“Are you scared?”
His question made her conscious of the terror that froze in place. Until then, she had been overwhelmed with her disturbing fascination, like the immobilizing amazement of watching a wild animal as it takes down it’s prey. There was a dangerous beauty in the way he stood, the way he fought, despite being obviously broken and exhausted. Though he held himself straight and strong, Rowan felt like he might collapse at any moment. Through the telecom she could hear the dry rasp of his voice as he inhaled before speaking again.
“You are. I can smell the fear on you.”
His words settled on her like a pair of hands, tight around her throat. She uprooted her feet, taking a step back as he closed in on the spot directly in front of her, reminding herself that he couldn’t touch her, that she was safe. Somehow she still felt uncertain, the way his eyes found where she stood and how he claimed to smell her even through the thick glass between them made her second guess.
He stopped and faced her, lifting a hand and leaning onto his forearm. Adding to the disturbing intent of his last words, he set his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
His nostrils flared. “Delicious.”
Rowan threw a hand to her mouth as she felt sick rise in her throat. She took another step back, and the back of her thigh hit a desk, causing her to stumble.
The boy had been smiling, but now as he stood there, the expression turned sour. A hard line formed between his brows. He clenched his jaw, tucking clawed fingers into a tight fist, his breath shifting from controlled to labored and heavy, fogging the glass just as she had done.
Rowan gripped hard on the edge of the table she leaned against, her pulse pounding in her skull like a drum. It pushed her, willing her to run, but she couldn’t. Her body trembled terribly, and she knew her legs would give under her if she fled.
“I’m starving,” he said, the whispered admission sounding broken and hopeless. Then, in stark contrast, anger bloomed as he banged so hard against the glass with his fist that the whole panel convulsed with the force, and Rowan stifled a scream with her palm.
“Give me your blood!” he bellowed, demand blazing in his frigid gaze, the desperation of a dying animal trapped in his huge, black pupils.
He banged again, harder, another growling roar with it, and her fear finally ignited her. She didn’t want to know if he was capable of getting through. She didn’t want to know anymore at all. Rowan had seen enough. Her confidence and curiosity were gone.
She bolted for the door.
Chapter Seven
Rowan never experienced this type of terror before. It had her fleeing to her vehicle in a irrational panic, intending to drive as far from the ECBS as she could on her half-empty tank of gas. All that kept her there were her trembling fingers, refusing to set her key in the ignition.
This wasn’t like her. Normally, she’d want to share this information. That thing, who refused to communicate until then, had spoken to her. No, not spoken. Yelled. Threatened with the intention of terrifying. This was important. Someone needed to know, and she would be rewarded for telling. This was a good thing. It would move their research along, would give her the positive attention she wanted.
An opportunity. That’s what this was. She repeated the thought in her head, pushing down the fear, stomping on it. She pulled out her phone, intending to call someone, but despite her valiant attempt at fighting it, her nerves kept her fingers stiff.
Who was she going to tell, even? Everything that happened was now confidental, so she couldn’t speak with Cameron, even though he was the first person to come to mind when she thought about who would best help settle her panic. And Phelps would worry, maybe even pull her from the project if she put up a fuss.
Miller… She should tell Miller, but it would mean going back inside the facility, and with just the thought, her back went rigid with refusal. No matter how hard she tried, the driven spark that Miller said she saw in her failed to reignite. Something deep in her gut stifled it, a primal instinct, urging flight rather than fight.
So she put her phone away, and let her pounding heart settle in her chest before returning home in an unresponsive daze.
Her numb state of mind lasted well through the night, her restlessness manifesting as dark circles under her eyes the following morning. Instead of sleeping, she spent the night mentally preparing herself, building up the determination to meet Miller first thing in the morning and recount what happened. That’s what the motivated, career-driven Rowan would do, and it was clear she needed to find that inside herself again.
It seemed like a simple enough plan, but when Miller arrived, Rowan immediately noticed the woman’s hurried pace and the frown line between her brows. The fear from the night before seeped under Rowan’s skin in a dreadful chill.
“Doctor, is there something wrong?” Rowan asked as the woman rushed by her. She picked up her steps to follow, almost jogging to keep up with Miller’s wide strides.
“Possibly,” she replied, a grave tone on her voice. Rowan felt dread sink in her stomach like a rock. Something happened. She hadn’t said anything, and something happened because of it.
Rowan followed behind Miller in an awkward silence, wanting to speak but too nervous for words, and far too scared to ask further questions. Anxiety nipped at her heels, making her move quicker, despite being unsure if she wanted to know the reason for the concern on Miller’s face.
The observation room buzzed with chatter, the dismay pungent in the air. Miller pushed past, marching towards the corner where Phelps and another, older doctor stood, and they dove immediately into a serious discussion. Rowan couldn’t find the will to eavesdrop.
Instead, her discomfort dragged her eyes to the left wall, even though she didn’t want to look. Everyone was crowded around the glass, pointing, talking with their neighbours in worried, hushed voices. She couldn’t fight her thirst to know.
Her feet approached the glass without permission, working her way around bodies until she saw him. Sprawled over the stark white floor of the containment room, pale as a ghost, the boy laid, completely unconscious.
“What’s happened?” Rowan asked on a breath, not intending to have the question answered, but another doctor near her offered a response.
“They found him this way early this morning. He’s completely unresponsive. They think he might be dead.”
Rowan’s first reaction was relief, but that emotion went sour immediately. If he was dead, the amazing opportunity she was so excited about slipped from her fingers overnight, and she had only herself to blame. This failure was her own doing, because of her stupid fear, her irrational mutism, because she allowed herself to be spooked silent.
Rowan turned her attention to Miller and Phelps. They were arguing in a hushed tone, Phelps making it clear that he was adamantly against whatever Miller suggested.
Miller took little heed to Phelps’ protests. “It has to be done, Robert. I have no choice. Perhaps if we were in a facility better equipped...”
Rowan hadn’t liked the bit of the argument she managed to pick up. She could read in Miller’s tone her annoyance, upset over the commodity that laid unconscious on the floor in the room across from them. Phelps didn’t understand. Whatever made that boy able to lift up a bed with one hand and kill multiple people while heavily sedated, it was important. It was groundbreaking. They couldn’t let this opportunity go so easily.
Miller stepped away from the conversation to address the room, leaving Phelps mid-retort. “Welcome back, everyone. I’m sure you’re all wondering, so no beating around the bush. Perhaps it would be easier to take if I could sugar coat it some way, but we have no time for sweetening today.”
Dr. Miller was deathly serious, a drastic difference from her warm demeanor the day before. It unsettled Rowan, perhaps just as it intended to.
“As mentioned yesterday, we have no way of interacting with the subject other than through vocal communication and the s
hock cuff on his ankle. In any other situation, we might give him a shock to try and jolt a reaction from him, but it’s too risky at the moment. If he’s not dead, shocking him could possibly kill him, and we can’t risk his death.”
The room buzzed with apprehension, but Rowan decided mentally that whatever they needed, she would do. It was her responsibility to right this wrong. She even moved past a few of her fellow doctors to approach Miller, preparing to offer her assistance.
“We need a group to enter in with the subject, to inspect his vitals and perform emergency CPR if he is experiencing heart failure.”
The room reacted with objections, and Rowan found herself retreating back into the crowd of her peers, that crippling fear chilling her bones frozen again.
Miller had more to add, continuing over the chatter as if getting the bad news out quickly would make it less offensive to everyone.
“We hoped never to need it, but we have a line of defense for doctors to use to enter the room. It’s a cuff for the wrist similar to what he is currently wearing, which will give a shock if a connection is made between the subject and the doctor. Unfortunately, these cuffs cannot be used effectively in this situation since we will need to touch the subject directly to assess his vitals. Anyone volunteering would have to be aware that they are putting themselves in severe danger of injury. ”
As she described the “safety” cuffs, everyone was unanimously relieved for a moment, but once Miller confirmed their uselessness the other doctors fell back into scepticism. They agreed with Phelps, who had clearly been against sending anybody in to help the subject. To each person, Rowan included, their own life was far more valuable than whatever was on the other side of the glass.
Miller tried to calm the tense air, lifting her hands to gather everyone’s attention again. “I know what I’m asking of you is drastic, but we cannot just leave him. I’m volunteering myself, to show you all that I’m willing to put my life on the line for the success of this project, and to keep one of you from having to make the decision, so all I need is two more volunteers to assist me.”
Miller’s willingness stirred some debate in the room, a few of the doctors turning to each other with unsure glances, but still, no one step forward.
“I assure you, we have taken all the precautions possible to reduce risk. All we need is to confirm a heartbeat so we can choose the next plan of action. We will be in and out, no time at all.”
Unfortunately her attempts were doing little to sway the room. Everyone was too scared, seeing first hand what the boy was capable of only the day before. No one wanted to be a lab rat.
Rowan found herself once again torn between the driven, career focused woman she usually was, and the girl who had been scared stiff the day before by the boy lying unconscious in the next room. If this was yesterday, when Rowan was blinded by excitement and driven by her urge to prove herself, she might have stepped forward. She knew that normally she would jump on this opportunity to show her dedication, to impress Miller once again with her commitment. Something had her rooted to the floor, though. She imagined it was her natural instinct of self preservation.
She was not the only one. The apprehension around her was thick, most of the other doctors directing their gaze to the floor to avoid Miller’s expectant gaze. The doctor wasn’t about to let them ignore the situation, though.
“This project, and our subject, will die if no one steps forward. Not only will we have the blood of a living being on our hands, but we will also have failed all of humanity. We could have something groundbreaking here. We could change the world with the secrets this subject has to offer, and if no one offers themselves, you’re all letting that opportunity die. You all will have to live with that.”
Miller’s words started desperate but deteriorated into a stifled outrage instead. She believed in what she was saying, so much so that she was offering herself up to die to keep this project going. Perhaps she had every right to judge the others in the room for not making the same commitment, no matter how crazy they all thought her own was.
However, Miller’s accusations weakened their resolve, and another round of quiet rustles spread across the group of doctors. Whispers and glances exchanged among them until two men stepped forward.
The others in the room watched in amazement, dumbfounded by the bravery of their colleagues. Or perhaps contemplating their intelligence. Rowan felt a twist of guilt in her stomach, knowing these two volunteers would never have stepped forward if they knew what Rowan experienced the afternoon before.
“Good men, William, Vincent. Let’s get in there and finish this quick, so we can get you two back to safety.”
Miller led them to the far left side of the glass wall, where there was a double-doored security entrance into the containment room. The entrance consisted of a small area with two doors parallel to each other, one connecting to the observation room, and the other, to the subject. The purpose behind the entrance was to disable any attempted escapes. Anyone looking to enter or leave the containment room would enter through the first door, have it securely locked behind them, and then continue through the second. The double doors meant that even if the subject managed to get through one doorway, he would have nowhere further to go.
Miller took a moment to assure Vincent and William, who were showing their regret. “If anything goes wrong, our technician will be on standby to give the subject another shock, just like yesterday. So really, there’s absolutely nothing to be concerned over.” She gave a convincingly warm smile, but Rowan felt her nerves bloom into a full bout of anxiety.
She knew she should say something, stop them before it was too late, before her omission put people in danger, but her throat constricted, and everything was moving so quickly. The words never came.
The three entered, the automated doors shutting behind them. With the sound of the lock securing, Rowan’s heartbeat became heavier. She took a step forward to the glass, waiting to see the three doctors emerge from the other side of the entrance. On the floor, the boy continued to lay motionless, and Rowan prayed for a moment that he was as expired as he appeared.
Miller exited into the containment room first, quickly, and with determination. The two volunteers lagged back with apprehension.
“Vincent, check for a pulse. William, check for signs of breathing or obstructions in the throat. I’ll get him positioned for CPR.” Miller called orders to get their feet moving; Vincent and William shaking themselves out of their nerves to follow instructions. Miller flipped the subject flat on his back, and Vincent moved for the boy’s wrist first to test for a pulse there. William hesitated, but forced himself into action and joined them on the floor.
“Can you find a pulse, Vincent?” Miller asked, strong and confident, taking lead of the situation. If she had any concerns, she hid them well.
Vincent swallowed, his eyes wide with fear. “I— I don’t know. I can’t tell. I feel something, maybe. My heart’s beating so fucking fast, I can’t tell if it’s my pulse or not.” He panicked , the stress cracking his voice.
“What about you, William? Can you tell if he’s breathing?”
When Miller addressed him, William froze up, but managed to shake himself from his nerves and continued pressing his fingers along the boy’s throat, checking to make sure his airway was clear. Still unsure, he leaned towards the body, to perhaps hear or feel a barely there breath. Rowan held hers.
Everything went quiet as he hovered an ear over the body, the rest of the room holding the air in their lungs just like Rowan. The seconds slowed, her heart seemed to stop, and before the next beat pounded in her chest, she watched the boy’s eyes open.
In disbelief, Rowan blinked, and around her the room exploded with screams. In that split second, the subject leapt off the floor, pinning William to the glass by the neck. His frail arm supported the doctor’s entire weight, and William choked as he struggled roughly against the one-handed grip trapping him.
Rowan stared, frozen, for
what seemed like forever, even though it all happened in one fleeting moment. The subject stared, a curiously vacant expression in his gaze, before reaching out with his free hand and ushering William’s head aside. With the doctor’s throat exposed, the subject lunged forward like an animal. Despite choking, William yelled, although the sound was reduced immediately to a sickening gurgle as blood exploded from his torn jugular.
The color knocked Rowan from her terrified trance like a hard punch to the gut, leaving her unable to breathe, as if she’d been winded. The cries of helplessness around the room flooded into her head. William’s blood ran down his chest and dripped to the floor at his feet, the subject still buried in the wound he created with his mouth.
“Do something!” Rowan shouted to the computer technician upon finding her voice, shaking him out of his own shock. He turned to the computer in a panic and administered a dose of electricity.
In the observation room, the subject seized up against the voltage, writhing and collapsing to the floor. The now unconscious William followed, but he was quickly gathered up and dragged out of the room by Vincent and Miller.
Rowan hurried forward to help, but a number of the other bystanders beat her there. She stood back and watched instead as Miller ordered for the wounded William to be brought to the infirmary. Someone had taken off their white coat and wrapped it around the open wound on his neck, but the blood was already soaking through and dripping onto the floor. Everything smelled thick and metallic. She could taste the scent in her mouth, sharp on her tongue.
It was the same smell she noticed the night the subject arrived. The one she couldn’t place in such a brief moment.
The smell of blood.
Past the red smeared glass separating them, Rowan could see the subject still on his knees, facing away from her. He was no longer disabled with electricity, but his shoulders continued to shake. Rowan took a step towards him, a disturbed curiosity getting the better of her, and witnessed the thin boy as he let his head fall back, a grin plastered wide and grizzly on his blood-stained face.
Pulse Page 6