Sounds, to her left. Someone coming.
No, more than just someone. A lot of people.
Move! Dammit, Sara, move!
But she stayed rooted to the spot, even when they burst through the bushes and rushed at her.
PART 3
THE FIRE
Laneesha startled herself awake, freaked out by a crazy dream she had about running through mountains of human bones.
She didn’t know why her head and chest both hurt, or why she was sitting down rather than lying in her bed, or why she couldn’t move her arms.
Then she saw the old man standing in front of her, an old man she’d never seen before, and it all came back to her in a horrible rush.
“Hello, child. I gave you a little something to help you wake up. I also took the liberty of removing that nasty bone from your shoulder. It was a fibula, if you’re curious. Very old. About a hundred and forty years old, to be more exact. I even stitched you up. No need to thank me. I am a doctor, after all.”
The old man tucked an empty syringe into his coat pocket. It was a white coat, the kind doctors wear. But this one was covered with ugly brown stains and peach-colored smears.
The man himself was also ugly. He had a bald head, freckled with liver spots, and a long neck with a lot of wrinkled loose skin hanging from it. His face was unusually dull, as if he had make-up on. He wore glasses, which were coated with a layer of dirt and grease so thick Laneesha wondered how he could see through them, and he stood in a stooped way, his back bending like a question mark.
Laneesha tried to stand, and realized her arms and legs were strapped to a wheelchair. She fought against the bonds, the leather digging into her wrists, and succeeded only in causing abrasions.
“My name is Doctor Plincer. You’re about to become part of a very important scientific study. An epic one, in fact. Unfortunately, you’ll be part of the control group. Sort of. Well, not really, but it sounds better.”
Laneesha looked hard at the doctor, more angry than afraid. “You better let me go, you dirty ol’ man. Or I am gonna kick yo ass.”
Doctor Pincer scratched at his chin and something flaked off his face.
“You see, my dear, there are wolves, and there are sheep. While I admire your spunk, I’m out of sheep at the moment, and I don’t want Subject 33 mad at me. So I’m giving you to him.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”
“Hmm. Yes. Well, no harm in telling you, and truth told, I don’t have many people to talk to these days. The ferals are, well, feral, and they would prefer eating you to good conversation. Lester, dear Lester, he listens, but he’s heard all of my stories before, and I worry I bore him sometimes. And Subject 33, well, frankly, he frightens me. He frightens the piss out of me. Which is why I’ve kept him locked up. He hasn’t been out in over a year.”
Laneesha looked away from the doctor, taking in her surroundings. She was in some sort of hallway. The walls were brick. The only light was a bulb hanging from the ceiling. Her wheelchair was next to a large iron door with a slot in it at waist-level. Laneesha recognized it as a solitary confinement door. The slot was for food, and it was open. She peered through and it seemed to lead to another room, with another identical door and slot.
Through this second slot, a pair of bloodshot eyes stared at her.
“He’s watching you, I see. I think he likes you. If he doesn’t like what I’m giving him, he doesn’t keep looking. He’s one of my greatest successes, Subject 33. Too much of a success, really. The procedure worked like it was supposed to. Worked perfectly. But afterward he wouldn’t follow orders, couldn’t be trusted. Tried to kill me on several occasions. Once he even dragged me into that horrible room of his. If Lester hadn’t been there to help, I shudder at the things he would have done to me.”
Subject 33 blinked. Then his head moved up and he stuck his nose in the slot. Well, part of a nose. Even at this distance Laneesha could see the disfigurement. His nose twitched, and Subject 33 snorted.
He’s trying to sniff me, Laneesha thought. And that freaked her out even more than his scars and creepy stares.
“I don’t even remember his name,” Doctor Plincer said. “Isn’t that funny? My second greatest success. He was a soldier, I think. In bad shape when I got him. Broken back. And animals—wolves or coyotes or some other such apex carnivore—had been snacking on him. Bad shape, nearly dead. I can relate, let me tell you. But I patched him up. Even better than that. I enhanced him.”
Subject 33 stuck his tongue through the slot and licked the air.
“But he doesn’t follow orders,” Doctor Plincer continued. “Not at all. He hasn’t even spoken a word since the procedure. He writes me notes. That’s how he tells me what he needs. The last few have been, well, rather odd.”
Subject 33’s tongue disappeared, and then those red eyes were back. Wide and staring. Laneesha wanted to turn away, but couldn’t.
“He’s building something in there. I’ll be damned if I know what it is. Here I am, a future candidate for the Nobel Prize, and I can’t figure it out. Besides enhancing his appetites, the procedure also seemed to amplify his intelligence. So he leaves me notes, I order the parts, and give them to him when the supply boat comes. I’m curious to know what he’s building, but I’m too frightened to look. Some sort of pain machine, I suspect. The lambs I bring to him scream like I’ve never heard screams before. And, believe me, I’ve heard screams. Lester is very good at making people scream. I know this firsthand. But Subject 33… well, whatever he’s doing to those people, it’s inhuman.”
The doctor knocked twice on the iron door.
“I’m bringing her to you. Please assume the position.”
The eyes disappeared, and Laneesha watched Subject 33 turn around and stick his hands through the slot, palms up. They were bent and twisted and covered with gnarly scars, like the fingers had been cut off, broken, and sewn back on in the wrong places.
Laneesha shrank into her chair. “Old man, please don’ put me in there.”
Doctor Plincer reached into his pocket, removed a dart pistol. He winked at Laneesha. “He’s my greatest triumph, but he’s difficult to control. The second door in the antechamber isn’t locked. He can open it any time. But he stays in there, because he knows if he doesn’t I won’t give him food. Or any parts for his infernal machine. So he behaves, but I still can’t trust him. That makes me proud, in a way. I created an evil so powerful it only answers to itself.”
The doctor lifted the iron bar off the door, then opened it, keeping his pistol aimed at the inner room, at the slot in the second door.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, please. You should enjoy this one. Plenty of fire in her. Maybe she’ll last you two weeks. That’s your record, isn’t it? For keeping one alive? Two weeks, isn’t it?”
Still facing the inner door, the doctor backed up, walking carefully around Laneesha. Then he began to push her wheelchair into the small room, toward that second door. Laneesha’s eyes were locked on Subject 33’s ruined hands. On top of their deformities they were filthy, fingernails cracked, blood caked under them.
“No.” Laneesha shook her head. “No no no no no…”
“Please leave the wheelchair in the antechamber. I’ll pick it up when I bring breakfast in the morning. I’ll assume breakfast for two, unless you leave me a note stating otherwise. I know sometimes the lambs don’t have the strength to eat. Especially after the first night. I’m making French toast.” The doctor stared down at Laneesha. “Do you like French toast, dear?”