by RR Haywood
Jacob and Nick tag along, watching as the Doc uses a key to open the door to a walk in cupboard. Grinning and calling out jovially, he starts passing out cases of beer, bottles of wine and spirits. Men queue up and wait for the drinks to get passed round.
Scanning between them, Nick notices the puzzled look Larson aims at the Doc. Clearly confused as to why the big man is letting everyone drink now.
This isn’t like him. He normally hates it when the men want a drink but here he is, passing it out like a veritable Santa at the office Christmas party. Larson watches the way the tough guards defer even more to the Doc, speaking only when spoken too and nodding respectfully the whole time. Animals can recognise a dangerous predator amongst them.
The storm rages and builds with intensity and power. Candles, lit throughout the main corridors flicker and dance, casting soft illumination against the walls. Windows patter as the rain lashes against them, rolling claps and boom accompanied by the flashes of sheet and fork lightning.
Maybe the storm has eased the pressure? Everyone has been feeling the heat build and along with it, tempers have been getting frayed and short. The Doc’s explosion at Vince is a prime example, resulting in the man being beaten to death. Guilt? Could be. Maybe the Doc has stewed on their earlier conversion and then smacking that poor guards face later. Maybe he’s picked up on the sulky, terrified manner of the men and decided to show a different side.
Either way it’s a good thing and long overdue. Wait till he gets a few drinks inside him then he can ask about getting some women in here. Meryl can’t cook morning noon and night for everyone and none of this lot can boil and egg. Plus there’s the laundry too, everything needs hand washing now and the boys could do with some maternal types here to put ‘em at ease.
That Nick is a good lad. Thick and obviously low on the intelligence scale, but that just makes the nipper eager to please his elders and betters. Look at him now, gooning over Jacob in a desperate attempt to please him and earn favour. Can’t read or write? Jesus, what is the world coming to if the youth can’t even get a proper education.
Still, the thicker the better. Easier to manipulate and control. Give ‘em some food, a few wenches to fuck and a bit of freedom and they’ll keep coming back. Yeah maybe a few get lost here and there, not returning from the scavenging or of course the Doc losing his rag and killing them, but loses are to be expected..
Thinking of the Doc, he is already knocking them back. Larson frowns at those big hands gripping a can of lager. It doesn't look right, that a man of such learning from such a dignified profession, drinks from a can like normal men. Surely he should be drinking wine, or even pouring the beer into a glass first but there he is, glugging away.
First can finished and the Doc crushes the aluminium container while giving a big belch then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘You alright?’ Larson asks quietly, motioning for the Doc to step away from the men. More have come in now. Those hanging about the servants quarters being quickly called and summoned to the impromptu party. Muted conversations start to lift but many a wary glance is still thrown towards the Doc and Larson.
‘Fine Larson,’ the Doc beams with a film of sweat covering his pale meaty face.
‘This such a good idea?’ Larson says bluntly, ‘you drinking down here with the men?’
‘What?’ the Doc laughs, ‘why on earth not? Oh I get it, yes my temper,’ the Doc mimics the smaller man, ‘I’ll have you know Larson that I am a happy drunk and not at all violent.’
‘Okay Doc,’ Larson smiles slowly, ‘studies going okay?’
‘Takes time my good man, it’s not something that can just be…’ he waves one huge hand in the air, ‘…plucked out of the sky. Study, research and time.’
‘Test subjects then? We any closer to needing any?’ Having asked before he probes further, wanting to know when they’ll need to capture some control specimens of undead.
‘All in good time,’ the Doc pulls the ring back on another can.
‘Equipment then?’ Larson pushes, ‘you want me to start looking for stuff? Like microscopes or… I don’t know.’
‘Yes yes, look my man, the weather has finally broken, we’ve got well stocked supplies and a house full of happy, healthy boys so let’s just enjoy tonight eh? Switch off and have a couple of drinks.’
Nodding with a quick grin, Larson steps back as the Doc brushes past him, heading to a group of tattooed men laughing quietly. The fact that they’re laughing at all is amazing, showing humour in the presence of the Doc.
Alright for you to switch off, Larson thinks darkly, you’re not the one running everything. Guards to sort out, patrols and making sure no one upsets you or even looks at the boys the wrong way. I’ve still got Vince’s body to dump too.
More laughter from nearby, a joke cracked and men smirking in response. The Doc moves over top the laughing group and instantly they return to being poker faced. What was the joke the Doc asks. Larson watches as one man quietly re-tells it, nervous glances and worried looks as the Doc listens intently. The atmosphere charges to the point of being almost as energised as the storm outside. The punchline, a brief pause of baited breath. The joke teller visibly wilts seeing his life flash before his eyes.
Then the Doc roars with laughter, a huge sound produced by a big set of lungs and it fills the room. Genuine laughter too. The other men join in, laughing more from relief than from hearing the joke a second time.
Whack. The Doc slaps the shoulder of the man telling the joke, a hard hit but one done from camaraderie. The joke teller flinches from the contact, spilling his drink over the Doc’s shoes. Silence. The Doc guffaws and takes a big gulp, not noticing the spillage, and even Larson realises he is holding his breath.
He’s on his third can already and its strong lager too. Mind you, the Doc is a big man so maybe he can hold it well. Noticing it getting louder, Larson scans the groups quietly, watching the inhibitions start to fade as the alcohol flows faster.
The Doc throws one arm up, shouting that they need nibbles and aperitifs. ‘What can of cocktail party is this?’ he shouts with mock anger, ‘Larson my good man, we are in need of nibbles I say.’
‘Leave it with me,’ Larson mutters, almost thankful for a reason to leave the room. Exiting, he nods at Jacob and Nick, a conciliatory nod of men who can’t really join the party, the designated drivers that have to go along with the jokes and banter.
‘We’ll do a sweep,’ Jacob says quietly to a return nod from Larson. Leaving the room, the three soon separate as Larson heads upstairs to find Meryl.
‘Never seen him drink before,’ Jacob remarks as they walk through to the side delivery entrance of the servants quarters.
‘You mean the Doc?’
‘Yeah,’ Jacob nods. Out of the room he allows the worry to show on his face, a strange morphing as he drops the guard and allows his features to reflect his true emotions. In the guard room where the men gathered earlier to drink coffee, Jacob automatically goes to the side door and checks the thick bolts on the inside are driven home. A thick wooden door, ancient and built to withstand a hard battering. Nick almost winces, suspecting this would be the preferred point of entry for Dave.
With his hand on the top bolt Jacob turns to stare, noticing the flicker of concern on the younger lad’s face. They hold, eyes locked, nothing said. Nick watches as Jacob keeps his hand firmly grasped on the lever of the bolt. Dull laughter echoes down the hallway, a rolling boom of thunder still so loud it makes them both flinch. Flashes of lightning strobe the room. Still nothing said.
Slowly, Jacob nods and pulls the bolt back with his eyes fixed on Nick. His hand drops to the middle bolt and repeats the action, drawing it open to slide the solid, metal tube out of the locking mechanism. Eyes still locked as Jacob bends down, groping for the third bolt. Without looking what he’s doing, his hand flails up and down, side to side, constantly missing the bolt.
‘Fuck it,’ Jacob mutters shaking hi
s head, ‘you want these left open yeah?’ He asks with a smile.
‘Maybe,’ Nick laughs at the absurdity of them both still refusing to say anything outright.
‘S’the way I’d come in if er…I was going to try anything sneaky…not that I would of course Nick, I’m loyal to the Doc.’
‘Yeah, you said that Jacob.’
‘Just so we understand each other then, best leave this door open to let some air in, stuffy in here.’
‘Good idea mate, I was thinking the same, maybe leave the light on too?’
‘What this lamp here? The one we’re about to walk past and forget to turn off?’
‘Yeah that one.’
‘Where now?’ Jacob asks. The power shifts, the older man now looking to the newcomer for leadership. They’ve only known each other a few hours but the transition is smooth. Almost at breaking point, Jacob was urging himself to stay strong and do his job, get the cure and get out. Nick has a presence though, an undefined power to him that speaks of something good and decent and in sheer desperation Jacob throws caution to the wind and makes the decision, ‘I’m in, whatever it is, I want out of here.’
‘Okay,’ Nick replies quickly, ‘like I said, just stay close no matter what happens.’
‘Got it.’
‘Other than that we should do whatever is normal.’
‘Yeah,’ Jacob nods, a glimmer of hope now alight in his eyes. Maybe? Maybe there is a way out of this. Maybe he doesn't have to stay here and be aware of little boys being abused. He can get away and find his wife and son. No, he will get away and find them.
‘I’m gagging Jacob, can we have a fag here?’
***
‘The Doc wants food for the men,’ Larson says from the doorway of the makeshift dormitory. There are beds down both sides of the long room. Double beds, single beds, camp beds and all of them covered in colourful blankets and duvets. Toys everywhere and lots of little faces clustered round the maternal figure of Meryl sitting on the floor with her back to one, big footboard, reading a story from a book.
‘Boys, this’ll have to wait,’ she says with a sad smile, ‘you get into bed now and I’ll come back up later to check on you, go on now, into bed…I’ll be right out,’ she calls out.
Larson waits quietly, letting her know this should be done sooner rather than later, watching as the kind woman ushers the boys to their beds and noticing the newest arrival, Billy looking even more lost and confused than before.
‘You come with me,’ Meryl takes the small boy’s hand leading him to the last bed on the right, ‘that’s it, get in there and I’ll be back soon.’
‘He’s drinking,’ Larson mutters as Meryl steps out closing the door behind her. She pauses, nods once and walks on without saying a word. Sighing deeply, she flinches at another booming clap of thunder shaking the house, violent bolts of lightning score the grounds outside. If the Doc is drinking they’ll all probably be drinking and that’s all she needs, a house full of terrified boys and drunk, violent men.
Well, the supplies are good so they can have what they want, in fact the more food the better to soak the alcohol up. Sandwiches would be better, lots of bread but unless they can wait a few hours while she bakes some it will have to be snack food instead.
Larson watches her slip down the stairs. In the darkness of the main corridor, he takes in the flickering candle light and the huge walls illuminated for the split second of lightning flashes.
Hot and close still and the humidity must be off the chart. Movement catches his eye, the candles all flicker in a row from the closest to the furthest. A draft but from where?
Then the noise comes. A sudden, intense howling of wind that builds within a few seconds. It gusts through the house, rattling windows and slamming any unlocked doors.
Echoes of drunk men guffawing float between the gaps of noise created by nature. The Doc’s voice is easily recognisable.
Staring at the stairs he slowly looks away to the doors of the Doc’s rooms, wondering if he locked them up.
No, he didn’t. The door swings open easily. The tiny squeak from the hinges is lost in the cacophony of noise from outside. It’s dark in here, no candles. Larson pulls the small LED torch from his pocket and shines the beam round the room.
The examination bed is on one side, the easy chairs and the desk on the other side. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he crosses to the desk. The torch light sweeps over the books stacked up, slips of paper acting as bookmarks. He looks at medical books, encyclopaedias, pharmacy books and all manner of surgical and medicinal publications.
How close is he? Larson starts flicking through the hand scribbled notes on the jotters. Seeing how scrawly handwriting is, he smiles as he remembers the age old joke about doctors having appalling handwriting
Medical terms underlined and scored. Pathogen. Disease. Infection. Cure. Basic words that anyone who had seen a medical reality television show would know. Flicking through, he notices the same words are repeated over and over.
On the top page there are new words, the same ones the Doc was talking about earlier. Prions, Parasitoids, protein.
Marked on the same jotter, there is a reference to a page number and section. The closest book is folded open and left face down. Picking it up, Larson notes the page number is the same as the one on the jotter. A yellow highlighter pen has been used to mark certain words, the same words as on the jotter. Prion. Protein. Parasitoids.
Flicking his gaze between the jotter and the pages of the medical book he remembers what the Doc said earlier.
‘CJD was a Prion, which is a form of pathogen that enters the host body and acts as a template, tricking the cell structure to mutate and become like the infected cell. Now, CJD was a Prion…’
There it is, the same passage in this book. Not word for word but as good as. Grabbing another book he opens to the pages marked by the slips of paper; Understanding basic medical terms, medical terminology for students, basic field triage, Level One training for the first aider.
More pages marked on how to apply bandages, dressing, clean wounds, check for broken bones and recognising brain injuries.
Realisation hits. A sinking feeling that starts in the pit of his stomach, knotting his insides up. Fake. A fucking fraud. A dirty, paedophilic, child abusing cunt. posing as a doctor to touch up little kids.
Stick with me Larson, I’ll get us a cure, I’ll make us famous.
The words he said in the beginning, the tone, the implied confidence that he can fix this, can find the cure and make a vaccine.
I just need time to study.
Dirty bastard. The fact the fraudster tricked him so he could fiddle with boys doesn't bother him. Being tricked full stop. The blow to his self-belief that he could read people and see through them.
‘Larson?’ He spins round, startled at his name being called. Jacob and that new lad are standing in the doorway watching him, ‘everything alright? We er…we saw the door open?’
‘Yeah,’ Larson gasps, ‘fine…’
‘Doc downstairs still is he?’ Jacob asks knowing the answer and already cursing himself for asking the question. Close the door and leave, whatever is going on is nothing to do with him.
‘He’s a fucking fraud,’ Larson spits, unable to contain the rage building, ‘he isn’t a fucking doctor, the cunt is a fraud, a dirty fucking…fucking…’
‘What?’ Jacob asks, his mouth dropping open.
‘Close the fucking door,’ Larson snaps, ‘the bastard is a fraud, he isn’t a fucking doctor, all these books, all these notes ain’t about finding a cure, they all about basic fucking…cunting…shitting…medical shit..’ spitting with fury he glares at the desk.
‘Those kids,’ Larson seizes on the thing that he knows will anger even the hardest of men. All of them have not only turned blind eye, but actively facilitating the Doc being able to abuse the children on the basis he was going to fix mankind. ‘He fiddled with those kids while we waited for him to get the cure…f
ucking fucker…’ Larson is seething with rage that blinds him to the point of carelessness.
‘Easy Larson,’ Jacob steps forward holding a placating hand out in an effort to calm him.
‘Easy? Easy Jacob? Fuck that, what the fuck have we been doing here? Dirty cunt…’ He turns back to the desk, shining his torch at the notes as he reads aloud some of the basic words and phrases.
Jacob glances at Nick, a questioning look on his face. Nick nods, equally worried and sensing the explosion about to come off Larson. If he does blow, if he does react, it could jeopardise everything. Mr Howie will come tonight. Nick knows it. If Larson starts going nuts now it could cause problems? Or could it? Can it be beneficial somehow, cause confusion or mayhem which the others can take advantage off. It’s full dark now and the storm not only rages but builds with power every passing minute, they should be here any minute. But then what if they don’t come?
The first nagging doubt descends into Nick’s mind. He could have got it completely wrong. He banked on Lilly getting safely to the fort, banking on everyone being okay. Nick hasn’t seen any of them since the middle of the fight in the car park, what if they’re all dead or injured? That feeling, that bond between them that told him everyone is safe could be wrong, could be a side effect of the heat making him delirious.
***
The Doc is drunk on strong lager. The chemicals soak into his system and for such a big man, he can’t hold his drink very well. The nibbles Meryl brought are being devoured as the pile of empty beer cans grows larger by the second. The howling wind, the thunder and lightning, all ignored as the men drink and drink, becoming raucous and animated. The jokes get course, the language becomes foul, as the drunken atmosphere gets wilder.
The Doc grins at the nearest group of men, any sense of keeping the familiarity down, of keeping that sterile distance is gone. He’s one of the men now, one of the lads, a fellow drinker that can swear and cuss, tell rude jokes and behave badly.