by J. D. Weston
Harvey took a single step toward him.
But the man’s radio broke the silence.
“Alpha-two, this is Alpha-one. Come back.”
A plume of thin, grey smoke vanished into the air as he pulled his radio from a pouch on his belt.
Harvey crept through the shadows behind him.
“Alpha-two receiving,” replied the man.
“How are you feeling, Alpha-one?”
“I haven’t taken it yet. Have you?”
“No, not yet. I’m not one hundred percent sure about injecting myself if I’m honest.”
“Same,” replied Alpha-two. “I’ll use it when I have to. When is the attack due?”
“I have no idea. But keep your eyes peeled. Charlie-two says the boogeyman is out there tonight.”
“The boogeyman or Santa Claus?”
“The boogeyman, Alpha-two. You’re on the naughty list. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” said Alpha-two, taking a long pull on his cigarette. “I’m out back. It’s all clear. I think the smell will keep him away.”
“Get back inside. Control your zone. Charlie-two seems to think this guy is good.”
Alpha-two exhaled a cloud of smoke, looked left and right, and then raised the radio to his mouth.
“I guess he’s on the naughty list too then?”
“Back inside, Alpha-two. Over.”
Alpha-two dropped his cigarette to the ground beside the car. It landed with a hiss before the man crushed it beneath his boot. He turned and stopped in his tracks as Harvey pushed the tip of his blade under the man’s chin and up into his mouth.
Wide-eyed, Alpha-two inhaled his last breath as he tried to push Harvey’s hands away. But a single kick sideways into the man’s knee took him down onto the wet ground. Harvey knelt on his chest, released his knife and eased the man’s suffering with a slash across his throat.
“Six hours, Jones,” said Kane. “Six hours until the prime minister arrives and we become the most celebrated men in France. Are we ready?”
“The men are in position, sir,” said Jones.
The sound of footsteps on the steel mesh mezzanine walkway that ran around the perimeter of the pharmaceutical factory was percussive in the open space. Bright lights hung from the white painted ceiling, illuminating the glass vials and casting monstrous bloody shapes across the smooth, white worktops.
“Six months, Jones. Six months of watching those scientists day after day, failure after failure, excuse after excuse. And we finally have it. Nothing can stop us now.”
“What about the girl?” asked Jones.
“She’ll come crawling back. She’s been dosed with SFS for the past month. Her body needs it. She can’t live without it.”
“And Stone?” said Jones. “The man has taken out three teams already. He’ll come for us here and we don't have the men to stop him.”
Kane pushed off the handrail where he’d been leaning, looked across at his number two, and smiled the smile of success.
“Follow me, Jones,” said Kane, as he descended the steel staircase. “There’s something I want you to see.”
On the wall beside a pair of double doors was a large exit button. Jones hit it and the electric doors opened. A loud electronic alarm sounded to alert anybody in the factory that someone was entering.
The doors opened into a small cleaning chamber; as soon as the electric doors closed behind Kane and Jones, it clicked into action. A loud hiss from above indicated that air was being sucked out of the room. Tiny jets on the walls issued clouds of chemically enhanced steam that sanitised a person’s clothes on entry and exit. A blast of fresh oxygen cleared the air and another set of doors opened along with the sound of another loud electronic alarm.
With his hands behind his back, Kane enjoyed the tap of his heels against the painted concrete floor in the long corridor. He savoured the lines of glass-walled observation rooms, control rooms and cells, where the test subjects had been kept like dogs.
Like a king overlooking his kingdom, Kane admired his creation. But as he stepped up to observation room three and stared down at the ruination that Doctor Farrow had become, Kane felt his power grow a little more. Just like Frankenstein pulling the switch and seeing his collation of dead body parts twitch for the first time, Kane recognised the monster he had created.
“Is that Farrow?” asked Jones, peering through the glass with a look of both disgust and intrigue.
“It was Doctor Farrow, Jones,” replied Kane, admiring his work. “I don’t know what you’d call it now.”
“How many doses has he had?”
“Five,” replied Kane. “Five doses of SFS in under five hours. It’s the most anybody has ever survived, even if it is the prototype.”
“You call that surviving?” said Jones. “Is he even human anymore?”
As if on cue, a hand slapped against the reinforced window. Its outline was traced by a cloud of breath that fogged the glass.
“I don’t know what you’d call it now,” said Kane, feeling the corners of his mouth rise with success. “But God help anyone who stands in its way.”
11
Communication Breakdown
A crack of thunder dragged Gabriella from her slumber in a panic. Her body shook with the cold, aching for something she knew would kill her. But still, one more hit was all she would need.
Another rumble in the black sky above and the sound of rain like white noise hissed at her from every direction. A single flash of lightning lit the night. Its bright fork reached down and struck the earth somewhere far away behind the unmistakable silhouette of the fish market.
It was a sign.
The fish market was large and plain. It was the only building with lights on along the street save for the flashing colours of Christmas decorations that brought cheer to a world far removed from Gabriella’s mind.
She rolled to her side and pushed herself up to one knee. Then, using the wall for support, she stood. A rush of blood rocked her and a surge of nausea rose from her stomach; burning acid seeped into her mouth until she bent, vomited, and spat the acrid remnants to the wet ground.
Her feet moved of their own accord. Her hands crept along the wall to her side, keeping her from falling. Her vision blurred at the edges; just a plain white, square building focused in its centre.
Somewhere inside that place was everything she needed.
The chain link fence rattled when she fell against it then supported her as she pulled herself along and sought a way through. A gate, a hole or a break.
But she found no such entry.
Another flash of lightning struck simultaneously to the thunder that cracked, angry and deep, above Gabriella. Her body began to climb up the fence while her mind still wondered at the sky. She rolled over the top and fell to the ground in a daze, unhurt. Then, like the first land creatures, she crawled across the wet ground, weak and with an unrelenting hunger.
She clambered onto a motionless body in black. Her fingers pried open his pockets. Her hands felt the seams of his clothes, bloodied from the slash across his neck. But she found nothing and fell back to the ground. Something stabbed at her arm.
A shard of glass.
Fingering the wound, she plucked the tiny glass fragment from her skin, feeling its smooth surface. Then she recognised its tight curve.
With a gasp, she dropped the glass and began searching the wet ground, but found only the remains of a broken vial, which had been crushed by a boot. Its contents had spilled onto the rain-soaked ground and been washed away to a nearby drain.
The ache in her heart weighed heavy as she closed her tear-filled eyes and lay down staring up at the sky.
Bright fluorescent light flickered through the open factory door, lighting Gabriella’s face in flashes of anguish mirrored by the distant lightning. She rolled to her side and stared through the gap. The view offered her little more than rows upon rows of white, shiny benches stood on a shiny, white, tiled floor. A shad
ow rose against the furthest wall then shrank again as if a rat had ventured into the open, scurrying toward a lamp, then retreated back to the safety of the cold, dark corners.
Gabriella crawled closer, rising to her feet, then peered inside.
At one end of the building were huge shutter doors, where the fresh fish would be unloaded from the boats. Giant hooks hung from thick chains on beams that would lift the cargo to be sorted, cleaned and then sold.
A single drop of water fell from someplace high, perhaps a leak in the roof. It landed on a bench, where a seller would display his fish, facing out towards the customer with his mouth open and blank wide eyes staring at a palm full of Euros.
Blank, wide eyes.
Gabriella knew the empty stare.
She’d seen it in the girls with whom she’d shared the past month of her life. They’d been pumped full of chemicals and forced to run until the only way for their bodies to survive was to shut down the very organs that kept them alive.
The blank stare.
The blank stare of her father while batons continued to beat him even after all life had slipped away. Strong hands had pulled Gabriella off him, where she lay protecting his body. But not for her own safety. Instead, crazed uniformed men had rained down blows on her instead.
The crack of bones echoed in the empty space. A rattle of chains responded. Gabriella spun. Her feet scraped against the screed floor, answering the crack with the squeak of rubber.
Blinking the blur from her eyes until a fragment of focus formed, she made her way toward the shutters, the shadows and the crack of bones. Accompanied only by the rasp of her breath and the sound of her hand brushing along the benches, the noises guided her in her semi-blind state.
A dark, glossy shadow formed between the two shutter doors, a spreading blemish seeping out on the white tiled floor. Its black fingers found the joins between the tiles and ran between them, spreading the word of darkness.
A finger of the spreading shadow touched Gabriella’s running shoe. Then it split to run around each side of her foot. She stepped away, horrified at the sticky blood. But something touched her shoulder. Startled, she spun, and came face to face with a tongueless man. He stared back at her in the flickering light with soulless eyes wide with fear.
Moving away from the atrocity, Gabriella fought to calm her breathing. She slipped in the puddle of blood and fell to the floor. But she continued to scramble away backwards on her hands, searching around her for the culprit in the shadows.
But curiosity drew her attention to the dead man. She stared in awe at his lifeless form. A hook had been buried into the back of the man’s skull; the chain above from which it hung was taut.
She crawled closer.
The body swung back at her touch then rocked forward.
Blank with wide eyes.
The flickering light cast flashes of monstrous shadows as Gabriella fumbled her way around the rows of benches. The girl who had demonstrated rare strength and courage now appeared feeble in Harvey’s eyes. He was driven on by something far more powerful than her drug, which had only proven to grip her and render her unconscious.
She jumped at the touch of the body and slipped in its blood.
Harvey remained curious and hidden in the shadows.
Scrambling to her feet, her bloodied hands searched the corpse, ripping open pockets and dropping items onto the sticky floor until she found what she was looking for. She stopped and gasped.
As if she’d discovered some long, lost treasure, Gabriella pulled her hand from the pocket with a tenderness contrasting the frantic searching she had performed moments before. Cupping the item in both hands, she held it up to the light as if her disbelief required a visual inspection and confirmation.
Between her finger and thumb, Gabriella held a vial containing a dark, red liquid.
Seconds later, she began another search of the man’s pocket. She found a small pouch and set to work. She ripped open the flap. The rasp of Velcro was sudden and violent, and lost to the incessant pitter-patter of rain outside, on the roof, and against the steel shutter doors.
A practiced hand prepared the syringe with surprising speed, but her haste and shaky fingers dropped the vial onto the bench. It rolled away from her.
“No,” she whispered.
Seeing the vial pick up speed, Gabriella headed for the end of the bench. She dropped the syringe, pushed past the swinging body, and reached for the vial. Missing her aim, she slipped in the bloody puddle. She clung to the surface as her feet danced then found grip on a dry tile.
But it was too late.
The vial teetered on the edge of the bench, teasing Gabriella as she stood frozen, not daring to move in case she tipped the balance and sent the vial crashing to the floor.
“Stay,” said Gabriella.
Her voice was a low whisper. She spoke as if the vial would hear her command. Reaching across the bench and sliding across the smooth surface, her hand then raised like the head of a cobra, poised, ready to strike and trap the vial.
The fluorescent light above her buzzed with electricity. The vial toyed tentatively with Gabriella’s state of mind, daring her to make her move.
She struck.
The light blinked off and on.
And the vial fell into Harvey’s hand.
Gabriella slid to the floor as if the hunt had taken every last morsel of energy, leaving her without hope. The tears began first, silent as if Gabriella mourned the loss of a friend. Her weak grip on the bench released and her knees buckled as if the weight of the loss was too much for them to bear.
She sank to the floor.
Harvey stepped from the shadows.
“Get up, Gabriella,” said Harvey.
His voice startled her. She fell back onto her hands and scrambled away from him through the blood.
A crack of thunder outside tore through the night. She pushed back against the bench and pulled her knees up to her chin.
The light flickered off.
Harvey moved closer, watching her head twitch left and right. Her eyes blinked for focus then stared at the darkness and blurred shadows.
“Who’s there?” said Gabriella.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“I said, who’s there?” said Gabriella, louder than before, as if her aggression would elicit a response.
She pushed herself to one knee, held onto the bench and stood, peering around for movement.
“How bad do you need it?” said Harvey.
He moved through the darkness as she placed the voice and stared into the shadows.
“How bad do you need a fix?” he asked.
But Gabriella couldn’t reply.
“Are you dying?” asked Harvey.
“I don’t know,” said Gabriella, her voice low and weak, and her eyes glistening in the half-light. “This is the longest I have been without it. My body is shutting down. I can feel it happening inside me. It’s like small pieces of me are turning off.”
“You’re weak,” said Harvey.
“He did this to me,” said Gabriella. “He made me this way.”
“Why don't you come and get it?” said Harvey, stepping into view holding the vial out for Gabriella’s poisoned mind to find.
“Give it to me, Harvey.”
“You can have it,” said Harvey, as Gabriella’s hands reached forward onto the floor.
Her legs straightened behind her, raising her body as a leopard might prepare to attack. Gabriella inched forward, hand over hand, footstep by footstep, until she stared up at Harvey like a wild animal, only a pounce away.
“You want it?” asked Harvey.
He opened his hand and held it out an arm’s length away from Gabriella. Her eyes followed the vial, her body tensed, and her breathing slowed.
She struck, snatching at Harvey’s palm. But he closed his fist around the vial, reached down with his free hand, and took hold of Gabriella’s neck, gripping tight and lifting her into the air before slamming her
into the shutters.
Gabriella’s nails scratched at Harvey’s face. Her feet kicked out at him until he slammed her once more into the shutters to silence her. Gabriella’s top lip retracted, exposing her teeth in a snarl. A visceral growl emerged from her throat.
She spat in Harvey’s face.
“Give it to me,” said Gabriella, panting and struggling to breathe through Harvey’s grip.
Harvey leaned in close, searching her dilated eyes to see if the blackness held any sign of colour.
“You’re going to take me to Kane,” said Harvey. “You do that for me, and you can have as much as you need.”
“Bravo-one, come back,” said Jones, as he paced the courtyard, searching for the best radio signal. “Bravo-one, come back. This is Charlie-two.”
Kane leaned against the door under the porch canopy with a cigarette in his hand, eying his second in command as he fought to maintain an expression of control and composure. Yet Jones stomped around in the rain, his anger and frustration getting the better of him.
“Alpha-one, come back,” said Jones. “I repeat, Alpha-one, this is Charlie-two. Come back.”
A surge of static crackled through the radio’s circuitry then faded.
“Problems, Jones?” asked Kane, as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched the atmosphere dilute it until nothing was left but the tainted scent.
“Nothing I can’t handle, sir,” replied Jones, raising the radio to his mouth once more. “Tango-one, come back. Tango-one, this is Charlie-two. Talk to me.”
“He’s out there,” said Kane, before a crackled voice came over the airwaves.
“Charlie-two, this is Tango-one. Copy.”
“Sit-rep?” said Jones.
“Nothing to report. I have a clear view of the marina, the yacht, and most of the town. It’s all quiet on the western front.”
“Tango-one, have you got eyes on the fish market?”
“Charlie-two, copy. That’s a positive. I have eyes on the fish market. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.”