“I don’t understand what he intends to do with them,” Luther whined. “They’ve been sitting in the holding tank for two months, just taking up space. Blood disease carriers or not, they’re food. Couldn’t they just be rations?”
“Whatever their purpose is, I’m sure it’s an important one.” Mara glanced back at Luther. “The Surgeon doesn’t deal in the mundane. Why else would he put out a special order? I’m sure we’ll get them back as rations when he is through.”
“Would you both shut up?” Anoura turned to hiss at them. “The sooner we deliver the children, the sooner we get our rations, so let’s stop all the whining!”
Luther and Mara went silent, not wanting to aggravate their superior further.
“Are we there yet?” asked Isaac. He looked at Imani through the slits in the side of his carrier, careful to keep his voice down.
“I don’t know,” Imani whispered. “Just be quiet. You know how they don’t like us to talk.”
“Hey!” Luther slapped the side of Imani’s carrier. “Keep it down in there!”
The group continued down the hallway. Luther answered Isaac’s question moments later, the vampire parking the trolley beside a plain-looking wooden door.
“Sir!” Anoura rapped on the door. “We are here with the children!”
They waited as The Surgeon rushed to the door. The trio patiently stood by as he quickly unlatched the many locks barring it.
“Ah, never can be too careful these days.” He pulled the door open wide, holding it and allowing them to pass through. “I have quite a few valuable things in here.”
“Here are the children, sir, just as requested,” said Anoura, passing through the door.
Mara followed, and then Luther entered with the trolley. Each of them stopped when they entered The Surgeon’s office, finding it filled with many strange things.
Sharp-bladed objects and torture devices hung from the walls along with several shelves full of a multitude of specimen jars. The body parts of various creatures or whole organisms themselves were encapsulated within. Piles of junk sat upon several tables and file cabinets. Several dried skins, both human and otherwise, were scattered in the stacks. The rest was a grotesque, jumbled mess, full of even more strange and horrifying objects piled up in such a way that they were difficult to identify. The Surgeon had all kinds of staff under his heel, but a maid wasn’t one of them.
“Just park the trolley over there.” The Surgeon pointed to the cleared corner near a wooden desk marred with what looked like knife marks. “You can leave it in here. I’ll have somebody else run it back later.”
Luther parked the trolley in the specified spot, releasing the handle as his attention turned to what hung above The Surgeon’s desk.
Imani gazed up at the wall through the slits in her carrier, curious to see what kept the vampire so enthralled. The bulky metal knife handles that hung on the wall caught her eye. Above those was a single, elongated object that appeared to be a metal cricket bat. They weren’t very interesting at first glance. Their only appeal was that they didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of The Surgeon’s collection.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked Anoura, ready to leave. She was not at all taken by any of the strange things she saw.
“That should be all for the moment,” said The Surgeon, giving Luther a suspicious look.
“Come on, Luther,” said Anoura, digging her claws into his arm to pull him away. He was as immobile as a statue.
Anoura continued to pull, not understanding his fascination with the objects. They looked useless to her.
“I see you’re admiring my weapons, uh…” The Surgeon regarded Luther thoughtfully, as though he needed help.
“Luther,” he frowned, wondering how The Surgeon could forget his name.
“Yes, Luther. Try not to be so forgettable in the future,” The Surgeon advised. “I see you’re admiring my weapons.”
“I don’t know if I would use the word ‘admiring,’ sir.” Luther shrugged. “I just want to know what they are and why they’re up on the wall like that. To be honest, they don’t look like weapons to me. You’d probably be better off with a baseball bat.”
“Huh.” The Surgeon stepped behind the desk to take one of the smaller objects from the wall. “Yes, I suppose if you just go by appearances, no, they don’t look dangerous enough to be weapons. Your assumption would be wrong, though.” He held the object in his hand the way one might hold a knife, turning around so they could all see. “All of these were created in our labs in the east and are gifts from The Master.” The Surgeon flipped a switch on the side.
The object emitted a flash of light, a red laser beam erupting from the end. The beam was nearly a foot long and glowed like the arc from a welding torch, blazing a fiery red even against the red lighting in the room.
“Why would The Master give these to you?” asked Luther, forgetting his place.
Anoura glared at him, irritated, wishing he could keep his mouth shut.
“I don’t know,” said The Surgeon, pressing the pointer finger of his free hand to his chin. “She just wanted to get rid of them, I suppose, though I can’t imagine why.”
His eyes fell back on the object in his hand. “This is a plasma knife.”
He waved it around dramatically.
“Not significantly different from the plasma torches the blood bags use for welding. The main difference is that the beam is much more powerful and burns much hotter. The power source is condensed, so that the user no longer plugs anything in or must lug around some clunky machine. It easily cuts through flesh as well as body armor, even the more advanced sets. Best used for thrusting or stabbing.”
The Surgeon made several thrusting motions with the beam blade before spinning it around, jamming it down into the top of his desk. He flipped the switch once more, causing the beam to disappear.
“This long one up here is a plasma sword.” The Surgeon placed the knife back on the wall, taking the sword down to show them. He flipped the switch, causing a long red light to run down the length of the blade, from filament to filament.
“A little more complicated than the knife, but the same basic technology has been applied.” He took the handle in both hands, holding it like a samurai’s katana. “Once again, extremely powerful with a condensed power source, though with a longer plasma stream. Slices through flesh like butter.”
He swung the blade around several times, his last strike nearly hitting the desk.
“It’s just too bad I have nothing to demonstrate on.” The Surgeon looked suggestively toward Luther, causing him to take a step back. He continued to stare at him, as though he might test the sword out on his underling.
“Oh, well, I suppose you get the idea.” The Surgeon shrugged, switching the weapon off, the bright red beam disappearing immediately. He moved to place it back on the wall.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked Anoura, growing impatient.
“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot.” The Surgeon turned away from the wall, reaching over his desk for a piece of paper.
Finding it, he walked around his desk and presented the paper to Anoura. She frowned down at it, as she found The Surgeon’s scribbled handwriting difficult to read.
“I need you to pick up a specimen at the address listed,” he said.
“You’re sending us out for a specimen pick-up in the middle of the day?” Luther finally lost his cool.
The Surgeon shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be easy. I used to go out in the daylight all the time before The Master transferred me down here. Wear some sunglasses, and you’ll be fine. You won’t melt!”
“Any specifics other than what is written here, sir?” asked Anoura, hoping to stop Luther before he flew into a rant.
“Not at all.” The Surgeon gave her a knowing, though somehow inappropriate grin. “Just go to the location and pick up the specimen. It’s all written there.”
“Can we have our daily rations befor
e we make the pick-up?” asked Luther, a hint of worry to his voice.
“Of course,” said The Surgeon. “I’m already sending you out in the daylight. I won’t have you starve as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Luther smiled like an idiot before turning to rush out the door. Mara followed close behind.
“We will be back with your specimen as soon as possible, sir,” said Anoura. She kicked up the stopper and closing the door behind her.
“That woman.” The Surgeon clasped his hands together, grinning fondly at the closed door. “One of my best delivery people. One of my best personnel, really.” He stood for a moment longer before walking toward the children.
“Hello, children.” The Surgeon squatted in front of the carriers. “Would you like some candy?”
His smile was friendly and genuine despite his fangs, but Imani still found something off about him.
“Candy!” Isaac’s eyes lit up for the first time in months. “I wanna piece!” he shouted, crawling to the door of his carrier, excited. He stuck his hands through the bars, quivering with anticipation.
“Ah-ha! That’s more like it.” The Surgeon took a large bag of Skittles from the corner of his desk. “Just one piece? Pfft…” The Surgeon scoffed. “I think I can do better than that. Hold out your hands.” He dumped half the bag into Isaac’s hands, sending candy rolling onto both the floor and the bottom of the carrier.
“Oh, boy!” Isaac exclaimed before shoving a whole handful in his mouth.
“Would you like some candy, little girl?” asked The Surgeon, his cold eyes meeting Imani’s as he looked down at her.
“Uh…” she hesitated, afraid to say yes.
“Ur not ‘ungry ‘moni?” Isaac asked through a mouth full of Skittles.
“Yes! Please!” Imani couldn’t contain herself any longer. She eagerly put her hands through the door of the carrier, not wanting to miss out. She didn’t like taking candy from the man, but she was too hungry to resist.
“Ready? Here you go.” The Surgeon dumped the rest of the bag into Imani’s hands, not at all concerned by the mess he made.
Imani shoved her face into her Skittle-filled hands, greedily devouring the candies.
Isaac was on his second handful, ravenously shoving it all into his mouth. Hands free, he picked up the dropped candy from the bottom of the carrier.
“Yes, eat it quickly, children.” The Surgeon dropped the empty candy bag into the trashcan beside his desk. “I will administer your shots as soon as you are finished.” He walked over to a junk-laden table, pulled a small metal case from under the wreckage, and placed it down on his desk.
“No! Not a shot!” Isaac protested, candy spewing from his mouth. “All they give us are shots!” He hastily scraped candy off the floor, sticking his hand through the bars of his carrier to reach it.
“Nonsense,” said The Surgeon dismissively. He pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab coat and began to put them on. “Shots never hurt when I give them.”
Imani swallowed, immediately shoving her second handful of candy into her mouth.
The Surgeon opened the case, revealing multiple drug-filled vials and syringes. Taking two syringes from the case, he placed one in his coat pocket and used the other to draw fluid from one of the vials as he held it up in the red light. “Give me your arm.” The Surgeon leaned down beside Isaac’s carrier.
The boy clenched his wrist, a worried look on his face.
“Give him your arm, Isaac,” said Imani, swallowing the last of her candy. She didn’t know how The Surgeon might react if they didn’t follow his instructions. “It’s going to be OK. I know it will,” she whispered, wishing she could believe it.
“Your name is Isaac?” asked The Surgeon, reading the boy’s armband.
“Uh-huh,” said Isaac, still scared.
“Just hold your arm out through the bars,” coaxed The Surgeon. “I promise it won’t hurt.” He smiled at Isaac, his pointed fangs betraying his sincerity.
Isaac begrudgingly put his arm through the bars.
The Surgeon took him by the wrist, clenching Isaac’s arm in his clawed, bone-white hand. He moved to prick the boy with the needle. Isaac turned away, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, preparing for pain.
“Look over there, Isaac.” The Surgeon pointed to a spot on the wall.
“Over where?” Isaac opened his eyes, turning his head to see what The Surgeon indicated.
The Surgeon gently stuck the needle through Isaac’s skin, pushing down the plunger to administer the drug.
“Are you going to give me a shot?” Isaac asked.
“I already have.” The Surgeon threw the used needle at the trashcan, missing it entirely. “My apologies, children.” The Surgeon unwrapped a Band-Aid and stuck it on Isaac’s arm. “I do not have any Band-Aids with cartoon characters on them.”
Isaac groaned, looking down at the plain pink Band-Aid.
The Surgeon rose onto his feet and walked back to the desk, taking a second vial from the case. He drew out the fluid with the syringe he had been saving in his pocket.
“OK, now it’s your turn.” The Surgeon squatted beside Imani’s carrier. “What’s your name?”
“Imani,” she said halfheartedly, not buying his antics.
“Hold out your arm, Imani.” He grinned once more.
Imani shoved her arm through the bars, tired of the man’s unnecessary insistence on pleasantries. He would administer shots regardless of whether they cooperated or not.
“Good girl,” said The Surgeon, grasping her wrist.
Imani looked away. She didn’t like watching the needle penetrate the skin.
“And there we go,” said The Surgeon. He flung the needle at the trashcan, successfully landing the shot this time.
“Are you going to let us out?” asked Isaac, having no more candy to keep him occupied.
“I will eventually, but only after you take a nap.” The Surgeon walked back toward his desk, pulling out a rolling chair to sit down. “You children are going to help me with my research.”
“A nap?” Isaac asked in protest. “We just woke up!”
“Aren’t you tired?” asked The Surgeon.
“No!”
“I’m sure your attitude will be changing very soon.” The Surgeon gazed back toward the carriers from where he sat. His cold, blue eyes were the very picture of serenity.
“I don’t feel tired.” Imani yawned, however, and leaned against the side of her carrier. She yawned for a few more moments before looking through the slits at her side.
She found Isaac sprawled out on the floor of his carrier, already asleep. With no way to prevent it, Imani closed her eyes, drifting into unconsciousness.
Chapter XXVI
Immunity
“Man, the weight bench is for, you know, lifting weights. What are you doing sleeping on it?”
Asher opened his eyes to find Aaron staring down at him, his face upside down, both his hands resting on the barbell of the 310-pound weight.
The gym was nearly silent this morning, all but void of Legion personnel. It was one of the places on the base the Legion had bothered to furnish or decorate. Workout equipment filled the space, TVs hung from the ceiling, and pictures of cartoon people exercising were painted on the walls. A full-sized track encircled the area.
“I don’t know.” Asher sat back up on the weight bench, his voice echoing across the room. Nearly the whole Legion was still in bed, sleeping off last night’s operation. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Asher had spent most of his evening staring up at the ceiling from his bunk, too restless for sleep. He occasionally looked over at Driscoll’s empty bed only to feel a sickly, depressive shock wash over him each time. Though he had never grown close to the corporal, the sense of loss clawed at him. Driscoll was yet another corpse on Asher’s pile of the dead.
“Driscoll?” Aaron asked, stopping Asher before he closed his eyes again.
As
her swung his legs over the side of the bench and leaned down to pick up his water bottle. “Who else?” he asked before taking a drink. The loss of the corporal put him in mind of his own family. He missed his brothers greatly, but there was nothing to do about it. They were dead. He tried not to dwell on them.
Asher had put in for leave as soon as the option was available, hoping to visit his mother at the asylum soon. He called her several times throughout his duty, though he couldn’t tell her anything about the Legion. Most of their conversations consisted of convoluted stories concerning his past work as a police officer. Asher was sure she knew something was up.
“Yeah. I hear you.” Aaron shook his head. He took a seat at the arm press machine across from Asher. “Training with the guy kind of sucked, but he ended up being a better group leader than I thought he would. Never really grew on me as a person, though. Kind of a jerk and hard to get along with.”
“Yeah, I never really cared for him either.” Asher sat his bottle back down. “Loss itself is pretty rough, though.”
“You heard anything else about what happened to him?”
“I haven’t heard anything other than what Tarango told us.” Asher leaned up to talk to him.
“Yeah, I haven’t heard anything either.” Aaron shook his head again before looking down at the floor, his depression unmistakable by his posture. “Don’t know why they couldn’t have said something last night. Maybe they think that since we didn’t find a body that the vampire ran off with and…” He paused and gazed up at Asher. “Uh… took care of him…”
“Pretty likely, the vamps being what they are.” Asher stared down at his socks, suddenly realizing they didn’t match. “I’ve been trying to find Ito for most of the morning. You know…” he stopped, feeling he had missed something. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any officers this morning.” He frowned back up at Aaron.
“Where is everybody?” asked Aaron, raising his voice and looking around the nearly empty room.
Fall Prey: The Hunt Page 37