Forging the Nightmare: A Jarrod Hawkins Technothriller

by J. J. Carlson

  Phil sucked in ragged breaths, trying to get control of his anger. He wiped a tear from his eye, nodded his head, and glared at Jarrod as he stomped out of the room.

  Eugene looked quizzically at Daron, but didn't say anything. Daron motioned for him to follow, and they moved to a corner on the far end of the cafeteria.

  “What was that all about?” Eugene whispered.

  Daron kept his eyes on Jarrod. “Phil suffered a tragic loss recently. His daughter died from cancer. She would be five years old this week.”

  Eugene stole a glance at the note, which was lying on the table. “That's...that's awful. You think Jarrod did this?”

  “I don't know what Roberts has been putting into his head, but I'm finding it hard to trust him lately.”

  Eugene’s eyes widened. “She's been feeding him info on subterfuge and psychological warfare. But I've never seen him use anything he's learned in mental conditioning against real people.”

  Daron took a deep breath. “I'm gonna try to catch up with Phil. You keep an eye on Jarrod. If something like this happens again, I wanna know about it immediately.”

  16

  The unexplained power outages went on for days. Sick, terrifying, and anonymous “practical jokes” haunted the security team. Two guards were so traumatized by the harassment that they requested transfer to another facility. When the transfer was denied, they resigned.

  Eugene pleaded with Wagner to halt Project Nerium, citing concerns about Jarrod's deteriorating mental state and staff safety. The complaints fell on deaf ears, but Wagner had his own reservations about the project, so he finally came to a compromise with Eugene.

  In a dimly lit room, Eugene and Daron met to discuss the new plan.

  Toeing the line between caution and paranoia, Eugene checked over his shoulder before speaking.

  “Wagner has agreed to either terminate project Nerium or continue with Phase Three, depending on how Jarrod performs in a test.”

  Daron took a sip of black coffee then said, “What's the test?”

  Eugene took a deep breath. “It's a hail-Mary attempt to get Jarrod to physically attack someone. Wagner wants to have someone walk into the mental conditioning room while Jarrod is in there with Roberts. They'll pull a gun loaded with blanks, aim it at the back of her head, and pull the trigger.”

  Daron whistled. “And Roberts agreed to this?”

  Eugene shook his head. “She doesn't even know about it. Wagner insists she can't find out. If she sees the gun being pulled, her reaction has to be real. He thinks it’s the only way to get a genuine response from Jarrod.”

  “I don't know,” said Daron. “Sounds really dangerous. Wagner doesn’t have solid grasp of what Jarrod is capable of. Physically, I mean.”

  “I agree. Which is why I volunteered to be the trigger man,” Eugene said. “I trust Jarrod. He could have hurt or killed me dozens of times throughout his training if he’d wanted to. Still, there’s a chance something might go wrong, and I don't' want anyone else taking the risk. That's why I asked you to meet me here. I'm not as dumb as Wagner thinks, and I want extra precautions in place.”

  “Lay it on me. Anything you need.”

  “I appreciate it.” Eugene spread his fingers over the table as if laying out a map. “Jarrod wears an electro-shock band around his head so we can knock him out, if needed. I’ve got a trigger and so does Roberts, but I want you to be waiting outside the door with yours ready, too.”

  Daron nodded. “Sounds good. What else?”

  “I'd like him to be mildly sedated when this goes down. We can tell Roberts that it's Wagner's idea as part of the mental conditioning. I’d also like it if you can have a couple guys with tranquilizer guns outside the door.”

  “I'll carry tranquilizers,” Daron said, “and I'll outfit my guys with shotguns and rubber bullets. They’ll be carrying TASERs, too.

  Eugene nodded thoughtfully. “I hate to suggest it, but someone should probably carry lethal ordinance.”

  “Don't worry about that,” Daron assured him We always have armed guards on standby, and I'll bring in some guys on overtime. We can position them out of sight on the adjacent sublevel.”

  Eugene stared absently at the table and said, “Do you think this is overkill?”

  “I really hope so.”

  Eugene shivered at the uncertainty in Daron’s response.

  Emily tried to look cheerful as she fixed the electrodes to Jarrod's head.

  “It should be an easy day in here,” she said. “I've got a few combat scenarios for you to review. It shouldn’t take long. Then maybe we’ll set you up with a sandy beach simulation for a few minutes.”

  Eugene stood a few feet away from her with his back against the wall. The .45 caliber pistol on his hip felt like a bomb that could go off at any moment. He wiped the sweat from his palms and tried not to look at Jarrod.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Do you think the sedative has taken effect yet? Wagner wanted him to be groggy before the simulation starts.”

  “The dose I gave him would put you or I into a coma,” Emily said without looking up. “I think it's safe to say he’s groggy.”

  Emily turned toward her computer and scrolled through a list of simulations. Eugene took advantage of her distraction and, trying to ignore the feeling that Jarrod was staring into his soul, reached for his pistol. It slid noiselessly from the holster and he aimed it at the back of her head.

  Eugene looked out of the corner of his eye at Jarrod. The burly figure didn’t move. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Eugene’s face and he feathered the trigger. Even if nothing else happened, he'd be giving Emily a serious fright and possibly inner ear damage. He told himself she would understand when she found out what was on the line.

  Eugene focused on the front sight post of his .45. There was still no movement in his peripheral vision, so he took the slack out of the trigger and waited for the recoil.

  The pistol's report reverberated through the small room, but the barrel was no longer facing its target. Pain shot through Eugene's wrists as Jarrod slammed his forearm against the concrete wall and plucked the pistol from his grip.

  There was zero time to react. Eugene’s vision blurred as Jarrod struck him in the face and launched a flurry of knee-strikes at his ribcage, cracking his sternum and several ribs.

  Emily spun her chair around, bewildered by the sudden commotion. “Jarrod, stop!” she screamed.

  He ignored her cry. Holding Eugene’s wrist, he yanked downward. Eugene hit the floor hard, and Jarrod torqued the arm around, breaking it in several places.

  The door to the room opened and Daron rushed in, followed closely by three other guards. There was a buzzing sound and Jarrod dropped to the floor. A guard rushed past Daron and hastily bound Jarrod in titanium shackles. The other two guards closed in, their weapons aimed at Jarrod’s head.

  Emily backed into a corner. “What happened?” she gasped. “Daron, what just happened?”

  He ignored her until he was confident Jarrod was secure.

  “I'll fill you in later,” he said. “We're getting Jarrod out of here, and I need you to check on Eugene. The medic should be here in a few seconds.”

  They hauled their hog-tied prisoner out of the room and Emily rushed to Eugene's side. Blood pooled on the floor near his face, and his arm was pulled around his back at an impossible angle. She reached down to check for a pulse, but was interrupted by a team of medics. They rushed in, towing a gurney. Emily stepped back to give them space.

  The minutes felt like hours, but they finally secured Eugene and wheeled him to the infirmary.

  Emily was left alone in the room. In the emptiness she whispered, “What happened to you Jarrod? Why did you do this?”

  17

  Jarrod lay on a steel operating table, a layer of dense, black liquid covering his entire body. He could see everyone in the room through dome-like eyes. Much more, he could feel everyone in the room. The man near the control panel was
fearful, timid, stressed: not a threat. The guard at the right corner of the room was cool, focused, impassive: threat.

  Wearing a green surgical hood and wide safety glasses, Dr. Wagner stood a few paces away from the table. “He should be well sedated by now,” the surgeon and director of Hillcrest said. “Please proceed with the attachment of the neural control unit.”

  A man approached from Jarrod's right, wheeling a slate-colored machine. He parked it behind Jarrod's head and leaned directly over the steel table. A device in the man’s hand blinked rapidly with green and blue LED’s.

  Now! the moment is now! An irresistible urge spurred Jarrod into action. He grabbed the man by his scrubs and threw him into the ceiling lights fifteen feet above the floor. Flashes of light filled the room as the bulbs broke into shards. The room plunged into darkness for a moment, and then emergency lights began to glow from recesses in the ceiling.

  Five weapons were trained on the table. Debris from the overhead lights mingled with the surgeons bloodied body, but Jarrod was nowhere to be seen. The area surrounding the operating table was cluttered with toppled instrument stands and broken glass.

  “What happened? Where is he?” the surgeon near the control panel shouted. Looking around the room frantically, he rushed over and grabbed at Wagner’s sleeves. “He's awake! That thing is awake! Get me out of here!”

  “Shut it.” Daron said in a calm, but authoritative voice. He gave a hand signal, and two guards moved forward with measured steps, their weapons raised.

  The panicked surgeon would not be pacified so easily. He pushed off Wagner and stumbled toward Daron. “You get me out of here! I’m a doctor, not a soldier. I demand that you let me out!”

  An explosion of gunfire erupted from the other side of the room. One of the guards was pulled out of sight behind the table, and the second guard rushed closer to investigate. There was a clacking sound and he, too, was pulled out of sight.

  Three more of the surgeons joined their frantic colleague in begging Daron to let them out. More gunfire. This time the sound came from the far-left side of the room. The guards trained their weapons in that direction, and a figure came flying at them from behind a table. One of the remaining guards squeezed a shot off before it collided into their tight formation.

  “Do not open the door!” Wagner shouted. “You must not let him escape!”

  The other surgeons shrieked in terror. Daron freed himself from the writhing pile of surgeons and guards and struggled to his feet. The figure that had attacked them was the unconscious body of a guard he had sent to clear the room. He cursed and started to swing his weapon toward the operating table.

  He was too late. An ebony hand intercepted the barrel of his rifle and twisted it outward, tightening the weapon’s sling around Daron's arm. The trigger guard wrenched on Daron's finger and the weapon discharged once, drowning out the sound of Daron's index finger breaking in three places.

  With Daron's weight shifted to the outside, Jarrod followed the momentum and kicked his booted feet from under him. Daron dropped onto the pile of armed men and frightened surgeons. Jarrod released him and vanished.

  As Daron struggled to free his arms from the sling, he heard the lab door slide open and close. “Wagner! He's out of the lab! Lock the building down!”

  Dr. Wagner stumbled toward a screen on the wall and quickly punched in a code. A voice said, “Stand clear, stand clear,” and thick, steel barricades slid into place over all the doorways in the facility.

  Daron groaned and pushed himself to his feet. “He's not going anywhere,” he said. “Start treating the wounded, and give me a damage assessment.”

  Wagner was still pacing the floor ten minutes later. He stopped in front of Daron, who was treating one of his wounded teammates.

  “Are you sure those doors will hold him? Is there any way he can bypass the system?”

  Daron turned to face Wagner. “You tell me. You signed off on every security measure I ever implemented in this compound.”

  Wagner pinched the bridge of his nose and waved off Daron's words. “I'm sorry, I just can't think straight right now. Is there or is there not a loophole to get past the security doors in a lock-down?”

  Daron crossed his arms. “There is. But it only happens if there is a server room breach, and it only allows me and my men to move through the facility. The sensors pick up on our sub-dermal ID chips.”

  “So he's stuck there?” Wagner asked, pointing at the monitor, which displayed the hallway security feed. Jarrod stood motionless, facing the impenetrable steel doors.

  “He's stuck there.” Daron confirmed.

  Marcus, the security team's medic, approached Daron. He pulled off a pair of bloodied nitrile gloves as he walked.

  Daron looked up at him and took a deep breath. “How bad is it?”

  “It's not good,” Marcus said, “but it could have been a lot worse. All the surgeons have punctured ear drums. One has lacerations down his back from where he was, uh, thrown into the lights. Most of our guys are good, but Jason has a broken arm and Trent took the worst of it.”

  Trent had been thrown into the cluster of surgeons and guards, and was mistakenly shot. Daron looked down at his wounded subordinate. “Is he going to make it?”

  Marcus nodded. “I think so. He was hit with a shotgun slug, but it caught him in the chest plate. He's got three cracked ribs, two broken wrists, multiple lacerations, and a mild concussion. Luckily, we've got all the medical equipment we could ever want right here in this room.”

  Daron nodded at the optimistic sentiment, but something Marcus had said made him uneasy. “You said he’s been cut?”

  “Nothing major. He's got a few abrasions on his face, some nicks on his hands, and a deep cut on his right shoulder.”

  Daron cursed and spun around. “Wagner, we might have a problem here.”

  Wagner was standing in front of the security monitor. He tilted his head slightly to acknowledge Daron, but kept his eyes on the screen.

  Daron joined him and tapped the screen. He slid his fingers along the edge of the display to zoom the camera in on Jarrod's hands. One of Jarrod's fists was closed, and the dark red hue of coagulated blood was visible on his fingers.

  “That is our problem.” Daron said, pointing at the screen. “I think Jarrod removed the ID chip from one of my guys during the fight.”

  Wagner's face paled. “How could he have done that? And how are we supposed to capture him when the lock down is lifted?”

  Daron put a hand on Wagner's shoulder. “It's alright. Like I said, he isn't going anywhere unless there is a breach in the server room. I'll call the control room and have them revoke the privileges on the chip Jarrod took. Then we can call for backup, put together a plan, and make sure no one else gets hurt.”

  “Do it now,” Wagner said

  Daron tapped the bottom of the screen and entered a four-digit code to call the control room.

  “Control Room, this is Jones,” a crisp voice answered.

  “CJ, this is Daron. I need you to do something for me. We've lost positive control over Trent's RFID, and I need you to revoke his privileges.”

  “Wait, how did he lose his chip?” CJ asked, concern in his voice.

  “Trent's alright, but he got a cut on his shoulder during the incident. We're not sure if the chip is gone or not, but just in case, I want you to deactivate it. How long until backup gets here?”

  “The team on Sub-Level Two is prepped and ready to move as soon as we lift the lock-down. I've called in all security personnel and told them to standby in the above-ground facility. They should begin arriving in the next five minutes or so.”

  “Alright,” Daron responded, “get to deactivating that chip, and we'll start putting a plan together down here. I want to make sure everyone is in place before we make a move. I'll call you back soon.”

  “Sounds good. I should have that chip taken care of in a few—”

  A blaring alarm cut CJ off and a voice declared,
“Server room breach. Please respond to server room breach.”

  “No, no, no! CJ, what just happened?”

  The sound of clacking on a keyboard accompanied CJ's response. “I—I don't know. It’s not a malfunction—something triggered the alarm in the server room.”

  Daron swore loudly and stared wide-eyed at the hallway security feed. The barricade in front of Jarrod had already started to lift. He slipped underneath and moved toward the emergency exit stairwell. Daron grabbed a shotgun and pulled the sling over his head. “I have to go. Everyone else, stay here. Marcus, get on the horn with Team Two and let them know where Jarrod is heading.”

  Wagner started to protest, but Daron ignored him. He rushed through the double doors and down the hallway toward the emergency exit. It would still be locked; the chip Jarrod had taken would allow him to move freely within the facility, but not out if it. Still, Daron didn’t think the door would hold Jarrod without the barricades in place. As he approached the last corner, he slowed to a creep. All of the lights were out except for an emergency strobe, which flashed with the rhythm of the alarm. He carefully moved around the corner, leading with the barrel of his shotgun.

  The emergency exit came into view. It had been forced inward, a large dent where the lock used to be.

  Daron keyed the mic on his radio. “CJ, this is Daron. Where is he?”

  “I don't know. The cameras on that end are out.”

  “Peachy,” Daron said to himself. He walked heel-to-toe toward the door, checking over his shoulder every few seconds. The stairwell was completely dark. He held his breath and took a step. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he whirled around.

  Jarrod stood in the middle of the hallway just a few feet away from him. Instinctively, Daron pulled the trigger. The shotgun blast missed wide; Jarrod had anticipated the shot and dodged at the last moment, sweeping forward and grabbing the barrel of the weapon. Daron grunted as he tried to force the shotgun back on target. It wouldn’t budge, so he reached for his sidearm. Jarrod took the opportunity to pull Daron off balance and kick his feet out from under him. Daron hit the floor hard, but still managed to pull his .45 from its holster. Jarrod stripped the pistol from his hands before he could squeeze off a single round and tossed it down the hallway. Stepping over the Head of Security, Jarrod walked toward the stairway.