“This way. To the lab.” Ronny continues to spearhead my movement, and the others do as they’re told without further words or acknowledgment to my relentless struggles.
“Up on the table, here.” We’d passed through another room—its door opened and close behind us with a Whoosh that reminds me of one of those old, Star Trek movies—and before I can do anything about it, I’m up on a table.
The sound of Velcro sounds around me, and whatever fight I’ve got left is stripped from me as wrists and ankles, then knees, elbows, waist and forehead, are bound snuggly in place to a padded table below.
“Take off his blindfold.” A fresh voice—that of a man—booms from overhead speakers. It reverberates off the confining walls of my newest prison, and the microphone clicks off.
“Pushy, pushy,” one of them remarks.
“Just follow orders,” Ronny answers, in total control of the situation.
And when the tear-soaked blindfold comes off, I try to open my eyes, but wince in the fluorescent lights from above. Staring up, the brightness of the room is debilitating, and it takes minutes before my vision adjusts. Through squinted eyes, I take in blurred surroundings—or what I can of them. Track lighting runs overhead. It spans the length of my body and beyond, to cover the ceiling and fill the room with a light that rivals the sun. In my predicament, I’ve got no choice but to stare straight up at it, and the brief relief of my peripheral only captures the camouflaged silhouettes of five men who stand silent around me.
Eyes wide and acclimated to my newest confines, I try to speak, to yell, to protest whatever’s about to happen, but I can’t make more than muffled whimpers.
“Remove his gag.” The overhead intercom clicks on again, and it provides the men with final direction before it congratulates them on a job well done and dismisses them from the room. “We are very pleased with your efforts, Soldiers. You’ve gone above and beyond in your mission, and your successes will not go unrecognized. You are dismissed.”
“I’m not holding my breath on that,” one of them mutters. I can see him now: the one I’m guessing is James, based on his voice and the cynicism in his words.
“What’s that?” Ronny asks, while he moves to twist and unknot the handkerchief that’s kept me silenced for so long. He’s much younger than I envisioned, based on the deep, authoritative tone of his voice. Late teens, early twenties, I don’t recognize him, but he can’t be much older than me.
“Nothing. I didn’t say nothing, Ron.”
“I wouldn’t count on going too far with The Light if you’ve always got something to say and you can’t get a job done right,” Ronny puts him on blast.
“I got this done, didn’t I?” he rebuts.
“Not alone.”
“Could you have done it better alone?” James shoots back.
“Better than you.”
“Well, we’ll just wait and see about that,” James laughs and answers. “Still a lot left to get done out there … we’ll see who they turn to when the chips are really on the line,” he challenges.
“Challenge accepted.” At this, Ronny frees the gag from my mouth to unleash a torrent of expletives that fall on deaf ears. The five pay no attention to my screams, threats, and demands, as they take the couple steps it takes to disappear from sight and to exit the sliding door. It closes swiftly behind them with another Whoosh, and I’m alone again. Far less concerned about being discovered this time around, I fight my restraints and scream like a mad man to be heard.
“Settle down, young man,” the speaker clicks back on. “The Pastor will be in to deal with you shortly.”
Alone now, I figure they’ve got to be monitoring me from somewhere. And if I’m being seen, I’m being heard.
“You assholes better let me out of here!!! I’m going to kill all of you!!! You’re dead! You’re all dead!!” I scream empty threats because they’re all I’ve got. But given my grave situation, even I don’t believe them. And my screams, after minutes, return to sobs. And my sobs turn to tears before I’m back in hysterics again. A frenzy of emotions consumes me. Why? Why didn’t I just fade away like everyone else? Why’d I have to fight it? Why am I going to have to suffer more than everyone else? I just want to be dead. I want it to be over. I want to be with my dad. With Nicole. With Catee, again. How much longer can the horror last? I cry for them. I cry for me. And I cry for the terrifying uncertainty of what I’ll have to endure when these freaks start whatever sicko experiments they’ve got planned for me.
The door opens minutes later. “Get me out of here!!!” I scream to the overhead lights and beg mercy from whoever, or whatever, has been sent for me. “Let me out of this!!!”
“It’s okay. You’re safe now, Damian.” Mom’s head, in an aura of overhead fluorescents, looks down at me. “You’re safe, my beautiful boy.” She kisses my forehead while tears run down my cheeks in pools of emotion: happiness, betrayal, anger, comfort, fear.
“Mom?” I see, but can’t process what I’m seeing. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real. Is it the infection setting in? Am I hallucinating? “Mom, is that you?” I ask through sobs.
“Yes, my perfect son. It’s me. You’re safe now. You’re home,” she speaks soothingly, and her face registers little emotion as she blots my eyes and clears my vision enough for me to see her through wet murkiness. She looks like my mom, but she’s more polished now.
Her hair, ordinarily less kempt, is slicked back and wound into a tight bun that sits on top of her head. The upper half of her outfit is crisp and blue; its tailoring is immaculate, and its refinement, combined with her polished skin, stands in stark contrast to the casually put-together woman she’d always been. The picture of her is the antithesis of the carnage and decimation I’d endured to get here.
“What’s happened to you, Mom???” I manage to subdue the waterworks enough to speak. “You look so different. So …
“It’s been a long time, Damian.”
“It’s only been weeks!” I yelp.
“Weeks can be a very long time in today’s world.” Her words, soothing and therapeutic, are more discomforting than anything I’ve braved until now. The tone of them confuses me. It scares me.
“Mom, what’s wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Damian. In fact, things couldn’t be more right. And now that you’re here with us, we can work together to make everything right again.”
“What are you talking about, Mom? You’re scaring me.” I look away from her the best I can. Head held firmly in place, I’ve got no choice but to stare up into a face that I only half-recognize.
“Pastor Dave had a … a … well … let’s just say he had a change of heart, Damian. And when he did, it threatened to unravel everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish. And if we allowed that to happen, all this … all those who passed on … well, it would’ve been for nothing, and the world would’ve gone right back to the way it was.”
“What’s wrong with the way it was, Mom? What was so wrong with you, me, Dad, Nicole … Catee??? What was so wrong with Platsville? What was wrong with the life we had??!! How can you say things like that?!”
“I’m not talking about any of that, Damian. I’m talking about the big picture, here. About a world you barely understand yet, because you’re so young. Wherever they are now, and whatever’s happened to them, there are certain casualties we must learn to cope with. But those hardships only make us stronger. Those scars will only toughen us to pave way for the new beginnings that Pastor Dave envisioned before he lost sight of the goal. And with him gone now, it’s my job to lead the way. It’s my duty to guide us in reaching that utopia. And now that you’re here, we can do it together, my beautiful boy.” She leans to kiss me on the forehead again. “Now that you’re here, we can start fresh. As a family.”
“Mom, you sound crazy!” I yell, still captive to my Velcro bonds. “Don’t you realize what’s happening? Do you know what’s been done?! Haven’t you even seen what
’s happened out there?!”
“Shhhhh, Damian,” her finger lays across my lips. “That’s the plan. It’s always been the plan. And when the slate’s wiped clean, the pure will walk the land again. We will clear the fallen, and we will purge our memories of the sins we’d allowed into our world. And you, as my son, will be second in command. You’ll have more power than you’ve ever dreamed.”
“Power?!” I scream. “Power!! I don’t want POWER, Mom!! I don’t want any of this. Let me go!! Forget about me! I want you to rot away … like Dad, in our basement! Like Catee … in some hole in the woods! Like Nicole, too! I want you to suffer for all of this! For becoming some mindless zombie! You’re nuts!! You deserve to die!!!!”
“Shhhhh … Shhhhhh … ” she consoles. “You need to rest and keep your strength. It sounds like the infection’s starting to kick in. Dementia’s one of the first signs. Trust me, Damian, just as soon as we get you taken care of, you’ll see things much more clearly. You’re not right, but you will be. Soon.” She ducks from sight before she stands over me again, syringe in hand. “Now, I’m going to give you two shots, Damian. The first—
“Get that away from me!” I scream and flail in my restraints, but I move nowhere.
“Shhhhhhh … Just relax,” she says. “Now, like I said. I’m going to give you two shots. You’ll feel the first, but it’s just a prick. Something to relax you. Then, we’re going to give you a second to treat that nasty bite you’ve got there and set you right again.”
“Don’t do it, Mom! Don’t!! Just let me die!!! Leave me alone!!!! I don’t want any of your shots!! Let me die!!!”
“My baby,” she says. “My poor, sick baby. It’s the infection talking. I understand. You’ll feel much better when you come back around. Trust me, Damian,” she says, as the needle disappears from sight and I fight to pull my arms free from the shackles that hold me exposed and vulnerable to her.
“Stop, Mom! Don’t do it!”
The prick is mild. The sedative, warm. I feel it enter and spread outward in concentric circles as she pushes the plunger in further and further and empties its contents into my body.
“Mom, STOP!!!” I scream.
“It’s okay, baby. Everything will be okay now. Just relax.”
I try to keep yelling—to keep pleading for mercy—but my mouth won’t move. Words won’t come. And my eyes grow heavy, and heavier still, until as much as I try to fight it, I lose all will, and darkness consumes me.
END OF BOOK ONE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my editor and friend, Danielle Littig. Your support and attention to detail is unparalleled. You’re a master of craft, and your feedback throughout this process has been invaluable.
Cover artist, Barry Bridgette, for being there in my youth, and returning from nowhere, fifteen years later, to capture my story with a quiet brilliance.
My longstanding friends, Lisa Collins and Justin Beckman, for being such candid, loyal, and supportive beta readers. Your inputs push me to challenge myself.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christopher Hoskins was born and raised in rural Maine. He is a middle school English teacher who currently resides and writes in San Diego, California. To learn more about him and his upcoming titles, please visit: www.christopherhoskins.com.
Table of Contents
Copyright
PART I: FIGHT THE WHITE
PART II FIND THE LIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Project Pallid Page 25