by Luis Samways
‘Sounds like a case of THC overdose. Layoff the cannabis Mr Adam’s and you should be okay,’ she says with a smile on her face
The man doesn’t seem to think the situation is funny.
‘I’m serious man, you need to help me. I think this could be bad. Fucking beacons man, they know everything about us, and they are watching us!’
Donner smiles again as she leaves the room while the paranoid man continues to shout off his conspiracies. Turns out she was right; the guy must be a paranoid drug user.
Six
The man in the sewer is reeling for air. It feels as if he can’t breathe in such a confined space. The putrid smell of faecal matter is making his head hurt. He’s trying to keep on moving but something keeps distracting him. The flashing beacon of light in his arm has ceased blinking. Could it be that he has gone far enough? He surveys the area he’s standing in. In front of him lies a vast pool of sewage that seems to escape into every direction. On the walls are grates and bars, each one of them oozing with dirty water. The dripping of the water around him echoes off the walls as he slowly shuffles forward. He notices a small light ahead. An oil drum is alit and a few shadows huddle around it. He’s not sure whether they are friendly or not, but considering the state he is in; he decides to move towards them. He immediately notices the peculiar site of a business man covered in mud and two little girls surrounding the blazed oil drum. He immediately feels better. He’s not the only one who decided to go underground. He’s not alone in the sewers. The business man spots the doddering lawyer and waves him forward. Both lock eyes as if they never expected to see another living soul again. The man smiles and so do the two little girls who look about eight and nine apiece. The lawyer reaches them and is met with a firm handshake from the man and a candid hello from the little girls. The immediate warmth of the fire from the oil drum is a pleasing sensation considering the damp and cold of the walk through the sewer earlier on.
‘I’m Mitch, and these two are Abigail and Tristan. I’m glad we are not the only people down here,’ he says as he continues to shake the lawyer’s hand.
‘My names David, David Seal,’ the lawyer says as he basks in the warm light of the oil drum
Mitch’s eyes widen at the sound of the lawyers name. It’s a name that even in these tragic and ill-fated times, still brings weight and wonder.
‘David Seal? Wow, it really is you,’ the friendly man named Mitch says as he looks at his daughter in glee.
David doesn’t feel the man’s joyfulness. Sure, before he was a big shot lawyer with a big shot firm that had a big shot TV AD with his big shot self starring in it. Now he’s just like everyone else. A doomed existence, he thinks to himself.
‘Yeah, David Seal, that’s me.’ he says without an ounce of happiness present in his voice.
‘It’s a real pleasure to meet someone of your stature Mr Seal. I’m a lawyer too. Not a big time one. I haven’t had any NFL clients like yourself, but I do get by, well used to get by that is,’ Mitch says as he gently pats the little girl on his left, trying to reassure her. They both seem uneasy but the girl on the left seems especially uneasy. David doesn’t really care for kids. That much hasn’t changed.
‘You used to be a lawyer…,’ David says firmly as he looks the man in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite get you Mr Seal,’ says Mitch in confusion.
‘I’m saying that you USED to be a lawyer, like I used to be one too. Now we are nothing but rats in a sewer escaping whatever man made extinction event that is reeking death above ground. What we used to be doesn’t matter now. It’s what we do to make things better that counts for something. I’m not saying things are going to get better, but I’ll be dammed if I don’t at least entertain the idea of a normal life after this shitstorm,’ says David as he gently rubs his hands together, trying to welcome the warmth into his palms.
Mitch doesn’t seem highly impressed with David’s words. He steps forward a few steps and leans into David over the blazing oil drum.
‘I would appreciate it if you don’t swear in front of the little ones. I don’t want them to grow up cursing and being unfriendly,’ Mitch says as he gives David a reassuring smile to go along with his request.
David smiles back
‘I’ll do my best, but if the lights start blinking away again, I’m not going to be thinking about being courteous, I’ll drop an f bomb or two, especially if you or your little girl’s get evaporated much like my best friend did not more than two hours ago,’ David says as he also reassures Mitch with a fake smile.
Seven
Ray has been working on his new program for the website now for a few hours. He’s been in his work zone, not looking at any distractions, just writing code for the entirety of those two hours. It is rare to find him working so hard and not trawling the internet for conspiracy news and whatever other crazy stuff that occupies his mind on a daily basis. He’s on his thousandth line of c# when his computer screen starts flickering violently. New York is known for its power outages. The city is historically plagued by such things. The weather coming from the north can interfere with the islands power regularly. It’s not something that strikes Ray as odd when it occurs.
Today was an entirely deferent situation. The power wasn’t cutting to his monitor. There was something interfering with it. He looks around the room and see’s if there is anything electrical that could be interfering with his work. He doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary from his seat, so he continues to type away, hoping the interference will disappear.
A few minutes go by and the interference stops. He sighs and continues his work. He doesn’t exactly like coding but it has to be done. The new programme he’s working on is an addition to his mobile phone version of the website. He is trying to roll out the website in a compact app that he can put on app stores around the web. He knows that if he can succeed in that, then maybe he can make more income from his mobile phone customers, with integrated text messaging and video messaging at a premium of course. He continues to layout some code when the interference starts up once again. This time it is accompanied by a loud ringing in Ray’s ear, like a microphone distorting at a gig. He clambers at his head and winces in pain as he gets up from his seat and backs away from the computer thinking that maybe the distorting sound will cease. It does and he breaths in gently, trying to catch his breath.
He looks around the room and struggles to stay still as he sways from side to side as if he is drunk. He starts to panic a little at the thought of him dying. He knows he isn’t feeling well at that moment in time and he needs to get to a hospital, but before he can scramble for his phone and dial 911, he collapses onto his front and lands hard on the floor. He is still conscious and can hear his breathing slow down as his eyes close and darkness engulfs him.
Eight
1977
36 Years before present day
‘This little jab here will help you fight that mighty flu that seems to be making its rounds around the city,’ the doctor says to the young mother in his office.
‘What about Ray? Isn’t he too young to have an injection? He’s only three days old,’ the woman says in fear for her son.
The doctor smiles. His white teeth shine under the harsh lights in his spacious work room. The natural light coming from the large bay windows in his office are cancelled out by the industrial sized lamps that flicker every couple of seconds above the young woman’s head. She’s feeling anxious and jittery. It’s not every day that she finds herself worrying about her son. Granted he’s only been alive for three days, but she still has a lot of experience with caring for babies. At the ripe age of twenty she has two other babies, both only one year apart. One of them is three and the other is four. She’s had them immunized against the super flu that’s going around, but for some reason she finds it harder to let the nice doctor prick her three day old baby in the arm.
‘I can assure you Miss Smith that the injection is safe. Sure little Ray o
ver here is only three days old, but this flu that’s going around is mighty unpleasant, I just couldn’t imagine the little tyke enjoying the flu much at all. Sure Ray will probably cry his eyes out at the sensation of the injection, but what kid doesn’t? I remember you’re two other boys, they balled their eyes out. I’m sure you will prefer him crying now for a few minutes rather than him being in danger of his immune system not being able to counter act this terrible flu,’ the friendly doctor says as he reassures little Ray’s mother.
‘I guess you’re right, but I just don’t want anything to happen to my boy, that’s all’
The doctor moves his chair closer to his desk and leans in a bit.
‘I can assure you Miss Smith that your baby will be just fine. These injections are important. The world is a dirty place. These injections keep the little girls and boys of our future safe and sound for whatever dirty bacteria want to make themselves known. It will be just dandy Miss Smith,’ he says
‘Okay doc’
‘Good, okay little man this won’t hurt at all,’ he says as he gently grabs the babies arm and injects him with the syringe.
To the man’s surprise little Ray Smith doesn’t make a sound. He just carries on looking at the ceiling with a playful smile on his face.
‘Wow, that’s one brave little boy you got there. He didn’t even cry,’ the doctor says as Miss Smith cradles her son in her arms.
Nine
Present day
‘I don’t know about that, I just can’t let people in to see the body. I understand there is a lot of interest in this case, but that being said, I could lose my job….Mrs?’ The handsome young morgue technician says
‘Just call me Mrs Jones,’ says the pretty young lady dressed in a formal but sexy suit. Her short black skirt rises up her tanned but firm legs. Her blouse supports her busty chest and accentuates her hair that surrounds her slim and beautiful neck. She gives him a flicker of her eyes. Its old school stuff, this woman knows how to get what she wants.
The morgue technician is falling widely for her game. She picked the youngest guy there because she knows those are the ones that are easiest to manipulate. Sure she could have chosen one of the older guys, but they are usually married with kids, or worse, divorced. They can smell a woman who is trying to play them. Years of being in a bad relationship will wise most men up to the ways of some women. She needs someone who is yet to experience the joys of a long term relationship.
‘I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. I’m sure there are plenty of women who would enjoy your company. I’m not the sort of girl to brag, but I can assure you that most women don’t do the things I’m willing to do,’ the sexy young lady says to the now obviously clouded man who has now lost touch with reality at the thought of enjoying this particular woman’s company.
‘What do you suggest I do then Mrs Jones?’
She looks at the broom closet behind the man’s back and smiles.
‘There seems to be a nice little room just behind you where we can hash things out…what do you say?’
The man looks behind him and smiles. He looks around intently to see if anyone can see him. He sees no one and decides to take the young lady up on her offer. He jangles around his pockets and pulls out a ring of keys. The ladies eyes widen as he finds the broom closet key and unlocks the door. He opens the door and invites her in with his hands. She smiles at him.
‘You first,’ she says
He smiles and turns his back on her and steps into the closet. Before the man can turn around, the young lady has a silenced pistol pulled out from behind her back. Within seconds she’s fired two shots into the back of the guy’s head. He collapses onto the assortment of cleaning agents and crashes onto the floor, knocking brooms and buckets everywhere. She grabs at the keys that are still in his hand and closes the door. She looks around and makes her way to the morgue, opening the door and opening fire on the people inside the room.
Ten
Donner is still on her shift at the hospital. It’s been one of those days, and the day seems to be getting longer. The influx of patients into the hospital is still at its highest in recent memory. She finds herself taking a quick break. She’s outside in the parking lot with a few other hospital workers taking a smoking break. She knows it’s bad for her, but today she’s found herself inhaling the nicotine stick. She doesn’t usually smoke, but some fourteen hour shifts take its toll on her, and she always felt like she needed something to even her keel. She doesn’t drink, so she thought why not smoke. She sees the devastation that smoking causes on a daily basis, but that’s after twenty to thirty years of smoking minimal. She only has a few a day, so what’s the worse that could happen?
Some of her colleagues spot her and walk over. It’s her supervisor Tim and his entourage of slutty nurses that seem to follow him everywhere, like vultures nibbling on a dead carcass, she feels these women do the same to the doctors. They sleep their way to success so to speak, fucking every doctor they can get, hoping these favours will advance them in their careers. Donner isn’t one of them, and she’s proud of that fact. She has gotten to where she is today because of hard work, not dick sucking contests.
The smug bastard reaches her along with his posse of adoring work colleagues.
‘Hey Donner, what are you doing out here?’
Donner forces a smile.
‘Just smoking a cigarette, I’m on my break Tim’
‘Smoking will kill you, you know that right?’
‘So will working fourteen hour shifts for seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year, but you don’t see me quitting work do you?’ She says with a visible tone of distain in her voice.
Tim smiles, as do the nurses beside him.
‘True. Well I hate to break up your off time but there is a backlog of patients that need to be seen. I need my best people on this, hence why I need you to stub that cigarette out and join me in the ER,’ Tim says as he gives Donner a smile.
She knows what he is up to but decides to play along. It’s not every day that Tim actually recognises her for her talents in the work place, and not just because he wants to have sex with her. She obliges and flicks the cigarette onto the floor, extinguishing it with her shoe. She follows him and the nurses into the entrance of the hospital to be met by a wave of people in the waiting room, each one of them looking as if they are inches from death’s door.
‘Fuck,’ she says out loud, not realising she had done so.
‘I know right, you would have thought there is some sort of plague going around,’ says Tim
‘Something isn’t right here, we need to find out what’s going on,’ Donner says
‘No shit, that’s why I need you, I need you to dig around and help us establish what’s going on’
Donner nods her head as she walks away from Tim feeling overwhelmed but finally with some purpose.
Eleven
Ray has been lying face down on his floor now for a few hours. He’s just regained consciousness and realises where he is. He slowly gets up and grabs at his head in pain. He feels much like he has a hangover. He hasn’t been drinking though; he doesn’t even drink, so that’s out of the question. Why does he feel like this? Why is he in so much pain? Surly this can’t be normal, and he’s right, it isn’t normal at all. He aimlessly doddles around his compact open plan apartment, looking for answers in the tiniest places. He looks in the fridge and spots a chilled bottle of water. He grabs it and opens it. He necks the bottle like he hadn’t had a drink in three days. The thirst he is feeling is unreal. He has never been this thirsty in his entire life. He can remember times in his life where he should have been thirstier then he is now, but realises that he wasn’t. Like that time he went to Nevada to go “Alien spotting”, which for a time was his most favourite activity. When he went Alien spotting in Nevada, the temperatures reached eighty five degrees plus. It was like an oven, and even then he didn’t feel as thirsty as he does now. The truth is something i
s wrong. His balance feels off. His senses feel as if they are firing off at every possible level. His hearing is coming in and out, and his head feels like it’s filled with air. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His dark skin looks pale. He isn’t white, so there should be no reason for him looking Caucasian. He spots a glimpse of a poster on his wall that he got from an underground shelter convention he went to last summer.
“When shit hits the fan, don’t hang around, go underground” it read, with a picture of a cartoon mole wearing a hard hat, giving the reader a wink.
He smiles at the poster, and starts feeling a tad bit more normal.
He goes to his apartment window and looks outside. He is shocked to see what he does see. Suddenly his hearing resurfaces to the sound of sirens and a blaze of fire that seems to be engulfing the apartments opposite his. He sees a few people running on the street below; all of them have the same thing in common. They are all looking at their arms in a panic. He doesn’t quite know what is going on, or why people are running around in a panic. Sure the fire in the building across the road is dangerous and warrants a panicked response, but these people are more concerned with themselves then the fire, seeing a few of them are actually running into the building that’s alit! He spots a man scream in terror as the man looks at his right arm. At first, Ray thinks the man’s arm is on fire, but at closer inspection he can see some sort of flashing light pulsating in the man’s arm. It’s blinking violently, much like the light you would see on a piece of C4 in a Steven Segal movie. Ray starts to feel uneasy as he begins to recognise that everyone on the street below who are panicking, are all panicking because of the same reason. Each and every single one of them has the same blinking red light in their arm. Each one of them is running for shelter, as if they saw what happens when the blinking stops. And then a few of them stop dead in their tracks. Ray is astonished to see what happens next. Two men scream in pain as a huge flash of light engulfs their body’s simultaneously. A silhouette of their bodies are seen through the light, and then nothing but a loud popping sound and a misty dust ball of body parts and blood cascade the area in which the two men were standing in a few seconds before. After that, the remaining men and women on the street below suffer the same fate, like a choir of violence that saturates the sidewalk and evaporates the people below. Pools of blood remain as a deadly silence surrounds the street.