The Foundlings of Nirvana

by Louann Carroll

her. She is one of them.”

  A howl reverberates through my crumbling abode and I duck, nerves quaking. I stop remembering my past and look forward into my future.

  If I can move that rock, I’ll be free. Then, I can find Jackal.

  Securing the candle into its holder, I begin again. Blood seeps between my fingers and flows to the floor, as I dig the last bit of rubble from what appears to be an opening no bigger than two of my fingers put together. I lean in for a closer look. Squinting, peering, and straining, to make sense of what I see until I realize it is still night and quite dark.

  I hear the scamper of a clawed creature run by as another hunk of concrete thumps to the floor.

  “Jackal? Is that you?”

  My stomach falls while I wait.

  After no response and a thorough sighting of my cell, I sit on my haunches and rethink my desire to be free. It must be done. I have no more light and to sit here in the dark is unimaginable. To be alone is unthinkable. I am inside and they are outside. I must bring in the outside or take my inside outside. One way or another I must be free.

  I lean forward, studying the hole. It is not the oracle of truth as I’d imagined. For two years, I’ve dug into this pile of cement and mud. My fingers are shredded bits of flesh and my mind has gone numb. Here is freedom. Just a hand’s breathe away. Once again, I sit back on my haunches and turn my back to the wall. Am I ready for what is out there?

  Suddenly, I cannot breathe. I drop the candle and the light is extinguished. Something that scents like tin wraps around my neck and is pulled tight, tearing my fragile skin. I take a ragged breath of air as I attempt to scream. Terrified, my body refuses to budge. My heart hammers, sweat mingles with my tears. All I can hear is groaning, mewling, and a light silvery scream that shreds the night, my existence, and my brain. Thick muscled arms wrap themselves around me and pull me through the opening into their world.

  “Jackal where are you?!” Something sharp and painful enters my arm. My screaming stops.

  All the screaming stops.

  Blessed quiet engulfs me.

  ****

  “Put her away, Charles. There’s nothing to be done.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but it is sad. Look at her hands, her feet. Maybe just a little more to put her out of misery?”

  Kathleen points to the syringe Charles has in his fingers. “You’ve enough Ativan in there to put down a horse. Besides, it is nothing to us.”

  “I know, but I wonder how long it will take her to get free this time. Another two years? Three? My God, what a nightmare.”

  “Need I remind you she used to be human?”

  Charles feels a moment’s sorrow for the foundling. While a mutant, she did suffer. At least according to the latest research.

  “She is not your concern.” Kathleen adjusts her hat, first making sure there aren’t any smudges on her hands.

  It is as imperative to her as it is to Charles, that she remain perfectly white. He inspects his nails to make sure nothing mars them.

  “Shove her into the room next door. After all, it’s not like she knows what’s happening to her.” Kathleen grimaces and brushes off a bit of dusty material that floats down from the ceiling.

  Charles grunts as he picks up the creature. She weighs no more than forty-five kilos, but the scales and ridges on her hands and feet are deadly and filled with poison. “As you please, Kathleen. Shall I lock the door after her?”

  “Absolutely. We will begin time again when she awakens. Perhaps in an hour or two? Maybe we can reprogram her brain to believe she is stuck in a ventilation system or an old mine shaft. Then we can challenge her with differing degrees of oxygen. See if she creates something to compensate.”

  “I thought you said she wasn’t aware.”

  “She only knows what she’s told. There will be no parents this time, though. And no little birds, Charles.” She says this with a meaningful glance. “This time she will be alone. She won’t even know there are others like her. She won’t even think there are others like her.”

  Charles shakes his head. He reminds himself: It’s a job, that’s all. None of my concern. The child is a copy of a copy of a copy. Not real, was once, but would never be again. She is more animal than anything else. However, virtual mind simulation is, to his way of thinking, the greatest and cruelest drug created by humankind.

  Thank God, those beings no longer exist.

  He scratches his nose before running a finger through a wide slot in the door where a bot-board reads his fingerprint. The door opens into an oblong space as austere as the last. His belly growls as he throws the creature onto the floor, after which her green and black body rolls against a far wall.

  “Ready for lunch?” Kathleen asks, peering over his shoulder.

  “What are we having?”

  “Ribs. Human ones, not those tasteless things that come from cows.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be right with you.” Charles glances over his shoulder one last time. He says a silent good-bye to the pitiful creature before he closes and locks the door. He thinks of her a moment longer, until once again hunger takes control. He hurriedly locks the door then scurries down the hall.

  Ribs. Ruby red ribs. A delight to behold.