Ill Wind_Chaos Witches

by Tal Turing

  It was after-hours and time to act. She wouldn't have a second chance; the Doctor would return for another 'discussion' the next day and if she failed in this 'escape' attempt, he would see to it that she never again had such freedom as she had now.

  The details of how she planned to exit the world unnerved her a bit so she followed her encouragement protocol. First, she relived the fear and loathing she felt every time the cell block door opened, every time she heard that damn guard clear his throat or whenever that snake-Doctor spoke to her. Then she thought about Dylan, what he had done to her, what he wanted for her future. It was enough, she was sure she could do this, she would do this.

  Lynda was a village girl at heart and in spirit, born and raised outside but near the Domes, a place populous even by village standards. She loved village life, she liked to work, in didn't matter where: in the tunnels, with the root beds, even surveying the valley's water systems and adjusting water directors. Her peoples plumbed the land so that the waters would drain without flooding, turning ground tubes into tunnels and caverns into reservoirs. They developed their own strains of vegetables that could grow underground and whose roots provided nourishment. Lynda could identify a storm by the color of the sky and the ridges in the clouds. She was thrilled to start the day with a plan and to end it with measured progress.

  She never had any desire to live in the Domes or even to see them. Then one of her people left them for the Domes, to work for one of the companies, it hardly mattered which. That person returned after three months, a ruined soul, damaged by the corpers then rejected and maligned by former friends and family. So when one of her friends followed that same path, Lynda refused to stand by. She followed and found a way to save her friend and in doing so discovered her true-calling, her real purpose.

  When she had met Dylan, he seemed to understand what she was doing, her passion. He was the only man, corper or villager, who understood her vision or seemed to. They fell in love, the word was now a rancid piece of meat in her mind.

  He wanted a family, with her, and she told him there were so many orphans in the valley that if a family is what they needed, there were plenty of children from which to choose. She didn't see the point in having her own child and she should have seen it as a warning sign when he persisted not only in wanting to have a child together but wanting to have it 'traditionally'.

  In other words, he wanted her to carry the baby. No one did that anymore; it was proven to be safer for mother and child to have the embryo grow in a fully monitored synthetic womb: a fetal development chamber. Besides, Lynda would hate to be laden and restricted by a traditional pregnancy. It wouldn't happen anyhow so it was not worth arguing with him; it couldn't happen with the precautions that she had always taken.

  But, somehow, almost mysteriously, it had happened. Dylan was delighted and Lynda tried to be happy as well but somehow his happiness seemed more in spite of her rather than for her, for them. Although it was not what she had planned, she decided that they would have this child. She would love it even if she and Dylan did not stay together. But then he told her that she needed to carry the child through the pregnancy; that any other way would harm the child. They argued and she pleaded with him.

  Finally she arrived at a point where she could not even bear to have a child with him in any way. She took an abortive and to her shock and dismay it failed. She took another and it also failed. So when Dylan, unaware of her intent, insisted that they see a specialist, she agreed. She would see the doctor and insist that they give her a strong abortive or perform an operation if that was necessary, whatever it took to end the pregnancy. But that was not the type of doctor that she encountered when she arrived at this Transom Facility inside their damned dome.

  Lynda was restrained and imprisoned while the embryo grew. Soon her child would be old enough to be transferred to a fetal development chamber and then she doubted she would ever see it again. What lay in store for her was a life of endless mind games and abuses. She would not accept that. She would rather jump into the storm itself.

  So this wasn't a sad time, this was a happy time. Everyone meets death and she wanted to shake its hand. Hell, she was going to kick Death in the ass. She spied the metal strut which would be the anchor for the top of her noose, hopped up onto the machine and leaned outward, her arms reaching.

  The Voice

  "What are you doing?"

  Lynda heard the feminine voice echo in her ear as she stood, precariously, on the machine and reached outward, looking for a place to secure the wire. Startled, she lost her balance and over-corrected, falling back into the chair, the entire contraption vibrating and groaning as she did so.

  Lynda stared out into the empty cell, her eyes wide with surprise.

  "Are you trying to kill yourself?" The voice continued, softly. She didn't perceive where it came from.

  "Duh!" Lynda blurted her annoyance before she could think. She was filled with a sense of relief that she had been found out. She wouldn't have to take that horrifying leap.

  And then she was upset at herself, at her cowardice, she had failed. Her eyes moistened with defiance as she waited for the guard to come running.

  "How did you get out of the damned chair? I seem to be trapped in mine,” the voice continued as if nothing were wrong.

  Lynda looked up into the ceiling. Were those words coming from above the grating? From a nearby cell? From another prisoner? But how?

  "You can see me? How can you see me if you're in a chair?" Lynda demanded.

  "I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours. Is there a way to get out of this thing? My arms are pinned, and this machine just stuck something in me, I think it's taking my blood; that would explain the red fluid flowing through that tube. But it might just as easily send something the other way, so...."

  "Did they restrain your legs too?" Lynda asked quietly. "If they did, I can't help you."

  "There's a blanket covering my legs but I can move them. Does that mean there is a way? Oh, my name is Cynnamon.” The spectral voice was hopeful.

  "Oh." Lynda wasn't sure what to think. Were they toying with her? She scrambled off the examining table and looked upwards through the metal grate and into the darkness.

  "Can you move your right leg? Can you lift your knee into the air?" Lynda uttered with astonishment. Then she realized that she had spoken in a normal voice. Surely she would need to speak louder if she expected this mystery girl to hear her!

  "Easily, it's my arms that aren't cooperating right now."

  Lynda laughed, the first time she had laughed in a while.

  "Good,” Lynda responded encouragingly, “Now lift your knee high and then swing the heel of your right foot down so that it hits below the center of the left arm restraint. Left side. You want your heel to kick below the restraint on the outer side, you are trying to depress a button, it's easier if you are wearing a boot or a shoe. Can you try that?"'

  There was a pause and then Lynda heard the voice again.

  "Nice instructions. I think I can do that. What was your name again?"

  "Oh, my name is Lynda. When did you get here, Cynnamon?"

  "Cyn is fine. I just checked in. The guard took my shoes and my pants. I'd like to get out of here become he comes back for the rest."

  "That's Sams. Well, I can't help you get out of your cell. At least not the way you want to go."

  Lynda heard a noise, a dull metallic thump, a pause, and then another. Could it be?

  "Wow, that was easy. Thank you Lynda."

  Lynda continued to look up towards the ceiling, her face breaking out into a smile.

  "You did it? The arm restraint retracted?"

  "Just as you said. I'm looking around my cell to see if I find anything useful."

  "Wait, how were you able to see me?"

  Lynda waited for a reply while she scanned the ceiling. There was not much to see. She knew there was a large open space above the grating and she had often wondered where she could go if sh
e could only squeeze through one of those holes. Would she be able to escape? She caught her breath as she thought she saw something move in the darkness above.

  "Lynda, I have to ask. Were you really going to kill yourself?" The voice returned.

  "It seems to me that you are asking a lot of questions and not answering any of my own,” Lynda scolded.

  "Sorry, I've been looking around. I did something to my eyes, so it's been slow going."

  "You know that makes no sense; what you just said."

  "I know. I'm sorry," the voice laughed again and then added softly, with sincerity, "Lynda, I don't know what's happened to make you want to do...what you were doing. I don't pretend to know what to say. But I could use your help if you want to stay around a bit.”

  Lynda froze, unsure of how to react. Of course now that she had actually spoken to someone, her death-wish had faded. But then she felt the fear, what if this were a trick? She would hate herself if that were the case. She paused, thinking.

  "Lynda,” the voice whispered. “He's on his way back. I think I can get him into your cell. Will you be willing to help me if I can?"

  Lynda held her tongue. It was like some kind of dream. But the voice continued. “I understand if you are unable, this is my deal, but I wanted to at least...”

  “I'm in!” Lynda said quickly, tersely and then added in a lower voice. “I just so happen to be ready for him,” she finished removing the wire noose from around her neck.

  "Whatever happens, it was nice to meet you. Quiet now, good luck."

  Seconds of silence went by, and then Lynda heard the sound of the cell block door opening.

  Double Teamed

  Sams approached the holding area's security door, the only lock his AI wouldn't open for him. He removed his weapon and placed it in a holster hanging on the wall. Then he punched the code into the keypad: 1-2-3-4-1. Even an idiot could remember that. The door flashed green and he activated the opening mechanism by waving his hand across the sensor. He walked into the holding area and made sure the security door closed behind him and that the lock activated. He took another drink from the bottle clutched in one hand. He had been picturing the smooth, olive skin of the young girl and her long black hair. He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair and pull it, just a little. He laughed out loud ending in a deep, persistent, cough.

  He approached her cell door; the indicator light flashed green and it opened on his gesture. He peered into the room; the girl was just as he had left her. Almost.

  Her bare calves and knees had slipped out from underneath the blanket and were spread to the side. Her head was tilted to the left and he could see that her eyes were closed and her mouth open.

  He stepped past the threshold and the door closed behind him. He took one more drink before he placed the bottle on the sink and enjoyed the wonderful warming sensation of the alcohol running down his throat, into his stomach, into his blood.

  He stepped onto the platform attached to the examination chair and looked down at her. His placed one hand lightly on her bare knee; she stirred but did not wake. Carefully, watching her, he opened his pants and pushed them down to his knees. He leaned forward, one hand resting on her knee while the other nudged his flaccid organ.

  As his left hand moved along her thigh, she started to respond. Her mouth opened slightly, her head started to turn towards him, eyes still shut. He pushed forward, the blanket giving way to his body as he lowered his face toward her. He couldn't wait for the moment that her eyes snapped open, in sudden realization. He smiled.

  It was in that awkward moment, his legs constrained by his own garment, his body raised high, his hands occupied, that she splashed his face with the cleaner. His body jolted with alarm, reacting to both the surprise and the sensation of the acrid liquid on his bare neck and face.

  In the next seconds, his nose would recognize the harsh odor of the cleaner he had left under the sink. He would realize that the substance might harm his eyes, even his face. He would also wonder how she had freed her arms in order to retrieve the flask. He would also, eventually, have the sense to ignore his surprise and the burning of his eyes and nostrils in order to grab her, to hold her and keep her. But all those realizations would take time. Time he was not given.

  In those fractions of a second, as his hands instinctively moved to his face and as his body's center-of-mass rose to a maximum, as his brain processed what was happening, the girl pushed him, hard, in the chest and he fell over backwards, his spine hitting the foot of the table. His momentum propelled him backwards, feet over head, toward the door, even as she scrambled past him. Now within range of the door, his AI activated it.

  He heard the sound and looked. Through the pain and the tears he could see her form, the long tanned legs contrasting against the white portal and he moved toward her swiping his hands, hoping to grab her leg or her ankle.

  His motion frightened her and she must have accidentally triggered the sensor because the door opened and she scurried out.

  But he heard her cries of panic and his resolve and confidence soared. He knew she could not leave the cell area without knowing the key code and his eyes were already starting to clear. He wiped at them with his shirt sleeves.

  He crawled to the door and heard her movements to his right, away from the security door. That was good, the stupid bitch didn't even know the way out.

  He looked and saw her cowering near the neighboring cell. He crawled toward her, knowing he could rise to his feet if he needed but also knowing that his position was stronger from his current low stance; he wanted to pull her to the ground, subdue her harshly and hold her until his eyes stopped burning. He was as proud of his quick thinking as he was angry at this stupid whore who was five seconds from a very painful and humiliating life lesson.

  The girl was frozen with fear as he approached. He lunged at her and ignored the sound of a sensor activating and a door sliding open.

  He had her! His hands touched her calf and grasped it. She twisted away from him, toward the opposing wall but he nimbly followed her, catching her and driving her to the ground. His legs straddled her waist and he held her down with one hand while he wiped his eyes with the other. Then he swung at her, hard, half-blind, and heard the satisfying sound of flesh on flesh. She stopped resisting. He wiped his eyes once more with his free hand and then looked down at his quarry.

  The girl with the olive skin and dreaming eyes did not look frightened. She had wrapped both of her hands around his wrist, holding it to her. Why would she do that? He took his free hand and tried to peel her hand away when she grabbed sleeve of that arm as well. This was strange and he was about to yank both hands back when he felt something slip over his head and bite into his neck.

  Lynda

  Lynda heard the cell block door open even as she quietly rearranged the blankets on the examination table where she slept, to appear as if she were beneath. Her heart beat hard in her chest as she slipped to the side of the door and waited, the cord strung between her hands.

  She heard the door to the neighboring cell slide open with an audible beep and she could taste bile in her throat, the cord burrowing into the flesh of her hand. She looked down and realized her mistake; she needed a buffer between the harsh, metal, wife and her flesh. Did she have time?

  She fell to the ground and pulled off her pants and used the cloth of each leg as protection, make-shift gloves for her hands. Then she wrapped each padded hand with the wire.

  It was as she was wrapping her right hand, the stronger of the two, that she heard the chirp to her own door and it slid open. She looked up, in horror, in time to see a dark haired girl stumble on her feet and fall to the ground. Had he hit her? Her heart raced even faster and her muscles felt weak.

  Lynda crept closer as the girl's glance swept by her. For a split-second, their eyes met. Then the dark eyes widened in apparent fear and she frantically slid along the floor, away from Lynda's door.

  Her view of the girl was blocked as Sams sc
rambled in between and was on top of his prey. He swung a beefy hand and Lynda heard it connect. Enraged, she flew forward even as he pressed both arms pinning his victim. Lynda swung her corded wrists over his head and pulled back hard, her weight adding force to her effort.

  The fabric helped but she could feel the cord bite into her flesh as well as his.

  Sams grunted and straightened his back, and instinctively Lynda drew back, to prevent him from reaching her with his hands. But his arms only attempted the movement, his hands remaining forward and now Lynda could see why. The girl with the black hair and olive skin had wrapped herself up in his sleeves, binding his arms together and forward.

  Lynda pulled again, her legs wrapping around his waist, adding her weight to the force of the cord against his large, fat neck.

  His body shook angrily, an attempt to throw her off and she cursed herself for not letting his motion translate directly into the cord. Instead, she had steadied herself with one leg, taking the pressure off his neck.

  He grunted, a muffled yell, as he began to rise, and Linda feared he would throw her off and pull free, then she would have to face him.

  But as he lifted his body up, unsteadily, and as Lynda pulled even harder, ignoring the screaming pain in her hands, she saw the other girl yank him forward, taking advantage of his unbalanced stance. Lynda could feel the cord cut through and his body fell forward, on top of the girl.

  Lynda kept her grip tight even as she strengthened her position, bracing her knees on either side of his waist. He did not resist even as she pulled the cord even deeper now. Was he dead? Had he passed out?

  Lynda looked over at the girl pinned beneath the giant. Her eyes were open, and intently focused on the face of the guard. What did she see? Was he looking back at her or had his eyes closed, perhaps forever.