lack of Towers actually makes things better.” She did not sound so confident.
“Does that bother you as much as it does me?”
“You mean about the Towers disappearing?” she casually responded. Then, as if she had already read my thoughts, she asked, “You’re thinking your wife is possibly in one of them, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help visualizing her trapped with them, doing who knows what to her.”
She inquisitively stared at me as if she was debating if she should tell what she was pondering. She decided to do so. “You know, I constantly worried the microbots living within her would realize she was resistant and would then turn on her. Instead, it seems they must have sent a signal out to the Injectors, telling them where she was. Given everything I’ve seen, only one conclusion makes sense. I believe your wife was exactly what they wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve been mistakenly using the word ‘resistant’ to describe Mrs. Rosyth’s stability, but I now think ‘compatible’ is a more appropriate word.”
I absorbed what she was telling me for a moment. I then said, “So, incidentally, you’re saying this is not an infection, then? That most of the infected are, what, failed subjects of some kind?”
“It would explain why the Injectors took such an interest in your wife and why neither the infection nor the Injectors kill outright more often. I highly doubt Mrs. Rosyth is the only one out of hundreds of millions to experience this compatibility. The Injectors must have taken more with them as well, but for what purpose, I cannot say.”
“If this line of thought proves correct, then even if we find what made Liz so compatible to this pseudo-infection and spread it to others, it could simply attract the Injectors to us. Maybe not the best way to find our salvation.”
“Salvation?” she mused. “Perhaps that’s what they think they’re giving us.”