Anthology of Ichor III: Gears of Damnation (14 page)

Shit
.
Security around the plant was tighter than Area 51.

Roger waited until the men dispersed, and then slunk over to the building, glancing left and right as he went. The moon was bright, so he was at a disadvantage. The guards could spot him from a mile away, and that would mean the end of his Herculean journalistic career.

He wouldn’t get caught. He couldn’t get caught. The town needed him too much.

Slipping around the building, Roger paused to make sure he wasn’t being followed. It was difficult to stay undetected because the building was round. That meant there were no corners to hide behind. A guard could appear at any moment.

Roger slunk forward a few more feet, and then stopped dead in his tracks. There was a security camera staring him dead in the face. Luckily, the electrician hadn’t finished wiring the security system. He could tell, because the red light was extinguished. He was safe. For the moment, at least.

A pair of dark figures appeared in the distance, sauntering down the chain link fence. It was the border patrol. They seemed to walk the perimeter every fifteen minutes. He monitored their position, waited until they were out of sight and then bolted for the main entrance, a pair of gigantic double doors.

If he played his cards right, he could slip behind the guards as they changed watch and break the glass to gain entrance, but he wasn’t that lucky. As he moved around the building, he caught sight of two stalwart figures. Both stood on either side of the entrance, and both carried very mean-looking automatic rifles. There would be no pesky journalists getting inside tonight.

Roger cursed under his breath. There had to be another entrance, another way to get inside without being seen. Maybe a fire escape or a cellar door or a…

Ventilation shaft.

Roger couldn’t help but smile. Just a few feet above him was a metal grating. It wasn’t much, but it was big enough to crawl through.

He grabbed the grating with both hands and pulled. Hard. The cover came loose with a soft grumble and fell to the ground at his feet. It was loud, but not loud enough to rouse his heavily-armed counterparts. He felt an exhilarated chill run through his limbs. He had discovered a way into the factory!

Take that, James Bond, you English bastard!

“
Hey! You! Freeze!”

Roger twirled around and saw two figures rushing toward him. Their faces were dark, empty, like two freakish Frankenstein dolls. But they weren’t dolls. They were part of a highly-trained security corps, and right now they had their guns trained on Roger.

“
Fuck this,” the aging journalist grumbled. A moment later he was gone, vanished into the ventilation shaft. He could hear the guards shouting into their radios as he proceeded along the narrow channel. They were cursing, pacing back and forth, not sure what to do next. No doubt they had alerted the interior security team, but he didn’t care. One step at a time, his journalistic instincts told him. He’d come too far to turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, Roger paused at a three-way intersection. The saliva in his mouth tasted like copper. He must have bitten his lip when he hoisted himself into the ventilation shaft. Below, he could hear footsteps thunder past, no doubt trying to pinpoint his location.

Convinced he was safe for the moment, Roger carefully chose his next course of action. He didn’t know exactly where the shafts led, but he knew where he wanted to go. If Wonderworld Industries had something to hide, they would hide it in the most secure place possible, a place not accessible by general employees. They would hide it in the darkest corner of the deepest bowels. And that was where his story lay.

Roger shimmied forward on his stomach, trying not to make much noise. It was a tight fit. He was lucky he’d stayed in such good shape. Those afternoon jogs through town paid off after all. Now if he could just figure out where the hell he was going…

The answer came a moment later. On the floor of the ventilation shaft was another grate, and through the grate he could see a small room. It was probably a storage closet or heating room by the looks of it. All the better to slip in and out without being seen.

Dropping into the musty room, Roger took a second to survey his surroundings. He’d been right. It was a storage closet, but not just an average everyday storage closet. It was a closet filled with empty syringes and bubbling vials, wicked-looking scalpels and surgical masks.

Roger took out his camera and snapped a few photos. The flash glimmered off the razor-sharp blades and meticulously labeled vials. He tried to read their contents, but gave up a moment later. They were long, scientific names, and it would take him ages to write them down. A picture was the best he could do.

Sliding through the darkness, Roger pressed his ear against the door. He couldn’t hear any movement on the other side, but a horrifically sweet scent wafted into his nostrils. It was the scent of raw meat and new death, a potent combination. He had only smelled that once before, in the motel lobby, as he’d stared down Enrico’s disembodied head.

Son of a bitch
.

Roger took another deep breath and pushed through the door, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw on the other side.

Strapped to a chair with leather restraints, sweating profusely, was the mayor Ignacio Salvador. Or what had once been Ignacio Salvador, at least. He now looked more like a bloated, hairless pig, his crooked snout blowing snot down his chest. Big, raw pimples covered his forehead, all white and brimming with pus, but most disturbing were his hands—or rather, the lack thereof. Where carefully manicured fingers should have hung, there were disfigured hooves instead, cracked and crawling with algae.

The putrid creature twitched and squealed despite the duct tape holding its jaws shut. The scent of human feces was overpowering. Ignacio must have been held captive in this musty basement for months on end. And he hadn’t been alone.

Roger stumbled back toward the closet. At first the room had been so dim he could barely see, but now that his eyes had adjusted he was aware of the cages surrounding him.

“
Oh my God.”

There must have been a dozen of them; five-foot-high cells with tempered steel bars on all sides. Still, it wasn’t the cages that scared him and elicited the exclamation of horror. It was the creatures
inside
them.

Each specimen was at a different stage of mutation, much like Ignacio. Unlike Ignacio, their eyes were blood red. They seemed to have lost all remnants of their humanity, and were reduced to insane, mindless freaks. A few rattled the bars of their cages, deformed muscles rippling, teeth bared, while others sulked in the shadows, watching silently, but stricken with an irreparable anger nonetheless.

Roger tried to get them to calm down, but that didn’t seem to work. The creatures only throttled their cages with added intensity. Some began screeching like a pack of mutilated badgers, and a few even launched mounds of feces in his direction. They were like apes, completely and utterly stripped of human intelligence and emotion.

So this is human nature in its most basic form, Roger thought grimly. He didn’t care to stay in the presence of such monsters. He wanted to turn his back and flee the factory, forever forgetting what he had seen. But he knew that wasn’t possible. He had a story to dig up, and besides, he could never forget what he’d seen tonight. The images were burned in his brain for all eternity, scorched by the brand of incomprehensible dread.

“
Help me.”

Roger spun around. The voice seemed to originate from one of the cages, but how one of these deranged creatures could utter such a phrase, he had no idea. It seemed impossible that any of these monsters could compose a single rational thought.

“
Help me,” the voice repeated. It was dry and throaty, yet morbidly intelligible.

“
Who said that?” Roger whispered.

A face appeared out of the darkness, framed by impenetrable steel bars. It was orange and swollen, but visibly more human than its counterparts. There were still glimmers of intelligence hidden behind its bulbous yellow eyes.

“
What’s your name?” Roger asked, but that was where the intelligence ended. A dark shade seemed to draw over the creature’s eyes. His cracked lips opened and closed, but no sound came out. His mind was slowly rotting. A fat red tongue swept down his chin, across his cheek, and up his nose, as if to see whether he himself was edible.

“
Help me.” The mindless plea for mercy was repeated. Then his eyes went dull.

Roger backed away from the cage slowly, his camera ready to photograph the subhuman apparition, but at the same moment he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. It was strong, and sent a chill down his spine.

“
Why hello there, Mr. Smith. Pleasure you could stop by this evening.”

The journalist jumped, twisting away from the vice-like grip as quickly as his aging body would allow. His heart was two thirds of the way up his throat by the time his eyes readjusted to the gloom.

“
Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

“
Nothing, really. I just wish to chat. That’s all.”

Roger swallowed. The man who addressed him was a tall fellow with pale skin and a high forehead. His cheekbones were well pronounced, supporting two deep-set eyes that looked hollow in the darkness. He wore a three-piece suit consisting of a white jacket, slacks, and a faded pink shirt. No tie.

“
What is this place?” Roger demanded.

“
Easy. Easy. All things in time. First, I would like to know how you got into my little laboratory.”

“
Only after you tell me what the hell you did to these people.”

“
People?” the man laughed. “I wasn’t aware that they were people. They look more like animals to me. Helpless, furry little animals.”

“
You didn’t answer my question.”

“
Didn’t I? So sorry. I must have been too busy admiring your
camera
.”

Roger took a step backward. Several of the caged creatures wailed and lunged at his legs.

“
This is my personal property. You can’t have it.”

“
Pity.” A sad smile appeared on the man’s lips. “That means I’ll have to take it by force.”

“
Ha. Good luck.”

“
Either you give the camera to me, or end up like Mr. Ignacio here.”

The man swept his arm toward the mutilated sack of human misery. The mere gesture evoked a torrent of terrified squeals from the swine-like creature.

Roger felt his mouth go dry. He had to stick to his guns, or he would never get out of this man-made hell. Determination had gotten him into this situation, and determination could get him out.

“
First tell me what you did to the mayor.”

“
Very well. You see, Wonderworld Industries is not really a pharmaceutical company. On the surface we might look like one, producing medicine and researching viruses But inside, behind closed doors, our specialty is a little more, how should I say… macabre.”

“
You test illegal drugs on human subjects.”

The man frowned. “Human is a very relative term. I prefer to use the term
specimen
.”

“
A human being is a human being. You can’t just take their humanity away, for Christ’s sake. That’s… inhuman.”

“
Ah, but what makes a human
human
? Is it two arms and two legs, two eyes and two ears? No, because almost all life on earth shares those characteristics. Does wearing clothes and talking on a cellphone make a human? No, because apes have the ability to wear clothes and talk on cellphones. The only reason they don’t is because they fell behind in the evolutionary process.”

“
What are you implying?”

“
I am not
implying
anything, Mr. Smith. All I’m saying is that
we don’t know
what separates humans from animals. But we
have
discovered a common link.”

“
Which is?”

“
Rage,” the man smiled, “the complete and utter need to destroy one another. That is the founding principal of Darwinism, and it has been proven true time and time again throughout the centuries. Think about it. Every war this planet has sustained has been the product of primal hate, the overwhelming need to destroy.”

“
That’s not true,” Roger exclaimed. “There are good people out there. People who loathe violence. People who are trying to bring about a brighter future, free of petty wars and needless killing.”

“
Maybe,” the man said. He took a threatening step forward. “But in the end they are just suppressing their most primal desires. Take a look around you. Do these
animals
look human to you?”

Roger edged toward the closet door. The room was filled with inhuman screams and grunts. The creatures were struggling to break free, rattling their cages, thrusting knobby arms through the bars. Their eyes were swallowed up in madness.

“
Do you know what my research has led me to believe, Mr. Smith?” The man approached Roger slowly, menacingly. His cologne mixed with the damp scent of feces and produced a truly horrifying aroma. “There is no difference between humans and animals. We are all exactly the same. We are all prone to the same ‘inhuman’ actions. We all lust for violence and bloodshed and misery, and once we are stripped of the barriers society has placed upon us we become nothing more than mindless zombies.”