Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle

by Eric A. Shelman

  *****

  “Okay, Flex, I want you to talk to me while whatever is happening takes place. Don’t stop talking.”

  “Until I pass out, right?”

  The many EEG electrodes were plugged into the machine, trailing like spaghetti to the rubber skull cap I wore.

  “If you can keep talking after, then do so,” he said.

  Charlie smiled at this, her mask tight on her face. Hemp’s mask was off for now, and I wasn’t getting one. I was on the gurney, but Hemp had rolled it about five feet away from Jamie’s until we were ready.

  “Okay,” I said. “Roll me over. I’m ready.”

  Charlie moved to the two cameras and pushed the buttons. Red lights shone on each.

  “We’re filming,” she announced. “EEG machine recording.”

  “Good,” Hemp said. “Sure you’re ready?”

  “Yes. Go,” I said.

  Hemp had loosened the strap on Jamie’s head so that she could turn it. Her neck was still restrained, so there was no fear she could move far enough to get at me.

  Hemp strapped his mask on and pulled the rubber straps tight. He pushed my gurney slowly beside Jamie’s, and I lay there, our heads side by side.

  I turned to face her.

  And she turned to face me. The mist in her eyes glowed in the dimmed light, which Hemp had said might help to calm her and me.

  “Jamie,” I said. “I love you, and I always will. You’re my sister first and what . . . you’ve become second.”

  Her teeth gnashed again, the newfound strength from her meager food intake bringing her back to her previous hungry self. But now it was worse, as the skin around her mouth was almost entirely gone, and her tongue was blistered and black. I felt like I was going to throw up.

  “I feel nauseous,” I said. “But I don’t know if it’s because . . . because . . . I don’t know . . . “

  “Flex? Are you okay?”

  Hemp’s muffled voice through his mask, but faint.

  I felt weak, and my arms felt as though they were rubber. I couldn’t lift them. And I realized I couldn’t move my legs. It was hard to breath. I wanted to turn my head away, but my neck wouldn’t work either.

  “Paralyzed,” I muttered.

  And that was the last thing I remember.