Doc Harrison and the Apocalypse

by Peter Telep

  Finally, I lift my arm. Feels like I’m underwater. I catch sight of my wrist. I’m pale. I’m talking really pale, like they sent me to Antarctica for a year to hike across glaciers.

  The effort’s too much. My arm drops to the bed. I dig for my phone. Again. And again.

  My breath’s ragged now. The tears come too easily. Don’t be weak. Don’t feel helpless.

  But this feels like the day mom left.

  It took her an hour to explain herself. She could’ve said, “I’m leaving,” and just took off. I guess her big monologue was for her, not us. I’ve never had the courage to ask Dad why he just sat there. Maybe he knew, like I did.

  We were three people, each living inside of our own little bubble.

  I try to sit up.

  Nausea. Dizziness. Darkness.

  * * *

  “Name’s Keane,” he says after shutting the door. “Not that you care.” He takes one look at me and sighs. “You should’ve made more progress by now.”

  He’s roughly my age and built like an awkward dinosaur with an exaggerated neck and arms a bit too stubby for his torso. Feathery brown hair falls in his eyes. And what’s with the wrinkled grey shirt? Looks like hospital scrubs.

  I push up on my elbows and try to answer, but my voice is scratchy and won’t rise above a whisper. And hey, moving my arm? It’s easier now.

  Keane shifts to the cart, retrieves a plastic cup, and pours me a glass of water. “You’re not drinking enough.”

  I accept the glass. The water feels incredible on my throat, and I gesture for a refill.

  He makes a face. “Do me a favor? Don’t talk.”

  I frown. Is this guy for real?

  He continues, “What I mean is, I don’t know anything. I’m just here to take care of noobs till you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  He smirks. “Docherty. Sounds like a last name.”

  “It’s Doc. And how do you know me? Where’s my father?”

  Keane throws his hands in the air. “Why is it always about you and never about me? What about who I am and how I got here? What about my life?”

  Without warning, he seizes my wrists and drags me from the bed. For all of two seconds I bear my own weight before my knees buckle. He drapes my arm over his shoulders.

  “What happened to me?”

  “You got sick. Anyway, your tubes are gone, so it’s time for the bathroom.” He carries me toward a door, swings it open, and then tells me to grab the handrails mounted on the wall beside the toilet. I do, and he helps me down. “Don’t let go. I don’t feel like scraping you off the floor.”

  I sit and tug up my pajama shirt. I’m only about five feet ten and usually pretty skinny, but right now I’m going for that prisoner of war look. It’s like I’ve been here for weeks. I run fingers through my hair, and it does feel a little longer, with a few light brown wisps falling into eyes. I face Keane. “Please, tell me something besides your name.”

  His eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Like where are we? This some kind of hospital? And how long have you been here?”

  He swallows. “You’re the first one who’s ever asked.”

  “How many have you helped?”

  He waves a finger at me. “I see what you did there. You can’t trick me into answering.”

  “But you know where my father is...”

  He huffs and slams the door in my face. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.” Suddenly, he yanks open the door and adds, “My father got sick up in the Highlands and died.” Keane shuts his eyes, wrestling with a memory.

  “Where are the Highlands? Wait, I mean, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. And look, I get it. You’re a special case. So one minute you’re doing your life, whatever that is, and the next you’re here, and you’re like...” he waves his hands and mimes a scream. “But this is all I do. I come into the dorms, and I help people like you. You should be glad you’re here.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “You like it better outside?

  “Look, I know you people have Julie and Tommy and my father. Where are they?”

  Keane shrugs. “They only tell me what I need to know, and that’s fine with me.”

  “Who are they?”

  An alarm blares from outside the room. It sounds like a self-destruct sequence, and the next thing you know a female computer voice will issue a countdown.

  Keane grabs my shoulders and lifts me off the toilet before I can go. He raises a brow. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “This.” He opens my door and shoves me outside.

  I crash to the floor, roll over, and glance up.

  I’m in a long, dark corridor right out of some lame horror movie. Lights shimmer along the baseboards.

  Two figures appear at the end. They stop. Look at me—

  And then break into a sprint like vampires in a blood rage.

  My limbs are useless toothpicks. I retreat about a meter before I’m dragged to my feet.

  I catch a glimpse of them: two girls no older than Julie with bodies like Marvel superheroes in neon-colored athletic gear. Their sneakers must cost a fortune.

  One of them growls in my ear, “Welcome to Orientation.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I’m dragged to some kind of fitness center crammed with machines for muscleheads. I tried lifting weights once. They were heavy, and I’m definitely not into picking up heavy things and putting them back down.

  But here I am, all withered and pale, and I clutch the rails of a treadmill that’s hardly moving. Lifting my feet requires an insane amount of effort.

  Just behind me, the girls shout like drill sergeants who’ve chugged gallons of Monster Energy. I imagine their veins glowing beneath their skin.

  With nothing to lose, I commence operation Find Out Where You Are by employing my expert interrogation skills.

  They ignore me.

  Finally, Steffanie, the ginger with the long ponytail, hands me a metallic cup. She orders me to drink through the straw. It’s a chocolate shake. Cold. Good.

  Within a minute I finish the shake. Within two minutes I’ve made a decision.

  I’m done. No more playing their games.

  I stop walking and allow the treadmill to spit me out.

  Meeka, a girl with perfectly cut black bangs like an anime character, catches me and asks, “Can’t handle a little pain?” Her accent could be a combination of Japanese and British English, but it’s not, not exactly. It’s just… strange. And while she looks sort of Asian, I get the feeling she’s not.

  I tense. “Where’s my father?”

  She hauls me to my feet. “More useless questions when you should be working harder. This is life and death, right? Everyone’s depending on you. This is a great privilege and a huge responsibility.”

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  Steffanie chuckles. “I thought Keane would tell him.”

  “I know,” says Meeka. “When has he ever shut up?”

  My lip twitches, and here comes that ache in the back of my eyes. “Julie’s here, isn’t she?”

  Steffanie shrugs. “We’re wasting time.” The girls force me back onto the treadmill.

  Once there, I decide to shut down the unit, but the console is a plate of dark glass with no visible controls. I grab the rail and step off the ramp, standing bowlegged like a cowboy.

  “Why can’t they just be patient?” Meeka says with a sigh. “Don’t they understand? We’re saving their lives.”

  “These ones are different,” Stephanie says.

  I put some steel in my voice. “I’m done listening to you.”

  They come up on either side of me, tossing glances over their shoulders, as though we’re being watched. I don’t see any cameras. Maybe it’s all an act.

  Meeka widens her eyes. “We’re not supposed to tell you, but if you do what we say, and you get better—ge
t stronger—they’ll answer all your questions.”

  “That’s right,” says Steffanie. “We came from the outside just like you. But then we did what we were told, and it all worked out. We’re only here to help.”

  “What happened? Why did they take my dad? What do you need us for?”

  They just look at me.

  I tremble and speak faster. “This is against the law. You get that, right? Everyone’s going to jail. You can’t kidnap people and expect to get away with it—duh.”

  Steffanie takes a deep breath. “You still don’t get how lucky you are? The training will keep you alive, even if you get kicked out.”

  “What training? What does that mean?”

  She wriggles her brows. “You’ll find out.”

  “What happened to me? How did I get like this? How long was I knocked out?”

  Meeka raises her voice, “I’m sorry, Doc, but we need to get back to work. Remember what we said. If you do well and get stronger, you’ll be a lot happier. It’s as simple as that.”

  I shiver. “I don’t believe you.”

  And then I’m on her, a werewolf myself, albeit a weak one. My hands lock around her throat. I successfully cut off her air as she falls onto her back.

  Steffanie grabs my forearms and, in one fluid motion, she plucks me off her partner and shoves me into the treadmill.

  Meeka takes a long, deep breath, rubs her throat, and then grins. “We’re making progress!”

  * * *

  So they try something else. Pool time. The water’s clear, salty. The room’s poorly lit like the rest of the place, the ceiling a dome of dancing shadows. We’re the only ones here, me and my new girlfriends from the underworld.

  Speaking of worlds, mine consists of three rooms linked by gloomy halls forming a digestive system of suffering. No witty hashtag phrase could ever do this justice.

  They want me to do laps. Are they serious? I might live in Florida, but we’ve never owned a pool. Dad said we wouldn’t use it, and he wasn’t prepared to throw money out the window on chlorine, plus leaves and dead snakes and frogs always clog up the filter. Julie has a pool, but I’ve only been in it once—

  Because I tripped and accidentally fell in on that day we did Spanish tutoring on her back porch.

  Presently, I’m performing a pathetic breaststroke, trying not to drown. I do feel better and the energy shakes did help. Still, I need to stop and catch my breath. I realize that the water out here in the middle is shallow. I stand up. The girls scowl. I swim to the other end, and once there, my throat tightens. I’m getting all weepy again. How can they expect me to “get ready” when I’m here in this prison or whatever it is, and everyone’s missing? If “they” are so smart, why didn’t “they” make predictions about how I might act?

  I mean, what would they do if I tried to kill myself?

  I’m not serious, but let’s see if they come running.

  After a deep breath, I close my eyes and submerge. I recall that day on the island when I was ten and swimming in the surf, pretending to drown. Dad “saved” me and freaked out, yelling, “Never do that again!”

  It was weird, too, because he got overly emotional, as if imagining my death gave him permission to open up. He went off on his research with particles and “entanglement,” and I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He said terrible things had happened, but they would never happen again. He wanted me to know that people needed him. His work was important. I believed him. Why wouldn’t I?

  A deep, aching sensation begins in my chest, like when you sip hot cocoa and it goes down too fast. And then it’s like a pulsating pressure on my ribs.

  A light pops on somewhere nearby. I take a chance and open my eyes.

  There it is, floating underwater, a shimmering globe of what resembles static TV, with millions of particles flickering inside. The globe morphs into a face. Hard to tell who it is... until it floats closer.

  It’s me.

  Lean face. A few moles. Eyes staring widely.

  Chills crawl up my spine. The globe shifts left, then right, then back again, panning too fast to follow. Streaks of light stitch an expanding web before my eyes—

  Until I’m hauled out of the water and plopped on the deck. I lay there, soaking wet and struggling to breathe.

  “Is that normal?” Steffanie asks Meeka.

  Meeka draws back her head. “I’m not sure. They said he was messed up. Maybe he’ll be easier than we think.”

  Steffanie nods. “How long did it take you the first time?”

  “Oh, like two weeks to fully project. You?”

  “Like a month. They say what blood type he is? He could come from a good line.”

  “No.”

  I raise my head and blink through the salty water. “What just happened?”

  The girls exchange a knowing look and walk away.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  They hurry out and slam the door after themselves.

  I’m alone, staring across the pool. Only the sound of my breathing, and the walls heaving with more shadows.

  A moment later, the door opens, and it’s her.

  Or at least a girl that was her.

  Julie.

  She’s a scrawny ghost of herself, dressed like Steffanie and Meeka. She waves me over.

  I get to my feet and start running, no matter how hard it is. I’m crying from the pain and from being able to see her again and from feeling like such a victim.

  By the time I reach the door, she’s gone. I head outside, into the corridor, and there she is, at the next intersection, waving me on again.

  This time I’ll catch her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  So let me tell you another secret.

  Well, it’s more a confession, really.

  As annoying as she is, I’m actually in love with Ms. Julie Carter. Seriously.

  And I’ll tell you why she’s the most awesome girl in the Sunshine State.

  When I was seven years old, I was playing on the monkey bars at our day care. I fell off and broke my arm. Julie saw it happen. She ran and got Ms. Sally.

  For weeks after, Julie carried my backpack. She played board games with me during recess, and she helped me in and out of my sling. She signed my cast and dotted the “I” with a heart.

  That’s when I started loving her.

  Of course I never told her, but I said something like “we were meant to be together.” She told me she felt the same but described it as a brother/sister thing, which crushed me. All through middle school she kept her distance, and when boys suggested that they liked her, I told them to forget about it. They didn’t have a chance.

  Then, being two years older, she went off to Winter Springs Prep. I didn’t see much of her during those days. She’d get off the bus, wave, and vanish. I’d volunteer to wash her mother’s car or cut the grass as an excuse to be at her house. Sometimes she’d help me. Sometimes she’d be in her room, giggling with her friends.

  There was one night when she came over with her mom, and I asked her about school, since I was headed there in a few weeks. She was like a rock star in most of her classes, and I was hoping to get a few tips.

  Instead though, we sat in old lawn chairs, staring up at the moon. She talked about some cosplay thing that she and her friends were doing for Megacon. She was excited about that, but then her voice tightened as she brought up the dream.

  She saw my father, along with a woman who had a baby. She thought the baby was me. She saw her mother, and another man, maybe her father. He died when she was just two. There was screaming. Running. Violence. We always said that her nightmare wasn’t anything to worry about, just stress or fears.

  But that night, I’ll never forget it, she started crying. She wanted to tell me something, but she didn’t know how.

  And then, out of nowhere, she said my mother died in the dream. Every time. She’d been wanting to tell me. She felt certain it was my mother. No one else. The dream might be a mem
ory.

  “Well that proves you wrong,” I said. “My mom’s back in the house, and everything’s fine, so it’s just a nightmare.”

  She nodded, but that got me thinking.

  A few days later, I finally got up the courage to ask my father, “Is Grace my real mother?”

  He laughed. “No, she’s an android. I built her at work.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I mean is she my stepmom?”

  He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. I just—”

  “She’s your mother, Doc.”

  I hardened my voice. “Biological?”

  His frown deepened. “Did she talk to you?”

  I shook my head. “Why are you so defensive?”

  “Who talked to you then?” he asked—

  But I heard the tremor in his voice. Guilty as charged.

  “So she’s not my real mother.”

  He closed his eyes and thought a moment. “You’re right. I guess I’ve tried too hard to protect you. And Grace has too.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “Life, I guess.”

  “This is really... whoa... I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Doc, I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? What’s the big deal?”

  He removed his glasses. His gaze drifted past me, and his eyes turned glassy. “Your mom passed away a long time ago. Grace and I thought about telling you, but then... it didn’t seem important anymore. We thought, when he’s older, we’ll tell him. But then life goes on, right?”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel. Betrayed? Relieved? Actually, I felt numb, but then I remembered what Julie had told me.

  “She was right...” I mumbled to myself.

  “Who? What’re you talking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  I ran off to school, and when my father tried to bring it up again, I just blew him off.

  I shared the conversation with Julie. She went home and asked her mother about the dream, but her mom just got all uncomfortable and blew her off.

  It’s kind of ironic that all I wanted to do was spend more time with Julie, and all that I got was a shocking revelation about my family.

  You’d think chasing after Julie was bad luck.