by Theo Vigo
Gwen: Yes, Doctor Keung. Rohan is going to need your help examining more of the altered patients. Rosa is sorting the supplies we were waiting for. You can both take what you need and get to work.
Keung: Ooookay. Doctor?
Rohan: Right. Good. Let's go.
Erika: Check the heads. I guess, besides your injections, those things don't die unless you completely destroy their heads. I blew a ton of them sky-high once and even still, some were crawling around because their heads were still intact. It's gotta mean something.
Rohan: Oh, thank you for that valuable piece of advice, Ms. Blaze. How could we have forgot to study the cranium? Yes, yes. We will definitely make sure we do that because you said so.
Erika is well aware of the sarcasm in the doctor's voice, but she lets him get away with it. The two men leave Erika and Gwen to get what they need from Rosa. Gwen sighs and walks to her own desk. Erika follows her.
Erika: Ever notice how it's like festival of foreign accents in here?
Gwen: Comes with the territory. We doctors have come from all over the world.
Erika: I like it. It's very multi-cultural.
Gwen: (exhales) Yes, it is.
Gwen sits in her desk's chair and leans her head back, exhausted. Erika looks for a space on the edge of the desk to sit on, but its surface is completely filled with papers and equipment. She makes some space anyway and parks her butt down on the edge.
Erika: Tired?
Gwen: Mentally, physically, emotionally, you name it.
Erika: I'm sorry. I would love to offer my assistance, but this science thing really isn't my forte. I work with test tubes, but I usually make things for destroying life, not saving it.
Gwen: Mmm, that's quite all right, Ms. Blaze. We all have our place. Some save lives, and some take them away.
Erika: I like to think I'm a balance of both. I take lives, yes, but I take the lives of bad things and people to save the lives of good people. Some people just take lives because it's fun for them. I find them disgusting.
Gwen: And some may not take lives or kill directly but do everything in their power to prevent heroes like you from succeeding. Those people are just as bad.
Erika: Our team has been known to take people like that out as well. They fall under the same filthy category. Sometimes, some people just have to be removed so that the world can be a better place.
Gwen: I wish someone would remove Feleider from my world.
Erika: The General?
Gwen: Yes. He's made our jobs very difficult. It's like he goes out of his way to delay our progress. He needs to be dealt with… Maybe if you-
Erika: Ha, I'm sorry, Ms. Gavine, but I can't assassinate the General.
Gwen: No! Of course not, but maybe you might be able to apply some of those special skills for us… in the form of recon?
Erika: (intrigued) Heh. Oh, I see. Mmm, well, what do you have in mind?
<><><>
Doctor Alyster continues his own research in a rarely visited area, deep inside of the compound. The old man brings medium sized a glass case out from the clutter on his desk and places it on the high desk where Holden sits on a stool. The giant man leans over the desk, resting his elbows and forearms down on its surface, watching the doctor's every move.
Dr. Alyster: Here she is. Zhe newest von.
Holden: Fausta.
Dr. Alyster: Hah! Yesss. Fausta zhe mouse. (coughs) I named her zhis becaws she haz displayed only posative results.
Holden: This is the mouse with the new parasite?
Dr. Alyster: A prototype of zhe newer parasitic-chip, yes. She has been able to receive und follow shrough vit all instructions so far, but only time vill tell if her stable condition vill last.
The good doctor goes back to his desk and looks around in the unending clutter of papers for something. He lifts one of the piles and under it is a rectangular piece of glass about the size of two palms. He picks it up and walks back to Holden and Fausta. The little white mouse sits calmly in the middle of it's cage, waiting patiently for the customary treat that she has come to expect from the balding man in the white coat, but Doctor Alyster is in no rush. Holden watches curiously as the doctor double taps the corner of the see-thru slab of glass. Neon blues and reds begin emanating from it, and Holden realizes that it must be some sort of controller.
Dr. Alyster: Ah, sheisse…
The doctor places the controller by Fausta's case and goes back to his desk. After shuffling through more papers, he finds a crinkled up white plastic bag. He brings it back, places it on the table, and Holden sees that it is a bag of cookies.
Holden: Don't mice eat cheese?
Dr. Alyster: Zhat is a meeth. You tell me, vhere can you find cheese in zhe vild?
Holden: I never thought of it like that. What's this all about?
Dr. Alyster: Total control.
Doctor Alyster picks the glimmering glass controller up, as well as a piece of shortbread cookie. He floats his hand over the open roof of the case, and the mouse stands on its hind legs, ready for her treat. The doctor tosses the small piece of crumble into the corner, and Fausta the mouse chases it down, devouring it instantly. Quickly, the doctor takes another piece of cookie and throws it into the opposing corner. Both men watch Fausta finish eating her first piece and spot the other. She immediately scurries over to the next corner to eat her second sweet treat, but when the good doctor presses down on one of the glowing icons on the controller, Fausta stops in the dead center of her glass home.
Holden: What happened? She's acting like the cookie isn't even there.
Dr. Alyster: Egzactly. I have total control now.
Holden: You're actually controlling her right now, with that thing?
Dr. Alyster: Yes, super soljiah, but zhis is not all.
For a third time, Doctor Alyster places the remote down on the high desk and goes over to his messy one. A little foraging and he again, succeeds in finding what he is looking for. This time he brings a sheet of wood back to Holden and the mouse. From the looks of it, Holden assumes the piece must be about a centimetre thick.
Dr. Alyster: (coughs) Vatch zhis…
The doctor taps another icon, and Fausta regains control of her own thoughts. Holden can see in the little mouse's deportment that it has just awoken from some sort of hypnosis. It looks around in an attempt to collect itself and gather its composure, until it's sense of smell hones in on the cookie once again. That's when Fausta makes a break for her treat. She almost gets it, but Doctor Alyster inserts the wooden sheet into fittings in the corner of the case. It leaves the little mouse separated from her prize. She runs around the rest of the cage, confused and frustrated that she can't get into the corner her treat is in. The good doctor gets a good chuckle out of it. Holden looks at him, almost as confused as the mouse, until Alyster picks back up the remote control. He plays with more of the brightly lit symbols, and the mouse ceases it's aimless scramble. Controlling her again, the doctor moves Fausta into the opposite corner of her obstructed cookie and makes her wait.
Dr. Alyster: Are you vatching?
When Holden nods, the doctor flicks another light. As soon as he does, Fausta darts out of the corner toward the wood with all her might and smashes into it with her head. To Holden's amazement, the little white mouse breaks clean through the centimetre thick piece of wood.
Dr. Alyster: Ah ha! Zhere, you see?
Holden: Yes… The strength of ten mice. She's perfect.
Dr. Alyster: It looks to be his way, but only time vill tell, miene boy. Let us hope zhat our leetle friend doesn't go shrough a metamorphosis during zhe night, huh? We shall check on her again tomorrow. (coughs)
Holden: You should really do something about that cough, doctor.
Dr. Alyster: I've had zhis cough for twenty yeers, soljiah Holden. I vill have it until I pass, which vill not be for a very long time. You see, it keeps me healthy; expels zhe germs.
Holden hears the doctor, but leaves it at that. The old
man has hints of irrationality in his character, but if there is one thing that Holden knows, it's that Doctor Alyster is no quack. Perhaps the cough is keeping him alive much longer than life intends, it doesn't matter, as long as the good doctor lives long enough to perfect the parasite. As long as that happens, everything will be fine. The super soldier stays sat on the stool looking down on his little super counterpart. Fausta nibbles away at her well-deserved shortbread prize.
VIBE RATING
A light tap on the head is all that Margaret feels when she regains consciousness. The next thing she feels is the warm concrete under her face and body, and she remembers that she is lying face down under one of the many cars that line every lane of the highway they've returned to. She feels another tap on her head as her eyes come back into focus, and across from her she sees Billy, laid up under the adjacent car, ready to toss another pebble. He puts it down when he sees that she is fully awake, then puts a finger to his lips before she can say anything. He waves the same index finger around, and she figures it must be a signal to let her know that the undead are lurking about.
She mouths him a question, asking him where Abe is, and he motions to the car in front of her. Looking up she can only see the bottom of Abe's beat up feet and crotch under the car ahead. Satisfied, she shrugs at Billy, her way of asking, "What's next?"
He holds up four fingers and points toward his feet, then motions for her to hold on. She does, and Billy shimmies slowly out from under his night's shelter. Margaret watches his feet walk off in the direction that his finger was pointing in, the direction of her own feet, away from her car. She has no choice but to continue lying uncomfortably on her chest, underneath this metal car in the relentless summer humidity. Luckily, she doesn't have to wait very long. She sees his feet reappear within minutes and stop where she has her head laid. Then she sees Billy's upside-down face.
Billy: You can come out now.
Margaret: Ugh, thank God.
Margaret begins to do some wriggling of her own, but Billy makes it a bit easier for her to get out from under the car by lending her a hand. He pulls her out and helps her dust herself off. Her new clothes have basically been ruined.
Margaret: (exhales) Thanks. Did you… kill those four things?
Billy: No. They had passed us a few minutes before I woke you up. I was just making sure they were far away enough for us to move on. No point in making an unnecessary ruckus.
Margaret: Jesus, I feel like the freaking tin man. Who's bright idea was it to sleep under cars? Wait, you don't have to answer. It was obviously yours.
Billy: It was the safest way for us both to get some sleep. Otherwise, one of us would have had to stay up and keep watch. It was worth the sacrifice… I think.
Billy joins Margaret in a chorus of stretches. They have both had a very rough night with only a couple hours of sleep, if that much. When she gets as limber as her sore body will allow, Margaret walks over to the car that is parked ahead of hers and looks under it. Sure enough, Abe is lying underneath, face up, staring right at her.
She thinks back to the night before, her and Billy having to lay Abe flat on his back and push him under the car. It was more troublesome than one might imagine. They easily could've let him stand the whole night, but Margaret didn't want to risk him wandering off, and Billy didn't want to risk him attracting attention, so Abe had shared duplicitously in their discomfort. Together, Margaret and Billy drag his undead weight out from under the car and into the hot Oregon sun.
Margaret: Wait a sec…
Billy stops helping Abe to his feet, leaving him sitting up.
Margaret: Abe, get up. Up… To your feet.
She throws her hands to the sky repeatedly so that Abe will get the message, and it works. The beat up zombie pushes himself to his feet without any help and waits.
Billy: Wow.
Margaret: Yep,.. he's getting smarter.
Billy: He's listening better, that's for sure.
Margaret: Just think, if he can learn this stuff, he should be able to learn anything, right?
Billy: That makes sense, but who knows what his capacity to learn is, really? Only time will tell.
Margaret: I guess… Luckily, we have all the time in the world. (sighs) We gonna get moving now?
Billy: That'd probably be the best thing.
Margaret: K, come on, Abe.
Margaret, Billy, and Abe traverse through three hours of vehicle congested highway, past many trapped souls who were abandoned by family and friends, left to cook inside of cars that literally turn into ovens during the day. A particularly disgusting corpse has its head resting on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat. When it hears the group of three passing by, it lifts its head to look out the window, and Margaret and Billy see that the flesh of its face has stuck to the hot leather of the dash. It stretches from it like melted cheese on a fresh pizza as the deserted corpse lethargically taps at them on the window from inside.
The smell in the open air on this part of their journey is even more putrid than it had been inside of the tunnel they were once roaming. It takes a tremendous amount of will for Billy to ignore the sensation to throw up, but will is not a force that Billy is short on. He soldiers through, knowing that the farther they are able to go, the less time they will have to spend surrounded by the sights and smells of cooking bodies, and then...
Margaret: Can we stop?
Billy: What? Why? Your ankle? I thought it was better… for the most part.
Margaret: No, my ankle is fine,.. or at least I think it is. It's hard to gauge when your entire body is in pain, you know? I just need to rest.
Billy: Are you sure? The harder we push, the sooner we'll be off of this highway.. away from this smell.
Margaret: Don't kid yourself. You know we're going to be on this road for days, maybe even weeks. What's the rush, right? Let's stop for a few minutes. We can eat something… so you don't feel like we're wasting any time.
Billy: All right. You're right. Let's rest.
Margaret: (huffs) Great.
Upon Billy's agreement, Margaret promptly swings her knapsack off, drops it to the ground and takes a seat on the pavement. The heat surprises her and she pops back up slightly when it scorches her bottom, but settles back down and cautiously leans her back up against a vacant car's door. It's pretty much just as hot as the ground.
Billy places his bag down as well, then sits across from Margaret against the car in the next lane. Neither of them bother to sit Abe down, so he stands up by and in between them on the narrow path made by the two rows of never ending vehicles. Billy watches Margaret drag her bag close and open it up. She pulls out a little can opener that she had taken from the store, and then a can of original flavored Spaghettios.
Billy: Already? I thought for sure you would be saving those for later. You know, I still have more ER Bar. You can have some, if you want.
Margaret: No, thanks. I have this strong sense of impending doom. Might as well eat the stuff I like before I'm dead.
Billy: You're just in a bad mood, that's all.
Margaret: Last night, I was so well rested that I couldn't sleep, and now my whole body aches. Sorry, if I'm in a bit of a sour mood.
Margaret sets the opener up on the lid of the can and begins cutting it open.
Billy: You don't have to apologize.
Margaret: We had it soooo good. What the fuck happened?
Billy: It's just the world we live in now. You couldn't have expected that we would be safe there forever. You're smarter than that. Those men came in and the two of us weren't even there for a week. Who knows what might've happened if they had found us before we heard them. You should know better than most that anything goes now.
Margaret puts the can opener aside, peels the tin lid off of the can and licks the sauce off of it before tossing it aside. She reaches into her bag for a spoon so she can begin eating her favorite snack.
Margaret: You heard them.
Billy: What
ever… Something was bound to run into us eventually. Wandering survivors, zombies,.. We were bound to be disturbed.
Margaret: But did it have to happen so soon?! This sucks to the highest degree of suckery.
Billy: Try to take your mind off of it. A couple more days and we were going to be travelling this road again anyway. We only lost two days there. It's nothing, really.
Margaret: (mouth full) Maybe to you. You can't wait to get to California. If it were up to you we probably wouldn't have even stayed as long as we did.
She swallows and takes another big spoon full.
Billy: Actually, I was having a pretty great time. It was relaxing. It was fun. I could've stayed a couple more days easily, maybe even a little longer. I'm kind of sad that I didn't get to beat Inhabitant Devil 6. I was so close. I probably would've beaten it too, but… uhmm..
Margaret: But what?
Billy: Aww, nothing.