by Aaron Bunce
Preston’s fingers dug into her back as he fought to pull them together. A dark line formed above his nose as she flexed her legs out, fighting to gain purchase with her feet and kick him off. She couldn’t talk anymore, could barely breathe.
Anna felt his body contract as he fought to pull her closer, as if embracing her in a strangling hug. A strangled cry formed in her throat as something beneath Preston’s shirt moved, clawing at the thin fabric like curling fingers.
Footsteps slapped against the floor by her head and in the next moment a shadow fell over them.
“Get the fuck off of her!” Soraya yelled. She wrenched Preston’s left arm free and yanked him back. The nails of his left hand dug deeper into Anna’s shoulder as he moaned and lifted her clear of the ground.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I said get-off-of-her!” Soraya hooked her hands into the neckband of his shirt and pulled hard. The fabric stretched and tore, the shirt splitting right down the middle.
The skin between Preston’s eyes split apart suddenly. Blood spattered from the torn skin, white bone appearing in the white light. Anna screamed and kicked as boney, sharp objects pushed out through the skin of his stomach and chest, the snapping of bone so loud it echoed off the walls.
“Help me!” Anna screamed as blood spattered her chest and face.
Soraya fell back against the wall as Preston scrabbled back over Anna, something boney and white popping through the skin just under his ribs, and then another.
Anna moved to cover up just as something swung in fast and smacked Preston’s head aside with a loud ding. He moaned and twisted back towards her when Soraya swung the fire extinguisher in again, hitting him in the side of the head and tumbling him onto his back.
“Get up…get up!” Soraya yelled and half-lifted Anna off the ground and half-dragged her down the hall.
She kicked and stumbled, fighting for balance and trying to swipe the gore off her face. Bone and flesh snapped and slapped loudly against the floor and walls behind them, but Anna didn’t dare turn and look. Was it still Preston anymore? What was it trying to do to her?
They ran together down the hall. Soraya yanked her around the corner and towards their door, overhead lights cycling on and off as far ahead as she could see. Anna crashed into the wall by her door, urgently rolling up the stained sleeve of her shirt. The scanner’s small green light glowed in the darkness, but when Anna fumbled her wrist over the reader, nothing happened.
“Try again, try again!” Soraya yelled, grasping her arm and smashing her wrist against the wall.
Anna looked up just as a dark form appeared around the corner behind them. Preston staggered out into their hall, his right hand scrapping against the wall. His fingers left dark, wet smudges on the ceramic panels.
Preston made a strange gurgling sound and then his nose popped. His face tore wide, the flesh pulling away clear down to his top lip. He tipped sideways and stumbled into the middle of the hall, a horrible, tormented scream spilling out of his mouth.
Soraya screamed in response, her nails digging into Anna’s arm. A door opened further down the hall past Preston, an elongated box of light cutting into the dark. Anna smacked her wrist blindly against the reader. A person appeared from the open door, leaning out and looking in either direction before spotting Preston.
“What is with all the yelling out here? I worked third shift….I just want to sleep!” they complained.
Get inside and close your door! Anna’s thoughts screamed, but she couldn’t seem to speak…to form the words. She couldn’t look away from Preston as he ambled towards them, moving through the light streaming in from above.
She banged her wrist against the wall, but didn’t even know where the reader was anymore. His face was peeling back like the macabre pedals of a blooming flower, jagged shards of bone tearing and stabbing out through the skin on his chest and stomach. She wanted to scream, to turn and run, but could only seem to smack her wrist against the wall.
Anna only tore her eyes away when Soraya wrenched her head around. She smacked the reader with her right hand and smashed her left wrist against it again, pushing against the limb with all of her weight.
“Hey, you…pal, leave the ladies alone. Anna, is that you? Are you okay?” the man from down the hall yelled.
The reader beeped suddenly and the door clicked. She shoved Soraya through the gap and into their quarters before it had opened fully and jumped inside. She punched the wall, the door control panel cracking under her fist.
Motors whirred, gears grinding unevenly and she turned to find Soraya shoving the door to make it close faster. Anna dug her fingers into the gap between the metal panels and pulled, a massive, clicking, shifting form hitting the door just as it slid shut.
“Lock…lock…lock it!” Soraya muttered, sliding to the ground and shoving her weight against the door. Something scratched against the metal door from the hall, a heavy thud shaking the door and its service panel a heartbeat later.
Anna swung around and jabbed the lock button on the cracked screen. The panel beeped and the icon flashed red.
“Lock? Did it...lock?”
The door shuddered violently.
Anna’s gaze flashed from the panel to Soraya, and back to the panel. She hadn’t heard it click.
“I don’t…I didn’t hear it click. Did you?”
The door shuddered again, the motor panel rattling noisily. Something popped in the wall.
“Hey, buddy…I’m talking to you. Why don’t you get away from their fucking door or I’ll call security,” the man yelled out in the hall, his voice muffled by the ceramic wall panels.
The door shuddered again and again, the metal portal rattling loosely.
Anna grabbed Soraya and wrenched her off the ground. She pulled her down the dark hall. The bathroom light shone ahead, its dim glow barely breaking the heavy shadows.
“Just back the fuck off, man. What is wrong with you…” the man screamed from the hall just as Anna slammed the bathroom door behind them.
Anna sat on the sink and threw her feet up onto the door, bracing against the wall to hold it shut. Soraya slowly backed into the small shower, her eyes wide and her mouth open, before falling awkwardly into the small space.
Anna held her breath, choking back sobs, and listened. She reached down and pinched her arm again and again, but the pain felt real. No noise came from the hall beyond the door. No banging, no yelling. Nothing.
“What…in…the…hell…was…that?” she finally managed to ask. Her voice trembled and shook, her heart beating a violent tamponade against her ribs.
“That wasn’t my Preston…wasn’t. Can’t…couldn’t be. No-no-no. His face…his stomach. What…what was happening to him?” Soraya asked, her legs spilling awkwardly out of the small shower. She sobbed, her tears running heavily down her cheeks. Then she started to gag and Anna’s body went rigid.
Anna picked up the waste can and shoved it in Soraya’s grasping hands just before she pitched forward and vomited. She heaved into the metal can, her gagging and choking echoing impossibly loud in the small space.
No – please, god…no!
Anna pushed back against the opposite wall, her feet pressing her back into the corner and didn’t stop. She watched Soraya tremble over the can, then glanced to the bathroom door and the lock. Was it safe beyond the bathroom? Was she safe in it?
“Ah…I’m okay. I just think it was…too much,” Soraya grunted and wrestled forward to set the can outside the shower, then she leaned back and sucked in a deep breath, her chest shaking as she hiccupped.
Anna watched her carefully, mentally preparing to run or fight if she started to act funny. She inched forward and despite her reservations, glanced into the can. The crumpled up refuse was spattered with surprisingly blue sick. She wrinkled her nose as a bubble formed on a tissue and slid out of sight. It was red.
Day 4
0019 Hours
Jacoby was in his childhood hom
e. It looked as it always did – disheveled, dirty, and smelled of stale synth alcohol, cheap, burned meat, and sweat. A visible haze hung in the air. It glowed orange in front of the open window, where the early morning sun spilled in.
A pack of exchange cigarettes sat on the dirty table, the crinkled, white pack smudged with grease. His father’s old hardhat sat next to it, “Mason” scratched into the front where the nameplate had long-ago fallen off.
He moved from the kitchen to the small hall, passing by the living room. The small television glowed brightly, an E-span ticker sliding smoothly across the screen, while a rather rigid-looking woman in a drab suit droned on and on. The right side of the screen flickered, pixelating where the acrylic was cracked. He remembered when it broke – his father threw a bottle at the screen when WholeTech announced they were moving all manufacturing from earth to the lunar colony. Another job change and another night hiding from his violent, drunken rage.
His father sat in his recliner, his dirty boots hanging just past the edge of the footrest. His jumpsuit was dark, almost black, through the knees, chest, and arms, where years of soot and embedded grease stained the protective fabric.
Jacoby inched forward, moving closer than he usually dared. His father didn’t snort or snore and he couldn’t see his chest rise and fall in the gloom. He held tight to the water glass, the surface of the clear liquid sloshing from side to side.
His father didn’t ask where the water came from, but it was next to him each morning without fail. He’d wake up, grunt and complain, and then drink. If his headache persisted, his mood would sour. If not, Jacoby might actually see his old dad again, and better yet, he might give him a ride to school. The water helped, sometimes. He’d leave pain relievers, too. If he could find some.
He stepped over an empty bottle, and tiptoed through several more before carefully sliding the water glass onto the small table next to the chair. He eased the ashtray aside and moved the glass as close to his father as possible.
Jacoby reached into his pocket and pulled a single bubble pack free, the pills inside an opaque red. He laid the pain relievers down next to the water glass and turned to move away, but his foot came down on an empty bottle.
The glass bottle spun away, clinking loudly into several others. He turned back to his father, dark bags hovering beneath his open eyes like saddlebags, angry, red veins marring the whites.
He sat up and half-spilled from the chair before Jacoby could jump back, his palm snapping painfully across his cheek.
“Why’d you wake me? I told you a hundred times to not wake me,” his father growled, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. His legs unfurled and he spilled the rest of the way out of the chair. His hand snapped back again, catching the other side of Jacoby’s face. He reeled, crying out, hot pain and tears flushing his face.
Jacoby fell back onto the bottles, glass crunching under this weight. His father was there, atop him, his breath hot and fetid from cigarettes and alcohol.
“Why? I’ve only got one rule–don’t wake me when I’m sleeping. Do you know how hard I worked? Do you? Do you know? I’m tired…and I just want to, to sleep. Damnit, boy. Damnit!” his father yelled, his hand clamping onto Jacoby’s arms. He shook him, banging his back and head against the ground. “What were you doing sneaking about? Is it fun? Is it fun to sneak around your dad while he’s trying to sleep? To watch me, broken and tired from working…from working to make sure you’ve got a roof over your head? To laugh at dirty, tired pops? Huh? What were you doing?”
Jacoby sobbed, the hot tears filling his eyes and bubbling down his cheeks. He wrestled free long enough to point at the table next to the chair.
His father released one hand, his puffy eyes hard and cold. He turned slowly, following Jacoby’s outstretched hand to the water glass and the small bubble pack of pills.
“You did…but, I…” his father mumbled and turned back to him, and promptly let go of his arm. “I…uh. You brought that for me? I’m…sorry.”
Jacoby tried to pull away and stand, but his father grasped him again. He tried to curl up. Tried to protect himself, but his father was so much bigger and stronger.
“I’m sorry, Jacoby. I’m sorry. Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You know that, right? I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
His hands clamped tightly around Jacoby’s arms as he wrenched him off the ground and pulled him into an uncomfortably tight hug. His arms squeezed his chest, Jacoby’s face smashing uncomfortably into his soiled work clothes.
“You shouldn’t have woken me. You know I get so angry. You know what I’m like – my temper being too much to handle. Why did you make me hurt you? Why? I hate myself for it! Hate myself!” his father cried, squeezing him harder still.
Jacoby couldn’t breathe. He coughed and gasped, but there was no relief, no space for air to be claimed. The pressure on his chest increased and his heart hiccupped in response.
“Stop fighting me, boy! I won’t hurt you if you stop fighting!” his dad cried, but Jacoby had to get away. He was smothering…dying.
“Stop fighting, Jacoby. We’re just trying to help you.” The voice was his father’s, but it sounded different. Less muffled…less tainted by drink.
He pulled on the air and gasped down a breath, his lungs expanding painfully in his chest. He forced the breath out and sucked down another, and then another. His face was clear, but it was still hard to breathe, like a massive weight was sitting on his chest.
His heart shuddered in an uneven, shuddering staccato beat. It felt like an eternity before it contracted in his chest again. Everything was dark, the air stuffy and warm.
Beep…beep. The noise beat against his ears, cutting clean through his head. Everything hurt…everything felt hard and cold.
I am dead…I am dying, he thought, his mind moving slowly as he tried to rationalize the pain coursing through his body.
Jacoby opened his eyes, his lids sticking together for a moment before peeling slowly apart. Darkness, only broken by haloed blurry lights. He blinked again and again, sipping on the air and listening to his arduous and impossibly slow heartbeat.
A pain flared in his neck as he tried to move his head. He tried to reach up and rub the spot but his hand refused to move. His other hand wouldn’t move either, nor would his feet.
Jacoby tried to thrash as panic set in, but a stabbing pain bit into his temples and the notion suddenly lost all appeal. His heart rate increased as he grew still again, a small surge of life kicking back into his body. His lungs filled and he exhaled, savoring the sensation, but then a loud beep cut the air and his left arm started to burn. It grew cold a moment later.
He cleared his throat and took a breath, trying to master the panic as the creeping cold sensation moved up his arm and into his chest. His heart slowed dramatically once again. He blinked over and over, a fresh wave of confusion setting in.
“Where…am…I?” he croaked as a door swished open somewhere to his right. A short and incredibly blurry figure appeared at his side.
“Ah good, you’re awake.” The voice was feminine, the accent clipped.
Someone else walked into the room, the door sweeping open and closing quietly. Jacoby blinked again and again, twisting his head around to see them properly, but they settled into the corner behind him. He let his head fall back into a comfortable position and smashed his eyes shut.
“My name is Doctor Misra. How are you feeling?”
“My head…” Jacoby said, his voice weak. He sucked in another deep breath and pushed it out, that simple act requiring considerably more strength and energy than he’d ever remembered. “Everything hurts. It’s hard…to breathe…and my heart…it feels…strange,” he said, struggling to take in enough air.
“Your head took a considerable pounding,” Doctor Misra said. “You have a broken nose, eye socket, as well as a Grade two, possibly even a grade three concussion. With that said, some memory loss is to be expected.”
; The doctor watched him, a surgical mask pulled over the lower half of her face. He blinked again, his vision finally clearing enough to see her properly. She was short, with dark hair and eyes and a noticeable accent. Indian? Pakistani? He couldn’t immediately tell. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of dark scrubs.
When he struggled to continue she set her large translucent pad down and started poking and prodding at his midsection. Then she moved up to his head and fidgeted with something on his forehead.
“You were involved in quite the episode in the clinic earlier, Mr. Mason. Tell me, how much of it do you remember?”
“Call me Jacoby, please. Mr. Mason was my…father,” he stammered, puckering his lips to suck in another breath. Anna was constantly telling him it was just a name, and that hating it would just give his father power over him.
“Where am I? Where is Doctor Reeds?”
“You are in a safe place, Mr. Mason. We transferred you here after you suffered an…attack in the clinic. Do you remember that part?” Doctor Misra asked.
“Security? Attack?” Jacoby asked, irritated that she insisted on calling him his father’s name.
He winced as he tried to scratch his nose. His arms wouldn’t move. Jacoby picked up his head and managed to look down his body. He wore a blue and white hospital gown, bright blue grip socks covering his feet. Black nylon straps were wrapped around his wrists, securely fastening them to the rails of his bed.
The room was small, a series of panels and tanks covering the far wall beyond his feet, while cabinets, a small counter, and a stainless steel cart sat against the wall to his left. The wall to his right was glass, a dark room with beds and glowing, flashing equipment stretching beyond that.
Jacoby tried to think back to the time before his dream, but it was foggy. He twisted his head back around to a strange black device strapped around his left bicep. Clear wires snacked out of the smooth shell. Some disappeared into his gown around his chest, while others led towards his head.