Authors: Richard Parry
Biomne was built using such men.
She’d arrived at the vaulted door leading to Birkita’s room, her feet walking the path without her noticing.
She placed her hand against the door, then stopped.
The chatter of gunfire was clear, forces storming the building against the Ebonlake team she controlled.
Spencer had been an asset, but she’d miscalculated his allegiance.
She’d figured him as a straight mercenary without ideals; she’d been wrong about that.
Elsie frowned — she was so rarely wrong about the motivations of men.
She’d cut him loose, but not before he’d managed to fracture the Ebonlake company from within.
They’d offered her a discount.
As if a discount would make up for the death of her daughter — if it came to that.
No time for the hazmat suit.
It was too late for that anyway — today Birkita would live free, or…
She stamped down on that thought as well.
There was only one outcome Elsie would allow.
She swiped her card across the lock.
“Please identify yourself.”
The recorded voice was male; she detested computer systems with female voices.
As if women were somehow easier to talk to, weaker, more pliable.
The softly cultured tones from the machine were British.
“Elsie Morgan.”
“Welcome, Ms. Morgan.
I have detected stress anchors in your voice.”
“It’s been a busy day.”
“Duress avoidance phrase recognised.”
The door locks disengaged with a soft hiss of air, and the heavy door eased open on hydraulic lifters.
“Enjoy your stay.”
She walked into the dark airlock, orange hazmat suits lining the walls.
She faced a door, a small screen mounted beside it showing Birkita’s life support signs.
Her daughter’s cortisol was elevated, as was her heart rate — normal reactions, considering the circumstances.
She placed her palm against the screen, and the interior door clicked open.
“Mom!
You’re not wearing a suit!”
Birkita looked at her, half in alarm and half in excitement.
“Is it…
Is he here?
Is it time?”
“Soon.”
Elsie held out her hand.
“Let’s go.”
Birkita looked around her at the room where she’d spent the last year, eyes drifting past the toys, the television, and lingering on the bed.
“I’m not coming back here, am I?”
“We’ve got to hurry.”
Elsie tried to keep the anxiety from her voice.
“There’s not much time.”
Birkita ignored her —
her
, of all people — and walked slowly to the bed.
She touched one of the posts, hand lingering against it.
Something fierce crept into her voice.
“Good.
I hate it.
I hate it all, and I just want to leave.”
She turned, grabbing for something on the floor — the wig.
Birkita jammed it on her head, red curls slightly lopsided.
“I’m ready.”
Elsie nodded at her daughter.
“It’s good you want to leave, for what’s to come.”
They walked through the door, past the orange suits, and into the corridor.
Birkita’s bare feet whispered across the tiles.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Elsie walked beside her daughter, but didn’t hold her hand.
She’s too old for such things
.
“You’ll need that fire before the day is done.”
“This man.”
“Mr. Everard?”
“Yes, Valentine.
Adalia talks about him all the time.”
“She does?
That’s nice.”
Elsie was distracted by the sounds from the direction of the elevator.
She hadn’t fired a gun in her life, and had seen no more than a couple of poorly acted action movies —
enough for a lifetime
— but instinct told her violence was approaching.
“Is he a nice man?”
“What?”
Elsie stopped, looking at her daughter as Birkita walked forward a few more steps.
Birkita slowed, then looked back at her.
“I asked whether he’s a nice man.”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to Adalia.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
Elsie started walking again, the briskness in her stride matching her tone.
“Ah, here we are.”
She swiped the card against the door lock, opening the door.
Her daughter stepped through.
“What’s going on?”
she asked, a hand covering her mouth.
“What is necessary.”
Elsie closed the door behind them.
The doctor had put Adalia in the chair, the metal clamps on her wrists hunching her forward slightly.
The girl was snivelling.
Birkita rushed towards her.
“Take these off!”
She grabbed at the metal clamps, trying to remove them.
“Doctor.”
Elsie waved a hand.
The man grabbed Birkita’s shoulders, pulling her back.
“No!
What are you doing?”
Birkita tried to struggle against the man.
It was comical in a way, thought Elsie.
Her daughter had wasted away in that room, all skin and bones, and thought to wrestle with a grown man.
She’d learn over time which fights were worth fighting.
Elsie had learned those lessons; if you only fought when you could win, you got a reputation for winning.
“It’s ok.”
Adalia sniffed.
“Scarlett, it doesn’t hurt much.
The man said that I needed to sit like this for you to get better.”
“What about those?”
Birkita was still struggling, but the fight had gone out of her.
Perhaps she was just tired — Elsie wasn’t sure.
“The drip?”
The doctor looked at Elsie.
“It’s medicine.”
Birkita looked between them.
“Medicine?
She’s not sick.”
Elsie frowned.
“Birkita.
Do you want to get better or not?”
“I — I do.”
“Then this is necessary.”
The door thudded as something heavy hit the outside of it.
Perfect.
The handle clicked and rattled as someone tried to open it from the outside.
Everard had arrived, and soon —
The lock splintered, the door crashing inwards and one hinge giving way.
Adalia screamed, and Birkita and the doctor stumbled back towards the window, knocking the table aside.
Surgical tools clattered in a stainless heap onto the floor.
The door hung at a crazy angle; Volk pushed it aside, wrenching it off the remaining hinge, and tossing the door across the room.
It bounced against the plate glass, the windows bulging a little as they held.
Oh no
.
“What are you doing here!”
The Russian smiled an ugly smile that went all the way to his eyes.
His hands and face were covered in blood, big red streaks flowing down from his mouth, and more was matted in his hair.
He walked over to where the doctor was holding Birkita.
“
Deti
?”
He looked Birkita up and down, one hand reaching up to touch one of the red locks of the wig.
“You keep children here?”
Birkita trembled, hunching back into the doctor, trying to get away from Volk’s blood-stained hand.
The doctor was scrambling back and he let Birkita go.
His heel caught against the floor and he fell to the ground.
Volk shoved Birkita aside, and Elsie’s daughter stumbled against a wall, hitting her head and slumping to the ground.
Volk had picked up the doctor in one hand.
The doctor — to his credit — had grabbed one of the scalpels from the ground in his fall, and was cutting at Volk’s arm.
The Russian didn’t seem to notice, each cut leaving a gash that healed over within seconds.
“It’s not possible!”
The doctor’s eyes were wide.
“
Da
.
Is very possible.”
Volk shrugged, then grabbed the doctor with his other hand.
He hefted the man above his head, then dropped him down onto a bent knee, breaking the man’s spine.
Adalia screamed, and Volk turned as if seeing her for the first time.
“Two children?
For me?”
He licked his lips, then grinned.
“This is good day.
Very good day.”
“You will not!” said Elsie.
Volk stopped, eyes wide in surprise.
“I’m sorry.
I’m not sure I hear.
Many guns.”
He gestured at his ears.
“I think you tell me to stop.”
“Yes.”
Elsie almost crossed her arms across her chest, but stopped herself in time.
Such a defensive stance wouldn’t be helpful here.
“I told you to stop.”
Volk walked over to her.
“Ah.
You are the one Spencer speaks of.”
“Spencer?”
Elsie looked Volk in the eyes.
“You’ve seen the traitor?”
Volk’s head went back as he laughed, the sound coming from his belly.
“Traitor.
Da
.
I have seen him.
He thinks to have the gift.”
“As do I.”
“So.
We all want gift.
Reminds me of old saying.”
“What saying is that?”
Elsie jutted her chin at him.
Volk stepped closer as he spoke.
“Everyone want go Heaven.
No one wants dead.”
She snorted.
“You don’t have to die.
It’s just a virus.”
“Is that so?”
His eyebrows arched.
“You Americans.
You think you have all the answers.”
Elsie waved at the chair where Adalia was.
“We’ve got it.
Extracted it from blood.
We just haven’t quite refined the transmission route.”
“‘Transmission route,’”
he said, making air quotes.
“You try to inject it, yes?”
He mimed pumping a syringe with his thumb and fingers.
Elsie looked him up and down.
“What of it?”
“Is old news.
Has been tried.”
Volk shrugged.
“Is not virus.”
“It is a virus!”
Elsie gestured at the chair again.
“We’ve got it right there!”
“No.
Gift is not virus.
Virus you find?
It was made by our doctors.
To try and
cage
me.”
Volk shook his head.
“In Soviet Russia, we have many smart men.
They try to control.
Want to make many soldiers, strong as others.
But you need leash.
Before giving gift to others,
da
?
It is a poison.”
He spat.
“They don’t have our science.”
“No.
Science not help.”
Could it be true?
If it wasn’t a virus, then what — “You’re mistaken.
You’ve infected another.”
“
Da
.
My mistake.”
Volk grinned.
“I usually more careful.
It was the silver, yes?
Hurt my head.
I could not think straight.”
“But you’re thinking straight now?”
Elsie looked around the room.
Birkita was coming around, shaking her head, still woozy from the hit.
“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?
If you would just —”
“No.
No arrangement.”
Volk ran his finger across his throat.
“You bind me with silver, try to kill me.
The pain, it is terrible.
For that, you will die.
You,” and here he gestured at Birkita and Adalia, “And all you love.
I will kill you all.
You will not get the gift.
I will not bite.
I will tear.”
He made twisting motions in the air with his hands.
“Then I stack you.
Is neat.
Is orderly.
Then…
I think I will go see a movie.”
“No.”
Valentine Everard stood in the doorway.
“Not today.”
Elsie looked down at Adalia’s toy, the pony partially hidden under the metal chair.
Sometimes wishes do come true
.