Resurrect

by Amy Miles

  My eyelids feel heavy and my body oddly slow to react when I try to move for the first time. I wiggle my fingers and discover that the stiffness that I felt before has vanished. After a quick assessment, I realize that my larger limbs are less responsive.

  I am weak but alive and that gives me a reason to question if I’m really awake at all. Perhaps this is some sort of whacked out version of heaven or, more likely, that I’m trapped in Hell, since I’m hardly what most people would consider a saint.

  When I lick my lips, my tongue slides roughly over the cracked skin. There is a faint taste of blood but it is subtle.

  “Hello?”

  My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper as I roll my head to the right and squint against the painfully bright lights. Though there are no windows in the room and the overhead lights above me are turned off, I find that it takes several minutes before I can adjust enough to the luminesce from the hall beyond to fully open my eyes.

  Hanging from the ceiling is a white curtain on a half-circle track. The hem looks slightly darker from the dust that has settled on the floor over time. Despite its thick, woven texture I can see movement just on the other side.

  This place is all wrong. It is too bright and far too white. It feels sterile, a hospital perhaps, but I know that’s not possible. There are no more working hospitals in the world. They have either been torched or ransacked so thoroughly that there is no point even entering them.

  “Is anyone there?”

  “Shh,” a guy’s voice calls back. “Don’t let them know that you are awake or they will come back.”

  “Why? Who are you?” I try to lift my head but realize there is a brace holding me down. The skin on the right side of my neck pulls tight and I wince at a stab of pain where the Flesh Bag bit me.

  Similar leather bindings are cinched around my wrists and ankles. A long, coiled IV tube hangs down from a pole overhead, taped at regular intervals along my arm, which tugs at the hairs on my forearm. If I strain just enough to lift my head an inch or two, I can barely see evidence of multiple bruises, both new and old, lining my arms.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” the boy finally responds. “I’m nobody important. Just another rat stuck in this damned maze.”

  “A rat? Maze? What are you talking about? Why am I strapped down?”

  I listen to the steady droning hum of monitors and wonder if the guy is sick like me. From behind the curtain, I can see that he has rolled over but can’t tell if it’s to face me or look away.

  “Because you are considered a hostile. These guys don’t mess around with crap like that. This place is on total lockdown right now. Seems they brought in a couple of newbies this morning and it’s got them all twisted up. Enough that they forgot to bring my meds.”

  “Hostile?” I whisper, trying to remember, knowing that I should be far more than just hostile. I should be dead.

  Cap had been clear that he planned to put a bullet between my eyes to put me down before I could transform into a Withered, or spread the word about his hidden agenda. What changed?

  “Where is Cap?”

  “Who is that?”

  This guy’s lack of information is maddening. I wish that I could see him to get a sense of whether he really is as in the dark as he appears or if he’s pulling my chain. It could be another mind fuck or just a ploy to get me to talk.

  A faceless voice behind a curtain isn’t sufficient enough to get a genuine read, especially when he sounds like a kid rather than a man.

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  With a heavy sigh, I clench my fists and try to reign in my frustration. The urge to scream is mounting by the second and I’m so close to giving in.

  “I get it. You want to act tough and pretend like you’re not scared, but I know you are. I can hear the tremor in your voice so let’s drop the bullshit, okay?” I pause to gauge his response. When he says nothing I continue, “I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I can help. Whatever this place is, I may be the only ally you’ve got.”

  “Why should I trust you? They think you’re dangerous.”

  “Oh, I am.” I tug against my restraints and feel anger simmering low in my belly. “But not to you. If you want to escape you’re going to have to start talking.”

  There is silence from beyond the curtain and I wonder if I’ve lost him. Finally, he responds, “What do you want to know?”

  “How about we start with your name?” I twist my wrists from side to side, testing my bindings. They prove to be secure. The straps around my legs offer slightly more room to maneuver but are tight enough that there’s no way I am wiggling my way out.

  “Flynn.”

  “Nice to meet you, Flynn.” I glance up at the IV pole and see three nearly empty bags. It won’t be long before someone comes back to check on me. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are. You’re the talk of this place.”

  I roll my head to the side and stare at the curtain. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “Trust me, it’s better to be a nobody.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter as I inch my way to the right side of the bed. “I’m starting to get that.”

  Just on the other side of the raised safety rail, I spy a bedside table on wheels. Any hope that I would find something useful vanishes when I realize there isn’t a single thing on it.

  “Are you tied down, Flynn?”

  I hear the clanking of metal. “I’m handcuffed.”

  “Must not be such a nobody after all, huh?” I roll my head to the left and search the wall. A sterile chrome countertop is lined with glass jars of gauze, rolls of white tape, a box of tissues, and a stack of magazines. I almost laugh at how normal it all is.

  “I may have tried to do a runner or two. This place is like Fort Knox. Didn’t take long for them to find me, but I got a decent look at the layout before they did.”

  “Good. We’re going to need that.”

  On the wall above the counter are three boxes of varying size gloves, a blood pressure cuff, and a stack of those little black plastic cones shaped things that doctors love to stick on the end of a light and ram it into your ear to get a peek.

  I hate hospitals.

  When my gaze falls to rest on the hanging container with the symbol of a needle on it, I smile. “Ever pick a lock before?”

  “What sort of guy do you think I am?” He calls back.

  “A resourceful one, I hope.”

  I hear a small chuckle and another clanking of metal. “I may have learned a thing or two along the way.”

  “Good. See if you can get over to that container on the wall where they store the used needles. I think you’ll be able to jimmy the lock if you get one.”

  “Are you shitting me? I’ve been staring at that wall for days and I never thought about that!”

  With a great deal of grunting and groaning, I watch Flynn’s shadow as he attempts to maneuver himself and his bed closer to the wall. I’m about to call out a reminder to be quiet when I hear footsteps in the hall.

  “Flynn, get back in bed,” I hiss and inch back toward the center of my bed.

  I can hear him scrambling to right himself and pray that he manages to pull off an innocent face when, moments later, the footsteps bypass his curtain partition and then enter mine. This person is not alone. Not too far behind them I hear a flurry of hushed whispers that fall silent only when they pull the curtain into place behind them after they step into my room.

  I can smell a faint cologne in the air as a man steps up close to me and I wonder if perhaps he’s been watering it down to make it last. When he leans over the check my IV, I nearly give myself away when his tie tickles my face.

  “Patient 67’s vitals appear to be stable apart from a slight elevation in heart rate.” The monotone voice speaks from
directly above me.

  I hear the soft tinkling of plastic tubing against the IV pole and realize he is unhooking me. “The final dose was administered nearly six hours ago and appears to be a success. The patient is expected to wake with minimal complications and will be monitored around the clock for signs of regression.”

  “What is your prognosis, sir?” A meek feminine voice asks from somewhere near my feet.

  “I am unable to offer more than an educated guess at this time, but I believe that she will be the first to survive.”

  The silence that follows his words feels heavy as I detect a faint scratching sound and struggle to place it. Two cold hands come to rest on my forearm and I force myself not to react as each of the strips of tape are yanked off and there is a small twinge of pain when the IV is removed.

  “Will she require further treatments?” a man asks.

  “Her tissues show promise of successful regeneration.” He reaches out and pricks my finger with the end of the needle and I flinch automatically, drawing my fingers away. “As you can see the paralysis has already faded. Her nervous system has responded well and the sedatives have worn off. If the delirium and hallucinations had remained we would know about it.”

  My stomach rolls with each new symptom that the man mentions. I can’t remember enduring any of them. It is almost as if my mind has been wiped clean of those memories.

  “And the sensitivity to light?” There are more scratching sounds near my feet.

  The cold hands seize my face and the instant my eye is forced open and a penlight is shined at my pupil, I react violently. The muscles in my neck cord tightly as I strain against my bindings, trying to pull my face free of his grasp.

  “Easy, Avery,” the man whispers, turning off the light. For a moment, I am blinded as I blink rapidly to try to clear away the dark spots that eat away at my vision. “Welcome back to the land of the living. I wondered how long you would keep up with the charade. You are a far better actress than some of the others but vital signs never lie.”

  It takes all of my effort not to attempt to bite his hand when he pats my cheek. Instead, I glare up at him. When I do, I see a clean shaven face staring down at me, large golden frames with a bit of tape wrapped around one arm, and nose hairs in serious need of a trim.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” I growl and try to yank my face away from him, but the strap around my neck allows only minimal movement. “I want to know where I am.”

  “You are safe. That is all that you need to know at the moment.”

  “I really wish people would stop saying that when they are purposefully avoiding the answer. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Of course not.” The doctor steps back far enough for me to see a name stitched into his lab coat: Wiemann. “In fact, I rather suspect that you are quite the opposite. If I were a betting man, I would place my money on you.”

  There is a shuffling of paper, and when I look up, I see three people standing at the end of my bed. Each one stares at me with a blank, almost robotic expression that sets me on edge. Flynn wasn’t wrong about the rat in a maze analogy. I’ve been in a place like this before. Though these people wear pristine white lab coats, I can smell the military on them.

  Straining against the straps, I realize just how weak I have become. My muscles seem to have begun to atrophy and this knowledge terrifies me. It’s not possible to have lost so much so quickly so they must have done something to me.

  “How long have you kept me here?”

  “Time has no meaning in this place, Avery. It is an anti-world, a place where the outside does not exist.”

  “How long?” I repeat, this time glaring up at the man.

  “Around two months, give or take a few days.”

  “Two months!” My eyes fly open wide and the room begins to spin as I buck against my restraints. The leather groans and I feel a slight weakening in them but not nearly enough for me to get free. “That’s not possible!”

  A frantic beeping from a machine near my head sends the observers into a flurry of scribbling.

  “Ignore that,” the man growls as he presses his hand to my forehead and reaches into his pocket. I barely feel the pinprick of the needle but the effects of the mild sedative are almost immediate. “This reaction is not a new symptom. It is her body’s natural response to shock.”

  Turning to look down at me, he smiles as the fight slowly eases from my body and I am forced to relax. There is no compassion in his eyes, but instead, a fervor that tells me that I am nothing more than a prize experiment instead of a person.

  “I apologize for my peers. They are still flustered by your awakening today, I’m sure. It wasn’t planned quite this soon, but apparently you decided to be a little rebel and defy the medications. I hear that is a rather common trait for you.”

  Shifting to look away from him up to the white ceiling tiles, I fight against the tears that threaten to fall. I won’t cry in front of this man or his cronies but this news has crushed me. Two months is an eternity now.

  A part of me feels betrayed that Nox never came looking for me, but then again, why would he? He doesn’t owe me anything. He was practically a stranger when I saw him last and no amount of soul bearing while preparing to accept your coming death is enough to change that.

  “I can understand how all of this might be a tad overwhelming at first. Believe me, I am just as surprised at the success of your miraculous recovery as you are.”

  “Recovery?” I glance back down at him. “Wait a second. Are you saying that I’m somehow cured? Am I not going to become one of those things?”

  “Indeed.” He pauses to push his glasses up his nose. “You are a rarity, Avery, and a thing of scientific beauty. You see, your blood has proven to be extremely special, and as such, you have somehow mutated the virus that infected you.

  “We’ve managed to isolate the mutations and have come to realize our previous inaccuracies. It is no wonder none of our earliest attempts to slow the outbreak worked. We were, how you say, barking up the wrong tree. But that is all behind us now, and thanks to you, this is a marvelous breakthrough that can quite possibly change the world.”

  My head hurts and none of his high-pitched blabbering is helping any as I struggle to follow along. “You know what it is now? The source of the outbreak?”

  “In theory, we know what it once was. In its simplest form, it was a highly reactive variation of the rabies virus, though it is now so much more than that.”

  I close my eyes, needing a break from the light and the incessant staring from the robot trio at the end of my bed. Apparently, they were never taught that it is rude to creep sick people out. “So you’re saying a bat or something bit someone and it spread from there?”

  “Oh, dear me, no!” Dr. Wiemann laughs and I cringe when he touches my hand. His skin feels cold and clammy. “A single bite could not possibly create such a global impact. But a perfectly designed aerosol spray released in, say, a major travel hub like London Heathrow or Chicago O’Hare would easily spread the contagion. It is actually a rather brilliant plan, if I do say so.”

  “Designed? You think someone engineered this shit?”

  “Of course! It would take a whole team of extremely talented minds to manufacture something of this quality, but it can be done. The human brain has conceived of many terrible and beautiful creations over time. Most of which have been wrongfully kept hidden from the world.”

  The awe in his voice disgusts me as I pull against my restraints once more, but this time with far less agitation thanks to the sedatives. Already, I can feel a heavy weight pressing down on my body and my eyes begin to grow heavy. “People died because of this outbreak.”

  “It is a tragedy, to be sure, but one that evolution demands from time to time. Consider the plagues of old. Millions lost their lives, but those who survived and
rose above became stronger. Their gene pool became the new standard until the next evolutionary catastrophe occurred and that, my dear, is what this is all about. Survival of the fittest doesn’t just mean the guy with the biggest gun. Sometimes it is the tiniest thing that can bring a nation to its knees.”

  “You’re insane.” My words sound slurred in my head and my eyelids begin to droop.

  He smiles and then takes a step back, motioning for his peers to follow suit. “I prefer to call it forward thinking.”

  ELEVEN

  The sound of intermittent dripping rouses me slowly from sleep and I look up to see that I’ve been hooked back up to the IV. My vision is blurred and I battle with lingering grogginess as I try to lift my head, but it is easy to see that I am still stuck in the same room. I shift in the bed and hear the hiss of the motors beneath me to compensate for my weight change.

  “Hey!” Flynn whispers to me in the dark. There is a single light shining from somewhere down the hall, but it is dim enough to allow me to see without causing any major discomfort. “Are you still breathing over there?”

  “Sadly, yes.” I groan as I try to bend my right knee to ease the tingling and am instantly reminded that I’m restrained. “What happened?”

  “That doctor knocked you out good and proper.” He pauses for a second and I know that he’s trying to work up to something but seems unsure of how to spit it out. “That was some pretty scary stuff that he was talking about earlier, though, right? Do you think any of that talk about the rabies virus and someone attacking the world the purpose is really true? I mean...it can’t be, can it?”

  Staring up at the ceiling as I try to collect my thoughts into something resembling logic, I don’t really know what to think. Doctor Wiemann is no doubt certifiable, but he didn’t come across as anything more than brilliantly deranged and eager to make a name for himself in this new and twisted world. I saw the truth of it in his eyes, but to think that someone would willingly unleash such a thing on the world is unthinkable.