by Dan Yaeger
“I am Wayan, Wayan Gusti; and we are dying man!” He said frankly and assertively. Rob, still with his head torch scanned the man, trying to work out who he was; seeking the measure of the man. In a very perceptive and intelligent way the man said “Yes, I am not from here and I speak funny. From Indonesia: Bali. Now will you help us? Please!” He threw his arms up and then down in a slump in a plea. “Yes, there is one other in there, she needs your help,” Shiva implored him. Rob’s gaze returned to Wayan, who also looked like death warmed-up. The Balinese man stumbled forward toward Rob in a sort of capitulation; the shiv was lowered. “Please, mate. Please sit-“ Rob assisted Wayan into a chair. Again the man stunk and was in appalling condition. The veins on his skin were worse than on Shiva, ruptured and seeping dark blood.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Here is the milk, the milk that will keep the virus from going any further.” Rob offered a few units of the milk to the man. Wayan grabbed the milk and downed it, giving a yelp, for relief, joy or perhaps a culmination of many emotions when someone has salvation.
Wayan began to well-up with tears and cried like any man would at having someone rescue them from death. “You said there was one more? Where are they?” Rob asked, trying not to be insensitive to either Shiva, weak from hunger, or Wayan, breaking-down after being iron for so long.
Shiva almost jumped to life again and said, “At the back, the very right corner. Rob, yes, Mr Rob, please - Heather is in there! I must get back to her-” he fumbled and tried to get up. Wayan leaned to the young man and gently patted him back into his seat; “Let this Rob Chisolm help her now; you have guarded for weeks. You have done more than anyone could.” They both cried and babbled with exhausted emotion and the horror of what they must have been through. “Yes, I will get Heather too, no worries, I’ll look after her,” Rob hurried off through the door. Rob entered the one-way door with haste. The smell worsened to an ppalling state as he ventured in and the true horror was everywhere and in plain sight. There was a sea of bones, corners of the sealed-off gloom had faeces piled high. The extent of the appalling conditions was also made apparent by the flies that had come through the one ventilation system. Rob, who had seen large quantities of excrement on the farm, immediately knew the absence of maggots in the rotting conditions had meant that these brave souls, trapped in the rancid pit, must have picked through the filth to eat the fly larvae. While he was still moving and on a mission to find Heather, he took it all in. That experience would stay with Rob, both changing him for the better and scaring him for life. It was about to get worse.
While there were flies, the occasional rat darting around (he suspected they had also been a food source at times too), he noticed something about the bones. They had been picked clean. There must have been at least a hundred corpses and there wasn’t a bit of flesh, sinew or tissue left on them. In fact there were piles where the bones had been cracked open and the marrow sucked out. Piles of rags, once the clothing of people who had turned, flanked the bones. It was evidently used as toilet paper and for bedding. The horror. Rob dry-wretched, heaving with the horror and the sense of suffering that the Doc had metered out on these innocent people.
From the gloom and in the torchlight, Rob found Heather. She was a young woman, perhaps early twenties and reminded him of his sister; the same red hair. But Heather was both lovely and something out of a horror movie; a head and torso with gangrenous stumps instead of limbs. She lay there, serene and peaceful. She would have been a pretty girl once; lovely red hair and freckles, colourful cheeks and red lips. Her freckles had to share her face with black, bursting veins and her lips had new tenants; burst purple blood vessels and sores. The spring dress, still pretty beneath its wear and tear, covered in flowers, covered in filth. She still had earrings, hoops of gold in discoloured, rotting lobes. Her legs, above where the rending had happened, were covered in modest leggings. It was like Rob’s sister used to wear; to keep out the cold on those changeable spring days. Rob just could do nothing but weep; he had nothing to prepare him for this. He had never seen anything so horrible, so sad, and likely wouldn’t ever again.
Amongst his tears, he was surprised to heard her voice. “It’s OK. It’s not your fault.” She was calm and weak but still lucid and with a thick Irish accent. Rob said nothing more and he decanted the milk he had into her mouth, multiple units, hoping mother’s milk would deliver miracles, but it would not. “The ones that went crazy got me, the lads would never have done this,” she said, leaving a legacy for her two friends.
Rob was speechless and listened to the clearly intelligent young woman who, like her counterparts, had such perception and emotional intelligence, as if to read the young farmer’s mind.
“We heard about this place, you know? We heard there was a Doctor here that had some sort of technique of treating people; funny huh?” She smiled to reveal, despite the horrors, a Hollywood smile. “So we left the University, it was a safe enough place. Some of the chem-students had a way to slow it, y’know?” he nodded into that innocent face. “So we came looking for a better solution. A whole bunch in a mini-bus. We were late turners or is that late bloomers?” Rob let out a laugh through the tears; she could still joke. The young woman, clearly dying, smiled at the success of her joke. He face softened into calm and seriousness.
“Yeah, we were still holding on, hoping he could cure us. He gave us milk and sent us down here. When that door closed-“ she coughed up black blood. Rob understood, remembering the chaos of just a few months ago, before the squads were largely destroyed. Her condition was beyond his help, he knew she was very close to turning.
“They did bad stuff to me. They did worse to some of the others. But it doesn’t hurt anymore, did I tell you that already?”
She opened her eyes, for the first time, to reveal pale blue irises. Her eyes were wide. “Please mate; I can feel it. It’s coming. Please keep my friends alive. Please?”
Rob was deeply affected by Heather what she was and what she represented. He gently stroked her hair, like he did when he lost his sister.
“That’s nice. That’s-“ Heather said, her words cut short. It was one last moment before she gulped and gasped and was leaving that place. Rob was sprayed with a light spray, an exhalation of rancid, dark blood, as he gently held her head. With one, swift movement, like he had done so many times before, he ended her suffering and spared her from the indignity of turning.
Rob was changed forever.
Chapter 10: Safely Hidden
It was the dead of night in the Rock. The mysterious door, normally locked to the inhabitants of the Rock was about to reveal a secret. A soft white hand, a woman’s hand knocked on the door in a signal.
The door was heavy and pulsed open with a heavy heave from Rob Chisolm, who’s head emerged, looking left and right, to see if his signaller was there. Alicia gave him a wave and a wink. He flashed her a tearful but relieved smile in response.
Rob jogged back from the Pen, buoyed at the good at he had done. He felt terrible but good again; he felt the change washing over the Rock. He had one last part to his mission: deception.
Rob’s footfalls resumed to a normal walking pace and he calmed his breathing as Barlow’s Den was in view. With one last deep breath he entered the room. It was late and Barlow was reading some instructions and mumbling, trying to work out something worked or how to get it working again.
This would be Rob’s finest acting performance.
“Hey mate,” Rob said, looking at Barlow. “Yeah, what?” the fat jailer, armourer and handyman asked without any respect. Barlow wasn’t in a good mood and didn’t look up. This played to the young man’s advantage. “Hey there’s something the Doc wants you to do,” Rob continued, walking over to Barlow’s counter. “Like I said: yeah, what?” Barlow said roughly and with an air of frustration.
Still no interest in Rob: rare for Barlow. Rob could see the dice had fallen in his favour and he leaned against the counter. He noticed Barlow look up, gazing oward the c
ell were the infamous survivor, Jesse lay asleep. The cell was strangely set up with hanging wet clothes, a mattress leaned against the bars. Jesse’s half-naked body lay in an odd corner of the cell, at peace.
Barlow’s eyes returned to his work. “Oh, he has had a knock-back from Jesse,” Rob concluded. “Lookin’ at what he wants, but can’t have it.” Rob couldn’t help but enjoy the moment, having a pretty good sense of Barlow’s sour mood. His face dropped when he remembered those people Barlow had oppressed, jailed and tortured. “Heather, Prasad,” under his breath, he said the names of those few he had encountered and those who had paid with their lives for a berth at the Rock. “Wayan and Shiva,” he whispered; “You’ll be free soon.”
Rob gently slipped the key onto the surface, near where he had found it. He covered his action with the noise of his voice, his statement. “Yeah, anyway, the Doc wants you to go to the basement. He said there’s like a roach problem down there. Wants you to head down there, see if any are alive from your last visit and kill them.” Barlow looked up and stared at Rob. The interest was both that of someone wanting to get an important task done and someone who relished the opportunity to meter out violence and harm on other. Rob could barely control himself as Barlow deliberately broke eye contact and looked down to his documentation and the parts he worked on.
“My last visit? I haven’t been down there in a few weeks! I though Leon was going to f-“ Barlow was conscious that if no-one had been feeding the infected experiment subjects that they would have surely died, probably eaten each other and there would be one fat and happy zombie to kill down there. “Better than nothing!” Barlow concluded to himself. The deception needed Barlow to act without talking to Leon. Leon had been down to the basement just a few days before, according to Shiva and Wayan. With Dimi teasing and keeping Leon busy, Rob’s first masterplan was coming together.
“The bloody Doc hasn’t been on his game lately has he?” Barlow said. It was more as a general statement than a question; Rob didn’t answer. If you see him before I do, let him know it will be sorted.” Barlow said. “Don’t disturb him tonight, though,” The fat man continued. “Interrupting his private time with the sexy Samantha will get you some lovin’ from me if you’re not careful. Got it?” Rob nodded as Barlow’s threat made the fat pig of a man smile with enjoyment. Barlow looked away, back to his work. “Is my, ah, key there; up on the counter? I couldn’t see it up there earlier today. Find it for me yeah?” Barlow looked at Rob with a little bit of intensity. Rob wasn’t sure about his motives and played along. “No worries- which one?” Rob asked, keeping things going. “The silver one: leather throng on it.” Barlow said a little impatiently but then assured himself that Rob would have no idea about the key. Rob wasn’t sure if Barlow was testing him.
Rob nodded, playing along and holding back the emotions and hate for the sick bastard. “Hold on,” Rob’s rough hands fumbled with the little mess of trays holding chits, papers and a few loose parts for effect. “Yep, sure is. Under this radiator pipe you silly bugger! Catch-“ Rob said. The was thrown to Barlow who caught it. “Cheers,” Barlow replied, shifting his weight from the chair to get up. Barlow groaned at some unknown ache or pain and walked past Rob. “I’m going to get to it now. You watch this guy,” Barlow gestured over to Jesse and the cell. “I expect to be an hour or so, likely to be a couple to finish off.” Barlow smiled at the thought.
“No worries,” Rob said, knowing the staged scene would be good enough for them to give up on the place. Rob had set things up so that it looked like Prasad had euthanised Heather and then dropped a cinderblock, on his own head, to end the misery. The others would be presumed eaten. Alicia proved to be not only a true friend on that night, he knew he could rely on her for anything. It bode well for any potential future they had together.
Barlow picked up a machete and strapped its leather scabbard to his belt and leg. “They must be some roaches?!” Rob said, not being able to help himself. “What? Yeah, they are some whoppers!” Barlow laughed off the obvious inconsistency. With that, Barlow grabbed a few other items, including a torch and proceeded to leave the room. As he passed Rob, Barlow came in awfully close, whispering in his ear.
“See you round like a rissole.” Barlow hissed, gripping Rob’s rear. It was very hard for the man to contain himself but he did, for the greater good. Barlow waddled off with his old-school, wooden-heeled, leather-shod boots clopping on the lino floor.
Rob was feeling that sense of success when a plan comes together. Just as he thought he had pulled it off, he heard the footsteps stop. He froze. Barlow came back in, at a rate of knots. “Hey; what’s those black splatters all over you? Looks like zombie blood to me. Is it?” Barlow asked quizzically.
Rob’s mind raced. “I need an excuse. Quick!” The young man thought he was done, fear and adrenaline washing over him. “Ink? Oil from a vehicle? No-“ he had it.
“It is, mate. It is zombie blood. I’ve been given a role as new jailer of the Pen. Wanted some practice to defend those birds, I did. Sharpened up my skills, I did. Went outside and nailed a couple of the zombies like an old pro.” He folded his arms and smiled smugly at Barlow.
“Buuuuuullll-shit!” Barlow guffawed, still looking at him with suspicion. Rob’s story was plausible, related to the Doc and his orders and needed some icing, just a little topping. “You’re lying! Prove it!” Barlow stabbed him in the chest with a fat finger.
“Did them in with my Bowie knife,” Rob said triumphantly, producing the blooded knife from its sheath. Barlow’s scrunched features dropped and softened to a blank look. “Right on,” the fat henchman said simply, turned and walked out.
After that second exit of Barlow, Rob breathed in deeply as he heard to footsteps disappear into the Rock. As he breathed out, an unexpected voice said “It sounds like we need to have a quiet chat. The key, your story; we do need to talk, friend.”
Rob turned around to see Jesse, wide awake. They would talk for some time.
Chapter 10: Dante Lionimus
It was sunset and Jesse was smiling, looking through barred windows and captivity: strange. The sunset, the change from day to night and the beauty that it brought, appealed to his nature. His little window on the world was enough to charge his batteries; nature did wonders for him. As natural a feeling as his love for Jen, despite her most unnatural of circumstances. Jesse remembered the amazing days and nights he had with Jen and the bond, love and connection they had. It made him smile even more. Like a flower blooming in the springtime, Rob watched him for a moment; vibrant once more. He was partly healed.
After getting to know him over the past week, Rob and Sam had come to admire Jesse. He was a remarkable character and man; one of a kind. Jesse was a survivor, source of a cure and a saviour of sorts. Rugged, tough, but gentle and kind, he had a natural charisma that many would follow. Jesse had the right stuff. He didn’t want or seek out to be the master of people like Penfould, but he would find he inspired people, made people want to be like him, stirred loyalties and people’s trust and reliance on him. In the coming hours and days, Jesse would prove that people were right to trust in him. He delivered, he survived and others could survive with him.
But survival required food and that moment of soul-food, Jesse looking out into the sky, was not enough. They all needed to eat.
Rob and Sam arrived to collect him. “Hey mate,” Rob said. “Ready to go?” the young country lad asked. It was dinner time, the usual drill, and Sam and Rob stood there regarding Jesse; a man they had come to know, wanted to know more about and admired. He didn’t look at Sam and Rob as they entered; he held his gaze on the sky and nodded. He had risen.
“Would he make the change happen?” Sam thought. “Will he be the person to free us?” The feeling of change was growing in the Rock; it was about to crack. But this cracking of the Rock would not be a simple affair. There would be no clean break of two halves separating. Things were about to get messy.
Back to that cell and J
esse, the man who would make difference, was feeling more like himself again.
That sunset had done it; it had topped my day. It had overcome the dark brooding thoughts about Jen and being a prisoner. It made me smile again, I could not explain it. It was as if nature itself was indicating that a day, a time, an era in my life was setting and, despite all of it flaws, had beauty. It was strange that I could not have the same closure on my family who I simply could not think about and stay sane. I kept them out of my mind, parked them again, for another time. This was time to think about, to deal with, Jennifer Jensen.
The sunset reminded me of Jen who, in turn, reminded me that every day held a gift and new surprises. She had showed me how to love and be loved again. I would forever hold her in my heart and remember the time we had. It could never have been enough and I would always yearn for her, like I did my family; a piece of my heart given away for ever. With that chapter ending, at its sunset, I held hope and optimism for a new day. But first I had to live through darkest night.
I was on autopilot on the way to the evening meal with the Doc. Replaying time with Jen, relaxed, calm and at peace, I walked a step at a time and with instinct rather than purpose. Even on that walk, in shackles, I felt well and free and alive again. I am not superstitious but I remember wondering if it were Jen, somehow in spirit, channelling me and reminding me it was all OK. Whatever it was, it was a salient moment; time to take action. We arrived to dine with that fuckwit; Dr Kian Penfould. I resolved it was to be the last time. I snapped back to reality, and my plan, and had purpose again: laser-like.
The meal was to be memorable and the best the Doc had ever endeavoured to put on. Memorable it was; the last supper.
I entered the familiar room and noticed Penfould grimaced as Rob opened the door without knocking or formally seeking permission. “As if that sick bastard deserves the respect of a king!” I thought to myself. Penfould snarled and mumbled “peasants” under his breath as we entered. Like switching his feelings from night to day with obvious falsehood, a fake smile spread across his toad-like face. “Welcome, welcome. Please accept my hospitality and enjoy food and my sincere hospitality!”- Bullshit.