Sanctuary

by Pauline Creeden

  He nodded and shoved an arm into the sleeve. He gave her a genuine smile, looked deep in her eyes for a moment and said, “I hope so.”

  Her heart fluttered. What was that? He turned and walked away. She stared after him for a moment.

  “I like him,” Mickey said, causing Jennie to blink hard.

  “What? Why?”

  “He remembered our names. That other guy, Brad, always called me kiddo or sport.”

  She shook her head and looked back at Mr. Harris, as he receded into the shadows of the magnolia trees along the street. Mickey was right. The brothers were different.

  WATCHING PHILLIP’S DETERIORATION HAD BEEN hard on Hugh. Although the room had not been padded, it had clean walls, devoid of furniture, and no sharp objects. The man seemed to lose the ability to reason and became animalistic in his needs and nature. At first, they attempted to push water bottles and packages of food through the door, but the scattered remains of each were stepped on. They were only eaten if opened accidently in the process.

  They had received three other newly-turned wailers with negligible injuries. The Colonel had made the decision to keep them under observation as well, putting faith in Hugh’s theory. After days of watching, Phillip becoming waif-like in their care, continuing to injure himself in minor ways with his own fingernails and teeth. Hugh, himself, had begun to lose hope.

  But on the fourth day, Phillip started to change his behavior. His eyes became swollen shut, and he choked or gagged on occasion. He spent most of his time lying on the floor, sporadically writhing. And on the fifth and final day, he’d stopped moving all together. His chest rose and fell with his breathing in an even pattern, so they knew he was still alive. They watched in hopeful silence.

  The light from the hallway poured into the room, and it took a moment for Hugh’s eyes to adjust. Colonel Wesley and two companions Hugh didn’t recognize joined the small team of four scientists for the observation. “Has the patient changed much? It is our understanding that most of the infected died after five days of confinement, if they were not re-injured by the aliens themselves.”

  Sgt. Stanley, the taller of the two male scientists nodded in agreement. His pale face shone in the light from the window into Phillip’s room. His fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows raised above his pale blue eyes. “Our theory now hinges on the fact that this particular patient was not injured in a manner that would cause his death outside of the infection from his bite wounds.”

  Sgt. Jones, the female doctor, followed up directly afterwards. “Right. What we are observing right now is the same behavior found in any other of the infected we’ve studied. After four days of no sleep, the infected in question usually loses consciousness completely. He is currently passed out. What we’ve seen in the past is that after several hours of unconsciousness, the subject usually succumbs to his injuries and dies. In this case, we are hoping for a break in the chain.”

  “So how long has this man been asleep now?”

  “Six hours,” Sgt. Jones quipped quickly without looking at her notes. She had obviously anticipated the question. Hugh had noticed over the past few days, that the woman’s bigger than life personality and constant striving for perfection attempted to make up for her stature and other perceived shortcomings.

  “How much longer have you theorized we will wait until we see some change either for better or worse?”

  “Honestly, we don’t know—” Stanley began.

  “True,” Jones interrupted again. “With other subjects, they remained unconscious for two to three hours at most. This subject has been unconscious for a more extended period of time, which gives us hope that the theory might be correct.”

  In the room, Phillip began coughing, and the man turned on his side so that his back faced the window. Silence reigned in the observation room for about twenty minutes. Everyone seemed to hold their breath in the hopes of some change. Phillip didn’t make any more big movements, but the rise and fall of his shoulder kept the group informed that he still lived.

  “Right then,” the Colonel said and started for the door. “Inform me immediately to any change in the subject.”

  “Yes, sir.” Both Stanley and Jones answered at the same time.

  Sgt. Williams was one beat behind them, leaning against the glass of Phillip’s room. He rarely participated in the constant conversation of the other two, opting for silent study. Williams almost never shared his thoughts or theories, even when asked. The shorter man’s belly tested the seams of the white lab coat he always had buttoned up, and his bald head shone in the glow of the room beyond the glass.

  Another hour passed with Hugh pressing against the glass in a mirror image of Sgt. Williams. The other two pattered away behind them, discussing possibilities, bleak outlooks, and regrets for the experimentation they had done on the infected in the past.

  “What sort of experimentation?” Hugh asked finally, pulling his forehead from the cold glass.

  Jones looked at Williams, as if unsure she should tell, but they seemed in the mood for confessing, and Williams nodded. “They seemed incapable of death. If we shoot them, they continue to come. If we stab them, they behave the same. Poisons in liquid or gaseous form have no effect. I regret to say that most of our experimentation focused on finding weaknesses rather than cures. But, we’ve done blood work in an attempt to combat the effects and to understand what the mechanism for the seeming durability might be. We wondered if we might be able to isolate it at first to use it to our advantage in some way. But no matter what we did, if we kept them in isolation, they would die after five days.”

  Hugh nodded. Of course they would be interested in finding the alien technology that might allow them to isolate a serum that would make a soldier virtually indestructible. He could also understand that the scientists might have regrets for their destructive experimentation if things went according to his theory.

  “MR. HARRIS, ARE YOU SURE you won’t get something at the mess hall?” Stanley asked when he returned from lunch.

  Yet another hour had passed, and Hugh couldn’t help but yawn. He wiped his palms on his lab coat and stretched his back. His stomach growled. The digital clock over the door said it was half past three in the afternoon. He’d taken breakfast at eight a.m. and hadn’t wanted to leave Phillip’s observation, knowing that something would likely happen today. But after seven hours of watching the man sleep, his hunger won out. “Yeah, I’ll go see what they have available at this time of day.”

  “It’s going to be slim pickings, with nothing hot, but the mess usually has cereal and a cooler of sandwiches,” Jones offered.

  Hugh started for the door and yawned again. Sleep deprivation from his constant insomnia was catching up with him. Truth be told, he could almost use a nap more than food. When he couldn’t get enough sleep, he tried to make up for it by eating more and drinking caffeine.

  The mess hall was virtually empty when he stepped through the propped open door. To save on generator use, many doors were propped open throughout the compound to let in natural light. Only one table was occupied, and though his vision was blurry from his yawn, he blinked and saw it was Jennie and her little brother.

  His heart somersaulted unexpectedly. In confusion, he smiled and turned to the upright refrigerator that held the pre-packaged sandwiches. He picked a ham sandwich and a chicken salad, grabbed a bottle of water, and pulled a bag of chips from the clip next to it. The whole while his back was turned to them, he hoped—and denied that he hoped—she wouldn’t leave.

  “Hey!” Mickey called, as Hugh approached their table from behind Jennie. “Isn’t that Mr. Hugh?”

  Jennie’s brown hair flashed gold in the light as she turned to face him. Her grey-green eyes were wide with surprise, but her warm smile welcomed him. She stood quickly when she spied his full arms. “Hi, Mr. Harris. Do you need any help with that?”

  With the chip bag between his teeth, Hugh mumbled, “I got it.” He set the bottled water and sandwiches on the table ne
xt to where Jennie had been sitting and pulled the bag from his teeth. “Mind if I join you?”

  Mickey smiled wide and set his plastic spoon back in his small bowl of colorful cereal. “You can join us!”

  “Of course.” Jennie smiled, too. She moved her bowl of cereal across the table to sit with Mickey, but her expression welcomed him.

  Her body language showed her positive reception of Hugh, but also her discomfort at his proximity if she’d sat next to him. He could understand that. “By the way, Jennie. Don’t forget to call me Hugh.”

  She palmed her forehead, making Mickey laugh. “Right! Old habits die hard.”

  Hugh unwrapped one of the sandwiches from the cellophane and took a bite of the corner. With his mouth partially full, he asked, “So, what have you guys been up to since I last saw you?”

  Jennie’s forehead wrinkled, and she stared at the table. “We’ve not really been too busy. We’re in the same living facility as Maria and her kids, which is great because Mickey has Alicia and Aaron to play with. I’ve been helping Pastor Billy and Mrs. Crawford at the chapel, to keep busy with distributing clothes to help the refugees that are brought in. But, really, I’ve been finding that I’ve got too much free time. I don’t want to be a leech on the base’s resources and would rather find some way to be more productive, you know?”

  “I can understand where you’re coming from.”

  She smiled again and peeled a banana for Mickey. “So what have you been up to Mr.—I mean, Hugh?”

  Hugh chuckled at her attempt and had to cover his mouth to avoid spitting out the bite of sandwich he’d taken. “I’ve been working with the scientists on my theory.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What theory? I remember you stopping the soldier who was going to shoot Phillip, but they ushered us into quarantine before I could hear what that was all about.”

  “Right.” Now, that he was on the cusp of finding out if his theory was correct or not, Hugh hesitated in talking about it. Her innocent eyes invited him to continue, and for some reason, he really did feel he could trust her with everything. He had a hard time dealing with these conflicted feelings. Part of him cried she was too young for him to be interested in this way, and the other part told him to let things go as they would. It wasn’t like he was considering marrying her or anything. He nodded and continued. “While I was watching the TV footage of the alien attacks, I noticed a few variables that seemed consistent.”

  “Like what?” She took a spoonful of her cinnamon cereal.

  After a quick swig of his water, Hugh continued. “The Shisa seem to be attacking the people who are already infected. I found that strange. If they are already infected, and likely to die after a few days, why do they keep biting them? According to the scientists here, they had already noticed that the people who are infected live for only five days after their bite if kept in solitary confinement. On the other hand, those who are bitten again and again live longer but remain infected. So my theory is that, provided that the person isn’t fatally wounded while the infection runs its course and they are separated from being re-infected by the Shisa, the effects of the bite would wear off after five days.”

  “So after five days, the person would return to normal?” Her eyes were wide, and she set her spoon back into her bowl.

  “That’s my theory, but it’s yet to be proven.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears and her brother looked up at her suddenly when she let out a small sigh. “That would be a great discovery.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So then if we could just get rid of the aliens, all the humans would return to normal?”

  “If they haven’t been fatally wounded before the effects wear off.”

  “How is Phillip doing? Hasn’t it been five days?” She pushed her cereal bowl to the side and folded her hands on the table.

  Hugh smiled and took another bite of his sandwich before continuing. It was nice to open up and talk to someone who didn’t have their own theories to press. “It has, and right now, we’re not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Each of the infected pass out on the fifth day and die in their sleep of their wounds. Phillip is the first they’ve put into solitary confinement without a mortal wound, and he’s presently asleep. The unusual part is that the infected who go to sleep usually only live for an hour or two before dying. Phillip has been asleep for nearly eight hours.”

  “Wow. I’d say that looks fairly positive.”

  “Positive, yes, but a lot can go wrong right now.”

  “Like what?”

  “He could still die or maybe go into a coma. It’s possible that he could wake up and continue to show symptoms. Even if he’s partially cured, he might have a residual or secondary infection. Lots of things.”

  “Mr.—I mean Hugh, are you a doctor? I mean, I know you were the bio teacher at Warwick, but how do you know so much about this sort of stuff?”

  Hugh smiled and balled up the cellophane wrapper of his finished sandwich. “I have a Masters in Animal Behavior and have been working on a PhD.”

  “So you’re almost a doctor, then.”

  “Sure.” Hugh flushed a little at her smile.

  “Now all you have to do is wait for Phillip to wake up, prove your theory, and then what?”

  “I guess the military will have one more reason to figure out how to stop the aliens from their continued attacks.”

  “Do you have any theories about that one?”

  “Not a one. I haven’t seen any footage of the Shisa actually exiting the ships, so I wouldn’t know the first thing about sending them back there. And from what I understand, the Shisa are similar to the infected. No matter how you injure them, just short of an explosion, they survive and continue to attack.”

  “Wow that’s—” A scream from outside stopped her mid-sentence. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth grew into a frown. The table began to vibrate with the hum of the Shisa.

  Mickey dropped his spoon and climbed up into Jennie’s arms, whimpering. He looked desperate and started crying. He buried his head into his sister’s shoulder, which muted his cries. Jennie stood from the bench and backed from the open door of the mess hall.

  Hugh jumped to his feet, grabbed her lunch tray, and rushed around the table, pulling her behind him. She rested a hand on his shoulder and nodded her thanks. He held the tray in both hands like a shield in front of him. The door of the mess hall was open and letting in the grey half-light of the afternoon sun. The large body of a Shisa darted past the door followed by the shadowy shapes of two others. Panic made Hugh’s heart rate rise. It pounded in his ears and drowned out the constant vibration. A fourth Shisa strolled into view, snuffling its pug nose in the air until it finally turned its head for the mess hall door. It turned and focused on the three of them. They stood with only a few tables between them and the Shisa. Behind it, the hooked, whip-like tail lashed back and forth like an irritated cat’s.

  He could hardly take his eyes off the Shisa when it approached them. This close, the growl seemed to vibrate every one of the atoms in his body. His very teeth chattered, and his eardrums screamed for silence. Behind him, Mickey had begun wailing like one of the infected. His cries broke Hugh’s heart. Jennie gripped his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin. He was the only thing standing between them and death, or worse.

  Adrenaline heightened his senses and filled every blood vessel in his body, and heat rose in his skin. His vision narrowed so that the alien was all he saw. It took another step forward, and Hugh followed his instincts. He gripped the tray in one hand and rushed toward it.

  JENNIE SCREAMED WHEN HUGH PULLED from her grip and barreled toward the Shisa. It jumped on the table they’d been at a moment before, and she was surprised at this alien’s size. When they had attacked her mother the first day, they were about the size of a large dog. This one stood about the size of the lions she saw at the zoo. One of its eyes was half closed with a scar that ran vertically from its
brow to its lip.

  Hugh lifted the tray he’d had in his hand and swung it down, hitting the Shisa in its pinched, flat face with the plastic tray. It fell backwards from the table, obviously stunned. She couldn’t pull her eyes from it, and Hugh grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her along the back wall of the mess hall toward the kitchen door. The Shisa pulled itself to its feet. The vibration of its growl grew more menacing and high pitched, like nails on a chalkboard. The sound made her head tilt in pain, and her ears rang.

  She could hardly hear Mickey’s cries. He clawed at her, and her shoulder was wet with his tears. Tears trailed down her face as well. She’d only begun to feel safe in the small community on base, and that façade was shattered the moment the vibration began. Looking at the alien in the mess hall now, she wondered if any place would ever be safe again.

  Hugh opened the silver push door of the kitchen and pulled her in with him. The vibration continued in her chest, but the high-pitched whine had softened a bit with the wall between them. He rushed over to the stainless steel, vertical cooler and pushed it toward the door. Jennie joined him and helped as much as she could with one arm. The wheels on the bottom of the cooler steered it a bit in the wrong direction, but Hugh straightened it just as the door slammed against it. The whine increased once more and was answered by a distant one.

  More were coming.

  Jennie backed up to the far wall and found the door to the outside. Hugh opened it and peeked out but paled and returned quickly, putting the locks on the door. “There’s more out there than in here.”

  Jennie could barely hear him and wondered if she’d only read his lips. The cooler squealed as a Shisa pushed it away from the door enough to put one paw in and scratch the wall. It knocked the utensils from the countertop nearby. Hugh ran over and shoved the cooler back at the door. Its forearm was trapped. Another high pitched whine began, reminiscent of a scream. Mickey covered his ears.