Rising Up
By
R S J Gregory
Copyright © R S J Gregory, 2014
The right of R S J Gregory to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him.
Cover illustration by Dawn Austin.
http://www.austinillustration.net.
All Rights Reserved.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of R S J Gregory.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
About the author
For my wife, Anneline.
You make me fly higher than I thought was possible.
One
Am I dead?
I can’t feel my arms. I try and open my eyes, but nothing happens.
My body doesn’t seem to be responding to me at all. I feel numb all over.
I feel cold. Not playing outside in the snow kind of cold, but deep in your bones frozen, like I’m never gonna feel warmth ever again.
God, that’s a scary thought.
But wait. I’m thinking. So that means my brain must be working. I hope.
Oh god, please don’t let me be dead.
I can’t feel anything beneath me. It’s like I’m floating in space, with just darkness all around me and the cold.
There’s no sound. Or maybe I just can’t hear anything because I’m deaf.
Oh, no, please don’t let me be deaf.
Think, Britney. What do you remember?
I have a vague memory of Mitchell looking at me. We began coughing.
Why were we coughing?
Oh, the mist. The mist that came in from outside the Lincoln Memorial.
The Lincoln Memorial? What were we doing there?
Think. Why am I so confused? What happened?
I remember a smell. The last thing I smelled was this really awful stench. I think it was the purple mist. It smelled like garbage mixed with gasoline. It made my eyes water.
The mist? Where did it come from?
I begin to feel heavier now, like I’m being pulled down by invisible hands.
I feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips, then I feel my head pressing against something hard.
Oh, thank god, I’m not dead.
I can hear something now. Not much. Just a high pitch whine at first, but now it’s getting lower in pitch. It’s like I’m inside a huge cave, with sounds echoing around me.
There’s a lot of noise, but it’s all overlapping, I can’t make out what it is.
I try and open my eyes, but all I see is bright light everywhere. It hurts my eyes, so I close them again. I can feel more in my fingers and arms now.
Nothing in my legs. But what else is new.
My back feels cold, but this time I think it’s the floor that’s cold. It feels like I’m lying on concrete. Where am I? Are we still in the Memorial?
I open my eyes again. Wow, that’s bright. Damn, it still hurts.
A hand grabs my shoulder, then a familiar voice is calling my name.
“Britney. Britney, wake up. They’re coming.”
They? What?
I claw my way back to the conscious world. The first thing I notice is the smell. There’s a strong stench of sweat and urine.
What the hell?
I blink a few times, then Mitchell’s handsome face begins to form before my sore eyes.
“Mitchell!” I gasp.
I push myself up from the concrete floor into a sitting position.
Relief flickers on his face for a second as he looks at me, then it’s replaced by fear as he looks over my shoulder.
I hear something click behind me. He sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I hear heavy footsteps behind me approaching.
I look around at the other people in the cage.
Huh, what the?
Oh, my god, we’re in a cage.
I look around me. Thick steel bars encase us. The only light in the room comes from a bare bulb that dangles forlornly from the plain white ceiling.
I focus my attention back to the people in the cage as my heart begins to race.
My fellow classmates who were on the field trip with me are here. There’s a bunch of adults who I don’t recognize huddled in one corner, trying to comfort some very young kids. The kids don’t look much older than ten. I don’t recognize them. Everyone is looking at what’s going on behind me and are shrinking back in fear. The kids are crying. Some of the girls are beginning to scream.
What the hell is going on? Where are we?
“Mitchell, what’s happening?” I ask and cling to his arm.
“I don’t know,” he whispers back.
I hear a rattle of keys, and look up to my right.
Two towering men in yellow hazmat suits are standing by the cage door. The lead man inserts a key. With a loud click, he unlocks it and opens the cage. People edge back away from them as they enter boldly and point at one of my classmates.
Becky, I think her name is. We haven’t spoken much.
She screams and tries to crawl away, but the lead man reaches down and grabs her bare leg, then drags her backwards towards the cage door.
“What are you doing? Leave her alone.” I cry out at the men.
If only I could get up. I’d slap him so hard.
Damn it, where’s my wheelchair?
Oh, wait. I forgot. It’s toast.
They ignore me and drag Becky through the door. One of them scoops her up from the floor, while she kicks and thrashes. The second man closes and locks the cage door. I close my eyes and lean in to Mitchell as they take her from the room. The door slams shut violently. Then I hear the click as it’s locked. I feel physically sick. I try to take deep breaths. Who are these monsters and where the hell are we?
I open my eyes and look around at everyone. It’s then that I notice they’re all wearing hospital gowns. I blink and look down at my useless legs. I’m wearing a green hospital gown too, so is Mitchell. I can feel Mitchell’s chest rising and falling quickly. His arm around me is shaking as he pulls me closer. I notice my other friends huddled by one side. I wave them over frantically.
“Hey, Britney.” Beth whispers as she gets closer.
“Hey.” I say back.
Stuart sits down near me, but just stares at the floor.
“Where’s Paul?” I ask, as I can’t see his blond spiky head anywhere.
“They took him.” Mitchell says quietly.
&nbs
p; “Oh, no.” I moan.
The door clicks behind me and I hear the heavy footsteps again. This time accompanied by something being dragged. I hear the jangle and the metallic click. I look up as the cage door is opened and they shove a boy through. He collapses on the floor in a heap. Then they close and lock the cage before leaving. They slam the door shut again. Then I hear the click. Beth crawls over to the boy and strokes his back.
“Are you okay?” Beth asks him.
I hear a groan, and see his shoulders shaking as he cries. Beth lifts his head and cradles him. That’s when I see his pale face. It’s Paul, the exchange student from England.
“Paul!” I almost scream.
His face has been beaten. There are bruises over his left cheekbone and jaw. His bottom lip is split and his left eye is swollen. My god, what are they doing to us? Why are they doing this?
“They never even asked me any questions.” Paul says as he wipes the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.
My stomach feels tied up in knots. My heart hammers in my chest and my breathing quickens as I look upon my friend. How dare they do this to my friends.
Where’s Miss Wheeler, our teacher? I look amongst the adults, but can’t see her.
My mouth feels dry. I’m so thirsty.
“What did they do?” Mitchell asks.
Paul sobs for a few seconds, then pulls up his left sleeve. I can see a thick bandage covering his upper arm. Some blood is still visible beneath the wadding. Paul looks up at Mitchell. He looks as confused as the rest of us.
“They stabbed me.” Paul says after a while.
I notice Paul look behind me, then raise his middle finger and give something the bird. I peer over my shoulder. There’s a security camera in the top corner, near the ceiling. Its black glass eye is trained on us. The sound of a drill comes from a nearby room, followed shortly by blood curdling screams.
A while later and the bare light bulb begins to glow dimmer. A strange buzzing sound emanates from it. What the hell are they doing to her?
The poor kids are hysterical. All I can hear now is screaming. I close my eyes and press my face into Mitchell’s chest. I hear the click and instantly open my eyes and turn towards the door. The men enter with Becky and push her forward, with the gun pressed against her back. Her normally neat black hair is a mess, and she looks very pale. Her eyes are distant and vacant. They open the cage door and Becky walks slowly inside and heads to a corner far away from us. The gunman then points at me. Mitchell jumps up and steps in front of me.
“No. Take me instead.” Mitchell cries out.
“No. Don’t leave me. Please.” I beg and tug on his bare leg.
The man nods and waves Mitchell forward with the gun.
I try to get a look at the men, but their visors are mirrored and merely reflect the white room and steel bars. They lock the cage door behind them and force Mitchell forwards, with the muzzle of the gun digging into his back.
I reach out hopelessly for him as he looks over his shoulder at me. The goodbye in his face makes me terrified. The white door closes behind them. It locks.
I feel sick.
“Why are they doing this?” I cry out.
Paul pats my arm, then winces.
One of the adults walks over and crouches down by us.
“We should jump them.” The man says.
He looks about forty and has a receding hairline above a plump round face. Not exactly the kind of guy I’d expect to lead a charge.
“They have a gun.” I point out to him.
“There’s only two of them. We could try and grab the gun.” He says.
But it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than us, as he glances around nervously.
“They’re huge, in-case you hadn’t noticed.” Paul replies.
Thinking back, they did tower over Mitchell and he’s six feet tall.
“They also have a gun. If you want to be shot first, be my guest.” I say.
The man shoots me a filthy look. He mutters something unpleasant under his breath and stands up.
He’s just about to step away, when a single gunshot rings out from a room nearby, making everyone jump.
The man slinks back to the corner where the only toilet is. Most of the stench is emanating from that general direction.
“Oh my god, Mitchell!” I cry out.
My heart stops. I can’t hear anything else, just the sound of the gunshot, as it replays in my head on an endless loop.
Mitchell. My friend since I was knee-high. He’s gone.
I can feel my heart breaking into a thousand sharp pieces. Each fragment, reminding me with agonizing clarity that I will never get to tell him how I feel.
Now he’ll never know how much I love him. Never know how often I dreamed of kissing his lips. Or how I fantasize about him dropping to his knee one day and realizing that I am, of course, the only girl for him.
He was the only guy for me. I think I always had a crush on him, even before I liked boys.
I would never admit it though. But now. It’s too late.
He’s gone.
I blink and try to breathe.
The world slips as my arms give way.
It’s only when the two men in hazmat suits are towering over me that I even notice them. They’re alone this time.
The confirmation of my fears sends me over the edge.
I’m screaming now. At least, I’m trying to scream. But I can’t seem to make a sound.
One of their reflective visors turns in my direction. He looks down at me.
He crouches down and scoops me up into his arms, as easily as picking up a puppy.
I look at the other man, and the gun in his white-gloved hand.
The man carries me to the cage door and steps through.
He reeks of rubber and sweat.
As if in slow-motion, I’m carried towards the white-painted brick wall, where the door stands ajar.
The tears roll down my cheeks as I look back at Paul and Beth. They stand near the bars, staring after me. Their mouths open, but I can’t hear any sounds right now, just my own breathing and my heart thumping.
Then the door closes and I find myself in a dim corridor. There are two long passages with several doors. The walls are ordinary red brick out here.
Dirty pipes run above us down the length of the hallway and to our right. Both corridors stretch on for fifty or sixty feet, before ending at a single shiny black door. Long florescent tubes above us illuminate the way as the man carries me to the right and heads toward one of the black doors. Some of the lights flicker on and off sporadically. The effect is unsettling.
“You don’t have to do this you know.” I plead and look at the man’s visor.
All I see is my own terrified face reflected back at me. His rugged breathing is his only response. The man with the gun is a few steps behind. I’m trembling.
I fear that black door.
The hallway feels cold. My hospital gown is split up the back. I begin to shiver for many reasons.
“Please. Don’t hurt me.” I beg, as I break out in a cold sweat.
“Tell me what you want? I’ll cooperate, I swear.” I implore.
Just more breathing. The man walking behind us brings up the black gun to examine it. He pulls the top section of the gun back, and it makes a loud click-click sound. The man who is carrying me stops to let the other man step in front and knock on the door. It opens after a few seconds and he carries me inside.
The room is smaller than the holding room. There’s a metal table in the center. Above the operating table is a round light, with multiple bulbs. The glare from the lights hurt my eyes.
On a metal trolley next to the table are sharp implements of varying size and shape. I notice some dark spots of dried blood on the concrete floor near the table.
Oh save me.
One wall has a huge mirror fitted to it. The mirror is almost the same length as the room. An old man wearing a white unifor
m and a green surgeon’s apron stands calmly near the table. A white cloth facemask covers his lower face, while a green shower cap covers most of his grey hair. His tanned wrinkled face turns as we enter. His cold grey eyes light up as he sees me. He nods to the table.
God, help me, please!
The man carries me over to the metal table and places me down, then backs away. It’s freezing. I shiver as I look up at the old man, quaking with fear. He touches something behind me and I hear a hissing sound.
This is it. I prepare myself for the worst.
I picture my dad’s rugged face, with his two day stubble and baby blue eyes. I kiss him goodbye.
I see my sister, Jessica, in her heavy metal t-shirt. She’s yelling at me for something I’ve done wrong. But I don’t care. I give her a mental hug goodbye.
I try to tell myself, that at least now, Mitchell and I will be together. But I’m terrified.
Will it hurt?
A rubber mask with a hose attached is held over my face.
I try to hold my breath for as long as I can. But eventually, I have to breathe.
The room starts to dissolve. Then all goes black.
Two
I dream I’m flying high above my hometown of Chicago. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and I notice the people below me are not wearing any jackets as they gaze up and point at me. There’s hardly a wisp of cloud in the blue sky as I fly past Willis Tower. I bank right and fly away from the river towards the Pier. The John Hancock building, now on my left, catches the rays of the sun on one side and casts a perfect reflection of the blue sky behind me. It’s so bright, it almost blinds me as I fly over Michigan Avenue. The sun bathes me in its warmth as my hospital gown flaps in the morning breeze that comes off Lake Michigan. It’s the only sound I can hear, everything else is muted. The Ferris Wheel is just up ahead, and the morning traffic on Lakeshore Drive is starting to grow.
Cosmic Girl Rising Up Page 1