Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  Instead of sitting behind the desk, he slumped onto a skuzzy sofa where he’d slept most nights. For the zillionth time, he recounted the attack, a sword that had nearly cut his head in half. And for the zillionth time, he rebuked himself for not avoiding the blade. Adding salt to the wound, his aggressor was a one-armed, one-legged mutant. Afterwards, the awkward meeting with the Elites, Basta had reason for humiliation.

  “Basta—” Pomfrey cringed at the sight of the repugnant scar. “Dr. Sese has recently informed us that these disfigured people might be harboring disease. And now after this maligned attack on your person, we plainly see that these people might be deranged as well. Don’t you agree?”

  In reality, Basta had spurred the mutant into an aggressive state by constantly belittling him and frequently pushing him into the mud. However, he agreed with Mr. Addler. It was in the citizens’ best interest to stay clear of those people. The Mediators should “spread the word.” Rumors of diseased mutants had increased. And a plague of sickness helped seal their case. Citizens seemed relieved when their abnormal neighbors packed up and moved out of the village.

  Truth be told, he knew those poor bastards weren’t a threat.

  Rolling the cigar between his lips, he noticed a tremor in his hand. A rap on his door brought him back to his senses, and vaulted from the sofa. “Come in.”

  ***

  Ennis and Doogan walked in. Basta went to his desk, claiming his seat of authority. Picking up of his magnum, he shoved it into his shoulder holster. “Take a seat.”

  “I’ll stand,” Doogan said.

  Ennis remained a step behind Doogan. Moving a hand to his holster, he unclipped the safety strap as a precaution.

  “Okay, stand then,” Basta said with a yawn. “What do you want?”

  Doogan thought Pomfrey was the most loathsome scum of the Earth, but Basta reined a close second. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed for revenge. If he opened his mouth, accusations would fly. And that wouldn’t help in the least. Yielding somewhat, he sought for calm. He crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his shaking fingers.

  “You know what I want,” Doogan said. “Do I need to spell it out?” His glare stabbed into Basta, commencing a combat of wills.

  Ennis scuffed his foot in silence and held tighter to the pistol.

  “You know Deddalus and Zara Oberdick resisted,” Basta clarified. “They wouldn’t come back, no matter how hard we tried negotiating. Then they pulled a gun on us. We had no choice.”

  “That’s a lie.” He sounded iffy, realizing he also would’ve threatened them with a gun.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, McTullan,” Basta said. “And then Ergan Snark tried running my men over with his car. He hit one and nearly broke the guy’s hip. Again, we had no choice.”

  Doogan cut a look to an impassive Ennis.

  “Their kids, Maisry and Elcot are in the camp for orphaned children,” Basta stated after taking a pull on his cigar. “Go ask them if you don’t believe me.”

  Doogan moved toward the desk.

  Basta stood and Ennis grabbed Doogan by the elbow. “Not what you wanted to hear, is it?”

  What happened to Keeyla? The words seemed to stick, he couldn’t push them past his lips. He was glad of Ennis’s hand. It held him at bay and kept him from getting himself killed.

  It was Ennis, who asked for him, “Doogan wants to know about his family and the boy you brought in.”

  Basta’s arresting gaze released him and flashed to Ennis.

  “Yes—Keeyla—” Doogan’s voice grated up his throat. At the mention of her name, Basta seemed to deflate and wilt into his chair.

  “The last time I saw Keeyla—” Basta swallowed. “She was alive.”

  Elation wasn’t coming easy for Doogan. A lock of ebony hair dropped over his eye, and a quivering hand raked at the irritant. “I was told she was dead, fell off a cliff.”

  “Thinking it was an animal, one of my men shot at something on the ridge. When we went to investigate, we…um—m—” Basta acted tongue-tied. “Keeyla was hanging from a tree over the ledge. She was bleeding badly. There was no way we could save her.” A pink tinge added to his unsightly, scarred face, Basta appeared guilty as hell.

  Like hearing the news for the first time, Doogan’s heart cracked into tiny fragments. Now, it was official. “Fabal,” he whispered. “What about my son?”

  “Never did find him.”

  Doogan inhaled. “I heard you have another boy from the same area.” He grasped for hope. “Can I talk to him? Maybe he’s seen Fabal.”

  “That kid’s a pisspot, like the devil reincarnated.” Basta crossed his legs, toking on the cigar. “He gave me didily squat when I interrogated him. He won’t help you.”

  “I’d like to try.” His knotted muscles unraveled feeling defeated. “Can I speak to the boy?”

  “No skin off my butt,” Basta muttered offhandedly. “But he’s in the dungeons. Likely to be sliced and diced soon.”

  Doogan and Ennis both flinched at his choice of words.

  “What’s the dungeons?”

  Basta then looked at his fellow Mediator. “The lowest level of the Infirmary,” Basta informed them with smoke billowing from his mouth. “I was never positive if the ethical Dr. McTullan was affiliated with the experiments, until recently. Quite a shock, eh?”

  “You repulsive bastard.” Doogan’s tone was razor-sharp. “You could put a stop to it.”

  “Oh, really? Then so could you.”

  His comment shook him to the core. “Can I speak to the boy?” he asked again.

  Basta puffed on the cigar, sizing him up. “That can be arranged,” he finally acquiesced. “There’s a particular door for special deliveries.”

  Chapter 22

  Basta withdrew his revolver and while peering at Doogan with a ‘don’t mess with me’ look, he clicked off the safety. His tactic of extortion.

  Exiting his office, and across the hallway was a door with the words Head of Acquisitions Crigg Oliver printed on it. Basta turned right, going down a short hallway into the Headquarters main room.

  Headquarters was based next to the Infirmary, the only two buildings that housed a second floor. The second story of Headquarters was home to a majority of the Mediators. Those with a partner were offered a single private room, while the other the men lived in a dormitory. Stationed directly behind Headquarters was a camp for trainees and lodgings for young mole recruits.

  Doogan made eye contact with Korbi Segway, the young man Keeyla had recently been telling him about. His breath caught in his throat just thinking about her.

  A squad of Mediators milled around. Some sat at tables playing card games and others checking the sideboards draping the wall. Assignments were posted each day for specific patrols.

  “Hey, Basta,” Grunt said. “The salvage party’s ready. Any last minute instructions?” Seeing Doogan, Grunt’s face turned into a snarl. He licked his tongue over what was left of his teeth, a reminder of their scuffle.

  “Okay, listen up,” Basta amplified his voice. He grabbed a clipboard off a nail and flipped through the pages. “Let’s see, we have Grunt and Dunket in charge of the party. Next, there’s Hadley, Korbi, Fluke, and Parsel assigned to salvage this month.” He lifted his eyes from the pages. “You’ll be heading northwest. We’re in need of bricks, nails, any kinds of tools and, of course, weapons. The usual stuff. Take the filtering system and check the water in the area.” He looked at Dunket and Grunt. “And fuel and oil if you find tanks. We need that.” He dug into his pants pockets and extracted keys. “Two trailer trucks and a flatbed. I expect them back in one piece and in tip-top condition.”

  “Here’s the route.” He handed the clipboard to Grunt. “Write down anything of interest.” He then turned on his heels and said to Doogan and Ennis, “Come with me.”

  He headed back down the short hallway. Taking a second set of keys from his pocket, he unbolted a door and marshaled them along a pitch-black stai
rwell.

  Doogan heard a clack of a switch and the blackness receded to a dreary gloom. Reaching the last step, his foot hit brick flooring, which lead to a long passageway. The walls had vertical wooden beams, with log support beams every ten feet. Electrical wiring patterned the low ceiling and connected to intermittent lamplights.

  He began to feel claustrophobic. The scent of mold and dampness stung his nostrils. He was glad to see double doors up ahead. Basta again keyed the lock and wrenched the door open. Instant recognition of the Infirmary’s corridor, and the rooms where human guinea pigs waited to be dissected and studied.

  Basta sauntered past a few vacant rooms.

  “The boy’s in here.”

  Doogan looked through the paned glass. A boy lay curled, sleeping on a cot. “I’d like to speak to him alone.”

  “Not on your life,” Basta chided. “You think I’m dense?”

  Doogan, much taller than Basta looked down at him, and said, “The boy might not tell me what I want to know with you in there.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Either I go in or you don’t see the kid.” Basta jingled the keys in his palm.

  “Fine. Unlock the door.”

  The startled boy sprang upright when they entered. He scurried to the farthest wall, drawing his knees to his chin.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Doogan said, softening his voice.

  Confusion and distrust registered in the boy’s eyes. When he saw Basta lurking behind Doogan, his eyes tapered and spit.

  “Filthy little tramp.” Basta bolted for the boy, his hand raised to beat him. Doogan’s fingers banded his arm before he had a chance to strike.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The manic burn in his eyes trained on Doogan. Basta forced his arm from his grip. “Ennis, can’t you control him?”

  “Doogan, just ask the kid what you want to know.” Ennis sounded harried.

  The boy’s fear was tangible as he lowered to the cot, and wished there was a way to comfort him. Trying to sound caring and heartfelt, he repeated, “What’s your name?”

  The boy’s gold eyes speared from Basta to him, but still he didn’t answer. Manifest was his pumping chest and labored breathing. “Knox,” he murmured like a teeny mouse.

  “Knox. You’re going to be fine, don’t worry. You—”

  “Why the hell you telling him that?” Basta interrupted. “He knows what’s happening here. They all know what happens here.” He drew the magnum from his holster. “If the kid makes one wrong move—”

  “Shut the hell up,” Doogan cried, “and let me talk.”

  “I’m not scared,” Knox’s voice quavered. His trembling hands swept back his curtain of hair, fastening it behind his ears. He flaunted the odd number of fingers on each hand. “You afraid of this?” He held out his hand to show them, and at the same time wiggled the toes on his bare feet.

  “No, Knox, not a bit.”

  The boy squinted, staring at Doogan. “You look familiar.”

  “Do I remind you of someone back home?” Doogan grinned.

  He tilted his head, scrutinizing him.

  “His name wouldn’t happen to be Fulvio, would it?”

  Knox’s eyes brightened.

  “That’s my father. I’ve been told we look a lot alike, but I don’t see the resemblance.”

  Knox hummed low in his throat. “Yep, only Fulvio’s bigger—lots bigger than you.” He loosened up somewhat, sinking his feet to the floor, after a moment’s hesitation, he slid closer to Doogan.

  “Knox, I have a very important question that I’d like you to answer—if you’re able.” He waited until the boy looked him in the eyes. “Did you come across another boy, around your age?”

  Knox’s eyes veered to Basta, visibly intimidated by the Mediator.

  “It’s okay to tell us.” Doogan could tell by the boy’s reaction he had valuable information. “That’s my son. I just want to know if he’s alive.”

  “Fabal’s with Fulvio,” he uttered with downcast eyes.

  Extracting a breath of thanksgiving, Doogan’s chest swelled. With a tiny glimmer of hope, he said, “Do you know if Fabal’s mom was with them?”

  “I don’t know. I only met Fabal.”

  Doogan’s lips pursed with a glum nod. He cupped Knox’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “How many people are up in those woods?” Basta interjected.

  Snapping his gaze to Basta, the boy’s gold eyes beamed with a fit of antagonism.

  Doogan admired Knox’s spunk and bravery. He slanted sideways, and whispered in his ear.

  “Hey! None of that.” Basta apprehended his arm, yanking him off the bed, and away from the boy. “Get outta here, now.” He aimed the magnum at Doogan’s skull.

  Doogan looked at Knox and tightly smiled. The boy smiled back.

  Once in the corridor, Basta locked Knox’s door and thrust the handgun into his holster. He griped under his breath, “Ennis, take the doctor to his room.”

  Unexpectedly they heard click-clacks heralding from the opposite direction. All three men turned to look.

  “There you are. I’ve been searching all over for you,” Paniess said.

  The men’s gazes wandered over the woman, now decked out in a form-fitting navy blue suit coat with a matching pencil skirt and heels. She hooked her arm around Doogan’s. “Basta, you don’t mind if I steal him for a while, do you? My mother wishes to speak to him.”

  A sullen Basta performed an about-face and began walking to Headquarters. He stopped and said over his shoulder, “Ennis, someone will be over to relieve you.”

  As they meandered through the Infirmary’s corridors, Paniess chirped on about her mother’s wonderful recovery, the horrific wolf attack, and how fortunate she was to be home at the time, or, who knows what could’ve happened to her? She glanced at him periodically, making sure the appropriate amount of concern showed on his face.

  He was actually pleased with her prattling, giving him time to think.

  Passing the laboratory, he glanced in the windows and noticed the doctors huddled over their microscopes. “Mind if I stop in to have a few words?” He looked at Paniess and then at Ennis who shrugged, not caring one way or another.

  “I’ll wait here,” she said. “They give me the creeps.”

  However, Ennis wasn’t taking any chances and trailed him. Dr. Merkle’s head perked up at the intrusion, displaying his toothless grin. Dr. Sese’s only acknowledgement to their presence was a noise he made deep in his chest.

  “Don’t you doctors ever go to sleep?” Doogan asked.

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Dr. Merkle said in his quiet way.

  “That could be any moment now,” Dr. Sese parried.

  The two doctors looked strangely identical with their shriveled bodies—erudite in their research, though intellectually warped. He was reviled by their obsession with killing mutants to gain knowledge. Considering how to approach the matter of Knox, he decided to be fairly honest. “The boy down the hall. What are your plans for him?”

  Tearing his eyes from the microscope, Dr. Sese glanced at Dr. Merkle then Doogan, an unmistakable look of told-you-so on his face. “Dr. McTullan, after further debate, we deem that you are not appropriate for our needs. In fact, you’re detrimental to the cause.”

  At a loss for a moment, he remembered Paniess’s words. ‘If you don’t cooperate, you’re no good to them or anybody else—they’re going to kill you.’

  Nonetheless, freeing Knox and finding Fabal was his priority, followed closely by putting a halt to these psychotic experiments. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he countered, “Okay, then answer me this. What’s so wrong with using cadavers? How many citizens died today? Bodies suitable for your needs? Now, that I could work with.”

  “Did they have defects?” Merkle asked in a mild manner.

  Making an effort to remain unruffled, Doogan said, “What does having defects have to do with teaching new interns how the body funct
ions? When the opportunity arises during surgical procedures, they can observe and assist Mr. Riggley and myself.”

  “You suppose we are ignorant, McTullan?” Dr. Sese said with a leer. “For twenty years, we’ve struggled to compile medical data. Merkle and I have given what’s left of our lives to organizing and classifying methods for reduplicating antibiotics and chemical substances to prolong life.” His glasses slid, perching on the tip of his nose, and moisture glistened on his face.

  Dr. Sese breathed heavily, perturbed. “You think we take pleasure in exploiting people?” A fidgety hand grappled with a cloth, blotting his pruned mouth. “Years ago—an outbreak, a contagion—we needed to act or all could’ve died.” His broken sentences reflected his agitation. “You peg us as sadistic men. Fifty years from now our names will be written in history books—our names, Afram Sese and Osta Merkle saved the human race from extinction.” A dry cough briefly racked the physician’s body.

  Stifling heated words, he turned the subject back to Knox. “The boy knows where my son is. I’d like to persuade Mr. Addler to let me take the boy to look for Fabal.”

  The two physician’s looked mystified.

  “Our plans remain intact,” stated Dr. Sese, vaguely off-kilter, “unless instructed otherwise.”

  Perceiving the doctor’s pallid complexion, and rendering a flush to his sunken cheeks, Doogan knew he was ill. “You should take care of that cough, Doctor. You could contaminate the specimens.”

  Sese’s jaded eyes turned cruel, and when he tried to talk, a gurgle of phlegm congealed in his throat. “It’s you, Doogan,” he croaked, “who’s making me sick.” Venting his anger with a swing of his arm, he nearly tumbled off the high-backed stool. “With your exceedingly superior morality. I see how you judge us, how you look at us.”

  By the sound of Dr. Sese’s tirade, it seemed Doogan’s standards pricked the doctor’s scruples, or what was left of them.