The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions (15 page)

Chapter 19

Keith opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut again and moaned. The lights were too bright. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He fluttered his eyelids and tried to lean forward. 

A firm hand pushed down on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Manera. Just relax.” 

Keith couldn’t respond. His tongue was stuck to the palate of his mouth. 

A cup was offered to his lips, then tilted for him. “Drink.” 

He chugged as much water as he could, until he could feel the top of his mouth again. Confused, he turned his head to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Pain shot down the right side of his body and he straightened his head again. 

“I told you to relax.” The person sighed. “You never were very good at taking orders.” 

Keith attempted to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Strajowskie.” 

“You’re in the hospital, Keith.” 

Keith craned his head, fighting the wave of pain that washed through him. Bruises and cuts covered Strajowskie’s face like camouflage. He was dishevelled and dirty, as if he hadn’t showered in days. Keith noticed a sling holding Strajowskie’s left arm. “What happened to you?” 

“I should ask the same of you.” 

Keith stared into the bright lights above him. What had happened? He remembered reading Brian’s notes. He’d been certain he could create the platelet mushroom without assistance. He’d gathered all the tools and begun the experiment. He remembered veins shooting out of the mushroom, drilling into his arm. He thought the platelet had been successful. 

Everything after that was fuzzy. Pain. Darkened skin. Panic. A hasty phone call. Rustling through drawers as the darkened skin spread up from his hand, his wrist, up his forearm. 

The bone-saw. 

He bolted upright in the bed.  

Strajowskie pushed down on his chest. “Easy, Manera, damn!” 

Keith reached his right arm out to swat the president’s hand away. Except he couldn’t. His right forearm and hand were gone.  

He’d severed his own limb at the elbow.  

Terror flooded through him. He covered his eyes with his left hand. “Fuck. I couldn’t—I didn’t know it would—Oh my God!” He stuttered for another good minute before trembling wracked his lips and no more words could be found. 

“You did a number on yourself. Must’ve hit the floor hard. Gave yourself a concussion, a bruised right side.” Strajowskie removed his hand. “What the hell happened, Manera?” 

Keith fought to keep his voice from wavering as he explained everything he could recall to Strajowskie. The experiment had appeared successful. During brief triumph, his arm had started turning black. The pain became unbearable. He called security. The dead tissue spread. He’d been so distressed, so worried that help wouldn’t arrive soon enough. During his hysteria, he located a bone-saw, and then his memories were fragmented. 

Unimaginable pain. The sickening thud of his dismembered arm plopping onto the floor. Blood. Complete loss of sanity. Nausea. Darkness. 

 When he was finished, he fell back into the pillow. “I don’t know what went wrong. I know I did it right.” 

“You did this all because I wouldn’t allow Brian to perform the experiment on a volunteer?” 

Keith nodded, his face numb as much from embarrassment as from the pain. He stared at a nearby bag and watched liquid ooze down a tube attached to his upper right arm. “You wouldn’t allow it to be done, and Brian couldn’t bypass his morals. I figured I’d take matters into my own hands.” He gulped hard. “How fucking stupid can I be?” 

“You’re right. That was pretty fucking stupid. Ballsy, but stupid.”  

Keith didn’t enjoy being chided by the president. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve lashed out in retribution. But he was exhausted. He yawned and closed his eyes. 

“They’ve got you on a shitload of sedatives. Sleep it off. When you wake up, I’ll tell you what happened to me and your lively roommate over there.” 

Keith groggily looked to his left. An unmistakable chin jutted out above the bars of the adjacent hospital bed. A familiar large chest rose and fell. He glanced back at Strajowskie with an eyebrow raised, but he didn’t give the president a chance to speak.  

He drifted off as the sedatives went to work on his battered body. 

***

The room wasn’t bright like earlier. Keith only had to blink the weariness away once and everything came into focus. Strajowskie lounged on a fold-out chair watching the television, one hand behind his head, the other draped delicately over the side of the makeshift bed. 

Keith sat up and cleared his throat. He glanced at Cannopolis. A multitude of machines surrounded the general’s bed, and tubes stuck out of every visible patch of skin. 

Strajowskie stood up and stretched. “You guys are boring.” 

Keith smiled. He once again needed water and reached to the tray on the right side of his bed. He frowned as the stump of his right arm raised. 

“That’s going to take some getting used to.” 

Keith nodded, then reached across his body with his left hand. After several sips of water, he cleared his throat again. “How many days have I been here?” 

“Three. You arrived hours before we did.” 

Keith felt nauseated. Three days. He couldn’t remember any of it. That would explain his rumbling stomach, though. 

“An orderly told me you’d been admitted. Hope you don’t mind us bunking together. It wasn’t like you had any say in it anyway.” 

Keith chuckled, then winced as fresh waves of pain rippled through him. “So what’s your guys’ story?” 

Strajowskie plopped down on the fold-out chair. He related how he’d gotten to the battlefield and the soldiers had been in disarray, how he’d found Cannopolis, the battle with the strange beasts, and the brief meeting with Hammers.  

“All I got out of it was a sore tendon. Daley’s across the hall. A bit bruised and battered, a broken leg, but needing rest more than anything. Said he’s putting in his resignation, effective immediately. 

“I wouldn’t have come all the way out here to Los Angeles,” Strajowskie said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, “but the field medics didn’t even know where to start with Arthur. Eight broken ribs, broken hip, collapsed lung, pulverized clavicle—practically his whole left side. Fractured both ulnas and dislocated both shoulders to boot.”  

He went silent and stared at Keith with a somber expression. “Remember when I told you the other day that I ran a few excursions before everything went to shit?” 

Keith nodded. 

“Don’t go repeating any of this, now. It’s classified.” 

“Fingers crossed,” Keith said, grimacing as he held up his stump. 

Strajowskie smiled half-heartedly, then stared at the wall behind Keith’s bed. “I led the first five US SADAH missions, under President Garrett, the day after Ashmore discovered the blood-suckers. I was allowed to handpick two of my best soldiers to accompany me, and I chose two lieutenants from my squadron. Lieutenant Arthur Cannopolis and Lieutenant Scott Hammers.” 

“Hammers? He was on our side?” 

“Once, yes,” Strajowskie said. “He was a good soldier. A physical powerhouse, like Cannopolis. Perfect for the job. Together, we busted into caves and buildings with orders to destroy by any means necessary. Cannopolis and I relished in the killings and experimented with ways to destroy them so we could implement a standard. Hammers was more of a straight shooter. His gall was a bit lackluster, to say the least. I don’t think he cared for our tactics, but he never spoke about it either way. He just let us do our thing. 

“The fifth mission involved us breaking into an abandoned prison, where it was said a group of twenty vampires resided. We killed twenty vampires and relaxed, believing our mission complete. Hammers stood away from the group, as usual, with his back to the mess hall. Suddenly a twenty-first vampire was on his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. Cannopolis and I feared he’d be bitten, so we staked the fucking freak right then and there, while it still had him pinned down. He ended up walking away without a scratch, but he refused to speak for days. 

“During that time, some rogue vampires ransacked the White House and killed President Garrett. I put my name in the hat to run for presidency only to appease the requests of my superiors. I didn’t think I’d get unanimously voted into office to succeed him. But it happened. 

“The SADAH missions dwindled out after that, and the vampires came out of hiding and formed an army. Countries fell. In response, we dismantled the US military forces and created the Human Army. As the president of the last country to be ransacked, I was given sole commanding power. And I knew what I wanted. I asked Cannopolis and Hammers to accept positions as generals, to command our people together. 

“Cannopolis obliged, but Hammers flipped out. He said I was insane to stand against them. He was convinced humanity was damned. He stormed out and went AWOL. Nobody saw him for months. Not until the entire Undead Army swept in from the East Coast, with a powerful and familiar general at the helm.” 

Strajowskie stood and walked past Cannopolis’ bed, to the window. He drew the blinds. Stars twinkled in the night sky.  

“Hammers saved us the other night. If he hadn’t pulled the beasts off at that point, we’d be dead.” 

“You underestimate yourself.” 

“I think we underestimated them.” 

Keith took several more sips of water. Warmth crept down his leg. He lifted the sheet. A catheter was inserted into his groin. 
Of course
. His right side ached, but he didn’t care. He had wrought this upon himself. He hadn’t been cautious enough and should’ve heeded Brian’s warnings in regard to the unknown side effects of the experiment.  

He fought back tears. He had failed. His best friends and colleagues were gone, possibly dead. The reality of the war had heightened, the stakes raised. 

Not just for himself, his friends, and those fighting on the battlefield, but for the entire world. 

“So what do you suppose those creatures were?” 

“Fuck if I know. It’s like they were ripped right out of a cheap science fiction novel.” Strajowskie pulled the blinds back into place, shutting out the quiet night outside the room. “We should know more soon. The URC has graciously volunteered to send some scientists to dissect them.” 

Keith felt useless, but the beasts intrigued him. “I need to be out there,” he blurted out. 

Strajowskie raised an eyebrow. The grey wisps of hair on his head stood up.  

“I need to be out there, helping the scientists.” 

“No, you need to be in here. Resting.” 

 “You can’t stop me.” 

“Of course I can. All I need to do is plaster a photograph of you at the guard posts. You wouldn’t get past the perimeter.” 

“I need to be out there,” Keith repeated, unable to keep it from sounding like a plea. 

“I’ll admit, they probably won’t be able to figure it out without you or Brian.” Strajowskie looked at the floor and then back at Keith. “Fine. In one week.” He held up a finger to silence any protests. “You won’t be healed for several weeks, so you’ll be on restricted duties and access. I won’t have you wandering around or fucking around with shit you shouldn’t be touching. Not in your current state.” 

Keith beamed, relieved to be given a chance to do something other than harm himself. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“No, but I’ve been up for two days straight waiting for one of you to wake up, and now you’re annoying me again.” Strajowskie turned away and plopped into the fold-out chair. “Get some more rest, Manera. We’ll speak to a specialist tomorrow about getting you a bionic arm.” 

Keith leaned back and closed his eyes.  

A bionic arm.              

That would definitely take some getting used to. 

***

Ruby stepped out of the water and slipped in the puddle beneath her. She caught the side of the tub but dropped her towel. Her bared skin dotted with goosebumps.  

Brian stirred on the bed on the other side of the room. He was chained and strapped down, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. Ruby reached down and grabbed the mini-Ashmore from atop her pile of clothing.  

Brian’s eyelids fluttered open. He tugged at his restraints and smiled at her. “Ruby.” 

She sighed and lowered the Ashmore. His eyes were brown again. As both Barnaby and Father Stephenson had promised, Brian’s physique had changed once more. The forked tongue had disappeared and his normal one had reformed. His new vampire teeth had disappeared for a day and then resurfaced the next, with his four normal front teeth separating them. He was thinner—at least thirty pounds thinner than when he was human—and his taut skin was so pasty that Ruby had trouble looking at it for too long. 

She was glad he was back to some semblance of normal. 

“I never thought I’d wake up to this any day soon.” 

She blushed. Covering her groin area with her hands, she turned sideways, bent down, and scooped up her towel. 

“No need for cover. I like what I see.”