Following the two men into the room and proceeding past them, another pair presented themselves. Both with high-and-tight haircuts, although their similarities stopped there. The first wore basic dark suit pants and a plain white button-up shirt. Obviously the elder to the other man’s younger, with a touch of grey interspersed through his otherwise dark hair, and a pale, though serious and heavily lined face framed by entirely utilitarian eye glasses.
The second man to enter was in his mid-twenties, a tan complexion with dark eyes, sporting a standard issue military ACU with a holstered sidearm and little more decoration than the basic unit and rank patches, along with a nameplate declaring him to be Munoz.
Okay, so we have a soldier and a suit. Wonderful.
The elder man took his seat across the table from my own. He laid a plain manila envelope on the table and motioned for the younger man to take the seat next to him.
He began to speak as he opened the folder, adjusting his glasses just a bit higher on his nose with his index finger.
“Mister...Ah, yes. Mr. Pfeiffer. My name is Agent Grayson,” and, motioning to the younger man to his right,” this is Sergeant Munoz.”
“I'm sure the pleasure is all yours,” came my reply. “I'd love to stand and shake hands, and be a proper gentleman, but you see...” and motioned to the chains still binding to my spot.
“Mr. Pfeiffer, I don't think you are grasping the gravity of your visit with us,” Grayson replied,” nor do you seem to understand the severity of your actions.”
The man broke out his most severe expression for the occasion, and I could feel his gaze penetrating through me as he glared over the top of his glasses. Well, that's great. My first time ever being tied and bound to a chair in the same room as a suit and a soldier and I've pissed off one, maybe even both of them, though I couldn't tell as Sergeant Munoz kept his gaze clear and impassive. Why stop now? Why not go for broke?
Straightening in my seat and doing my best to fight through the pain in my head I snapped back, “Look, buddy, I don't know where you think this is going to go, holding me in this shoe box of a room as your captive audience, but we are not going anywhere until I know exactly what the hell you've done with my family and friends. Where are they?”
“Mr. Pfeiffer!” he growled, “You are hardly in a position to be difficult. You are to be facing charges of crimes against your country, including, according to our reports,” as he thumbed through pages within his folder, “you and your men have murdered sixty-seven United States soldiers, as well as destroying several land vehicles, and bringing down an AH-6 Little Bird helicopter!” His voice reaching a crescendo as he spat those final words.
“Excuse me, Mr. Grayson-”
“Agent.”
“-Agent Grayson, like it fucking matters, agent titles at the end of the world and such. But, excuse me, those men attacked us. No reason, no provocation. They were led by a man clearly acting outside of convention and law, but that's our fault? The fact of the matter stands that my head is absolutely fucking killing me, I've no idea where I am-”
“Mr. Pfeiffer.”
“Stop interrupting me, you dick! You also still have not told me what's become of my family and friends. I'm not giving you a damned thing until this back of mine gets a little scratching! End of story!”
I was pissed. I mean, the nerve of this guy! I clasped my hands together and placed them on the table, leaning forward and attempting to meet his gaze with one equally as cold.
Considering my stance, he muttered a concessionary, “Very well then”, and motioned one of the door guards over to him.
The guard, a young private, stepped forward, leaning in close so Grayson could whisper some orders to him. After a moment, the private nodded once, spun on his heels, and left the room.
Grayson leaned back in his seat, and soon Munoz and I followed suit.
“Any chance of getting my legs loosened?” I asked.
Grayson just smiled wanly, and Munoz let out a soft chuckle. Ok. I guess not.
After a few more moments, the private returned, a black poly case in one hand, and a pitcher of water in the other.
Following him into the room was a younger blonde, maybe around the same age as Munoz, wearing the pale blue scrubs of a nurse and carrying a small case of her own.
She handed a tablet in a black case to Grayson as she passed him and proceeded to stand next to me. Laying her own case on the table, she opened it, and removed a syringe, which she laid on the table.
“I'm Nurse Hannigan. We're going to get this little gremlin out of your head,” she reported with a demure grin.
“Monkey,” I corrected.
“I'm sorry?”
“It's a monkey in my... You know what, never mind. Let's get to it,” I said, returning the smile.
She began loading the needle and swabbing my arm with a prep pad as the private set the water pitcher and some plastic cups on the middle of the table and handed the poly case off to Munoz before returning to his post near the door.
Nurse Hannigan finished cleaning the inside of my elbow, cleared the air from her syringe, and slid it into the arm with the skill of someone well versed in the subject. Within moments my head began to clear. Not entirely, but the pain and grogginess that was left became just a shadow of its former self. She produced another smile for my benefit before gathering her things and turning to leave the room. Upon passing Grayson, she nodded to him and declared, “He's all yours,” before making her way through the door, closing it with a heavy clang as she departed.
Grayson nodded to me, asking, “Better?” as he started filling Styrofoam cups with water for each of us. I accepted mine, the cold water feeling like the most refreshing thing this side of...well, I don't know. Other refreshing things. Nonetheless, it was good. Damn good.
Munoz cleared his throat as he unclasped the top of the poly case.
“As Agent Grayson stated, I am Sergeant Munoz. I'm here as an observer, and for data collection. This is just a recording device.”
“Ah, he does speak!” I reported to Grayson, “Does he do any other tricks?”
Munoz shot me a withering look, and began anew, “Anyway, we would ask that you start at the beginning. Leave no details out. These recordings will go higher up the ladder to determine-”
“Look, cupcake,” I said, interrupting him, “Do you kiss a girl before your first dinner together? Do you like taking road trips before you fill up the tank or check the oil?”
“Excuse me, puta?” Munoz shot back.
“My head may be better,” I started, “but that's only half the deal. Calm yourself. We ain't going nowhere until I know-”
Grayson's turn to interrupt somebody came, “Yes, your family. And friends. Look,” and he propped the tablet on its case, bringing up a screen showing the very room we were in, all three of us seated at the table. A live feed.
“So that is an observation window! You clever bastard! I had no idea!” I shot out, giving him my best 'you got me' expression.
“And,” Grayson said, thumbing across the screen, “your wife. Your daughter. Cute kid.”
Several more panes slid by on the screen, all presumably live feeds of either cells, or rooms much like the one I was in. The only ones not kept in confinement were the children and babies, all shots showed them in either day care settings, or nurseries tended by what I assumed to be nurses.
“Now, see?” I offered, “I'm much more willing to be just a little bit more cooperative. When can I see them?”
“Soon, Mr. Pfeiffer. First things first. I believe, as you said, there are backs that need scratched?”
Sighing in resignation, I said, “Okay, okay. Name's Scott, by the way. We're not in school, and you ain't my principal, drop the last name bullshit. What do you need?”
“As Sergeant Munoz was stating, the beginning. Start just short of when you saw your first infected.” And, catching my apprehension, he continued, “The charges I'd mentioned before have not been moved
to convictions, and nothing has been formalized as of yet. This is more to...” he paused, then continued, “to determine the validity of said charges, and determine what really happened. We have conflicting reports across the board, and also, any real-world experience you can bring to light concerning this worldwide catastrophe will of course be of great benefit.”
“Alright.” I conceded again, “The beginning?”
“Yes, Mr. Pf- I mean, Scott. The beginning.”
I stole another sip of that God-tier water, ran my hand over the stubble on my cheeks and usually clean-shaven head, and sighed.
“Yeah. The beginning. Clench that sphincter and buckle up, man. It's been a ride.”
Eschaton is available from Amazon HERE!
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 49