Juniper Unraveling

by Keri Lake

  Familiarity guides my feet through the doors of B-block, and up the flights of stairs toward Papa’s lab. It’s strange calling him that here, where I knew him as Doctor F. The place he pretended to be a monster in order to find a cure.

  The familiar stabs of anxiety gnaw at my stomach, as I push through the double doors to the experimental lab. It’s here where the stares linger, as the physicians and surgical staff pass, but still, no one questions me. Through the window, I peek into Doctor Falkenrath’s lab, the only one whose lights are off, empty of victims.

  As much as I should hate this place, and I do, there’s a sadness that burns the rims of my eyes at the memory of being here. Surviving. And of course, my brother, Abel.

  The dream from the night before threatens to pull me deeper into grief, as I push through the doors and enter the ante room where I first woke up. I can hear the voices of ghosts all around me, the sounds of the victims ringing over the harsh breaths of the suit, and I tug the respirator from my mouth. Palms flat to the bench, I suck in the stagnant air, counting on the exhale.

  “Calm down, Wren. They’re just memories,” I mutter, and head toward the surgical suite. In the dark, I half-heartedly search the refrigerators, cupboards, specimen racks, any place where the antibody would logically be stored. Most vaccines were kept refrigerated, but as I’m certain Papa wouldn’t have opted for anything obvious, I begin to tease the more obscure places and make my way to his office.

  The scent of tobacco still lingers on the air, but most of his personal items have been removed. I don’t have much time, and because I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for yet, panic rides my shoulders as I rifle through Papa’s desk, credenza, anything that might speak of the antibody. The worry begins to prod my muscles, and I’m certain the curious glances I met on the way in will soon turn investigative.

  In spite of the uneasy feeling stirring in my gut, I pause my searching and force my mind to think. Think.

  Lifting my gaze brings the three bibles to my attention, set amongst the medical references. In his personal journal, he spoke of penance as it related to the antibody.

  I nab the first bible, flipping through the pages, and set it back on the shelf. Next, I tug the second, and I open it to the center of the book where the pages have been carved into a box, deep enough to hold the skeleton key embedded within.

  A verse is highlighted across the page:

  For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may be recompensed for his deeds in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad–Corinthians 5:10

  Judgement Day.

  I remove the key from the bible, which I set back on the shelf, and dart through the office to the surgical suite. The Dies Irae plaque still hangs from a hook on the wall, and I lift it away, revealing the hole punched into the tiles behind it. I reach inside and pat around, lifting a dull gray box from the dust and bits of cracked tile. The key fits perfectly, and with one twist, the box pops open to reveal a syringe lying across a folded paper that bears a similar sketch of the antibody diagram I found in Papa’s journal.

  Holding it out in front of me, I study the clear fluid inside, tapping the syringe to see that it moves.

  It’s odd to me that it wouldn’t be refrigerated, but Papa had long studied heat-stable vaccines that could withstand the lack of electricity here, particularly at night. I slip the vaccine into the satchel strapped across my body inside the suit.

  With the syringe in the bag, I secure the respirator back in my mouth and shuffle out of the office. Somehow, I’ll need to get back into Szolen, but hopefully, that’ll be easier than trying to break into this place.

  Hang in there, Rhys.

  I don’t know if he’s dead, or alive, only that I need to hustle and pray nothing stands in my way.

  I push through the double doors and come to a skidding halt.

  Four Legion soldiers stand in the middle of the hallway, all of whom have their guns aimed at me.

  The one in the middle removes his mask, and my breaths wither along with any hope for escape.

  Albert.

  Chapter 41

  Three bullets. Four guards. It almost sounds like the first line of a joke.

  In the silence that fills the space between us, I try to imagine the most efficient use of them, assuming I don’t miss and waste a bullet.

  There is no scenario where I survive, however, so I lower the gun to keep them from firing off a shot.

  “Remove your mask.” Albert’s arm is steady, his voice unyielding. “Now.”

  Three seconds pass. Four. Five. I contemplate the alternatives. Seven. Eight. There’s a door to the left of them, but I’ll never make it. Ten. They’d gun me down before I took the first shot.

  What I wouldn’t give for five smooth stones. At least then, I’d stand a chance.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Albert cracks his neck and lifts his gun higher, aiming somewhere in the neighborhood of my skull.

  I peel back the respirator and slip the mask over my head, tossing both of them to the floor.

  Albert’s lips stretch to a bastardly smile. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” The lowering of his gun, and the dramatic way he slides it back into its holster, is meant to be an insult, as if I’m not worth the bullet, but mostly I’m just relieved not to be staring down the barrel of it anymore. “Whatever brought you here, Wren?”

  Stare locked on him, I don’t bother answering the question.

  “Where are the others?” His second question brings a frown to my face.

  I truly have no idea what he’s asking. “What others?”

  “Don’t play stupid, little girl. We still have your boyfriend.” He pinches his chin in contemplation. “What did you call him again? Six?”

  Rigs, Tinker, and Tripp must’ve gotten away. That, or Rhys gave himself over for them and is likely suffering the brutal torture for his sacrifice at this very moment.

  I can’t think about that right now. I have to stay focused. Level-headed. Clever.

  Again, I opt for silence, preferring to let him believe I know more than I do.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Arms crossed, Albert shrugs. “We’ll find them. And when we do, they’ll suffer the same fate as your little boyfriend. So drop the gun.”

  “Where is he?” Thoughts of Rhys have snaked their way into my voice, making it sound too frail for the anger bulleting through my veins.

  “Would you like to see him?”

  “What did you do, Albert?”

  “The question is, dear Wren, what did you do? You are the one wearing my brother’s uniform, correct?” His eyes scan downward then back up. “Where is Ivan?”

  I’m surprised he doesn’t already know. “Damian didn’t tell you?”

  “Damian is dead. Conveniently shot by a woman before she took off.”

  They have no idea what Six did to Ivan, because I’m certain they’d subject him to the same fate if they did. “I’ll tell you where to find your brother, if you let Six go.”

  “My brother’s dead. I have no doubts about that. You wouldn’t be wearing his uniform, if he weren’t. I was simply curious if you’d tell me yourself. So, let’s stop wasting time, shall we? I’m sure you’re anxious to see Loverboy, right? Now drop the gun.”

  Two guards step forward, each one grabbing an arm and squeezing my biceps, and for a brief moment, I’m transported back to all those years ago, when Ivan led me out to the Ragers pen. The gun falls out of my hand, clanking against the too-white tiles. And this is how my nightmares began all those years ago—reaching the point of capture without a plan.

  “You won’t find anything in Doctor Falkenrath’s lab,” Albert says over his shoulder, while his goons drag me down the hall. “We pretty much cleared out all the specimens. Never seen so many brains in one place. The pheromone injections have been quite useful out in the Deadlands.”

  I don’t say anything, and instead keep my eyes forward, as
we walk the familiar hallways that lead to S block.

  Once through the doors, the air shifts. It grows thicker. More suffocating. And colder. So cold, I’m shivering.

  Screams echo down the hallway, so many of them at once, it’s impossible to make out the sound of Six’s. If he’s still screaming, at all.

  Perhaps he’s already dead, and this false hope will be the cruelty I suffer before my own demise.

  “You should know, he was our best subject,” Albert prattles on ahead of me. “He not only walked among the Ragers, but they actually feared him. Or so my father tells me. That was a bit before my time. Still, this place hasn’t had another like him.”

  “Maybe because you assholes kill them.”

  “That’s true. Shooting ourselves in the foot that way.”

  Albert stops before a room—one I recognize as a post-op, or recovery, room, with narrow bays divided by thin curtains, but this one is much more grim. Women lay strapped to beds, some kicking and screaming, others staring blankly at the ceiling. Beside one of the beds where a woman lies seizing, stretching her restraints, a large canister looking object bubbles with fluid, and inside, a small baby floats in the water, curled into a ball.

  Third generation.

  “We’ve begun harvesting stem cells. Soon they’ll begin human trials,” Albert says beside me.

  My stomach twists at the sight, and I swallow hard to stifle the bile inching up my throat. I could’ve been one of them, if not for Papa.

  Seemingly satisfied with his torment, the bastard keeps on down the hall.

  We come to a stop before a door, and Albert nabs hold of my arm, releasing me from the other guards. “Look for the others. Find them, and bring them to me, here.”

  The other three jog off down the hall like robots, following his command.

  No identity. No argument.

  If I were alone, I’d fight Albert. I’d find his weak spot and run. It’s possible I could make it out of here twice, if I did, but I don’t think that’s going to happen this time. The crazy shade of my brain still holds hope that I’ll devise a plan and thwart whatever fate holds for me beyond these doors.

  I won’t leave Rhys behind. Not if he’s alive.

  That’s what Papa meant, when he said it’s better to survive alone. I wouldn’t be here if it was just me. I don’t know where I’d be. Maybe hiding out from marauders. Maybe dead. But I do know one thing: Rhys is here because of me. He wouldn’t have chanced murdering a high-ranking son if he hadn’t been trying to protect me. Ridding me of the nightmares.

  No matter what happens, I’m with Rhys until the end.

  We enter a dimly-lit room—a surgical suite much like Papa’s, and when Albert steps aside, my stomach sinks again.

  I have to will my legs to move forward, for fear I’ll collapse.

  Rhys lies strapped to a table, covered in blood. His face has been sliced. Burns mar his chest and arms, and a metal contraption is clamped to his head, which has been shaved with little care. The tape covering his mouth muffles any attempt he might make to protest, but he’s silent, anyway. Not mumbling a single sound.

  Beside him, Doctor Ericsson holds up a small scalpel streaked in blood. “Well, look who’s joined us! And who might this be, Albert?”

  “Don’t you recognize her, Father? She’s the one who escaped this place. The girl who escaped.” I feel his stare in my periphery, while I keep my eyes anchored on Rhys. “Sounds like something out of that book she used to carry around with her.” His breath feathers my neck as he leans in to me. “I read your file. I know everything about you. Dani.”

  I have to tell myself to breathe. It’s not right. My body should know when it needs oxygen, and yet, I stand there, out of air and unable to breathe it in, the urge tugging at my chest.

  With his head strapped to a gurney, Six can barely turn to see me, but the slow blink of his eyes tells me it pains him when he catches a glimpse of me.

  The others left him behind. Those bastards left him!

  If not for me standing here now, he’d be tortured and murdered in this hell alone. For that reason, I’m glad I came back. I grind my teeth, letting the anger keep the tears away, because I sure as hell won’t cry in front of these bastards.

  Fuck them.

  “Ah, yes. I remember.” Eyes narrowed, Doctor Ericsson’s jaw shifts back and forth, until he blinks himself out of his trance. “I was just telling Albert, this subject’s pain receptors are incredible. He hardly responds to burns, or any sort of physical damage to the epidermal layers, at all. Yet, his antibody titers are high, indicating he’s been in an active state of infection for quite some time. Somehow, he can control the rage. It’s fascinating! I cannot wait to crack his head open and take a peek inside.”

  “Father, perhaps her uniform looks familiar?” Albert pinches a piece of the fabric, and as Doctor Ericsson’s gaze falls on me, the smile morphs to something much more sinister. Darker.

  “Ivan?” Abandoning his torture, he steps toward me.

  A groan diverts my attention to Rhys, whose hands ball into fists, as he lay shaking on the gurney. Like an animal trying to break free.

  Doctor Ericsson tosses the scalpel and his blood-stained gloves onto a bedside tray beside a small saw-looking object, and his fingers curl into a fist set to his mouth. “You raise a child with the hopes they’ll go on to do wonderful things for the world. And then …” I catch the whites of his knuckles as he clenches his fist. “And then some ignorant, savage bitch comes along and steals your hopes and dreams for the future.”

  “She’s his girlfriend.” Albert juts his chin toward Rhys. “She calls him Six.”

  “Interesting.”

  An alarm that sounds like an air raid blares through the hallways.

  Doctor Ericsson lifts his gaze toward the ceiling. “It seems your friends are running amuck,” he says, head still angled upward.

  A female voice blasts through the PA system. “Warning. Code Triage. Biohazard safety breach. Infectious patients. S-block. Lower level. Evacuate immediately. Warning. Code Triage. Biohazard safety breach. Infectious patients. S-block. Lower level. Evacuate immediately.”

  Doctor Ericsson rolls his shoulders, and his gaze lands on me once more. “Decades, I’ve worked in this lab,” he says, when the voice quietens. “My life’s work …. I’m certain you’ve no idea what it means to devote so much of your life to something.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask, the calm tone of the woman’s voice still vibrating along my spine.

  “What’s happening?” He echoes my words, running a hand through his slicked back hair, and shakes his head.

  A flash from the corner of my eye gives no warning, before a cold hard sting smarts my cheek. The resounding crack rings in my ears over the alarms and Rhys’s clanging of the metal of the gurney.

  “Everything is about to be annihilated. The only facility left standing is about to self-implode as a safety measure. Just like the first.” Rolling his shoulders, he frowns. “Do you know what’s down in the morgue? I’ll give you a hint. It isn’t burning bodies, or corpses. It’s cages. And they hold alpha mutations. Ones so dangerous, they alone could wipe out what’s left of humanity. So, when there’s a breach in the lower level labs, this place shuts down. Even if the power goes out. And everything is locked inside, like Pandora’s box. Contained. No explosives, or bombs, can penetrate it from the outside. There is. No. Escape.”

  “Doctor Ericsson.” The wobble in my throat pushes the words out shaky and choppy, my jaw aching. “I have … something you might be interested in.”

  Ignoring me, Doctor Ericsson returns to Rhys, lifting another scalpel that he sets to his forehead, as if to begin surgery on him while chaos ensues beyond the doors. “Albert? It’s time for you to leave. Strap her to the other bed and take the fire escape stairwell. I estimate about twenty minutes before lockdown.”

  “What about you?” Albert asks.

  “I’ve much to finish here. My work isn’t
done.”

  He’s mad. I’m sure of it now. Papa knew it then, and perhaps to a certain extent, he feared him for it.

  “That’s absurd! You’ll die in here, Father. And what’s the point, then?”

  “This subject holds the cure.” Doctor Ericsson palms Rhys’s skull, his eyes crazed, as he rubs his hand over the blood smeared into his shaved hairline. “In his brain lies the answers we’ve spent decades searching for. I’ll find them. If I have to dissect every inch of it, I’ll find them.”

  “Doctor Falkenrath already found the—” My words are cut off by Albert’s palm slapping across my mouth.

  “Shut up.” His fingers dig into my cheek with his anger, bruising my jaw, and his hips prod me toward the second gurney, set beside the first.

  I swing an elbow back, knocking Albert in the crook of his neck, and a burn flares across my scalp before the steel bar of the gurney slams into my forehead. Pain explodes across my skull, shooting up into my nose.

  Rhys growls and rattles the metal holding him down, in spite of the scalpel drawing a jagged line of blood across his forehead.

  “You must hold still!” Doctor Ericsson’s frustration bleeds through his clenched teeth.

  Circles float in front of my eyes, but I kick back, and manage to spin myself around to face Albert. With an upward hike of my knee, I hit him square in his nuts, and he falls forward, bending me across the gurney. His hands wrap around my throat, tightening against my gullet. Insanity claims his eyes, tinged with so much fury that he seems unaware of the slamming against the doors outside.

  The woman’s voice comes over the PA again. “Warning. Code Triage. Biohazard safety breach. Infectious patients. S-block. Lower level. Evacuate immediately.”

  With the horns blaring, I don’t immediately notice that Albert’s unzipped my suit until cool air hits my chest, and with one quick yank, he tears it away from my body before wrenching the satchel over my head, which he tosses to the floor. The uniform sits shrugged at my ankles, above the boots.

  “How much pain do you think we could make him suffer? Huh, Wren? Seems we can’t torture the bastard physically, but maybe mentally. Because nothing could be worse than watching what I do to you. What I’ve always wanted to do to you.” Albert tugs his gun from its holster, and the cold, unforgiving metal presses into my temple. “Except for when I kill you after.”