Evolution Z

by Everist J Miller

  "Get up on the roof and work the brake. Stop wasting time and just do it! Okay?"

  "A volunteer," Ray said.

  "What?" Mike snapped. "I'm not talking to you until you try working the brake." The radio crackled, then cut out.

  "We're stuck!" Ray shouted into the deaf speaker. "Hello!" Ray shouted. No answer. "Hello? Hello?"

  Nothing.

  The hoist was eerily silent.

  Ray slouched into a corner as far away from the volunteer as possible. Ray's demeanour exhumed hopelessness. He became paralysed.

  Without warning, something crept down his shoulder like the touch of a bony finger. He swivelled, gasping until he realised it was his own dripping sweat.

  The volunteer's eyeballs fixed on Ray. It stood unmoved. It bore no sign of fear or fatigue. Of course not, Ray thought. It's a glorified machine.

  The volunteer nauseated Ray although the stitched skin suit kept its rotting body together and hidden from sight. Ray didn't think the skin suit made the volunteer look any less ugly or disturbing. Except for its face mask. Ray wondered what earthy instinct hid behind it. How could nature have given birth to a stench of death concentrated in such a malevolent grotesquery?

  Ray turned off his HUD. It had been a fat lot of good. An uneasy thought washed over him. Could the volunteer be autonomous? If so, it would be unpredictable. It would lead to a deeper issue of trust than merely the instincts of a wild animal.

  That's dumb thinking, Ray said to himself. It's a practical joke and I've fallen for it. Mike and Doug are probably watching and laughing at me.

  A sudden creak jolted Ray to his feet. The volunteer had extended the compact ladder leading to the tight trap door on the ceiling of the hoist. Had it been cunning? Had it meant to be sly? No, it was Mike and Doug trying to frighten him.

  "This isn't funny Mike," Ray said to the radio. Silence.

  The volunteer scurried up the ladder like an escaping cockroach and disappeared through the trap door. The lift convulsed, then staggered down.

  Ray imagined the volunteer's decomposed hand wrenching the lever to release the brakes. It brought back images of limbs being ripped out of joints during the V-Crisis. The volunteer could not be so gentle and exact with the brake without being controlled like a puppet, he reasoned. It was Mike or Doug.

  Safety dictated that the hoist be lowered only to the next landing, but it continued to creep down until it reached the ground. An urge to cry suddenly taunted Ray, his lips quivering. So consumed by their mischief, Mike and Doug were prepared to risk his life. Was he that worthless? Did he belong with the outcasts in the Shit Belt?

  The hoist ceased its motion with a jolt. Someone pried the door open. Through the opening appeared a volunteer. The same volunteer? No, its eyes were vacant; those of a beast.

  Ray almost screamed, but he only inhaled enough oxygen to expel a muffled cry before hyperventilating.

  ###

  "God, you're such a pussy, my friend." It was Doug's voice. Ray heard him explode into a fit of laughter.

  The volunteer that had opened the car door crab-walked out of view.

  Doug's hands pressed on his wobbling belly. His chubby face was bright.

  "What the hell's wrong with you?" Mike asked Ray. Blinded by the fog of his humiliation, Ray couldn't grasp what was happening.

  Ray's face flushed like it was splashed with blood. Heat built up under his skin.

  "Well?" Mike asked. Unlike Doug, there was no humour in his expression.

  "Very funny," Ray croaked, looking at Doug. Doug just cackled. "I mean, putting that volunteer in the hoist with me," Ray continued.

  Doug's laughter ceased. His expression hardened. "Which volunteer?" he asked.

  "What's he talking about Doug?" Mike asked. "What volunteer?"

  "That one," Ray interjected as he turned to the mouth of the hoist and pointed.

  The hoist was empty.

  Ray swivelled as if trying to catch someone out. His eyes darted about until he was back facing Mike and Doug.

  Mike folded his arms. Doug scowled. Both stared at Ray.

  "It's on the roof," Ray said. "It brought the hoist down from the roof." He saw no change of expression in the others. "Come and see for yourselves," he said.

  "I am not going on that roof, okay." Mike said. "Certainly not to test your wild imagination. Hell, we've wasted enough time already."

  He will not believe me no matter what I say, Ray realised. And that asshole Doug is just going to play along at my expense.

  "It was the volunteer that malfunctioned," Ray said, hopeful it might help his cause.

  "Mal-functioned?" Mike asked. "Mal-fucking-functioned?"

  Doug cackled and snorted. All the time Doug fixed his eyes on Ray's. Ray kept up with Doug's stare for a moment. Then Doug's eyes became threatening as if awakened by a dare. Their penetration forced Ray to retreat.

  "Give me that hard hat," Mike demanded to Ray. "You've cost me so much time today, okay. It's because of you we're going to fall behind. I ought to sack you if there's nothing wrong with your HUD."

  CHAPTER THREE

  RAY LAGGED BEHIND Mike like a sidekick as he followed him into the control room. Mike tossed Ray's hardhat to the operator sitting at a control panel opposite Mike's desk. The operator, a tall praying mantis-like man, plugged it in.

  The speed of events flummoxed Ray. Had there been a volunteer in the hoist with him? Might he have imagined it?

  It may have been because he was dead tired. He hadn't slept through the night for months; ever since he had borrowed to buy his modest unit. Every morning he woke to a dull, nagging headache. Would he have enough money to make the mortgage payment? Would he lose his job and be thrown out?

  The screen on the operator's console displayed a progress bar while the contents of the HUD were downloaded. It was like a countdown to Ray's execution.

  Ray's thoughts were alive with doubt. What if there was nothing wrong with the HUD? Would Mike sack him? What then? Struggling for survival in the Shit Belt?

  The progress bar was a quarter full. Panicked, Ray hedged his position in case there was nothing wrong with the HUD.

  "Mike," Ray said, "I'm not a hundred percent sure. It might not have been the HUD." No response. "Mike," Ray repeated. Silence. The progress bar sprinted halfway. "Mike?"

  "We'll soon find out, okay," Mike snapped.

  The progress bar slid forward.

  "What if there's nothing wrong with it?" Ray asked.

  "Are you kidding me?" Mike shouted. "You made a big deal about this HUD, okay. Download it, you said. Now you're saying something different? After wasting so much time and screwing up my schedule? If this damn HUD's okay, I don't know what I'll do."

  "A volunteer followed me," Ray said in a quivering voice. After a pause he repeated, "It followed me."

  Mike laughed. "What? Fuck off Ray. Seriously, you'd better pray something's wrong with this HUD, okay. This is getting beyond a joke."

  "Mike-"

  Mike cut Ray short with a wave of his hand.

  "Mike, that volunteer acted without-"

  "Shut up Ray, okay. One more word and you can get out of this office."

  The progress bar sprinted to completion. Ray's head swam with anxiety.

  "HUD's fine," the operator said.

  "Great," Mike said. "I'm-" His eyes turned their focus to the entrance behind Ray. "Exy," he whispered.

  The operator was staring at it too. Despite being on the verge of tears, Ray twisted to follow their gaze.

  A volunteer. Was it Exy? It was standing in the open doorway. Alone and apparently uncontrolled.

  How did Mike know which volunteer it was? Without a HUD, it was difficult to tell given the head to foot skin suit. It surprised Ray to find he also recognised it. It was the bony grim reaper hand he had seen in the hoist.

  Then a blade of light from the bulb in the room reflected off its headset. It was unmistakable. A small gold emblem that Ray's fear had probably blo
cked him from noticing before. That's how Mike had identified it, he reasoned. He had never seen that emblem before.

  The volunteer jerked then stumbled as if an unseen force had struck it. Doug strolled through the door scowling. "Little fucker," he said snorting. He pushed the volunteer from behind, sending it to its knees. He kicked it in the rear like a sack of meat sending it flat on its stomach.

  Mike recovered his composure. "Stop that Doug." His voice wavered. "Now that's what I was taking about before. That proves what I was saying, okay. That's expensive equipment you're playing with."

  "It's already broken," Doug snarled, keeping his eyes fixed on the volunteer. "I found it walking around. It's not connected to a HUD. It's a hazard." After a pause he said, "Someone has to get it under control." He kicked it again then grinned. Ray felt the thud of the impact in his own body.

  Ray felt an uneasy relief. That was it. The volunteer was moving of its own volition. Doug was backing him up on this. His job seemed safe again.

  "It's his fault," Doug pointed at Ray. "That volunteer lost its connection."

  "What do you mean?" Mike asked. Then the side of his lip curled. "Did you turn your HUD off?" he asked Ray.

  Well of course he did. Why would he keep it on if it was faulty?

  "Well?" Mike prompted, hands on his hips. Doug was grinning in the background.

  Ray's face burned. "Yes, but-"

  "So you turned your HUD off then?" Mike said shaking his head incredulously.

  "But-"

  "Just sack him," Doug said. He was eyeing the volunteer. It was struggling to find direction. It tried to stand. Doug kneeled on its back, pressing it down. It tried to push upwards. Doug squashed it back down. It behaved like a helpless insect under a thumb.

  Ray's attention was drawn to the volunteer. It moved, wriggling like a worm. Convulsed. Stilled. Doug's brow furrowed. He lowered himself and pressed his elbow into the back of the volunteer's neck. The volunteer reeled then convulsed again.

  "What are you doing to it?" Mike asked Doug.

  "It's trying to get away," Doug said.

  "That's impossible, okay," Mike said.

  "The safety's kicking in," Doug said. He looked to Ray. "He's damaged it."

  Mike whispered something to himself. Ray couldn't figure it out. It sounded like 'Maybe the headset', but that couldn't be right. Of course it was the headset. That's what made them safe.

  "I didn't break it," Ray said. "It was already behaving strangely," he protested.

  The volunteer turned pleading eyes to Ray. Human eyes. But that was impossible. Nevertheless, they drew Ray's attention. A veil of suffering.

  "Ray?" It was Mike. After a pause he said, "Stop it Doug. Don't wreck it, okay."

  "I keep telling you it's broken, my friend," Doug said. As if to prove it, he caught one of its arms and twisted it. It grizzled. Its eyes remained fixed on Ray's as if he was the only one that could save it. "I need to test it," Doug said. "It can still be useful."

  "Doug. What are you doing? You're just breaking it for the hell of it. The failsafe, okay. You'll turn its brain into syrup," Mike said.

  Doug responded to Mike with an amused grin. "I'm testing how far I can go," Doug said. He applied more pressure to the volunteer's arm. It released an earthly moan that gained in pitch as Doug applied greater force. The noise transformed into a scream. All the time its pleading eyes fixed on Ray's.

  Doug giggled. "What is it doing?" he asked no one in particular. "This breaks up the day, doesn't it?" He continued. The more it whined the more amusement and satisfaction on Doug's face. But it was more than that. There was a brief moment that Doug looked quizzically at its face. His stare deepened. His face blushed. Ray recognised a look of excitement on Doug's face.

  "Enough Doug, come on," Mike said. After a pause, he threw his hands up in surrender.

  "It's already broken," Doug said. "It's because of that moron." He pointed at Ray.

  There was a grinding and then, a snap. It sounded like the branch of a tree breaking. The volunteer wailed, its eyes squeezed shut. It struggled but Doug sat on it and pinned it down. He yanked its arm and twisted it from side to side. Sweat appeared on his cherry red face. He stood up, his foot on the volunteer's back giving him leverage to pull its arm in a frenzy.

  Doug lurched back as the arm came off at the elbow. Doug snorted. Beads of sweat congregated atop his shiny barren head. Tears of sweat dribbled down his reddened cheeks. The arm was caught in the volunteer's skin suit. Doug pulled at the arm from its wrist and let the jagged bone tear through the skin suit until the arm was free.

  "Fuck you Doug," Ray heard Mike whisper.

  The volunteer's eyes were squeezed shut. Ray was free of its gaze, but the image of its pleading didn't leave him. He was confused. It hadn't behaved like an organic machine. It was lifelike. Had the others noticed?

  The volunteer stilled. After a pause its eyes gradually opened. Doug was sitting on it like on the mount of a lounge room cushion. He twirled its severed arm as if it was a Pogo stick. His eyes met Ray's. He pointed to the emblem on the volunteer's headset and nodded knowingly as if he and Ray shared a secret. Then Ray thought he heard Doug whisper something; like, "Nice headset, my friend. This one's special." But he couldn't quite make it out.

  Doug pointed the volunteer's bony hand at Ray, aiming its index finger at him. He grinned and said in a grinding pretend voice, "It's your fault I lost my arm, my friend. Don't make me lose the other one." Then he tossed the arm aside. carelessly.

  Ray caught a glimpse of Mike. Mike's back was turned, his head bowed, his hands covering his eyes in wilful blindness.

  Ray was shocked. What if Doug was targeting the volunteer because he had observed human characteristics in it? What if Doug's primal need was to harm a being that felt the pain he inflicted? The best target is one that's fearful, helpless and in pain.

  Doug grinned, then ripped the headset from the volunteer's head taking pieces of hair, bone fragments and a bloody, gelatinous substance with it. The blood was old and clotted.

  The volunteer lay motionless, its eyes wide open. Doug raised his eyebrows. "It's still intact," he mumbled. "No implosion, my friend. That has never happened before." He turned to Ray. "What have you done to it my friend?" He winked at Ray. "Maybe this is what we have all been waiting for," he said. "I would like to test this headset," he continued, "to see if there are good times ahead of us."

  It's impossible, Ray thought. He was too caught up to listen to Doug's babbling. A volunteer's headset can't be removed without turning its brain to slush at the first sign of pressure. It was a failsafe. A volunteer without a headset was... well... you know what.

  Ray saw Doug's eyes widen. Doug jumped to his feet as if he had sat on a pin. "Shit," he said and shot to the door.

  The volunteer moved. Its eyes turned a jaundiced yellow with black quarter moon slivers for pupils. Ray could see its rotting face. Doug had ripped through its mask. It rose in an awkward pose, its jaw unhinged.

  The operator who was closest to the volunteer, sprang from his chair and tried to skip over the volunteer as he bolted to the door. He almost made it until a bony hand gripped his ankle and he dropped to the ground. Lying on his stomach, he groaned. After a moment he lifted his head. The volunteer got to its knees, dragging him towards it. He struggled to get free, his mouth agape in a silent scream.

  Ray's body was rigid as he stared in horror. He caught Doug's eyes. Inexplicably, Doug's face was wearing an unrestrained smile.

  ###

  The volunteer's bony claws dug into the operator's ankle, slicing through skin and tissue. The operator's face was frozen in a terrified grimace, his eyes wide and jaw agape. He stretched his arms, trying desperately to claw the ground and drag himself away. Instead, the volunteer pulled him back with the superior strength of its remaining arm.

  It was an all too familiar sight for Ray. But was it real or a dream? Was it the same flashback that had woke him repeatedly in the early hou
rs paralysed with fear? Ray's instinct was to hide, as he had during the V-Crisis. But where?

  "Help me," the operator said, almost in a whisper as he strained to resist. He was staring in desperation at Doug.

  Doug was examining the headset. He looked up when he heard the operator's voice. He grinned. "I cannot help you, my friend. I am going to stand here and seen how this plays out," he said.

  The operator turned to Ray and cried, "Help me Ray. Help me."

  The operator's screams rebounded between the walls of the small room. The volunteer mounted him. It sat heavy on his back, burying his face into the solid ground, crushing his voice to an almost inaudible muffle. Bright red blood trailed from his nose. The volunteer ripped into his skin and grabbed chunks of tissue with bubbles of fat from his back and sides. It greedily devoured as much as it could shovel into its mouth until all that was left of him were rasping gasps.

  Ray's mind was trapped in fear but his primal reflexes led him to edge towards the door. His pace increased as he witnessed the end of the operator. The volunteer had pummelled his skull until the innards of his living brain oozed into its mouth. All that remained was a chord of random muscular reflexes.

  At least he'll never be a volunteer, Ray realised. Not without his brain intact.

  Ray made it to within a metre of the entrance. Doug was already there. Doug backed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Ray tried to twist the handle, but it was seized by an outside force. Doug. There was a click. Locked. Again Doug.

  The noise woke the volunteer from its blissful indifference.

  The volunteer focussed its attention on Ray. "Remember me?" Ray whispered with pleading eyes. He raised his hands to caution it as if trying to tame a wild dog. The volunteer's gaze was still. "That's right," Ray continued, "We helped each other in the hoist. That's right."

  Despite his slim hope, Ray knew the volunteer's headset was gone. It had only instincts and its primary goal was to feed. It lurched clumsily but rapidly. Ray ran to the other side of the room. It was futile. There was not enough space to play that game.

  In moments, the volunteer had Ray cornered. The volunteer was growling a short distance from him, ready to rip him apart. Its mask was absent. Its head was a ball of peeling skin and tissue. Raw muscle was exposed hanging off stringy tendons on its jaw. Its mouth contorted as its bony jaw moved up and down to a twisted beat.