by Eli Constant
The undergrounders were pretty muscular, their skin slightly translucent, making it a bit easier to target veins. I hoped that it would be like bleeding a large breed, short haired dog. The large dogs always had huge veins. Of course, the big veins tended to roll away from the needle.
I paused just inside the lab. I heard nothing. I walked farther into the room. The other day, I’d been able to hear the doctors conversing with Meg as I neared the door to the attached, smaller lab. Approaching that door now, I heard… silence. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Hopefully my luck would hold out.
The lights blared to life in the first cage. The undergrounder inside was one I hadn’t seen before. It must be a replacement. I wished I’d known one of the beasties had passed. Before dissection, I knew the doctors drained the body’s blood supply. That would have been useful. O’Toole and Peters performed the autopsies in Lab 7 because of the large fridges and freezer. Maybe the blood supply was still there.
Blood from one undergrounder wouldn’t be representative though.
There were twenty incarcerated beasties. I was only getting 10 samples tonight and I wanted to stay as far away from the twentieth cage as possible. Sheila-1 had really improved her vocalizing. Didn’t want her alerting anyone to my presence.
I punched in the five character alpha-numeric cage code: L-C-3-0-1. The door clicked open. I pushed it far enough to allow entry. It was on hydraulics and fell quietly back in place. The replacement undergrounder was sitting on its cot… I looked down at the abdomen, not seeing the slight protrusion of a female. It was male. His head turned slowly at the soft sound of the door clicking closed. His eyes were on me; my heart began to beat fast.
The beastie’s mouth hung open slightly. A steady stream of drool drizzled down from the corner and ran the length of his chin and neck. The drug cocktail the doctors injected the humanoids with contained a mild relaxant, but this went beyond that. Because this male was so new, he must have still been feeling the effects of the heavy tranquilizer uniforms used to capture wild beasties. I’d seen the darts the soldiers used, they were 4-ton elephant gauged.
I momentarily wondered if I was being really, really stupid. Why hadn’t I gone to cage 2 instead? Nope, I had to make things difficult by dealing with a fresh, wild monster and not a tame one. I cross my fingers: Please let the tranquilizer keep him docile for a few more minutes.
I neared him the way I would near a cornered psychotic- slowly, deliberately, and trying to exude a nonthreatening air.
I pulled a piece of rubber ribbon out of my breast pocket. I stood in front of the undergrounder now. His head lifted to mine, but he made no other movement. He was really drugged out. Bully for that.
I bent over and wrapped the ribbon around his upper forearm. I pulled it tight and tied it in a quick release knot. My pointer finger felt around the smooth expanse of his inner forearm. Jackpot. Just as I’d hoped- a nice, big, inviting vein pulsed to life and stood out clearly. I tapped it lightly.
I pulled out my first syringe, clamped my teeth around the cap and pulled the needle end free.
The vein tried to roll away from the sharp point, but I used two fingers to support the vein sides. I pushed the needle into the vein and got an instant flash of blood. Without hesitating, I drew the needle head until the syringe body was brimming with red.
I pressed my finger to the exit hole as I pulled the needle out, recapped it, and pushed it into my empty apron slot. One down; nine to go. I held pressure to the wound several more seconds. I couldn’t gauze and tape it. The doctors would notice.
The undergrounder remained still, lazily watching me work.
I walked backwards and swiftly towards the door. After punching in the code, I exited and only then did I allow myself a long, ragged breath.
I moved to the next cubicle, punched in its code L-C-3-0-2, and scooted in.
This blood draw did not go so smoothly.
The drug injections were given once daily and usually occurred at night around 2200. The doctors had said the effects lasted for a 30 hour period and were given early, at the 24 hour mark, just to keep a heady supply in the system.
Entering the small space, however, I got the immediate impression that this particular beastie was feeling abnormally alert and active. I was confused; the injection had been hours earlier, he should have been totally docile and relaxed.
But the undergrounder’s eyes were clear when they locked with mine.
My first warning.
My ‘get the hell out’ warning was when he rose from the bed and started walking towards me.
“Shit.” I murmured under my breath. The door had already reclosed behind me. I stepped backwards, but there wasn’t really anywhere to go. My body hit the steel expanse of door. My left hand shot out and landed palm down on the key pad. I needed to see the pad to punch in the code, but I couldn’t stop looking at the figure striding towards me. Why the hell did they have a key pad on the inside too?
The undergrounder stood upright quite well, little indication he’d ever been accustomed to life on all fours. His claws had been neatly trimmed and were less fear-inducing than those of his wild counterparts. That was comforting at least.
Confined space, plus undergrounder, plus me, was an equation begging for a solution.
The beastie was so close now. I thought my chest would explode; my poor heart was being put through the ringer tonight.
I took the chance and looked at the key pad. I managed to hit the first two keys before my head hit the reinforced steel door.
Dazed, I reached out to steady myself and felt a muscular chest. I had to stop getting my head smashed during beastie brawls; I was bound to go stupid eventually.
The undergrounder didn’t wait for me to recover- like a good little duel partner. Both his hands pushed against my upper torso and lifted me off the ground. I was flying then and I thought: my, isn’t that wall moving towards me rather fast. I wonder how that will feel?
And then I felt the concrete blocks. The few weeks of living in the facility had made me soft. I was on the opposite end of the room from the door, near the undergrounder’s bed. I pulled myself up using the footboard. Ouch.
I didn’t have my gun, but I had a bunch of nice, pointy needles. I pulled two out of the apron and yanked the caps off. I crouched, the first pangs of a headache building. I waited for the right moment.
The beastie was coming towards me again unhurried, knowing he had me cornered. I had the sneaking suspicion that the behavioral drugs were losing a bit of their effectiveness. Nah, really Elise? What makes you think that?
I’d have to find some way to tell O’Toole and Peters… without them knowing I’d been taking late night, pleasure strolls in the beastie cages.
It was a small room. It didn’t take the humanoid long to be right on top of me. I didn’t struggle as his hands wrapped relentlessly around my body. He left my arms free. Bad move, beastie.
I fought my instinct to kick as he lifted my body. Not until I was elevated a foot above the floor, with my toes dangling in midair did I raise the hand holding the syringes and drive the sharp points into his left eye. Blood squirted out; it was good my apron was black.
I’d like to say my assailant didn’t scream. I’d like to say Dr. O’Toole didn’t hear the din and come rushing out of the adjacent lab- Meg in tow.
I can’t say that, but what I can say is this: the hands restraining me loosened and I fell to the hard floor.
I didn’t pause. I belted for the door, punched in the key code, and got the hell out of Lab-3. I didn’t completely leave though. I waited outside the double doors- staring in through the window.
The screeching of the male undergrounder reverberated and started a chain reaction with the other caged beasties.
Seconds after I’d exited, O’Toole was in the lab staring through the glass at the injured male. Meg was hiding behind his body, holding his hand. O’Toole bent down and talked to Meg briefly. She skipped back in
to the other lab, leaving the disturbing sight behind her. That skipping bothered me. It was too happy a response to the scene she’d just witnessed.
“Crap.”
O’Toole was racing for the double doors and if I didn’t move quickly, he’d see me in the hall. That would be a little too incriminating for me to deny. I ran to the left and jumped into Lab 1. It was empty and always unlocked. The only issue with it being empty was that it was empty. Not many places to hide.
I scanned the room and ended up in a lower cabinet under a built in sink. Finding myself contorted in another small space hiding from Dr. O’Toole, I began to wonder if all the sneaking around was worth it. It sure did a number on my body. I wasn’t young anymore and I’d never been a flexible woman. David had always encouraged Yoga for a reason. Said he’d signed up to make love to a woman, not a 2x4. I’d always been flattered. I mean, 2x4s are really thin, right? So… If I was any size close to a 2x4, then I was looking pretty damn hot.
I waited in that cramped position for almost two hours. When I finally snuck out, I didn’t head to Sub-Lab 8. Instead, I crossed my fingers and headed for Lab 7. Autopsy central.
I hoped the night wouldn’t turn out a total bust.
Concussed
I had to laugh at Jamie’s expression as I strode through the doors bearing a gallon jug of chilled ‘blood a la beastie.’
My apron also held one full syringe and a small specimen container of greasy, grimy undergrounder flesh.
“Elise, I sent you out for about 120 milliliters of sample, not 120 liters!”
“Well, you see what happened was…” and I thrilled her with my recently experienced, tale of terror. Jamie’s eyes widened as I spoke.
“You were in one of the cages?”
“How else did you expect me to get your samples?”
“Oh my God… I didn’t think about it. I can’t believe you made it out. Let me take a look at your head.” She rolled over a lab stool.
“Really, I’m fine.” I brushed her off.
“Elise, sit.” And I sat. I did it instantly, reflexively. I felt a bit like a trained poodle.
“Ouch! Hey, watch it.”
“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry. “You’re really banged up back here.” I tried to get up, but she pushed me back down. “Elise, stop. This needs to be cleaned.”
“I’m fine.”
“What you are is a big baby.” She walked over to a cabinet and pulled down a white kit with a bright red cross on the front. She rummaged through it for a while then came back with a handful of alcohol swabs and a small sewing kit.
“Dang, I need stitches?”
“I’m surprised you’re still conscious.” The sting of the alcohol was rude and I felt nauseous.
“Jamie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to be sick.”
After a slight hesitation, Jamie quickly rolled me over to the sink and helped me stand. Funny how one minute you can feel completely okay and the next minute you remember, ‘hey, I just got hit by a car. I guess things should hurt.’
My hair was already pulled back. It had finally grown long enough to be tamed into a short, blunt ponytail- although the occasional wayward strand escaped. As a show of comfort, Jamie held the back of my neck and stroked my head. I hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday. There wasn’t much to expel.
With a final, fruitless heave, my body finished and I sat unsteadily back on the stool. It tried to roll from under me, but Jamie secured it with her foot.
“Better?” I grunted what I hoped sounded like a ‘yes.’ “I think you might be concussed. You should go to the medical wing.”
“No way. I can’t give O’Toole and Peters any reason to suspect it was me in the lab cages. Just stitch me up as best you can and see if there’s some Advil in your med kit.” I bent over, my head almost between my knees. I felt queasy again- even though I knew there was nothing in my stomach to throw up.
Jamie really thought I should go to the infirmary and argued with me a bit longer. Eventually though, Jamie caved-in and finished cleaning up the wound. She was a deft seamstress.
In no time, I was as good as new. Well, nearly as good as new. Okay, I was not so good at all. I dry swallowed three pills.
“We need to get the blood in the fridge.” I spoke with my eyes closed; the fluorescent lights of the lab were harsh. The headache that had started in the beastie cage was progressing to the migraine stage.
“Got it.” Jamie grabbed the gallon jug, syringe from my apron, and the specimen container. “How fresh is this gallon?”
“Pretty. That other undergrounder was brand new, still doped from the tranquilizer. They do the autopsies immediately following expiration.”
“Great. I wanted a more diverse sample set, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Good, because there’s no way on God’s used-to-be green earth, I’m going back for a second try.”
Jamie closed the door to the fridge and started giving me a run-down on the progress she’d made while I was gone. I tried really hard to ignore the pain in my head and listen.
Jamie had set out the materials for isolating the DNA from the samples and she’d begun modifying an existing program to use as a comparative program for the human and humanoid DNA.
“This program is basically the human genome so half our work is done for us. We isolate the dissimilar chromosomes and we integrate them into this program as foreign bodies. We’ll then work on the real-life vectors to start on that coding. I got word from upstairs that they’re flying in a programmer and a Chemist late morning today.”
“Today? Jeez, what time is it?”
“About 4 am.” Jamie was cleaning up our make-shift med station; she replaced the first aid kit in its cabinet.
“Well, on that note, keep up the good work. I’m going to micromanage you from my room.”
“Have a good rest.”
“You too. Where’s your room?”
“I moved all my stuff down here.” Jamie pointed to the back right corner of the lab. Sure enough, there was a cot and several bags.
“Cozy.”
“Yep. There’s a bathroom down the hall and I’ve got an emergency shower here. All the comforts of home.”
Jamie was kicking off her shoes and crawling under blankets when I pushed through the lab doors. I waved goodbye, but she’d already sailed off to slumber land.
My shared room was quiet, the occupants still. I slept for about three hours. I heard Jason, Michael and Allison get up and leave the room about 0630. The girls woke up shortly after 0700.
“Momma?”
“Yes, Kara. Did you have good dreams?” Her voice was quiet and, as always, a bit hard to understand.
“No. Bad dream.”
“What did you dream about baby?”
“Da-da”
“A bad dream about daddy?”
“Da-da died.”
“Yes baby, daddy is in heaven now.”
“No… da-da died!” Tears were running down her face.
“Did you see daddy die?”
She nodded. I pulled her against my chest and murmured softly as she cried. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay. Daddy’s an angel now. He has wings and flies around all day watching over us.”
“Da-da flies?” She peeked up at me, her small face guileless.
“Yep. I bet he’s the best angel in heaven.”
She nodded again. The sadness was disappearing now. I wiped her face with my shirt sleeve. I looked down to see Megan’s eyes open. A single tear pooled at the corner of her eye. She swiped at it quickly and gave me a brave smile.
“Come on, Kara! Let’s get ready for breakfast.” Megan jumped off the bed and held her arms out.
Kara scooted away from me and perched on the end of the bed. She held her arms out, a mirror to Megan. Her little butt slid the rest of the way off, taking the wool blanket with her. Kara collapsed forward, her little legs not quite up to the task. Megan had her arm
s under Kara’s armpits before her knees could hit the floor.
They walked hand in hand towards the bathroom with me trailing close behind, holding our little tote of toiletries.
Megan was an amazing big sister. I’d been an only child growing up. Lacking siblings, I’d learned what having a brother or sister was like by observing families around me. I’d seen fighting and hatred. I’d seen camaraderie and love. My girls exuded the later.
All three of us jumped in the same shower.
Megan washed Kara’s hair; I washed Megan’s and while the girls were decorating each other with soap suds, I washed my own hair. I gingerly massaged around the new stitches. Hurt like a bitch.
I towel dried the girls’ hair. I tried to make a sound like a blow dryer as I rubbed the cloth all over their heads. The girls laughed.
“Mom, that doesn’t sound like a dryer at all!” Megan pulled the towel away from her face to give me an exasperated look. I grinned.
I squeezed excess water out of my ends and began to pull my hair back. I parted it severely to the left so more of my hair would cover the wound. I banded it extra tight to keep the shorter strands properly tamed. The heat of the shower had worn off and for the first time, I felt soreness in my back. Great. My ribs finally get better and now my back hurts again.
I’d only thrown on my sports bra and undies, so when I turned around, the majority of my back was reflected in the mirror. A bruise was beginning to form. It ran from between my shoulder blades down to the stretchy band on my Hanes. It was a pale green now. It would look a lot worse later.
I didn’t want the girls to notice, so I quickly pulled my short sleeve, black tee over my body. I’d also have to avoid making the beast with two backs. I didn’t want Jason getting all macho protective.
Megan and Kara had gotten dressed while I was playing Narcissus.
“Ready?” They nodded happily. “Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”
Breakfast was as special treat. We happily munched on rehydrated egg mush, untoasted toast, and (surprise, surprise) more grits.