The Scrubs

by Simon Janus

  He waited for a minute to see if his spit presented some side effect that killed the tree. None presented itself. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he patted the redwood’s trunk.

  Keeler jogged over to the boy. “Davey, I might have a solution. I can’t say it won’t hurt, okay?”

  Panic knotted the boy’s wooden features.

  “I know this is scary, but this might be our big break. Trust me?”

  The boy’s voice trembled when he replied, “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m going to cut the tree away from you.”

  The boy protested with whimpers.

  Keeler spoke quickly to allay the boy’s fears. “Not with a knife like last time, but with my spit.”

  The boy offered confused eyes as an answer.

  “I have the same powers as the snake-eyed man I killed. I can remove you safely from the tree. Will you let me try?”

  “Yes.” The boy replied so quietly that Keeler barely heard him.

  Keeler worked saliva into his mouth again and directed a controlled trickle at a section of the tree’s trunk about six inches from the boy’s embedded arm. The bark flared with the contact of the spittle, but didn’t bleed this time. The spittle seeped along contours of the tree burning a deep scar clear through the bark and into the trunk.

  For the briefest of moments, Keeler thought this was going to work. His salvia would separate the boy from the tree with the skill of a laser. He even allowed himself a smile as his spit scorched its way through the tree, but his smile evaporated when something screeched behind him. He whirled on the sound. The redwood he’d spat on was fading, losing its pigment. The tree had craned over until it slouched against a neighbor.

  “Oh, shit.”

  He’d been wrong. He hadn’t waited long enough. He charged over to the tree to examine the damage, but the inevitable stopped him in his tracks when the boy exploded into heart-stopping screams.

  “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry.” Keeler raced back to the boy. He tried to shush him, but nothing would silence the pain he saw in the boy’s contorted features. He examined the tree wound again. His corrosive spit had stopped its downward journey, but it was still soaking into the tree, burrowing its way to the tree’s core. He wished he had water or something to dilute the salvia’s progress. He jumped down from the tree, gathered up leaves and jammed them into the wound with the hopes the spit would burn up its energy by incinerating the leaves. It wasn’t working.

  The boy’s screams rose to a fever pitch and Keeler feared the boy would destroy his vocal chords when the screaming stopped in mid-yell. The boy had fainted. Keeler tried to rouse him, but nothing worked. He thought it was a good thing that the boy was unconscious anyway. At least he wouldn’t feel the pain. Suddenly, the bark encasing the boy lost its deep brown shade. It aged to a steel grey and continued to lose color.

  Fear gnawed into Keeler the same way his salvia had cut through the tree. His whole body shook. He sucked in panicked breath after panicked breath, never exhaling. He realized what he had done, what was happening. The boy was dying and there was nothing he could do.

  “Please no,” he howled like a dog. “Don’t die, please. Don’t die.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it sounded like a chuckle.

  Chapter Eight

  The North Wing II: Rebellion

  Jeter emitted a chuckle from under his muzzle that made Cady shudder.

  “Are Keeler’s deformities permanent?” he asked O’Keefe.

  “I think so.” O’Keefe smiled. “Somehow I get the feeling the scars anyone accumulates in the Rift will follow them through to the real world.”

  “Then this has to stop.”

  O’Keefe turned to Cady, shooting the younger man a derisive glare.

  “Now,” Cady urged.

  “Cady, I gave you your option.” O’Keefe pointed at the Rift. “You were welcome to offer a helping hand, but you turned it down.”

  Cady tried to squash his emotions. O’Keefe didn’t respect emotion. He respected strength and power, which was probably why he liked Jeter so much. But Cady couldn’t control himself any longer. His anger and contempt raged through him. He had to let it out.

  “If Keeler and that boy are damned to live the existence Jeter condemned them to, then the decent thing to do is to end their suffering.”

  O’Keefe shook his head in disgust. “To think I offered you a piece of the pie, you piece of shit.”

  O’Keefe was a waste of time. The man would never see sense as long as there was something in it for him. Cady turned to the technicians feverishly trying to maintain the link between the worlds.

  “Listen to me,” Cady shouted above the din of the machinery. His voice echoed off the stone walls. “I’m sure there are some of you that think like me.”

  The technicians paused. The guards stiffened. Cady knew he was taking a risk with so much firepower around him, but he hoped he could sway at least a few of the armed men. He didn’t need them all; just enough to shut the equipment down and escort him to the Home Office.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” O’Keefe demanded.

  Cady ignored O’Keefe. “You don’t like what you see here. You see the senselessness of this work and the sacrifices made by the inmates.”

  “Cady,” O’Keefe growled. “You’d better shut your mouth before it does you some real harm.”

  “I ask you to shut this experiment down. Unplug the tubes. Wipe the drives. Lay down your weapons.”

  Cady felt everyone’s gaze on him. From their expressions, he had their attention, but he didn’t have their compliance.

  “I implore you--do the right thing.”

  He waited for someone brave enough to make the first move.

  No one made it. They looked at him, but they waited for someone else’s order.

  “Get back to your stations,” O’Keefe barked. “Now!” He grabbed Cady by the arm and drew himself close to Cady’s ear. “You just fucked yourself, lad. By the time I’m finished with you, Saunders won’t even remember your name.”

  Cady met O’Keefe’s gaze. Triumph blazed in the prison governor’s eyes. He would bury him metaphorically and physically. Cady knew when he was beaten. He was finished, but he could go out in style.

  “You know what, sir?”

  O’Keefe grinned. “What?”

  “You’re a first class prick.”

  Before O’Keefe could react, Cady threw his arm up in a backward arc, bending O’Keefe’s arm back the wrong way. O’Keefe lost his balance and stutter-stepped for a moment before regaining his footing. Cady took the opportunity and drove a fist into O’Keefe’s face. He grinned when he felt bone break against his knuckles and blood splash his fingers. O’Keefe crumpled, going down hard on his backside.

  Cady didn’t have to look to know guns were being aimed at him, but with the technicians, equipment and, more importantly, Jeter in his Throne in the way, no one was going to take any chances on a missed shot. Cady bolted.

  Technicians stood their ground as guards raced towards Cady. Their angry footfalls thundered on the concrete floor, the echoes reverberating off the walls. Their speed was impressive, but they wouldn’t intercept Cady in time. He leapt and hurled himself at the Throne.

  “Stop him,” O’Keefe slurred through his bloodied face.

  Several technicians didn’t have to be told. The moment they realized what Cady was attempting, they snatched at him, but he dodged their lunges.

  Cady clambered up the side of the immense chair until he came face to face with Jeter. The killer sensed an unfamiliar body near him and stiffened.

  A lab-coated man clawed his way up the Throne. He tugged at Cady’s ankle. Cady lashed out and his heel connected with man’s nose, breaking it and sending the man raining down onto two of his colleagues.

  “It’s about time this abomination came to an end,” Cady snarled into Jeter’s ear and ripped out the feed tube in Jeter’s nose.

 
The pungent green fluid jetted from the blood-soaked end of the tube and Cady tossed it away from him. Jeter sniffed the air like an angry beast picking up a scent. Cady guessed he was trying to inhale the tube back into his head on the off chance that his food source was in range.

  “Someone should have put an end to you a long time ago,” Cady shouted at Jeter.

  “Stop right there,” a guard ordered, two others at his side. All three men trained their assault rifles on Cady.

  “Don’t shoot,” O’Keefe ordered. “You could hit Jeter.”

  Cady liked the power shift. They wouldn’t dare take any risks while he was in this position and he threw Jeter an uppercut. The punch snapped Jeter’s head back against the unpadded headrest, dislodging his muzzle. Cady felt and heard the crack of Jeter’s jawbone breaking. A contusion blossomed on Jeter’s jaw and cheek in the shape of Cady’s fist.

  The punch amazed Cady. The blow carried all the force he could muster but in the scheme of things, he lacked the destructive power of a prizefighter’s punch. When he saw the damage he’d inflicted on the killer, he realized how much of Jeter’s physical self had been wasted away by the experiments. Jeter was no more than a husk, just enough to create an alternate world of misery.

  Lost in the moment, Cady didn’t see O’Keefe clamber up the Throne after him until it was too late. The governor yanked on Cady’s ankle and Cady lost his hold on Jeter and the Throne. He plunged, bouncing off the Throne’s jagged edges as he fell. At least one rib broke before he struck the unforgiving concrete floor.

  O’Keefe jumped down and towered over Cady. Blood from his broken nose dripped on Cady’s face.

  “I’ll bury you. Do you understand me? They’ll never find you.”

  “Governor,” a panicked voice shouted. “The Rift. We’re losing it.”

  O’Keefe spun around to see and gave Cady a clear view. The view through the Rift flickered, losing its intensity. Where the North Wall and the Rift met, the wall squeezed the weakening Rift, threatening to close it.

  “Attend to Jeter now,” O’Keefe ordered. “Don’t lose the Rift.”

  “It’s slipping through your fingers, O’Keefe,” Cady spat. “Can you feel it?”

  “Take him out of here.”

  Two guards snatched Cady and dragged him across the floor, while a third pointed his assault rifle at Cady’s chest.

  “Your toy is broken, O’Keefe. Broken. Do you hear me, you son of a bitch?”

  ***

  The oak continued to wither. Leaves turned brown and rained down on Keeler. Its bark shrank and split, exposing anemic wood. The boy’s imminent death led the tree’s decay. Keeler had promised the boy he’d get him out and instead he’d screwed up. He didn’t know what he could do to rectify the damage. All he could do was apologize and bear witness to the boy’s death.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered.

  The boy, still unconscious, didn’t show a flicker of recognition.

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

  If there was a way, he’d gladly give his life to the save the boy, but how? There was only one person who could agree to that bargain.

  “Let the boy go, Jeter,” Keeler screamed at the sky. “Take me. How many times have you killed the innocent? Kill a killer for a change. Take me.”

  His answer came immediately. The ground shook, taking his legs from under him. The sky darkened. Thunder rumbled its discontent.

  Christ, Jeter really does think he’s God, Keeler thought. He expected lightening to strike him down at any moment. But it didn’t come and Keeler doubted it ever would. The horizon was losing definition. Disappearing. It had nothing to do with the biblical weather change. Jeter’s world was coming apart at the seams. Something had to be going wrong on the North Wing side. O’Keefe’s team or Jeter himself must have lost control. The Rift was closing. He didn’t know how long he had before this conjured nightmare would go up in smoke.

  The tree lurched. Branches drooped and roots snapped and jutted from the ground. Keeler leapt to his feet to avoid being struck by them. Unable to support its weight, the tree sagged, folding over on itself like it was made of rubber. The tree’s bark raced through a monochromatic spectrum of grey to black in a matter of seconds. A rent opened up around the boy in the tree’s trunk, releasing him from his entombment. Keeler dived in to gather up the boy as he spilled out. He snatched him away to safety as the tree gave up the ghost and crashed onto its side, tearing the root bowl from the earth to leave a swimming pool sized crater. Unearthed, the tree dissolved into ashes and the wind gathered its remains and blew them away.

  Keeler collapsed to his knees with the boy clasped against his chest. He examined him as the wind approached gale force. He was no more than a wooden carving, but that was changing. Unlike the tree, the boy didn’t turn black, but lost his color instead. He turned white then to a flesh tone. Warmth emanated from his naked body as he became flesh and blood again. Tears blurred Keeler’s vision and forked tongues quickly cleared it.

  The loss of the oak started a chain reaction. The other trees wilted. Branches sheared off, crashing to the ground around Keeler, but he wasn’t going anywhere until the boy regained consciousness.

  “Davey, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  Keeler placed him on the ground and patted his cheek to rouse him. The boy flinched from Keeler’s taps and opened his eyes. His emerald irises gleamed with life.

  “Thank God,” Keeler exhaled.

  “Keeler.”

  “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Can we go now?”

  “You bet, Davey.”

  Keeler stood and helped the boy to his feet, then gathered him into his arms. He ran over to Allard’s body, snatched up his machine gun and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Are you up for walking? I have to take you to a doorway. We’ve got a ways to go.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “What…what do you mean?”

  “The Rift is here.”

  The boy reached out a hand and touched a resistance in the air. The resistance spread out until a shimmering haze developed over thirty feet in diameter in front of him. The shimmering view of the dying forest disappeared as the Rift gained substance and the North Wing came into view within it. The boy smiled at Keeler.

  Keeler looked on in awe, unable to smile back. The boy had the power to control the Rift. He had even called it the Rift. O’Keefe’s name for it, not his. Keeler wondered how that could be. The boy was one of Jeter’s victims. He shouldn’t possess any powers. Fresh fear knifed through him, but there was no time left to understand it. He repositioned the boy so that he held him in the crook of one arm. The boy wrapped his arms around Keeler’s neck and Keeler brought up the gun and aimed it through the Rift.

  “Let’s go home,” Keeler said.

  Chapter Nine

  Keeler’s Return

  The guards yanked Cady to his feet.

  O’Keefe jammed his face in Cady’s and barked, “You’d better hope to Christ you haven’t done any lasting damage.”

  Three technicians clung to the side of the Throne attending to Jeter. Bennett, the balding technician, stood at the base of the Throne and hurled rapid-fire orders at his underlings. Doused in green fluid from the spurting feed tube, one technician fought to get the tube back into Jeter’s nose.

  The image from the Rift flickered as the rematerializing North Wall squeezed it. The screech of stone rubbing against the Rift shattered the air. Masonry dust belched out in clouds from where they pressed against each other. Cady estimated the Rift had shrunk by at least a foot in diameter. He couldn’t help but feel the satisfaction of a job well done.

  “What do you think you can do to me…kill me?” Cady said. “Don’t make me laugh. It won’t stop the truth from getting out, O’Keefe.”

  “You’re awfully cocky all of a sudden.” O’Keefe grabbed Cady’s testicles and squeezed. Cady winced. “Just wanted to know when you grew a pair.” O’Keefe r
eleased his grip. “Don’t think I won’t kill you. I can write it off as an accident. The Home Office knows this is dangerous project. They’ve budgeted for casualties. I’m in no fear of reprisals.”

  “You shouldn’t be worrying about me. You should be worrying about Jeter. If you honestly think you’ve got a muzzle on that mad dog, then you’re crazier than he is.”

  O’Keefe sneered, showing not a hint of understanding. Cady shook his head in disgust.

  “Can’t you see it, O’Keefe? This project is a runaway train and it’s going to come off the rails.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Cady had nothing more to say. O’Keefe glowered at him, letting his gaze bore into him. Bennett broke the deadlock.

  “Governor O’Keefe, sir, we’re back online,” he shouted, unable to contain his relief. “All systems are clear.”

  O’Keefe whirled. The Rift’s image had lost its flicker and had regained its hypnotic shimmer. It had swelled to reclaim its full dimensions holding back the compressive strength of the North Wall.

  “Seems you’ve been proved wrong, Cady. Bring him,” O’Keefe ordered the guards. “Give Mr. Cady a front row seat. He should be made to see the error of his ways.”

  O’Keefe led the way back to the Rift. The guards marched Cady behind the governor. Two guards grabbed his arms while a third pressed a gun barrel against his spine.

  Keeler had done it. The boy was free of the oak and had his hand pressed against the Rift. It seemed to respond to his touch, judging by the look on Keeler’s face. The boy removed his hand. Keeler adjusted the boy in his hold and pressed his own hand against the Rift. It crackled when its tough surface stretched.

  “He’s coming back!” a startled technician shouted.

  “Prepare to fire,” O’Keefe ordered in his walkie-talkie.

  Oh, Christ, Cady thought, this is it.

  ***

  A wave of panicked voices struck Keeler as he pierced the Rift and stepped onto the gnawed out ledge at the base of the North Wall. His snake eyes picked out O’Keefe immediately. The governor was all he could think about. The bastard wasn’t going to do this to anyone else. Deal or no deal, he wasn’t his guinea pig anymore.