Zombie Me

Chapter 4: Part 9, Unleashed

2010-01-12T21:05:00.002+04:00

Chi-Yoon sat at her work station in the animal facility trying to get some reading done, but had found it difficult between the perpetual twilight in the facility and the whining of the damn mongrel. An hour ago the thing had been a lifeless lump of matted fur and blood clots laying sedate on the cages floor, then, out of nowhere, its head raised and canted to one side as if listening to something beyond of the range of human hearing. It sat up and had begun to agitatedly prowl the perimeter of its cage. And now she was hypnotized, her heavily mascarad eyes ping ponging back and fourth as they tried to follow the pacing canine.

Abruptly the dog shot forward and threw its full weight against the cages door with a suddenness that caused the nervous lab technician to knock over her cup of Chai tea. She cursed as the hot liquid quickly breached the sparse napkins she used to try and halt its spread, it was no use as the aromatic liquid spilled onto her jeans scalding her leg. Another crash as the wild animal bashed its shoulder against the thickly gauged wire of the door. The liquid was now heading towards the Stephen King novel she had been reading. Torn between the animal, her burning leg, and the book, she chose the former and grabbed a black remote control that sat just to the left of the surprisingly absorbant book. She quickly scanned the face of it an found a button with a cartoon lightning bolt on it and pressed down hard. She was immediately rewarded with the dog leaping into the air as if trying to escape the electrified cage, after ten seconds of the dog skittering around in the cage she stopped and waited. The animal gave her a feral stare and was readying itself for another assault on the cage door when she triggered the security device a second time, again the dog leapt as arcing electricity jolted its feet. The aroma of singed fur began to pervade the recirculated air as the buzzing finally ended. The dog, in a fury, readied itself for another battery, but halted when it spied Chi-Yoon standing there with the remote poised for another punishment. Lowering its head it let out a high pitched whine as it seemed eerily cognizant of the implications of another try for the door.

“Haojíle!” She said, pleased to see that the dog was quick to learn from the aversive training. Then in a broken english only heard in old Godzilla movies “It is seeming I can show old dogs new things!” and gave the remote one last jab, which caused Pieces to jump and bark at the floor.

With the clamoring in the cage subsided Chi-Yoon began to assess the damage caused by the spilled tea. She picked up the saturated book, immediately she saw that it was a loss and threw it into the trash. She shot a viscous glare at the dog who again lowered its head in anticipation of another shock. She stopped seconds before grabbing the remote and turned her attention back to the mess. The removal of the book had inadvertently unleashed a torrent of tea onto the instrument panel below.

"Damn it!" she quickly grabbed a box of Kimwipes and tried to stop the flow of liquid again but the flimsy lab tissue did little to absorb the propagating liquid. It was slowly dripping into the controls which provided access to the security system for the lab. She looked to the various animal cages and held her breath as a slow sizzling began to emanate from beneath the glowing panel.

A mechanical click resounded in the lab shattering the building silence, and Chi-Yoon’s heart sank as the door to an empty cage opened. Another click came a second later as the cage next to it opened. This time the torso of small hairless monkey appeared at the opening as it pulled itself out by a single misshapen arm. IV lines and a single glittering hook hung limply from its remaining shoulder socket. It rolled out of the cage and hung for a moment as the IV lines went taut with its weight, then with a meaty slap it fell to the floor as the lines pulled free.

Chi-Yoon reached for the instrument panel and activated the controls to engage the locks on the cages. When a third door opened silently on its hinges her hope wilted and she began frantically pushing the emergency alarm, it too remained inactive. She began to cry blackened tears as her dark eye make-up started to run. Her body bolted backwards as a deformed shadow leapt out onto the floor below and pulled the hairless monkey behind a surgical bench. Simian screams broke the silence as the two creatures grappled with each other in the darkness. This in turn, elicited a flurry of activity in the remaining locked cages as the mewling creatures howled for release. Throughout this maelstrom of activity the only thing that remained motionless was the dog. Its dark eyes dispassionately locked on the cage door and the glowing prize that lay beyond.

A fourth cage popped open and a long vine like tail unfurled from its depths, followed by a second, and then a third. Chi-Yoon watched as a writhing procession of tails filled the steel portal. A dozen of them now gripped every surface of the opening and from their undulating depths a chattering of teeth could be heard. Like some horrific flower blossoming a trembling form emerged from the hidden depths. The head of a what appeared to be a monkey appeared followed by its distended trunk and moved with a freakish bob as if it was unsure how to use its many fibril extremities. Two long arms ending in sharp talons aided in steadying itself as the tails which sprouted haphazardly from its torso propelled it out from within the cage. It surveyed the room with a menacing glare and as its yellowed eyes fell upon her a neuromuscular spasm caused its teeth to chatter revealing tiny serrated fangs manufactured by Vion for cutting through virtually anything, including flesh. The lead scientists had called it a cleaner, and now she knew why.

Doors throughout the lab began opening as the tea, hidden from view traveled along the instrument panels circuitry and randomly shorted out the connections. When the dim lighting began to flicker she ran for the entryway and scanned her proximity card by the glowing sensor, nothing happened. She pounded on the cold steel door until her knuckles bled. Finally a loud click sounded from behind her, and she knew which cage it belonged to, she turned and saw the red LED on the canines door turn green. She felt her knees begin to give way, and as she was about to crumble to the floor in resignation the door behind her opened.

She turned and ran blindly into the corridor and immediately collided into a man standing at the entrance. Security must have heard the alarm... She thought thankfully as she clutched onto the arm of the man before her. With her head attention focused on the lab she watch with a ghoulish fascination as the dog leapt from the cage and rose to its full height. At nearly double the size of an average dog its chest swelled and contracted as it let out a bladder emptying growl. As she braced herself for the assault a curious thing happened. The dog lowered its head and sat down, its mouth opened, and a broad pink tongue rolled out from between a double row of large canine teeth. As it began to pant it raised a gigantic paw and its jowls turned upwards in a gesture that resembled a smile.

At that moment Chi-Yoon almost wished that she had a doggy treat for the animal. As her hands began to relax she noticed that they were clutching the rippling arm of a man, an arm that was shirtless, and as cold as the room that surrounded her. Her head turned to face the naked fame of a man that, if it hadn’t been covered in stitches and a had gaping wound in its chest, she would have mistaken for Michaelangelo’s David. The man seemed carved from stone, and as she stepped back to take in the dreadful sight he stayed in stride and grabbed her shoulder with the strength of a hunting trap.

As if keeping time in some morbid dance Patchwork reached down and grabbed her hand and with a painful jerk he pirouetted her around so that she was now walking back into the den of monsters from which she thought she had escaped. With a forceful shove he threw her to the ground where she came eye to eye with Pieces.

The dog remained motionless as it stared at her with large brown eyes. In a desperate gesture she began pleading in a high pitched tone that sounded more like a mousy squeak than any language “So sorry... so sorry!” Not daring to touch the animal she gave a complacent bow and hoped that it would placate the animal. Patchwork grabbed her shoulder and dragged her to the cage and with a violent twirl twisted her arm off at the elbow. She landed hard at the back of the cage and began screaming as spurting blood issued forth from the rending. With muscles flexing in his forearm Patchwork bent the lock on the cage door trapping Chi-Yoon within. Raising the torn limb to his mouth he took an immense bite and began to masticate loudly. Through the raging pain in her arm Chi-Yoon thought how odd it was to watch yourself being eaten.

Then the monster stood and walked away as he surveyed the lab and the dog sidled up to Patchwork and placed its muzzle into his hand affectionately. Slowly he bent down and stroked the dogs matted fur, and when the dog continued to push at his hand Patchwork curiously looked down and saw that it was holding something in its mouth. Through a haze of painful tears Chi-Yoon recognized it immediately, it was the aversive conditioning remote.

Patchwork seemed to know exactly what it was as he turned back to the cage holding the injured girl and pressed the yellow lightning bolt. A jolt of electricity cleared her mind as she was pulled back to a painful awareness of her situation. She jerked and jumped as the electricity jolted through her small frame as Patchwork alternately pushed and then paused his assault. During each respite she could see a fine lattice work of burns criss crossing the palm of her remaining hand from where she tried to grab purchase on the cage.

Patchwork then stopped and looked down at the dog who seemed to be smiling at him, it sat and longingly looked at it’s master hand. It then raised a large paw as if begging for something. Seeming to understand what it wanted, Patchwork tossed the remote to the dogs waiting mouth, and with a crunch it broke the small device in his mouth. The cage then began sending seering jolts through Chi-Yoon as it was intermittantly triggered by the damaged remote. As the smell of her own singing flesh began to pervade the air her vision began to fade. The last thing she saw was the tall monster tossing her dismembered arm to the dog as they both walked back out into the hallway.

...In the comfort of his office, secluded away from the action in the animal lab sat Raimi carefully scrutinizing the events that transpired on the monitoring screens before him. He watched as Patchwork and Pieces left the lab and quickly pushed the button to reinitiate the lock on the labs main entrance, effectively entombing Chi-Yoon to die alone. Well, she won’t be there for long... he thought with a smile, rembering that the Cleaner was in there with her.

He turned his attention back to the screen which contained a map of the facility and noted Patchwork’s location as a blinking red dot. There were numerous other dots on the map throughout the facility which marked points of interest for Raimi. Touching on one such point that lay on the outskirts of the map he brought up the camera feed of Jen and her fellow intruders coming in from the tunnels. With a finger he traced a glowing red line all the way back up two levels to where Patchwork was. When he was done he double tapped the screen bringing up a dialogue box titled “Access Control” with one lonley word beneath it, OPEN?... and with a second tap the red line that he had traced turned green.

Raimi dryly ingested another small pill and watched the screens before him. After a moment reflection, a smile crossed his face and he began tracing more red lines throughout the facility...

Chapter 4: Part 8, Reunion

2009-10-29T19:07:00.002+04:00

Corina could tell that they were getting deeper into the tunnel system, the warm gusts of air caused by the movements of trains above had ceased, and now a damp pervading coolness surrounded them. At points she could here dripping water behind the concrete walls that enclosed them, and she feared to ponder what else might lurk there. Her mind couldn’t register the fact that such a world lay dormant below the streets of Boston and its outlying cities, she could almost feel the weight of the city above crushing down on her.

“I feel like I’ve been down here for hours. Klaus, how far down do you think we are right now?” Corina’s voice trembled slightly, burdened by her thoughts.

“Without a declinometer, I’d have to say a little over one hundred feet.” Klaus took a sip from the now cold coffee Jen had bought him. Though it was doing little to keep him warm, it had sobered him up enough to negotiate the uneven terrain of the rail bed.

A flame ignited from behind them as Carmen lit a cigarette. Rummaging through his jacket pocket he let the flickering flame burn down to his finger and with a curse extinguished the match. It was quickly replaced with the cold glow of his PDA’s display as he checked their progress. “We’ve reached the lowest point in this subsystem of tunnels, about one hundred and twenty two feet. There is another set below us, but they’re mainly used for drainage and utility lines.” He tapped his finger on the display as he pulled up more information. “We’re right below the corner of Sixth Street and Hampshire, which means we’ve got another quarter mile to go.” Carmen’s voice had lost all of his usual cynical wit and now had a flat affect, as if he were reading from an encyclopedia. He turned to Corina, “And… we left the Harvard area forty five minutes ago.”

Since entering this underworld, Jen’s radar had been doing double duty. At every turn she thought she could see movement just outside the reach of her flashlight, and on top of that something was eating at Carmen. He always had been impishly playful, even in the presence of the disfigured animals in the AT lab at Vion, but ever since he had found out what had happened to Jackson he’d been nervous and distant. At first she just thought that it was due to the extremity of their situation, but considering that they were all in the same mess, that was soon replaced with something more ominous, and she began to wonder what he had uncovered on the encrypted hard drives.

“Hey Carmen!” Jen slowed to a stop and shortened the distance between herself and the trailing technophile. “Is everything all right?” In the subterranean darkness she could see Carmen give an ambivalent shrug, meant more to frustrate then communicate. “This is messed up huh? I mean the fact that we’re going back to the scene of the crime.” He gave another quick shrug, though this time she thought that it looked more like a flinch as she said crime. “Don’t worry, once we get to Vion Eric will be able to help us figure this out.”

For the first time in their dialogue his eyes slowly panned from his PDA and coldly met hers “I don’t think that even Eric will be able to help us get out of this.” He silently went back to examining the display. Jen knew that their conversation was over, and for the first time she thought to herself that Carmen might be right.

During summer break five years earlier Jen and Corina travelled out to Oregon and had explored the lava tubes in the north near Mt. Saint Helen’s. They were a network of ancient tunnels about one hundred and twenty miles long created by molten magma as it burrowed its way to the coastline. They were thought to harbor the mysterious Sasquatch and were aptly nicknamed “The Ape Caves”. Varied textures and earthy smells gave those caves a vibrancy which seemed alive and although the two were scared at the time, it couldn’t hold a candle to the intense fear that gripped them now. The tunnels they were in at the moment though, were more like the holes left behind by maggots in rotting meat... and smelled the same. As they had progressed deeper and deeper Jen could see the graffiti gradually peeling off the wall in large patches. The tunnels reclaiming what was once theirs as the oily earth pushed through the porous concrete; and now at this point the inky blackness swallowed any light their feeble beams cast.

Carmen, not wanting to continue their conversation quickly trotted ahead, leaving Jen to fall behind caught up in her thoughts. Her dim light rested on the remains of what had once been a large mural, all that was left after years of cloying dampness was the image of a skull sitting atop the words “No Escape”. She wondered what the anonymous author had meant by those words and prayed that they weren’t intended for her. Snapping from her contemplation she looked up and realized that she was alone in the dark. Frantically searching for the more powerful lights her friends held she saw nothing of them up ahead. Then, the sound of damp footsteps gradually grew out of obscurity from the mossy static of white noise that surrounded her. The muffled echoes at first were difficult to locate but after a beat she realized that the sound was emanating from the direction she’d just come. They were the faltering footsteps of someone, something, following her. Swallowing a lump of cold panic she fought the kneejerk reaction to yell for help, fearing that she would alert whatever was tracking them.

Her leaden feet at first moved slowly and then rapidly increased their pace as she could hear the footsteps behind her quicken. She ran down the tunnel as her flashlight rhythmically slashed the darkness in front of her. Turning blindly around a corner she could see the lights of her friends disappearing in what seemed like miles in front of her. How could she have fallen behind so quickly she thought. Her breath came in ragged hot gasps as she pushed herself to the point of exhaustion. Then, like a near death experience, one of the lights turned its beam down the tunnel towards her. A wave of relief washed over her as she began to hear their voices calling to her, but within the mix of a soprano laugh and baritone chuckles she heard a fourth, slightly more disturbing utterance. It was breathless and weak, yet filled with a dreadful urgency. “Help... me!”

Jen slowed to a stop yards away from the safety of her friends and turned her flashlight towards the approaching sounds. Putting a finger to her mouth she quieted the kind hearted ribbing from her friends with a harsh “Shsh”. Jen squinted in the darkness in an attempt to somehow see beyond the short radius of her flashlight as grey shadows began to coalesce out of the darkness from the corner she had just rounded. Hobbling into view, a form began to take shape bit by bit. As her light melted the darkness away she could discern that it was a man holding one arm tightly to his chest. He was dressed in what seemed to be second hand clothing and walked with a severe limp. One side of his frame was coated with the sooty grime from the rail bed, as if he had recently fallen down upon the tracks.

Seeing that the group had now halted, the man slowed from his painful gait and a look of relief crossed his face, though it was quickly replaced with an aspect of shock as a pair of hands reached from behind and pulled him back into the darkness. Jen could hear a strangled cry as tearing sounds rendered the silence between them obsolete. Noel’s brief escape had ended. Before the full extent of what was happening hit her, she too was pulled backwards, and then she was running again.

“What the hell was that?” Carmen shouted as a recently lit cigarette fell from his lips.

Klaus’ Doc Martins extinguished its dying light as his heavy footfalls took up the rear. “I don’t know, and I sure as shit don’t want to find out.” His had rested on the small of Jen’s back as he gently urged her on.

They entered a large section of tunnel which branched off into three other directions. Carmen knew the question before it was asked, as all eyes turned to him. The pockets of his long trench coat felt bottomless as he searched for his PDA. Cursing the microprocessor technology which made them so small he finally found it, and with a flash of the screen began rapidly searching through the tunnel maps.

He was tapping away on its touch screen when Corina’s voice came out of the darkness “Look, quiet!”. Her flashlight spun around until it illuminated the passage furthest from them. A dreaded sense of deja-vu stole upon them as they watched the darkness. Shambling out of obscurity was the spindly young continence of a teenager. A ghostly face stared blankly at them from the shaved orb of a head, while blood stained lips curled in a menacing grimace; and congealed blood, now frozen where it had once raced from puncture wounds on his neck all added to give him the appearance of Nosferatu, Prince of the Dead. Klaus added his powerful spotlight to Corina's and she began to feel as if she were back at the Omega Psi Phi fun house. The creatures arm reflexively raised to block the shining lights, revealing tattered clothing that ringed the circumference of gaping hole where his abdomen had once been.

Then, sounds began to emerge from the tunnel next to it. A bubbling gurgle, as if someone was trying to breath through a bag of molasses quickly grew louder as a second form emerged from the murky shadows. A middle aged black man, though his skin was now a dark shade of grey, stumbled towards them as if inebriated. Jen immediatly saw where the sound was emenating from as a meaty resonance would belch from where his throat would’ve been each time he took an erratic breath; though Jen knew, he no longer needed to breath.

As if knowing that Jen was on the verge of loosing it, Carmen pointed. “Quick, this way! The entrance is in another hundred yards or so!” The ran down the tunnel towards an uncertain fate, as they all wondered what horrors they would meet in the bowels of Vion.

Nick Daniels and Smitty, now reunited were soon joined by Jackson after his successful hunt. With a renewed vigor, they were inexorably drawn by the call which continued to grow stronger with every step, that... and the chase.

...On the other side of Boston, on the edge of North Eastern’s campus, Mocha’s body lay sprawled in divergent directions on the tracks of the MBTA’s green line extension. He had narrowly escaped the inferno that Jen had set only to find himself assaulted by the blinding light of the approaching dawn. It was then that he had felt the call, though it was more like a pull, as if a golden thread emanating from his forehead was gently pulling him along, and he couldn’t resist. He had followed its tugging draw into the predawn haze of an ocean fog for two miles before eventually finding his way to one of the trolly entrances to the Greenline underground system. He had just begun his subterranean journey away from the increasingly bright dawn outside when an explosion of light and sound erupted from in front of him. Like so many deer on country roads he froze as the train plowed him into the creosote soaked wood below.

“Jimmy, whatta we got here?” An officer dressed in a bright yellow reflective vest asked as he glanced down at the illuminated mess on the railway car. “Holy shit! If he was pretty before, he ain’t now!”

“Yeah... It looks like a student got wicked drunk, decided to go exploring the tunnel entrance, got into a fight with a trolly and lost... bad!” Jimmy McNeirney began pulling the black tarp over the body. “The paramedics took one look and pronounced him dead on scene...” Jimmy paused as he thought for a moment, “Funny though, the conductor swears that he got a good look at the kid, and... well... he said that he looked like he was dead already.”

“No shit!.. Pisser.” The heavy set officer shifted his weight as he thought about it for a moment. “I guess Id’ve looked like that after partying all night too!”

“Yeah but Carl, that ain’t the half of it.” Jimmy moved the tarp back revealing a freshly amputated arm. “The guys have been all over the train and rails and can’t find the rest of his arm.”

Carl didn’t look shocked at all. “You know Jimmy, I’ve been on the force for forty years now and I’ve seen everyt...” Carl’s eyes widened as he mouthed soundless words. “What the... Jimmy, look.”

Jimmy glanced down to see the bloody stump twitch slightly, followed by the gentle rise of the tarp. He pulled it back to reveal an impossible scene. Separated shoulders, broken legs and arms, a shattered hip, and a head barely attached at the neck all worked at trying to get up. Carl and Jimmy almost fell over each other as they jumped backwards.

“Dispatch, this is McNeirney... We need the paramedics back down on the rails. This boy isn’t dead!”

Chapter 4: Part 7, The Key

2009-09-19T05:44:00.003+04:00

The distant rumble of subway trains could be felt long before they were heard, and in the labyrinth of underground tunnels this fact had saved the lives of both MBTA staff and homeless alike. The erratic schedule of trains made avoidance of their blinding headlights nearly impossible and therefore sight in the smothering darkness was a sense that could not be trusted. Though, at the moment Noel Bradley was wishing that one of those thundering trains would come by and drown out the voice of his now rambling companion.

“I get your point, I get it… I get it…” the cracking voice trailed off into a unintelligible mumbling and then returned. “But Descartes… his separation of m…m…mind and body inevitably leads to the question of how ca…can we trust our senses.”

Noel rolled his eyes and then closed them in frustration as he lay back down on a mattress of old blankets “Jerry, I told you that I don’t want to hear it. It’s hard enough to get some sleep with those trains, but its damn near impossible with you yammering on like that!” Jerry wasn’t his name, but he needed to call the babbling old man something because, it felt unnatural to keep yelling “Hey You!” every time he wanted his attention. His words fell on deaf ears though; they always did with Jerry as the sinewy old man continued on with his droning monologue, talking to someone who wasn’t there.

He had stumbled across the stuttering hobo in one of the secondary tunnels used for diverting trains when breakdowns occurred. The confused old man seemed far too interested in the electrified third rail for his own good as he repeated “I c…can hear it humming” rocking back and forth in a catatonic dance. Noel listened for a moment to the silence before pulling him away from what was surely an accident waiting to happen. Since then he had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on neurotic bum; it was a decision he regretted at the moment though.

It was nights like this which made Noel long to be outside in the open air of the Commons, sleeping under a tree, but the New England nights had quickly become too cold to stay out in the open, they always did. He absent mindedly touched the Harvard tunnel key that he had purchased from his friend “singing Nick” and was thankful for the warmth of the tunnel. He had long thought that the “Key” as it was called was just an old Boston legend the local homeless told each other on cold winter nights while trying not to freeze to death. Rumor had it, five years earlier a Boston Police officer had been caught selling the keys to the homeless and had been let go. He had only managed to sell a dozen or so of the copy protected keys before being ratted out by an informant for the B.P.D. The ironic part of the story though, was that now the ousted officer was supposedly one of the tunnels longest running residents.

Noel had been hesitant at first to buy the odd looking key from the jovial street performer, but Nick insisted that he no longer needed it. Nick's eyes had lit up whenever he spoke of the angelic child Tess he had sworn to help take care of, and he smiled warmly as he described the old schoolroom he was working to help clean. Beth, the child’s mother, had been to the subterranean world and immediately declined living there. She had jokingly told Nick that she’d never be able to get a tan living down there, but Nick knew that there was something else; she looked scared, not scared of the tunnels, but scared of what it would do to them, too Tess. At the time Nick couldn’t quite explain what he had meant, and now, after being down in the tunnels for more than a two months Noel thought he understood.

The mechanical smells of old grease and hot metal wafted in on currents of unnaturally warm air. Noel covered his head in one of the scratchy fire blankets he pilfered from a T generator room; it did little to help him escape from the world around. It had long ago lost its heavy woolen feel and did nothing to drown out the grating voice of Jerry as he darted tangentially from topic to topic.

The dark tunnels had a way of tainting everything in them, and Noel felt that if he stayed down here for too long, he too would become tainted, that somehow, if he spent enough time, or took one too many breathes of the acidic air, he would gradually change into a malfunctioning robot, slowly rusting away in the darkness. This was what happened to Jerry he thought, as an errant gyroscope caused the old man’s head to skip with each stutter. “I know you’re not-t r-really there… It is my C-Camera obscura which provides f-false input.”

“Jerry, why don’t you give it a rest for now and try to get some sleep!”
Noel’s muffled pleas would do no good. The old man would converse with invisible characters for hours. Sometimes Jerry would see animals that weren’t there, other times he would see things that couldn’t be there like elves and genies, and one time even a black unicorn. At the moment though, it seemed as if he was helping Plato catch up on the last twenty five hundred years of philosophy.

“Kant too, believed that the world was created by an evil scientist, whose sole intent-t was to trick our senses, which led him to question his own existence. Cogito, Ergo Sum! Ha! That showed them, he took back his reality with one simple r-reductionist statement. I think, therefore, I am!” Whenever Jerry became excited his voice took on a tittering, half laugh, half lunatic quality which had an infectious feature to it; and at this point Noel felt like he was really going to go crazy.

For a moment Noel contemplated sitting Jerry back in front of the electrified third rail where he had found him and just walk away, but he quickly banished the idea. Noel’s heart sank as he pulled the blanket tighter over his head and groaned; he silently scolded himself for even having had such a thought.

“With Kant’s statement l-leading the way, many beg-gan to question what consciousness is? Does it p-prove the existence of the soul, or is consciousness epiphenomenal, the by-product of nerves p-processing sensory input? Benjamin Libet’s cognitive research and Robert Whites n-neurosurgical research just muddy the water. But you, you my friend, I think you have s-seen. Ha-ha! I think you know, but you won’t t-tell.”

With a curse on the tip of his tongue Noel sat upright and abruptly stopped short of unleashing his sleepless frustration. His words vaporized like morning dew in the early sun as he took in the scene before him. Jerry sat at the far end of the small utility room in his usual meditative repose, pitching back and forth with the cadence of his soliloquy. Though soliloquy wasn’t quite the right term, there was someone else quietly listening. A few feet away, couched in a predatory manner was a large, dark skinned male watching intently. Noel could see a pair of blood shoot eyes staring hungrily at Jerry through a head of tussled dreadlocks. A dark viscera clotting on his forearms left bloody marks as he shifted his weight in time with Jerry’s rhythmic bob. An oily liquid slowly dripped from between cracked lips making a semicircular pattern on the floor below.

This was great Noel thought, a homicidal crack head looking to roll over a couple of sleeping homeless men for whatever they had, which was next to nothing in Jerry’s case. The old man though, was unfazed by the threatening presence before him and continued on.

“No… not you. You have passed through the g-gates of the academy. You have eaten the forbidden fruit from the tree of Life! Ha! You know!” Jerry’s laugh elicited a reactionary flinch from the stranger raising an internal alarm in Noel.

“I think it’s time to go Jerry.” Noel reached for his bag and began to stand, though Jerry paid no mind to Noel, nor to the danger he was in. He continued to rattle on as if he were speaking with an old friend.

“And even if you had knowledge of these answers how could you c-convey them? Language is a weak imitation of l-life and c-could never convey the d-deep-pest meaning of all. Ha-ha! And Kant’s evil scientist might even be out there c-corrupting the flow of information between the t-two of us.”

At this point Jerry keenly eyed the stranger and his voice lowered to just above a whisper, slowing from its normally mantic pace. “Man can only truly understand by experience, you can show me. Just like Plato’s Meno, you will be my Socrates and I will be the slave, help me uncover the knowledge I have forgotten.” Noel stopped for a moment as Jerry’s voice lost its crackling and stuttering, his head had even stopped twitching and had become very still, it was a moment of clarity that sent shivers down Noel’s spine. Then before he could stop it Jerry lurched forward into the awaiting arms of Jackson.

Noel watched helplessly as Jackson’s teeth sank deep into the sinewy old man’s neck. Audible popping sounds could be heard just before Jerry’s eyes widened in pain. His mouth opened and unleashed a cry that could be heard in Central station through thirty feet of earth above. Jerry’s eyes locked onto Noels as he repeated over and over. “This isn’t happening, I’m not even here!” It was a cry he could hear fading as he exited through the back door and left the old man to the fate he had chosen.

Noel ran blindly down the dark tunnels, at one point he fell inches from the third rail after catching his toe on an uneven rail tie. His ankle rolled and his wrist hurt from where it smacked loudly against a rail spike but he quickly got up and continued running down the branching tunnels, all the while gripping so tightly onto the key that he left behind him a trail of blood…

If he hadn’t been busy trying to feed through the writhing screams of his latest victim Jackson’s basic neural activity might’ve had the thought; that for something to so willingly give themselves to him, this meal certainly fought the inevitable. In the end though, they all fell silent. As the warmth in the body faded, so too did his interest. His eyes rolled from the corpse on the floor over to the door at the back through which Noel had fled. Jackson stood slowly, already feeling the need to feed again, and shambled back out into the tunnels.

Fifteen minutes later Jerry’s still body convulsed and sat up slowly. His monkish repose silhouetted against a dirty concrete wall rocking back and forth gently. His scraggly grey beard quivered as his mouth worked in a silent conversation not even he could hear. Every now and then his head would twitch caused by a glitch in that errant gyroscope, and nothing had changed.

Chapter 4: Part 6, The Call Part 2

2008-07-18T04:21:00.015+04:00

Though his eyes stared out and up at the chilled tendrils of moisture which trailed form the ventilation register in the ceiling, his vision had now turned inwards. He no longer saw the steel walls which housed him; instead he wandered through the infinite corridors of his mind. He roamed easily as the internal war within had now dwindled to guerrilla skirmishes; their random attacks now causing only minor tremors along his musculature. The tactic of assimilate or be forever walled off from the sensational world had brought the majority of his quilted consciousness in line. There was now only one master steersman in control over this vessel, with the tapestry of his new consciousness as the sail. This stitched canvas however had many holes where obdurate fragments of Patchwork’s mind held fast; though the “Me” within him knew that it was only a matter of time before these last bastions of free thought gave out and joined the collective.

Flashes of memories continually flickered like failing neon signs; simultaneously cluing him in to who he was yet adding to the overall confusion which infused him. Battalions of nerve cells battered the fortified resistances. His consciousness was continually drawn from the outside world to the scarred landscape of his mind. Despite his situation he continued alternating from external to internal for he knew that just as many answers lay within him as without.

One instance of him was restrained in a cold dark room while the other was racing along his neuronal superhighway at the speed of light. A seemingly infinite store of memories sat before him waiting to be sorted and relived, and each was a clue to who he was. With his inner vision he saw himself in a vast wasteland as ruined buildings stretched before him; he scanned the landscape through the scope of a weapon as he searched the sightline for insurgents; his whole body was taut with fear. All at once he was under fire and running towards the safety of an armored Humvee; Patchwork... was a warrior. Another set of memories had him climbing a glacier on Mount McKinley as cold Alaskan clouds passed threateningly by; his muscles burned from exhaustion as he grappled with the splintering ice beneath his hands; Patchwork... was a risk taker and an athlete. The gloved hands before him melted away morphing into the slender hands of a woman as they worked diligently with a scalpel as she tried to save the life of a young man on an operating table. Years of diligent training and education had helped to get her into a residency in the ER of one of the best hospitals in the world; Patchwork... was a healer. The bright surgical lights faded away into a dark alley where the scalpel was replaced with a glinting steel blade. He saw his victim turn down the shadowy path and head towards him. He lay in waiting as his victim approached, as the distance shortened to an arm’s length he lept out and blindly drove the knife into his unsuspecting victim; Patchwork... was a killer.

Back in the cold cell Patchwork’s breathing began to accelerate and his forearm rippled as he clenched on the invisible weapon.

The blade disappeared as it morphed into a wooden cross. The body remained, though it now rested peacefully in an oak casket. The cross was raised and a sense of surety filled him as he spoke words of comfort to those gathered. They looked to him with love and grace as probing eyes sought answers to their fundamental questions; Patchwork... was a man of faith. The crowd faded into cracked plaster walls. The corners of a bare room lay in darkness as a small candle burned slowly in its center. A shallow spoon sat above its dancing flame as she tried to steady her hands. They shook from withdrawal and the exertion of recent prostitution, unfortunate facts of life, both of which had now left her weak and numb. She stared at the doorway to release as it bgean to roil and froth in her makeshift crucible. A dirty needle dipped its blunted tip into the cooling amber liquid and with a quick draw engulfed the entire contents of the deadly brew. Swirling warm liquid flowed into the barrel of the syringe. She scanned her cratered forearm for a place to land the needle and deposit its cargo. A barren patch of bruised yellowed flesh in the crook of her arm beckoned the needle and after a moment of painful pressure finally yielded to its metal shaft. Within moments a dizzying numbness filled her with itchy warmth as the world fell away from her; Patchwork... was depraved.

The surety of it all hit him; Patchwork was human, or had been at one time, but what was he now? He was a conglomeration of memories which mocked the sanity of any one lived life. He was beginning to feel a terrible pressure building in his head as the memories continued. The world was swimming again, as it slowly came into focus he found himself lying on leaf littered ground staring up into the green canopy of an elm tree. A sharp pain radiated from his leg as he tried to sit. High up in the tree he spotted a broken limb dangling dangerously, and then he remembered. Like all trees to ten year old boys, this giant elm, with its curving branches had begged to be climbed and conquered. He was about half way up when the branch he had been standing on broke. It wasn’t the fall which had snapped his femur; it was the sudden stop at the end. Fighting back the building pain he surveyed his surroundings. He was in ditch a full fifty yards from the roadside, and he was alone. He pulled himself along with his injured leg dragging behind; each agonizing inch bringing him closer to rescue; Patchwork... was a fearless survivor.

As the roadside approached it faded into a paved pathway with manicured grass lining either side. A rustic shed lay at the trails end. Its normally locked door stood ajar and movement could be heard inside. He opened the door to reveal a raven haired child standing in the darkness. “What are you do…” The words halted as he began to comprehend the scene in front of him. A long stick protruded from the boy’s hand, the end of which was now buried in inanimate flesh. With a sinking realization the form began to take shape, the soft silver fur of a Persian cat glinted in the weak lighting.

The boy’s pale face floated in the stillness “Itss dead dad, it must have eaten ssome of the rat poisson.” A twisting smile played on his face, his eyes never moving from his father’s as he gave the carcass another jab. The cold orbs seemed to challenge his father for any reaction, and within seconds he had his answer. Without warning an iron hand belted the boy across his face, soundlessly he fell to the floor landing within inches of the dead animal.

Picking the boy up and throwing the limp child out of the shed he repeated the warning he had issued many times before. “I told… you never… to go into… my shed!” With each pause he launched the pointed toe of his shoe into the boy’s soft midsection. Though the child’s eyes remained cold and defiant they began to water from the pain of the beating. There was the click from behind him as the door was locked. Then the hand came down one last time with a loud Thwap! “And stop talking like a sissy!” Patchwork… was a cycle of violence.

Patchworks vision fogged over as his mind worked overtime processing the puzzled memories. It felt as if a dozen daggers had pierced the inner workings of his mind and were now busy doing cartwheels; set in motion by some crazed circus performer. The migraine clenched Patchwork’s mind in the jaws of a barbed vise; the harder he fought to make sense of it all the tighter it clamped down. He pushed further and further into himself, deeper into the pain. A trail of blood began to flow from his ear as his meningeal lining tried to crush his hyperactive neurons into docility.

As the pressure reached an agonizing height he broke through the threshold of a buried memory. It was one enshrouded in a fog of vagaries. He lay on a gurney as IV lines dripped various drugs into his weakened body. It had all gone to hell so fast. Less than a year ago he took tenth place in a local Iron man triathlon and a few months later he had run in the Boston Marathon. It was then that the weakness had begun, followed by the continual nausea, and now… now he was dying. He had tried everything to stave off the disease that ravaged his body, from new age healing and homeopathic medicine to positive thought and oil puling; none of which had even slowed the terrible progression of sickness. His sharp decline in health had most recently led him to enroll in a clinical trial for an immune stimulation therapy using a set of experimental drugs.

He was alone for a majority of the time but two people religiously visited him, though they had to be masked and gowned from head to toe in sterilized clothing. The first was the clinical trial director; he was a tall man whose slinking accent and cold questioning always left him feeling like a guinea pig in some grand experiment. It was his daughter though who truly broke the routine monotony of the clockwork nurses. Just the sight of her face could always make him smile. Even when she wasn’t around the thought of her soft features made him feel better. She looked so much like her mother; she had his smile, but those eyes, those blue within blue eyes were her moms. Those eyes were now the only things he saw of her through those sterilized garments… Those eyes… Patchwork was... he was...

Those eyes were all that remained in his mind. As the wave of memory washed back into the sea of darkness it left behind the gritty sands of rage. Patchwork’s mind exploded with pain “Nooooo…” His arms first tugged against the leather straps of the wrist restraints, then pulled as his unleashed strength caused them to stretch and finally tear under the strain. He ran to the polycarbonate door and with strength unknown smashed his hand into the steal control panel at its side. “Nooooo...!”

In a lab down the hall Pieces began to pace the length of his cage.

Patchwork slammed his fist a second time, causing the metal casing to buckle under the immense force “Nooooo…!”

In a cold cell two floors below Eric awoke from the catatonia caused by the T.C.C. and began to pound on the steel walls of his cell.

Blood now dripped from the twisted metal of the control system. Its cover hung loosely from damaged wiring and fell to the floor as if it saw the determined rage of Patchworks face and thought twice about being in the path of another damaging blow. That blow came, along with an inhuman howl that seemed to come from the bowels of hell itself. “Nooooo…!” Sparks showered his forearm as the machinations of the door activated.

In various places across Boston in the dark of its back bay Nick Daniels stopped his mindless pacing, Mocha paused as he fled from the flames Jen had set, and Jackson halted in the middle of his feast of a homeless man in a darkened subway tunnel. They all paused in unison, and turned their heads as if listening to some inaudible call. They all paused… and then, they began to walk.

Chapter 4: Part 5, Kill Switch

2008-05-08T22:34:00.013+04:00

Raimi had returned two hours later looking spry and enervated. His face, although looking far from happy, had a pleased expression on it. His lab assistant on the other hand had mixed emotions at the return of the crazed genius. He was relieved to have the creature's handler back, but he couldn't tell who was more dangerous, Dr. Frankenstein or his monster. Raimi entered the lab and had immediately started barking orders at him “Get a gurney and prep Eric for a move. He needs to go to the neuro-interface lab.”

Jason had almost lost his life trying to feed the creature, and most recently his hand as he tried to get Eric strapped down. Though the creature before him looked liked a drooling imbecile, Jason had learned pretty quick that looks could be deceiving.

The weak violet lighting only made Jason feel colder as he had entered the chilled holding cell which contained Eric. Upon entering the room he could see Eric's head cock to one side as he listened intently. An offish smile split his swollen countenance and Jason had wondered darkly if the extra brains Raimi had packed in there would spill out from between those red slits. It was a sickening thought which, in an odd way, reminded him of a phrase his brother often used. “Man I puked my brains out last night!” Jason felt his stomach lurch as he pictured it and swallowed hard to prevent himself from doing the same.

Moving around the cell Jason had tried to remain as quiet as possible but Eric tracked his movements with disconcerting accuracy. The singular twisting of Eric's head had reminded Jason of a bat which had sheltered near the beach of their summer cottage one sunny afternoon. The warning of his mother echoed in his mind as he approached Eric. “Don't get too close Jay, it might have rabies”… Not rabies, he thought, something worse… far worse.

He needed to get close, close enough so that he could shoot a TCC loaded dart into the soft tissue of Eric's neck. The monstrosity's head was cocked impossibly to the side making it difficult to get a clear shot. In an attempt to get him to turn, Jason had grabbed a coin from his pocket and tossed it into the corner just beyond his target. A metallic ring followed the somersaulting coin through the air and then it suddenly halted as Eric's hand darted out and caught the coin in mid-flight.

With a haunting movement Eric squeezed the coin; building pressure, as if trying to crush it. Then he snapped and exploded in a rage towards Jason. The dart gun went off reflexively in his hand, deploying its payload into Eric's shoulder. The fleeting thought of escape had barely registered in his amphetamine altered consciousness as Eric struck him. He landed on his back and his breath came out in a harsh rush. Eric's crushing weight left him unable to fill the void in his chest.

The rotting smell of sickness fell upon Jason as Eric screamed insanity inches from his face. With a dawning fear, Jason had realized the substance of Eric's ranting. It was a victory cry, Eric had caught his prey. The haunting visage of a face missing its key components filled his vision. The last drawling word Jason heard before his awareness shutdown was “Food…”

He awoke minutes later and was distressed to discover Raimi standing over him holding an empty hypodermic. Trying to stand he was equally disturbed to find that his muscles were not listening to his commands. “What did you do to me?”

Raimi leaned over and placed a finger over his lips and whispered “Sshh… You'll wake the baby. What I did was save your life.” He turned and pointed to the far corner where Eric lay in a collapsed pile. “I came into the cell and Eric was on top of you. I couldn't get a clear shot so I tazed the both of you.” He paused for a moment and flashed a withholding smile. “Sorry about that. With Eric temporarily incapacitated I gave him an additional dose of TCC. Here's a little advice, next time don't hesitate. Now get up and get him strapped to the gurney.”

Jason's muscles began to accept the messages from his brain stem as he stood on shaky legs. By the time he had Eric strapped down he was feeling back to normal; though normal was beginning to feel like a relative term. He was almost lunch ten minutes earlier, or was it dinner? Damn this place! He cursed silently. He had lost all track of time. Why weren't there any clocks anywhere?

Walking to the Neural Interface Lab he noticed a spring in his step. It appeared to him that cheating death seemed to give him a bounce, even his attitude had improved. He had stopped looking for clocks as he left the holding cells, in fact he didn't even care what time it was. By the time he reached his destination he had even forgotten that he hadn’t slept for at least thirty hours.

The neuro-lab was alive with blinking lights and electronic displays. There was an audible hum upon entering which began to agitate the catatonic zombie before him. Jason barely noticed it. His world had begun to take on a happy glow as his stream of thought gradually flowed to a trickle. Intermittent spurts of tangential thoughts like: Eric looks comfortable, he sure is sleepy, I'm cold, and I wish I had a sweater were all that his intellect could handle. He had no idea that this subroutine of internal conversations, common to all humans, had moved into the driver's seat and replaced his higher thought. He continued about his tasks as this mindless internal conversation rolled on.

In a room covered in what looked to Jason like acoustical panels hung a lone high intensity lamp. Its singular cone of light illuminated a black vinyl covered gurney. An IV stand trailed a lonely plastic line to an arm rest. Its needle looped around a restraint indicating its intended location.

“Transfer Eric to the table.” Raimi's voice came from speakers hidden behind the porous wall coverings. Having been prevented any chance of an echo; the room fell once again back into its soft quietness. Jason reveled in its quite solitude and jumped when Raimi's voice exploded from the speakers “I would quicken your pace. Eric looks as if he is returning to consciousness.” Indeed Eric had begun to show signs of life. Jason worked quickly as his mind took the task and broke it into its individual tasks. Undo restraints, right arm, left arm, left foot, right foot, move body, repeat the restraints in reverse, then insert IV needle and start the drip.

When he had finished Raimi appeared in the doorway holding a gleaming set of tools. He moved to the left side of Eric and fastened the head restraint which had been forgotten. He looked to Jason and realized that a verbal lashing wouldn't matter at this point. Jason's reasoning level was on par with a four year old by now. Raimi wondered how much longer he would be useful to him as the boy grinned widely at him. The mix of amphetamines, scopolamine, and Provigil would only take him so far before his body crashed.

A gleaming scalpel seemingly appeared out of nowhere in Raimi's dexterous hand; and Jason began to clap at the sleight of hand. Raimi scowled but couldn't bother with Jason right now. His scalpel dove into Eric's neck just below the cranial bulge behind the ear. He cut a crimson swath about an inch long and removed the blade. Like a metallic barracuda a pair of surgical pliers dove into the incision, its steel jaws bit, loosened and bit again as if searching for something. On its third attempt it found what it had been looking for and retreated from its burrow with plastic clip trailing a tangle of multicolored wires. Raimi smiled and within seconds had stitched the flesh back together around the data port.

“Jason… Jason!” Raimi's raised voice snapped Jason out of his stupor. Then its tone changed “How are you feeling?” he asked in a curious way. His eyes never leaving the work in which his hands were busied.

“I feel great.” Jason’s voice was low and languid. “I'm cold; I think I have to go pee.” Raimi thought that if he let this go on he would have drowned in the inanities of bodily functions. In fact he thought that Jason's mentality wasn't far from pinching it to prevent soiling himself.

“Great, I'm so glad for you.” Raimi cut Jason off with a voice dripping with insincerity. “Now go outside and bring in the communications cart with the computer on it. After we are done you can do anything you want, in fact you’ve been so helpful I think that you deserve a promotion. Just remember, you feel great.” Raimi thought that he heard Jason mutter an echo as he left the room. He returned smiling broadly and pushing a small cart which contained various electronic instruments.

Raimi immediately connected the data port on Eric’s head to a small computer. “Jason, do you know what control is?” Jason’s head bobbed a slow unsure nod. “Control is power over reality. It is the power to mold your own reality, and the reality of others. As you have witnessed tonight, I have conquered death; now I will begin my experiments… on life!”

The computer flashed the words “Connection in progress” after a second Eric’s Jaw clenched tightly and the screen now read “Connected on data port 1: Awaiting I/O sequence…” Raimi accessed a screen titled Physio-Motor Control and clicked on a flashing button labeled RUN CALIBRATION. Immediately Eric’s body vibrated as electrical impulses rifled through his nerves. After the initial spasm, the system triggered a flexing and relaxing of each muscle group in Eric’s body. Raimi followed its progression via an on screen silhouette. The body twitched as if possessed; Raimi smiled as he thought to himself… He is possessed, by me. The haunting progression of increasingly complex movements ended in the horrific vocalization of “A-E-I-O-U” Each letter was drawn out and strangled as a global microphone system registered the vocal patterns. The computer screen changed to a display labeled LINGUISTICS CALIBRATION, below which appeared the wave pattern of Eric’s voice. Again he repeated the vowel pattern, this time it occurred faster and his enunciation was clearer. The third attempt sounded more human than machine, and finally the sequence finished with Eric saying “Calibration complete”.

Jason began to clap at the spectacle before him. Raimi even smiled as he thought of the decades of research and programming that went into the intricate ballet of nerve stimulation. Like many spring blossoms this smile quickly faded as he began to gather his instruments.

“Come now Jason, I have one last thing to do, and then you may go.”

Jason began to leave the room when something caught his eye, “What’s that?” He asked pointing to a small remote that lay off to the side of the computer.

Raimi halted for a moment to be sure he understood what he was referring to and saw the object of Jason’s attention. “Well… you could call it a kill switch of sorts. It’s like a keyless entry system for a car except this one is for Eric.”

“Huh… Cool!” Jason reached for the remote but Raimi grabbed it just before Jason’s hand reached it. Raimi fought back the urge to strike him realizing that setting upon the imbecile in such a way would accomplish nothing. Jason’s mental capacity was dropping fast. Raimi would have stoop to his level to reason with him.

“Yeah, it is pretty neat; but do you want to see something even better?” Jason nodded. “Then follow me, we are going to take this new toy for a test drive.”

They both entered a room adjacent to where Eric was incarcerated. In opposition to the quiet solitude of Eric’s room this was alive with the humming of cooling fans. This was the heart of the computing center for what they had just witnessed. Raimi sat in front of a bank of monitors which displayed the states of the various instruments within the lab. The central monitor displayed Eric lying on the table. “Jason, do you remember when I saved your life back when Eric attacked you.”

“Eric wasn’t nice.” He said. His body crouched slightly and a troubled look crossed his face “I was scared.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be, I’m right here to protect you from the boogie man.” Raimi’s face softened and he placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Right now though, I need you to be very quiet. I’m going to make a call; can you do that for me?” With a nod Jason turned and sat down in the corner.

Raimi withdrew Eric’s black Motorola cell phone from his pocket and hooked a USB cable to it. The screen to the right of Eric’s monitor flashed the words DOWNLOADING CONTENT… These were quickly replaced with EMULATION ENABLED. With this completed he moved to the opposite monitor and placed a wireless microphone into his ear; a blue light on it began to blink indicating an active connection. Raimi took a deep breath and said “Hello, testing one… two… three…” The end of the test phrase came out through Raimi’s smiling lips as he stared in wonder at Eric repeating the phrase. Quickly Raimi replayed the audio log, he smiled so broadly that his cheeks began to ache; it was perfect. Eric’s intonation matched that of his, he could even hear the hint of his laughter at the end. “Excellent!” Eric also repeated this.

Raimi began to laugh at the elegance of his puppetry. His delight though, soon quickly faded as Eric’s rigid posture gave the laugh a robotic, forced character. Well there was bound to be some limitation. What Raimi never realized was that Eric had mimicked him perfectly. Raimi laughed so rarely that when he did it sounded forced and mechanical.

Slightly disappointed he moved on to the real reason why he was there. He scrolled through the phone numbers stored in Eric’s cell and found the one he was looking for. Alongside the words “Jen’s Cell” was the picture of an intelligent looking blond woman. Raimi knew instantly that this was the ”Hot blond” which Eric boasted about so prolifically. He snapped out of his intense scrutiny of the picture when a small dark crack shot across the LCD. He released the tension in his hand and let his thumb gently caressed the crack. Dark liquid crystal blotches began to ooze from the fracture. His thumb paused a few more seconds and then pressed send.

Through the ear piece Raimi would be able to hear Jen, but he would have to do all the communication through his puppet. Raimi was able to give a final glance at the system diagnostics screen before the phone began to ring.

The ringing ended in an audible click and was followed by the faint beating of music in the background. A tentative voice asked “Eric?”

Now, the real test of all the work he had done truly began. He repressed the urge to hang up and triple check the connections and retest the audio delivery system. “Hi, Jen.” The software pumped Eric’s diaphragm, providing the breath of speech as the words came out fluidly.

“Eric, where have you been? Why didn’t you return my calls? Is everything all right?” The flood of questions had caught Raimi off guard. He paused for a second as he thought, Keep it simple.

“Yeah I’m fine, are the guys with you?” He thought it best to get right to the point.

“Yeah, Eric… Jackson’s… dead. He was bitten by something, and then he got sick.” Her voice was becoming frantic. “What the hell is going on?”

“I know, Carmen told me about Jackson. I’m back at Vion; I’ve found some more evidence. I can’t explain everything over the phone. I need you and the guys to get over here quickly.” Raimi had laid the bait and now he hoped that she would take it.

“Eric, I don’t think that I can go back there. Things have happened to fast. People are dead; and we need to go to the FBI. This goes way beyond local authorities.” Raimi began to panic, he was losing her.

He searched his mind, and then in the calmest tone he had he said “Jen, take a deep breath, relax. Think for a minute, we don’t have any concrete evidence yet; no one would believe us. They will now! I have all I need bight here, but I can’t get it out without you.” He paused a second for effect “Jen, I need you!”

He knew that he had her. She hesitated, but the confirmation came within seconds “O.K. I’ll talk to the guys.”

“Good. Meet me in the garage. Tell Carmen that the entrance code is one, five, one, six, two, three, got it?” He gave her as second to write it down.

“Yeah, Eric… I love you.” Pain and uncertainty saturated her last words.

Raimi felt a small twinge of fear. What if he couldn’t convey the emotional response she needed? He felt that it was best to just terminate the conversation; his thumb pressed the red End button and sat back staring at the body on the table.

The experiment had been a success, he should have been ecstatic, but why then did he feel like it had gone wrong? He grabbed the phone, yanked the cord out of it and threw it against the wall where it rained broken plastic to the floor. With the connection broken Eric began to move. For the first time since the break in Raimi wished that he had a living, breathing, thinking Eric to talk to.

No sense in crying about it now! He said to himself. I’ll figure it out later. In the meantime he would contact Sergeant Ridgeman and tell him to coax Carmen into goading the group if there was any hesitation from the girl. It wasn’t his job to worry about specifics; all that mattered was that they came here. Besides he had work to do, he was having guests and he had loose ends to tie up.

He smiled and turned to the cowering young man in the corner. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not mad at you. Remember… You feel great!”

“I do.” Jason stood straight but was beginning to look weary and he had lost some the enthusiasm from his affirmation. During the walk back to the isothermal holding cells Jason’s pace began to slow.

Upon entering the chilled rooms Raimi decided to try a new tactic. “Tell me something Jason, what are your dreams?”

Jason's glazed eyes lit at the question. “I want to be a dad. I like babies. I want a family.” Jason's inhibitions were so far gone by this point that he never noticed the scowl that crossed Raimi's face.

With the sociopathic equanimity of a hangman, Raimi replaced his scowl for a smile. “Well, with the promotion you're going to get for helping me tonight I'm sure that you'd be able to provide for a large family… Hey, I have an idea.” Raimi grinned. “How do you feel about feeding Eric? Why you could practice providing for someone. We could pretend that you’re his father.” His sarcasm fell on deaf ears.

“Sure, I'd love to.” Jason smiled and moved to the new cell housing the restrained Eric. “What should I feed him?” A wide, happy smile spread at the thought of doing something nice for the man who had saved his life.

“Unfortunately Eric likes meat; fresh meat. Why don't you unbuckle his restraints, I'm quite sure that you can provide food for him.”

Without regard for the hands that reached and tore at the fringes of his lab coat, Jason began unbuckling the restraints. Raimi noted that Eric seemed somehow to understand that Jason had no concept of the danger he was in. He patiently waited until both of his hands were free before finishing the assault he started hours earlier. Raimi looked to the red button on the remote which would halt Eric’s attack. His eyes shifted to a smaller, recessed button just to the left of it and decided to give it a try. Pressing it he activated the neurotransmitter which began stimulating Eric’s aggression center… and the response was immediate. Raimi laughed quietly at the double meaning of Kill switch; this time his laugh sounded more like himself, maniacal.

Like a helpless piñata at a Cinco de Mayo festival, Jason lay on the floor as Eric’s scrabbling hands tore the life from deep within him. Oblivious to his own slow and tortured death, Jason Miles gently patted Eric's head muttering “Good boy, good boy…” Finally his hand slowed, fell to the floor, and then moved no more.

Chapter 4: Part 4, Dead Soldiers

2008-04-21T21:16:00.003+04:00

As soon as the food arrived Jen realized that she wasn't hungry. Her stomach knotted tightly as she watched Corina and Klaus dig in. Carmen had yet to show up and Jen was beginning to get impatient. Each time Klaus finished a beer he looked over longingly at the lonely PBR which sat waiting for Carmen to arrive. This would last about five seconds before he would grab it stating “It's a shame to let this get warm... I'll order another one for him.” Both Jen and Corina were onto his scheme after two of Carmen's beers had vanished.

“Maybe you should slow down and wait till he shows up. We need to figure out what we're going to do now.” Jen gave Klaus a wilting look and then smiled recantingly. “I'm sorry I... I've been through...” She stopped for a moment to gather her strength and smiled again. “Maybe I'm the one who should have a drink.”

Corina and Klaus laughed lightly “I'll drink to that!” Klaus tipped his beer and finished it in one long draught. “Maybe you should eat some of your food. I'll get another round.”

The decor of the restaurant was a subdued brown and thick crimson drapes lent a quieting atmosphere as sound seemed to fall inches short of hearing. The muted clinking of silverware was the only sounds heard from the other patrons as they carried on their dinning experience. Jen was tired and couldn't stop thinking that a drink was a bad idea. The early evening had already taken on a dream like quality and Jen's tolerance for alcohol had always been low. Eric had always called her a cheap date for this reason, the remembrance of which now caused her to smile. It soon faded as she wondered where he could be. Eric had never gone more then a day without getting in touch with her, let alone four.

Through what seemed to her miles of distance Klaus was telling her that having seen nothing in the news or hearing anything on the police bands about the break in he had been trying to get in contact with Eric all day. All day... the words echoed repeatedly in her mind. She tried to banish the thought with reason by claiming that he would have answered if it was her who had been calling, but deep inside she knew something was wrong.

“Maybe we should go by his apartment.” Both Corina and Klaus were nodding in dissent before she even finished. “Well, we should do something. Anything besides sitting and drinking.” A dark eyed waitress came and delivered four bottles and poured two of them into pint glasses for Corina and Jen. “Thanks!” Jen smiled as she left. She was amazed that even under the darkest circumstances the reactionary courtesies of society belched their way out like so much stale air from a decaying corpse. She could hear Professor Weber in her mind right now. Even in a catastrophe such as an earthquake, a smile can say much more than words can from those same lips. It is instinctual. It is a quiet reassurance that everything will be alright. Even more powerful than the smile is eye contact. The pupil is the opening of a spherical container which holds more than just the ocular jelly. The eyes are windows to the soul. Connections are made and relationships built all in the blink of an eye. Her own eyes burned now, never had she been on the verge of tears for so long. She had come close a year ago when her father had died from cancer but she had known he was terminal for over a year and had come to peace with the loss. The emotional rollercoaster she was on had taken her to the verge of hysteria and back again without rest, and it seemed that there was no end in sight. She searched for meaning in her mentor’s words and wished that he was here now to help guide her.

A light tapping on her shoulder snapped out of her doldrums “Hey, earth to Jen... move over.” It was Carmen. He sat down hard on the vinyl bench she was on and her side raised slightly as excess air tried to escape from his weight. She turned to him with a questioning look in her eye. He glanced away from her gaze and looked down at her untouched plate of food. He grabbed it and reflexively jammed a forkful of food into his mouth. “You done with this?” He asked Jen as he took another heaping mouthful of food “What is this?... Vegetarian?” He ate ravenously and talked between mouthfuls. The PBR rested in front of him perspired condensation as if nervously awaiting the same fate. He finished half of the beer in one draught.

Klaus looked at Carmen with a moment of concern and then began to laugh “Damn brother! You certainly got your appetite back!” Klaus looked at Carmen with an air of awed astonishment. Carmen's straight black hair had been hastily pulled back in a pony tail. He paused for a moment to smooth back a loose strand which had fallen into the amalgam of vegetables and pungent spices. He seemed as if he was trying to gather strength to say something, but after a seconds thought decided against it. His eyes latched onto the bottle in front of him and the rest of the beer never saw its end coming. Carmen's hand was beckoning to the waitress for another round even before the foaming remains of the dead soldier reached the table. We're all dead soldiers he thought with a vitiated spirit.

After a delivery of liquid reinforcements Corina finally ventured “So what do we do now?” She looked questioningly around the table. Klaus folded his hands, sat back dejectedly and shrugged his shoulders. Jen returned the gesture but the fire in her eyes spoke words of action. The three of them silently turned to Carmen who busied himself with gluttony.

Carmen's incessant repetition of fork, food, mouth, beer halted when he noticed the three of them staring at him. “I spoke with Eric.” He said abruptly and didn't wait to see the reaction on their faces.

Jen's jaw opened in shock and then closed in quiet anger. Why hadn't Eric called her? She couldn't believe it!

Boisterously Klaus interjected “Well that's great! What did he tell you?” His baritone voice exploded from the corner of the restaurant causing the light crowd to turn their attention toward the foursome in the back. Both Corina and Jen turned and quieted the gently inebriated Klaus. He smiled at them and crouched slightly in his seat. “Oops…”

Jen turned from Klaus to Carmen and gave him an aching look that silently pleaded, Well… Her eyes searched for that connection which Professor Weber had spoken, but found nothing.

The combined pressure from three sets of eyes was enough to crush the strongest resolve. “He called just after you had left the labs.” He halted and looked like as if he was going to stop. Jen placed a warm hand over his and urged him to continue, but found it hard to listen too.

A grey blue smoke began to work its way from the kitchen in the back. Smelling of sandalwood and rich incense it drifted on lazy currents stirred by the dark skinned waitress as she moved through the small establishment. She disappeared behind a small bar for a moment and the lighting dimmed slightly and hidden speakers in the ceiling began playing a light tambour. When she reappeared and went back to tending to her patrons she had an exotic bounce in her step. As she lilted to and fro her head and arms had a barely perceptible sway which matched the hypnotic rhythm. The dream like aspect struck Jen once again and she pushed away the half empty beer which sat before her. When she turned her attention back to the activity at the table Carmen was coming to the end of relaying his conversation with Eric “…and he said he would call.” Jen silently scolded herself for not paying attention and embarrassment prevented her from asking the reluctant Carmen to repeat himself.

“See Jen, nothing to worry about.” Klaus' broad smile evidenced how relieved he was to know that the mantle of leadership would soon fall from his shoulders when Eric comes back into the loop. Corina also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but Jen thought that this was a sigh of release. If Eric came back into the picture then she could pawn her crazy friend back onto him. This thought caused Jen's mood to spiral down a dark staircase. She looked at her friends and saw happiness in their smiles. Their ignorance of the severity of the situation knotted her stomach. She noticed that even Carmen was now smiling. His was a darker smile. It was as if the sides of his mouth were no longer turned down and held there by some invisible weight. They now sprang up in the impish smile which was characteristic of his sharp humor, though his smile ended there. His eyes were empty of any levity, and this dichotomy sent shivers down her back. She began to wonder if Carmen had told them the whole story. She thought that she would have been happy to hear any news from Eric, but she now questioned if this had even happened. If it had, was there some other circumstance which Carmen neglected to mention. If so, then why? Had Eric called Carmen to avoid speaking directly to her? Her thoughts continued their dizzying descent. Somewhere, back in the stairwell of the fraternity a small seed of despair was planted within her, and this seed now began to germinate.

She was startled out of her foreboding reverie by the vibration of her cell at her side. The faint theme to 90210 slowly grew as she retrieved her phone. The bright faces around the table halted in their cheerful banter and looked toward Jen. She suddenly felt very small, as if under the scrutiny of a high powered microscope. She looked at her caller ID and felt the bottom of the world drop out from beneath her. “It’s Eric…”

Chapter 4: Part 3, Dead Inside

2008-02-09T04:14:00.000+04:00

"You know you don’t have to do this." Jen paused just outside of the doorway of the Advanced Computing and Artificial Intelligence department at MIT. Her face was void of any emotion as she looked over at her friend.

Corina stood there, her hair still damp from a steaming shower she had taken at her apartment, though she felt that she could never wash away the horror she had witnessed. "I have to Jen. Jackson was my friend, and Andre... was too..." Her voice trembled slightly as she stopped herself from saying anything more and turned way from Jens’ piercing gaze.

Jen had also cleaned up and now had her hair pinned in a loose knot with her characteristic chopsticks. Her mismatched clothing had been replaced by a dark pair of jeans and a form fitting sweater that was better suited for late Fall in New England. Corina was dressed in a similar fashion. "Good, the more people who know about this the better our chances are of exposing Vion."

Jen turned and pressed the call button at the side of the electronic door. A voice filled with static came across the com "Hello."

Jen pushed the talk button, bent slightly, and spoke into the steel mesh of the speaker "My name is Jen Hargrove and I am trying to reach Klaus Anderson."

"Jen... I’m hurt that you’re not here to see me." She could hear a slight chuckle, it was Carmen. "Come on in, at the first corridor turn right. We’ll be three doors down on the left." A harsh electric buzz souded just above the door and Jen gave it a tug. It opened and they both walked into the quiet hallway.

Jen had wondered why the front door security seemed so archaic and now she knew why, it was just the first in an ever increasingly advanced security system. The doors on either side of them were guarded by varyious forms of technological barriers from face scanners to retinal scanners. She assumed that the differnt security measures were based on funding and the type of security required. Some doors had panes of glass embeded with steel wires, others had what appeared to be one way mirrors, and a few even seemed looked to be made of polished metal. They turned the corner and headed towards their destination. Though they passed by numerous closed circuit television monitors she could not find a single camera from which they were viewed. "Welcome to the future of surveillance, the age of the invisible observer." Corina, who had been trailing slightly, stopped and was trying to pinpoint where the image was being captured. "Don’t bother Corina it’s not meant to be found."

"How very astute of you Jen!" Carmens voice came from the door just ahead of them "Multivariant monofilament optic technology. It’s one of the many things we are funded to work on in our lab." Jen reached the closed door to their lab and knocked. "Say the magic words..." Jen flipped the door the finger and it opened on quiet pneumatics. Just inside the lab Carmen sat in a chair which looked like it came of the bridge of the starship Enterprise. "Just a reminder Jen, magic words are things like Open Sesame or Please, but I like your creative use of symbolic... ouch!" Carmen discontinued his jocular ramblings as Klaus jabbed him hard in his ribs. He had begun to throw an insult at Klaus when he saw the trouble within Jens’s eyes.

Klaus lay a steady hand on Jen’s shoulder "What’s wrong?" For a moment he felt her body buckle slightly then she caught herself. His heart sank with dark thoughts as he watched the inner struggle as she tried to reign in her emotions. Without realizing what he was doing he watched his hand move to the back of her neck and with an uncharacteristic compassion he pulled her into his arms. Jen lost her battle with composure and collapsed into Klaus’ tall frame. On a daily basis Klaus worked trying to program emotion into artificially intelligent neural nets. Now that he was confronted with it, he had no idea what to do except let her cry into his chest.

Corina looked to Carmen who was now standing and watching the catharsis with envious eyes. He turned to her, opened his arms and sarcastically beckened to her with a joking smile on his face. "Your such and ass Carmen!... Jackson’s dead!"

Carmen flinched as if he’d been slapped hard. His repetiore of quips emptied faster then the color from his skin. He went a fair shade of green and sat hard in his chair as his mouth struggled to find words. Corina continued "He was able to tell us that he’d been bitten by something before going unconscious. Either loss of blood or some sort of shock caused his body temperature to drop to the point of causing violent tremors. Andre and I went to get some..."

"He wasn’t dead!" Jen said as she began composing herself. "He got back up... But... but it wasn’t him, something was different, it was like he was insane." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "That whole place was insane.’

Klaus tentatively released her and was glad to see that she had recovered her self-control. He was afraid to ask but felt that he had too. "What do you mean... That whole place."

He looked to Jen and when she didn’t answer he repeated the question to Corina. She stood there with a look of concern at her friend. "Your right, I’m not sure whether Jackson was dead or not, but he was dying... fast. I am sure however, that Mocha did die and then he came back and attacked us."

It was Carmen’s turn to wear the mask of confusion. His face was a curious interplay between a raised eybrow and a jaw sinking in shock. "Who’s Mocha? Where were you?" He paused as he began to piece some of the story together. Then he said as an aside "I knew we shouldn’t have taken that dog!"

Corina continued "This may sound wierd, but I don’t think that he was bit by a dog. There were bruises in the shape of hands on his leg. Along with... along with what looked like a human dental imprint. Dog bites are more puncture like, this was a... a human bite. And Mocha’s had a half dozen bites in his chest."

With this Carmen vomited his diet of Cheetos and cherry soda into a trash bin which stated on its side in bright red lettering No Sensitive Data. Corina thought that Carmen would have got a kick out of this if it hadn’t been him wretching sensitive data by dripping mouthfuls into the bucket. "Are you OK?" She asked stunned slightly at his reaction to her description. All he could do was nod as he grabbed a printout from the table behind him and wipe his mouth. "Jackson called to tell us that he’d been attacked and that he was on his way to the Omega Psi Phi house. When we got there he was barely coherent. He muttered something like The body was alive. Then he went unconscious and began to sieze."

"Stage Four." Klaus said flatly as it was his turn to look grave.

"What?" Jen’s attention was locked back into reality as she intently focused on what Klaus had just said.

Klaus took a deep breath "Stage one, Localized viral infection. Cellular mechanisms such as mitosis and mitochondrial support are currupted by Virazymes. Stage two, Body temperature depression. As the Virazymes begin to depress cellular function the core temperature can drop by as much as ten degrees. This eventually leads to unconsciousness as the body begins to draw all blood to the heart and brain as hypothermia sets in." Klaus paused and looked at his rapt audience, he took another deep breath and continued "Finally stage four, acute tremor and grand mal siezures occrur as the Virazymes begins to attack the nervous tissue of the spine and brain."

"Then what?" Corina asked as she absorbed these answers to the questions which had danced in her head since upon first examining Jackson.

"I dunno. We have only decrypted about three percent of the data we grabbed from the labs. There’s a batch oriented integrity bot that keeps modifying the encryption." Jen gave him a confused look. He paused for a moment to think of a better way to put it. "Think of the hard drive as a house and the encryption is the front door. Well there is a robotic maid which keeps the house clean and everytime we unlock the door and open it, even a little, the maid comes by and adds another lock. Each time we are only able to see a fraction of the data. Our systems have been at this for thirty eight ours and cracked one hundred and fifty two million codes, and these aren’t normal PC’s were using here. We should have been able to break this thing wide open half a day ago."

Understanding flooded Jen’s face "I know you guys are doing your best but, is that it?" She looked to Carmen who had recovered enough from his sickness to quickly check the status of one of the systems. She thought that he was either very dedicated to this or he was embarrassed by his momentary loss of digestive constitution.

"No, we have extensive data on phase 1 and 2 testing of a drug called Immunomix-9. It seems to be a drug used to prevent rejection of transplanted organs. This was the first stuff we cracked, in fact I thought that this was gonna be a piece of cake as it was only protected with five hundred and twelve bit encryption. You know... kid’s stuff." Jen just nodded and motioned for him to go on. "There’s mention of it being combined with another drug also being developed which can help maitain the viability of organs outside the body. It sounds like really radical stuff."

A dark look from Jen qwelled his scientific excitement. He continued more somberly "We also have an updated schematic of the facility and this is what I think is the most interesting. It includes three more floors fifty feet below the parking garage. That’s equivalent to being close to ten stories below street level. They must’ve had one hell of a work crew to build that in the center of a major city without anyone noticing. Carmen thinks that they must have used the old Harvard Square train tunnels to move materials in and out. Which means that a lot of palms were greased to keep it silent, so we need to be careful about who we tell about this, and how we tell it."

"Whether we tell the truth about what Vion is doing might not matter at this point. Once the fires at the Omega Psi Phi house get extinguished there’s gonna be one hell of an investigation and it’s comming our way first." As minacious as her words were, she looked more determined then scared. "Corina, why don’t you fill them in on what Jackson did next."

Corina quickly relayed how Andre had givin his life to save hers as Jackson had viscously attacked them. Carmen looked as if he was going to vomit again then, when she told them about the severed torso which crawled after them he ended up depositing some more sensative data. She finished her recap with Mocha and how they escaped from the staiway from hell. "Now I am definetly sure that he was dead, and yet he came back and attacked us."

"So you’re talking zombies, like in those movies." Carmen groaned between words but managed to get out. "Man we’re all wicked screwed!"

Jen’s voice lashed out like a whip "Not if we get them first. We can go back and get some real proof which we can show the press. We know they were experimenting on humans we just need to get some hard evidence."

"Jen, I think we all need to take a break, get some food or something. I can sure use some, we probably all could use some." Klaus looked over at Carmen "Well maybe not you bro, but you know what I mean. We need to step away from this for a moment and think clearly. Especially after what you two just went through. I sure as hell want to talk with Eric and find out what he thinks about all of this. Have either of you talked with him?" They both shook their heads. "Well, we can try him later. I have some pizza back at the apartment but I wouldn’t recomend it. Carmen’s been trying to colonize it with intelligent bacteria. How bout that Indian place on Mass Ave, it’s got some booths in the back where we can talk."

After a few minutes Jen grudgingly admitted that she could use some food.
Klaus grabbed his jacket and began stuffing various articles into it’s inner depths including a handheld computer he developed and a small pouch which clanged with a multitude of tools. Corina and Jen were alread outside the lab heading towards the main entryway. "You coming Carmen? Hey man, are you alright? You don’t look so good bro."

"I’m fine" He shrugged off the question "I’ll be right behind you. I just want to get this automation script running." He stopped for a moment as if something was weighing on his mind. "You know, playing heroes is fun and all, but this is some serious shit, people are dying! And... and we still have work to do to secure funding for our lab."

"Yeah, I get you, but there are some things more important then the daily grind." He put a hand on Carmen’s shoulder "There’ll be a PBR waiting for you at the table. OK?" With a faint nod from Carmen Klaus left the lab and hurried after the girls.

Minutes passed as Carmen sat at his computer with his head in his hands. Slowly he moved them to the keyboard in front of him. He pulled up the security console and watched as his friends left the building. An audible click issued from the door as he locked it remotely. He then pulled up another window which contained video feed from what appeared to be a small IT room containing many flashing computer screens. A man, dressed in a tight black sweater, sat with his back to the camera. He appeared to be talking to himself, but Carmen quickly realized that he was using a small communicator attached to his ear. Within seconds the man touched his earpiece and turned to the camera, it was Adams. "I assume that it’s safe to talk."

"Yeah." Carmen’s voice was weak and small. He was broken. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes. We’re sending a team to the hot zone which..." He looked down at the dossiers lined up before him. "Which Corina spoke about. We want you to go meet with them at the restaurant and gather as much information about the infection and it’s victims as possible. We’ll monitor it all on the portable audio recorder."

"I’ve done enough for you. I don’t want to do this anymore. I feel like I’m dying on the inside because of this." Carmen’s eyes began to sting as he tried to prevent himself from breaking down.

"Need I remind you that hacking into any corporate entity is a felony, let alone physically breaking into it and absconding with biological materials. Remember that you agreed to help our investigation."

"I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew that innocent people were gonna die." Carmen began to shiver with emotional shock.

"No one is ever truly innocent. I will also remind you that the people I work for aren’t the type to go through the proper legal channels to press charges against you. Your friend Klaus was right to be cautious about talking to anyone about us. Now... keep your mouth shut, do what we tell you and you might just get out of this. Hell you might even get some funding for your lab from us, I really like your micro-camera assemblies." Adams said this with a sardonic smile.

"Do you understand me?" Carmen sat there frozen as he remembered the things in the cages at Vion and what such a company could do to him. "Do you UNDERSTAND ME?" Adams voice was begining to show impatience. All Carmen could do was nod in agreement. "Good, we’ll contact you to let you know what to do next." Again Adams gave the camera another knowing smile. "Be good Carmen... We’ll be watching." The screen went dark leaving Carmen once again alone... or was he? He quickly looked around the lab and wondered if Adams was still watching him. Then his stumach knotted painfully as he made another deposit of sensitive information.

Character Sketches

2008-02-04T22:34:00.001+04:00

Well There you go! Straight out of my secret documents.

Enjoy!

William Zedalis

Chapter 4: Part 2, Home

2008-01-10T06:26:00.000+04:00

"Wake up!" A voice called out, seeming as if it came from a great distance. The child closed his eyelids and tried to retreat into the darkness of sleep from which he was rudely awakened. "It's time to get ready for school." The father stated sternly. Cold violet lights began to intrude upon his sleep weary eyes, causing him to flinch reflexively. He fought off the painfully bright lights and struggled to bury his face in sheets which weren't there.

"Me!" The child said in frustration and immediately regretted it as it grabbed the father's attention.

"Did you just say something?" He asked curiously, but when the child didn't reply his demeanor abruptly changed to anger and a harsh slap split the silence. "What did you just say?"

The child let out the only word it knew "Me!" It was a word of childhood entitlement that encompassed everything within his world. Patchworks' lips curled back in a growl as his eyes flared open "Meeeee!" The scolded child within lashed out fighting the restraints which tethered Patchwork to the cold steel table. The iron manacles bit into his wrists as he reached in vain for the figure that hovered just outside the ring of light that surrounded him. After a second failed attempt he calmed the rage within and began to look around. Only a small portion of the room was visible but what little he could see had a familiar feel to it. It wasn't until the shadowed figure came into the light that he realized why it seemed so familiar.

A tall man dressed in soiled surgical scrubs walked towards Patchworks prone figure. His eyes were the only aspect of his face which were not covered in protective garments. An unspoken insanity radiated from those intensely black holes. It was that insanity which triggered Patchworks recollection. He was home.

It was a thought devoid of the warm connotations which a home coming usually entails. He was the bastard offspring of an unwilling ancestry and now he was forced to return to the abusive orphanage where he was conceived.

It all came crashing back to him. He remembered the scattered seeds of his consciousness flickering on like so many stars appearing in the night sky. Cut off from experiential reality, the unconnected bits of Patchwork floated in their vital fluids unaware of each other, waiting to be plugged back into existence. As Raimi worked to weave the fabric of grey matter together Patchworks awareness grew. The fragmented memories of each new facet collided in failed understanding as they tried to comprehend their new situation. Flashes of color splashed across his inner eye and electric fire bolted along nervous tissue as Raimi connected the puzzle-brain into its new residence. At first the infighting within his multiconsciousness tore the fragments of sensory data into meaningless shreds. They fired their salvos of neuronal energy like synaptic ICBM's, each trying to overpower the other. These neural ballistics caused Patchworks body to writhe and spasm uncontrollably as the war raged within his head. From beyond the chaos of war within his mind a flood of warmth inserted itself into the center of the battle and a calming armistice forced an uneasy peace.

An injection of T.C.C. had given Patchwork’s mind the respite it needed to knit the fabric of a new consciousness. As it anesthetized his senses a black shroud draped its cimmerian folds around his eyes, he was once again cut off from the world. He delved deep into the recesses of his mind trying to negotiate the convoluted neural paths that formed his new psyche. Forming connections and adding to his consciousness he quickly realized that "He..." wasn't the correct term for his identity. The growing awareness which was Patchwork wasn't male or female, black or white, or even adult or child. It was all at once and yet none of them, it was something which began to refer to itself as "Me..."

As the collective "Me" gained in unity a momentum began to grow as it assimilated every neural connection it encountered. This unity was a tentative one, based out of a necessity for continued existence and at each turn different factions of his mind would try to gain dominance. Even as the drug wore off, Patchwork remained shut down. His mind now had enough self awareness and drive to continue the assembly of identity. He could feel his senses coming back online but chose not to experience these. "Choice...?" Did he even have this option? The last time he felt anything, he was a slave to his warring nervous system.

Through the buzzing needles which bit into every inch of his skin he felt a slight rustle of air around him. Something tickled his cheek as a warm breath fell across his face. It caused him to become acutely aware of the penetrating cold within himself. Slowly he opened his eyes to the barest of slits and found himself face to face with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Golden strands of hair trailed upwards from his cheek and disappeared as he became lost in the bluest of eyes. They calmed him to the point where it seemed that every part of him swam in their depths. He felt another bolt of warmth as something pressed into his neck and paused there for a moment. It pulled away and was followed by a deep guttural articulation which he couldn’t understand. Yet, he knew this sound, it was the deep rumble of a mans voice. "There’s no pulse Jen, he’s dead..." Patchwork didn’t understand the majority of the garbled undulations but there was something he did grasp. A finger had touched his neck and someone said the word "Dead".

No this couldn’t be right, he knew this word. Death was the end of thought, it was the end of everything. He ran through the volumes of memory crammed into his brain. There were silvery threads which ran through each page of memory and formed the coherency of lives. Some of these threads were short, and some were long, but they all had one thing in common. They all had a beginning... and they all had an end. Then something curious happened, they all began again. Though this time they twisted around each other and formed the roping consciousness that referenced itself as "Me".

Surely he wasn’t dead. His mind contained thoughts, or there was something akin to thought occurring. He had memories, thought these were scattered and disjointed. He was alive, he had to be. Fear forced his eyes wide and again he found himself staring into those azure landscapes. Something was wrong this time. Pale pink lids framed in fair lashes pinched at their corners. Contact had been made and something had changed, she was frightened. He tried to grab her and prevent her from leaving but his muscles wouldn’t respond. All he could do was close his eyes and hope that this was all a dream.

That seemed so long ago. His angel had been replaced by a demon parading in the pretenses of science.

"Can you understand me?" The demon’s surgical masked billowed slightly as he asked his questions. Patchwork shook with frustration and prepared for another assault. Raimi’s hand pulled back and then stopped short of another vicious blow. The gloved hand halted inches from Patchworks cheek and then descended slowly into a gentle caress. Patchwork watched as the corners of those black eyes turned upwards in a smile hidden by his mask. "I thought that you were lost to me never to be heard from again, and here you are. Even speaking, to my delight." Raimi circled the table like a shark after a wounded prey. "How can I be mad... I have everything that I need now to continue my search for the answers which lay within you." Raimi moved in closer to Patchwork, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been busy since you’ve been gone, and I have someone I want to introduce you to..."

Chapter 4: Part 1, Eye of the Beholder

2007-10-04T03:27:00.002+04:00

A trembling hand stretched out and disturbed the chilled tendrils of moisture which gathered near the floor. Fingertips strained as they tried in vain to grab fistfuls of the cold steel flooring. Like new shoes on waxed linoleum, squeaks escaped as his palm stutter stepped across the polished surface. Eric paused as if startled by the mousy squeals. His head dipped sharply as if intending to ram his skull into the hard metal but stopped just inches from the back of his hand. He pulled it slowly across the floor causing a succession of rapid screeches which split the cold silence and trailed violent echoes.

His chapped lips, once full and soft, now parted slightly with the hint of a smile as if the annoying sounds gave him great delight. A thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth as he turned his ear to the floor and repeated the process of dragging his palm to create the sounds. Ssssssssscreeeeeecchhh… chich… chich… sssssqueeeeeeeak… Over and over he repeated the mechanical motion, each time the smile returned and then receded with the fading echoes. “Soooo beeauuuutiful…” He sucked in a dragging breath before repeating the mantra. The words slowly slurred as they passed over his swollen tongue “Soooo beeauuuutiful…”

Outside the room Raimi looked on in eager fascination through a reinforced one-way mirror. His face was so close to the glass that his breath began condensing on its chilled surface. In a reverential tone he asked “How long has it been doing this?”

A young looking lab technician named Jason Miles tentatively stepped forward and answered “Almost four hours now.” He paused and then added “He screamed for the first three hours after encephalitic resuscitation. I had to give him twenty cc’s of T.C.C. before he calmed down” Tetrachloro-Corticone, ironically, had been invented primarily by Eric, and as of yet, it was the only drug that could quell the rage of the undead.

Twelve hours now… Raimi thought to himself. Twelve hours since Eric’s reanimation and he was beginning to vocalize. Better yet, he was connecting with his new senses and associating them with abstract connotations such as beauty. Very promising… yes very promising indeed! “Twenty cc’s… And it only calmed him?” Raimi was astonished as he mentally pulled up records of his prior project. Patchwork had screamed for hours before Raimi had thought to use the T.C.C. on him, by that point Patchwork had screamed so hard that many of the sutures in his chest and face had popped. Streams of dark liquid leaked from them causing Raimi to wonder if the creature would survive the night. It had only taken five cc’s of the pale green drug to stop the screams, in fact it worked so well that it put Patchwork into an irreversible catatonia. Raimi had first thought that the powerful neural-narcotic had killed the creature, he thought in frustration How can you tell when something dead, dies? He had spent the next eight hours inserting sensitive probes deep into the creatures’ brain searching for any signs of activity. He finally heard a faint crackle from the neuroscope indicating the firing of neurons deep within the midbrain. It wasn’t the static of a poorly tuned radio station that he had hoped for, but it was something and he would take it over the loss of two years of research. Twenty cc’s… he though again to himself “That’s enough to kill an elephant!”

Eager to gain prominence within Vion the young lab tech had requested a transfer into Eric’s secretive group. After an exhaustive security check by Sergeant Ridgeman, full psychological profile, personal interviews with the four team members, and a high level secrecy agreement he was finally allowed within the darkened lab.

His hands trembled as his eyes darted over the mutilated form of his boss who now sat drooling oafishly in the isothermal cell before him. His eyes felt like ice cubes stuck to the frozen flesh of their sockets. With great effort Jason turned slowly from Eric’s hunched form to the far more frightening countenance of Raimi Walters. Sensing the threatening tone in Raimi’s last statement he proceeded cautiously. “The dosing followed Eric’s observations in our Canine and Pre-primate studies.”

Raimi sensed a slight trembling in the tech’s countenance, good, the red haired waif had reason to be afraid. Raimi calmed himself with the realization that Eric’s group had none of the data on T.C.C. from project Patchwork. He turned back to the mirror, still Eric had withstood an incredibly large dose, fascinating. “Discontinue the administration of T.C.C. immediately.” Raimi’s voice never got louder then a whisper but Jason flinched as if Raimi slapped him. He looked down at the gold and silver Rolex that loosely sat on his wrist. It had been almost a full day since the confrontation with Eric and Hans in the surgical theatre and now, no matter how much amphetamine he took, he could no longer hold back the weary gates of sleep that beckoned to him. With a sharp movement he turned to the lab tech who tiredly rubbed his eyes.

Raimi finally took a moment and scanned the thin man who stood before him. At about five feet nine inches the man appeared taller then he really was due to his thin frame. He wore a crisp white lab coat with “Vion Technologies” stitched in red on the left breast and “Miles” in blue cursive on the right. He looked tired and Raimi attributed this to the fact that he had grabbed the young man directly after Eric’s surgery. The bleary eyed youth had said something but all Raimi had heard were snippets of protestations “End of my shift… Plans to go out… Brother’s twenty first birthday…” Raimi halted his determined march back to the lab and turned a piercing gaze to Jason “If you value your… Professional life… then I would certainly reconsider your priorities.” Raimi turned and continued to his labs without waiting for a response. He wasn’t shocked to hear, after a brief pause, frantic footsteps racing to catch up to his robotic march.

A thin cracked smile split the stone of his face as he could hear gasps of wonder from behind him as they both stepped into the frigid surgical theater. Raimi didn’t look, but he could imagine the slack jawed man with his mouth hanging agape as he stared at the futuristic robot hanging lifelessly from the ceiling, and then right on cue he could hear a sharp intake of breath as Jason caught sight of the body laying beneath. Oh how Raimi wished he could have seen the transformation of that look from amazement to horror, but he had more important things to do.

As he began rechecking the roping incisions that crossed Eric’s face he could hear a faint stuttering from off to his right. “Wha… who?... Eric!” Raimi was surprised when the tech finally expressed a coherent thought. “What the hell did you do to Eric?”

Sensing the rising panic within the trembling voice of Jason, Raimi decided to forgo further observations so that he could calm the tech. Right now he needed a second pair of hands and could not afford a meltdown. “Jason… It’s Jason right?” Raimi’s voice was as quiet as the soft purr of a kitten. This surprising tone caught Jason off guard and halted his further progression into hysteria, he nodded slightly. “I have been working with Eric for some time now. He was very dedicated to his research, more dedicated than most ever knew. We had been working on an extrapolation of his work with Pieces. You’re familiar with that project and its vast potential I’m sure.” Jason gave another short nod. Raimi paused just long enough for this last statement to fully sink in and then continued. “Well Jason, Eric had what I believe to be a severe stroke tonight.” He thought that this wasn’t much of a lie as Eric did have a severe stroke. Yes a severe stroke of bad luck he thought with an inward smile. “I found him slumped over that control panel. He must have been dead for at least an hour as his body was already starting to grow cold. Eric had mentioned to me on many occasions that he would want the research to continue no matter what, and that he would do whatever was needed to further it. Even if this included becoming part of it.” There was just enough logic behind this to give it some credence, and Raimi could see it beginning to break through the shroud of shock that threatened to engulf the shivering man. “Eric simply donated his body to science.”

“But what about his family, they would never understand this.” Jason said this in an almost pleading tone as his hands pulled the lab coat tight around his shoulders.

“Believe me, if Eric had any family we could contact I would do it personally, but the profile he filled out listed no one. In addition to that, the background check Sergeant Ridgeman performed turned up no one.” Raimi gave Jason his all purpose Cheshire smile, up front it seemed innocuous but upon reflection it contained damning secrets. Jason, wanting… needing to believe, never looked deeper into that smile then the plastic warmth it offered on its surface. “The data we can gather from this minor sacrifice, if you can call it a sacrifice at all, can benefit millions around the world. You’re an intelligent man Jason and I know you understand what we are trying to do here, and you can help.”

Raimi could see that his silken words had worked their dark magic. Jason’s hands loosened their grip on his lab coat and then dropped limply to his sides. “What do you need me to do?”

If Jason had been broken then, what could you call his countenance now some fourteen hours later? Beaten, crushed… Raimi preferred to call it pliable. Dark circles now ringed the man’s eyes. Raimi stopped himself before he began to sympathize with Jason. He reached within his coat pocket and pulled out the vial of pills. “I want you to stay on until I get back, I should only be gone for a few hours. Here…” Taking out four of the little white tablets he said “Take these, they’ll wake you up and give you some energy. You’ll need it for what I want you to do next.”

“What’s that?” Jason nervously asked Raimi’s back as the senior Scientist began walking to the door of the observation room.

Raimi stopped and gave Jason that smile again “Why… I want you to feed Eric.” This time Jason did not miss the secrets shadowed behind those gleaming teeth.

Chapter 3: Part 10, Fire Within

2006-12-14T05:33:00.000+04:00

Note from the Author: Well here it is! The original chapter titled "Reunion" was put aside for the time being. I felt like going in a diferent direction, so I had to start from scratch. I hope you like it! - William Zedalis

Jen looked from the body to Corina, and immediately recognized the loss of hope that which she wore plainly on her face. It was an emotion which she not long ago had to overcome. “We’ve got to get moving!” She had no words of comfort for her.

Corina looked up and wiped away the tears which streamed down her cheeks “Damn you for getting me messed up in this!” She was slowly starting to stand but Jen could see that her stance was weaker and somehow broken.

“We’re both damned if we don’t get out of here!” Jen moved to the stairs as Corina slowly followed.

“Shouldn’t we do something for him, like cover him with something?” Corina could see Jen stop for a moment and think about her question.

“We are doing something for him. We’re going to make the bastards at Vion pay for this!” She felt her resolve strengthen as the words left her lips. “We just gotta make it to the car and regroup.”

The Zippo in her hand had grown hot from its continual use and had begun to burn her fingertips. She grabbed a hold of it by its cover and resumed her climb upward. A thin coating of what Jen assumed was blood made their ascent treacherous around the portions where the railing was missing, and behind her she could hear Corina slip on the cracked tiles.

Catching herself with a gasp Corina began to cry. “Jen I... I don’t think that I can go up there. There could be a lot more of those things waiting for us.”

“If there are more of these things, and they found their way up here, then most certainly they’ll come back if we stay here, and I don’t want to die in a bomb shelter.”

“Mocha said something about another exit back downstairs.” She had just begun pleading with Jen when the sound of movement came from the flight below them. She paused and listened intently as the sound became more distinct. It was the sluggish sound of someone struggling to rise followed by what could only be footsteps. That sound, absent of the door opening, could mean only one thing. Corina looked to Jen with a look of abstract fear, Mocha was back.

Jen shrunk back against the wall and disappeared as she extinguished the Zippo. In a hush whisper that Corina could barely hear Jen issued one command “Keep moving!” Lost in the darkness Corina tried her best to negotiate the awkward footing silently. She groped along the concrete wall and cringed as her hand encountered a sticky patch. Her hand trembled as she wiped it quickly on her pants.

“Jen, where are you!”...

Below them Mocha’s reanimated corpse searched for food as his clouded mind, forever in the fog of hunger, painfully cried to be fed. He walked in circles as his remaining arm grabbed at whatever came within reach. His basal cortex reencountered each corner of the stairwell alcove as if it were its first. The cerebellum was now to far damaged to support short term memory and what had been his long term memory was now disjointed and meaningless. He saw the handle to the door and recognized it, but no longer knew how to use it, or what it was for. The constant confusion stimulated his primitive brain into incessant agitation. A fight or flight response skittered forever on the collapsed scaffolding that now supported his consciousness. He wanted to tear at anything which came his way.

He wandered aimlessly with his limited eyesight scanning the ground for anything which seemed edible. The amputated arm lay on the ground at his feet pointing at the door as if trying to escape the eerie quiet. Picking it up Mocha instinctively thrust it into his salivating mouth and bit savagely into the stiffening flesh of the forearm. He gnawed on the gristle muscle close to the elbow joint and threw it down unsatisfied. He was about to repeat the cycle of walking around the perimeter when he caught sight of a faint glow above him. Its gold tinged shimmering broke through his foggy vision like the moon peaking from behind a clouded sky. Then it moved, and so did he...

“Jen, I think he’s coming up after us!” Corina stood paralyzed with fear as she followed the rapidly approaching sounds in dismayed anticipation. “But how? He was dead! He died! Dead people don’t come back.” Corina’s voice began to rise as panic settled in, and somewhere down below an excited growl slapped her back to reality. She had become disoriented in the dark and stretched out her arm feeling for anything as reference for direction. She found the next tread and began to step up as the lights in the stairwell flickered for a moment. Her footing slipped as the momentary flash stole her night vision and fell down the stairs to the next landing. She landed hard on her tail bone and felt the world go fuzzy for a moment but quickly fought off the impending unconsciousness.

A hand reached out and violently grabbed her, it pulled at her clothing trying to gain a hold of her. When it finally did she was pulled brutally to her feet and upwards, it was Jen! Corina was just about to thank her when Mocha’s form exploded from the darkness. The placid expression he wore in his final moments was now replaced by a grimace of raging hunger. He lunged at her disappearing feet as Jen pulled her to safety. Corina lost track of their progress as they took two steps at a time, even though she was out of breath Jen pulled her onward through the endless stairwell. With every step her heart sank further as she could hear Mocha matching their frantic pace with his heavy footfalls.

Up ahead she could start to make out the faint red and white glow of the exit sign. Jen and Corina slammed into the steel door as their momentum carried them painfully forward. Corina quickly moved out of the way as Jen tried to open the door. It stopped partially open as Mocha stood barring their exit.

As their eyes adjusted to the faint light which trickled in they could fully see Mocha for the first time. Now grey with cataracts his irises swam in a see of bloodshot whites as they locked unblinking on their targets. His face was now a pale ashen hue and deep lines of age creased across his once handsome countenance. His mouth agape exposed bright teeth against a background of a darkening gum line as his tongue rolled in a puddle of drool in anticipation of a meal. Corina could now see the slew of bite marks across his chest where she had opened his shirt, and his medium sized frame now appeared gaunt and frail. The stump of his arm now pushed at the door in an attempt to close it and prevent their escape. Jen pulled the revolver out fired a round into Mocha’s puckered chest. He fell backwards and tumble head over heals to the flight below.

They could hear his footsteps coming up the stairs as they closed the door and looked for a way to lock it, there was none. Corina could hear the alternating Thwack! Smoosh... as his fist and stump assailed the door. She hoped that his mental state mirrored his lifeless appearance and that he wouldn’t find the door handle. Jen searched through the various lumber and construction materials which littered the main hallway and found a crow bar resting on a pile of drywall. With a wide swing she lodged the flatted wedge between the door and its jamb. “Let’s hope it holds... C’mon let’s get out of here!”

The main hallway was now an abstract work of dark art. Bloody foot prints strayed in and out of large puddles of red and crimson smears streaked the walls. In one spot she thought she could make out a face print from a brutal impact. They walked slowly to the main entrance weary of what surprises might be waiting. The frat house was one giant murder scene as bits and pieces of tissue littered the unfinished floor.

Both Jen and Corina jumped as footsteps pounded across the floor above followed by a muffled scream. Corina thought that she could hear shouts for help drifting from the cracked plaster ceiling. They walked to the front door and peaked into the two adjoining rooms which were empty except for signs of a vicious struggle. The late morning sun illuminated the house giving it a disturbed quality. Once again the image of a warped fun house strayed through her mind.

Corina was at the front door when a large crash shook the old building. “Jen please... let’s go!” Jen turned from the front room and headed for the door. She covered her gun with her sweater and pulled out Andre’s lighter. Igniting the Zippo she tossed into a pile of saw dust and waste lumber just outside the side room as she exited the building. The dry wood shavings immediately caught fire and were quickly consumed as Corina and Jen reached the street.

"Why the hell did you do that Jen?” Corina’s voice was a shrill with distress. “There were still people upstairs! We... we could have helped them...” She looked on in shock, her voice trailing off as a light smoke began to trickle from the open door.

“They were all dead anyways! They just didn’t know it yet.” Within Jen’s eyes a fire now burned far hotter than the flames which would soon consume the Omega Psi Phi house. They were from the fire of determination that raged within...

Alone in the Woods

2006-12-01T04:46:00.000+04:00

Note from the Author: Well here is the newest story. I am currently working on the final chapter for part 3 and hope to have it soon. Sorry for the delay but as many of you already know I have become a dad for the second time, and I sorely misjudged the amount of time infants require. Well, let me know what you think. I hope you like it! - William Zedalis

I used to go on long walks to clear my thoughts and get some exercise. After a week of hectically racing around with everyone to get to and from work I need to unwind with a good hike among the trees. The hilly terrain behind my house provided a great workout where I could escape from reality, at least temporarily. I guess you could say that alone in the woods is where I would go to find myself, that is until something found me.

It had been on one of these spiritual retreats when I noted an odd smell as I passed by a small ravine. It seemed to be coming from a dark thicket of thorny bushes, the kind that every child seems to get tangled in at least once in their life. Thinking that I had come across some poor animal's final resting place I continued on without a second thought of what lay hidden in that darkness.

Everything had gone silent as the woods took on a hauntingly serene state. Even the crows which seem to populate every nook of northern New England real estate were gone. I moved on in silence, the only sound was the crunch of forest debris under foot. It was finally the sound of a heavier footfall which pulled my attention back towards the briar patch. It had ceased when I stopped to listen. Through the thick foliage I caught glimpses of a dark form. Its slow lumbering motions were obscured by the remains of fallen trees. At first I thought that it might be an injured dear whose wounds had become gangrenous. Though I couldn't see it fully the smell it gave off was obscene, and the sounds it made scared me to the very foundation of my soul.

Afraid to face the unknown I chose to cut my trek short and head back the four miles or so to my house. I continued looking over my shoulder to be sure that whatever it was hiding in that thicket hadn't by chance decided to follow me. An hour later the white siding of my house winked at me through thinning trees in the fading daylight. I shook of the evening chill with a glass of whisky and tried to put the ordeal behind me...

The week rolled on as days blurred into each other, they often due when boredom creeps into daily existence. I sat on the train and commuted with faceless bodies. We all went onto the daily grind bumping into each other without apologies. Our eyes darted away from each other fearing contact and yet secretly longing for it. In the end we pretend not to notice because there was no time for such niceties. I longed for the solitude of my office but when I got there I would sit and watch the walls as they seemed to close in a little more each day.

I had all but forgotten the whole encounter until once again I felt the need to be outside under the naked sky, so I made my way home through mindless hordes of citizens that littered the subway. They shuffled to and fro aimlessly going about their business, eating, defecating and replicating chaos. Small clusters of them congregated and I tried to pay no attention to their wordless conversations as they moaned about their woes. I couldn’t escape from this reality fast enough.

An hour and a half later I could see the sanctity of my car through the scratched Plexiglas of the commuter rail window. The sun shone brightly down upon its metallic paint and my eyes winced slightly as they adjusted from the darkness of the rail car. Shortly I would be home, secluded away from the rest of the world, planning my next escape into the woods.

I sat in my living room with a glass of whiskey and went over my gear. It was all there, the walking stick that I had crafted when I was a child, a pair of rock climbing shoes (not typical for hiking but perfect for the steep granite terrain I would encounter), a map with a glow in the dark compass (not really needed, but helpful if it became too dark to navigate by landmarks), a field scope, trail mix with Wild Bill beef jerky, a six inch hunting knife, two twenty four ounce bottles of Poland springs water, and last but certainly not least, the newest addition, a Colt 45 standard army issue semi-automatic (for piece of mind). It was all there, I would leave at dawn...

I awoke slightly before sunrise and shook of the remnants of the whiskey from the previous night. Excitement and curiosity rose to the surface as I smiled packing the final amenities into my day pack.

My body breached the border of the forest and broke into the darkness as the sun brimmed from the east. I headed west up an old ox path that would carry me the first quarter of a mile into the forest. From there I cut north up the first of two granite gullies which had been a runoff for a larger body of water that had long ago dried up. Climbing up the steep sides of the gully the view before me opened up into a newer section of the forest. A large fire had decimated approximately one hundred acres of tree land a century earlier and now this area had a less congested feel to it. All the trees had a thin and tall appearance which gave one the impression of being very small. Walking through this was easy and quite enjoyable. It had teamed with dear due to the openness and far sightlines. Hunters liked it for the same reasons, but hunting here had been poor this year. The locals felt that something had spooked the deer and some had gone so far as to say that the forest was haunted. I had seen the effects long before I had heard the reports from my friends at the local rod and gun club. Not only had the deer been spooked but every other woodland creature for miles seemed to be lying low.

I hastened my pace through the sparse forest and kicked up leaves as I went to comfort myself with their rustling sounds. After about forty minutes the vegetation thickened and soon brush clawed at me as the older forest fought to keep me from penetrating her dark heart. I paused for a moment, marked my location on the map and banded the largest tree in the area with biodegradable neon tape. Sipping quickly from my water I moved on driven by the knowledge that my destination was only a mile and a half ahead of me.

Reaching the ravine where I had been a week earlier I noted nothing unusual, and soon I spied the copse where I had previously sensed the presence. Carefully pushing through the brambles I pressed into its center but stopped just short of its nucleus. A smell of decay drifted towards me from a body that lay motionless surrounded in a ring of autumn foliage. Two black holes stared up at me from beyond death, my assumption had been right. What lay there before me was, or what had been, a deer which was now well on its way to rot.

Slightly disappointed I started to back my way out when I noticed that it looked as if something had been recently feeding on the carcass. In fact it seemed that it hadn’t gone there to die but had been killed and dragged there. With my curiosity peaking I moved in for a closer look. The torso of the deer had been torn open and most of its roping intestines were pulled out like some macabre art project. Most of the musculature in its lower body had been eaten away. Only until its back and neck did it start to resemble a deer as its prior living form was fleshed out. It seemed that whatever had done this had need only for the vibrant muscle of the deer as the fur on its neck and head was fully intact. Its pelt still retained the teddy bear softness that it wore in life. I realized morbidly that I had been absentmindedly stroking its neck. As I pulled my hand away its eyes rolled up at me. For a moment I thought that I had imagined it but then its dark rotting lips pulled back in an unnatural grimace.

Shocked I stumbled backwards as thorns grabbed at my clothes. I continued pushing backwards as brambles slashed at my cheeks and hands. The image of a partially devoured half deer unsuccessfully trying to sit up propelled me faster. I tore through the woods even as the forest tore back at me.

Breaking free of the thicket I started to pick up speed and turn, as I did I was confronted with the intractable image of a large Oak. The crack of my head hitting its rough bark was the last sound I heard as I blacked out.

Broken images collided with rationality upon the mired surface of my unconsciousness. I was once again on the commuter rail heading towards Boston. I wasn’t going to work though, for in my hand I held an invitation which stated in blood red letters “Come One Come All to the Greatest Show in Hell” a macabre footer blankly stated “Your Life, a Reckoning.” The once comfortable imitation leather seating had been replaced with rusted steal grating that bit painfully at awkward angles. Dangerous gaps in the floor exposed rotting tracks as they raced below. I pulled my gaze from the danger below and tried to take in more of my surroundings. Whatever windows there were intact framed a blasted landscape in shattered spider webs.

The floor was slick with a dark oily fluid which seemed to bleed from every seam in the cracked decking. I found my footing treacherous as the cabin listed precariously from side to side. There were others beside myself in the rail car but they sat oblivious in death to the dreadful sway of the train. Their bodies rested motionless except for the limp lolling of a few heads as they rocked in unison with the train.

I made my way through what seemed miles of cars and at each juncture I was assaulted with a searing heat which cracked and blistered my skin. As I reached the front car I stared in horror at the terrible locomotion which drove us deeper into oblivion. In front of me, in a twisted parody of a childhood image, was a sleigh being pulled by ten rotting reindeer. Their barbed wire reins lay in an empty seat as they rushed onward uncontrolled and unrestrained. I wanted to stop this madness, to stop the inevitable train wreck.

I awoke with the bite of the reins still fresh on my nerves. My eyes opened to take in a starless sky obscured by branches which seemed to be reaching down at me. My back was tight from the stony ground that drained all the warmth from my body. I sat up and shook off the concussion which threatened to pull me back into unconsciousness. Then my prior situation came back to me as a rustling from behind called me to action. I grabbed my pack and hoped I was headed in the right direction as I quickly made my retreat. It felt as if I ran for hours before I saw the glowing marker of the tree which I had banded earlier. It lay ahead like beacon of hope.

It was a hope which quickly diminished as my pace was mirrored by another sound. It was the breaking of branches from a creature uncaring of the ever-present thorns. My mind raced faster than my legs below me. It can’t be the deer, could it? Then I pieced the rustling behind me and the half eaten immobile deer. The thing which followed me had trapped and killed the deer and now it hunted me. My frantic pace threatened to burst my heart as it alternated between pushing and pulling blood through my weakening frame.

I could finally hear the creature falling farther behind as I easily made my way down the rocky gulley into the sparse forest. By the time I reached my house only silence followed me. I opened the door and quickly realized that the heat hadn’t come and a chilled darkness had sunk deep into the house. I tried the lights and came to the conclusion that the power must’ve been out for at least a few hours. It didn’t matter, I was home. Crawling into my bed I closed my eyes and fell fast into a dreamless sleep.

The early morning light drifted through a fog laden sky and entered my bedroom from a partially pulled curtain. The room swam as my head reminded me of my concussion. I slowly sat and noted that the power was still out. “Damn!” no coffee this morning. In the bathroom my frustration was compounded by a trickle of water which bled from the faucet from a loss of pressure. I went into the living room and picked up the phone to call the utility company and hung up bewildered at the lack of tone. The last time the power and phone was down had been during a blizzard ten years earlier. The weather, although not spectacular, had been OK the last few days.

Outside the front window the fog had grown thicker and now obscured the view of the street. What was going on? I needed answers. In the driveway my car lay under a thick blanket of leaves. It seemed as if the whole forest had decided to drop their fading adornment in one grand gesture of contempt at the indolent weather. A flat black gave no reflection from my car as I cleared off the damp leaves, its once lustrous paint job now swallowed what little light there was. I wore my confusion unadulterated on my face as I mouthed wordless curses. My restored GTO had an aged, broken look to it. The engine, which I spent years getting to purr, now screamed to life as loosened fan belts squealed in anger. Finally the engine reluctantly turned over. I threw my day pack in the passenger seat, closed my door, and headed out.

The once smooth ride to town was now a porcelain tapestry of cracks and frost heaves. Some of these, inches in width and yards long, threatened a blow out at each jarring impact. The streets seemed long forgotten by a ghost road crew. Somehow the world around me had aged and gone dormant while I had been in the forest. The realization that the rolling fog might hide more unknown liver spots of this decaying world only made me feel more uneasy. What else could be out there? What could have done this? Then the nightmare I experienced while unconscious came back to me in stark clarity. My mind turned through its meaning and always ended colliding with the phrase “Come One Come All to the Greatest Show in Hell. Your Life, a Reckoning.” I shivered with fear.

As I neared the outskirts of town I could see movement within the pillowing grey mist. At first I saw the shadow of a dog darting into an alley and then a man within a doorway. As soon as I turned towards them they retreated further into the monotone obscurity. Reluctantly I continued on towards the center of town. I had no way of knowing what waited for me there. The one thing which I knew, was that at the heart of the town was the rail yard. I turned onto the road, mockingly named Hope Street, which housed the final rail station of the purple line. I could begin to see the entrance of the parking lot and as I closed in I could make out a few derelict cars that littered the otherwise abandoned pavement. I pulled alongside one of these, grabbed my day pack, exited my vehicle and headed out to explore.

Sitting on the tracks was the train. In a scorched parody of life its purpled metal was now charred black and a light smoke still drifted from its surface. As I approached I could feel it smoldering with a dark life, the heat of which barred entrance. A deep moan reverberated through its structure as the machine seethed with thermal differences. I walked slowly by the passenger car and repressed a feeling of deja-vu as blackened corpses stared sightlessly at me through its broken windows.

Another groan from the train caught my attention, it was different this time, and it had movement to it. As I turned my heart began to sink further into the pit of my roiling stomach. Scattered among the abandoned cars were a growing number of people moving slowly in random directions as if sleep walking. They reminded me of the scattered searching of ants after stepping on the entrance to their hole. It was then that the train let out another rolling growl of hot twisting metal that the crowd gained direction and moved ever faster towards the locomotive. At first it appeared that they were heading to the train in some macabre reenactment of boarding, but as they approached I could see them turning towards me.

The first of these wayward passengers was closing in on me and I could see it was a woman wearing a tattered dress. It was ripped all the way from its hem to an exposed breast which swayed unpleasantly as she staggered drunkenly. Uncaring of her nakedness she lifted her head and grinned childishly at me through blackened teeth. Her eyes stared vacantly at me, with no recognition of humanity at all in them. As she came into arms reach these eyes now narrowed and the childish grin turned into a contortion of rage and something else, was it hunger? I didn’t have time to tell as she quickly clawed at me with jagged nails and snapped her teeth as if intending to bite. Yes, yes it was hunger! I grabbed her outstretched hand and used her forward momentum to pull her to the ground. Unfazed she rolled on the boarding platform and swiped at my feet. By now others were beginning to gather. I retreated to the front of the train, but not before I saw who followed. Among the nameless bloodied faces was a conductor whom I knew. He was barely recognizable through a mask of deep scratches. One of his eyes bulged unblinking from a lidless socket. His conductors cap sat ridiculously cocked to one side. I pulled my Colt out of my day pack and fired into the air hoping to startle them back. Seeing no effect I fired indiscriminately into the crowd. They continued moving in union without the slightest hesitation. Whatever these people were, they were no longer human.

They came at me faster and faster. This dead world began to swallow me as I looked for an escape which wasn’t there. A new phrase entered my mind following its nightmare companion “Come One Come All to the Greatest Show in Hell. Your Life, a Reckoning.” It was one which kids repeat in the shadows of playgrounds. One used when coping with the futility of loss. If you can’t beat’em, join’em! It was then that I stopped running, put the Colt to my temple and pulled the trigger, Click!... it was empty. My mind reeled as I stared at the twisting tracks which led to Boston. This nightmare began while I was alone in the woods and now it seemed destined to finish alone in a concrete jungle. I closed my eyes and prayed for it all to end...

Chapter 3: Part 9, Fixed Lividity

2006-09-21T18:48:00.000+04:00

Note from the author: Hey all you zombie fans! I am really happy to be able to bring you this next installment of Zombie Me! It's been rather difficult writing lately. One of the wonderful after effects of cerebral swelling.... It's funny how life mimics art and vice-versa. So if there are words backwards and things just don't make sense please forgive me. I have tried to do an extensive proof reading before posting. Let me know what you think!

The door at the end of the hallway stood partly open, smiling at them ominously as they approached. Flickers of light from the shoddy electrical work briefly illuminated the enclosure beyond. Jen couldn’t tell whether the random flashes were from actual lights or from wires shorting out, either way the longer she spent in this place the more it seemed to resemble a fun house.

Reaching the door Jen could see why it was ajar. A severed arm lay wedged between it and the frame. Jen slowly pushed the door open and suddenly stopped as she saw the hand move. Its curled fingers relaxed slightly as the weight from door was removed from the tendons in its forearm. Jen morbidly wondered who the arm belonged too, and then a halting fear shot through her as she questioned where the body was.

It was a question that was answered as the door began to close behind them. Between the flashes of electrical shorts she could just make out the outline of a body slumped over in the corner. It jerked suddenly as the door latched and she thought that it had begun to lean towards her. Jen could feel the walls closing in as the sporadic lighting decided to take a respite.

There was another brief wave of electrical shorts which arced like a bug zapper in July and she thought that the body had moved closer. She turned to head back toward the doorway and shrieked as a hand grabbed her shoulder. Corina jumped at Jen’s response “Calm down Jen! I just didn’t want to loose you in the dark.”

Jen continued to search for the handle to the door, but somehow managed to get turned around in the commotion. “Corina, we’re not alone in here...” Jen stopped as she was cut off by a low moan after which they were both now searching for the handle. “Where the hell is the door?” Working at a frantic pace they grasped along the cracked surface of the wall. Jen had the sinking suspicion that they were actually edging towards the phantom figure.

There was another pained gasp followed by a dragging scratch. Corina jumped as something touched her leg, she reflexively pulled her gun and shot at the darkness moving by her feet. In a flash of gunfire she could see the outline of a body reaching for her. She stepped back and found herself pressed against the wall with the hard lump of a door knob painfully biting into her lower back.

Caught off guard by the loud report of the gun Jen clutched at her ear, the explosive blast echoed in the stairwell as well as her head. As the ringing quickly subsided she could hear Corina scrabbling for the door, and then she thought she heard something else, a voice... “Hellppp meee.” It was quiet at first and the words bled together in agony, but then she heard it again, “Help... me...”

Through her commotion Corina heard the voice also. She stopped and listened as Jen fumbled around in her pockets for Andre’s lighter. There were a few brief sparks as the lighter ignited and then a faint glow began to illuminate Jen’s face. Within seconds she was encircled in the wavering light cast by the flame. Lying at her feet gasping for pained breath was a young looking man she recognized. He was one of the ten pledges rushing the fraternity this year. She’d heard Andre call him Mocha but she doubted that was his real name. One aspect of frat life was removing ones identity and replacing it with a new group oriented mentality. The brothers picked the name Mocha because his skin was lighter than the others.

“Mocha...” Corina looked down at the man dying at her feet and regretted the fact that she didn’t know his real name. Her throat suddenly felt dry as she tried to find words to comfort him. Then something clicked inside of her. It was the transition from using emotions into a mode of rational thought. Jen would probably have some psycho-babble term for it but she knew it was what many medical professionals used to stay sane when confronted with massive trauma.

Corina immediately saw that he was indeed the unlucky owner of the arm. She went to work applying pressure to the stump, though this time she was more careful of blood borne pathogens. Mocha squirmed in pain as she wrapped a torn piece of his shirt around his upper arm and tightened it to staunch the blood flow. She took a moment and scanned his body for any other major wounds that required attention. His shirt was torn from his collar down to his belly. She could see what appeared to be bite marks scattered down his chest and abdomen, these welled with tiny pockets of blood but weren’t life threatening. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I’ve stopped it for now... Can you tell me where you are?”

Mocha stirred and looked up at her, the whites of his eyes stood out brightly in the flickering darkness. “Yeah... I’m... I’m at the house. I’m sorry... I’ve seen you before but I’ve forgotten your name.”

Corina laughed at herself for being foolish. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know your real name either, mine’s Corina. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“James... It’s James.” He smiled briefly and for a moment she thought that he looked a bit like Tiger Woods. “I don’t exactly know how it started but I heard that there was a fight down in the basement. Some of the brothers thought that someone got in through the subway access door at the far end of the basement. A few of them brought some heat for protection, but it didn’t make a difference. When we got down there they were already shooting, but... but they just kept coming.” He inhaled sharply and winced as if it hurt to breath.

Corina could feel a low rumbling start by her feet and within seconds the room reverberated with a passing train. Jen looked at Corina and then to James who seemed not to notice. Coolly she looked back and said “Midmorning rush hour.” After the train passed by she asked James to continue.

Before he could continue his story a tooth jarring tremor shook James as he lay there. Corina held his head to prevent him from cracking it on the concrete floor. All that Jen could do was watch and wait until it passed. When it was over he lay there panting unable to catch his breath. Corina felt his pulse racing and looked to Jen gravely. “Try to relax, breathe with your abdomen and not with your chest.” She emphasized her request by placing a slender hand just over his navel. Within minutes his breathing slowed and he regained some of his composure.

“Am I gonna die?” he asked hesitantly. Corina shook her head but couldn’t verbally acknowledge his question. “Thanks... I hope you’re right, cause I don’t feel too good. My mom used to say... hope for the best, but expect the worst.” He paused and swallowed hard. “But... but I think I’m gonna die.” Corina backed away unable to take that statement and look him in the eye at the same time, tears began to run down her cheeks. “Don’t cry. You’re far to pretty to cry...” His voice began to take on a far away tone, softened by a release of endorphins from the seizure. His remaining hand took hold of Corina’s and lightly squeezed her soft flesh, and with a serious look he turned to her. “They don’t die. Jackson took two in the chest from Hendrix and he just kept coming. Even though he was out of bullets Hendrix kept pulling the trigger right up until Jackson killed him. I ran and hid under the stairwell but it was like they knew where I was.” He stopped and seemed to be thinking for a moment. “There were nine of us that came down and four of us had guns. Two of those... things, got us all.”

Another train rumbled by and caused the lights to flicker on for a moment in the dank stairwell. Jen looked up three flights to the top and saw that the railing had been broken halfway up as if someone had been pushed over. It was the first time she could really see how big the stairwell was. Graffiti coursed up the walls in garish purples, greens, and black. Scattered among crudely draw clown faces, rough cityscapes, and random tags, she could make out the Greek symbols which represented the fraternity. Once again the impression that she was in a terrible fun house filled her with dread. In the ending moments of the trains passing the lighting final gave out and once again drowned them in inky blackness.

A puzzled look crossed Jen’s face as she looked around her small sphere of illumination. She turned back to Corina and James. “If they got all nine of you then where are the bodies?"

James didn’t reply. Corina was kneeling next to him and crying silently. His light skin had gone an ashy grey and his jaw slackly hung open. As if in a final answer to her question, James’ eyes stared lifelessly upward in fixed lividity.

Chapter 3: Part 8, The Road Kill Machine

2006-08-14T17:54:00.000+04:00

Note from the author: Well, its been awhile since the last update. As some of you might already know I have been hospitalized for a while. I am happy to let you know that I am on the mend but it will be a slow recovery. I will try to post new sections when I can but the process of recovery will be slow. I thank you for your patience! William Zedalis.

Beth Hansen stirred in the darkness as she stretched trying to shake off the effects of another poor night of sleep. It had seemed ages since she had felt truly rested. Two years... she sadly thought to herself. Two long years since she’d left home and run off with her boyfriend in search of a life away from her abusive step father and alcoholic mother. The decision to leave her family had been an easy one to make, but the true reality of street life was harder lesson to learn. She quickly realized that her idealized glamour of teen independence neglected to include things like rampant drug use, rape, and the everyday violence of survival. Her boyfriend Tommy had left her strung out on heroine and pregnant after three months. The beauty of her youth was now gone and left her with a permanently jaded look on her face.

Every day since then had been a fight to stay clean and survive so that she could protect and provide for the baby she now held in her arms. Being a single mother of seventeen was hard enough, but being one and homeless was torture. She was bombarded daily with insults and degrading looks from passers by as she panhandled for money to feed her baby. What really got to her were the glimpses of pity that she could see in some eyes. She didn’t want their pity or sad expressions, she wanted their money. She cared nothing for the countless faces that passed by her. They walked like mindless zombies to their jobs and then home again at the end of the day. If they gave her money even better, otherwise she would just have to steal to get what she needed.

Lately she had to rely more on other means of getting the things she needed. Pan handling had become too much of a risk. Evading the authorities had become a necessity if she wanted to keep her baby. There had been too many close calls where some do-gooder had informed the police that there was a homeless mother and infant on the streets. God damn them! She thought. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business, go home and watch American Idol or some other senseless bullshit.

Her daughter Tess was all she cared about now in this life. Sure, there were good people that truly wanted to help her like Nick Daniels, who would split whatever earnings he made from singing down at Harvard Square with her. He would make her laugh with the impressions that he would do and when Tess was colicky he would rock her to sleep singing the sweetest lullabies.

It had been Nick who told her about the abandoned school that sadly sat unoccupied at the end of Highborn Street. They had been living at the school for almost a month now, which seemed like a lifetime in such a transient world. It appeared that no matter how much she tried to clean the debris and remnants of countless vagrants that had occupied the school since its closure, she could never remove the ingrained smell of musky urine that pervaded the structure.

She stretched out on the grimy mattress that she had spent the last month on. It was one of the only articles which she couldn’t bring herself to remove from the dank room. There was a certain aspect of civility which compelled her to keep it, even though she could still smell its mildewed padding through two layers of blankets.

She turned in the darkness and felt around for her scented candles, her only defense against the black of the windowless room. With a sigh she realized that yet again she had fallen asleep with them burning, and now they were just hollow containers with charred wicks at the bottom.

Where was Nick? He was supposed to bring more candles for her last night. Then she remembered the rain and how it had come down without warning last night. Maybe he just decided to hunker down and stay dry for the night. Dry, she laughed to herself as she thought of Nick’s propensity to overindulge in whiskey. He probably got drunk in some shelter. Yet again there was just another reminder that she couldn’t rely on anyone. Then she scolded herself, who was she to be mad at Nick when he had been so kind to her. She resented how jaded she had become.

She listened to the slow and steady breathing of Tess and smiled as she thought of her tiny toothless grin. The smile disappeared quickly as an alien sound caught her attention, something shifted in the far corner. Her hand shot protectively over Tess as she froze and listened. Nothing... maybe she had just imagined it. No... There it was again, she could feel something disturbing the still air around her and causing a putrid aroma to drift past. It wasn’t a sound that scared her, it was the fact that something was moving around the room with out making any sound. Even the rats that scurried around for food made faint scrabbling sounds which echoed in the dark.

Then there was a sound. As soon as she had heard it she wished that she hadn’t. It was the sound of nails scratching against the rough pine floors of the class room. It was a dog. How did it get in? Was it rabid? Her mind raced through a thousand questions and not one had a positive reply. She slowly moved her hand under the covers over to her duffle bag. Fortunately it was open, and furrowed away on an inside pocket she found what she had been looking for. Her now sweating hand closed the diamond textured plastic grip of a hunting knife. It had been her father’s, and now she silently thanked the abusive son of a bitch as she pulled it close to her chest.

Then suddenly a cold hand locked around her throat, its icy fingers instinctively finding the soft spots in her neck. They dived inward blocking off her airway and pinching her carotid artery. She would black out soon if she didn’t stop this attack. Thinking only of Tess she drove the blade upward in a violent blur. She felt the six inch blade sink deep into her assailants’ rib cage and waited to hear the screams of pain, but they never came. Instead the hand continued squeezing and she could feel the world around her sliding away as she blacked out. Her last thoughts before her mind slipped into the blank void of unconsciousness were of the tiny baby that now lay defenseless beside her.

Patchwork felt the girl go limp in his hand as she blacked out. Her body immediately fell to the floor as he released his grasp. The dark spots on her neck where his fingers had been began to glow as warm blood started to return to her oxygen starved brain. She was still alive! He felt a lustful hunger arise within him as he stared down at his prey.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the knife protruding from his chest. Thoughtlessly he pulled it out and examined the bloodless blade. The handle was a diamond patterned rubber which had a snake engraved into it. From its hilt a scalloped serration danced its way along the back edge of the blade. Tiny bits of flesh interrupted its progression towards a sweeping curve where finally it ended in a brutally sharp point. The knife fell from his hand and landed point first with a loud Thunk!

He was beginning to examine the wound in his chest with a morbid fascination when Pieces began to circle around them. Then Patchwork noticed movement as the dog honed in one what had grabbed his attention and had begun to growl. With one hand absentmindedly probing the hole in his chest he reached with the other and moved the blankets to one side. As he hungrily moved in to examine the glowing warmth hidden within the numerous folds of fabric he suddenly stopped and withdrew abruptly. It was a baby! Patchwork backed up and startled Pieces as he stumbled over a broken chair.

For the first time since his awakening he no longer saw food before him, he saw a mother and child. I was a mother... I was a father... “Me!” he said and continued backing up. Patchwork turned and lunged for the door. His mind congested with miles of memories gridlocked at the forefront of his consciousness.

Unsure as to what was going on Pieces returned to his master and they both spilled out into the bright hallway. Memories of dozens of children and scores of childhoods blurred as he tried to make sense of it all. They’re all mine... I’m all of them... Confused he staggered down the hallway trying to get away from the images in his mind. His curled fists grabbed and beat at his temples as he fought back the building pressure. Strange sounds erupted from his throat as fought back a rising nausea.

He wanted it all to end, the headaches, the voices, and the memories. He was an abortion, not meant to be alive and yet somehow forced to exist. His fist slammed through a boarded window splintering the wood and shattering the remaining glass. The release of aggression seemed to be the only thing which held his sanity together. He continued to smash at anything within arms reach. Framing nails whined as they pulled out of dried lumber, and broken glass crunched under his rampaging feet. Uncaring about the brilliance outside or whatever lay beyond he grabbed the window sill and heaved himself out.

Down the road buried in daylight he saw the fast flowing traffic of the morning rush hour. That is it, he thought. He would end it all in the blur of mechanical beasts that roared down the freeway. Without noticing the people that stood and stared at him he hurried off towards the road kill machine. He had no sooner started off when he heard Pieces howl in pain. He stopped and turned to see a man in black standing over the dogs motionless body, a tangle of thin wires led from the dog to a device the man held.

Patchwork confusion melted away into pure aggression as he lunged at the man, he never saw the other men standing coolly around with similar devices. Ridgeman stepped forward as electrified darts leapt from his hand. The barbed daggers bit through the clothing Patchwork wore and immediately he lost all muscle control and landed on the ground by his fallen comrade.

“Secure them and move them into the vehicles... quickly!” Ridgeman’s cool gaze surveyed the area.

“Good eyes chief! Can you believe the coincidence? That this freak is crawling out of a building just as we’re going by.” Adams moved to the window and peered into the dark hallway.

“There’s no such thing as coincidence.” Ridgeman followed Adams’ gaze into the structure. “Search the building for anyone who might have come into contact with the target. Take anyone you find into custody!”

Chapter 3: Part 7, Echoes of Death

2006-07-12T04:22:00.000+04:00

The syringe pierced the soft flesh of Eric’s forearm and sank deep in search the elusive highways that ran beneath his skin. Raimi squeezed its plunger and delivered a measured dose of Ketamine into Eric’s circulatory system. A small droplet of blood welled up from the puncture wound as he withdrew the long needle. Taking a deep breath he wiped it away with a small gauze pad. He was damn tired, it had been a marathon session. He exhaled sharply as he sat down next to Eric’s naked body. “Tell me Eric, how do you feel?”

Raimi waited and watched as the muscles in Eric’s neck strained to form words. At first there was nothing but rasping clicks and gargles as Eric struggled to find his voice, then a slow moan started to build as his chest tightened. The cords in Eric’s neck stood out and his back arched as a violent scream wracked his body.

Raimi stood up and backed away as he watched in fascination. He hadn’t expected Eric to have as much motor control this soon after the surgery. Eric’s hands grabbed at the tables edge and fought against the restraints that bound him. His muscled chest expanded as he took a heaving breath and let out another primal scream which ended in a voiceless howl. Raimi readied a second syringe with the anesthetic and was cautiously closing in on Eric’s taut arm when he paused. He patiently stared on as Eric’s body relaxed with a shuddering breath. His labored breathing slowed to a more normal pattern as the first dose of Ketamine worked within Eric’s raging body. The drugs characteristic dissociative effects would also help Eric’s mind cope with the viral assault on his system.

Raimi sat back onto the lab stool and wheeled it over to Eric’s head. He quickly scanned the sutures that held the numerous surgical ports closed and was pleased to see that his skilled handiwork had held through Eric’s fit of temper. “Eric, I am disappointed at this outburst. You were always such an even tempered individual. Even when confronted with the knowledge that I knew about you little rouse you maintained your façade. I guess I misjudged you.”

Eric’s neck tightened and his mouth moved as phantom words passed over bloodless lips. A slight red trickle escaped from between his stapled eyelids and silently fell to the cold operating table below.

“Are you crying Eric? Hmmm... I thought I removed your tear ducts. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that this, along with your earlier tantrum was caused by cerebral swelling. I’ll start an IV drip of steroids and anti-inflammatories to help with that. Now, if your done acting out, I would like to know how you feel.”

“C... colddd... Wha... what have you done?” Eric’s drug drenched mind fought to find words describing what he was experiencing. Each time Raimi’s mechanical voice spoke to him, the front of Eric’s head would explode in painful flashes of color. “Too much... It’s too much color!”

“I understand... relax... I see that you’re beginning to use your new vision. Think of this like a bad acid trip which you’ll come to understand in time. Try and comprehend the images that are flooding your brain. I’ve given you a great gift Eric, you have a totally unique sensory system and a dual processing center to support its function. I can only imagine what you are experiencing.” Raimi’s voice had taken on a faraway tone as he pondered fantastic thoughts. “Just like the newborn child who first opens its eyes to take in its surroundings, you have just stepped over a threshold into a realm of new experiences. You are drastically different though, you now have two mature and fully developed neural networks to interpret these stimuli.”

There was a pause as Raimi snapped out of his reverie, his voice returned along with its cold sarcasm. “As for the cold, well I apologize in advance because it’s going to get a lot colder for you.” Raimi started placing cold packs around Eric’s head. These would serve two critical functions. The first was to limit the swelling from the trauma of the surgery, and the second was to counteract the fever induced by the virus. Severe fevers had been known to cause irreparable brain damage if allowed to go unchecked, and Raimi would do everything in his power to prevent that.

A monitor rested behind Eric’s head which displayed his vital signs. A second screen sat next to it displaying a graphical interpretation of the electrical signals received by Eric’s ocular nerve. Raimi could see peaks and valleys representing the patterns of sound which occurred in the operating room. Each time he spoke, a mountain of spikes would appear followed by depressions marking silence. He noted with disappointment that there was a large amount of background noise causing the baseline to jitter erratically. “Eric, I’m seeing a lot of static on my display. I’m assuming that it’s your new sight coming online. Could you tell me what you are experiencing visually?”

There was a moment of silence as Eric withdrew into his mind and focused on what his new organ was telling him. At first it seemed like a jumble of sparkling colors, similar to when he would rub his tired eyes. Then slowly out of these random fireworks he could start to see waves of flickering. They were so fast as to be nauseatingly imperceptible but somehow he could distinguish it. It reminded him of the faint flicker given of by cheap fluorescent lights.

His own voice echoed through the quiet room as he related these observations back to Raimi. “There’s almost a pulsing to the colors, like when you see an old computer screen on the TV. There seems to be an echo of color to what I’m seeing. It’s giving a depth to everything which I can’t explain.” Eric’s elucidation paused for a moment while he thought of a better way to sum up the experience. “I... I can see my words...” His voice trailed off into silence.

A high pitched alarm suddenly went off above Eric as the monitor began flashing red. Eric shrieked in pain as he fought in vain to bring his hands to his face. Unfazed, Raimi walked over to the touch screen and silenced its piercing cry. Eric’s hands immediately relaxed as the sound ceased.

Raimi watched with a malicious curiosity as minute tremors rippled across Eric’s toned physique. A second alarm began to sound as the spasms climaxed into an uncontrollable convulsion. “What’s hap.... pen... ing?” The words escaped from Eric’s tightly clenched jaw.

A long finger extended from Raimi’s hand as he silenced the second alarm, he noted Eric’s elevated heart rate and thought about the question. “I don’t know any other way to say this Eric... You’re dying.”

Chapter 3: Part 6, The Corridor

2006-06-23T20:01:00.000+04:00

“You don’t plan to use that do you?” Corina asked as she crept in closer to examine the weapon Jen held in her hands.

“Bet your ass I plan too!” Jen looked at her friend with a gleam in her eyes that matched the cold chrome of the snub nosed revolver she clutched to her chest. “I’m done being scared and hiding in this hole. We have a chance to get out and get some help. We’ve obviously opened a huge can of worms here which we can’t put back by ourselves.” Jen went back to the hole in the wall and continued searching its depths. She returned almost immediately holding various boxes of ammunition.

“What’s this we stuff? The only reason why I’m involved is because you asked me to help. I had nothing to do with any of this!” Corina could see Jen flinch at her verbal lashing.

“How many times have I grabbed you for a midnight drink with the brothers, or to go out to the club? So don’t act all innocent, like I had to twist your arm to come out. All you needed was to hear Andre and Jackson’s names and you had your coat on ready to go. I had no idea that this was going to happen.” Jen barely looked up as she spilled the contents of box that had a picture on it similar to the gun she held. The numbers 38 were printed in large black ink on its side. She found the cylinder release, swung it open with a flick of her wrist and started to load the burnished brass shells into its chambers. She had seen Jackson do it hundreds of times and was amazed at how natural it felt. Placing the fully loaded weapon back onto the floor in front of her she went back to the hole and dug out another weapon. Initially struggling with its weight she brought it over to where the ammunition boxes were and laid it down beside the revolver.

Sensing her friend pushing back Corina decided not to pursue the argument any further. She felt better now that her friend was back from the catatonia which had formerly engulfed her. “Do you know what you’re doing with these? They look dangerous.” Corina picked up a box imprinted with a target alongside the words 40 CALIBER HYDRA-SHOK.

“A little bit, Jackson used to take me to a shooting range just outside of Cambridge. I’ve shot both of these before but I’ve had more experience with the revolver. Jackson used to say that this black one is what most law officials use. It’s a semi-automatic and it’s got one hell of a kick.” She said remembering how her wrist snapped back each time she pulled the trigger.

“Let me see the box of shells you’re holding, I think that they’re the kind that it takes.” Corina handed her the box of shells and watched Jen as she tried to unlock the magazine. After a few unsuccessful tries she found a small button buried within its grip and pushed it. Unprepared for the spring release of the magazine it fell to the floor with a loud clang.

Corina and Jen silently locked eyes as each held their breath and listened. Nothing, there was no sound. The hallway had gone ominously quiet ten minutes earlier. Initially there were sounds of scuffling and random shouts, there had even been a long drawling scream which ended with a meaty smack, but since then there was nothing but a foreboding silence.

“Maybe they’ve left, or gone upstairs where the other brothers are.” Corina shoved the mattress to the side and put here ear to the door. There was no sound for a beat as her hearing adjusted to the industrial reverberation which the door lent, and then she could hear something. At first it was a barely audible scraping sound, and then as it seemed to get closer she thought that it sounded more like someone dragging something.

“I think that there’s someone out there.” She put her ear back against the door. “Yeah, I... I can hear movement.” Corina started pulling the heavy mattress away from the door.

“I wouldn’t do that just yet. Hey!...” Corina stopped and turned to Jen as she repeated her warning. “I wouldn’t do that!” Jen’s voice trembled slightly as she continued. “Not until I can figure out how to load this magazine.”

Corina thought that Jen looked like a scared child fumbling with a toy as she stopped and went to help her friend. “Let me try.” Jen looked up from a handful of brass and for a moment Corina thought that she wasn’t going to give it up. After a slight hesitation though, Jen handed it over. She took the magazine and saw that Jen had managed to load three of the forty caliber bullets. There was a fourth bullet which had been jammed in sideways and lay perpendicular to the others. “Here’s your problem, you’ve got a bullet in the wrong way. Let me see another bullet, I’ll see if I can use it to get it back in line.” Chink... Jen could hear the bullet snap in line, and with that Corina continued loading. As she neared its capacity it became harder to push the bullets down enough to get more in. She estimated that there were twelve rounds in what appeared to be a fifteen round magazine. “Good enough for government work! Here you go.” She handed the clip back to Jen.

Jen took it and aligned it with the butt of the handgun. Corina and Jen both jumped as the magazine hit home with a click. Turning the weapon in her hand she pointed it to the ground and checked the sights. Grasping the top of the weapon with her left hand she pulled the slide back, it immediately snapped forward as it escaped her sweaty palms. She succeeded in chambering a round on her second try and smiled as she inspected the weapon. “Here you go. This is the safety... on the side. Just push it down and you’re ready. Just point and shoot, got it?”

Corina backed away from the gun as Jen held it in her outstretched hands. “I don’t want that! Listen we don’t even know what’s going on here. I don’t think that it’s such a great idea that we start shooting anything that moves.” After a moment of tense scrutiny Jen pulled the gun back and tucked it into her waist line. Corina watched as the gun disappeared beneath Jen’s sweater and wondered if she had made the right decision. “So what do we do now?”

Jen took one last glance around the room looking for anything that might help their trek back to the surface and found Andre’s lighter amidst the pile of blankets. “What now?” She replied rhetorically. “We get the hell out of here, is what now. Do you know what time it is?” Corina checked her watch and notified Jen that it was six thirty in the morning. “Damn, we’ve been trapped down here for five hours now. Who knows what hell has broken loose above?” Cursing under her breath Jen walked over to the steel door, which until now had protected them, and said a quick prayer as she pulled the mattress aside. Then taking a deep breath she unlocked it.

Like a curtain opening on a slaughterhouse stage, the door slowly swung into the room to reveal a horrifying scene. Its once smooth surface was now furrowed with bloody fist prints which trailed to a floor covered in congealed blood.

“My god! What the hell happened here?” Corina’s eyes closed as she tried to block out the visage of gore. “I think I’m gonna be sick!” Jen quickly grabbed hold of her friends arm and pulled her out into the gloom of the hallway. “Get a grip on yourself! For God’s sake you’re pre-med, you should be used to seeing this.”

Out in the hall the darkness swallowed everything. Jackson had torn down all the lighting on his earlier rampage through the hall and left nothing to alleviate the smothering blackness. Jen could hear Corina slipping in the doorway and helped her until she regained her footing.

Groping their way along the wall Jen followed the rows of insulated piping that lined the far wall hoping that her eyes would soon adjust. She feared using the lighter partly because she didn’t want to trust its faint flicker to guide her and partly because she didn’t want to see whatever she felt squishing beneath her feet.

They had made good progress towards the stairwell when Corina stopped Jen. “Do you hear that?”

“No... Hear what?” Jens voice was barely a whisper as she listened intently.

“That...” Then they both heard what she was referring too. It was the dragging sound she had heard through the door earlier. This time though it had more of a soggy sound to it, as if someone was dragging a wet mop behind them. “It’s getting louder.”

Jen removed the lighter from her front pocket and with the familiar sound of a Zippo being flicked open a gentle blue tinged flame began to drive back the darkness. As the flame grew in intensity a ghostly hand lunged at them from obscurity. Startled, Jen dropped the lighter and grabbed the revolver. The corridor went dark for a moment as the flame from the Zippo tried to recover from its rattling fall. Both Corina and Jen backed up and watched as a severed torso crawled into the radius of light spread by the failing flame. A single eye gleamed at them angrily from exposed muscle. Splintering nails broke as its bloodied hands grappled viciously along the slick floor.

Seconds later its head snapped back as the revolver delivered a round into remaining eye. Jen stood there for a moment and waited for the slightest movement from the corpse. Slowly she relaxed and lowered the smoking firearm to her side and cautiously walked forward to retrieve the lighter.

Corina looked down at the unrecognizable face as a shiver of revulsion passed through her soul. Deep within her she knew that something terrible lay ahead. “Jen... I think I’ll take that other gun from you now...”

Chapter 3: Part 5, The Cleaners

2006-06-09T05:40:00.000+04:00

Note from the autor: Well hey there! Things are moving along aren't they now? Here's the newest installment of Zombie Me, I hope you like it! I'd like to thank you for all the feed back that I've been getting. I will be doing some more artwork for some subsequent chapters. I was also wondering what you thought about a few chapters being an "Any which way" style... This would consist of a three day email vote on who you would like the next part to focus on. I would provide 4-5 choices and you guys would vote on who you would like to hear from next. Well let me know what you think... Enjoy! - William Zedalis

Sergeant Ridgeman stared down at the pulpy red mass at the foot of the headstone. Spongy flesh lay extruded from the top of Jonesy’s neck like so much toothpaste squeezed onto a bathroom countertop by an over-eager child. Prodding the body with long stainless forceps he couldn’t help but imagine the force that would cause such a wound.

“It seems as if there were two feeding here, maybe more.” He scanned the scene looking for more information. “It’s hard to tell from the wounds because this body’s been picked over by our feathered friends there.” To stress his point he nodded towards the crows that ringed the scene staring greedily at them. “I’d venture a guess at three though. What do you think Adams?... Adams!” He turned his attention to the Com officer who stood with his mouth agape staring down at the carnage.

Adams quickly snapped his attention from the horrific scene before him. His teeth cracking together painfully as his jaw shut too abruptly. “Sir!” was all he could muster through his clenched teeth.

“Get Quincy on the com and ask him if there is any data yet on transmission from dead tissue to the avian species.”

“Avian sir?” Adams looked to Ridgeman questioningly while messaging his jaw. The scene definitely had him spooked. He could handle cemeteries. He could even handle dead bodies, but the two together mixed with such brutality had him on edge.

Ridgeman coolly glared at him. “God damn birds Adams!” He stood up and looked down at his inferior. At six two the Sergeant could be quite an imposing figure when he wanted to be. “Lieutenant, would you agree that as my communications expert you should be listening to what the hell I’m saying?” Adams nodded a reply sensing the irritation that boiled under his senior’s surface. “We’re going to need a clean up crew here before outside activity gets to be too much.”

Adams walked away with his hand pressed up to his ear and radioed Quincy who waited in a black Expedition which barred entrance at the main gate. Ridgeman had continued his scouting of the scene when Adams came back with his report. “Sir Q is on his way up the main road. So far there’s no sign of any carriers.”

“There are signs everywhere you’re just not looking hard enough.” Ridgeman knelt down and pointed to two separate sets of tracks. “See how this first set of tracks is set slightly deeper in the ground and the edges have rounded over?” He could feel Adams eyeing the path and felt better that his Lieutenant was once again back on pace with him. “It indicates that they were made while the ground was still soft with last night’s rain. There’s also a non specific gate to them. See how the distance between footprints varies with each step.” Adams made note of the staggered pattern that marked the drunken shamble of footprints. “Now this set here, this I find interesting. It’s barely an outline meaning that it’s more recent and its’ gait is more ordered. The question is, who made this?”

The query remained unanswered as the teams black SUV pulled up. Quincy stepped out of the drivers’ seat and took in the scene with a long sweeping gaze. The back doors to the vehicle swung open and three men hopped out and immediately walked over to where the body lay. From a short distance they appeared as if they were a normal group of people dressed in a mournful black, grieving at the granite tombstones. Upon closer examination though it could be seen that they wore flesh colored surgical masks and thick latex gloves protected their hands as they worked. Clear acrylic glasses wrapped around their heads protecting them from inadvertent contact with infectious material. The garments hauntingly erased any distinguishing features which gave them all a cloned appearance. They donned clear butcher aprons as they quietly went to work sanitizing the area. Within minutes Jonesy’s grotesquely frozen body was hoisted into a black plastic body bag and the ground hosed down with a strong smelling sodium hypochlorite solution. As soon as the job was complete Quincy nodded and the Cleaners packed up and returned to the idling SUV.

Seeing Ridgeman and Adams further up the slope he started walking towards them to make a report when he caught movement disappearing over the rise. Quickening his pace he radioed Adams to alert them of a secondary presence. Adams had just finished relaying the message to Ridgeman when Quincy approached them. No words were exchanged between Q and his Sergeant, a moment of brief eye contact told Ridgeman all he needed to know.

Ridgeman seemed unfazed by this new development. “O.K. Boys, it seems we have either a carrier or some unfortunate citizen who’s strolled into our business. Let’s hope for the former. Adams, radio Recon 2 and tell them to finish their search of the Southeast sector and to get their asses circling to the Northeast side of this hill.” Ridgeman deftly mounted an eight foot marble obelisk and climbed about three quarters of the way to the top. In one swift movement he removed his Mossberg and scanned the horizon through its scope. Hopping down with panther like agility he holstered the weapon and started towards whatever lay beyond the hill. “Let’s move!”

Adams and Quincy took flanking positions and kept a watchful eye on the skirting horizon as it rose ahead of them. Reaching the crest of the hill they looked for the mysterious figure among the polished rock. Adams let out a long breath as he took in the scene before him. At least two dozen mausoleums of various sizes decorated the cemetery landscape which stretched out before them for what seemed to be acres.

“Rein it in soldier!” Ridgeman said cutting Adams off before he could punctuate the exhalation with a comment. “All this means is that we have to do a standard point to point investigation to secure the area. Quincy, head south and check out the lower rim of buildings. Then meet up with Recon 2 and take their report. By then Adams and I will have finished our searches and join up with you at the Northern gate. Adams, go through the center row of buildings and we’ll meet up at the larger of those two structures.” Ridgeman pointed to two separate buildings, the larger was obviously a garage for trucks and digging equipment. Ridgeman guessed that the smaller was most likely a storage shed for tools, fertilizer and seed. Both buildings sat alone on the main access road which circled the perimeter of the cemetery. “Any questions?” When none came he continued with his final orders. “If you come across anyone, human or carrier, I’m gonna ask you to use your own discretion, but take them out if you have to.” The chambering of a round into his shotgun emphasized his point. The import of which hung heavily between them. Damn Raimi for having me make this call, he thought. The reality of the situation though necessitated the severity of their action as the repercussions of a possible viral escape would be far greater.

With that, the three split up on their separate paths. Ridgeman watched the progress of Adams and Quincy as they intermittently vanished and reappeared from the small stone structures. His own path led him down the left side of the hill through what appeared to be the older portion of the cemetery. The wooden doors gave him little resistance as he opened them. He wondered of the others were encountering similar situations, if so then anything could be lurking behind the closed doors of these tombs.

As he approached his third building, warning alarms began to go off in his head. Puddles of diluted blood caught his eye as they stood stagnant on the stone steps. His cold trail had become warm once again. He approached the building muzzle first, barely glancing at the pink pools as he stepped over them. The door lay open for him as he entered silently. The room beyond was nothing but a claustrophobic hallway at best and scattered refuse covered whatever small amount of floor there was. Though there was no sign of the carrier, his hunters’ instinct told him that this place had been host to the prey he sought.

Exiting the tomb he once again passed over the steps, this time he took note of the spider webbing cracks which radiated from a fist print of congealed blood. He found it hard to shake the feeling that he was chasing more than a mindless carrier. It was a feeling that grew into trepidation as he approached his fifth stone tomb. Outside the slightly opened door the stale smells of perspiration and unwashed bodies wafted to him on a slight morning breeze. Placing his foot on the edge of the door by its hinge he pushed down with a slight pressure and caused the door to slowly open. Beyond the door shrouded in darkness something shifted slightly. Ridgeman raised his gun and cautiously entered, the smell of stale piss almost overwhelmed him as he advanced on the target. “Hey!” he called out, “Hey!...” He yelled louder this time, and then there was movement.

A groan rumbled from the corner and a hand leapt out as if it was searching for solid ground. Ridgeman’s finger danced on the trigger to his Mossberg, ready pounce on its gently curving surface. “Damn... can’t you let a man sleep in peace?” The voice came from a face which floated out of the darkness as the vagrant to which it belonged began to sit up.

The tension which had rose to a dangerous level in Ridgeman backed of a notch as he remained poised. He quickly scanned the figure before him and deemed the drifter non-threatening. He didn’t bother questioning the man as he lowered his weapon.

“Who are you, and what do’ya want?” The bum angrily asked as he gained a bit more coherency originally lost more to booze than sleep. Then his gaze fixed on something behind Ridgeman. “What the Ffff...” Blam! The Hobo’s explicative was cut short in the wake of an intuitive gun shot from Ridgeman.

The deafening blast echoed in the small room so loudly that the screams of the homeless man blurred with the hungry groans of the creature that now clawed after them. Ridgeman didn’t have time to think about the painful ringing in his ears as he rolled onto the ground. He looked up and saw a teenager with a shaved head closing in fast. His shot had blown of its arm but had done little else to faze it. Ridgeman realized that this must have been one of the friends the skinhead Alec had mentioned. With a forceful boot to the groin the disemboweled corpse fell backwards with no more than a scowl. It was a move that would have incapacitated the toughest man, but as soon as Smitty regained his footing he came at them faster barring his teeth like a rabid dog. Driven by hunger, he made a lunging jump towards his quarry just as Ridgeman loosed a second shot. The force of which blew the corpse backwards, head over heels, onto the granite steps outside. Within seconds Ridgeman was on his feet and at the door. He got there just as Smitty was sitting up. The muted smack of steel toes against bone could be heard as Ridgeman’s boot connected with squarely with Smitty’s Jaw. He pulled his silenced service pistol out and quietly put Smitty down for good with a double tap to the head.

Adams was the first to show on scene, followed by Recon 2 and Quincy. There was no time to explain or make reports about the current situation. The gunshots would surely attract unwanted attention as Ridgeman silently cursed at himself for not using a silenced weapon to begin with. “Grab the body and bleach the area, we don’t have time to wait for the cleaners... quickly, move it!”

Adams and Quincy moved with an urgent pace as they began to remove the body that lay on the ground. By the time they had finished the cleaners had shown up and were spraying the bleaching chemical over the area.

The team was finished and fully loaded within minutes. Ridgeman had just begun to open the passenger door to the SUV when a ragged looking man appeared in the doorway of the tome “Who the hell are you guys?”

The Sergeant turned and aimed his pistol at the man. “You didn’t see anything!” The two locked eyes for a beat, and then he continued. “I would recommend that you forget what you just saw unless you want to end up with a bullet in the temple!” He made the shape of a gun with his free hand, raised it to the side of his head, and pulled its imaginary trigger.

“Yeah but who are you?” The vagrant persisted, ignorant of the danger he was in. Ridgeman move within arms length as anger flashed in his eyes. He could hear a slight trickle of water as the hobo pissed himself.

Satisfied with the effect, Ridgeman left with the final statement. “We are nothing, we were never here!”

Chapter 3: Part 4, Wayward Derelicts

2006-05-30T18:00:00.000+04:00

Note from the author: Well here it is! I hope this installment finds you well. I even had some time to do a little art for this one. I hope you like it! William Zedalis.

A cold dew collected on him as the predawn progressed into early morning. The rain had stopped but still fell from trees in fat droplets to the puddles far below. Curious crows gathered at the corners of his vision and awaited his departure. The prospect of a free meal of carrion was far more tempting then the ominous figure sitting nearby. A large crow landed on the headstone that marked Jonesy’s final resting place and questioned Patchwork with a shrill cry. Like a statue coming to life after long years in a motionless pose, he slowly stood and stoically walked away. Another shrill cry taunted him as he continued walking. A wry smile crossed his face as the cry was cut short with a growling crunch. The blurred form of the dog landed with a thudding roll and immediately stood with predatory reflexes, a bent wing hung limply from its jaw. Shortly after Pieces trotted up to Patchwork and proudly pushed a feathered lump into his palm. Its minuscule size teased him with its warmth as he swallowed it. Unspoken thanks passed between the two as Patchworks hand absentmindedly stroked the damp scruff on the back of Pieces neck.

The sun, still hidden in the East, was already causing his eyes to squint as atrophied nerves fired and misfired causing bright spots to appear in the center of his vision. He would have to find shelter from the brilliance as he realized that, at least for the time being, he was a creature of the night. Though he felt pulled in multiple directions the hunger was back and urged him onward, while a deep seeded need to find answers burned blue within him. The image of those haunting eyes remained etched in his fragile mind. There was also the more human need to remove himself from the bloody scenes that dotted the landscape of the cemetery which pounded in the back of his head. Finally, he didn’t know how he knew it but, someone was out there... looking for him.

Passing through the cast iron gates of the cemetery he paused as a thought grabbed a hold of him and infused him with a childhood fear. It was the fear of the unknown. Somehow the dark familiarity of rows of granite and small stone monuments comforted him. He belonged there, and now he was leaving his birth place in the search of things undefined.

With the emerging sun behind him he headed west towards the city outline which cut into the wide landscape before him. The tops of the Prudential and Hancock towers glowed orange as their windows reflected the encroaching dawn. That was his destination. He was sure that the answers he sought lay buried within those crowded streets, and even if they weren’t there... food was.

Sounds of activity started to crop up around him as early risers awoke from peaceful nights of slumber. Delivery vehicles passed by, too busy to pay attention to the bum that stumbled slightly in the street. They wiped sleepers from their eyes just as casually as Patchwork wiped the drying blood from his face.

Further down the road the dilapidated form of a school took shape from a dissipating morning mist. Its broken widows stared unhappily at him as he approached. Beneath its boarded eyelids, within those dark pupils, a shaded safety resided.

The outside world once again retreated as he crawled through a partially boarded window. A cool dampness met him as he crossed the windows threshold. He returned its cool embrace with his own clammy handshake. Pieces nimbly followed through the window. The only sound he made was the slight crunching of broken glass under the pads of his feet. Although there was no outward sign, Patchwork could tell that his large companion also needed rest.

He turned to face his new surroundings. Through a settling dust he saw a long row of doors on his right which vanished into the darkness. Each door lay partially illuminated by rays of light which intruded through the tightly boarded windows opposite them. Tiny creatures scurried around in the shadows as their quiet solitude now became home for two more wayward derelicts.

A metallic rumbling echoed in the street outside as a large box truck struck the numerous pot holes which pitted the road. The sound brought Patchwork back to the task at hand. He needed to find security in this crumbling sanctuary and he needed to blanket himself within its darkness in order to reclaim some of his shattered reality.

The sun, now high in the morning sky, threw its brilliant rays across the hallway. They drove blinding spikes into his eyes as he approached the first door. He felt, more than saw that he had reached it by the change in texture, as broken plaster gave way to the raised grain of aged wood. He grabbed the slick metal of the door handle as he tried to gain access to the room beyond. The handle turned with the sound of grating metal and came loose as he pulled to open the door. He gazed down in frustration at the long metal rod that protruded from the brass orb he now held. His knuckles cracked as he squeezed it tightly in anger. His arm whipped in anger, burying the long metal shaft deep into the old wood with a muted thump. The effect of the violent penetration quelled the sudden fury that itched beneath his skin. Pieces scuttled around him sensing his sudden agitation. Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, as Patchwork moved on to the second door.

Opening the door he knew he had found what he was looking for as the acrid smell of urine and spilled beer bit at him through the darkness. A quiet click echoed through the room as he latched the door behind him. He entered slowly with Pieces following quietly behind. Out of the pitchy black, scattered school chairs reached out menacingly with hooking desk like limbs. Patchwork’s eyes continued to adjust to the darkness within when a faint sound caught his ear. It was the lumbering breath of someone sleeping. There, lying in the corner on a begrimed mattress was the glittering glow of a body enshrouded in the warmth of a drunken sleep. The sardonic smile was once again upon his face as stitches pulled it in odd directions.

The cold metal knob in his hand slowly rose as he approached the slumbering meal. Breathlessly he mouthed the word "Me..."

Chapter 3: Part 3, Psuedo Life

2006-05-18T00:20:00.000+04:00

Note from the author:

Well this chapter marks the ending of material that has been written and rewritten. I have some ideas of where I'd like to go next, but the future is wide open. I hope you like where the story is heading, even though I don't quite know how I'll get there (and who'll be left). Again comments are always welcome. Thanks... William Zedalis.

The click echoed through the empty lab as Raimi stood before the controls of the remote surgical unit. He had no perception of how much time had passed since he had started, but the incessant cold was beginning to take its toll. Raimi clenched and released his long fingers to stretch them, and then briskly rubbed them together for warmth. He had been performing delicate surgery for hours without so much as a cup of coffee, and now his focus was wavering. He pushed his hand deep into his jacket pocket, past the inner warmth of the temperature regulation suit he wore and pulled out a small black vial. With a sharp pop its lid came off and two small white pills fell into his hand. He swallowed them without water and placed the vial back into his pocket. In a few minutes the low dose amphetamines would kick in and he would get back to work, but for now he took a moment and reflected on the day.

Hans' unrecognizable body lay on a cadaver gurney in the corner. Blood pooled in the low spots of its now vacant chest cavity. Raimi's hands had been a blur during Hans' dissection. It still amazed him at how fast the body could be splayed open and all the vital organs removed when skilled hands were at work. The most time consuming aspect had been the neurosurgery. He had sped that part up slightly by removing Hans' head from its bulky torso and securing it to one of the robots articulating limbs. He couldn’t help but stare in awe as the robot spun the head for proper orientation. Its nimble arms rotated the skull with precision as Raimi probed deeper into the neocortex. He no longer felt as if he was using a tool for the surgery. The robot, just like the scalpel, had become an extension of him. The two worked together as one, greater than the sum of their parts.

The extraction of the most sensitive tissues had progressed relatively quickly with the computerized aid. What had been Hans' reasoning center now floated limply in a nutrient tank before him. Tendrils of nerve bundles tethered it to a perpetual infusion of a cocktail consisting of Immunomix-9 and Raimi’s specialized virazymes. He took a deep breath realizing that he could now finally rest, time was no longer much of a concern.

With his thoughts clearing he turned back to the controls that sat flashing before him. There was no turning back now, Hans was dead and Eric... Well, that depended on what experiment he wanted to run next. His grip tightened on the control arm and he lowered his eyes onto the closed circuit monitor that displayed Eric’s exposed cerebrum.

He continued talking to Eric even though he knew his words fell on deaf ears. Raimi chuckled to himself, how could you hear when you didn't have ears, well at least ones that were connected? He stared down at the micro array of wiring that served as the communication conduit between Eric and him. Its sound activated microphone sat inches from Raimi’s slightly stubbled chin. "At first my results were promising. I had revived cellular tissue using viral architecture. You see virus’ have the fascinating ability to survive in dead tissue, in fact virus’ are dead themselves. Once they come into contact with cellular tissue the laws of chemistry takes over. Chemistry doesn’t care what environment it’s in, it just reacts." Again Raimi laughed at his unintended pun. "Interestingly, though once the virus enters the cell and chemistry forces its association with the cells replication machinery it suddenly comes into a pseudo life. It can become infectious and travel to other sources... and with just the right nudge viral replication can start. I took advantage of this characteristic in the design of my virazymes."

"This breakthrough, although amazing, grew all the more frustrating and for years my research stagnated as I watched cells reactivate under a microscope only to sit there and do nothing. I wanted more. I wanted hearts to beat, and lungs to breathe... I wanted thought. I couldn’t get the soul back into the body. It seemed that once the genie was out of the bottle it wouldn’t go back in." Raimi restrained himself as the urge to slam his fist on the control table surfaced from years of frustration. He took a deep breath and realized that the surge of energy meant that his little white helpers were starting to work.

"I could only reactivate common tissues, and the most basic of neurons that exist in the primitive brain. My problem was with the rapid degeneration of the synapses. Inexplicably cerebral media is the first tissue to turn to mush after death. It’s the reason why a body can be revived intact after drowning but the brain usually suffers damage."

Raimi’s hand moved the robots micro scalpel to Eric’s frontal cortex. Its tactility probe danced over the delicate surface of Eric’s brain as if it was petting it. Feedback sensors amplified the light resistance it encountered, causing the controls in Raimi’s hand to jitter slightly. Living brains were infinitely more fragile then the dead ones he was used to working with. The slightest puncture could cause the brain to bleed out in a violent stroke.

After pondering this thought for a moment he sliced through the optic nerve and began the removal of Eric’s eyes. He needed to make room in Eric’s skull for its new occupants and the ocular cavity would due nicely.

"I tried piecing together enough viable pieces of neuronal tissue to form a control center. The tissues, from various donors, immediately started to degrade as their interferon responses fought amongst themselves. It seems the brain is awfully protective of itself."

"That all changed when I met you. You brought me Hans... Hans and Immunomix-9. Now Hans had all the potential in the world, but he was stuck in the past. He was stuck there with his morals and his dead wife, but he brought me the other half of the puzzle. You know all about that though, don't you? It was your early research that helped me create Patchwork. While you were toying with that mutt I was delving into the deepest parts of the brain... and beyond."

"Eric, you had such promise... such vision! It’s ironic that you’ll never see through your eyes again." A gleaming set of robotic forceps darted into Eric’s skull and pecked out the now useless eyes. They fell to the operating floor with a wet plop and stared vacantly up at the operation in progress. Raimi began prepping the optical nerves for their new connections. "I am a compassionate creator though... I will give you new vision. How would you like to see sound?"

A pair of robotic arms slowly came into view carrying the tiny tendrils of Hans’ nervous system. Raimi increased the magnification of his view screen ten fold for the microsurgery. As the connections were made he could see Eric’s numerous blood vessels exchanging fluids with the new tissue. It would only be a matter of time before the electrical stimuli from Eric’s cochlea would race along Hans’ neural tissue and dive into Eric’s optic nerve.

Raimi thought of the other transformation which would soon transpire. The virazymes would be transferred from Hans’ tissue into Eric’s brain causing a chain reaction of viral uptake to occur. Numerous antivirals in Raimi’s arsenal would slow this exchange but it would eventually infect his whole body causing the inevitable cellular reset.

Through years of research Raimi had made many observations dealing with the progression of the virus through the body. The most crucial ones were the site of infection and when it occurred. There was most certainly a point when even necrotic tissue could no longer be revived. Raimi had pushed the limits and found that the closer to the time of death reanimation occurred, the more the specimen retained the characteristics of its former nature. This timing was directly affected by location of the initial infection site. If the infection had occurred in the trunk of the body, organ failure would occur first, causing death. The organs would then revive followed by the brain.

The main benefit of the virus taking root in the brain was that it would be the first to reboot and therefore limit the damage incurred. Raimi had taken this into consideration with his newest experiment. The infection would start in Eric’s optic center followed by the frontal cortex. This would ensure that Eric’s reasoning center would suffer the least amount of damage. He would also tilt the table in his favor by including Hans' reasoning center in the hopes that any undamaged cells would be incorporated into the new system.

His new creation would come the closest yet to imitated life. Surely some aspect of the two most brilliant minds in biochemistry would survive after the process. He could only wait and see...

Review of Brainchild

2006-04-27T17:08:00.000+04:00

Brainchild... A Collection of Artifacts.

Published by Omnibucket Copyright 2005.

Here's something different for all you zombie lovers out there. I was approached by one of the authors of this wonderful collection and asked to review it for the fans of Zombie Me.

First let me start with the overall design. I was given a PDF version so I can't really speak about the quality of print or construction, but what I can say is that the overall layout of graphics versus text is well blended. The print type suitably changes with the pacing of the stories. A couple of good examples of this are The Red Room by Scott Lambridis in which the sporadic thoughts of the main character are done in an offset block format where each thought is slightly skewed visually from the preceding paragraph. Another example is the highlighted text in Black Days: Sandy by Rebecca Brock.

This graphic novel is a collection of totally separate stories and pictures unrelated to each other. The main unifying point to them is the overall feeling they convey as you progress through the book. The tone of the book starts off with fear and uncertainty and slowly transforms to resolve and the determination to survive and finishes with an uncertain recovery in a zombiefied world.

The overall tempo of this graphic novella is paced quite well, with the exception of an essay entitled My Zombie Girlfriend by Mia Epstein. The essay, which discusses the role of females in past and present film, threw a wrench into an otherwise spotless storyline. Needless to say I think that this short novel recovers well from this stumbling point.

The main highlight of this book for most readers is the inclusion of Running by David Wellington. This published author doesn't disappoint with a tale describing a frightening journey of self rescue and false safety in a world overrun by flesh hungry shamblers.

Finally the artwork needs its separate mention. The graphics range from the disturbingly macabre to the hauntingly humorous. Their placement throughout the novel helps to spread the pacing and provide some moments of reflection on the prior story and fear fraught fantasies of what's to come.

I personally would recommend this to the fans of the genre and I eagerly await future releases from the authors involved. I give Brainchild... A Collection of Artifacts four and a half corpses out of five!

Chapter 3: Part 2, The Process

2006-04-25T18:23:00.000+04:00

Note from the author:

Many of you have read my earlier comments on how I've struggled with the initial parts to chapter 3. Out of all of them this following part was the hardest and has undergone the most revision, both plotwise and grammatically. I have been doing a lot of research on how to write dialogue and I hope that it flows better then it did initially. I appreciate your understanding that this a learning process for me. What has started as idea has snowballed for me, and please know that this will continue to the end. Enjoy!

William Zedalis

Click... static... "Can you hear me?"...sssshhh...click. The question floated on the crest of a narcotic high so powerful that Eric felt utterly disembodied. Unsure of the ability to even answer he tried to close himself off hoping that the voice would leave him alone to enjoy the black velvet which enveloped his senses.

Click... static..."Answer me Eric! I have some questions that I need you to answer." ...sssshhh...click. The warbling voice had a mechanical aspect which made it impossible to determine from whom it came. Each time it spoke to him it was accompanied by those annoying clicks as if it came through an intercom, and the static white noise thrumming in his head was starting to give him a headache.

A compulsion which seemed to come from deep inside forced him to answer. "Yes, I hear you, but there's a lot of interference." Eric laughed in the darkness at the sound of his own voice. I must've had quite a bit to drink, he thought to himself as his words echoed back in that same, if somewhat slurred mechanical tone.

Click...static...click...sssshhh...sssssss... Click... The continual Velcro tearing sound was gone and Eric was able to relax slightly. "Is this better?" ...ssss...click.

"Yes..." Eric replied, thankful that all he heard now was a low hiss.

"Very good Eric!" The voice sounded pleased. "Answers... answers are what I seek."

"Did you know that the search for answers was how this all started?" The voice asked and then halted as if it expected some sort of reply.

When none came it continued. "You see I am actually a philosopher at heart, and one of the most unanswered questions asked by philosophers is... Where does the soul reside?" The electrical snake hissed in Eric's mind as another calculated pause commenced. "Do you know where your soul is Eric?"

"Hmmm... I didn't think so. I wonder if you even have a soul." If Eric could have felt pain that remark would've bitten him deeply.

"I only say that because I believe you were born into this world without the moral restraints of having one, as was I. You see, you and I are of the same breed and I sensed this deficit when I first met you."

There was a long period where the only sounds Eric heard were faint ones buried within the low hiss. Then the voice came back. "Ancient Greek philosophers postulated that the soul lived within the entire body. There was one problem with this though, what happened when there was an amputation? Did that part of the soul get amputated as well?" Eric tried to think about this, but he found it hard to concentrate as his thoughts seemed mired in the blackness around him.

"This led to the dichotomy of head versus heart. Western philosophers believed that the soul resided in the brain while Eastern philosophers believed just the opposite. At the end of this century modern science had developed the first artificial heart and by the process of elimination ruled it out as the residence of the soul."

Ambient noises of clinking metal drifted towards Eric as he listened to the history lesson. The voice continued, "This led me to rationalize that the soul is in the brain. It's wrapped up inside all that twisting, turning grey and white matter."

Just then a shrill ringing shot through the darkness startling Eric. This was followed by a cruel chuckle. It was then that Eric came to the frightening conclusion that the mechanized voiced belonged to Raimi. He's got me drugged and he's interrogating me. Eric's mind raced through the library of compounds which could induce this effect. With each passing chemical structure he grew more frustrated when none seemed to fit his condition.

"Sorry about that. I just needed to make a few adjustments. It's all a part of the process... Are you still with me Eric?"

"Yes... What's going on? What... What have you done to me? I can't feel my body and it's hard to think." Eric scolded himself for sounding so pathetic, but the lack of control he felt was testing his emotional restraint.

Ignoring the questions the voice continued, this time its cadence was slightly faster as if Raimi was working while he talked. "Yes... Somewhere inside the brain is the soul, that elusive thing which makes us who we are. This is where my journey began. Modern medicine has recorded neurological injuries where, in some cases the personality was altered, in other more traumatic injuries the person was the fine. In this day and age there is also a variety of drugs which can alter mood, and even correct some personality disorders. My main point Eric is that even though the brain is complex, there was data which provided a starting point for my research."

"My early exploration consisted mostly of data retrieval and case study. I had found that personality traits linked to survival, such as competitiveness and aggression were regulated by the limbic system. While what we consider memory, both short and long term, is handled in the cerebellum. It is the interaction of these two parts of the brain that forms who we are. Some call it personality, while others call it a soul. I call it chance chemical encounters. You see I believe we are who we are because of these continual chemical and biological interactions."

It was then that the full realization of the situation came crashing down on him. He's not interrogating me... He's torturing me. Eric couldn't help feeling like an insect trapped under a microscope as he realized that he was Raimi's next experiment. Knowing that Raimi was out there somewhere, beyond the blackness, with scalpel in hand and ready to cut frightened Eric.

Raimi's emotionally void tone continued. "I had also observed that when this connection was completely severed people were left in a vegetative state, and when it was partially severed the patients exhibited everything from aggression to severe paranoia. What I needed to know is what would happen if this interaction ceased and was then reestablished. What happens to this soul?"

"It wasn't until I had met some like minded colleagues that I was able to realize the full extent of my theories. I now had the proper tools and technology at my disposal to take my experiments to the next stage. I also had the right people who appreciated the implications of my work. They also wanted to know what would happen when this link was severed and then reset, and my new friends at Vion had just developed a method of achieving this. They called it... The Process, and what it accomplished was basically a reboot on a cellular level. And just like a computer... In order for it to reboot, it first needs to be shut down." Eric could hear low laughter. ...Static... Click.

Chapter 3: Part 1, False Rescue, Hidden Hope

2006-04-13T22:16:00.000+04:00

The barrage of hammering fists had drowned out all rational thought as Corina had fought to maintain sanity in the darkness. A barely audible groan escaped from under the mattress as the arm continued is slithering movement.

"Jen, is that you?... Damnit answer me!" She rummaged around on the floor looking for something to use as a weapon. She grunted with exertion as she tried to lift a large dumbbell that had been lying next to her. It was big and awkward but would smash the skull of whatever was working its way from under those blankets. By now enough of the shadowed figure was exposed to tell that it was Jen. "So help me God! Jen, If you don't answer me I'm gonna smash your damn head in!"

Jen let out a long moan and Corina cocked the unwieldy weight over her shoulder and aimed for Jen's left temple. "Jen, answer me!" She waited a few seconds to see if there was any sign of her former friend hidden within the dark shadow. When none came she pulled the heavy object down with all her might. The weight came crashing around in a wide arc as Corina's arms blurred in the darkness. As the full weight reached the bottom of its path Corina felt a pop in her shoulder and released the weight with a painful gasp. She watched in dismay as the deadly missile narrowly missed its target.

She was scrambling for another weapon when a second sound caught her attention. It was the sound of now two pairs of fists beating on the door. It rattled in its metal frame but seemed to keep, at least for the time being.

"It's Andre isn't it?" An emotionless voice asked somewhere from the back of the room.

Corina turned to face the question and was startled to find that Jen had retreated back into the shadows of the far corner. Probably a defensive move she thought, smart also, it was the farthest spot from the weakening door which rattled again as if to back up this point. The weight of two full grown men smashed against it repeatedly, and Corina thought that she might be wrong with her assessment of the door.

"Yeah, Jackson attacked him. He's hurt and..." Corina paused for a second and reigned in her emotions.

"Jen, listen to me very carefully. You said that you broke into a bioresearch lab. Do you have any data on that dog you guys took? Cause that wasn't Jackson out there." Jen gave Corina a questioning look. "Well I mean it is... but it isn't. Whatever's gotten into him has made him crazy. He attacked me. I think he would have killed me if Andre hadn't stopped him." Corina's heart suddenly sank as she thought of what might have happened to Andre, she had always given him a tough time but she was just playing hard to get. "Andre's either hurt or dead, I heard some terrible sounds as I ran down here. Damnit Jen! What the hell did you guys do?"

"I... I don’t know. That, that dog must've attacked Jackson." Jen leaned forward and stood up. Grabbing a toppled bookshelf she righted it and started putting the spilled books back on the shelves. She's cleaning up, at a time like this! Corina felt like shaking the dazed girl and then thought better of it. Jen suddenly stopped and looked to Corina with an almost lucid gaze. "Carmen and Klaus, they have the data drives. They took them to the Advanced Computing and A.I. lab to work on the decryption. They might know more about what's going on at Vion, and then there is the body that we took. It's still at Saint Bernard's cemetery, in one of the storage sheds."

"Well it's a start at least! Once we find a way to get some help maybe we could go there and get some answers. I've got to be honest though Jen, our situation is pretty desperate and I'm scared shitless." Corina started moving the bloodied mattress over to barricade the door. The flaccid mattress fit awkwardly but appeared to deaden the sounds of aggression that seemed to be amplified by the metal door frame. "Try and find out how to get some light back in this place."

Jen slowly walked over to the radiant heater, unplugged it from the power strip and reset the tripped breaker. Light spilled onto the floor from an overturned lamp stand casting the room in a harsh glow from its naked bulb. There were splotches of blood on the floor from where Jackson had taken his first steps as his new self. Corina looked over Jen for any sign of injury. She was a shadow of her former beauty. Her eyes had taken on a sunken look to them from crying, and their once vibrant blue now had turned to a cold grey. All over the room there were signs of a struggle, one that seemed to have centered on Jen.

"Jen, my God, are you alright? I've been so focused on what has been going on that I didn't realize you might be hurt." Corina raised her hand and Jen backed away reflexively.

"I'm fine!" Jen went back to cleaning and continued talking absent mindedly, almost as if she had no idea that she was doing it. "Jackson had some sort of seizure. When it finally stopped he was... he was dead. Well I think he was, his skin was so cold and I couldn't get a pulse. A minute later he sat up and jumped at me." Jen relived her frightful encounter with a soulless indifference. "He tried to attack me but I hit him with that." She pointed to an ornately carved oak paddle that most fraternities claim to be symbolic but Corina knew otherwise. Jen continued "I hit him in the head over and over." Jen's face contorted with anger each time stressing the word over. "Each time I hit him he fell back slightly but... but it didn't seem to hurt him. He finally stumbled out into the hallway. Then he just stopped and walked away. It was as if something else had caught his attention."

Corina thought to herself, yeah Andre and me. Just then Corina became acutely aware that the pounding on the door had stopped. Jen didn't seem to notice as she continued putting the disheveled room back in order. She quietly pulled the mattress back from the door and put her ear to the cold metal of the door. A metallic smell rose from it and she couldn't tell whether it was from the battered metal or from the blood that covered the floor. She could hear faint voices from the other side but couldn't make out who they came from or what they were saying.

"Jen, I think someone's come to help us. I think it may be some of the other brothers." Corina felt her spirits rise as the thought of rescue crossed her mind.

"We don't need the help Corina." Jen's voice came in haunting waves. "They're the ones who are going to need the help. They're all going to die..."

"What... what the hell are you talking about? Why?" Corina turned around to Jen. Who was now standing in front of an opened access panel that had been hidden behind the bookshelf.

Jen was staring into the darkness at the glittering metal that lay beyond. "Because..." Jen paused as the hint of a smile crossed her pursed lips. It was an unsettling smile that unnerved Corina. "Because we have all the weapons..."

Chapter 2: Part 10, Empty Nest

2006-03-30T04:59:00.000+04:00

Patchwork watched as the golden yellow flame before him slowly faded to a smoldering orange. How quickly the warmth of the living ebbed out and faded into the general entropy of the surrounding world he thought laying against an unmarked grave. He had had his fill of the spongy grey and red mass that covered the bottom of the grave and felt his thoughts clearing with each passing second. He silently watched as both the dark singing man and the bald white man fished out organs from the husk of what had once been Jonesy. Like a demented version of Thanksgiving he looked upon them the same way a content father would look at his children eating at the dinner table. In life they would have fought each other over personal beliefs and the color of their skin. Now in death they shared, and almost seemed to enjoy each others company. Black, white, everyone looks the same when they’re covered in blood.

An eerie serenity blanketed the scene as the sounds territorial grunts, smacking lips and tearing cartilage provided gruesome contrast. After a few minutes they started to lose interest in the flesh as the warmth it once contained diminished. Sadness struck Patchwork as he watched them get up and move on their own way.

His left eye twitched as a stitch pulled at its corner and blurred his vision. When it finally cleared the figure of the carcass came to him in stark clarity. It pained him that the one that they had feasted on would not be coming back from the darkness to join them. This was his doing and as much as he felt in control at the moment, he feared the unbridled rage and strength that accompanied it when he lost control. From what he could recall in his prior memories they were both uncommon for a man of his size. He clenched his fist tightly when he realized that he wasn’t exactly a man, he was something else... he was an abomination.

He tried to get a grip of his first memories, something which he could use to start to piece together the puzzle of his existence. At first they were just flickers of sight, sound, and pain along with the acrid smell of harsh antiseptics which pervaded his memories. Fearing the sight of the devices and tools which had constantly pierced and probed him he continued delving into his first feelings and remembrances. His thoughts plunged his body into a cold dark pool which reflected nothing. He lay there frozen, staring up at clear plastic lines which dripped blue colored liquids into him while shiny metal blades danced above. Blue, the color of glaciers, there was something about that color that caused him to stop. It was the color of hard packed snow lit from behind during a winter night, but it wasn’t cold at all. In fact, there was a fire in that blue, like the circular blue flame on a gas stove. Then he remembered, circles... yes circles... the ice melted away as the form of two deeply caring blue eyes surrounded by soft flesh hovered over him. That face, where did he know that face from... she knows! Whoever she is, she knows where I came from. She might have even had something to do with my creation. He focused harder and tried to sharpen the image, but the harder he tried to hold onto its definition the faster the image dissolved into a tangle of wires, IV tubing, and roping intestines. He finally let it all go and opened his eyes to reveal an empty graveyard. He was alone.

He couldn’t let go of the sadness that accompanied the frustration of still not being any closer to an answer. He was angry at those who created him, and then just abandoned him in this world to fend for himself. He was jealous of those people with the golden glow of warmth that resided in them, the glow that he himself, was missing. He was sad that the family dinner was over and the kids had left the nest, left him alone again.

His children had moved away in seemingly arbitrary directions, but he knew there was something pulling them... it was food. It pulled them all...

Chapter 2: Part 9, Still Born

2005-11-17T22:24:00.000+04:00

Note from the Auther: How's it Going? Well chapter two is coming to a close and there seems to be a lot of you who are into this story. If you would like be on the Zombie Me mailing list then shoot me an email at aw3sk3r@yahoo.com . Let me know if you like where the story is going or if you are confused at any part. Well enjoy! - William Zedalis

Sergeant Ridgeman had received the call from Adams during the interrogation of the suspects Larsen and Delholme. Although he was annoyed at the interruption he welcomed the chance to get away from Raimi Walters. Ominously dark was one way to characterize Raimi, but Ridgeman felt that sociopath fit him better. Ridgeman had seen plenty of gore and death during both Iraqi conflicts to give any sane man nightmares for life. The stuff he had witnessed as a mercenary for hire under Vion's Raimi Walters though, scared him shitless. He had never met anyone who worked independent of emotion before, but meeting Raimi had changed his whole outlook on life. He still wasn't sure if there was a god, but he knew now that the devil did indeed exist, and he walked the earth as Raimi Walters.

"So what do we know?" Ridgeman asked his team as he settled himself at the head of the debriefing room and sipped a cup of strong smelling tea. Adams looked at Ridgeman and then panned his head to the right and nodded to Quincy. All of them wore the same light swat uniform that Ridgeman sported. If it weren't for the guns, knives, and communications equipment that adorned their uniforms they would've been mistaken for a J. Crew commercial. Quincy stood up and walked to the front of the large boardroom table. Like everything here at Vion, the table was over the top with a gothic elegance. Its black mirrored surface reflected a punched tin ceiling engraved with serpentine vines.

The deep lines in Quincy's face expressed unspoken disquiet. "As predicted by Mr. Walters' infection model, it appears that a second level infection has possibly occurred." Quincy referred to what virologists called a communication of virus particles by direct transmission. "A patient was admitted into Mass General this evening with a finger amputation. Shortly after admission he exhibited classical signs of a Virachrome infection ranging from a bell curve response in his white blood cell population, cardiac myofibrillation, and localized muscle seizure. Doctors sympathetic to our situation notified Vion of a possible exposure. Following hospital protocol the ER called into the CDC for a pathogenic specialist for an emergency consultation. Those calls were intercepted by Lieutenant Adams at O-two hundred this morning and our operatives were sent out to collect the specimen under the premise of quarantine. They are currently en route to this facility. A concurrent interrogation is proceeding before the specimen looses coherency. It looks promising sir. Simons will call us as soon as any viable information has been obtained."

Quincy stood at attention and waited for any questions the team might have. It was Sergeant Ridgeman who broke the silence, "Q, you look as if you have something more on your mind, what's troubling you?" Ridgeman's question not only conveyed concern, but also probed Quincy's expertise. Quincy had been Ridgeman's resident expert on the work that Vion had been doing. He was a communicable disease specialist and had been following an outbreak of Ebola deep in the heart of the Amazon. The outbreak had occurred within the confines of a Zapatista guerilla encampment. Vion's interest in Quincy was not only academic but also functional. The year that he had spent in such a dangerous environment alongside militant guerilla fighters had demonstrated the man's versatility, and Vion appreciated that.

"Sir, it's just the nature of this particular pathogen. We're not even sure if common dermal exposure can cause infection, and god forbid if it's airborne." Quincy looked at the men in front of him. "We don't know this and yet we sent two of our men to pick up a specimen. We should have just sanitized the ER." The portent of Quincy's words hung heavily in the air.

"I appreciate your opinion and I believe your assessment is accurate. You and I both know that we are not in the jungle, and we can't just firebomb a village to eliminate a hazard. As for our team and the threat of exposure, we all accepted these positions and from what the people upstairs tell us the routes of exposure are mainly through fluid transmissions." Ridgeman could sense the unease coming from his men. None of them believed anything that came from Raimi or the scientists above. He was about to continue when there was movement off to his right.

Adams pressed a finger to his earpiece and spoke softly into the bud that protruded from it. Sure... Yes... and Visual... was all the men could hear as they watched him attentively. Adams pulled out a device that resembled a cell phone on steroids and placed it on the table in front of him. Almost immediately the wall behind Quincy lit up and the words "Connecting to Bluetooth Mobile Communicator..." flashed across the screen along with a small progress bar. Within seconds the bar was full and the inside of what seemed to be an ambulance appeared on screen. Centered on screen was a gurney with Alec securely strapped to its steal rails. Numerous IV's and infusion pumps whirred in the background while an erratic heart monitor pulsed out frenetic chirps.

Adams adjusted the signal from the communicator and pushed buttons on the display until the words Encrypted Feed appeared at the bottom of the screen. "This channel's secure, you may proceed Simons."

The entire boardroom jumped when Simon's face materialized on screen, his long black hair moved with every jostle of the truck. "Simons reporting Sir!" He quickly saluted and then turned to the heart monitor and turned the volume down. "I would put our ETA at approximately ten minutes. I thought that I should place a report because I feel that time may be of the essence. The victim is most certainly infected with our particular Virachrome. The viral titer is off the chart and its profile is identical to that of the suspected agent. The vic lost consciousness minutes ago after suffering a grand mal seizure and has been immobile since. Before losing coherency he reported being attacked at Saint Bernard's Cemetery earlier tonight. He described his attackers as, and I quote "Cerberus, Stitch face, and a dead man." He also reported that two of his friends were killed before he was able to escape." The men around the boardroom table exchanged nervous glances except for Sergeant Ridgeman who calmly absorbed the information. "Sir, if the vic's descriptions are accurate, it can mean only one thing..."

"...That Raimi's science projects have become active." Ridgeman said as he finished Adams' sentence. "Gentleman it seems that we are no longer looking for just stolen property. The scenario has changed, it's time we moved to plan B."

"Sir, what shall I do with the specimen from the ER?" Simon's question brought everyone's attention back to the body on the gurney. The heart monitors display showed a flat unchanging green line and a steady tone marked the passing of Alec into death.

"The total time from the onset of infection until heart failure was just a little less than two hours." Quincy said, shocked at how rapid the virus took hold and worked its malicious magic. He had seen the effects of this particular infection before, as they all had, and knew what would happen next.

"Render the body useless and bring it in for Raimi and his group. I'm sure they could use the spare parts." Everyone could see the look of scorn cross his face as the words come out. It wasn't that he was averse to gore, it was the fact that Raimi would welcome the prospect of fresh meat already infused with the virus, and Ridgeman disliked anything that made Raimi's job easier. He was paid to do only one thing, and that was to clean up the mess that Vion had unleashed upon the world.

"Yes Sir! Even though I've got the specimen secure, I still don't want it turning around me." Simon's gloved hand's grabbed a scalpel from a drawer above the gurney. Lining it up with Alec's closed eyelid he slid the blade into his eye and then quickly drove the blade deep into Alec's brain. Twisting the handle as he went made certain that the blade tore and sliced through Alec's midbrain. This ensured that Alec's trip into death would be one way. Without the primitive portion of his brain there would be no motor control to drive the reanimated body. He would be still born like Jonesy had been.

Chapter 2: Part 8, Cacophony of Fists

2005-11-10T17:23:00.000+04:00

In the darkened hallway Corina could hear muffled sounds of activity coming from Jackson's room. What was going on? The sound reminded Corina of when her older brothers used to wrestle in the basement. Then, just as quickly as it began, it suddenly stopped. Shortly after, a large figure slowly appeared outside of the doorway to the room. From its size and shape it appeared to be Jackson. His outline framed by the faint illumination coming from the tap lights hanging on the wall. Walking towards them he stumbled but managed to remain standing. Andre and Corina stopped, "Andre, he shouldn't be able to walk, let alone stand. Not after that seizure he took and the wound on his leg." Jackson continued his approach, each time he started to come into the range of a tap light he grabbed the small fixture and violently tear it off the wall. Pieces of it spread across the floor as the cheap plastic explosively shattered.

"Jackson, what's wrong man!" Andre shouted as he started to walk down the hall. He stopped abruptly and jumped when Corina passed him. "Corina wait!"

Corina reached Jackson just as he stepped into the illumination of another tap light. She looked into his eyes and saw that the Jackson she knew was gone, what remained was just an animated shell. Jackson barred his teeth and forcefully grabbed her long curly hair. Like a date gone terribly wrong Jackson pulled her closer to his body, his mouth agape as his head leaned in. Drool dripped from his lips in anticipation of his first taste. Feeling as if she was being held by a statue, Corina wriggled in his cold arms as she struggled to be free. Jackson finally got the kiss both he and Andre had so longed for as his fever chapped lips brushed against hers as he continued pressing in. She could feel his teeth pressing against her upper lip as he opened his mouth for a taste. She was sick with dread as she thought about what was coming next.

Seconds seemed like an eternity before Andre came to her aid. Jumping on Jackson's back he managed to wrap an arm around his throat and pulled Jackson's threatening maw away from Corina's soft flesh. Andre forced his other arm between them like a crow bar and started prying Jackson's arms from around her. He finally managed to get to a point where she could free herself. They both fell backward as Jackson lost his grasp on Corina's shirt. Enraged at seeing his prey escape, Jackson turned his sights onto the next best thing. Tucking his chin under Andre's forearm Jackson's cold lips pressed hard against the taught muscle. Andre felt a burning pain far greater then when he'd been branded during the initiation into the frat. Jackson's jaws continued pressing harder and harder until his teeth struck bone. Blood welled up from around his mouth like a gothic fountain, it gushed down his throat in crimson torrents.

Andre continued holding back Jackson. The dead weight of Jackson's body pressed down onto Andre's small frame. Broken bits of metal and plastic cut thought Andre's shirt and bit into his back. Jackson twisted around in his arms and pushed down hard on Andre's chest. Andre's resolve began to fail him as he looked into the face of death. The two confronted each other and Andre helplessly watched as Jackson finished chewing the mouthful of meat. Bits of half eaten muscle fell onto his face. Andre tried to yell for help but couldn't gather enough air into his lungs under Jackson's immense weight. Cold fingers clasped tightly around Andre's windpipe. He could feel cartilage popping as it buckled under the strain as Jackson's grip tightened. The dim light of the hallway faded out as the pressure staunched the flow of blood to his oxygen deprived brain. He barely felt it when Jackson tore the side of his face off. Then the blackness turned to a brilliant white light as his body gave up the fight and shut down.

Frantically running in the dark Corina collided with the door jam that surrounded the entry to Jackson's room. An explosion of pain burst on her forehead as she fell backwards into the hallway and blacked out.

Jackson sat atop of Andre rocking contentedly as he enjoyed the meal he had caught. With each rock Andre's limp body exhaled a sickening wheeze that mimicked life. Within minutes, Jackson sensed the cooling of the meat and could no longer enjoy it. The fresh kill had begun to spoil.

Further down the hall a golden glow shimmered in the darkness. It was a glimmer that far outshined the fading light that lay below him. He fixated on its beauty as it drew him to it like a moth to a flame.

Fighting off a concussion she rolled onto her stomach and felt the world spin around as if she was riding some frightening carousel. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and in the dark she was having trouble locating her surroundings. Gradually she began to remember, "Andre!" she cried. There was no answer except for a quiet Click... Schickt... Click... Schickt... that was steadily growing louder. It was the same sound she heard earlier when Jackson walked towards her. Fear finally crystallized her thought as she remembered the assault. She sat upright and fought the natural tendency to faint by taking in two rapid breaths and then breathing deep and slowly exhaling. The sound was drawing nearer, and in the darkness she thought she could see movement.

Hurrying as fast as her contusion would allow she grabbed a hold of the steel door frame and pulled herself into the safety of Jackson's room. The footsteps were just outside now as she tried to slam it shut. The heavy door swung easily, stopped, and then sprung back slowly. She had tried it again with the same effect before she realized that a small throw rug was caught between the door and the jam. Corina could hear a moan from within the doorway. Working fast she removed the bunched up rug and slammed the door shut. Locking it behind her she could hear pounding as Jackson's large fists angrily rained against the door.

Trying to catch her breath Corina leaned against the hard steal of the door. It rattled with every assault but continued to hold. Just how long it would was a question Corina didn't want to think about. Off to her right a faint orange light protruded from under an overturned electrical heater. The room was a mess, everything had been overturned and books lay scattered across the tiled floor.

What was going on? Corina's mind raced with possible scenarios ranging from rabies to a humanized strain of mad cow disease. No matter what ideas entered her thought, she just couldn't make the symptoms fit anything she had learned at school or seen during her internship at the ER. Something wasn't adding up. Jen had said something about a break-in at some biotech. Corina tried to remember but the struggle with the door had exhausted her and the whole ordeal was slowly eroding her sanity. She refocused her concentration and was trying to remember when another sound distracted her from her thoughts. This one was coming from inside the room. It was a faint rustling that was barely audible over Jackson's cacophony of fists. Then she could see where the sound was located, it was coming from below Jackson's overturned mattress. The mound raised and lowered as if something from below it was trying to rise up. Corina could see the outline of a slender arm snake its way through the tangle of sheets and blankets. It was followed by a shoulder, and then a torso. Corina couldn't tell in the dark whom the shadow belonged to, but one thing she learned tonight was that things weren't what they appeared to be. Hesitantly she asked in a voice trembling with caution, "Jen is that you?"...

Chapter 2: Part 7, The Cheshire Smile

2005-11-07T09:19:00.000+04:00

Eric stood there with a look of shocked disbelief written on his pale face. Beads of cold perspiration collected in the small of his back where the barrel of sergeant Ridgeman's gun poked painfully. Ridgeman deftly noted the outline of Eric's hidden weapon and skillfully removed it, and for the first time since childhood had Eric felt utterly helpless. Ridgeman examined the gun, "The safety's still on. First rule of engagement Mr. Larson is to never go into a situation where you think you might need a gun... with the safety engaged!" Sergeant Ridgeman emphasized his statement by pushing the muzzle harder into Eric's back. After checking the Beretta's clip, Ridgeman slide the weapon across the surgical table to Raimi.

Eric felt disoriented in the room. The sterile surgical lighting cast harsh funnels of light from around the room to the operating stage. Although Eric was caught within one of these bright beams it provided no warmth from the frigid surroundings.

"Naughty naughty Mr. Larsen, now what would you be needing this for?" Raimi said while he eyeing the weapon. "Surely you were not planning on another break-in? Maybe you were going to kill someone, ahhh I hope it wasn't going to be me! I would be greatly offended if that was true." Raimi stood motionless behind a flashing workstation used to maneuver the robotic arms. He worked quietly at the controls of the remote surgical system (RSS) as its arms unfolded from the ceiling. "This is quiet a system we have here, don't you think? It has the capability of making slices from meters, to millimeters." A glint of polished stainless steel caught the light as a four gauge scalpel appeared from the tip of an arm. It spun in three hundred and sixty degrees cutting wide circles in the air. Another arm unfurled itself from its hiding space in the ceiling and began a hypnotic dance with its twin. Their smooth soundless motions arced, rotated, opened, and closed with a malignant grace.

Hans backed away from the mechanical ballet, and braced himself against a wall that outlined various transplant procedures. He couldn't tell if his body had become numb from the events of the evening, or from the artic air that continually fell from hidden vents in the ceiling.

"Sergeant Ridgeman, is Mr. Larsen, going to tell me how he found out about my little project, or am I going to have to be indecorous to my guests?" Raimi's rhetorical question fell on deaf ears as sergeant Ridgeman intently listened to unseen voices speaking to him through a small headset he wore. Raimi continued, "Well, Eric?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Eric continued to try to act shocked as if he hadn't known anything about the work which went on in the cold depths of the blue wing.

Raimi made a quick gesture with his hand and Eric fell back with a cry clutching his face. The robotic arm equipped with the scalpel retracted itself from where Eric had been standing. "Don't play me for an ignorant fool!" Raimi said as rivulets of crimson dripped from between Eric's fingers.

Eric pulled his hand away from his face revealing a deep laceration which ran from chin to cheek. He quickly ripped his undershirt and pressed it to the right side of his face. "Damn you! I told you I don't know anything about any break-in!"

The arms moved menacingly closer to Eric on invisible tracks. "No more games Mr. Larsen."

Eric glanced to the robot and then to his bloodied shirt. "All right! Just don't come any closer with that thing." Eric looked to Hans for some sort of help and quickly concluded that the man was a useless quivering bundle of fear. "All right... I was inputting some new research into the A.D.A.S. system when I came across a locked project folder titled Patchwork. I was curious so I started looking around and eventually found a back door into it." Eric's demeanor changed hoping that Raimi believed his half truths.

The arm darted again, Eric's head tilted back reflexively as it moved towards him. A thin red line of blood appeared on his forehead, "No more lies, no more acting! Let me tell you what our friend Sergeant Ridgeman has been able to discern from our data logs and some old fashioned detective work." Raimi held Eric at bay by taunting him with the scalpel. "One week ago we noted someone from your lab electronically snooping around the A.D.A.S. system. Later on that night our IT department reported that an outside source was again probing the same system. The interloper used a sophisticated algorithm to somehow break into the project Patchwork folder."

Raimi continued activating equipment around the lab. In the far corner a large tank lit up from within as its greenish contents bubbled with activity. A slender probe tipped with a long needle slowly descended from the ceiling. Raimi continued talking without taking his eyes from the panel before him. "The intrusion was determined to have come from the Advanced Computing and Artificial Intelligence department at MIT. The encryption on the project folder was developed in part with the government, and MIT. You can understand our concern. The general schematics and lower level material had been mostly a blend of the MIT encryption, while the higher level specifics of the project were mostly a level 5 government encryption. Our surprise came when we noticed our proximity card security data logs had been stolen by this same mysterious source. Someone really wanted to know what was going on within these walls and was possibly planning malicious acts. Before we had time to make any changes or investigate further the labs were broken into and as you know some important specimens were stolen."

For the first time since the interrogation had begun Raimi was distracted by sergeant Ridgeman. He appeared out of the shadows from behind Raimi and whispered into his ear. Raimi acknowledged Ridgeman's comment with a terse nod and Ridgeman once again melted into the darkness. Eric could see the outline of the door to the garment room appear as Ridgeman calmly walked out of the operating theater. Eric should have felt better now that the physical threat of Ridgeman was removed but the shear insanity of Raimi unnerved him. "You see Eric, I've been monitoring you activities for quiet a while. I admire you're unabashed ambition, and frankly your work on the Pieces project was truly magnificent. I had hopes that one day you would join me on far greater endeavors, but now things have changed." Raimi looked up from the controls and intently looked into Eric's eyes. "I know about your involvement with C.A.B.L.E.T.V., in fact it's your brainchild, isn't it? Your contacts with MIT, Harvard, and within the industry itself gave you a unique position. One from which you could not only act as an inside man but also gather a fresh new crop of willing, idealistic foot soldiers to help you achieve your goals. It is my purpose tonight to find out exactly what those goals are."

Eric had nothing left to hide, Raimi obviously had been digging deep into his past for a while. The only element that Eric couldn't figure out was why Hans had been involved in all of this. Hans' work had provided some key fundamentals for all research into resuscitative medicine, but they have moved so far beyond that he was too removed to be of any further use.

Eric made a dash for his gun which sat on the corner of the table, but Raimi was faster. He picked up the weapon and chambered a round. The motion was a blur as his black leather clad hands pulled the slide back and turned the safety off in one movement. "It seems like you are just digging yourself into a deeper hole." Unaffected by the quick movement Raimi continued in a deliberate tone. "Wouldn't it be quite ironic if I were to shoot you with your own gun?" Raimi waved the gun at Eric, motioning him to move backwards. "Since you've taken my project from me I think it's up to you to provide a suitable replacement. He was the prototype built from years of exhaustive research and countless failures. In some ways I felt he was my son, born from my ideas." Raimi raised the gun at Eric. "And now he's been taken from me!" Raimi pulled the trigger and Eric closed his eyes. Eric saw the flash through closed eyelids as the report from the gunshot echoed around the room. Eric felt a burning in his chest, his hands reached up to clutch at the wound and encountered a hard object. Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw the robotic arm with the hypodermic protruding from his left pectoral. Almost immediately he could feel the effects of the powerful anesthetic starting to numb his extremities. Raimi continued powering up the operating theater. "You wanted to know what project Patchwork was... well my boy you're going to find out."

Eric fell as his knees gave way to the drug as it took a stronger hold with each beat of his heart. He lay on the floor motionless as his vision blurred in and out of focus. Across from him on the floor was Hans, he was sitting upright on the floor. Blood flowed down his chest from a bullet hole in the center of his chest. For the first time Eric thought he could see Raimi smile. It was the crocked smile of the Cheshire cat, and as his vision faded out it was all that remained in the black of a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2: Part 6, Everything Yet Nothing

2005-10-28T09:44:00.000+04:00

Once again he sat there alone in a world that seemed hauntingly familiar yet entirely new to him. The man who had called him friend had gotten up and now stumbled among the graves heedless of the drenching rain. His entrails dangled, painting red blotches along the ground. He would falter now and again as they became caught up in his feet. The dog Pieces had slept briefly, and now playfully chased after the floppy tripe in a macabre game of keep away.

The rain kept a steady pace with thoughts that pitter patted in his mind. He knew things, but couldn't connect the drips of thought into anything larger than puddles. He tried to remember anything about the past which he could grasp onto, something onto which he could build a foundation. Conflicting thoughts fought with each other as blurred memories tumbled viscously. There were age conflicts, physical attribute differences, philosophical differences, and multitudes of religions in his memories. A definite sense of masculinity pervaded him, and his body was male, yet memories of a female nature roiled within. One memory had him losing his virginity to a seventeen year old blonde named Sarah on prom night. In another he was giving birth to his daughter Elizabeth, and yet in another he was too young to have children. The two opposing facets of man and women set the stage for far stranger contentions and for these he didn't need memories to observe. He was embroidered with difference. Looking down at his hands he could delineate where dark skin, possibly African American, was stitch tightly with what looked to be Caucasian. He was everything yet nothing.

Blood splashed against the walls as his fist slammed into the puddle where Nick Daniels had lay. A spider web of cracks emanated from beneath his knuckles in the red stained marble. His troubled thoughts cleared as deadened nerves carried faint signals of pain through his nervous system. Pain was all that was real now, pain and the craving for flesh. Licking the tacky liquid from his hands he sat back and enjoyed the coppery taste.

A slight wind picked up from the east carrying with it the salty sea air. The rain had let up slightly but the wind tossed it at harsh angles against the small building. A story book ending seemed far away, too many things appeared to be stacked against him. No home, no family, and no coherent memory all seemed insurmountable obstacles.

A wet lick brought him back to reality as the dog cleaned the remnants of the drying blood from his hand. No family seemed to be an incorrect statement. They were family he thought sensing the dog, and in no truer sense looked to be spun from the same yarn. The plastic stitches that coursed its back matched those on his arm.

His hand rested on the back of the large animal, its unnatural strength radiated from deep within. It was the strength of a hunter, it was a purpose which seemed built in both of them. He had witnessed it firsthand when they encountered the singing man. The dog intuitively took position in the shadows and waited for a signal from him. They had worked silently as one waiting for the prime opportunity to strike in the darkness.

As if on cue they both turned their heads towards the distant edge of the cemetery. Voices, carried on the wind alerted them to an approaching group. The dog sniffed the air and pawed the ground in agitation. Patchwork stepped silently out of the building and into the light rain with Pieces in tow a few feet behind. They would again have the chance to hunt together tonight.

Alec Wilson and his buddies were on their second row of graves. The sounds of spray cans filled the air with the quiet hiss of rattlesnakes. "Yo Alec! Gimme a red, I'm out!"

"Here ya go!" Alec expertly flipped his knapsack over his shoulder and opened it. It was filled with a dozen or so cans of spray paint in an assortment of colors. Grabbing a can of red he tossed it over to Jonesy. "Don't forget to switch the spray tip off the old can! Those tips are hard to get!"

"Damn kid! You act like I ain't ever done this before!" Jonesy fronted an aggressive attitude jokingly towards Alec.

"Yeah, well the way you been pissin through paint tonight it seems like you a virgin!" His mock slang carried sarcastic undertones. Alec could hear a slight chuckle from the remaining member of their crew, Smitty. "Now shut it unless you wanna get us all pinched!"

Jonesy quietly finished up the swastika he'd been working on with the new can of paint. Their small group was part of a larger skinhead gang called FSU which stood for Fuck Shit Up, and that's pretty much what they did. Their goal tonight was to defame any grave with a name that appeared non-white. Little did they realize that more than half the graves they had vandalized so far were of W.A.S.P.'S. and a majority of the paint had already been washed off by the rain.

"Do you hear that?" Jonesy stopped spraying and looked up from the tomb in front of him. "Yo! You guys hear footsteps?" a slight rustling of leaves followed. "Dude! 5-O!"

"Shut up! You're making Smitty nervous! It's pitch black and 5-O would be using flash lights!" Alec had always been the level headed one. "It's just the wind blowing leaves up your skirt! Ya big sissy!" Alec turned to continue spray painting when Smitty started to make a gurgling sound. "Smitty what the F..." his words trailed off as his gaze fixed on the sight before him.

On the ground off to his right in a pile was Smitty and something else. It was a large dog and it had locked its jaw around Smitty's throat, his eyes bulged in their sockets with each squeeze. Its hind legs tore at Smitty's abdomen with powerful kicks until his intestines spilled onto the ground with a wet slop.

Alec gasped at the gore, he had never seen anything quite like it. Jonesy hearing the commotion looked to Alec and then to Smitty. Dropping the can of paint, he had just got up to help his fallen friend when a powerful hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him back to the ground.

Patchwork felt rage from all his frustration come to the surface as he grabbed the bald head of Jonesy. With uncalculated strength he rammed it into the still wet swastika painted on the grave. A fissure appeared on Jonesy's forehead as his skull cracked with the sound of a hollow coconut. The second bash sent the rupture to the apex of his head. On the third smash Jonesy's head exploded with a cracking mush. Patchwork continued ramming Jonesy's limp carcass into the red pulp that covered the granite surface. All earlier signs of vandalism had been washed away in blood.

Alec turned to run from the sights before him. With every footstep he stumbled with fear as the wet leaves slid beneath his feet. He ran directionless through the cemetery until he saw the figure of a man standing alone praying over a small grave.

"Mister! You gotta help me! There's some psycho guy back there who killed my friends!" Alec placed his hand on the shoulder of the gentleman, "Mister, please..."

The man's hand slowly rose up in a gesture of comfort when Alec noticed that it looked like it had been used as a dog's chew toy. Flayed fingers grabbed onto Alec's hand and quickly pulled it into his mouth. That was when Nick Daniels had gotten his first taste of flesh as he bit down hard. Alec pulled away tearing the few ligaments that held his pinky on. The man slowly turn revealing a gaping hole where his throat had been. Alec, too shocked to feel any pain, ran from the nightmare he had unwillingly entered. The gates to the cemetery loomed before him like the entrance to paradise. Street lights painted the sidewalks in safety as he broke through the darkness and headed towards the light.

Like a long lost son returning home, Nick joined his creator as they feasted on the remains of Jonesy. In just under an hour the mewling cries of the reborn Smitty filled the air around them. Patchworks' family was growing...

The Awakening

2005-10-14T13:22:00.000+04:00

Awakening with a jerk Martin Brenaugh immediately regretted it. His head swam and his vision blurred as a migraine pulsed in his brain. He hadn't had a hangover this bad since he'd started school last fall at UNH, but now almost a full year later he had proven himself to be a glutton for punishment.

A ruddy orange light crept along the ceiling as the early October sun slowly rose from behind a dilapidated barn that sat alone in the field outside. Martin's eyes painfully adjusted to the encroaching dawn. The abandoned farmhouse that he and five other brothers from his fraternity had partied in the night before was about six miles in the woods headed towards Madbury. "Do you know that some say the Gilson farm is haunted?" Jim Switten asked jokingly as he roughly drew a map for the guys to follow. Sure Martin had heard strange stories about Dr. Gilson and his family, but that's all they were... just stories. In any school the freshmen are notorious with spreading rumors, and at UNH the local area provided ample fodder. There was a rumor that the good doctor had had his license revoked for performing unnecessary surgery. Still there was another that claimed Dr. Gilson had become entangled in the dark web of Voodoo while he had interned at a French colony in Haiti, but that's all they were... just rumors.

The brothers had been sent there on Friday by some of the senior guys in the frat as a pseudo initiation prank. Martin felt that the older guys were just busting on them because that's just what guys did when they were bored. They had left school as the sky was beginning to darken at five fifteen and were out exploring the grounds by six.

A thick fog grew from a slight haze until it covered their feet adding to the unease felt by all. They set up a battery powered stereo and threw back some cold brews while playing poker. After a bit they all started to feel more comfortable and John Conroy had suggested they go out back and check out the barn, after all that's where it was rumored that Gilson had performed his rituals.

The trek out to the barn had been uneventful. The grass was now heavy with dew and their shoes had quickly become so saturated that walking was arduous. The crooked doors to the barn had been rusted shut from decades of contact with the salty seacoast air. It had taken the strength of both John and he to force them open. Inside the dank barn old tools and equipment decorated the walls and hung dangerously from the rafters. Martin was admiring a scythe that swung slightly in the drafty barn when Bill Randell had called their attention to where he was in the back. He had found a locked trunk with strange writing stamped along the rusted steal bindings. "It looks like chicken scratch... Hell I can't even read it!" Bill said and then quickly smashed the lock with a hammer he had grabbed off the wall. A white mist escaped from the trunk as Bill heaved the lid open with a groan. That was the last thing Martin remembered of the prior evening. Everything else was lost in his alcohol addled brain.

"I'm never gonna drink again!" Martin mumbled as he pulled himself out of his sleeping bag. Looking down he noticed that his feet were covered with a rust colored mud. "What the..." He glanced around the room and saw that the same rust colored mud spotted the floor forming what looked like bloody footprints trailing from the door to where he lay. I must have indulged a little more then I remember he thought.

Martin slowly stood and waited for the pounding in his head to clear before following the footsteps to the door. The old wood sighed heavily as it swung open to reveal the shadowed hallway which led to the main stairway. Passing by the few rooms that occupied the second floor he knocked on the doors to see which of his fellow brothers had crashed where. Each attempt was met with silence. Slipping slightly in the cold mud he regained his balance while narrowly averting what would have been a painful fall down the stairs. Man what a mess!

Reaching the bottom of the stairway he looked around and saw Bill asleep on the floor covered with an old stained blanket he had grabbed from the frat house. Barely covering Bill's lanky form the bottom was covered in the same mud that his bare feet were. Must have come from the walk back from the barn... He thought as he continued the search of the main room. The radio squeaked to life as he fumbled with the buttons. Trying to find the news on one of the NPR stations he passed by random snippets of songs he liked. Continuing to try to piece together the events of last night, advertisements droned along in the background when finally his attention was caught by a news alert.

...Five UNH students have been missing now for six days. The students were all members of the Delta Omega Alpha fraternity and were last seen on Friday. Anyone with information has been asked to report to the Durham police department...

"Six days! Damn what's been going on?" The words came out slurred as he was still shacking off the effects of the hangover. Then Martin realized that if six days had passed he shouldn't have any more alcohol in his system, he shouldn't be hung-over at all. His stomach growled painfully when he realized also that he hadn't eaten for six days. He groaned at the thought, "This can't be happening!" Walking over towards Bill he started trying to wake him.

Back at the fraternity the police had come by twice now and both times Jim Switten had ducked out the back door. I'm gonna kill those guys for doing this! He thought as his Altima sped down route four heading towards Madbury. I bet they're doing this to get back at us for the Gilson farm. Jim took a sharp right and turned onto a dirt road that cut right between two large corn fields. Within minutes Jim's car skidded to a halt in front of the old house. Off to its side under an old oak tree, Martin's beat up Chevy Charger sat covered in fallen autumn leaves. Mounting the whitewashed steps Jim could see movement through the cracked front window. I knew it!

Roughly throwing open the front door Jim burst into the living room, "Do you guys know how much trouble you're in?" Jim suddenly halted as his rage melted into shock. Before him lying on the floor was Bill Randell with Martin Brenaugh kneeling over. The floor was slick with bloody footprints and gore. Martin sat there wrist deep in Bill's abdomen digging out any organ which he could grasp, his skin was an ashen grey and he bobbed his head from side to side as if inebriated. Blood trickled from Martin's mouth as he chewed on what looked like a liver. Martin turned towards Jim with a look of confusion mixed with hunger. On the floor Bill's body started to move and his eyes began to open.

Somewhere behind Jim he heard a door shut followed by the sound of shuffling feet. He turned to see what had once been his friend John Conroy blocking the door. John also was covered with blood, it poured from his mouth as he slurred out the word "Brrraaainssss......"

Outside the house within the dark shadows of the barn the trunk slammed shut. Five pairs of sneakers were locked within along with the souls of their owners.

Happy Halloween!!!

Chapter 2: Part 5, Clouded Eye Open

2005-09-29T18:58:00.000+04:00

Andre and Corina rushed down the dim hallway to Jackson's room where Jen's screams had drawled into ragged gasps. Warped shadows spilled out of the doorway from a light somewhere within. Andre was the first to turn into the room and saw Jen kneeling beside Jackson's prostrate form. He lay on a mattress and box spring that rested on the floor without a frame. The lower half of the mattress was coated in streaks of blood from the gaping wound on Jackson's leg.

"Damn shit! He didn't look that bad when he came in twenty minutes ago." Andre moved out of the way as Corina pushed past him. "He... he looks like a ghost." Jackson lay there motionless, his dark skin had turned an ashen grey and glistened with perspiration.

Corina reached into her intern bag and pulled out a black stethoscope. She listened intently as she moved the horn down his chest checking on his respiration. Jackson's breathing was low and congested and his heart rate fluttered erratically. Putting away the stethoscope she grabbed a digital thermometer and took a measurement in his ear. "Ninety four point one at one forty six a.m." She said to herself as she returned the thermometer to her bag and started taking notes on his condition. Jackson started to wake due to all the activity around him. "Jackson. Can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened?" Corina questioned him as she continued her examination of the wound on his leg. She turned to Jen and Andre "I can tell you that no dog did this. I've seen half a dozen dog bites in the E.R. and none have looked like this. There are no puncture marks parallel to the wound from the animal's canine teeth." Jackson moaned as she gently lifted His leg. On either side of the bite were two dark bruises that looked curiously like hand prints. She moved back to his chest and placed her pointer and index fingers on his carotid artery "Jackson can you tell me what today's date is?"

Belying his condition Jackson's right arm shot up as he grabbed Corina's wrist. Shocked she tried in vain to pull away from his forceful grasp. Twisting her arm slightly he pulled her closer. Andre moved towards the two but halted when Jackson started to speak, "The body is alive, the body's alive..." Straining to force the words out through his rasping larynx he continued into Corina's ear. "It moved... came after me..." His pupils rapidly moved under closed eyelids as if in R.E.M. sleep.

Corina turned to Jen who had backed herself into a corner at Jackson's statements. "What the hell is he talking about? What body?" Jen just shook her head, pulled her long legs to her chest and hugged herself.

Andre walked over to her to try and comfort the distraught woman. "Jen, your boy is messed up but he'll be alright. Corina's gonna fix'em up real good!" Jen leaned into the warmth of Andre's arm. "Hey, did I ever tell you that his name isn't Jackson?" Both Corina and Jen turned their attention to Andre. "Well Jackson is his name, it's just his last name. That's what he wants us to call him because he doesn't like the name his mom gave him. You see she was a big fan of the Jackson Five especially Michael, so she named him Michael... Michael Tito Jackson." Corina burst out laughing and Jen started to smile. Catching the infectious laugh from Corina, Andre and Jen started to laugh also. The deep baritone of Andre's laugh complimented the sopranos of the girls.

The melodic character of Jen's light laugh trailed off and Andre felt her body go rigid. She inhaled sharply as if to scream but instead raised her arm and pointed towards the body lying on the mattress. Andre followed her arm to the motionless form. Jackson remained in the position which Corina had left him except his eyes were now wide open. Corina look down at Jackson to see why everyone had gone quiet. His eyes had a ghostly appearance and were no longer the deep sable which she had admired. The iris seemed to have become one giant cataract and now the entire orb was the off-white color of the sclera. Corina quickly reached for her medical bag and withdrew a pen light. Pulling back Jackson's eyelids she flicked the pen light on and off and moved it left to right trying to get a tracking response. Jackson's only reaction was a slight tremor that started in his right hand. The spasm gradually grew until his entire arm twitched violently like a freshly caught trout.

"We have to get him to a hospital... now!" Corina, grabbing her equipment, started to head for the door. "We don't have time to wait for an ambulance, we'll have to get some help to move him. Longwood medical center is about a five minute drive from here, we can take my car."

The fever raged within Jackson as his heart feverishly pushed the virus further into the deepest recesses of his circulatory system. The virazyme corrupted each host cell as it encountered them with diabolic precision. As the alien protein coat of the virus entered a new cell it tricked Jackson's immune system into thinking it was his own by using the siRNA from Hans' Immunomix-9. After successfully defending against an interferon response the virazyme quickly went to work dismantling the host cell and reanimating it as a drone. A shadow of its former self this new cell would create and maintain more virazymes while continuing its prior cellular function at a decreased capacity.

Corina and Andre ran out into the dark corridor in the search for another brother to help carry Jackson's large build from the subterranean dwelling he called home. Jen sat there in the corner and helplessly watched as Jackson suffered from their secret. "I'm so sorry Jackson." She sobbed into her folded arms as she rocked back and forth. Suddenly the room went quiet as the tremors in his arm stopped. The deafening silence blanketed Jen in fear. Slowly she crept along the tiled floor where Jackson lay. "Corina.... Andre...." Jen's cries for help came out as whispers. Reaching out her hand she was inches away from his face when suddenly his whole body started to spasm as if undergoing electroconvulsive therapy. She fell away from the bed and the seizure stopped just as abruptly as it had begun.

A loud click from the corner grabbed her attention. It was followed by the low hum of a fan. A dim orange glow by the door started to get brighter as a portable heater began to cycle. Then the light over the bed went out, it's surge protector tripped by the draw of the heater. The glow intensified as she could feel the warmth radiate towards her. After a minute or so it began to fade. The hum of the fan came to a stop and Jen was left in the dark. She fumbled feeling across the floor for the surge protector. Finally she found it behind a stack of milk crates that Jackson had used as a makeshift book shelf. She winced as the light came back on. Jackson lay on the bed motionless, he wasn't breathing and his eyes were closed. She rushed to his side and felt his wrist for a pulse. She could find none and his skin was clammy. Fighting to keep her calm she grabbed his shoulder and started to shake him. From behind her she could hear the heater cycle on again. She was loosing him and something needed to be done quickly. Where was Corina, she would know what to do. Loosing her last ounce of composure she pulled her arm back and slapped Jackson across his stubbled cheek.

His eyes opened wide just as the surge protector tripped again. As the darkness swallowed her for the second time she could feel Jackson begin to sit up...

...Miles away, on the other side of Boston, a clouded eye opened. It was a blind eye in all classical senses. Nerves too damaged by a lack of oxygen to function properly now stared sightlessly into the rain. Although the particular wavelength of visible light could no longer penetrate the milky iris's depths a shorter frequency stimulated the remaining rods and cones that lined the ocular cavity. Another world came into view. It was a world of dark inanimate objects speckled with the bright spots giving off by the warmth of the living. Just as he had stumbled out of the rain earlier that evening, Nick Daniels stood up slowly and shambled back into the dark cold night uncaring of the rain... and hungry.

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Chapter 2: Part 4: Sheltered Hunger

2005-08-23T14:51:00.000+04:00

The October night had been cold to begin with and now it was raining. Nick Daniels had been trying to find a place to spend the night after procuring a fifth of Canadian Club whiskey with the profits from a long day of pan handling. By the time he had reached the cemetery half the bottle was gone. The alcohol was starting to warm his body and lift his spirits.

His coffee can collection cup rattled as he dragged it across the wrought iron bars of the cemetery fence. He jiggled the can at various tempos and when the fence ran out as a field of granite monuments spread out before him he continued the beat with singing. He thought about the irony of it, he had spent the day singing for the pocket change of the living, and the only time he felt like singing was here for the dead. Shrugging his shoulders he started up the gentle slope that led towards the mausoleums and service buildings.

"Shall it be the Cliffton resort tonight or the Walberg?" Nick came to a halt at the top of the hill and started up a game of ini mini miny mo as his hand swayed back and forth. Silently mouthing the word mo his hand finally came to a stop at the tomb of Charles Walberg. "The Walberg Astoria it is then... Hiccup. I'll just shtop off at the bar b'fore going to bed... Hiccup." Stumbling slightly he climbed the three marble steps and entered the covered archway grateful to be out of the rain. "Bartender.... I'll have a glash of whishkey, straight up! Top shelf... nothing but top shelf for me..." Swaying back and fourth wildly Nick lost his balance and fell against the entry way. With the alcohol weighing him down he slid down the wall and decided that this was as good a place as any to stay the night.

Pressing the bottle to his lips he took a deep draught. He winced as the burning liquid worked its way down to his belly. When he opened his eyes again a form slowly started to take shape in front of him. It was of a man stumbling towards him, another inebriated wanderer like himself probably. The form stopped it's hobbling pace as it reached the leading edge of a large willow's shadow. It was as if wanted to remain featureless.

"Hello friend! Not a night to be without shelter and strong drink! C'mon up and join me for a drink." Nick paused waiting to see the shadows reaction. When nothing happened he leaned forward out of the doorway fearing he might not have heard a reply due to the rain. "I said hello friend. Get out of that rain and have a drink!" He was starting to stand up when he thought he heard a faint sound from within the mausoleum. Yes, there it was, between the pitter patter of raindrops there was another sound. A clearly distinct sound recognizable to most pet owners, it was the clicking of nails on a hard surface. Surprised by the direction of the sound Nick turned to see yet another shadow approaching out of the darkness. It was that of a large dog and it lumbered along as if injured. "Here boy..." Nick tried to whistle but the only sound he made was a forceful push of air through pursed lips. "You all right boy?" Nick reached his hand towards the wounded animal and started to wave it towards him. "Shit boy you stink to high heaven! That's aright tho... I prolly ain't smelling to good myself."

The dog continued its advance towards Nick. As it came closer he could hear it's stomach rumbling along with something else, a low guttural growl. Just as the thought that this might not be a friendly animal crossed Nick's mind it leapt towards him and bit down hard on his right hand. The momentum of the lunge carried the dog past the entry way and onto the steps. Pulling his hand to his chest Nick realized that his pinky and ring fingers were gone, and that his other two fingers had been de-gloved of skin. "Holy Christ!" Nick turned to get up before the dog could attack again and came face to face with a nightmare.

Nick could only stare at the face before him. The scars and stitches that ran all over it spoke of incomprehensible torture. Nick tried to scream but couldn't. A vice like hand gripped his throat. His alcohol addled brain fought to keep consciousness even as his larynx was torn out by a ravenous mouth. Nick Daniels would never sing again. As the final flicker of life faded out in Nick the last words he could hear was "Me!" repeated over the sounds of mastication.

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Chapter 2: Part 3, Raining

2005-08-17T09:53:00.000+04:00

The elevator ride had been quiet as recirculated air washed over them making the tense silence more pronounced. Eric leaned against a corner with his back against the wall and Hans took up the opposite. Both Sergeant Ridgeman and Raimi Walters faced the elevator doors. "So... as you already know there has been a break-in here, a most unfortunate event for us as you can imagine. I have called the two of you here tonight because three labs were targeted during the event."

"Our security systems indicate that Mr. Delholme's cell culture lab was the first to be broken into followed by the tissue engineering lab. The final intrusion occurred at the isothermal facility." Sergeant Ridgeman said as he continued to face the doors. "The events all transpired during the shareholders meeting two nights ago. This raised a few red flags immediately. The first is why those three labs? And the second is why that particular night? Both of these have led us to believe that this was not a random attack by an unorganized activist group. Instead we believe it was orchestrated by someone with discreet knowledge of not only Vion's private affairs but also of the layout of our facility."

Eric shifted his weight from one side of the corner to the other. He felt as if the air conditioning in the small elevator had been turned off as blood rushed to his face. Hans continued to look stoically at the faux marble wall in front of him. Eric's mind was racing a mile a minute. Did they accidentally leave some incriminating evidence behind? Did they know about his involvement? Why did Raimi and Ridgeman choose the elevator to spring this new information? Were they trying to evoke a response from him? The confines of the small cabin enhanced the effect of being trapped. Why was the elevator ride taking so long? The claustrophobia was taking its toll on Eric. He was reaching for the gun under his shirt when the elevator reached the third floor. The doors opened and cool blue light washed into the elevator. Pushing past Raimi and Ridgeman Eric was grateful to be out in the hall and drew in two deep breaths to recapture his calm. Just as he was about to say something Hans stepped forward "I demand to know the meaning of this! I am getting the impression that you feel we are somehow involved in all of this. Let me assure you that we are not, and all this cloak and dagger bullshit is trying my intelligence."

"Dr. Delholme, you have always been quite direct. That's one of the reasons why I like you so. No, let me reassure you that Sergeant Ridgeman's investigation has focused its' attention in another direction. Tonight is going to be an informational session... for us all." Raimi's accent gave Eric the impression of a snake's rolling hiss as for us all sounded like for sale. Turning on his heels Raimi's patent leather shoes made the only sounds as he walked down the deep blue hall, click tap... click tap. He was fading into the dim light when Sergeant Ridgeman prompted them to follow.

It had started to rain outside. The few mirrored windows they passed by on the way to their destination were pelted with streaking coldness. Hans finally broke the silence "So was anything damaged or stolen?"

Sergeant Ridgeman, who had been following silently in tow, stated matter-of-factly "Yes, in fact that is the main reason why we have asked the two of you to come here tonight." Raimi's motionless shadow appeared as they approached the cell culture lab "Dr. Delholme from the timing of the security logs, your lab was the first to be broken into." The doors to the lab opened and Hans was the first to enter. "As you can see you're A.D.A.S. system was the only item removed." The Sergeant gave Hans plenty of time to take in the scene before asking "Is there a possibility that anyone outside of Vion might have known about it and what it contained?"

"No. Not that I know of. The system itself is used throughout the industry. Our system was tailored by our IT to fit the labs specific needs but it is still quite common. As far who might have known about what information it contained, I'll be damned if I know. Hell, after I got it up and running I was locked out of ninety percent of the information trafficked on it!" Hans picked up the empty shell that housed the servers drives and threw it back on the table. "When was the last time the IT had backed up A.D.A.S.?"

"Don't worry Dr. Delholme you data is safe and your lab will be up and running in a few days when our investigation has been completed." Sergeant Ridgeman's demeanor softened slightly as he sensed Han's sincere frustration.

"Yes. Absolutely correct Sergeant! The data can be retrieved. Though there are far greater things which may not be recovered. Gentlemen, we must be moving on to Mr. Larsen's lab." Again Raimi's quick movements ushered him into the hallway as he disappeared into the darkness. Sergeant Ridgeman was left to escort the others.

Hans shot Eric a penetrating glare "Congratulations Eric! When were you going to tell me about your promotion? It's seems as if yet again I have been left out of the loop. Why couldn't you tell me that you were operating another lab? Why all the secrets? Why couldn't you tell me about what you were working on?"

"Because..." Eric seemed to be searching for words to pull this new dagger from Hans' back. "Because, you're not going to like what you see." Eric turned and exited the lab before he could see Hans' reaction.

Hans walked down the corridor more than just lost in thought. Somewhere between his lab and Eric's they had gone through a door that Sergeant Ridgeman unlocked with a proximity card and from that point onward he felt as if he had stepped into an alternate universe. Hans had been told that this wing and all subsequent floors were dedicated to government funded projects and therefore off limits to unauthorized personnel but he had no idea what those projects were. As Hans followed behind Eric he noticed that the halls were absolutely free of clutter. The highly polished stainless walls were free from adornment save for the recessed indigo lighting that hovered inches from the floor. The whole place reminded him of an institution mixed with the antiseptic feel of a surgical ward. He had no idea exactly how close his impression was to the reality of the blue hallways.

Ahead Hans could see Eric disappear into what seemed to be a dark hole in the wall. As he approached he realized that it was a doorway with a proximity sensor like the one that permitted entry into the blue wing. The room beyond was unlit and seemed to radiate a dark warmth. This is Eric's lab? What kinds of experiments were done in the dark? "No good can come of this..." Hans whispered to himself as he entered.

Eric feigned surprise as he surveyed the overturned cages and papers spread over the floor. He ran to the smaller cages that lined the wall and pretended to check their contents. Raimi watched as Eric finally acknowledged the shiny steal of the empty cage. "Pieces! Oh my God! Where is he?" Project Pieces had been the unofficial named of Eric's project. "Tell me they didn't take him!" Eric felt he was giving the performance of a lifetime.

"It wasn't all they took." Raimi said as he looked down his nose at Eric and watched as he searched the cage for the animal. Raimi nodded to Sergeant Ridgeman and then walked out of the lab.

Hans walked aimlessly around the room staring in shock at the aberrations inside the cages. Sergeant Ridgeman could hear him murmuring interrogators like Wha..? How...? He placed his hand on Hans' back and guided him out of the lab. Eric, realizing that there was nobody left to act for, gathered himself and followed.

They passed another proximity door and Hans could feel the ambient temperature drop drastically. Shortly he could see his breath billowing before him. This must be the Isothermal facility Raimi mentioned. Hans' sense of foreboding became almost debilitating. When he thought about what he had just seen his legs would start to give out from below him. Sergeant Ridgeman was there at each falter with goal oriented statements like it's not much farther and we'll be there soon.

As the thought that he could go no further crossed his mind he could hear Sergeant Ridgeman say that Project Patchwork was dead ahead.

The lab doors opened and condensed moisture crawled along the ground as it dissipated into the air. Thermal garments lined the entry way to the lab. Hans noticed thinned neoprene surgical gloves stationed at the end of the garment isle. They would give a blend of protection from the low temperatures and biological infection while maximizing surgical dexterity. Hans had only used them once before while dissecting cranial tissue infected with the Ebola virus back in 96. What horrors could they be working on here? He thought as his spotted the operation theatre.

Although familiar with its layout from the blueprints Carmen had pulled from the Cambridge fire database the look of awe that Eric wore was truly genuine as he neared the surgical stage. Robotic surgical arms hung lifeless from the ceiling. Their computerized assistance was needed during the delicate neurosurgery that went on here. Thin surgical probes could delve deeper than the smallest human hands ever could. Advanced software algorithms cancelled any tremor seen in the surgeon's hand giving exact surgical strokes. He was amazed by its technological elegance. The night of the break in was the first time Eric had actually seen the system but he had seen a similar remote surgical robot that NASA and MIT had been co-developing. The science and technology required far surpassed the crude surgery used during the development of Pieces.

Raimi walked around the far side of the operating table and started to flip switches. Plasma panels started to light around the perimeter of the OR. "Gentlemen I would like to introduce you to my project... Project Patchwork." Eric felt a rough shove from behind and turned to see Sergeant Ridgeman pointing a black 9mm at him. "and from what Sergeant Ridgeman tells me Eric, you seem to know a great deal about it already."

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Chapter 2: Part 2, C.A.B.L.E.T.V.

2005-07-15T12:46:00.000+04:00

The dark skyline of Boston passed by as Jen stared out the passenger window of the Altima. The sedan's engine purred as Corina roared down Mass Ave. The streets were paved in an orange yellow glow from the sodium arc lighting of old street lights. Jen's stare never left the reflection in the rear view mirror. The Vion facility seemed to dominate the image of the Cambridge landscape. A cold shiver racked her body as she realized that it followed her everywhere, even in her dreams.

Turning the radio down Corina turned to Jen. "So what the Hell's going on?" Noting Jen's tense posture she tried to lighten up the mood in the car. "You know not to bother me when I am searching for porn online!" Jen didn't even flinch at the joke. "Yo Jen! Earth to Jen!"

"Sorry. Did you say something?" Jen's distracted reply sounded like it had come from miles away. Slowly Jen peeled her eyes from the mirror and turned to Corina. "I.... I'm sorry, I just haven't been sleeping well the last few days."

Corina looked at Jen and saw the dark circles under her deep blue eyes. Her long blonde hair had roughly been tied into a knot behind her head and held in place with a pair of chopsticks. Jens normally well coordinated attire was now a mismatch of styles and color. A powder blue sweater covered a yellow halter top and her long legs were barely covered in a pair of dark blue capris. It wasn't the best choice for a late October night.

"Is it Eric? I told you girl, that boy ain't no good." Jen nodded in disagreement. Sensing that she wasn't getting anywhere with this line of questioning she tried a new direction. "So what's this all about Jen? You get me out on this godforsaken night, ask me to bring my medical bag and then you go all catatonic on me." There was a long pause and not knowing if she was getting through she continued. "You said that Jackson needed some help. Is he hurt?"

Jen opened her mouth as if to say something and then paused as if searching for the right words. "He's at the house, he called me right before I grabbed you and said he'd been bitten."

Corina could see the worry in Jen's eyes, this was something more than just a bite. She refocused her attention on the winding road that lead up to the Longwood medical district. A dense fog was starting to build up along the roadside limiting Corina's vision. The North Eastern campus wasn't much further. "Why doesn't he go to the hospital? He's going to need antibiotics and a rabies shot. That's just stuff I don't have in my little black bag."

A quite look of desperation crossed Jen's face as she spoke deliberately. "He can't go to the hospital. At least not until you check him out and I speak with Eric." Jen was about to say more but Corina cut her off.

"Jen! I've had enough of this shit! What does Eric have to do with any of this and why does Jackson need to get his permission to be treated at a hospital?" Jen started to tear up and her bottom lip started to quiver. Corina saw how traumatized Jen was so she lowered her tone "Just tell me what's going on." Reassuringly she put her hand on Jen's trembling arm. "Whatever's going on... I'll do my best to help Jackson."

Jen started with a timid question. "Have you ever heard of the activist group C.A.B.L.E.T.V.?" Corina had seen leaflets in Jen's apartment with the logo printed in bold letters on them. She had also seen them posted all over the bus stops and train stations in and around Boston. They espoused the numerous dangers of viral testing on animals and the immorality of its practice. "It stands for Citizens Against Biological Engineering and Testing of Virus's. We are a small activist offshoot loosely based on P.E.T.A. and the Modern Luddites."

Jen continued, finding strength in the confession. "Both groups outwardly practice passive resistance but secretly fund smaller subgroups like C.A.B.L.E.T.V. to do their dirty work." Corina had known that Jen was involved with P.E.T.A. and on numerous occasions witnessed her vocally calling for a more aggressive stance against animal testing. She never would have imagined Jen's deeper involvement in a shadow group. "Most of our efforts had been focused on hacking into local biotech databases and spamming their websites with our literature but, recently we have been getting into more aggressive tactics."

"Aggressive tactics, what the hell is that supposed to mean? Jen what did you Get yourself mixed up in?" Anger and concern flashed within Corina's questions.

Jen's strength faltered slightly as she began again. "C.A.B.L.E.T.V. broke into the Vion Labs two nights ago. It was just going to be a simple evidence gathering but we... we found something." Corina's jaw lay agape as Jen continued. "The labs were filled with nightmares." Jens stare became distant and removed as she became lost in memories. A single tear traced its way down the ghostly landscape of Jens pale cheek only to be swallowed by the soft cotton sweater. "They weren't meant to exist on this earth. Half creatures somehow living. Eric said they weren't in pain, but the sounds they made and they way they moved..." Jen's voice trailed off into a whisper.

"Stop it Jen! You're scaring me!" Corina's plead landed on deaf ears.

Jen's lips started to tremble as she resumed speaking. At first her lips mouthed the words and then a soft whisper became audible. "We made our way deeper into the darkness. They don't use lights there you know! Eric says it's because the creature's eyes are so sensitive. I think it's because they don't want to look at what they've created." Every word was punctuated by a distant emotionless silence. "Beyond the blue hallway is where we found the dog. I thought it was dead at first, it was so cold, but then it moved when I touched it." Jen was wringing her hands as she continued. "The poor animal appeared to have been drugged and tortured. By the looks of all the scars it must have undergone countless surgeries. So many that we couldn't even tell what kind of dog it was, but it was big. It was Jackson who suggested we take it as evidence and inform the M.S.P.C.A., so we did. We took it and the dead body we found in the Isothermal lab."

Corina slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a halt. The two sat silent in the car for a minute before she said anything. "You're not making any sense Jen. You mean to tell me that not only did you break into a high level bio-research facility but you also stole property, namely a corpse and a test animal, and this animal has bitten Jackson...." She was answered by silence. "Yo this is messed up!"

Corina looked out the window to pull back into the street when she saw looming in front of her the gothic architecture of the brownstone apartment that housed the Omega Psi Phi brothers. Long ago the original structure was used to provide affordable housing for low income families and had fallen into disrepair, but since then it had been bought up by the local chapter of the national black fraternity. The refurbishing of the building had been haphazard as each year new students decided to take up various projects and left others unfinished. The windows were all mismatched but the exterior was in good condition considering the neighborhood. Most of the outside work had been done by Jackson and a tall lanky brother named Andre.

The interior was an entirely different story. Before the brotherhood bought the building it had been looted by squatters who had torn out all the copper plumbing and wiring and sold it to the local scrap yards. Thanks to the national fraternities connection at the Boston housing authority they were able to get a certificate of occupancy well before the apartment building would have been habitable.

A dark shadow graced the front archway of the building. It was Andre who met them at the exterior door. "Sup ladies? Hell of a night to be out, right?" Andre's voice was extremely deep for a man of his lean build, it reminded Jen of Isaac Hayes. He held the door open for Jen and winked to Corina as she entered to building. "Damn girl you been working out?"

"Just point us to where Jackson is." Corina kept her smile hidden as she walked into the darkened hallway.

"Yo Jen! Your boy's in some rough shape. You mind telling me what's going on, cause he ain't saying shit!" Again Jen didn't even acknowledge the request. He turned to Corina and said under his breath "His leg is really messed up, and she don't look to good either." Corina coolly looked at Andre and gestured for him to lead.

Unfinished walls flanked them as they walk towards the back stairwell. Exposed wiring cried out warnings to Corina's safety conscious mentality as lights flickered on and off briefly. "You should have some real men come in and fix this place up." Corina had just finished thinking that it couldn't get any worse when they entered the back stairwell and she realized she was wrong. A dim exit sign buzzed noisily overhead as they entered, it's red and white glow provided the only light as they entered. Rounding the corner its luminescence only aided in casting dark shadows.

"Only two floors to go!" Andre's glib tone contrasted sharply with the claustrophobia brought on by the dark. A flickering light appeared in the darkness ahead of them. Andre's Zippo provided a beacon for them to follow as they descended into the sub-basement. "Pardon our appearances while we're under construction. Been meaning to fix up some of the lighting down here. Sure could use a women's touch though, what do you say Corina?"

"Your lucky you've got me this far! What was all this before you guys got your hands on it?" Corina's familiarity with the house only extended to the large function room on the first floor during the brothers social nights. She had been invited countless times by Andre to check out his pad on the third floor but had never accepted.

"Like most of the construction built in Boston around the 40's our house has its very own bomb shelter. It goes down fifty feet below street level." Corina could tell she was far below ground as the air was heavy with subterranean dampness. She could feel a growing vibration beneath her feet. She grabbed onto Andre for support as the quaking reached its crescendo. "Don't worry my queen it's just the subway."

Corina pushed Andre away as the noise passed. "Let me guess... the Orange line right?" Andre nodded. "Great, now I have to deal with plaster falling from the ceiling every time a train passes." Regaining her composure she continued to the sub-basement door. "Where'd Jen go?" As Corina opened the door to the hallway faint light trickled in from the hallway's battery operated tap-lights. Andre and Corina entered the long hallway just in time to see Jen opening a door at the far end. "Whose door is that?"

"Jackson's..." Andre stated flatly just before he was cut off by Jen's high pitched scream...

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Chapter 2: Part 1, "Me!"

2005-06-11T23:23:00.000+04:00

He had no idea why he had done it. He only knew that it felt natural, as if his body had needed it. Somewhere deep in the bank of scattered memories a young mother scolded her toddler Don't bite! People don't bite other people. A look of absolute horror had crossed the large black mans' face as teeth became entrenched in Achilles tendon. A large chunk of calf muscle tore free as the owner of it reflexively pulled away in pain. The toddler sat there with his prize as an innocent smile played across his bloody face. It felt like a birthday and Christmas all rolled into one, he couldn't remember ever being happier in his life.

Meanwhile the family pet recovered from its earlier assault and was desperately lunging for the wounded man on the floor. He didn't care any more as he protectively curled around the red lump lying in front of him. We share with our friends the mother stated flatly to the child. A feeling of ownership welled up within him as he turned from the lecturer. This was his, he took it. The muscles in his forearms rippled as fingers dove deep. Grasping it tightly he took another bite. Me! The child protested gesturing to the gore in his hands. Me! He said as an exclamation of ownership. You share or I'll get your father, and he'll take it away from you! The mother stated more firmly. Looking dejected he reluctantly handed the treat over to the dog. The animal immediately turned its attention away from the fleeing prey and hungrily swallowed the scraps in one great gulp. Deep snorts of satisfaction could be heard between the smacking of jowls.

A quiet calm pervaded the atmosphere of the dank room. The only sounds were that of the scrambling man in the corner as he applied pressure to the gaping wound on his leg. Jackson's leg was in shreds and his mind was quickly approaching insanity. Strange thoughts brought on by a looming shock broke with logic. His mind was screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet he was amazed at how his calf had just ripped clean off. He would have expected that a bite would be a clean irregular shaped hole, instead it seamed as if the pressure from the creatures hands and teeth had pulled most of the muscle right off. There was nothing that even approached a bite mark. It looked more like a bloody mass of congealed spaghetti. Jackson wailed in pain as he started to reapply a makeshift pressure bandage to stop some of the bleeding. He immediately knew that it was a bad idea as he saw two pair of glittering eyes turn to him.

"Me!" The creature said through stretched vocal cords. The pitch was a blend of different tones. It gave Jackson the impression that there was more than one person inside the corpse creature trying to get out. "Me!" it said again as it reached out an arm and started to claw itself quickly towards the wounded meal. The corpse's hands worked at a increasing pace as it halved the distance. Jackson's mind snapped to attention as the threat quickly closed in. Reeling with dizziness Jackson found a handhold within a crevice in the wall and pulled himself to a kneeling posture just as the corpse made a swipe at his injured leg. It would have immediately been on top of him if it hadn't noticed the pool of congealing blood left by Jackson. It stopped just a hairs breadth from Jackson's shoe when it dipped its fingers into the warm sticky liquid and brought them to its mouth. Ravenously cleaning them it immediately went back for more.

Seeing an opportunity arise Jackson took the chance and hobbled passed the outstretched arm. He reached the door and the monster was still staring at the pool as if searching for a reflection. When he unlatched the lock on the door he felt the cool night air clear his mind. As passed through it and out into the silent cemetery he could hear a strangled cry of "Meee! Meeeeee!" coming from behind, and Jackson never looked back.

He returned to the blood and felt his strength increasing tenfold with each mouthful of the gritty liquid. There were many things that didn't make sense, along side the many things that he just didn't know. He didn't know who he was and he didn't know what he was, but one thing he did know with gruesome clarity, was hunger...

His muscles seemed to be working together a little bit better as he managed to stand. The room swam for a moment but then coalesced with renewed clarity. No longer clouded by pain his vision took in the dark surroundings. The roughly laid stone walls closed in an area no bigger than a single car garage. Along the far wall a long shelf contained lawn equipment and some mechanics tools. Adjacent to where the dog sat there was a coiled up gardening hose and a watering can. Hanging from a rusting iron hook was a stained pair or work trousers and a dirty Carhart jacket.

Clothing his nakedness had been more of a challenge then he had remembered. Stitches caught on the rough cotton weave of the pants. Trying to get the two halves of his brain to work together was yet another unforeseen challenge. As his right arm was trying to pull the waistband up, his left hand was working to pull it down. Every action took a concerted effort to complete. He could hear a popping sound as a stitch grabbed and wouldn't let go of the fabric. Already halfway through the motion he continued on as fresh rivulet of pus broke free and made a run for the floor before eventually being absorbed into the stained tapestry of his pants.

Clumsily using a monkey wrench he freed the dog and was rewarded with a wet nuzzling into his palm. For the first time since his awakening he felt solid, not whole, but solid. There was an untapped reserve that had been fed by the flesh. It was a deep well, and the trickle of blood and flesh had only wet the bottom. It was all for him, he wanted more, and the door was open...

"Me!" he said walking through the door...

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Chapter 1: Part 10, Starting to Rain

2005-05-19T12:23:00.000+04:00

Hans had been waiting in his office for two hours, why did they have me come in at 10:30 at night just to make me wait? He thought of the horror movie marathon that he had been watching earlier at his home in Acton. Well it's not like I was doing anything great anyways. Sitting at his desk his thumb worried the leather edge of his desk set. He scanned beyond the border of where the dark green leather mat met with the deep cherry of the lacquered wood beneath it. He continued to follow the grain of the wood and stopped at a single picture of Dora that sat alone on the far left corner of his desk. Like a snapshot of time it brought him back to the day they were married. Her face radiated purity and a calming innocence that would always soothe him just as it did now. He booted up his computer and tried to log in to the network. Each time he tried the prompt would return the message "Invalid User: See system administrator".

His phone rang and he looked to see who it was on his VOIP display. He wondered why Eric was calling so late as he picked up the receiver. "Hello Eric, this is Hans."

"Hans. Sorry to bother you this late, I hope I didn't wake you." Eric's usually light tone had a sense of urgency to it as he spoke. "I was calling to see if you knew what was going on at the labs tonight?"

"I am actually at the office right now, I've forwarded my calls. Raimi Walters phoned me this evening and wanted me to come in. He wouldn't say what it was about, only that it was important." Hans' hand lightly stroked his thick grey beard. "Why do you ask? Have you heard anything?"

"Raimi called me about an hour ago and said the same thing but wouldn't go into any detail. Listen, I'll be there in about five minutes. Meet me in the atrium, O.K." Eric didn't wait for any acknowledgement before he hung up the cell.

Hans sat there for a minute after the line went dead and pondered this new event. Why would Raimi want both Eric and he to come in at this unGodly hour. Hans didn't like the way things were going tonight. For far too long he had felt left out of the loop. Even Eric had stopped reporting his findings directly to him, and he needed to know things like viral titers and plaque assays as soon as they had the data. It was the main reason why Hans had the (A.D.A.S.) system or automatic data acquisition servers installed in the labs. With the new system he had regained a little of the control he once had. At this moment though, Hans cursed all computers as he tried to login one last time.

Eric greeted Hans with a cup of Dunkin Doughnuts coffee as the elevator doors opened. "Ahh I see you have become a mind reader too, thanks!" Hans took the cup and sipped the liquid "Two creams no sugar, just the way I like it. Thanks, where's yours?"

Eric lied so as not to seem like a kiss up. "I finished mine on the way." He quickly changed the subject. "So, any word from Raimi?" Hans nodded a no and started to walk back towards the elevator when an armed security officer stepped out of the back office and waved for them to come over.

Hans looked to Eric questioningly as they started to walk to the security office. "Since when do the guards here carry guns?" Hans asked under his breath.

Unexpectedly the guard piped up in a gruff tone "Since the break in on Friday Mr. Delholme." Hans noticed that the guard's uniform was no longer a suit and tie but more of a swat style uniform. The officer's form was swathed completely in black. A tight ribbed sweater flowed into a cargo style pant that ended in tightly laced boots. It had more of a casual commando feel to it then the typical swat uniform. Hans didn't recognize the officer either, he drew a blank when he looked upon the hardened features of his face. "I am Sergeant Ridgeman. The Viron business advisory committee has asked my team handle this investigation."

"V.B.A.C.? Why are they involved?" Eric asked disquieted by the parent corporations involvement. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "A break-in should be handled by the local authorities, shouldn't it?" Eric asked as he regained his composure.

"You are correct Mr. Larsen." A disembodied voice from behind stated wryly. The voice carried an undefined accent that stressed the S in Eric's name making it sound like La'ssoon. A tall shadow took shape from out of a darkened corner. It was Raimi and he had been there the entire time. "But allowing the police to be involved would invite too much curiosity into our research. And we don't want that, now do we Eric?" Eric's demeanor suddenly became sheepish and timid with the insinuation that Raimi's statement implied.

Picking up on this Hans rapidly felt anger rise to the surface "Listen I have had enough of feeling like I've been left out of the joke! I want to know right now what the hell is going on here, and why you have asked me to come here at this hour."

"I assure you Dr. Delholme, this is no joke. As you shall soon see." The last half of Raimi's statement came out in a blur of syllables. "Sergeant Ridgeman, why don't you accompany us to level 3. On the way you can inform us as to what your team has found." Eric and Hans exchanged disquieting glances as Sergeant Ridgeman stood at attention and moved towards the three of them.

All the carefully laid plains seemed do evaporate into thin air with these new circumstances. Although Eric hadn't planned for this to happen he was a master of making things work for him. His mind worked on all the possible permutations of what could happen and his possible plans of action. He felt better as his options opened up. Besides he still had a few cards up his sleeve, or tucked under his shirt he thought as cold steel touched the skin of his back.

As they headed toward the labs on level three though, Eric could not seem to forget Raimi's final statement. It loomed over them like a dark storm cloud. He just hoped that it didn't decide to rain on his parade.

Chapter 1: Part 9, Bert and Ernie

2005-05-04T14:01:00.000+04:00

The phone continued to ring, all she had been able to get was Eric's voice mail. She listened to his recorded voice hoping to find some comfort "Hello you have reached the voicemail of Eric Larsen of Vion Technologies"

...Click. She hung up the phone at the reminder as to why she was in this whole mess.

Damn them, they think that they can get away with what they've been doing! Her fear melted away and was replaced with disgust as she thought of the atrocities that were going on within the mirrored glass walls of Vion's corporate headquarters. They had only seen a handful of labs in the labyrinthine facility and from what they had seen they knew that Vion wasn't playing by the rules of morality.

Eric had guided them as they had snaked their way through the darkened hallways. Energy saving low voltage lighting wrapped the edges of the floor in a muted violet. The lighting only added to the feeling of being lost by giving the illusion that the halls went on for miles. Countless electronically locked doors passed by them on either side before they had come to their first target. Eric had called it a biohazard level 2 lab and that they would be safe entering it. A row of what he referred to as class 1000 hoods lined one wall and computers connected to automated machines lined the other. Carmen and Klaus immediately went for the electronic equipment and started opening the computers and silently removing their hard drives. The lab had been labeled "Tissue Culture and Viral Expression Lab" and Eric didn't answer when Jen had asked what it meant. He had become distant lately and he would get angry whenever she asked him anything about what he did at Vion.

"All set Eric." Klaus said getting up from one of the labs computer stations as if he had just won a pie eating competition. He turned to taunt Carmen who was still working frantically. "One minute forty five seconds. Beat that!"

Jen smiled as Carmen gave Klaus the finger without turning from the gutted computer in front of him. "Done! Lets Rock'n Roll."

"How much time do we have left?" Jen asked as they entered back into the hallway.

"About an hour and ten minutes white bread" Jackson answered using the nickname that referenced her fair complexion. He had called her that since they first met at a bar called the Black Rose in downtown Boston. Hearing the count on the time Eric sped up his pace to just under a jog. "Yo Eric! So where did you say everyone was tonight?"

"They're at the Carlton having their annual share holders meeting. The meeting has been extended to celebrate the FDA approval of one of our lead compounds." Eric hurried them along. "The animal testing labs are ahead on the left and the Isothermal labs are just beyond that." They reached the animal testing lab, or the AT lab as most of the people who worked within its walls called it.

Vion had developed all kinds of cute acronyms to depersonalize the work that they did. The B.E.R.T and E.R.N.I.E projects were a good example. The acronyms stood for the Bioengineering Research and Testing lab and the other lab was for the Enzymatic Resuscitation of Neurologically Impaired Encephalon's. They used terms like "Isolated brain preparations" and "Differential encephalitic transfer". More like brain transplants he said to himself as he thought of the E.R.N.I.E. lab that had continued the work started by neurosurgeon Dr. Robert White back in the sixties.

Jen was the first to enter the AT lab and Jackson followed humming the theme from the A-Team. She was taken aback at the stillness of the room. She had expected it to be all a bustle with jittery animals awakened by the late night intrusion. Instead nothing but silence greeted them as they entered and then a low hum of the negative pressure ventilation system started up as the air displacement sensors acknowledged their presence.

"We should work quickly, security will notice the activity and realize that the subjects aren't due for a feeding for another two hours". Eric pointed out the Labs automated data acquisition server to Carmen and Klaus or "The Nerds" as he liked to refer to them. A muffled argument could be heard as Carmen jockeyed with Klaus to get a head start on the Hardware dissection. "Just be careful of the animals. I am not sure what programs they are enrolled in."

Enrolled she thought to herself, it sounds so callous. Eric's choice of words made Jen question how much he really knew. "Sounds like they should be taking a class at the Harvard Extension School." Peering into one of the smaller cages she could barely make out a shape, when she figured out what it had been she wished she hadn't. Lying in the back of the cage was a writhing translucent sack, each undulating movement produced a sickening sound heavy with sticky wetness. She almost lost her dinner when she saw the undeniable form of a puppy within. As her eyes adjusted to the dark lighting more of the scene revealed itself, she wasn't looking at some cocooned creation, she was looking at a disembodied uterus. Various tubes hydrated and fed the unborn animal within.

Jen let out a gasp "Sweet Jesus" she started to back up slowly as her eyes were transfixed on the meaty lump in the cage. She started to lose her balance as her heal clipped some electrical cables. Falling backwards her hands shot behind her to prevent her from falling on anything. She landed with a hard thump, her tailbone ached and there was a pinching pain in her right arm. The commotion had caught everyone's attention as they turned to see that Jen was on the ground and her arm was wedged between the bars of a shinning stainless steal cage. As the pain abated Jen could feel wet fur beneath her hand and then... she felt it move.

Electric pulses ran through her hand, as she instinctively pulled her arm to her chest and cradled it. The theme song for Beverly Hills 90210 broke through her thoughts as her cell phone continued to ring. The vibrating device angrily buzzed on the hardwood floor. She stood there for a minute realizing that a lack of sleep and the whole ordeal was starting to play tricks on her mind. She picked up the phone "Eric?" There was silence on the other end "Hello!"

"Jen, it's me!" It was Jackson, although at first it was hard to tell because his voice sounded strained. "Jen I need some help!"

"What's wrong Jackson?" Jen asked starting to worry. "Where are you?"

"I am on my way... to the... to the house!" Jackson said between breaths. The house was what all the Omega Psi Phi brothers called their small apartment complex. "It's alive Jen... It's alive!"

"What's alive Jackson? I swear to God If you're messing with me I'll kill you!" She was already starting to pack her things, she knew he wasn't joking.

"The body.... It's alive, and it... it... Shit Jen you have to help me, the damn thing bit me. I'm bleeding pretty badly!" She could hear the pain in his voice.

"I'm on my way. Try to stop the bleeding, use a tourniquet if you have too! I know Eric said not to get anyone involved but I'm calling Corina, and if you have too, get your ass to a hospital!" Jen had met Corina when they were both in pre-med at school but they had lost touch when Jen decided to go into psychology. As fate would have it though, they had been recently reunited when Corina moved in down the hall from Jens apartment. "We'll be there in thirty minutes."

She hung up and gave Corina's apartment a call. All she got though was a busy signal and an annoying recorded message "The number you have dialed is in use right... Click" she folded her cell and ran down the hall. Her fist mirrored her heart as she began pounding on the door.

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Chapter 1: Part 8, First Taste

2005-04-20T10:45:00.000+04:00

The crunching of hard packed earth broke the silence in the dank room. Jackson's heavy footfalls could have waked the dead, and did. His calculating gaze rested on the dog in the corner of the room and felt a malevolent curiosity returned. Thinking that this shit was seriously FUBAR he had wished that he had stuck to the type of civil disobedience that he was used to with the North Eastern University New Black Panthers. He felt that this was way outside what he was used to with the militant militia. The group had started from the campus's black fraternity Omega Psi Phi. It had been birthed inadvertently by some of the brothers trying to clean up some of the gang activity around the neighborhood. One thing that they had come to realize was that the only real way to beat a gang was to become a gang. Lately they had mostly been involved with intimidating what they had felt were traditionally non-black establishments.

How he had gotten involved in this he couldn't remember but he knew it had something to do with Jen. The brothers would certainly beat his ass if they had found out that not only had he been involved with an all white organization but that it had been to get the attention of a white chic. Jackson shook his head to get rid of the distracting image of Jen and took another step towards the center of the room.

Things had gone all wrong since the mission had been green lighted. The task had been two fold. Their main objective was to take photos of the labs and test subjects. Their secondary objective was to obtain any hard evidence of viral testing which was going on in the Vion labs such as clinical results and any loose electronic storage media. They certainly weren't supposed to release any of the test subjects let alone take the dog and the corpse. Like a scene from GoodFellas they moved the bodies in the dark Cambridge side road that diverged employee traffic from Fourth Street into the parking garage. The dog had been agitated at the change of scenery but obviously the animal had been kept too sedated to do anything about it. While the cold weight of the body proved to be awkward even for a man of Jackson's stature.

Jackson broke from the feral stare of the dog to the more interesting and potentially the most damning form that lay motionless on the floor. To take the body had been his idea and he had been regretting it ever since. He had been on watch for two days now and it hadn't been easy, trying to baby sit a nightmare dog and a rotting mass of meat was more nerve racking than he had originally thought and he was supposed to be the tough one. That was the main reason why Jen had asked him to join the group. She had known that he was the Sergeant at Arms for the Panthers and that the role was to maintain and train the other Panthers in weapons handling. While the New Panthers openly professed non-violence Jen had heard the rumors and saw the police headlines about the vigilante militia though nothing had been proved.

At first the dog had been sleeping most of the time, but since the sedative had worn off the beast spent hours eyeing him silently from the corner. At each approach its head would raise and a guttural growl would ensue. Jackson had placed a cut open gallon of Poland Springs and an opened can of Alpo as close to the dog as it would let him and as close as he knew the chain would hold it at bay. What had been the most unsettling was that no matter how much its stomach rumbled with hunger the dog wouldn't touch its food or water. Instead as the time had passed Jackson could swear that the dog started to drool each time he moved within its range.

As he pulled his eyes away from the dog he caught a brief tumult of activity from where it rested. It lay on its side contorting in unsettling spasms. Writhing in pain, unnatural sounds splashed and echoed of the walls making Jackson's skin crawl. What was going on? Was it dying? He didn't have time to think before he reacted, he moved forward trying to prevent the dog any further injury. Damp coldness spread into his large hands as he placed them on the animal trying to stop its head from cracking repeatedly into the rock wall. Jackson's hand cushioned its head from the jagged stone, the sharp edges digging into his flesh as fresh blood spattered its surface. As the intensity of the animals spasms started to calm he removed his hand to check his own injuries. Shit why did I do that, he thought slowly retracting his hand as the back of it dripped blood over the animals head. A split second later the dog awoke. The blood acting as if it were smelling salts. He had barely enough time to pull his hand away just as its jaws snapped shut like a steel trap. Falling backward he tucked into an awkward roll for his large frame. It was just enough to get out of range as a metallic snap of the chains cut through the sounds of his heavy breathing and marked each successive attempt to reach Jackson's throat.

Anger sprang up from a deep well within Jackson as a powerful kick connected with the dog as it made one last attempt for its escaped prey. A glimmer of satisfaction crossed his face as the animal crumbled into a motionless pile on the floor. Jackson started toward the dog to finish the animal off when he felt an icy grip lock onto his muscled calf. He stared down in disbelief as another hand came out of the darkness and latched on just under his kneecap. A disembodied pair of eyes locked onto their target. A tearing sting assaulted his pain receptors as gleaming white teeth sank deep into the soft flesh of his calf.

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Chapter 1: Part 7, Free Association

2005-01-07T13:22:00.000+04:00

A burning cramp started to develop in his diaphragm as the concentration of lactic acid started to build up. The effects of oxygen deprivation were taking their toll on more than one level of his physiology. While his muscles were feeling constricted by the limits of motion his mind roamed boundlessly in the realm of free association.

Out of a formless void a cloud started to take shape. It was a dark storm cloud that transitioned from deep black at the center to slate gray approaching the outside. A cold silver shine on the outer edge gave it a distinct form as if lit from behind by a cold moon. The glinting silver lining had a metallic property that approached the gleaming edge of sharp blade. Unlike the serrated edge of a common kitchen knife this blade had the calculated curve that dissected the cloud with the surgical precision of a scalpel. A long deep incision trailed the mirrored edge as a crimson path traced its way smoothly from the sternum to the carotid artery.

A barely perceptible breath passed over chapped lips as an inaudible curse was muttered breaking his stream of consciousness. Years of studying pranayama forced him to slow his breathing to an imperceptible activity in an attempt to regain his composure. A circular motion of air passed oxygen into his pulmonary system and out in one seamingly seemless motion.

Regrouping his thoughts he decided to continue with the disconcerting image of the cadaver. As he focused on the still nature of the corpse, the immobility of the body reminded him of his current yogic position. The western name of this position was called "The Rock" due to the rigid posture that forced the individual into a painful contortion for hours. All this was endured to hopefully achieve enlightened moments where clarity of thought reigns. The cold gray granite that sits in so many New England yards held more visible life then what moved over his exterior. He was the living embodiment of stone, more emotion had been observed in the face of New Hampshire's Old Man of the Mountain. The stormy gray stone gave way to the ashen hue of deep morbid lividity.

Eric's stone facade crumbled as the image of the body came crashing back into his mind, just as the face of the Old Man of the Mountain fell one clouded morning in the summer of 2003. His mind kept returning to that thought like some perverse game of "Six ways to Kevin Bacon". Eric stretched out his long sinewy legs as the perimeter of his Cambridge condo swam back into view. The whole day had been a waste as far as he was concerned and this was just the icing on the cake. He had spent the whole day in a self-imposed confinement within his 1200 sq. ft. flat.

Ever since his days at MIT he would rather be in a lecture, doing lab work, doing something, anything rather than being stuck in a place where he couldn't network. If there was any one skill set learned at school that he could say was the most valuable it would have to be the ability to network. It was this skill that allowed him to get into the doctoral program at MIT. While there he had continued to grow his web of colleagues and associates. His quick wit and brilliant observations in cellular degradation brought on by sepsis had caught the attention of Manouj Sinharma the director of collaborative research.

Manouj had been courting a rising biotech firm out in California that was interested in some research being done at their sister school. Manouj had sent Eric out to meet with Hans Delholme the CEO of the firm. This initial meeting along with some of Eric's networking had eventually laid the groundwork for the formation of Vion. Hans had respected Eric's abilities and extended a research position at the new company to him. Eric had known that the position was coming, in a way you could say that the position was Eric's idea. Through subtle hints and numerous consultations during the merger Eric had planted the seed in Hans' mind. After almost a year of coaxing Eric had gotten that seed to take root. In the fall of 2000 Eric moved from academia into the private sector, into a position he created. Things had been falling into place just the way he wanted, except for this.

The phone rang bringing him back to full consciousness. Picking up the receiver he answered in a slow deliberate fashion so as to give the impression of being awoken. "Hello... Yes... Could you give me anymore information?" He tried his best to sound confused "Sure... I'll be right there. Give me a half hour to freshen up." He hung the phone up and stood there assessing his situation. Even though they didn't tell him, he knew why they had called. There had been a break-in at the lab. What puzzled him though, was why they had waited so long to call.

His thoughts cleared as he turned the steaming shower to ice cold, a ritual he did at the end of every shower. He stepped out and wrapped a warm towel around him. Pulling on a deep blue cardigan he noticed how it brought out the blue in his hazel eyes. He slide into casual brown corduroy pants that he felt went well with the sweater. They can wait he thought as he made an espresso. Sipping the hot coffee helped him to regain more of his usual composure as the bitter tasting drink warmed him. He threw on a navy pea coat and felt for his ID badge, keys and cell. As he exited his complex his cell phone started to ring. He looked down and saw that it was Jen... She must be a nervous wreck he thought. He did't answer...

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Chapter 1: Part 6, The Call

2004-12-15T21:12:00.000+04:00

The glowing digits of the Westinghouse alarm clock had read 11:30 p.m. although it seemed to be much later to her. Jennifer Hargrove was a nervous wreck, she had been since two nights earlier. Grabbing her cell phone she started to dial a number known by heart and stopped. She tossed the phone to the other side of the bed angry with herself for acting like a scared teenager. The last words Eric had said to her specifically implied to everyone that there was to be no communication until the media coverage had died down or unless he had called first. There had been no news coverage of the debacle. There hadn't even been any radio traffic on Jackson's police scanner hours after it had happened. They had all sat there as the moonlight faded on the 18th in that God forsaken storage building in St. Bernard's cemetery. Each one listening intently to hear the police closing in on them. Instead all they heard was a shooting call at a bar on Revere beach and some vandals seen spray painting at the Downtown Crossing train station.

She flipped on the television and scoured through the news stations. Nothing but the weather and those mind numbing human-interest stories. She laughed as she though of the cleverly worded snippets of reporting that were meant to tug at one's heart, human interest, more like special interest. Her training in psychology kicked into high gear as she analyzed the hidden intentions of those segments. She thought of her slightly paranoid Societal psychology professor Mr. Weber and his lectures on mass media. He would expound for hours on how these segments were meant to create emotional connections with the viewer to offset the mostly lack luster content of local, domestic, and global affairs.

The TV flashed to life as the channel surfing continued. She paused just long enough on MTV to catch a glimpse of a tattooed arm being pierced by a skewer. It had been at least ten years since she had seen anything on MTV that she could identify with or make out anything that resembled a music video. Her thumb reflexively clenched the remote as the numbers in the channel display continued to climb. She paused again as a large man in a bloody apron wielded a wailing chainsaw. She knew this story all too well, in fact her undergraduate study had been based on the dementia of Ed Gein. His horrific activities had spawned many horror movie characters in addition to the infamous Leatherface. Characters like the crazed Norman Bates in Psycho and the cross dressing serial killer Buffalo Bill in the Silence of the Lambs. Even the roughly sewn human skin suit came from the life... nightmare that was Ed Gein. Jen's thumb began to quiver as her blue eyes reflected the violence on screen. Her thumbnail cut a deep impression into the soft rubber of the channel up button as she continued her ascent. Skittering past Jason Vorhees and running from Freddy Kruger her thumb pressed ever faster. Ten more days till Halloween Elvira pronounced on some channel that was running a horror movie marathon. The channel surfing ended abruptly as the sole image of the scarred face of Edward Scissorhands lit the screen.

An image invaded her thoughts. It had been the one she had fought back all night. The image of an eyelid fluttering open brought her back instantly to that lab. Lit from the ultraviolet bulbs of numerous cell culture chambers eerie forms glinted off metalic surfaces. The glacial atmosphere of the isothermal lab had chilled the beads of nervous sweat on her neck and hands. There in the back, lying on a stainless steel exam table, shrouded in darkness and shadowed by IV stands was a body. She exchanged questioning glances tinged with a nervous fright with the members of her cadre. They had expected what they had seen in the animal testing labs, even the dog that had looked like it had been experimented on for months. The sight of which had left them all a little rattled, and now this forbiding form loomed ahead. The corpse looked to be that of a man in his late twenties. Long lines of fresh scars ran over the entire length of his body. It had been hard to discern in the darkness, but something about his face gave her the distinct impression that he was not a consistant organism. His countenance had distinct features of more than one face. A police artist rendering of a crimal from multiple accounts roughly approached how she had felt. Maybe it was how his cheeks were uneven, or that his upper lip didn't match well with the lower. All this could be explained by how stitches pull skin in random directions she thought, but still she could not shake that feeling.

The whole scene felt distant as it replayed in her mind, Jackson's deep baritone voice now seemed mute and slurred as he stated that there was no pulse, even her own movements as she closed in now replayed in slow motion. Her hair as it had fallen in her face as she tipped her head to get a closer look. Misty breath fell on the motionless frame of the body. She jumped back with a startle! The scene came into stark clarity as her inner camera zoomed in on the most minute of motions, the corpse's eyelid had flicked open briefly.

That tiny movement had the same effect as if she had been slapped across the face. The glimmering light of her scented candles contrasted sharply with the harsh glow from her TV. She picked up her cell and dialed Eric's number, the phone had just started to ring when she realized that she had been crying.

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Chapter 1: Part 5, Stand Off

2004-12-06T03:01:00.000+04:00

The stand off had continued for what seemed like an eternity without any movement on either side. Intermittent growls of hunger cut through the air like deafening roars. In the darkness he could sense the creature scanning him, looking for weaknesses, and looking through him... into him. The presence in the corner tracked every flicker and minute twitch of his aching body. After a short while his bicep no longer wanted to play with his newfound friends at the game of being still. Tremulous spasms pinned tendons against muscle. A violent eruption of off-white lava burst from between the sutures in his shoulder. Putrid magma flowed down his arm, renewed with every pulsing flex, unimpeded by surgical stainless or black nylon.

A sudden flurry of movement exploded from the corner and was immediately upon him. It seemed that as soon as the ride had started that it was over and the carnies were telling him to get off, some fun house. His head hit the floor triggering a lightning paced channel surfing of random memories. The remote in the hands of a schizophrenic watching a snowy black and white TV with the volume turned down. Mothers giving comforting hugs, fathers helping with homework, triplicates of holidays, and hundreds of birthdays flickered on the static filled screen. Could that be right? How could he have had hundreds of birthdays? For that matter how could he have memories of more than a dozen different parents.

Through all of the many sitcoms of life that played on the TV the one character that remained the same was the family pet. It was a large Doberman Pinscher that looked as if it was the long-standing champion in a southern Cali dog-fighting ring. Its body had been sectioned off by hundreds of healing scars and fresh stitches. Its body cordoned off into the major muscle groups. The forefoot was bisected by spiraling stitches at the pastern. A large scar ran from the withers down to its chest giving one the impression that it had been split in two and pieced back together, in fact the whole creature looked as if it had been assembled from a multitude of pieces. The other flashes of memories had been frightened away by the image of the dog, even the schizo had abandoned the remote and ran away screaming in lunacy.

The TV went black as sharp claws pulled him back to reality. The dog was no memory, it was real, and it was on top of him. A gaping jaw loomed over him as drool rained down. Any strength that he had gained from his rest now drained from him as powerful paws pinned him to the ground. A rotten stench fell upon him as the beast closed in. This is it he thought, happy to be released from this confused nightmare and hoping that whatever existed beyond this hell had more answers than questions. His arms fought back in vain as the dogs strong neck rammed it muzzle to within inches of his. In an instant it would be over and then peace.

That moment never came nor the peace. The dog's demeanor changed from aggression to a curious sniffing as something had caught its attention. Approaching his jugular the scar-strewn visage had stopped and started moving slowly to his shoulder. Finding what it wanted its mouth opened and a long tongue rolled out. What came next surprised him with a nauseating fascination. As if tending to a newborn the dog proceeded to clean all traces of the fetid puss that coated his arm. When finished the animal strode off him, circled twice and took up its position in the corner. A metallic clinking could be heard as the animal retreated. Someone had placed the dog in chains so that it couldn't get loose. His mind awash in questions focused on one in particular, where were his restraints?

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Chapter 1: Part 4, Vion Rising

2004-12-01T05:25:00.000+04:00

In the late summer of 1986 Hans Delholme had lost his wife to renal failure. After being on an organ transplant waiting list for a year and dialysis for six months her condition declined rapidly. Desperate measures and an experimental new drug being developed at CIT prompted Hans to donate one of his kidneys to his wife Dora. Although far from an ideal donor Hans' kidney would work well for a short time but eventually her body would reject it unless something counteracted her immune system. HYB20-X was that agent, it was the newest development in immunosuppressant technology. Although promising at first the drug worked far to well in dampening her immune system, she eventually succumbed to complications brought on by the common cold.

Two years later with his life savings Hans started a Californian biotech firm called Immunogenix. The corporate profile was much like that of the hundreds of other upstart firms in the US. It was a small privately funded firm with idealistic goals. The company was focused on the budding technology of solid phase DNA/RNA synthesis. After ten years of research and fighting against an approaching bankruptcy Hans' small team developed Immunomix-9. By using modified Short interference RNA (siRNA) to Hybridize across nonspecific genetic divides Immunogenenix was able to create a drug that allowed the cellular DNA of a donor organ to mimic the recipient DNA of the host and visa-versa. Immunomix-9 was the silver lining of Hans' grey skies, the world would be a better place because of it, and it was all for her... it was all for Dora.

In stark contrast to Hans' bright outlook, was the dark financial forecast for Immunogenix. Due to poor business planning the small biotech firm was far overextended financially. There was no way that they could fund the phase three clinical trails needed for FDA approval. A motto that Hans' father told him years back in Norway echoed in his ear canal and reverberated in his mind... "Desperate times call for desperate measures." this was a truly desperate time for Immunogenix. Hans would not let his wifes' legacy fade the way she had... no... he wouldn't let her die twice!

As if in answer to his prayers Hans had received a proposal through his companies business attorney. It was from a large New England Biotech firm based in Cambridge Massachusetts called Viron Technologies. Viron had come into large capital backing from an undisclosed source. They wanted to buy out Immunogenix and all their intellectual property. Hans had known of Viron through many of their publications in the industries most popular journals. Dealing mostly with variant protein coats on viruses Hans had read the articles just to stay up on the tech, but there were a few articles that had really caught his attention.

The articles had dealt with the cellular decay of appendages following traumatic amputation. The Viron scientific advisory committee felt that there was a way to aid the revivification of amputated limbs long after the standard of the S.T.S.D.T.M or Short Time Separation and Decreased Temperature Model that prevailed among medical professionals. This model stated in short that severed limbs could only be reattached if a limited amount of time had passed and the severed limb had been refrigerated, this was also the case for organ transplants. Hans remembered the article because he could see the benefit it would have for transplant patients. The ability to use organs that were no longer viable would have a huge impact on the dreaded transplant waiting lists, being able to use technically dead organs coupled with Immunomix-9 would be the largest medical breakthrough in the history of medicine.

Hans' only concern was that Immunogenix would be swallowed whole by the large biotech firm and Immunomix-9 lost in the merger. Sure their intentions were for the drug and the supporting IP, but they were not divulging whether or not they were going to market it, develop it further, or shelve it to keep it from competing with another drug they might be bringing to market. Viron's holdings were vast and arose from mainly a biotech background, as they had grown they branched out into other fields such as industrial chemicals, leather tanning products, paints and dyes, and computer software. This was not uncommon, most large companies adopted a chimeric structure to soften economic blows when one market had a recession.

The Viron business advisory committee sensed Han's hesitance and reacted promptly. They proposed a new business entity that would consist of their biotechnology division and Immunogenix. Although less daunting then the large corporate entity the new company would still be the largest biotech firm in the hemisphere. The proposal even included a tenured consultancy position for Hans, although he knew that was a bone to entice him into the deal. It wasn't like he would need the money after the sale, as the deal stood right now he would make five million for the company alone and another fifty million over five years for the intellectual property.

After weeks of sleepless nights the tenacity of Viron's business attorneys and a slew of PR and marketing reps broke down any remaining indecision he may have had. After the due diligence had been done the final contract was signed in the summer of 2001. Although just a technicality there was a formal signing where the major players from both companies where present. Hans was the last to sign the stack of documents. Not being comfortable with the formal nature of the meeting, the backslapping, and all the fake smiles, Hans stepped out of the meeting room and into the lobby. An unsettling feeling came across him as he watched a work crew installing the new corporate logo. Claws... bloody claws, Hans thought to himself as he walked under a workman's ladder. As he passed out through the front entry way he looked up one last time at the clean lines and spindly lettering of the new logo that traced out two shadowed words, Vion Technologies...

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Chapter 1: Part 3, Growling with Hunger

2004-11-28T02:33:00.000+04:00

He awoke with a sudden sense of movement about him. Echoes of screams and whispering voices danced on his fluttering eardrums. There was a coating of slime on his face although he couldn't tell whether it was from the floor or from the earlier confrontation with his digestive juices. He could still feel the unknown fisherman testing his lure, each time his stomach would tighten in an attempt to bite back.

He felt as if a good span of time had passed while he had been unconscious, maybe a day or two. The dim light had receded from the X shaped window and had been replaced by an equally irritating purple of an encroaching twilight. His skin was taut against muscles that flexed against each other. Capillaries couldn't get blood to the extremities to wick moisture into the epithelial cells of his flesh. How could capillaries get blood from a heart he had not yet feel beat. A faint aroma of fast food trailed from a pile of discarded trash somewhere in the room. Someone had definitely been here, hidden within the bouquet of McDonalds and Taco Bell there was a trace of cologne and a smell of something more human, sweat.

His existence had not been off to a good start when his stomach caught site of the lure. It took what felt like a giant leap and bit down hard in a twisted pang of hunger. Curling into a fetal position seemed to be the only thing he could due till the fit subsided. The position had not only seemed to quell the hunger pains but it brought a sense of familiarity with it. A common comfort of humanity we all share in utero.

Unfolding his rigid body with a feline flex allowed him the freedom to sit up and gather more of his surroundings. A growl of hunger worked its way through the smell of decay to remind him that the trials and tribulations with his stomach were not yet over. The purple twilight had darkened to a new moon blackness that held no hope visually, yet he found that he could still somewhat see. The ground he sat on and the stone of the walls behind him were a darker black then the pane of glass in the window or the wood of a door that stood opposite him. He changed his viewpoint by moving onto his hands and knees when he was thrown by the fact that he felt like a lopsided table. With arms fully extended he realized that his left arm was at least three quarters of an inch shorter than his right, or was it that his right was longer than his left? A detached growl of hunger reminded him to move slower or test the fisherman's patience.

His ungainly crawl inched the door closer to him when a storm of goose bumps broke out on his shoulders. The skin on the back of his neck tingled as thousands of tiny hairs stood to salute their commander. He turned slowly and came to the realization that he wasn't alone... and that the growls of hunger weren't coming from him...

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Chapter 1: Part 2, Shattered

2004-11-22T05:08:00.000+04:00

With this revelation his nausea subsided slightly. Almost as if the realization that the offending funk was emanating from him somehow lessened its intensity. There seemed to be someone fishing out there because it felt as if he had swallowed a lure, every now and then the fisherman would give the line a tug and a sharp cramp would make his stomach flutter. That was fine, the cramping was something he could manage, the lack of control that accompanied the waves of nausea though, that he couldn't deal with.

The motility of his arms seemed to be getting better. His hands clawed the floor as he tried to explore his surroundings. His curiosity overcoming the pain from the innumerable sutures threatening to tear under the tugging muscles. Every muscle felt as if it had its own mind, each one out of place and not knowing how to work as a team. In fact this feeling didn't stop with his muscles, it continued into his mind. His psyche was a shattered mirror strewn across the floor. Each fragment reflecting some idea that demanded action on his body, trying to impress upon his awareness the directive that they were the right one. Trying to cope with it his entire mind reeled with varied interpretations of every sensation. An unknown groan lost within garbled gasps escaped his mouth in some lost dialect only known to devils. His fragile consciousness succumbed to the pain, nausea, and constant strife within his skull until it finally pulled him under the dark and troubled seas of sleep.

Horrifying images found fertile soil in his sub consciousness as dark seeds took root in aborted thoughts. Flashes of severed hands and organs fused together created a backdrop of puzzle flesh. Pieces of some child's puzzle forced together in an attempt to complete the scene and understand the picture. Corners backwards and edges in the center. What was to be a Thomas Kinkade was a jumbled mass of meaningless lines and colors. Creatures not meant to exist but forced to exist clawed at cages with appendages in wrong places. While needles pierced as they did their work dragging along miles of black nylon. They did their best to fill the gaps between mismatches but couldn't cross the great divide when form did not meet function. Utilitarianism at its best you see, get it to work first, all else is secondary. Beings filled with screams of pain unrealized because vocal cords were deemed tertiary.

As the calamitous visions withdrew other layers of sensations became more pronounced. Pins and needles turned to electric pulses of angry nerves as phantom limbs came online. In the distance bones crunched with a deafening scream. A disembodied voice chimed in "He's the first... the archetype. He was based off our success with the canine studies."...

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Chapter 1: Part 1, Litany of Rot

2004-11-16T23:30:00.000+04:00

He sat there alone, in the dark, quite unsure of his standings in the world. Even the most inconsequential of us have a sense of who we are, we are defined by our accomplishments and our actions, but not him. No, most definitely, not him. He sat there fingering the stitches and staples that crisscrossed his forearm like rusty train tracks crossing the heartland, segregating corn fields from farm. His whole body itched, it was the type if itch that you can't scratch without causing pain, like the itch of a healing wound.

Time swirled around him like the cold Atlantic fog rolling in off Boston harbor. He felt conscious of it's passing but couldn't grasp how long he'd been there. He had tried to move his legs a few times to get up but he couldn't get the myriad of muscles to coordinate the intricate ballet of balance needed to stand. Instead he spasmed a lurch and struggled a stumble to gain a blurred glance of his surroundings. Each time he hit the floor fireworks of pain flared up and exploded in fantastic colors inside his clenched eyelids, wait, did he even have eyelids to shut because he couldn't remember ever blinking.

With every colorful display receding he felt a little more in control of his senses, as the hangover after the fourth of July abated into a dull headache he became more aware of his surroundings. He could tell that he was naked, not so much see that he was naked, but feel that he was unclothed. His epileptic floor routine earlier clued him in to that, as his skin was covered in the wet slime which seemed to carpet the ground. There was a faint stream of light that trickled in through a small X shaped hole in the wall high above him. It was a dim and faded light that seemed only to exist to frustrate him as he strained to see anything illumined by it.

A putrid sweet smell such as that of spoiled ham strode past his nose every once and a while and threatened to entice the contents of his stomach to follow. Unsure of what he ate last and not wanting to go through the uncofortable process of finding out the hard way he jerked his head to the right. The faint light quivered dizzily, the smell grew worse by a magnitude and a fit of retching racked his body as bile passed his lips and joined the other slime on the floor. The smell of rot never ceased assailing his nostrils, in fact it seemed to have crawled up their and set up a permanent residence, green card and all. He turned his head, this time slower, to the left. It seemed no matter where he located his proboscis the smell of rot followed. The futility of being stuck encased in a dark wet stench was almost overwhelming when he made the discovery that it wasn't his environ which throttled him with rot, the smell of rot... was coming from him.

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