Tuesday, 13
Marla sat on her bed and waited until her watch said 4 a.m. on the dot. Jumping up, she put on her boots and tied back her hair into a neat bun. Removing Jakob’s ID card from its plastic holder, she stuck her own photo and name over the top, with the security coding still showing, and replaced it. If she had to pass by a retina scanner, she was probably screwed and the only option would be to turn back, but it was worth trying. She had to know what was really going on in the facility and why someone didn’t want her here. Luckily, the only security cameras she could remember seeing in the building were around the fence and entrance outside, on the first floor and quarantine.
Grabbing her rucksack, Marla headed out. After locking
the door of her room, she made her way quietly to the lift.
If I see anyone, I’m going back.
But no one came. Inside the lift, she pressed the button for floor eleven and as it rose she felt her heart leap into her throat. When it came to a stop, she hesitated for a moment before stepping out. Tommy would kill her if he knew what she was up to. She frowned for a second before deciding to go forth.
The lettered doors surrounded her
in a circle. Remembering which one provided entry to the basement, Marla slid Jakob’s pass into the relevant reader and the door opened; no retina scan necessary. Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked inside. The first lab was empty. Spotting a couple of white coats on hooks, she thanked her lucky stars and slipped one on before walking swiftly into the next room where Jakob had been attacked.
She recalled
the event as clearly as if it had happened the day before and yet there was nothing to suggest anything so violent had ever occurred there. Even the axe was back on the wall, safely behind glass. Marla hurried on, past two offices. Figures moved inside them, hard at work, even at such a late hour, but she didn’t stop for conversation. Keeping her face averted, she kept walking and entered a familiar, narrow passage framed by cupboards of bottles and instruments; everything so neat and tidy. The next lab room opened up. She remembered it was L-shaped and turned with it.
S
trange how there is no evidence at all of the chaos of before.
When the glass
-doored lift came into view, Marla almost expected to see the macabre bloody fingerprints, but they had been cleaned away, along with everything else. After making sure no one had followed her, she used Jakob’s pass again and the door of the lift opened. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath. The floor beneath her feet began to move down.
N
o going back now.
She hoped to be able to leave the basement via the door
leading to the soldiers’ quarters, although she suspected it to be unlikely. Her only reasonable route of return would be to go back through the laboratories. The recklessness of her plan suddenly dawned on her. It was too risky, even though there were no security cameras. What if someone stopped her on her return? Or what if Jakob realised his pass had been used and she still had to smuggle it back to him somehow? What if there were scientists working in the basement this late? Somehow the possibility hadn’t even occurred to her before, so hell bent had she been on discovering what was going on in the facility.
Why am I so
reckless?
The
lift stopped and she stared out through the glass. The basement was very dimly lit by only a few bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Gripping the strap of her rucksack tightly, as if seeking strength from it, she stepped out on to concrete.
A concrete tomb.
Her boots tapped as she took slow steps forward. Remembering the layout, she walked straight ahead, down the narrow corridor. The place had been cleaned up since her last visit. Ahead, she recognised the row of metal worktables from before. Only four of them had bodies upon them. Edging as close as possible to the opposite wall, she ran past, even though they were still and strapped down anyway. When she reached the last one, she turned to look back, realising they were all sedated.
To her left, the basement opened up and she recognised the corridor leading towards the other exit,
through which she had entered with the other soldiers and Caballero. Upon the ground and walls she spotted a faint redness on the concrete, despite the dim light and the fact that the area had since been cleaned. So, the memory of that day had not been scrubbed away completely. It still haunted this area. Turning around, she looked back at the motionless dead-lookers and then the other way. Straight ahead were two doors that she had never noticed before. Gripping her rucksack, she marched towards them.
Without pause
, she tried the first handle and then the second, but they did not give. Reaching into her pocket, Marla removed Jakob’s security pass and tried the first door. It clicked.
I’m in luck!
Replacing the card in her jeans, she took her knife out of her pocket and pushed down on the handle again. The door opened with a creak that seemed loud enough to wake the dead. Marla gritted her teeth and stepped across the threshold. Inside it was pitch black.
Stepping back
automatically, she reached her hand up to the wall, stretching her fingers for a switch. Finding none, she took her torch out of her bag, turned it on and found herself in a long, cold brick corridor, empty of anything. Closing the door quietly, she walked the length of it, knife in one hand and light in the other. At the end it turned and she went with it. Then the ground gave way to a flight of stone steps leading downwards.
Another level?
Marla
hesitated for a second, but her curiosity overwhelmed her and she instinctively made her way down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. At the bottom she was greeted by a metal door. Taking a deep breath, she tried the handle: locked. Marla sighed and then noticed a security card reader.
I wonder?
Trying the card again, the lock clicked and she smiled.
Pushing the door, she walked inside an oblong-shaped room. After pressing
a light switch on the wall, she replaced her torch in her bag and paused as the light fitting flickered to life. It was a long fixture, running from one end of the oblong-shaped room to the other. At the far end was another door. A strange smell greeted her nostrils; a heady mix of raw meat, chemicals, cleaning products and that familiar putrid scent.
Bookcases filled from top to bottom with volumes lined the right-hand wall, along with cupboards and shelves well stocked with jars and bottles of colourful liquids. A couple of
hi-tech computer systems perched on a desk, accompanied by as many chairs. Various pieces of equipment that would not be out of place in a hospital were dotted around, but what grabbed Marla’s attention above all else were the metal worktables. They were pushed against the left-hand wall, between the machines, and she counted thirteen in all, as if the devil were having a joke. Each one had a sheet lying on top of it. As she drew nearer, it became apparent that there was something beneath them all, and they were not still.
Bodies.
They moved.
The rise and fall of breathing, accompanied by the sound of it, but very low. There were no wails or moans, and Marla wondered if the dead-lookers were gagged. Making her way towards the first worktable, she placed her rucksack on the ground. Gripping her knife in her right hand, she carefully reached out her left and took hold of the edge of the sheet to draw it back ever so slowly.
The head
made an effort to turn as the blood-splattered eyes darted towards her, but a leather strap held it secure. Marla received her answer for the lack of sound: the lower jaw was missing. The dead-looker’s tongue twitched around uselessly in the gaping hole, accompanied by a strange hissing. She almost felt sorry for it. Dragging the sheet back, all the way towards its feet, she gazed down at the creature. With all of its limbs strapped down, it could not move, only breathe. Its eyes did not leave her face and she recognised the irrepressible ravenousness in them, even now. She drew the sheet back down until it covered the thing’s head.
Taking careful steps, Marla moved to the next
worktable and drew back the sheet warily, holding her left hand as high as possible and keeping the knife ready. She took a deep intake of breath. It was impossible to tell how this one used to look as the entire face was gone. A clean skull with one bloodshot eye gazed back at her, the lower jaw missing. She let the sheet drop back down. A female cadaver lay on the third table with the same facial mutilation. Marla shivered and covered it once again. At the next, she reached out and pulled back the sheet as before, and dropped it at once. It was all she could do to remain silent.
Stepping backwards, she steeled
her nerves and forced herself to pick up the sheet again. Drawing it over the stomach of the corpse, she stared at the visage that had made her tremble. It was the old man from the bus; the one they had rescued from the church. Marla gasped as the eyes looked at her. She knew it could not recognise her, but still, she knew those eyes, once so blue, as she stared back into them. They were empty now, lifeless pools, but she saw the man he once was in them. Covering her nose as the scent of rotting flesh swept upwards, she gazed down at the maggots gnawing into his shoulder. Yet all she could see was the living man, asking her to make sure his wife was fine.
Caballero, what have you done? Lethal injection, you told me.
Her instinct was to take her knife and put him out of his misery, but she could not. Deep down she realised this was not him, not any longer; this thing no longer felt or thought, or retained anything that once made it human. Yet it was wrong to ignore this; she knew it was wrong. The man should have been allowed to die with dignity and out of compassion. Letting the sheet drop over his head, she stepped away. This was too much. Suddenly she felt angry with herself. Was there any point in her coming down here and discovering all this? Who could she tell and who would believe it? How could she stop it or change it? Caballero had to know; he was in charge. She stared at the ground, trying to rein in her rising anger.
He lied to me. He lied to everyone.
Her thoughts switched to Will Acre. Had he been acting on Caballero’s orders? Who else knew about this?
She took in all of
the steel operating tables.
How can this be happening? What are they doing here? What the hell are they trying to prove?
A slip of a sigh woke her from her reverie, but then she realised it came from her own mouth. Her watch said 5.06 a.m. It was time to get a move on and ignore the jumbled thoughts swirling in her head.
Turning to the fifth
worktable, she reached for the edge of the covering and pulled it back.
Male, young… or was.
Both arms were missing and the bottom of the left leg. They had not been bitten or torn off either; the cuts were too smooth. If she had to guess, she would conclude the limbs had been amputated. There was no sign at all that the man had been attacked by the dead. Releasing the cloth, Marla walked away, ignoring the pressing questions in her mind.
The sixth cadaver was also male, but a boy.
Marla drew in a breath as the eyes fixed upon her. The top of its head had been sliced off cleanly, revealing the brain, which looked shrivelled and rotten. Maggots crawled amid flies. His tongue was also missing, as was his stomach cavity. The stench overcame her and she dropped the sheet in disgust before moving on to the seventh body. As she neared it, she felt the sensation that someone was standing behind her. Turning swiftly, she came face to face with empty space. Except for her undead companions and her own shadow, she was alone.
Don’t be paranoid, Marla, she told herself
, walking towards the eighth worktable; her lucky number, the symbol of infinity. Reaching down, she lifted the sheet and gasped. Her fingers trembled as the eyes met her own, but they were neither bloodshot nor empty. Full of life, they searched her face, their expression so wrapt with fear and despair as to invite the utmost pity. It was all she could do not to cry out. The lower jaw was missing, just like the others, but his tongue had been cut out. A now familiar type of leather strap secured his shaven head, keeping it motionless on the metal table.
Marla winced.
Part of her wanted to run away, put the sheet back down and go, but the other part convinced her to drag it all the way off, so she did, as he watched her every movement, pleading with his eyes, almost asking her to…
The blood pumped in her ears as she gazed upon what was left of his body
, lying there naked and bruised, so helpless. Various tubes led in and out of it, the skin around the holes sore and oozing pus. Scars crisscrossed his torso, all the way from the pubic area to his neck. His entire right leg was missing and both forearms. The left foot had also been removed. A swollen, purplish lump of tissue seemed to be growing out of his stomach, but Marla could not begin to guess what it was. Tears filled her eyes as she glanced once more at his face. He was alive, breathing, and she could not tear her eyes away from him. Her attention shifted to a tattoo above the knee on his left leg. It was of a pair of dice and a card bearing the Jack of Spades. The sheet dropped from her hand as she turned and stared at the wall, trying to control her emotions.
Anger,
disgust and pity tore through her, swiftly followed by a grim realisation: there was nothing she could do to help him. Wiping the wetness from her eyes, she forced herself to turn around once more. Gazing into his eyes, she thought of all the questions she wanted to ask, which he was unable to answer. “I’m sorry, Robert,” she said, knowing the words meant nothing. “I’m so sorry.”