Now that James could see him closer, the man with the shotgun looked easily well into his 50’s if not just over 60, but he was in better shape than James could ever hope to be. The man’s hair was a shiny silver, greased back in the same style as the other man in overalls. James noticed both men’s noses sat flat and wide on their faces. And both had high foreheads sheltering emerald green eyes. If they weren’t father and son, they were definitely related, he thought.
Once in the store, it was apparent the pair knew their way around the place and the odd man out did not. The eldest went straight to instructing the other two.
“Jimmy, did ya clear out the storage room and set up the camera like I asked ya?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Take our stranger here and lock ’im up in there, but give ’im some water and some o’ these,” he said, pointing to the beef jerky rack.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Barger, stand watch at the door in the meantime. I’ll go warn the others and get back as soon as I can.”
“Yes, Mr. Flannigan.”
Mr. Flannigan turned to leave and then paused, shuffling back around. “Oh, I almost forgot. Once he’s in the storage room and before ya get ’is food, don’t forget to flip on that camera. We’ll need to keep an eye on ’im a couple o’ days.”
Both of the younger men nodded, dragging James past the canned vegetable aisle. The man with the shotgun ran barefoot through the sliding doors. The smell of something rotten filled James’s nose as they pulled him past the produce. Being carried from behind, he got a good view of the store and the way they were taking him. There was a flapping sound, and then a bump, and a change in the texture of the floor below his scraping heels. Two tall, white, floppy doors with small circular plastic windows seemed to just miss smacking back into him as they dragged him into the stocking area of the store. It was cold and dark compared to the rest of the store. After a few twists and turns around corners and stacked pallets of shrink-wrapped boxes, his captors came to a stop and whispered amongst themselves. He heard metal clicking, a familiar squeal, then they were pulling him into the storage room. James tried to struggle. Grappling onto the doorjamb with the back of his left shoulder, he almost got loose from the men when a burst of sharp, solid pain shot through the right side of his head and then a plunging darkness overcame him.
When he woke, James found himself lying on a cot inside the small storage room, his head sitting against a pile of cotton ball packages. His hands were no longer cuffed, but his head was swimming in misery. In the middle of the floor sat a minifridge, its cable plugged into the wall behind it. James opened it and found several bottles of water and a wrapped up sandwich he couldn’t identify. Pieces of jerky and cheese sticks were scattered on top of the tiny fridge. Looking up, James could see that all the shelves in the room were cleaned out as the younger man had said. And in the corner, above the crudely painted blue door he’d come in through, sat mounted a security camera pointed down at him. Sure they were watching, James gave the camera the bird and opened a bottle of water, taking a long swig. Eager to have something with meat, James tore open the shrink-wrapped sandwich and smelled the distinct aroma of tuna salad. His stomach growled. He began gnawing at the sandwich until there was nothing left and he was left licking the crumbs from his fingers. It had to have been the best damn tuna salad sandwich he ever had. But several minutes afterward, when the pain in his head began to make him nauseous, he thoroughly regretted eating it.
Eventually his headache shrunk to a dull pulsing from time to time and his stomach continued balancing in that halfway point between nausea and heartburn. He lay on the cot for a long time, remembering the last time he had a shower as if it had been ages ago, in some far off, magical land, now mostly forgotten. In a way, it had. He twirled his finger around loose, green canvas thread from the cot as he stared into the ceiling, wondering what these men would do next. He was sure they were scared of something, but of what he had no clue. He wanted to believe they weren’t capable of violence, but the pain in his skull kept him in doubt. And just what watching him in this room would prove to them baffled James more than any of it. Before long, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, he drifted off to sleep.
Two yellow eyes peeked out from the darkness, shimmering with internal light. Whatever they belonged to made only an impression of space. A sense of detached scrutiny showed from them. Then came the metallic growling James had heard from his radio. The eyes were coming closer and James could no longer keep still. He took off running, leaving the shimmering eyes behind him. A voice whispered in his ear with an odd, featureless accent.
“Clear a path in the desert. Make a straight road for the…”
A loud clunk woke James. From the vibration of the door and the sound of the padlock closing from outside, he realized someone had been in the room. Sweat dripped down into his eye from his brow with a sting as he sat up. Getting rest had alleviated the pain in his head. In the back of his mind he could still see those staring eyes. A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to clear them from his thoughts. Opening the fridge, he was not surprised to find another sandwich. This time he was almost disappointed to find the fresh baked bread filled with salami, ham, and cheese until he took a bite. These people at least had one thing going for them: they could make good sandwiches. It was so good, he almost felt guilty for wanting strangle each and every one of them. But he took solace in deciding he would give them a chance to listen to reason.
When he finished eating, James got down to business. His head clear of distraction and his claustrophobia coming to a peak, he was ready to leave the tiny room and leave these people behind if they only wanted to cage him. He tapped his palm against the door strong enough to get someone’s attention. He heard whispering through the door, but couldn’t make it out.
“What do you want?” came a voice from beyond the door.
James leaned closer to the crack in the door. “I just want some fresh air… and to know why you guys locked me in here.”
“We’re not supposed to let you out until Mr. Flannegan says. Just sit tight and as long as you check out, everything will be fine,” Barger said through the door. James spent the rest of the day pacing and scanning the room for anything that might help him escape.
The next morning the testing began. James woke to someone knocking on the door.
“Well, what are you knocking for, it’s not like I can let you in,” he said as he rubbed his eyes. He heard a faint laugh from behind the door and then the sliding of paper from below and looked down to see an envelope under the door.
6
James slid his finger along the line of adhesive, peeling the envelope open. Whatever was inside was more durable than paper, yet pliable enough to bend. He leaned the brown paper pouch so that its contents slid out. He noticed a blur of rich glossy colors as the pictures fell from the envelope.
They were horrible. He grimaced at each one as he put it in the back of the stack. Each picture depicted a person or several people who had apparently been brutally murdered. Not a single one had been merciful. The more he looked at them, from one to the next and so on, the more he could see a pattern. No gunshot wounds. No stab wounds. Not a single hint of any weapon. They all appeared to have been ripped apart. He looked up at the camera bolted to the wall above the door.
“Hey! What kind of sick shit is this? Hey! Can you people hear me?” Then he looked down at the last picture. It was just like the rest except… In the far corner of the picture a hand lay, palm facing the floor, nails gripping at the crack between tiles. Just below the golden wristwatch, torn flesh and bone bordered between the hand and a black puddle of blood. Something just inside his peripheral vision was trying to get his attention.
He let his eyes stare at the picture until it blurred into fuzzy colors. The cracks in the linoleum tiles blurred as his vision obscured. They started to line up with something. Then it was clear. The lines intersected completely with the tiles on the flo
or in front of him. They had the same pattern. The exact same pattern. Just beyond the reach of the severed hand in the picture were the blurry blue sides of the shelf that sat against the wall right in front of James. Realizing this, his heart jumped in his chest and he had to sit down.
James was sure he was going to be the next person to be photographed. His limbs were stiff and his resolve was diminishing. He needed to try and escape but he couldn’t find the strength to even move. He felt the pictures slip from his hand as he leaned back against the wall.
The padlock outside the door clicked and the door swung open. James clung to the cot and raised his arms to protect himself from whatever would come next. Mr. Flannigan stood in the doorway. He entered the room and leaned down as though James were a wild animal he was trying to calm.
“It’s okay, Mr. Benton, we’re not gonna hurt ya. We had to be sure ya weren’t one o’ them.”
Mr. Flannigan reached out to put his hand on James’s shoulder. James jerked, backing farther away and pushing himself even more against the wall.
“What did you do to them?” James screamed.
Mr. Flannigan’s shoulders seemed to deflate. “Awe, no, Mr. Benton, we didn’t do anything to them there poor souls. Some of those folks was friends o’ mine, family. It was them, Mr. Benton. The ones who make the sky turn black, the ones who’re killin’ everything.”
A chill run down James’s back. He looked at the old man before him with reservation.
“’Who are they? And how’d you know I wasn’t one of them?”
Flannigan seemed to age 20 years as he looked at James with sad eyes. “Don’t know, Mr. Benton… but…” He looked down at the floor, then said, “They ain’t human. Doc Barnes can attest to that. And I knew ya wasn’t one o’ them ’cause last one we showed them there photographs to looked right through ’em like they was blank pieces o’ paper. No sign o’ ee-motion at-all. Then the first doggone chance he got when we tried to feed him, he ripped my brother Darrell apart.”
James sat up with a shock. He knew then who was in that last picture. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Flannigan.” The old man nodded, his head still facing the floor.
“Me too, Mr. Benton.”
“Please, sir, call me James.”
“Well, James, you won’t feel quite so tender when you hear the rest. I, for one, know you’re not one o’ them. But Doc Barnes, Joey Torrence, Pastor Williams, frankly a lot of the town folks, won’t wanna go offa just this ol’ man’s whim.”
“What? Wait a minute! Can’t the doctor just look me over?” James jumped to his feet and several things happened all at once. Flannigan jumped back in reaction, Barger seemed to come from nowhere, a wild look in his eyes, and swung the butt of his rifle, connecting it with James’s shoulder. James fell to the floor and both Barger and Flannigan Jr. dragged the elder Mr. Flannigan out the door and slammed it shut, leaving James alone in the room, the air knocked from his lungs. He tried to get up, but a weighted sharp pain in his shoulder prevented him from doing so. He let out a scream. Mr. Flannigan’s voice came muffled through the crack under the door, “I’m sorry, James, even if Doc Barnes could give you a look over, we’d first have to get him to come in that room with you and we can’t do that. He’s our doctor. None o’ them’ll risk losin’ him.” James bit his tongue to try and quell the pain.
He kept expecting them to come back through the door and help him, but they never came. Unable to get up, he had no choice but to lay there. He found if he didn’t breathe too deeply, he could get some semblance of comfort. At this stage, comfort was being in pain that wasn’t completely excruciating. Eventually, he fell asleep. Those yellow eyes were waiting for him. They cast that yellow glow over him as he lay on a hospital operating table.
“Make way the path of righteousness, Brother Benton, and we will come,” a voice said in his head. He felt the presence of others coming closer, all around the table. That sound of growling metal rose as pairs of yellow eyes began to glow in a circle around him. Their bodies became even harder to see as the glow made everything else in the room darker.
James tried to move, but his shoulder became the center of all pain. He pushed through it and was able to lift his torso about an inch from the table when immense pressure like several hands against his chest held him down. He looked down at his chest and saw only darkness.
When he looked back up at those yellow eyes, they were closer than they had been and moving in. The glow enveloped him and he felt a change within himself. Inside the glow, everything made sense. He had to make way the path. He had to kill them. It was the right thing to do. They were in his Father’s house. He would make way the path. He saw a vision then. He was strong, pulling them apart, one at a time, his eyes glowing yellow. He wanted so much for it to happen.
They told him then in his head, without using any words, what would happen. His body would change, he would put on incorruption. A mortal now, he would put on immortality and swallow death in victory. Why was that familiar? In his head they told him it was familiar because it was truth. But he knew they were lying. And just like that, they were gone and he was awake, his eyes fluttering open.
It was the most hellish pain James had ever endured, but he made himself get up from the floor. Then he sat down on the cot and stared at the wall. It was a bible verse. He remembered it from his days in the church. First Corinthians 15… 50-something. He couldn’t remember exactly which verse, but he remembered the words.
For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
He didn’t completely understand what was going on, but he was pretty sure the yellow-eyed bastards in his dream were the ones responsible for everything. They were making way the path, but to what? Righteousness. What was righteousness? Cleanliness. What were they cleansing?
Us, they’re cleansing us, goddamnit!
James pulled himself up to his feet too quickly and the stabbing pain nearly knocked him back on the floor. He pushed with everything inside himself until he was leaning against the door. With his good arm, he beat on the door. “Open the door! I think I know, I know what they’re doing!” Voices grumbled at each other from the other side of the door. “I think I know what they want!” The grumbling became louder and then abruptly stopped. A good while passed and then he heard the now familiar click of the padlock.
He had to pull himself away from the door, but he managed. A man James had never seen before, dressed in scrubs, eased inside, Barger and Flannigan Jr. at each side of him.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
James told them about the dreams and about the bible verse and how it snapped him out of that glowing lunacy. He told them about the change he saw, about all they had “told” him. He had seen the change in his mind. It started like a seed, this alien presence inside you. Then it grew, replacing organs one at a time until, finally, it reached the brain.
“You mean they were human after all?” Flannigan Jr. asked. Before James could answer, the man he assumed was Doc Barnes leaned his head toward Jr. and spoke.
“Possibly. I still don’t trust him.” Then he looked back at James, “How do I know you aren’t one of them just telling us what we want to hear, eh Mr. Benton?”
“I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that one.”
“A blood test would do it, just fine, but I’m not getting any closer to you, no sir.”
“Fine, give me the needle, you can watch from the goddamned camera for all I care. Just let me prove I’m still human!” To James’s surprise, Doc Barnes not only agreed, but decided to watch from the open door. He wanted to “see the blood with his own eyes,” to make sure. Lucky for James he wasn’t as squeamish as most people when getting his blood drawn. With Barger and Flannigan Jr. standing over James, rifles pointed at his head, Doc Barnes slid the medical case across the floor, his body mostly hidden behind the door. With some minor instructions from the good doctor, James was able to fill the vial easy as pie. By that
point, he was willing to do just about anything to get out of that room.
Doc Barnes took the medical kit and slipped out of the room. Barger and Flannigan backed away slowly and closed the door, leaving James alone. Then the lock clicked into place. James laid down on the cot and waited.
A while later there was a commotion outside. Barger and Junior were grunting just outside the room. The door flung open. James stood up, ready to finally leave the room. But he realized quickly they hadn’t opened it for him. Jr. and Barger rushed inside, dragging a tall man in a suit behind them. The man kicked and flailed as they brought him inside. James bounced over to the far wall, away from them.
The man’s screams bounced all around the walls as the two young men tried to get him to stay in the room long enough for them to get out. Eventually, Barger had no choice but to knock the man out, just like they’d done to James. It was understandable, given all that James had learned, except for one thing: Barger let a hint of enjoyment show as he cracked the gun butt over the man’s head. Barger noticed James watching him and gave him an intimidating glare. James looked away. The door slammed shut and he was alone with the unconscious man. He couldn’t help thinking of those pictures of people ripped apart. He slid down to the floor and sat watching the man for any signs of movement.
When the man woke up, James backed himself into the corner, wishing they had left him some kind of something to defend himself with. He had stayed up all night watching the man and he was exhausted. It was a 50/50 chance the man was only human, but James didn’t like those odds. The man made groggy noises as he held his wounded head. James’s stomach growled. No one had brought any food nor did anything to help the man like they had with James.
The man sat up and looked at James, his expression a cross between angry and the frown of a hurt puppy. The man attempted to get up, causing James to squeeze even closer to the wall. Noticing James’s fear, the man raised his hands in a gesture of not meaning any harm. He nearly stumbled backward as he got completely to his feet.
The Quiet Page 3