EXOSKELETON - A Novel

by Shane Stadler

  Colby started by slicing the gums, while Hatley suctioned the blood away from the area with a vacuum nozzle.

  "It's going to be hard to get any leverage with this head cage in the way. We'll need to fracture the tooth," Colby explained to Hatley. He then selected an instrument and reached in with what looked like a thick, curved bird's beak. Will felt him clamp down on the tooth and increase the pressure until it shattered. A blast of white-hot pain seared through his brain, and again he was at the ceiling looking down on the scene. There was no more pain. He sensed the misery in his body, but couldn't feel it.

  Will looked around and found he could move with a little more ease now—if it could be called "moving" without a physical body. He made his way to the one-way window, and pushing on the glass, he felt his hand press through it with only the slightest amount of resistance—like passing through water. He pushed his head through and saw two people, a man and a woman, in a control room of some kind. They were talking, and one said, " ... never seen anything like that before ... " The other one replied, "Yes, especially for dental pain ... "

  Suddenly Will felt himself being drawn back to his body and the Exo.

  As he opened his eyes, Colby was in the process of sewing up the freshly hollowed wisdom tooth socket.

  "Are you awake in there, 523? ... We're never sure whether you have passed out or not—you are a strange one." Colby said and stepped aside, allowing Hatley to move in.

  "My turn," she said with a giddy voice and a smile, her face slightly swollen on both sides.

  Will's vision darkened and he felt himself slip away again—this time without an extreme stimulus. Instantly he was above the scene, watching Hatley select an instrument. She picked up a scalpel for the initial incision, and Will felt anger boil within him. Before she could even touch his mouth, he was after her.

  *

  Dr. Colby watched as his assistant approached the patient with a scalpel—and in what seemed like an instant, her head jerked to the side, her body falling limp to the floor. The motion defied physics—completely unnatural: one second she was nearly stationary, and the next moment she was flying. He ran to her side of the table. "Ms. Hatley! My God!"

  "What happened?" she asked, her expression distant.

  She shook her head, trying to regain her bearings. That was when Colby noticed the scalpel sticking out of her shoulder, and the blood seeping through her lab coat. Before she could notice, he gently pulled the instrument from her shoulder and placed it in a metal pan. He then soaked a piece of gauze in alcohol and applied it to her shoulder.

  "Here, keep pressure on it and go see Dr. Noh right now. You may have had a seizure of some sort—you better get checked out right away."

  Hatley walked a drunken path to the door, pressing the gauze with one hand and rubbing her head with the other.

  *

  Will returned to his body just in time to hear a female voice come over the intercom.

  "Everything okay down there—is your assistant all right?"

  "I sent her out to be examined," Colby replied.

  "What the hell happened?"

  "I have no idea." Colby shrugged.

  "We'll have to write this up when you're finished. Come up here when you're done," the woman instructed.

  Colby nodded and waved towards the booth, and then turned back to Will. "Well, 523, another write-up ... I never had to write up anyone before—but this is the second time for you ... Well, looks like it's just us guys for the rest of the afternoon." He then proceeded to take out the other tooth. Although the pain was intense, there was no intent on Colby's part to inflict more pain than what the procedure required.

  Afterwards, he rinsed out Will's mouth, then took off the tongue-tie and jaw-jack. "That jaw is going to be painful for a few weeks—I had to take out some bone ... An oral rinse will be provided automatically through the system, and you'll get an antibiotic injection tonight and tomorrow."

  Colby collected his tools, disconnected the cable harnesses, and rolled his cart out of the room. A moment later he came back for the other cart, the one that would have been handled by Hatley. Before he exited, he turned and looked back at Will.

  "What a strange day." He shook his head as he walked out the door.

  Strange indeed, Will thought. He was just as confused as they were.

  *

  Bergman instructed Lenny to take a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table.

  "We have a big problem."

  Lenny maintained eye contact, and remained silent.

  Bergman continued, "The girl has come out of her coma."

  Lenny responded with a grave nod.

  "She is not yet able to communicate, but she's alert, and her brain activity is steadily increasing. She'll be talking in a week, two at the latest."

  "How do you want to handle it?"

  "I need you to go to Detroit, and organize Thompson's termination for Warden Halbreath," Bergman instructed. "No subject has ever maintained innocence for this long ... He's become too much of a liability."

  "Sodium pentothal ?"

  "Yes. And immediate cremation," Bergman responded. "Head out tomorrow; I want this done ASAP."

  Lenny nodded and walked out of the office.

  The Thompson problem would soon be resolved, but Bergman's relief was dampened by the thought of the missing project files. The damn things could be anywhere.

  *

  Everything Will did hurt his jaw. Sneezing was particularly awful, and his head felt like an inflated balloon due to the swelling. The paste for meal three was probably the best thing they could have fed him under the circumstances, but it still hurt going down. He was exhausted, but still patiently awaited Landau's voice.

  "William?"

  Will responded with muffled gibberish. He didn't know how Landau was able to comprehend what he was saying, but he did.

  "You had the view from above again, only this time you acted—or, I should say, reacted."

  In Will's mind he was aware of the conclusion he'd drawn more than once—that these conversations were hallucinations—but they still seemed so real.

  "How do you know about that, and who are you working for?" Will demanded.

  "I cannot answer those questions," Landau replied.

  "What is your purpose?"

  "To guide you."

  "I don't understand. Guide me to what?"

  "Please, William, let's move on," Landau said, changing the subject.

  "Would you like to be free of this place? Free of that machine?"

  Will was silent. Of course he wanted out.

  "Are you trying to anger me?"

  "Why don't you just leave?"

  "What the hell are you saying?" Will asked in frustration.

  "Your body is trapped inside of that cage of metal, electronics, and tubes, and you want to get it out of there-"

  "Of course, damn it," Will spat. His emotions oscillated between anger and desperation.

  "And since your soul is trapped in your body, and your body is being tortured—what do you think your soul wants to do?"

  Will snapped, and no longer had control over his words.

  "It wants to get the hell out! IT WANTS OUT! I WANT OUT! I WANT OUT!"

  His shouting echoed throughout the room, and when he finally quieted, Landau was gone. The Exo began its nightly rotation, and Will trembled as he cried himself to sleep.

  *

  Denise walked out from her kitchen with a glass of wine, and sat down on the couch. Since Jonathan and Julia had to attend a law school event, she would be reading without them for the night. She didn't like being alone in the old library, despite how beautiful it was, so she took some files home with her.

  Denise pulled a file out of her knapsack, tucked her feet beneath her, and began reading. This one had two seals on it: the Nazi SS symbol, and a large bird of prey, clutching a strange emblem in its talons. The emblem looked like a tic-tac-toe board, only with swastika-like tails on the outer edges
.

  She skimmed through the document, her expression gradually changing to one of excitement. After two straight days of reading, she had finally found one of the files they were seeking. It was a report from the Auschwitz medical lab, concerning the 'SS-4897 incident.'

  This is the full account of a classified incident that led to the deaths (unknown cause) of nine German military personnel, including four medical doctors, two armed soldiers, a nurse, and two engineers.

  The human subject (SS-4897), Benjamin J. Horowitz, was subjected to pain threshold experiments including pressure chambers, extreme temperature conditions, burning, scalding, beatings, and amputations. The subject endured twelve days of extreme torture before the incident occurred. He was subsequently terminated.

  The doctors recorded unusual events starting on day eight, just after the first amputation (right foot above the ankle) without anesthetic. The first incident was the mysterious stabbing of a doctor with a scissors. The scissors pierced the doctor's left shoulder blade, which required significant force—yet Horowitz was thoroughly restrained at the time.

  Leading up to the massacre, numerous other incidents were observed in connection with the subject, including the tipping over of tables and chairs, the emptying of cabinets, and the spontaneous bending of iron window bars in the treatment room.

  On 8 August 1943, at approximately 9:00 p.m., witnesses reported hearing a loud, high-pitched sound, along with the crashing of heavy objects, emanating from inside the room. Nine people rushed into the room, none of whom survived.

  Limbs and heads were torn from some of the bodies; some were crushed beyond recognition, and some of the victims suffered extreme burns. Of special mention was the extreme force required to exact some of the damage: i.e., a 110 kg (240 lb) man had his leg completely torn off from the mid-thigh region. Witnesses reported that the event took less than five minutes from start to finish ...

  Denise was shocked. What the hell had happened there? The Nazi bastards got what they deserved, but what had happened to them? She got a chill; not so much from the graphic detail of the file, but from the direction their investigation might be heading.

  The document went on to report that the subject, Horowitz, was still alive when the incident was over. However, an SS officer executed him later that evening. The report went on for a dozen more pages, detailing each specific treatment the patient had undergone.

  Denise didn't want to pull away from her reading, but she felt the need to call Jonathan. She had read many disturbing things over the past week, but there seemed to be an underlying theme that was forming. She called Jonathan's temp phone number and he answered after two rings.

  "I think I found a file describing one of the incidents referenced in the DARPA and DoD reports," Denise explained. "This came from an SS report from Auschwitz: during a torture experiment on a prisoner, there was a massacre of nine camp personnel—doctors and soldiers alike. The killings were absolutely brutal—the bodies were dismembered, crushed, and even burned. But they were never able to determine what exactly happened."

  Jonathan was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.

  "Good. Now you have to find three more—so far, I've found a total of four incidents mentioned in reference to the Nazi files." He cleared his voice and continued, "I've made some interesting discoveries myself—but I don't want to talk about them over the phone."

  "Is something wrong?" Denise asked, her voice tensing.

  "It's just ... very disturbing stuff ... We'll talk about it tomorrow."

  After they hung up, Denise's nerves tingled with anxiety and excitement. She took a sip of wine, pulled another file from her book bag and read.

  *

  When Will awoke, he realized he had lost track of the days, although he was sure it was still January. While he tried to count backwards, he was disturbed to find there were days of torture that he'd almost forgotten. He didn't want to forget any of them: each one had cost him so much.

  After the usual morning maintenance, he was given two injections from the built-in hypodermic apparatus of the Exo—the antibiotics promised by the dentist, he assumed. As he was inserted into the next room, he got the usual offer in exchange for a confession. Will offered his usual response, and the treatment proceeded.

  Will heard a faint hissing sound, and he followed the noise to the numerous nozzles that protruded from the walls and the ceiling. His ears popped, and he felt an oily film build up on his skin. A moment later, a burning itch started. It penetrated everything, but seemed to settle deeply into the most sensitive areas—armpits, neck, mucous membranes, and crotch. He began to sweat profusely.

  The day was only beginning.

  *

  Richard would remember the sunny morning of January 28th, not because it was his first full day without his wife and daughters, but for the events described in the Supplemental Incident Report he'd received from the Red Box Facility. There were detailed accounts of incidents that had occurred the previous day, all pertaining to William Thompson. And these weren't benign reports of him not responding to pain; these were kinetic events.

  Richard's heart sank: all of his efforts, and the risk—to both him and his family—might have been for naught. Thompson was showing signs—he still couldn't believe it; signs. It would be more than enough for the government to justify all the atrocities that had been committed in the name of the project. The program would not only go on, it would be revitalized. He had to stop it.

  Richard had a few advantages that might give him some time. First, no one at the Red Box, including the Warden, really knew what was going on. They had all just been reporting what they observed, without any idea of the true goal. Second, all of the reports came to Richard for evaluation before being passed to anyone else. Other than weekly summaries, he only reported to Bergman when something out of the ordinary occurred, or if a patient had died.

  Richard knew that Cynthia Worthington had come out of her coma, and he also knew hat Lenny was on his way to Detroit. He concluded that Bergman wanted things cleaned up before the girl could talk. It would look suspicious if Thompson happened to die immediately after the girl declared him innocent of the crime—if that were to happen. But what Bergman didn't know was that, by killing Thompson, he'd be putting a nail in his own coffin: he'd be extinguishing the only flicker of hope the project had ever produced.

  Richard had to talk to McDougal face-to-face, and as soon as possible. He quickly came up with a plan. It was Thursday—he could go home "sick," take a long weekend. As soon as he got home, he'd start the eleven-hour drive to Chicago, to meet McDougal. It was a long drive, but it was the only way his whereabouts couldn't be traced. He'd use a prepaid phone, and pay for everything with cash. Being sick a couple of days was also the perfect excuse not to submit the incident report summary to Bergman.

  He had to push McDougal and his colleagues to act immediately—to use the files, to try and shut down the program. In the mean time, Bergman would hopefully have Thompson killed. The program had to be stopped at all costs. The world wasn't ready for what it might have already produced.

  *

  Will had gained a large measure of control over his new ability throughout the day. He could now use the memory of pain to separate. He'd relive the feelings for an instant, but then he'd be free—free of his body, free of the Exo—the pain gone. He'd separated three times that afternoon, but each time he was eventually drawn back. It seemed his range was very limited; maybe thirty feet.

  Not having much else to do, he examined his body closely, noting how much he'd changed in less than a month's time. Lumps had formed on his head around the head bolts they'd implanted—scar tissue was building up around them. His body was very muscular and lean, an unexpected benefit of his diet and the physical intensity of the treatments. But he was deathly pale, and his face was still swollen from the oral surgery.

  When the final chemical exposure session was over, the residues were washed off. Afterwards, he was given an
other shot of antibiotics.

  Not long after meal three, Will sensed Landau's presence, and spoke before he had the chance.

  "Hello Landau."

  "You are progressing."

  Will was confused. "Towards what?"

  "Let's try a little experiment," Landau said, seemingly ignoring Will's question.

  "Today you used the memory of pain to remove yourself from your body. Do what you did today," Landau instructed.

  "How do you know what I was thinking?" Will asked. These conversations always seemed to reveal that Landau knew something he couldn't possibly know.

  "Wouldn't you like to have more control over your ability?"

  Will thought about it for a moment. "Yes, of course I would." Anything to escape the torture—even if only for a short time.

  "Then try."

  Will did as Landau instructed, he thought mostly of Colby's root canals, and a moment later he was out. He could see his body, this time in no physical pain. He was drawn back in after just a few seconds. It seemed more difficult to separate when his body was comfortable.

  "Excellent," Landau said. "It will be some time before you're able to hold it indefinitely, but you're doing well ... Do you realize this is something quite extraordinary?"

  "I think it's just my mind's way of protecting itself from pain," Will replied. He had no other explanation.

  "You still believe it's only a state of mind? Could your mind have knocked Ms. Hatley to the ground—twice?" Landau asked.

  "She slipped. My imagining I had something to do with it was just wishful thinking."