Flux

by Chris McInally

  Chest heaving, Conn glanced over his shoulder, a third time. The Utahraptor was gaining on him, now that it didn’t have to worry about dealing with a wet floor. Realizing this, Conn knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. After all, he had nowhere to go. Conn had to do something or he was literally mince-meat. He could hear the stampeding animal growing closer, so he pushed harder, his lungs near-bursting. Up ahead, Conn spotted a small, stainless-steel trolley with something rounded sitting on top of it. Exhausted, desperate, and out of options, Conn charged for the trolley. The small cart in front of him was just above knee-height, and made up of two shelves. He soon found that the object on the top shelf was a bedpan.

  “Yuuuuuuuck!” he groaned, picking up the toilet-aid, hoping to God it was clean.

  Without thinking too much about it, Conn grabbed a hold of the little trolley. Spinning on his heel, he threw the cart at the lunging raptor. As the lithe predator landed, one of its long, muscular legs became tangled between its shelving. The dinosaur’s snout smashed into the floor with a horrendous crack! as it landed, dazing it. Legs kicking wildly, the creature tried to stand, flopping about like a clubbed seal. Despite its trapped leg, hindering it from standing up properly, the powerful reptile fought on, desperate to get at him. The animal’s jaws snapped shut as its big tail whipped about reminiscent of a scorpion. Lashing at Conn, he jumped back narrowly avoiding the first of its sweeping strikes. He proceeded to duck and weave as it continued to violently whip its powerful appendage at him, similar to a lion-tamer performing at a circus.

  Then suddenly, timing it just right, Conn sprang forward, bedpan raised in his right hand. He brought the little metal toilet down on the raptor’s long cranium with a resounding metallic thunk! The monster’s head lolled with the impact, dazed further. Yet, Conn didn’t stop there. He smashed it again, this time opening up a jagged cut that ran along the bony ridge above the reptile’s left eye. The raptor threw back its head, screeching like some kind of demon. Then Conn struck again... and again…and again. Blood sprayed everywhere, dousing Conn, the beast roaring in agony the whole time. He even managed to knock two of its curved fangs loose from its long, reptilian mouth. By the end of it, Conn was using the front of the bedpan like a mallet, crushing bone and squashing flesh into a sickly, gory mixture.

  Exhausted, and horrified by what he had done, Conn collapsed onto his rump, the bedpan falling beside him, crashing loudly against the surface of the floor, rattling. He looked at the limp dinosaur, the left side of its cranium turned to mush, bits of white bone visible under the mangled sandy-coloured epidermis. Occasionally, the raptor’s legs, accompanied by its hands and feet, would twitch involuntarily, its claws flicking forward before retracting.

  Conn cried for the first time in a long time. Strangely, he hadn’t cried when his parents died; not even when Anthony fell sick; but, he cried then. He wept for the dead raptor. At least, that’s what he thought he was weeping for, even though the thing had been trying to kill him. Conn wasn’t sure why, but he felt guilty. Almost like he had taken something beautiful out of the world.

  Beautiful, but deadly. He had to remind himself.

  Conn held his head in his bloody hands, rocking backwards and forwards, sobbing uncontrollably. He let it all out then and there, the emotion of it all, simply too much to contain any longer. Three years of pent-up emotion and trauma spilling out of him. The young man only stopped when he heard the eerie squalling, issuing from somewhere further down the hallway, back the way he had come. Wiping his cheeks dry with the back of his hands, inadvertently smearing the raptor’s blood all over his face, Conn got to his feet. Swaying ever so slightly, blood rushing to his head, he placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. Setting off down the corridor after a brief interlude, he sought out the strange child-like wails, stepping over the battered and bloodied corpse of his fallen opponent, refusing to look at what he had done.

  15.

  It wasn’t long before Conn found himself outside the morgue again. He was certain this was where the noise was originating from. The horrible squealing continued, coming in short, sharp bursts. It was a strange noise. One moment, he was reminded of a pig, the next a newborn baby, then a kitten, the sounds morphing from one to another, changing in pitch and intensity. The truth was the strange hybrid screeching made his skin crawl, and still, despite his fear, the young man felt drawn to it. He had to know what it was.

  Picking up his AR-15 and his two duffel bags, sitting just outside the battered doors- both rather soaked by the burst piping- Conn stepped inside the morgue, leaving the dripping pipes behind. Stepping gingerly over the carpet of mutilated corpses at his feet, he moved towards the darkened corner where he had first come across the Utahraptor. Overhead, the failing light continued to flicker, causing ominous shadows to snake along the walls, before disappearing, only to return again in the blink of an eye, like an epileptic’s worst nightmare. Outside, he heard the continual plop… plop… plop… of the leaking pipes blessing the floor below.

  Amidst the erratic flickering of lightbulbs, and the monotonous noise of dripping pipes, there it was. The small shape was huddled in the shadowy crook just as Conn suspected. All around it were human body parts, piled haphazardly about the place, each and every one of them sporting some type of horrific bite wound. Conn surmised that after unloading the corpses from their fridges, the raptor had set about tearing apart the hospital cadavers, before he interrupted it of course. It had piled them up, fashioning a kind of macabre nest for itself, or rather for its young. At the centre of its gory construction sat five ovoid eggs: four, a sickly green colour smattered with light brown blotches and one pure white… and hatched.

  “It was a mother… trying to feed its young,” Conn spoke in a hushed tone, to no one but himself.

  There, flanked on either side, by two pairs of clearly rotten eggs containing its dead, unborn siblings was an infant raptor, squealing for attention or food… or maybe both. It sat back in its cracked egg, the front and top broken away, like a king on his throne, tail curled between its legs. The small dinosaur was about the size of a Jack Russell puppy. Conn understood right away this one wasn’t like its parents- he could only assume the two raptors he had encountered were its parents. Strangely, all of the little dinosaur’s scales were bone-white and its eyes were a strange blood-red.

  It’s an albino. He realized, watching the small reptile, bathed as it was, in the eerie lambent light.

  Conn edged forward, dropping down into a hunched position, looming over the baby raptor. Its head reclined slightly as the animal squeaked at him, the cute sound reminding Conn of a contented human baby. A blank, emotionless stare fell over Conn’s face. Stretching his hand out, he placed his thumb and forefinger around the raptor’s thin neck.

  I have to kill it. A voice instructed him. Otherwise it won’t survive

  Its big red, innocent and trusting eyes gazed into his, blinking slowly, seemingly unafraid of him. The raptor began nuzzling into his hand, running its snout along his finger like a cat solidifying its bond with an owner, making an odd gurgling sound.

  You’re the reason it won’t survive. Another voice told him. You are the one who killed its parents. Conn knew what it was like not to have parents anymore. Direwolves had taken his parents from him, now he had taken this raptor’s parents from it.

  The baby Utahraptor let out another childish squeal, continuing to rub up against his hand. Conn suddenly became aware of the blood smeared all over him, much of it dried inside the cracks of his skin. It was the blood from its parent. Unexpectedly, the little raptor grabbed one of his fingers, wrapping its little clawed hands around it. Its claws were like marble onyx, reflecting the light from above. A long, pink tongue emerged from its alabaster jaws. Next, the dinosaur trailed that tongue along the man’s fingers, the sensation that came with it reminding Conn of sandpaper, only gentler.

  Perhaps it was because Conn was the first thing the baby dinosaur had presumably laid eyes on
, or maybe, it was due to the fact he was covered in blood belonging to both of its parents, but either way it was clear the little predator had imprinted on him.

  “I’m not your mum,” Conn told the raptor, as it continued to stare up at him, the young man still gripping its little neck. “And I’m not your dad either.”

  The raptor’s reply was to playfully bite his index finger. Its needle-like teeth didn’t pierce the skin, but they were definitely sharp, that’s for sure. Conn quickly retracted his hand, rubbing the bruised skin.

  “Hungry are we?” Conn asked, stifling a laugh.

  He watched the creature for a moment, the little thing staring back expectantly. For a few fleeting seconds, he was reminded of Anthony, young and helpless as it was. Slowly, the suggestion of a smile played at the edges of Conn’s mouth. The dinosaur bit him again as he reached out to stroke it.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll get you something,” Conn said, as he sat down next to it, pressing his back up against the door of a closed refrigerator.

  Conn looked about the nest for some suitable food: the abundance of butchered cadavers meant it wasn’t hard to find. Amidst the pile of intertwined corpses, his eyes came to rest on a forearm, chewed through just below the elbow. Picking it up with a disgusted groan, Conn set about trying to pry strips of flesh off of it, to feed to his hungry companion.

  “This is fucked up,” Conn spoke to the little dinosaur. “You know that, right?”

  Head tilted inquisitively to the side, the alabaster raptor just watched him. As its food drew closer, the raptor shifted slightly in its egg-seat, apparently trying to sit up. Conn managed to separate a little bit of skin, beneath which was attached some flesh, pulling it away from the limb he had chosen. He passed the dangling portion of glistening meat towards his new pet. Just like the family dog hovering about the Christmas dinner table, the raptor greedily snatched the food from his fingers, gulping it down in seconds, barely chewing as it went.

  “Greedy little fucker aren’t ya?” Conn laughed, peeling away another bit of flesh.

  Feeding the raptor some more, he watched it gorge itself. Bit by bit, the raptor repositioned itself, sitting upright before finding its feet a short while later, Conn goading it to do so with bits of human flesh. Despite the macabre scene, the young man laughed as it struggled to find its balance at the same time snapping its jaws, signalling to him for more food. Watching its awkward movements, Conn was reminded of baby deer from nature documentaries he had watched in school, before the Flux.

  “You are a bottomless pit, little dude!” Conn spoke to it some more.

  Unexpectedly, the raptor hopped forward, landing in Conn’s lap, squeaking gleefully. Next, it tried climbing up the front of his Kevlar vest, using its fore and hind-limbs to propel it upwards. Laughing harder, Conn scooped up the little creature, cupping it in his hands, holding it in front of him. Lying on its back, Conn stroked its belly.

  “Feisty, huh?” the young man smiled, as he spoke. “I suppose I’m gonna have to think of a name for ya, aren’t I?”

  With one eyebrow raised, Conn pondered a suitable name for the little raptor. He became lost for a short while. As his imagination carried him away to another realm, he forgot about Anthony and Havenfort; his mission; even Lex.

  “Are you a boy or a girl?” he asked the squealing baby, rolling it about in his hands, the raptor apparently loving the attention he was giving it. “How do I tell?”

  After a minute or two of trying to discern the reptile’s sex- an inspection which included dangling the critter by its long tail- Conn gave up. There was no point. After all, he wasn’t a herpetologist.

  Maybe I should have paid more attention in Biology class.

  “Well, since I’ve got no idea, if you’re a boy or a girl,” Conn told the infant in his hands, “I guess I am gonna need something… neutral, I suppose. Something… that goes both ways, you might say. Maybe something… a little... ambidextrous.”

  Ambidextrous… Maybe he could do something with that.

  “That’s it- Ambie!” He leaned his face in towards the little raptor. “Ya like that, huh?”

  Hovering there, nose-to-snout, Conn looked deep into the raptor’s round, ruby eyes, noting his own dark reflection in them peeking back at him. He didn’t say anything, he just watched-

  -then all of a sudden, little Ambie leaned forward and bit Conn on the end of his nose.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  16.

  When Brett regained consciousness, he was flat on his back, his bulletproof vest missing. The confused young man was bare-chested, his pastel skin covered in beads of sweat, the skin over his pectoral muscles slick with the salty, glistening liquid. More disconcerting, he was virtually unable to move. Panicking, it took Brett a second to realize he had somehow been immobilized.

  Looking about, Brett quickly discovered he was strapped into a hospital bed. His wrists and ankles were secured by heavy, buckled straps. Brett’s eyes darted erratically about the place, taking in his surroundings in more detail. Still, his brain struggled to properly process his predicament. As far as he could tell, he was in a small room, the walls of which were bathed in a dull orange glow. A thin veil of smoke filled the air and a fire crackled off to his right, down on the floor. The heat generated by it was stifling, something presumably made worse by the tight confines of the room.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Furthermore, like the world’s worst hangover, Brett’s head pounded incessantly, pain periodically pulsating through his battered skull. Jaws clenching, he winced with each throb, fighting back tears.

  Where am I? How did I get here?

  The young man began hacking as the smoke wafting from the little fire irritated his lungs. Coughing up blobs of phlegm, he leaned over the side of the bed and spat onto the floor below. Besides his bed, there was no other furniture in the room. Still, Brett figured he hadn’t left BPH yet. Like most hospital rooms, it had that sterile feel to it. Although, the room was unusual when compared to others in the hospital, in that it had only a bed, and nothing more. Brett’s eyes drifted to the thick-set restraints around his wrists and ankles.

  It’s an isolation room. Brett deduced. Probably meant for housing crazies and addicts.

  A pain, stronger than the last, tore through his cranium, acting like an electric shock. Beginning at the back of his skull, the sensation dispersed throughout his entire pate. Brett cried out in agony, his jerking motions causing the whole bed to shake violently, his body whipping about in a pained frenzy. Just when Brett thought it wasn’t going to end, and his head might explode from it all, the sensation suddenly ceased. Laying his throbbing head against the mattress, Brett breathed in deep and slow, trying to regain a grip on his senses.

  Lifting his head up off the mattress, a short time later, he looked towards the end of the bed. Peering past his black boots, Brett noted the massive hole punched into the wall, adjacent to the foot of the bedstead. He suddenly figured out where he was. It was obvious that Brett hadn’t gone very far at all from where he had first encountered the Neanderthals. He was still on the fourth floor of BPH. Images of the battling cavemen, beating seven shades of shit out of one another, flashed inside his head. Brett caught a slow-motion replay, of the Neanderthal he had blown away, the brute’s big, bronzed body falling through the air, gaping bullet wounds littering his muscular physique, fountains of blood pouring over his smooth skin.

  Snapping back to reality, Brett became aware that he was staring into space, his head feeling heavy and clouded. Still looking in the direction of the massive void, smashed into the wall, his eyes fell upon the thick, lower legs of the downed caveman he had killed. The sight of his body set off alarm bells inside Brett’s aching, befuddled mind.

  Where’s the other one? The woman?

  A low grunting sound, emanating from close by the little fire, caught Brett’s attention, answering his question for him. He tried twisting his neck around to get a better look, but it
was useless. Coupled with the poorly-lit space, the position of the young man’s bed made it impossible to see. Even so, he knew exactly what- or rather who- was making the primitive noises.

  “Gone shy, have ya?” Brett chided.

  Another, angrier rumble this time, replied to his question.

  Brett could feel the pain building at the back of his skull, again. This frightened him. Something clearly wasn’t right inside his head. He began to wonder if he might have swelling on the brain, brought on by his beating at the hands of the female Neanderthal. Trying to distract himself from the discomfort, he kept up his heckling of the primitive human, hiding somewhere behind, keeping out of sight.

  “C’mon, monkey-bitch!” Brett sneered. “Show yourself, sasquatch!”

  The human barked a primordial reply from the shadows, growing evermore agitated by Brett’s belligerent behaviour.

  “So, what’s your plan, monkey?” Brett asked. “Now that you’ve got me, where you want me?”

  Brett heard, what sounded like glass, or maybe hard plastic, crunch underfoot. Now, he didn’t say anything, his words stolen from him. A few seconds passed, before the Neanderthal came out into view. She was wearing Brett’s Kevlar vest, and clutching the stolen M4 like a club, held nonchalantly by the nozzle. Leisurely, the cavewoman stepped to the foot of the hospital bed, stalking into full view, eyes fixed intently on Brett’s prostrate frame.

  “You’re holding it all wrong.” Brett eyed the M4 in the big human’s hand.

  The Neanderthal responded by making a fist and smacking it off the stolen vest laid over her broad upper body, baying excitedly. Her aggressive actions reminded Brett of a silverback gorilla trying to intimidate a challenger. Then without warning, the cavewoman discarded the assault rifle, letting it clatter loudly against the floor, landing close by the fire. Next, using her big, bony hands, the Neanderthal grabbed the end of the bed, and lifted it up off the floor. Conn felt his stomach lurch as he rose. The angry figure wasn’t finished, however. She let the bed fall back to earth, battering the bedstead against the floor, before smashing it against the wall with a solid shove. If it wasn’t for the straps keeping him in place, Brett would have gone flying.