Fall Prey: The Hunt

by Dallas Massey

  She picked up a vibrating saw sitting on the instrument table, positioning the blade near the man’s head. She turned it on, forcefully but delicately cutting into the skull, the saw blade screeching even louder when it made contact with bone.

  “Almost there.” Gupta completed her sutures, turning off the saw and placing it back on the instrument table. She stuck her gloved fingers into the incisions she made, pulling the bloody bone fragment from the rest of the skull and placing it on an examination tray.

  “There we have it,” she said, going back in for the brain.

  Gupta carefully pulled it from the cranial vault, holding it up in the air for all to see. Like all brains, it resembled a head of flabby, pinkish-grey cauliflower, appearing to be normal, yet off somehow. They all leaned in for a closer look, too desensitized by watching the man in the cell eat to find a single brain unsettling.

  “I’m not sure if you can tell without a healthy brain for comparison, but there is something very wrong with this one.” Gupta rotated the brain around in her hands. “For starters, it is significantly smaller than average due to the cell death of much of the ganglia in the cerebrum. The virus typically hits the frontal lobe the hardest, shrinking it down so that the brain takes on a more rounded shape. Due to this size reduction, an individual with zombie-ism is incapable of most forms of self-control. The virus also tends to cause some extreme changes to the limbic system. The amygdala, the portion of the brain responsible for anger and fear, is larger than what is seen in an uninfected human, explaining why the afflicted become so aggressive. We’ll have to cut it open to see that, though even then certain things will still be difficult to see.”

  Dr. Gupta placed the brain on the examination tray, quickly slicing it in half with her scalpel. She held the right half against the tray so they could see the cross-section.

  “As you can see, the damage is much more apparent when we take a look at the inside.”

  Gupta pointed at various parts of the brain with a purple-gloved finger.

  “The most visible damage is to the cerebrum, making it significantly smaller than what is considered normal. As I said, though the frontal lobe has seen the most shrinkage, all the other lobes show significant shrinkage as well. Sections of the cerebrum are hollowed out, a feature not unlike what is found in some very severe psychological illnesses, though it is typically much worse in zombie-ism. There is little of the cortex left for higher-level thinking, though portions like those devoted to certain senses seem to be more or less OK. Strangely enough, in most cases, the subjects actually grow another olfactory bulb, giving them a sense of smell powerful enough to rival that of a canine.”

  Gupta took her hands away from the brain and removed her gloves, tossing them into a nearby trash can.

  “Oh yeah?” asked Cyrus, excited by what Gupta had said, nearly forgetting they were looking at a brain afflicted with zombie-ism. “That last part sounds kind of awesome.”

  “Mr. Blackthorn,” said Shen, causing Cyrus to look up. “Nothing is an advantage when the overall result is the degradation of the mind.”

  “The virus is very capable of targeting specific areas within the brain,” said Gupta, intending to stop a potential lecture by Dr. Shen. “It’s as though the virus itself is displaying some level of intelligence. It’s kind of miraculous that anyone suffering from this much damage to their brain is walking around at all for any length of time. Granted, this individual was in the final stages of the disease, but it’s still quite extraordinary that he didn’t perish much sooner. It’s almost as if the virus itself helps to prolong the lives of those it infects.”

  “So, are you convinced yet?” Elysia asked, giving Cyrus a gleeful smile.

  “I guess I will have to be at this point,” Cyrus shrugged. “Having it explained from several different angles helps a lot. Hard to refute all the evidence presented here. Given the situation, I don’t think anyone would go through all this trouble just to fool me.”

  “I’m glad I could help you, Cyrus,” said Dr. Gupta, beaming.

  “OK, so you’ve shown me the stupid zombies,” Cyrus turned to address Dr. Shen. “I can’t think of any other disease that would cause someone to look the way they do and display the behavior they display. It really only puts one of my questions to bed, though, since I still don’t see how any of this has anything to do with me.”

  The strange pain under his teeth intensified to a nearly unbearable point as he spoke, making him unsure if he could stand it for much longer.

  “You still haven’t told him why he is here?” asked Dr. Gupta, rolling her eyes at Shen and shaking her head in disappointment. “I would think that’s something you should have told him before you released him from the restraints.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is time to tell you the other reason why you are here, Mr. Blackthorn,” said Dr. Shen. “I commend your patience. I didn’t expect you to last this long without asking that question again.”

  “Ahh! Oh, my gosh!” Cyrus howled, the tooth pain erupting into a torrent of agony so severe he thought it would put him out of his mind. He slowly fell to his knees, bearing down on the floor tile, pressing his palms against the ground.

  “Oh, yes,” said Dr. Shen as he looked down at his watch. “Right on time, I nearly forgot.”

  Many of the lab workers turned from their tables, startled by Cyrus’s sudden outburst.

  “It’s OK!” exclaimed Viddur, turning toward the workers. “My friend likes to overreact! It’s just a way to get attention!”

  The staff members immediately turned back to their work, whatever concern they may have felt extinguished.

  “Why does it hurt so much?” Cyrus screamed

  “Tooth pain can be excruciating, Mr. Blackthorn,” said Dr. Shen, remaining irritatingly calm.

  “Why is this happening?” Cyrus looked up to find Elysia staring down at him, only slightly concerned.

  Everyone remained in place, acting as though ordered not to approach him.

  “I’ll spare you the details for the moment,” said Shen. “Your old canines are simply being replaced by longer, sharper ones.”

  Cyrus screamed again.

  Something hard flew out of his mouth, hitting the white tile floor. Cyrus’s hand immediately flew to his mouth, feeling for his top right canine. He pricked his finger on the new tooth, or rather, fang, and nearly drew blood.

  “Last one,” said Dr. Shen.

  Cyrus screamed as the second tooth flew out of his mouth.

  “Exaggerate much?” asked Viddur sarcastically.

  “Oh my gosh.” Cyrus slowly rose to his feet, his pain dissipating at last. “Yet another thing I wish you would have told me before you let it happen.”

  He gave Dr. Shen an accusatory look.

  “Kind of getting tired of this, doctor. Are you going to tell me everything now, or should I just assume that I’m slowly transforming into a cat or something?”

  Cyrus bent down to pick up his old, discarded teeth off the floor, shoving them into his pants pocket.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackthorn, I suppose you are right,” said Shen. “It’s high time I tell you everything that has been done to you and what we have planned. I’ll start by warning you that you can expect your new bottom canines to erupt within the next few hours.”

  “That’s just great,” said Cyrus snidely. “What else you got? Surely you did more than change my dental plan without my permission.”

  He walked closer to where Shen now stood, casually leaning on the examination table nearest him.

  “Very well,” said Shen. “Take a seat, and I’ll tell you.”

  Cyrus took a rolling stool out from under the examination table and sat down to face Dr. Shen. The rest of their group gathered around them.

  “Since you prefer a policy of blatant honesty, I will arrive right at the point,” Shen continued, looking directly at Cyrus. “Both the zombie and vampire populations are exploding. Even though the two diseases cannot spread as quickly as wh
at may be described in myth, they still need some sort of control to ensure their numbers remain manageable. The best-case scenario would be to find an apex predator, or the equivalent, and unleash it upon its natural foe. It would serve as the control, creating a situation like that on the African savannah. I realize we’re speaking about something only moderately similar, but most of the same principles still apply. We need an unnaturally created predator in order to control the unnaturally created prey. That’s where you start to become part of this, Mr. Blackthorn. You will become the first such predator.”

  “What do you mean?” Cyrus was unsure how to feel. “You cured my disease, but…”

  “The process is not yet completed.” Dr. Shen raised a hand to stop him. “However, the procedure has been successful thus far, giving us no reason to assume the total transformation will not be successful as well. I personally look forward to our future partnership after the change is complete. We’ll all be working together for a common goal. You needed a cure, and we provided it. Now you will be our cure. It is only fair.”

  The way Dr. Shen spoke put Cyrus on edge. It was all just too unbelievable, and it made him feel paranoid.

  “Who’s in charge of all of this?” Cyrus asked abruptly.

  “I won’t get into technicalities, Mr. Blackthorn,” said Shen. ”The whole project is supported by the United States government. They provide the funding and support our efforts in many other ways, all in secrecy, of course. This need for secrecy is why we can’t let you leave, at least not anytime in the near future. The government would like to keep the fact that you are still alive a secret, as any information to the contrary could potentially lead to mass panic. After all, if the public learns of your existence, they will soon learn of the existence of zombie-ism and vampirism.”

  “Your stay here will be a comfortable one.” Shen skipped to what he felt was the conversation’s natural conclusion. “As you know, we are a multi-billion dollar organization, and we’re more than capable of providing you with everything you need. You will not be permitted to venture outside under any capacity, however.”

  “I see,” said Cyrus, thinking what he was about to say might start an argument. “What if I don’t want to do this?”

  “Excuse my phrasing, but you don’t have a choice in the matter, Mr. Blackthorn. We’ve given you a gift: the one thing you have always wanted but could never obtain. Since we have now given you this thing, this ‘cure,’ it’s now your turn to return the favor. Besides that, you are intended to be the first of your kind, and if everything proceeds as planned, the most effective defense against a plague that could get out of hand at any point. Humanity will need you.”

  “Forget all-access and the various amenities or whatever.” Cyrus felt he might become enraged at Shen’s call to duty. “This is indentured servitude, or borderline slavery even. Surely none of this is legal.”

  “Normally, it wouldn’t be,” Shen admitted. “However, in this case, we don’t have the convenience of adhering to the law or deciding what is ethical or not. Either way, the decision has already been made. You will remain here.”

  Chapter XI

  Sadistic Savagery

  “Hey man, how’s it going?” Asher asked as he sat down across from Milo at their company’s table.

  He’d had an entire morning of firearms practice, all but sprinting away from the range when the clock struck twelve, eager for a break at last. Asher had progressed through the cafeteria line in no time since the place was nearly void of any personnel.

  “Can’t complain.” Milo shrugged and gazed at Asher through his extremely thick glasses, his blue eyes magnified by the lenses. “Food is good, or at least it’s improved from the slop they used to give us. Hard to beat scrambled eggs and bacon.”

  “Hmm…” Asher frowned down at his tray, trying to pick up the eggs with his fork as they slid off. “So what’s with the breakfast food?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Milo looked back up from his tray. “We always have breakfast for lunch at the base. It’s because we have to follow the vampires’ schedule. Most of the time, they want us up before dusk and down right after dawn, though it depends on what rotation you’re on. It will make more sense when we’re off the daytime rotation. Whichever way, the officers like to have breakfast when they wake up, which is usually late afternoon.”

  “So the reason the place is so empty right now is that nearly everyone else is asleep?” Asher looked up from his meal, his voice echoing throughout the nearly empty cafeteria.

  A few of the soldiers sitting at a nearby table turned to frown at him, displeased with the volume of his voice.

  “That would be correct,” said Milo, taking a bite of egg. “The base doesn’t come alive until like five or so, when the majority of our soldiers are up.”

  “I take it that our whole company is on a daytime rotation?”

  Asher brought a bit of egg into his mouth, frowning when he found that it lacked flavor.

  “Our platoon is, but not the rest of the company.” Milo paused to think. “They should have us back on nighttime rotation pretty soon after they bring the platoon numbers back up.”

  “What do you mean ‘bring the numbers back up’?” Asher felt a sharp tingle going down his spine and a chill growing in the air.

  “We haven’t experienced any major losses for quite a while now, or so I’ve been told. The Legion’s been kind of nickeled and dimed lately, personnel-wise, and they’re taking a while to bring in some recruits and reorganize the platoons a little bit. It’s not anything to be excited about. Just kind of business as usual around here.” Milo grew silent, unwilling to say anything more, remembering something painful.

  They both focused solely on their plates for a while. The sound of their silverware upon the plastic trays served as the only noise coming from their section of the table.

  “So how did you find out vampires were real?” asked Asher, unable to stand the silence any longer. He knew it was better than trying to persuade Milo to tell him about his deceased bunkmate.

  “I would rather not talk about it.” Milo looked up to speak to Asher directly before immediately turning his attention back to his meal.

  “Come on, man, you gotta tell me something.” Asher smiled, trying not to sound as though he were pleading. “You haven’t wanted to talk about anything. Well, at least not since I started bunking with you. The whole thing about me shooting that vampire in the face with a 9mm is already common knowledge around here. The least you could do is swap stories with me.”

  Milo sighed, frustrated. “I suppose when you put it that way, I might as well.” Even as he said it, he sounded doubtful that he would tell Asher his story.

  “OK,” said Asher, hoping to lead him into it. “How did it happen?”

  “Hey, don’t rush me.” Milo put up his left hand, stopping the line of questioning. “It’s not the easiest story to tell, and I don’t care to relive it. I’ll tell you. Just give me a minute.”

  Asher went silent and waited for Milo to go on with his story.

  Just when he had nearly given up, Milo looked up from his meal and began. “So I used to be an EMT.”

  “Tough job. Terrible hours for terrible pay.”

  “Do you want me to tell the story or not?”

  “Oh, sorry, I thought we were having a conversation.” Asher’s face went red. “Go ahead.”

  “Anyway, so I used to be an EMT in St. Louis, probably about a year or so ago,” Milo continued. He looked blankly at the wall, his thousand-yard stare giving off a dramatic effect. “Me and my partner, Darrell, we used to work mostly downtown. Darrell was supposed to be kind of like my mentor, you know, showing me the ropes. We got this call. Stabbing victim. Not at all out of the ordinary for the particular location. I’m sure the locals wished it wasn’t like that, but that’s the reality. Anyway, so we head out to rendezvous with the cops and go pick him up. We didn’t know there were ferals out.”

  “Sorry, but what exactly
is a ‘feral’?” Asher frowned, feeling it was important to the story. “Don’t mean to interrupt, I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “A feral is a rogue vampire.”

  Milo stabbed at a hash brown.

  “Most of the vampires we kill are part of the organization, but not ferals. They’re too animalistic to be involved with them. Can’t be trusted to carry out any task without getting sidetracked. Not good for their bottom line. Anyway, most ferals still hunt in groups, but every once in a while you get a loner that’s too wild to be part of any hunting party. That’s what found us that night.”

  Milo paused once again, remembering something traumatic. He was affected by some kind of inner pain. He sat there motionless for several seconds.

  “Milo,” said Asher, trying to pull him out of his trance.

  “Yes, what?” Milo asked, suddenly snapping out of the spell.

  “So, as you were saying…”

  “Oh, sorry.” Milo gave him an embarrassed grin. ”Well, anyway, on this call, we were already near the location, so we got there way before the cops did. There was no sign of the perp, so we thought we were safe. Well, as safe as we could be in this particular part of town. Me and Darrell, we had a hard time finding the victim. The guy wasn’t where they said he was. Not sure if he walked away or what, but we tracked him by following the trail of blood. We found him a couple of blocks away, but there was somebody already there, crouched down, leaning over his body. I thought it was just some ordinary gangbanger at first, but when it looked up at us with those ghostly blue eyes, we knew we weren’t dealing with anything human. I had no idea what I was looking at. Just knew I was terrified.”

  Milo stopped, trying to remember, his magnified eyes wide with intensity.

  “He… He came at me first,” Milo started again, his voice labored. ”Guess I wasn’t what he was looking for because he just threw me against a wall and broke a few of my ribs and my arm. Yeah, I know it sounds terrible, but it was nothing compared to what it did to Darrell. He went right for his throat, like they do, and fed. Nearly ripped his head clean off when he tore into him.” His voice shook when he spoke, causing him to choke up on his words.