The Scrubs

by Simon Janus

  The boy broke into a new wave of sobs that threatened to drown out Allard’s words.

  “Can’t you shut that kid up?” Allard barked.

  “Davey, you’ve got to be strong now.” Keeler kept his gaze on his fellow inmates. “This isn’t the time for tears.”

  Keeler’s plea did nothing to stem the boy’s wailing.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Allard barked at the boy with immediate effect. The boy’s sobs withered to an acceptable whimper. “You’re not too good with kids are you, Keeler?” Allard said with a sneer, then laughed. “No, you’re not. I just remembered what they sent you down for.”

  Keeler swallowed his rage. He wouldn’t be drawn out. Allard wasn’t worth his time.

  “I can get you back to the Rift and back home,” Keeler said diverting the discussion away from the boy.

  Lefford took two quick steps forward and champed his jaws together in irritation, stabbing and re-stabbing his eye sockets. Allard delivered a single kick to Lefford’s haunches to steady him. It did the trick, the kick brought Lefford to heel.

  “Come here, find us and take us back,” Allard said. “Is that what they told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believed them?”

  Keeler nodded.

  “You fucking idiot, Keeler.”

  Keeler wasn’t stupid. He knew the score. He didn’t even believe what he was telling them, but he had a part to play. He would do and say whatever he needed to get the hell out with the boy.

  “Don’t you want to leave?” Keeler asked.

  Lefford grunted again. This time, Keeler recognized the sound as a laugh. Christ, Lefford’s fucked up, he thought.

  Allard shook his head. The snakes remained in position, never taking their gaze off Keeler.

  “Why would we want to leave when we have all this?” Allard threw his arms wide, indicating Jeter’s elegant nightmare. “We live like gods here. There are no screws telling us what to do. We have our own rules now and live the way man should have always lived--as hunter-gatherers. For the record, no, we don’t want to leave...”

  Allard grinned and Lefford rocked on his toes. Keeler knew what was coming next.

  “…and we’re not going to let you leave either.”

  Lefford took a precise step forward and Allard readied the machine gun. Keeler took a step back to maintain a healthy distance from them. Lefford and Allard exchanged smug glances. Keeler knew how it looked, but he wasn’t about to run. He had to make a stand, but he needed his shank for that. He cast a look in the direction he’d tossed it and spotted it.

  “Can’t we be reasonable about this?” Keeler took another step backwards, edging towards his shank. “You can stay here. It’s no skin off my nose and I doubt if O’Keefe gives two shits.” He backed up another step. “I just want to get out of here and take the kid with me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Allard said. “Somehow, it wouldn’t be right.”

  Lefford, impatient and exhilarated by the prospect of a kill, charged. His speed was astounding. Keeler didn’t stand a chance.

  The boy screamed when the hog-man slammed Keeler with his bulk. Keeler caught the charging monstrosity, but the impact blasted him off his feet and he cut a groove in the soft dirt and leaves when he struck the ground. The harsh landing and Lefford’s bulk broke two of Keeler’s ribs. Keeler bit back the scream clawing its way up his throat.

  Keeler had one thing to be thankful for. Lefford had driven him closer to his shank. He was close but it still wasn’t within his reach.

  Lefford lunged and snapped his jaws together with a resounding crack. Keeler caught Lefford’s skull and whipped his head out of the way of the lethal tusks. Lefford gnashed his jaws together. Wet sucking noises emanated from his wounded eye sockets, flicking blood on Keeler’s face. Keeler didn’t know how long he could hold out against Lefford’s overwhelming strength.

  Allard sauntered over to the melee. He dropped to his haunches and rested the machine gun across his knees. “Keeler, stop fighting. There’s no point. We all know you’re only delaying the inevitable,” he said with smug satisfaction. “Just let death take its natural course.”

  “Fuck you and your pig friend.”

  Allard sighed. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”

  Lefford wrestled to break Keeler’s defenses. Thankfully for Keeler, Lefford’s mutated arms couldn’t pin him down. Lefford’s brute upper body strength and fearsome jaws had come at the expense of his dexterity. Keeler managed to hold off Lefford’s murderous mouth with one hand while delivering blow after blow to the hog-man’s head with the other, but it was like striking rock. Keeler winced as his fingers snapped on Lefford’s skull.

  “He’s puts up a fight, don’t he, Leff?” Allard suggested with a chuckle.

  Lefford grunted his disapproval.

  Allard’s frivolity evaporated and he turned serious when the fight seemed to reach a stalemate. “Okay, Leff, stop the foreplay and just fuck him.”

  Keeler may have been a fool for taking O’Keefe’s suicide mission, but he didn’t intend on going down without a fight. He jerked his knee up into Lefford’s gut and planted his heel in the ground to keep the hog man impaled. Lefford curled up in agony, giving Keeler the vital second and the extra inches he needed. He reached out and grabbed his shank. The hog-man squealed as he sensed the balance of power shifting and Allard stiffened. Keeler dealt out a ferocious deluge of rabbit-punch-like stabs. Each thrust found a path between Lefford’s ribs and towards the heart. Occasionally, he struck bone, but each time, the spike glanced off to find flesh and penetration. None of these stabs were lethal individually but the combined onslaught was. Lefford’s strength waned, gushing out of his wounds with his blood. His body sagged, crushing Keeler. Keeler couldn’t afford to be trapped by the overwhelming weight of his fellow inmate. Allard was snapping into action, jumping to his feet. Keeler needed Lefford off of him and quick. He plunged the spike into Lefford’s throat. He ripped it out, tearing chunks of flesh with it. A death rattle leaked out from the new wound. Lefford toppled to one side and Keeler shoved the dead hog-man off him.

  Allard jammed the machine gun’s butt into his shoulder to fire. Keeler didn’t give him a chance and threw the spike. The shank thudded into Allard’s chest, only a couple of inches to the left of his heart. Only three inches of the wrought iron jutted from the inmate’s ribcage. He staggered back still trying to take aim, but his legs gave out and he crumpled onto his back. Allard’s wound was fatal, but here in Jeter’s world, who knew? Nothing could be taken for granted. Keeler hurled himself at the failing Allard, knocking the machine gun from his grasp and pinning him to the ground. Allard’s snake eyes lunged at Keeler’s face, but he kept a careful distance.

  “Keeler, Keeler,” the boy screamed.

  “I’m okay, Davey. I’m not hurt.” Keeler turned his attention to Allard. “Who’s going to die now, asshole?”

  “You think you’re free now, huh?” Allard croaked. “You’re fucked. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Allard stretched for the machine gun and snagged the strap with a couple of fingers. Keeler placed one hand over the other and thrust down on the shank jutting from Allard’s chest until its entire length disappeared inside him. Allard groaned and curled into a ball. Keeler lost his balance and pitched forward. He ended up lying cheek to cheek with Allard. The snake-eyed man edged closer to him. Keeler noticed death lurking in his golden eyes. He expected Allard to speak in the moments before death claimed him, but instead, Allard pursed his lips as if to kiss Keeler. Keeler didn’t shy away from the man who’d tried to kill him. It was the least he could do after what had happened to him here in the Rift. Allard leaned in close and, with his dying breath, he spat. His spittle struck Keeler in the eyes. Fire ignited across his face and he recoiled from Allard’s corpse. At the sound of the Keeler’s screams, the boy joined in.

  Keeler raked at his face to wipe the venom out of his
eyes, but the spittle’s corrosive power seemed to have no end. Tears poured down his face, but did little to dilute the effects of Allard’s spittle. Keeler’s vision dissolved into hazy blobs. He closed his eyes to shut out the pain, but within seconds he could see again. His eyelids had melted away. He touched his face for confirmation and found nothing to touch, but the mutilation didn’t end at his eyelids. His fingertips fell upon dissolving eyebrow ridges and cheekbones.

  The boy repeatedly called out Keeler’s name, but the blinding pain stopped Keeler from answering him. Mercifully, after what seemed like hours, but could have only been minutes, the spittle lost its corrosive strength. He stopped trying to wipe the pain away from his face. The pain still threatened to slice his brain in two, but Allard’s parting gift had done all the damage it was going to do. He feared the obvious but he had to check it. Slowly, he removed his trembling hands from his face. Instantly, he knew and screamed. He was blind.

  Chapter Seven

  Failure

  “My God,” O’Keefe murmured.

  The same words carried through Cady’s head, but his awe was totally different than his boss’. The salacious look smeared across O’Keefe’s face and sparkle in his eyes showed overwhelming amazement at what had transpired. Cady was sickened. He’d witnessed Keeler kill two inmates--if they could be called that anymore. Their transformations defied belief.

  “Was that really Lefford and Allard?” Cady asked.

  “I would say so.”

  “Did you expect this?”

  O’Keefe wrenched his gaze away from the Rift. “My God, no.”

  “What happened to them?”

  O’Keefe jerked a thumb at Jeter. “You should ask him. It’s his creation.”

  Oblivious to his environment, Jeter inhaled the green fluid as quickly as the pumping machine could provide it. Cady couldn’t shake the feeling Jeter was playing O’Keefe. The North Wing was his spider web and all of them were the flies tickling the web filaments. It was only a matter of time before Jeter devoured his prey.

  Time is running out, Cady thought.

  O’Keefe turned on the technicians at their consoles behind him. “Keep on this. I don’t want to lose this image. This is landmark stuff.”

  “Surely, you can’t be serious,” Cady protested.

  “I can direct that statement at you,” O’Keefe remarked. “I can’t walk away from this now. Look at what is happening in there. We’re close for the first time to getting a handle on the Rift. Once we do, I’ve told you what you can expect.”

  Cady couldn’t believe O’Keefe. Did the man really think he was close to discovering the next evolution in virtual reality? What a fool.

  “What about Keeler?” Cady demanded.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s hurt. We have to get him out.”

  “We don’t have to do any such thing. Keeler knew exactly what he was getting into. Considering he knew Lefford and Allard preceded him and never reappeared, do you think he really thought he was coming back? I listen to the cellblock whispers. I know the ghost stories that have attached themselves to the North Wing. Keeler stays.”

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  O’Keefe liked that one and smirked. “You’re free to go in after him.”

  Cady caught the glances from the technicians in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t prevent a blush from blazing up his cheeks. He turned towards the Rift. Keeler was on his knees clutching his scorched eyes. Did Cady really want to go after Keeler? End up like Keeler? Or worse--end up like Lefford and Allard? There was no end to the misery waiting for him inside the Rift. Cady faced O’Keefe.

  “Thought not.” O’Keefe failed to hide his contempt and walked away, leaving Cady to languish in his embarrassment under the stares from the technicians and guards. One helmeted-guard shook his head in disgust.

  “What about the boy?” Cady hurled at O’Keefe’s retreating back.

  O’Keefe stopped and turned.

  “Keeler is a convicted criminal, but that boy is innocent. Doesn’t he deserve our help?”

  O’Keefe studied the boy embedded in the tree. “I don’t think he does.”

  “What?”

  “Cady, that’s no boy. Not a real boy.” The prison governor smirked. “That’s Pinocchio, the Rift’s wooden boy.”

  ***

  Keeler wept without tears. He mourned the loss of his sight. He tried to conjure up images of things he held dear. If he was being cast into a world of darkness, then he wanted to see only the good times. He tried to imagine his wife, although she’d left after he was convicted. He willed images of their wedding day. Instead, the faces of Timmy and the bank customer pierced the dark--both dead, but alive. Exhibiting their mortal wounds, they crowded and consumed his vision.

  He knew he wasn’t an innocent man, but Christ, he didn’t deserve this. How had he let this happen? The boy’s sympathetic sobs brought Keeler’s to an end. There were others who didn’t deserve this end either.

  “It’s okay, Davey,” he croaked, his voice thick from crying.

  He explored his face with his fingertips. His eyebrow ridges had been eaten away. His face was concave from below his hairline to his cheekbones. The searing venom had buckled his nose, but not enough to hinder his breathing--thank God. It wasn’t all bad. His molten face had set, sealing over what Allard’s corrosive spit had destroyed with a thin layer of scar tissue.

  What a sight he must be. It was almost a blessing he was blind.

  Just as the burning had subsided and Keeler was wondering if his nerve endings had been singed away, an intense pressure built behind his eyes. It pressed against his brain and skull, as if a tumor had been wedged in the gap. He forced his hands against the pressure in the vain hope he could make the pain go away and felt something squirm underneath his skull. He jerked his hands away from his face. He hadn’t been wrong. He felt the writhing again. The shifting had nothing to do with a growing tumor. This was the fidgeting of parasites.

  “Allard, what the fuck have you done to me?”

  As if in reply, the pressure in Keeler’s head spiked and his skull flexed as the parasites searched for an exit. They found one. Tearing sounds roared in his ears like cannon shells as his face gave way. His useless eyes burst through the melted tissue covering them and trickled down his face. Allard’s spit hadn’t finished transforming him. The parasites wormed their way out of each eye socket. They slithered out of his skull like snails from their shells. Keeler screamed. The penny dropped. This was Allard’s dying revenge. A sick joke to be enjoyed in hell. Keeler knew what was happening to him.

  “Oh God, no.”

  He opened his brand new eyes--his snake eyes. The mouths blinked and he could see again, though not well at first. The trees swayed with elegant grace, like bulrushes beneath the surface of the water, when he knew there was no breeze to rustle a leaf. The sky exhibited a soap-sudsy quality. Forked tongues flicked out and licked the snake-eye lenses, bringing everything into sharp focus--even better than with his real eyes. Working his snakes independently greatly increased his panoramic field of vision. It was a fantastic gift he’d been handed, but he was an ungrateful recipient. He stood and kicked Allard.

  The boy cried. Keeler turned and went to attend to him. Fear blazed in the boy’s emerald eyes. Keeler stopped and held up his hands.

  “It’s okay, Davey. I’m hurt, but it’s still me. I’m here to get you out. Trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  Keeler smiled. “Good.” He approached the boy. “If you don’t like looking at me, you can close your eyes. I won’t be offended.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Good boy.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  With the snakes free of their lair to roam unhindered, his migraine from hell had subsided, although his eye sockets smarted where the snakes had burst through his face. A queasy, seasick sensation swept over him when he shifted his snakes to see, but he guessed that would subside with tim
e.

  “It hurts a little bit, but don’t worry about me. Let’s worry about getting you out of here.”

  The boy smiled and Keeler smiled back. His smile was plastic, something to calm the kid. He still didn’t know how to extract the child from the tree.

  Keeler wondered if he possessed the powers Allard had possessed. If he spat, would his spit burn through flesh and bone--and wood? The changes inside him told him yes. His new eyes were only part of the metamorphosis. An energy coursed through his bloodstream, not adrenaline, something much more powerful. Added strength and sharper senses would be a welcome advantage in the Rift, but what if Allard’s legacy brought the cruelty he’d seen in his fellow inmate? What use would he be to the boy then? If he were destined to follow in Allard’s footsteps, he’d end up hurting the boy for no reason other than for sport. He tried to blot out the images forming in his head, but they kept on coming. He had to get the boy out of the tree before he lost control.

  “I just need to try something,” Keeler said and went over to Lefford’s corpse.

  Standing over the hog-man’s body, he considered spiting on its bulk to see if his spit possessed corrosive powers, but rejected the idea. He feared if his spit worked, it might reanimate Lefford. He wouldn’t put anything past Jeter in this world. He couldn’t take that chance. He decided to pick something more befitting his problem. It wasn’t flesh he was trying to cut through. He crossed to a tree out of the boy’s line of sight. He didn’t want to scare him with his experiment.

  “Please don’t leave me,” the boy pleaded.

  “Don’t fret, Davey. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Keeler stopped in front of a substantial redwood with a number of sinuous roots cutting into the earth. He worked saliva into his mouth and let it drop onto a protruding root. The root sizzled where his spittle touched it. The spittle bored a hole through the root and into the dirt, cauterizing the wood, snuffing out the flame as quickly as it had come. A curl of smoke wafted from the tree’s wound.