Decimation: The Girl Who Survived

by Burke, Richard T.

  “How did it go, Mrs Baxter?” he asked.

  “Pompous, arrogant pricks,” she said as she stormed towards the guarded entrance.

  Chapter 5

  The girl opened her eyes. Her first observation was that she was no longer in the alley. Her mind immediately turned to the yellow pill. She had been holding it when … when … The memory refused to surface. She held up her hand to her face and blearily inspected it. No, the pill was definitely not there. She sat up quickly, realising that she was lying in a bed with crisp white sheets and a thin blue blanket. The acrid scent of body odour no longer filled her nostrils – somebody must have washed her. She was dressed in a loose white gown of some sort. A quick check confirmed she was not wearing any underwear.

  She sprang from the bed and stripped the upper sheet back. She inspected the mattress, but there was no sign of the small capsule. She fell to her hands and knees and peered beneath the metal bed frame, hoping to pick out the yellow colour against the white plastic floor covering. Maybe she had swallowed it, but if that was true, she had no recollection. Maybe this was all part of the trip, but it didn’t have that other-worldly haze that was a common facet of the experience.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  With the absence of the pill confirmed, she scrutinised her surroundings. As far as she could determine, she seemed to be in a windowless hospital room. The biggest clue was the pervasive antiseptic medicinal smell.

  There were two closed doors leading off the room, both coloured white, one incorporating a narrow rectangular window at head height. She padded over towards the windowed door first and was unsurprised to find it locked. A red light shone out from a small white box affixed to the wall beside the doorframe. She peered through the glass pane onto a featureless white corridor containing another three identical-looking doors. Similar white boxes were mounted beside each door, electronic card readers she assumed. Beneath each window frame was a black three-digit number. They were numbered consecutively from 221 to 223.

  She turned her attention to the second door. When she twisted the handle, this one opened to reveal a cramped windowless bathroom containing a sink, toilet and shower cubicle. She focused back on the main room. The bed appeared to be typical of those found in a medical institution, and the walls were a bright white colour. Beside the bed was a cream coloured, metallic bedside cabinet on wheels. A quick check of the interior proved it to be empty. The harsh ceiling light illuminated a space devoid of any decoration.

  Where was she? How on earth had she arrived here? She cast her mind back. She remembered how she had scraped together enough cash to buy one of the yellow capsules from the scruffy, rat-like man who operated his business from an alley, not unlike her own. She recalled the sense of anticipation and the feel of the pill rolling between forefinger and thumb. But then what? Maybe it had been part of a bad batch, and that was causing her amnesia. Perhaps a passer-by had discovered her in the alley and called the emergency services. But in that case why was she alone?

  A thought occurred to her. Maybe somebody was monitoring her remotely. Her eyes swept the ceiling, but the glare of the light made it hard to detect the presence of a camera. She returned to the small window and banged on the door with the flat of her hand.

  “Hey! Is anybody there?”

  Silence.

  “Hey! Open this bloody door!”

  She continued to shout and hammer at the door until her voice was hoarse, and her hand ached. She shuffled back to the bed and sat down, staring around the room at the featureless walls. With rising frustration, she raised her legs from the ground and shoved them against the cabinet. A resounding crash filled the room as it toppled over. Encouraged by the sound, she rose to her feet, placed her hands along the sides of the frame, lifted it and tipped it onto its side. The noise was not quite as satisfying, the mattress absorbing much of the impact.

  She surveyed her handiwork before once again returning to the door. The corridor was still empty. If somebody was watching her through a hidden camera, they weren’t overly concerned by her demonstration of petulance. Dejectedly, she trudged back to the toppled bed, pulled the mattress away and laid it flat. She dropped onto it and curled up on her side, her arms around her knees.

  An electronic beep disturbed her repose. She sat up and saw a balding man wearing a white medical coat and carrying a clipboard enter through the windowed door.

  “Ah, I see you’ve rearranged the room,” he said, a thin smile on his lips.

  “Where am I? What am I doing here?”

  “Both good questions. You’re in a secure facility undergoing treatment for your addiction.”

  “I didn’t ask for any help.”

  The man stared at her for a moment before continuing. “Well, technically we don’t need your assent. You were discovered unconscious in an alley, suffering the after-effects of a bad batch of …” He consulted the clipboard. “Ah yes – I believe the street name is Chill Black. Under the terms of the Misuse of Substances Act, twenty thirty-one, we can hold you here indefinitely for your own good.”

  “You can’t just keep me locked up in this fricking shithole.”

  “Ironic that you should call this place a shithole after the alley in which you were found, but the truth of the matter is that we can keep you under our care until we determine you’re well enough to leave.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “Well, young lady, that depends on how cooperative you are, but I would estimate several weeks at least in your current state. Why? Do you have any pressing engagements?”

  The girl folded her arms but remained silent.

  “Do you want a hand sorting out the bed?” he asked.

  “No. I haven’t slept in a bed for over three years. Why the hell would I start now?”

  “Do what you like. We’re only trying to help you get better. Please note that we are monitoring you, and we will restrain you if we believe that you may be a danger to yourself.”

  The girl glowered at him.

  “Somebody will bring you food in a few minutes,” he added, strolling towards the door.

  He halted at the entrance and turned back to her. “Enjoy your stay.”

  Chapter 6

  Saturday 10th April 2032

  Antimone took a sip from her drink as her eyes roamed the room. The house was beginning to fill up as people arrived. Jason had invited eighty-five guests to his birthday party although he had admitted that some were there at his mother’s request, including Max Perrin. Apparently, she did not wish to risk alienating important contacts by excluding their children from this celebration.

  As Antimone had predicted, no threatening letter had arrived as a consequence of the near miss with the car a week earlier. She had been more worried about her parents finding out than by any prospect of a fine. Following the accident which had placed her in a wheelchair, they had been overly protective, and she was glad to have avoided what would have been a difficult conversation.

  She had done her best to avoid Max since the fateful training session although that was not always possible given that they attended some classes together. There had been no major confrontations, but there had been a number of low-level incidents, which she attributed to him. One morning she had attempted to open her locker only to discover that the keyhole was filled with glue. Another morning, the outline of a huge penis had been drawn on her locker door. The most sinister was a drawing that had appeared on the wall of the female toilets, depicting a girl in a wheelchair with a noose around her neck. As the only wheelchair student at the school, it was fairly obvious to whom the graffiti referred. That last episode had drawn the attention of the school authorities. Following a brief and inconclusive investigation, there had been no further problems.

  Since arriving she had chatted briefly with Erin Riley, but the other girl soon lost interest and wandered over to another group to collect the gossip around which her life revolved.

  Antimone sensed a presence behind he
r, accompanied by a whiff of expensive perfume. She spun her wheelchair around to discover Jason’s mother, elegantly dressed in a fashionable green dress with a black belt cinched around her narrow waist. Her assistant, a slight, narrow-faced man with thinning black hair and wearing a dark suit, stood a pace back.

  “It’s Antimone, isn’t it?” the woman said, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Antimone took the delicately manicured fingers in her own and was surprised at their coolness. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Baxter.”

  “This is my assistant, Julian Stefano.”

  Antimone shook hands with the man. By contrast, his handshake was warm and sweaty. She wanted to wipe her palm on her cream coloured trousers but resisted the temptation.

  “I’ve followed your athletics career with great interest,” the woman said. “It’s fantastic that the school has offered a bursary to an up-and-coming Paralympian such as yourself. In fact, I’m sure you’re aware that my company is a major contributor to the scholarship fund.”

  “Yes, Mrs Baxter. I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

  “Oh, please call me Rosalind.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks very much … um, Rosalind.”

  “Can I get you a refill?”

  Before she could reply, the assistant spoke. “I’m sorry Mrs Baxter, but I’ve got Dr Perrin on the line.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Antimone,” Rosalind Baxter said as she strode away, her offer to replenish Antimone’s glass already forgotten.

  Antimone turned back to face the window and tapped a fingernail to start her favourite album playing in her ears. Soon the driving beat had her nodding her head in unison. She stared vacantly out at the carefully manicured gardens as she allowed the music to wash over her.

  The reappearance of Rosalind Baxter on the stone-paved area by the back door drew her attention. The assistant was nowhere to be seen, but she was deep in conversation with a scruffy looking, bearded man wearing a black woollen hat. Antimone paused the playback as the man pointed a forefinger at Jason’s mother and shouted something at her. There was something familiar about the man, but at first, she couldn’t place him. She racked her brains trying to jog loose the recalcitrant memory. Then it came to her – she had seen somebody wearing similar headgear in the stand at the athletics stadium just before the training session last week. Was it the same man? He didn’t look like a parent, but there was always the possibility that one of the pupils had an eccentric father. And what was the argument about?

  At that moment, two muscular men dressed in matching grey suits emerged from the house and took up positions, one on either side of Jason’s mother. The man jutted a finger at her, but then took a hurried step backwards as the two men advanced towards him. Rosalind swivelled on her heel and re-entered the house, her face a mask of fury. The two grey-suited men hustled the third, bearded man through the gate that led to the front of the house.

  Antimone was jolted from the drama by a bang on the back of her wheelchair. She spun around to see Jason staring down at her, a grin on his face.

  “Something exciting going on out there?” he asked.

  “Um, no not really,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Why don’t you come over and join us?”

  “Sure,” Antimone said, smiling.

  Jason studied her, pondering his next statement. “I guess it’s hard joining in a conversation at a party when everybody else is standing up.”

  The comment caught her by surprise. The observation was correct, but she hadn’t expected Jason to be so perceptive. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Tell you what, why don’t we go over to the sofa? At least then we’ll be at the same eye level.”

  “Okay.”

  Jason led the way across the room and through the doorway into a lounge that was big enough to accommodate the whole of the ground floor of Antimone’s house. He clapped a couple of boys on the back and accompanied them, and the girls they were chatting with, to a huge red L-shaped sofa arrangement in the corner.

  When everybody else was seated, Jason said, “I’ll just get something to drink. Back in a sec.”

  Antimone sat in silence as the other four resumed their previous discussion. She was relieved when Jason reappeared carrying a large glass bowl containing a red-coloured liquid and a ladle. “Fruit punch? Strictly non-alcoholic. The alcohol only comes out when my Mum’s disappeared.”

  Antimone smiled and watched as Jason topped up her glass. After serving the others, Jason refilled his own glass, dipping it directly into the bowl.

  “To the next sixteen years,” he said, standing up. The rest of the group echoed the toast, and the conversation flourished as Jason played the part of the perfect host, ensuring that everybody joined in. Antimone began to relax and was soon engaged in good-natured banter as Jason gently teased one of the other boys who fancied himself as a good footballer.

  “I’m just going to get a refill,” Jason said getting to his feet and retreating with the empty bowl. This time, Antimone joined in with the exchanges in his absence. He returned carrying the topped up container. He quickly replenished his guests’ glasses and sank back onto the sofa.

  Antimone took a sip of the second batch. It tasted slightly different to the first, but she put it down to the contents being mixed in different proportions. After a couple more mouthfuls she felt dizzy. “Zu haven’t putz alclol zin tish, has zu?” she asked. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Jason shook his head, but he too seemed to be struggling to speak.

  Antimone closed her eyes, only dimly aware that all conversation in their corner of the room had ceased.

  ***

  “Wow! Somebody must have spiked the drink.”

  Antimone groaned and opened an eye. Max Perrin was standing a few paces away, staring down at her.

  “It’s probably your first taste of alcohol, eh, trike queen?”

  “Piss off, Max,” she replied, running a hand across her face. A headache was pounding behind her eyes, and she felt bile rising in her stomach. She belched. The sweet scent of the fruit punch repeated on her, and she immediately felt better. The others, including Jason, were sitting where she had last seen them, all still unconscious. She glanced at her watch. She had been asleep for just under an hour.

  Ignoring Max, who stood with a half-smile on his lips, she wheeled herself across the room and through the doorway. The body of the party seemed to have gravitated to the garden judging by the raucous laughter and music coming through the back door. She was at the bathroom door when she heard the sound of breaking glass. Antimone stopped and cocked her head. At first, she thought somebody must have dropped their drink. The throbbing beat continued from outside, but the sounds of merriment had died down.

  A shout accompanied the tinkle of more falling shards. She pushed through the door into the garden. A large group of people were staring towards the side of the house.

  A man’s voice rose above the music. “Hey! Stop!”

  One of the two grey-suited men she had seen earlier with Jason’s mother clambered through what she could now see was a shattered ground floor window and set off at a sprint across the lawn. He headed towards a wooden gate embedded in the well-tended hedge, leading into the adjoining field. The man barrelled through the partially open gate leaving it swinging on its hinges.

  Several people ambled in the direction the man had taken and craned their necks to peer over the hedge. A couple tentatively approached the gateway. Somebody had turned off the music.

  “What happened?” Antimone asked a girl, standing a few paces away.

  The girl dragged her attention away from the unfolding scene and glanced down. “Well, a chair crashed through the window, and this man sort of climbed out and started running towards the gate. Then these other two, they came out of the window after him and shouted for him to stop. They all ran into the field.”

  “Who was the man, the first one I mean?”r />
  “Dunno. I’ve never seen him before. He had a beard and this funny black woolly hat. I think the other two were security or something. I saw them when I arrived.”

  Before Antimone could ask any more questions, a woman’s voice rose above the hubbub. “I’m sorry about that, everybody,” Rosalind Baxter said. “There was an intruder, but my people are dealing with it. Please carry on and enjoy yourselves. I’ll get somebody to sweep up the broken glass.”

  The buzz of conversation increased, and the music restarted although at a lower level than previously. Antimone turned to thank the girl, but she had already wandered off to join a larger group. Antimone resumed her trip to the bathroom but bumped into Jason as she entered the house.

  “What’s going on out there?” he asked.

  She ignored the question and asked one of her own. “Did you spike the drink?”

  He appeared shocked. “No, I’d never do that.”

  “So if you didn’t, who the hell did?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Antimone made her way across the hall. When she reached the bathroom door, she turned back to Jason.

  “I’m calling my parents, and then I’m going home.”

  Chapter 7

  Monday 12th April 2032

  “Damn. Well, thanks for letting me know, Nigel.”

  Rosalind Baxter put the phone down. Another test failure. She allowed herself the luxury of staring out of the huge plate glass window onto the well-manicured gardens surrounding the Ilithyia facility. A gardener was digging in one of the flower beds filled with a colourful array of spring flowers. The man glanced up, perhaps sensing that someone was watching him. Rosalind turned back to her computer monitor even though she knew there was no way he could see her.

  She swept her hand across the screen, manipulating a column of figures. A pulsing red dialogue box disturbed her concentration. It seemed to hang in mid-air a few centimetres in front of the display. The text indicated her secretary wanted to talk to her, so probably an incoming call. She sighed. This was the part of being in charge of a company that she hated the most. There was never enough time to concentrate on anything without being disturbed.