by J. D. Weston
“You escaped?” asked Farrow.
“I did more than escape, Farrow. You never saw a boy so alive, so strong and fearsome.”
“That’s why you want the drug? That’s the basis of all this research?”
“I know, Doctor Farrow, that the human body is capable of so much more. Instinct protects us. But what if it didn’t? What could man be capable of if the measures that nature gave us to harvest energy, to feel fatigue, and to protect ourselves from ruination were removed? I know, Farrow. I know what they are. I know that just ten men with unlimited power, led by a man such as myself, would be unstoppable.”
“You’re as mad as your father, Kane,” said Farrow. “You’ll kill them all. All this will be for nothing. Let me help you. Let me finish the research.”
“Oh, you’re going to finish the research, Doctor Farrow,” said Kane, taking delight in the relief that washed over his face. “In the absence of another suitable test subject, you’re going to be my final experiment.”
6
Trampled Underfoot
“I’ll find you,” called Jones.
That voice.
“I gave you a chance once before and you blew it. You chose to run.”
Dead leaves beneath his feet crunched as he circled the dead body on the ground. Fifteen feet away, Gabriella hugged the trunk of a pine, not daring to move.
“The truth is, Gabriella, you need us. What are you going to do when it runs out? What are you going to do when your body aches for more? When you can no longer function without it? Doctor Farrow told me all about the symptoms.”
His words elicited a desire in Gabriella’s body; a bead of sweat formed on her brow. The skin on her back burned as if a fire roared in her flesh. Her throat, as parched as the desert sand, seemed to shrivel and crack like the leaves beneath her feet.
“What are you going to do, Gabriella?” His rough London accent conveyed the charmless smile of a man who held all the cards. “I have what you want right here. Do you want me to ease your pain? I can do it, Gabriella. I can make you strong again.”
A shuffle of leaves scattered and his voice quietened as he moved away. Gabriella rested her forehead against the bark of the tree. She stared at her hand. Her fingers twitched as if electricity pulsed through her veins. Her peripheral darkened and no matter how many times she blinked away the tears, her vision remained a blur.
“I’m leaving now, Gabriella. The choice is yours. If you want help, if you want what I have, then you come and find me. I’ll be waiting.”
A fatigue, stronger than ever before, came over Gabriella, weakening her legs. She clung to the tree but her fingers failed to grasp the bark. A wave of nausea washed through her body. Her burning skin and cold sweat found the forest breeze and she fell to the forest floor, breathless.
“Wait,” she called out between gasps of air, using what felt like every ounce of remaining energy in her body. She squeezed her eyes closed as a rush of blood swelled behind her eyes. Then she crawled to the tree and lay against it as sleep seeped into her mind like dark molasses.
The crunching of leaves stopped.
“Show yourself, Gabriella,” called Jones. “Show me you’re not armed.”
“I am armed,” she called, and she felt the rise of acid at the back of her parched throat. “But I can’t run any further.”
“What about the vial that Farrow gave you? That’s right, Gabriella, we know all about Farrow and the finished product.”
“I don't have it.”
“You used it already?” said the man. “No. I don't believe that for a second. You’d be high as a kite by now.”
“I’ve hidden it. Somewhere safe,” said Gabriella. “Somewhere you’ll never find it. If you kill me, it’ll be gone forever.”
“Very clever, Gabriella.”
“It’s my insurance. Give me a hit and I’ll tell you where it is,” said Gabriella. She spat the putrid acid from her mouth. A string of thick liquid hung from her lip, but she no longer had the energy to care. “I just need one more hit of the prototype to help me walk.”
“And then what?” said the man. “You take a dose and run again? Is that it? What about when that runs out?”
“It looks like you’re the one with choices now, Jones. Option one,” she called, recalling the choices he had given her the previous night. “You give me a hit of the prototype in your pocket. I walk out of here and tell you where to find the undiluted SFS.”
“That’s risky,” said Jones. “Not much of an option. What’s option two?”
“I put this gun to my head and you deal with the consequences.”
The dust was still settling but the fire had exhausted anything combustible by the time Harvey came around. The roof of the garage laid on top of him. It was a single sheet of corrugated asbestos burdened with the weight of loose bricks and timbers pinning him to the ground.
He flexed his fingers and toes before trying to move his arms. Then he found room for his legs to move. But with nothing solid within reach, there was no purchase to push or pull himself out from the debris.
A small gap in the rubble to his right allowed a slither of sunlight to reach his face. He turned his head, seeking fresh air and feeling the weight of the roof on his chest as it rose and fell. But the stale, acrid air of fire smoke and dust was all he found.
He tried to roll, forcing the asbestos sheet up just a few inches, enough to make room for his body to shift onto his front. A wound in his leg screamed out at him, and the familiar warm trickle of blood cooled on his skin. With the smallest movements of his toes against the concrete, he worked his way toward a hole in the rubble, clearing debris to widen the gap as he crawled. Harvey’s injured leg trailed behind, limp like a dead companion being dragged from the battlefield. With just his elbows and one foot, Harvey scraped, pulled and pushed until, at last, his head emerged through the hole in the ruins.
To force his arms through the gap meant the full weight of the roof crushed his chest. Eventually his hands, searching blindly in the open air, found a timber to hold. With a final pull, he wrenched himself free of the rubble.
Harvey rolled to one side, holding his damaged leg off the ground. Looking down, he found a shard of timber sticking from his thigh. His pants were torn and soaked with blood. He pulled the tear wider, exposing the wound, and reeled with pain as he inspected the damaged flesh.
With gritted teeth, he growled loudly as he worked the wood from his leg. Then, when the shard came free, he rolled onto his back, breathing deep and long, controlling the pain.
It was only when the initial sting of the injury had passed that Harvey opened his eyes, wiped them with the sleeve of his jacket and dared to look at what remained of his house. The entire side wall had blown out. The lack of support had collapsed the roof, which had fallen into the house and destroyed everything Harvey owned. The blaze from the explosion had burned through the ancient roof trusses, leaving just three half-standing walls and a pile of bricks and tiles.
Deep inside Harvey, another fire raged.
A brick moved close by then fell to the concrete floor followed by a shower of dust. A hand appeared from the far side of the debris pile, followed by an arm, coated in dust and blood. Freddie fought to scramble free of the debris, dislodging a pile of roof tiles that slid and crashed to the ground.
Rolling to his good leg, Harvey pushed himself onto one knee, wincing at the stab of pain in his thigh. He found a length of old window frame that had been ripped out of the house by the blast. Two long, twisted, rusty nails protruded from one end. With the help of the timber, and by keeping his leg straight, Harvey managed to get to his feet. Then he hopped, dragging his foot behind him, toward the noise.
Half-buried under a pile of roof tiles and broken bricks, Freddie clambered free. Blood dripped from his forehead and neck. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle and dragged behind him as Harvey’s did. But Freddie’s showed a glint of white bone through the broken skin.
; Harvey swung the timber and buried the nails into the man’s shoulder, eliciting a scream, long and loud. With gritted teeth and fighting to control the anger raging inside him, Harvey dragged Freddie away from the rubble. Then he dropped down onto one knee and rolled him onto his back, where he stared at Harvey with the same defiant amusement he had shown before.
“Tell me who you work for and I’ll end it now,” said Harvey, easing his own leg straight to stem the bleeding.
But the man merely coughed a spray of bloodied mist.
“And if I don't?” said Freddie, his voice choked with blood.
“I’ll break every bone in your body.”
But Freddie said nothing, forcing a smug smile between rasping breaths.
Finding a broken brick close by, Harvey took it in one hand, and without warning, he slammed it down onto the man’s arm, crushing the bone against the concrete. Freddie’s head shot up, but with Harvey kneeling on his chest, all he could do was growl and spit as the pain took hold of him.
“I’ll ask again,” said Harvey, adjusting the brick for a better grip. “Who do you work for?”
The intruder began to hyperventilate. His eyes forced shut and from deep inside him, a noise emerged, somewhere between a growl and a high-pitched whine.
Harvey brought the brick down on his other arm, feeling it crack. He held the brick in place for a moment, pushing the flesh against the shards of sharp bone and pinning the man down by his throat, who thrashed and tried to buck Harvey off his body.
But still, despite the sobs, whines and panting, the man refused to talk.
Reaching back, Harvey dropped the brick, took hold of the intruder’s twisted leg by the ankle and held on as bone found nerve, and pulses of energy sent the man into spasms. His back arched, and as Harvey twisted the leg further and further, feeling the sinew stretch and tear, the man finally caved with a scream like a child. Blood leaked from his mouth. It spattered across his face and, as he lifted his head at Harvey, growling like a wild dog, it filled the gaps between his teeth.
Harvey raised the timber, resting the two sharp and bloodied points of the rusted nails on the man’s forehead. Then he grabbed the brick from the ground.
Their eyes locked. The intruder stared at Harvey, pleading with his eyes to end it.
“Every man breaks at some point,” said Harvey, his tone calm and soft. He spoke as a father might when sharing a nugget of wisdom with his son. “Most men will talk at the very fear of pain. Some men will wait a little longer, testing to see how far I’ll push them. Others will hold out until they stare death in the eyes. Then they face the last decision they’ll ever make.”
“You’re sick,” spat Freddie, his throat thick with blood and his voice hoarse from screaming.
“The truth is, most men are weak. Most will cry. It doesn't matter how big they are. They’ll cry like the day they were born at the very thought of the pain they might endure. You’ve done well, Freddie. You’ve lasted until the end,” said Harvey, eying the two nails as they formed tiny dents in the man’s forehead. “But this isn’t the end. If you’re thinking that all of this will be over in a few moments, if you’re thinking you only have to hold on for a short while, think again, Freddie.”
“Just do it,” said Freddie. Then he lowered his voice as he faced his destiny. “Just finish me.”
“I can make it stop,” said Harvey, his voice quiet but loud enough to be heard above the panting. “Just say the words and it’ll all be over.”
“You’ll never stop him,” said Freddie. “He’s too powerful.”
“Power? Do you want to see power?” said Harvey. A flash of blood pulsed behind his eyes. He raised the brick high above him, locked eyes with the intruder, and felt the body tense beneath him. “You asked for this.”
“Kane,” said Freddie. “Cassius Kane.”
Harvey stopped with the brick held high above his head.
“Where do I find him?”
A tear rolled from Freddie’s eye, leaving a trail of pink skin in its wake, bright against his grimy face.
“Talk to me, Freddie. Where do I find him?” said Harvey.
But Freddie didn’t reply.
He stared at the sky, still and silent. The rasping breaths stopped. The grunts as he fought to control the pain throughout his body silenced.
Harvey lowered the brick in his hand. He removed the wood with the two nails from Freddie’s forehead and tossed the makeshift weapons onto the debris. But only when he climbed to his feet and began to hobble away did he heard a sound.
He turned and faced the dead man.
A radio on Freddie’s belt crackled into life.
“Charlie-one, this is Charlie-two. Target is recovered. I’m bringing her in.”
“Take the syringe, Doctor Farrow,” said Kane. “You know what to do.”
The doctor’s eyes shifted from the stainless steel tray of loaded syringes on the trolley to Kane, who sat in the control room behind the glass. His feet rested on the desk and his hands laid folded on his lap as if he were watching a movie.
The show was just beginning.
“No,” said Farrow. “I’m not a lab rat. I’m not one of your kidnapped test subjects. I am Doctor Jeremiah Farrow. I’m one of the most respected experts in my field.”
“And now you’re going to demonstrate what you can do, Doctor Farrow,” said Kane. “I want to see the very limits of your wonderful creation. And who better to show me than the creator?”
“You can’t force me,” said Farrow. “Bring me one of your prisoners.”
“You are my prisoner, Farrow. Do I need to remind you that you killed three of them and let two escape? So now, it’s just you.”
“I didn’t kill them. You can’t put that on me.”
“There’s five syringes on that tray, Doctor Farrow. On my command, you will inject the first syringe,” said Kane. He flicked the power on the video camera and hit record. “The final test, Doctor Farrow. Are you ready?”
“And if I don't?”
“Oh, you will. One way or another,” replied Kane.
He leaned forward and pulled a slider back on the complex control panel.
“What are you doing?” said Farrow, seeing his movements.
“Oh, I’m just giving you a choice, Doctor Farrow. I’m not an evil man, as you know.”
The hum of the ventilation fans slowed then faded to silence.
“The ventilation,” said Farrow. “What have you done?”
“I would suggest perhaps remaining as calm as you can, Doctor Farrow. You’re aware, I presume, how much oxygen the human body requires?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” said Farrow, eying the ventilation louvres at the top of the walls.
“Given the size of that small room, I’d say you have approximately an hour to live. Now, I’m happy to sit here and watch you suffocate. But what a waste that would be, Doctor Farrow. I’ll turn it back on when you inject the first syringe.”
“You’re a cold bastard, Kane,” said Farrow. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Time’s ticking, Doctor.”
Farrow unbuttoned his cuff, holding Kane’s amused gaze in his own bitter stare.
“That a boy,” said Kane with a smile, and released the MIC button.
Snatching the first syringe from the tray, Farrow prepared the injection. He released the air from the chamber, tapped the syringe to make sure no air bubbles remained, then worked his arm muscles to identify the vein.
“You never know,” said Kane, more to amuse himself than spur on the doctor, “that drug with a brain like yours, you could become a real genius.”
But to Kane’s surprise, the doctor needed no more spurring on. He found the vein with the point of the syringe and administered the drug with no hesitation.
“All the way, Doctor,” said Kane, watching with delight.
The syringe was pulled from the doctor’s arm, and he held it up for Kane to see the empty chamber. Then he dropped it in
to the tray with a metallic clink.
“How do you feel?” asked Kane.
“No different,” replied Farrow. “Do I get some oxygen now?”
“Sure.” Kane pushed the slider up to the bare minimum until the fans kicked into life.
“So what now? Do you want me to run like the test subjects?”
“No, Doctor Farrow. I do not want you to run. I want you to stand perfectly still. I want you to think about everything you ever learned. I want you to reach into the corners of your mind and open the gates.”
“You’re quite mad, Kane,” said Farrow. “You know that’s not how the drug works.”
“It worked for the girl.”
“It worked for the girl because she was angry, because she’d been locked up for a month with all the time in the world to devise a plan. You want to see me escape? Do you really want me to convince you to swallow your own tongue, Kane?”
“No, Doctor Farrow. No. I do not want that. Although, it would be fun to see you try. No, Doctor Farrow. I want something quite different.” He flicked his eyes to the stainless steel tray and back to Farrow. “I want to break you.”