by Joseph Storm
“No!” Yale yelled.
“Relax...you will not even remember a thing,” Dr. Mange said. “If everything goes to plan...you will be a new man...one free of dangerous self-thought, ready to take order at will. Now, you will only feel this for a moment.” He dug his way into Robert’s brain tissue, cutting two connections to the prefrontal cortex, located in the anterior section of the brain’s frontal lobes.
Robert’s screams went silent. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and a glazed expression came over him.
“Now for the ground breaking part,” Dr. Mange proclaimed, as he rerouted the cortexes through a small box, reconnecting Robert’s brain in full. “Patch him up.”
After the messy job of reconstructing the professor’s skull and sewing the skin together, the empty man lay emotionless and thoughtless.
“Turn her on,” Dr. Mange ordered. His eyes widened, as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.
Dr. Layman flicked the switch on a large mainframe. Professor Yale suddenly gasped, charging back to life. Thousands of tiny electrodes shot through his brain, stimulating it, and preparing it to receive data. The box was designed to stop a person’s thought, replacing it with the digital signals of a computer. However, that was still being perfected.
Enter Command. The words came up on the computer screen, as Robert’s eyes crawled back down to the normal position. They still looked empty.
“That’s as far as we can go,” Dr. Layman said. “What do we do with him in the meantime?”
“Put him on ice, slow down his metabolism...force hibernation. He will be nice and fresh when we are ready to use him.”
Robert’s skull was reconstructed, and skin sewn back into place. Dr. Layman fully covered the body of Professor Yale, pushing him into a large freezer. As disturbed as he was by the sight, there was something which disturbed him more.
Robert wasn’t alone.
******
Hours passed, as Emma lay in a stew of tears. Rock’s office was next door to the medical lab, though the loud cries that pierced its walls might as well been directly inside. Emma heard every second of her stepfather’s pain.
The love she felt for Rock hadn’t disappeared, though it wasn’t as pure as it once was. I can’t just turn off something I’ve felt since childhood, she told herself. They made him this way. It’s up to me...to bring him back.
It’s up to me to change him!
Chapter Sixteen:
The Plan
Kitty Judas squeezed the bottle of antidepressants tightly in her hands. Her heart thumped erratically and quick. She angrily wondered why the prescribed pills weren’t taking her incessant anxiousness away.
The first lady had reached her breaking point upon her fifth child, having a nervous breakdown in front of Dr. Layman. She dropped to the floor, shaking in uncontrollable worry. Her inability to produce a male heir could only lead to terrible consequences.
“Calm down,” he told her. “Take deep breaths.”
Kitty took the breaths, though was still unable to right herself. Dr. Layman injected her with a dose of valium, bringing an induced calmness over the desperate woman. Her words finally came together, as she was able to explain herself. “I can’t handle this anymore. What if...I never have a boy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he assured her. “It will happen eventually...nature will right its course. Even if it takes time.”
“Time? I don’t have time.”
“Pressuring yourself will not help the situation. You will only make things worse.”
“Give me something...I beg you. Something to help take the horrible thoughts and constant fears away.”
“I was ordered not to prescribe you anything...to not taint the purity of the child.”
“What about the purity of my mind? I’m going to lose it soon...or harm myself.”
“Ok,” he said nervously, worrying about his own consequences. “I’ll start you off slow...”
“I need something aggressive...I’m constantly on edge,” she begged.
“It’s against my better judgement...but...don’t mention a word of this to anyone,” he said, giving her 2MG of an anti-anxiety medication.
“Thank you! Thank you, so much!” Kitty cried out, hugging Dr. Layman tightly. The desperate woman squeezed him in appreciation, soaking up every bit of warmth she could siphon from the man. She hadn’t been loved in a number of years.
The anxiety medication worked as the years went on, but as each new female child was born, the anxiety only grew greater. The dosage went up, as Dr. Layman finally drew the line at 5MG. “You need to talk to someone...a therapist,” he said. “You’ve become immune to the medicine’s effects...and frankly...you’ve become addicted.”
“You know therapy is outlawed...a danger to the regime! Please, don’t cut me off...even if you don’t increase the dosage! I’m desperate!”
Dr. Layman exhaled, giving in to her request. “Here,” he said, handing her the latest bottle of medicine. “I cannot go any higher...it will start to affect your speech. It will be too obvious!” he implored. “I have to get back to the camp...I’m sorry I cannot be of further help to you.” He exited the room.
Kitty continued to grip the full bottle of pills tightly, staring at the dosage closely, obsessing over the milligrams. Suddenly, one dark thought overtook the others, I know a way to quiet the pain forever, she told herself. Take them all.
Barely a moment went by, as the hopeless woman dumped the entire bottle into her mouth. She was about to swallow them all, when Simon Judas made his daily appearance into the room.
“It’s time to procreate,” he said, focusing on the empty bottle and her pill-filled mouth. “What is this?” he asked, grabbing it from her. It all suddenly added up. “Spit that out now!” he yelled, gripping Kitty’s lips, forcing his finger nails into her mouth to pry it open.
Kitty spit out a mouthful of tiny beige pills, coughing up a few others. “I’m sorry,” she cried, breaking down in tears, hitting the floor.
“Who authorized this?” he demanded to know.
“I can’t say.”
He slapped her, “Who?”
“Dr. Layman,” she cried out.
“He’ll be punished for this act!” he yelled, refocusing on his tearful wife. “Why would you do this? Are you not happy?”
Kitty refrained from vomiting at the mere sound of the question. “I’m depressed. I’ve failed as a wife. I’ve failed as a mother. I’ve failed Mr. Sorka,” she said fearfully.
“Yes, you have. But...there still is another chance. One boy could reverse all of your mistakes.”
“How many chances do I have left...until Mr. Sorka decides it’s over?”
“I do not know,” he said. “But I do know that taking your life would embarrass the leader of the most powerful nation on earth. My own wife committing suicide...the public would think I caused it! How do you think that would reflect upon me?”
A sad look came across Kitty’s face. She realized that her husband wasn’t concerned about the attempt on her life, just the consequences it would have on his image. “I never wanted that...I only want it to be like it used to. In the beginning...when we shared a bed, you let me cook for you...serve you...like a wife should. Can we ever go back to the way it used to be?”
“Birth me a son...an heir,” he told her. “Everything will be good again.”
“I will do it...just love me again,” she begged.
They moved in and locked lips. Leader Judas undressed his wife, revealing her still unhealed body. Simon knew that this was his last chance, as Mika Sorka had expressed his frustration to him personally. “Time is running out for you both,” he warned.
As heartless as Leader Judas normally was, he had actually missed the adoration and dedication his wife delivered him. He was determined to give her one last chance to birth him a male heir.
If not, he had no idea what the consequence would be.
******
> Commander Xavier appeared on Mika Sorka’s hologram phone. “Mr. Sorka, you summoned me?”
“Commander, I hear that the chip confession was a fraud.”
“It was...Rock failed us.”
“The prisoner failed us...I cannot fault Rock for acting on the tip,” he said.
Commander Xavier cringed, though quickly removed the expression from his face. He remembered that he could be seen by the boss. “Speaking of Rock...I come to you for permission to use him against Striker.”
“How so, commander?”
“In the event that the good’s are not delivered...execute the son in front of the father.”
“An act like that would only hurt our cause...not help it.”
“We can force him to his knees! Show him we’re serious!”
“This sounds less tactical...and more personal to me, commander.”
“Never, sir. I would never disgrace this administration by mixing the two.”
“I should hope not...because such thoughts would be a definite distraction to our plans. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me more about this woman, the one you mentioned in our last conversation.”
“Fox...she’s in the camp. I’ve tried to break her before...though it was no use.”
“Are they of a romantic nature?”
“The mole believes they are...Striker requested a meeting with her. A private room is being bugged and rigged with video equipment. We’ll discover her use after they meet.”
“Excellent, Commander Sin. I expect Rock’s inability to find the chip to be a matter that’s dead...do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good...now go do your duty.”
“One more thing. Striker...the deal? If he sticks to it...do I honor it? Do we release his friends?”
“Once we get the chip...it will be destroyed. His friends will join it.”
A large smile came across Xavier’s face. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“You’re dismissed, commander.”
******
A week had passed since Joe Striker and Xavier Sin had come to an agreement. However, Joe didn’t sit around, waiting for the meeting to happen. Knowing that time was running out, he had to put his plan into place.
Word was carefully spread around the camp, alerting every ally that was worthy of trust. They would soon be called upon to make a choice: fight and risk death, or stay and suffer. It was an easy decision.
Tommy O’Brien worked his connections. He got Gunner and himself into the unloading zone, convincing the reaper to place the special orders into the deliveries. The man had been at it for so long, nothing was questioned.
Upon delivery, Gunner and Tommy would drop the large packages of charcoal, sulfur tablets, salt peter, and scotch tape into the storage house. Once there, the two men rushed the unloading of stock items, joining Father Tyme in following Joe Striker’s instruction. They read from the recipe for gun powder that Joe wrote with confiscated writing materials.
They frantically ground the tablets up, using their feet and food mortars to get the powder to very fine consistencies. Next, they dumped the two powders into an array of empty wooden food barrels, which were adjacent to solid steel barrels, storing more time-sensitive products. They added salt peter to each concoction, sealing the wooden barrels up, and placing them toward the back of the pile. The explosives were stashed in awkward areas, assuring that they wouldn’t be pulled from first.
Per the instructions, scotch tape was dipped into the black powder, allowing it to adhere to the long pieces of sticky, clear substance. Each piece of tape was rolled into thin strands, placed inside the barrels for a later time.
By the time the week had passed, they had produced 30 full barrels of accelerated gun powder. Each of the emptied bags were tucked inside their clothes, smuggled from the building, and buried underneath the dirt floors of their bunks. The last thing they needed was evidence.
The citric acid was waiting in storage, though the last thing needed was hydrogen peroxide. Although the salt peter would provide an accelerant, more of a kick would be needed. The combination of the acid and peroxide would do the trick.
“My head!” Joe screamed out, as a long line of red blood seeped from his forehead.
“What’s going on here?” the on-duty guard asked, as Joe wiped a handful of blood from his forehead.
“A sharp rock shot up after I hit it...cut my head.”
The guard examined it. Joe nervously hoped the man wouldn’t realize the small, self-inflicted axe cut.
Luckily for him, he didn’t. “I’ll take you to the medic...then back to work. I need this load done today!” He turned to another guard on duty, “Can you handle them by yourself?”
“Damn right, I can!” he said.
“Fine, let’s go,” the guard ordered. Joe followed him, keeping the pick axe in his hands. He tucked it closely to his body.
The prisoner and guard arrived at the medical station, though no one was around. “Anybody here?” he called out. No one answered.
“Screw it...they must have a bandage around here...that’s the best you’re gonna get,” he said, making his way to the cabinets. He searched through them, while turning his back on Striker.
“That should work just fine,” Joe said eagerly, gripping the pick axe tightly. He swung it downward, sending the sharp, merciless blade of the pick right through the guard’s head. It bore its way through skull, brain, and out of the back neck, severing the spinal cord.
The guard died instantly, crashing to the floor. Against Joe’s better wishes, the man brought a handful of loud supplies with him.
Striker realized that the noise was sure to attract attention. He frantically tore through the cabinets, tossing everything which wasn’t peroxide to the floor. He would not find it. However, he would discover Dr. Layman, standing behind him.
“What are you doing in here?” the doctor asked.
A startled Joe turned, witnessing Layman staring at the body on the floor. “Guards!” the doctor yelled out.
“Wait...before you do that...”
“You killed a guard...what possible excuse could you have?”
“Listen...you look like a reasonable man...a doctor. Your job is to save lives...correct?”
“Of course it is,” he said.
“This man on the floor...he’s taken many lives. In fact...all of these people...murdered thousands...millions of innocents. My wife...my wife! She was murdered by them...years ago. My son...was taken from her body! Her dead body!” he yelled.
The words which shot from Joe Striker’s mouth were like poison darts to Dr. Layman’s ears. Suddenly, it all added up. The story and the man’s striking resemblance to Rock. The guilty man Joe spoke of was the doctor himself.
“Stop talking!”
“I guess none of that matters to you. I guess justice has no place in a doctor’s life anymore.”
Dr. Layman took a deep breath, debating his decision to speak the next words. He decided that it was time to come clean about his past sin, and it might as well be to the man he sinned against. If he kills me, at least the guilt will stop, he thought to himself. “She wasn’t dead...not yet, anyway,” he said to Striker.
“What did you say?”
“Your wife...I was the man who delivered your son.”
A surge of anger came over Joe. He charged Dr. Layman, slamming him into the wall, creating a further distraction of noise.
“They’re going to hear you!”
“Good...I’ll get to kill the bastard that killed my wife before I die,” he said, placing blood stained hands around the doctor’s neck, choking the life from him.
Dr. Layman fought to speak. The words cracked from his throat. “I can help...you,” he said, as Joe fought back from killing the man. It took everything within him to pull away, allowing the doctor a moment of breath. Layman slid down to the floor, choking for air.
“How can any man who would help them...ever help me?
“I didn’t kill your wife...the one-eyed commander did. Listen, I’m no different than you...they abducted me and my assisting nurse from an emergency room. Everyone else inside was murdered. We had one choice...follow their instruction or die!”
“I would have chosen death.”
“I was prepared to...until they used my family against me too. Would you have still been willing to die if they asked before killing your wife and son? If they could be saved by an order? I knew these people would take power...all the polls showed it. I wasn’t willing to lose everything.”
“And just where are they now?”
“I tell myself...the government honored our deal...taking care of them. Not a day goes by where I don’t have to fight the thoughts which tell me otherwise.”
Joe looked down for a moment, sadness covered his face. “My wife...was it quick?”
Dr. Layman also looked away, refusing to tell him the truth. “It was. She barely felt any pain. She even got to hold the baby. I tried to get him to spare her...believe me, after all these years, I still wake in cold sweats...nightmares.”
“That makes two of us,” Joe said angrily.
Suddenly, a noise sounded from the other room. “You have to go!”
“You said you’d help me. I need hydrogen peroxide...and...an excuse,” he said, looking down at the guard’s dead body.
“It was a suicide...and trust me...it wouldn’t be the first one around here. I’ll take care of the body,” he assured Joe, opening a separate cabinet, full of hydrogen peroxide. “Take what you need...but hurry.”
Striker grabbed as many bottles as he could. He stuffed them in his pants, shirt, and arms. “Don’t think this makes us even.”
“I can never repay you for what I’ve done. But...if you are planing an escape...please...succeed. Not for me...but for my wife and kids. If they’re still alive...give them the opportunity that your family never had.”
Joe nodded, and exited the building.
After delivering the bottles to Father Tyme, Joe rejoined the work crew. “Where is your chaperone?” the on-duty guard asked him.