The Wretched

by R. James Faulkner

  “Sorry folks. No one is home,” he said. “Best we move on.”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  Amy stood in the bed of the truck to look for him. Frank shook his head, he turned to see Angela staring at her wrists. He brought her back to the truck. She whimpered and did not look from her arms as he guided her.

  “How am I going to continue?” she said.

  The sound of loud electric static stopped Frank’s response. At first, it came from a few speakers on several poles around them. Soon there was static droning over every speaker on every pole. Several minutes of hissing static followed and a human voice spoke. It was a monotone sterile sounding voice.

  “Pull forward to the gates. Do not leave the vehicle.”

  Frank shook his head, he looked at Angela out the corner of his eye as she got into the truck. The family in the back grinned to one another. He wanted to run from the place, turn around, and get as far from the gates as he could.

  She needs help. But why do I care? I don’t know.

  He drove toward the gate and had a sense it was all wrong. Angela sat by his side, sighing to herself, as they neared the large metal crosshatches painted dark gray. He pulled into a large area with yellow lines marking out a rectangle. The loudspeakers came on and the metallic voice bathed in static barked out another command.

  “When the gates open pull to the area that is marked. Remain with the vehicle.”

  Frank drank from the bottle, swallowing down as much as he could before the gates opened. With slow jerking movements, the behemoth metal gates parted from one another, revealing the secrets within. Frank pulled from the bottle until the command repeated. He let out a sigh and eased forward to park in a corral of metal beams latticed together. He let the truck idle as they waited for the next command.

  “I don’t like this. It’s—”

  Angela leaned in front of him, giving a sympathetic smile.

  “It’s going to be fine. I’ll get healed up, and we’ll find us a beach.” Her smile was warm and inviting. He stared at her lips as she spoke to him.

  “Step from the vehicle. Do not remove any personal items at this time.”

  Frank opened the door and helped Angela to exit. He shouted toward the loudspeakers.

  “We got some who can’t walk.”

  Long minutes passed and he tried to find the people who opened the gates. The corral walls were high, with large mounted floodlights setting on the top. He looked toward the sound of a diesel engine coming from beyond the wall. It revved and idled several times before another smaller set of gates opened and they watched as the back of a military truck came toward them. Frank put his arm around Angela.

  “Drop all weapons to the ground. Repeat. Drop all weapons to the ground.”

  A small group of armed men hustled in from the sides of the gate wearing gas masks and green uniforms. Several stood and held their rifles at Frank and Angela, others aimed at the family in the bed of the truck. Frank raised his hands above his head, looking at Angela with a deep frown.

  Again, the command repeated, Frank tossed his pistol and machete toward the hard asphalt. He looked over his shoulder to see Amy handing a soldier her handgun.

  “Still think this is a good idea?” Frank asked.

  “They’re just being cautious,” Angela said.

  She nestled up to his side, shivering while she stood beside him. His nerves were on edge. He wanted to flee, bolt through the gates, leave it all behind, and forget he ever saw them. The voice of hissing crackles and high-pitched whine washing over any traces of human inflection spoke a final command.

  “Please enter the truck to proceed for processing. Do not bring personal items at this time.”

  24

  Darkness, infinite and void. The light sound of water dripping onto a surface. Breathing, his own, was labored and erratic. A smell of rot, putrescent meat, and acidic vapors invaded his nose. The air was humid and cool. The world was the wrong way. His head felt heavy. Time passed.

  He was unsure if he slept, if he could sleep, or if the spaces of sleep and between sleep were one. The black area before his eyes was immeasurable, unfathomable. Within the confine of his mind, he saw visions of what might come next. He opened his mouth to scream, but only silence came out. His world was almost silent, filled only by the erratic landing of water drops on a flat surface.

  Was this it? Was this all there ever was?

  25

  The four of them sat on benches in the back of the military truck. They cast nervous glances at one another. Evan held his unconscious wife’s hand as they rode stretched out on the rough boards that made the bottom of the bed. He stared at the drab green canopy top. Tears of joy ran down his face. The masked soldier sitting at the front told them not to move or he would shoot. They believed him and no one moved a muscle.

  The ride was short but bumpy. Evan stifled a scream with each bounce the truck made. Frank became nervous when he heard the sound of the air brakes slowing the truck down. The masked soldier instructed them to remain seated until told to do otherwise. He moved through flaps of the thick canopy and vanished out the back of the truck.

  “We made it baby.” Evan patted Amy’s foot.

  Amy nodded in sheepish approval with Maggie under her wing. They waited in the dusty smelling truck for almost an hour. Frank tried to see out from the back flaps of the canopy. He saw only concrete and wooden sawhorses. Angela leaned against his body, she was sleepy and growing weaker.

  The masked soldier returned and let the gate down. He waved them out, telling them to move to the front of the truck. Frank helped the women down, looking at the husband and wife lying beside each other on the wooden boards. He nodded his head at Evan, who held up a waving hand.

  The masked soldiers told them to keep moving to the front. They herded them into an alley made of wooden walls. Frank resisted until the gun barrel at his back forced him into the cattle shoot. The group was marched down the narrow alley until it ended at a small enclosure. A masked soldier wearing a black uniform stood on a raised platform above them. In his hand was a clipboard that he tapped with an ink pen. He raised his hand and floodlights came on. Intense light beamed into the group’s eyes. They tried to shield their vision as dozens of hands pulled the clothes from their bodies. Frank pulled against the hands, trying to shield Angela.

  “She’s injured. Can’t you see you’re hurting her?”

  Soon they were all standing naked, huddled against each other. Frank held Angela close to his body and checked her wounds. The man in the black uniform spoke to them in the same monotone as the voice from the loudspeakers.

  “Your clothes will be returned when they are decontaminated,” he said. “Women on your right, men on your left.”

  He pointed to doors, as they opened, on both sides. Frank held Angela tight to him but the grasping hands were able to wring her free. They pushed him forward and into the shadowy opening. There were sounds of the women protesting behind him. He tried to turn and run, but the masked soldiers pushed him further into the darkened space beyond. He entered a hallway full of machine sounds. There was the odd smell of chemicals. Random rays of light pierced the dimness. Frank was a room full of light, a blinding sphere of radiance, he could see nothing other than the brightness of the white light.

  Hot water sprayed his body from several directions, he flailed against it, screaming in anger. Arms forced him to the white tile floor, his face pressed to the slick surface. They used brushes of coarse bristles to scrub his body, lathering powdered soap with the smell of burning vinyl on his skin. They rolled him over, spread him, washed him, rinsed him, and dragged him from the room. The soldiers pulled him onto a table and strapped down. He fought against their arms until they fully restrained him.

  “You motherfuckers. Get the hell off me. Let me go.”

  Hands held his face as another pair shaved his head with electric trimmers. He tried to pull free of the straps on his arms and he banged his head against the ta
ble in protest. A new masked person leaned over his head, holding a syringe.

  “You don’t want me to do this, do you?”

  Frank spit at the circular lens. A syringe needle entered his neck and shadows formed over his vision. The world faded, replaced with nothing but silent darkness. The demons hid from him. Time, countless hours, passed. His hearing came back first, but he left his eyes closed. He tried to hear if they were nearby. A deep voice spoke.

  “He’s awake.”

  Another more feminine voice answered. They said, “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Frank figured they already knew, so he opened his eyes. He saw the dim lit room filled with medical equipment. He tried to sit, but they still had his body restrained. The machine to his left showed his heartbeat and blood pressure. He watched the numbers increase as he waited.

  “Hello, I am Doctor Wilson.” A loud, authoritative voice came from the shadows. “Sit him up.”

  A man with deep acne scars lifted the head of the hospital cot up. Frank looked at the man in the white lab coat, covered with old and browned blood stains, standing at the foot of the bed. He saw the man flip through a set of papers.

  “Okay. Good, good. Seems that you are in relatively good health,” the doctor said. He leaned over the foot of the bed, staring into Frank’s eyes. “You will cooperate, or you will be shot. You will not cause trouble, or you will be shot. You will follow all the rules set in place—”

  “Or I’ll be shot.” Frank finished for him. “Look, fella. Just let me go. Open the door, and I’ll be on my way.”

  The doctor stood up smiling. He said, “What about your wife?”

  Frank frowned at the black-haired man, unsure of his intention.

  “You mean Angela?”

  “Yes, Angela,” he said. The doctor looked at the handful of papers. “I have examined her, she’ll return to you in a few days.”

  Frank was confused but relieved. He said, “That’s great.”

  “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” The doctor stepped beside the bed, placing his hand on Frank’s arm. “You just rest up, and you’ll be reunited with her before you know it.”

  The doctor smiled, a fake kindness, Frank could tell. He knew a fake one better than anyone did. His entire career was based on faking smiles. Frank nodded his head and released an emphasized sigh of relief. He lowered his head to the pillow and pretended to be overjoyed.

  “Thank you.”

  The doctor patted him on the arm, offered another forced fake smile, and he walked from the room. Frank looked at a small bandage on his stomach and a stitched hole in his upper arm. They had removed the shot from him. He rested while he waited for the other shoe to drop.

  The door opened from his left and a soldier, who looked like he had a stick permanently stuck up his rear, strutted in. He barked orders for the men to release Frank. The man with acne scars undone the restraints. Frank stood while rubbing his wrists. The stiff soldier spoke as he pointed to Frank’s clothes folded on a chair.

  “Get dressed.”

  Frank grabbed them and pulled on his pants, studying the walls and the floor while he fastened them. He pulled his shirt on, continuing to scan the room for a usable weapon. The soldier coughed to let Frank know to hurry. He led Frank from the room and down a long corridor lined with several shut doors. The man with the scarred face followed close behind.

  “Is Angela in one of these rooms?”

  The soldier continued to walk at the same deliberate pace. He said, “Your wife is not on this side of the facility.”

  “Facility?” Frank said. “I thought it was a camp.”

  “We moved from the camp when the number of refugees surpassed our capacity. We are currently located in what was once the city hospital.”

  Frank followed him into a stairwell and they went downward. The leading soldier never slowed his pace. He pushed open a set of double doors, and they entered a large concrete parking garage. Dim lights flickered overhead in some spots. Most areas remained hidden in shadows. Double bunks stood lined up in dozens of rows. He stopped walking near the middle of the concrete pillars. When Frank caught up to him, he pointed to a bunk.

  “This is your bunk. Your wife will be above you. Your treatments will begin tomorrow.”

  “Treatments?”

  The soldier strutted past him. Frank could see the contempt on the man’s face. There was more behind his eyes, it was the look of disgust. Frank could see the way the soldiers eyes averted from him. Both of the soldiers left the room in a hurry, one strutting, and the other sauntering. They made an odd pair. Frank doubted they were trained soldiers, most likely pretenders, or worse, part-time security guards drunk with power.

  The hours passed slower without his wristwatch to check. It was hard for him to judge if it was night or day. He decided to lie down and rest. How to leave the hospital consumed his mind. He got up and paced the concrete. Frank lay back down on the bunk again, listening to the sounds of coughs and sneezes in the distance. A loud siren noise startled him. He bolted from the bunk, unsure if he should run.

  “It’s them coming to get someone.” A voice spoke from the dark shadows against the wall. “Maybe you, maybe not you.”

  Frank put his head back on the thin pillow and waited. He fell asleep and had fitful dreams and disturbing visions. Another sound awoke him from his slumber. It was dark, there was no light, not even a sliver. The noises of something liquid sloshing about came from within the darkness. He tried to see into the void, seeking any shape or movement. He decided it was his mind playing tricks on him.

  Frank pulled the sheet thin blanket over his body. There was a chill in the air, his toes felt frozen. The noise grew closer, ever closer to his ear, he thought he felt it touch his earlobe. He scowled in the darkness and reached out his hand. His fingers landed on nothing. Sleep and dreams again. He dreamed of her, as always.

  The squall of a buzzer echoed in the chamber. Loud voices and people moving about followed it. Frank sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He saw people moving toward the large metal doorway. He remained sitting on the cot, waiting to see what they were doing. The same voice spoke to him from the shadows.

  “It’s breakfast time…or supper.”

  “It’d be breakfast.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” The raspy voice said, followed with a harsh laugh.

  Frank could see slight movement in the dark gray beyond the light. He frowned and stood to walk away. The laughter rattled on as he stepped to where the people gathered.

  A large cart sat in the middle of them. Frank watched as they pulled trays from the cart and ran scurrying into the shadows. A soldier stood with an open box in his hands. None of the others approached him. Frank looked at the mass of meat on the trays. It was a small pile of various cuts smothered in dark gravy. A small cup of water sat on the tray with it. Frank pointed to the meat pile.

  “What’s that?”

  “Protein,” the guard said. He seemed smug and irritated.

  Frank stood in front of him, studying his face, getting a feel for his attitude. He reached into the box and grabbed a package. He held it up in the light, looking at the plain green wrapper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Carbohydrates.” The guard snapped at him in frustration.

  Frank took a tray and nodded to the guard, he strolled back to his bunk. He sat down, opened the wrapper, pulled out a large thick version of a saltine cracker. Eating it proved difficult, he had to drink the foul tasting water to help him swallow it. After an hour, the guards returned with the cart, one blew a whistle. The people, in quick succession, returned the trays as the other guard counted them.

  “One missing,” he said.

  Frank got up and carried his tray back, dropped it on the cart, and looked at the door behind the guards. He stepped to the side to see past them. The guard bounced the whistle in his hand.

  “Next time bring it back faster,” the guard said.

  Frank nodded his
head, lost in thought. He said, “Yeah, sure. Not a problem.”

  He watched them leave and listened to the door lock. His mind worked over the details as he sat back on the bunk. A short time passed and they came back. They did not have to hunt for him. He guessed it was because he was the only person wearing a blue shirt. The guard motioned for him to stand. They escorted him from the bunkroom and into a long hallway. Dark doors lined the walls as they led him forward. The sound of heavy boots on the smooth tile floor played percussion for his march.

  The men brought him into observation room number one. He noticed the white letter words etched into a little black plaque on the door. The guards led him to a large metal chair with straps hanging from the sides. It sat to the left side facing a small wooden table. They told him to sit and wait for the doctor. He chewed his nails as they stood by the door talking to each other in whispers. The room was almost bare except for a short row of metal file cabinets that lined the wall behind the chair.

  The doctor appeared with the sound of papers rustling. He wore a white lab coat over his green clothes. The doctor’s focus was on the stack of papers he held. He flashed another fake smile to Frank as he sat down on a small rolling stool. He pulled a small light from his pocket, shone it into Frank’s eyes, and had him open his mouth. The doctor scribbled on the paper with a pen and continued to read more of his papers.

  “Where are you from?”

  “I followed the road here—the Natchez Trace,” Frank said, growing nervous as he watched the doctor.

  He could see the guards standing outside the door, arms folded, and talking in hushed secrecy. Frank noticed only one had a gun, it was a small pistol under his arm.

  “Before you came here on the highway,” the doctor said. “Where did you live, prior to the outbreak?”

  The doctor stood and snapped his fingers. The two men came into the room and stood behind the metal chair. With a seemingly relaxed nature, the doctor sat back on his stool. He spoke calm and clear.