Awakening: The First Tale of the Trine (Trine Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Dr. Roman!” a nurse called, running through the triage tents.

Dr. Franklin Roman was a retired military surgeon, who now practiced at a nearby Level One Trauma Unit. He was affectionately known by his staff as the President of the Gun & Knife Club, as he was frequently called in for the most gruesome and violent injuries. The nurse spotted him examining the cocoon that had been formed around the legs of his colleague, Dr. Daniel Evans, and rushed to the bedside. “Dr. Roman, the search and rescue team has brought in some other victims that were recovered around the outskirts. One of them has been affected by the same…thing,” she said, waving a hand over Dr. Evans’s legs. “This one is completely enveloped, and from the vitals we could secure, they seem to be in distress.”

“Lead the way, nurse.” Dr. Roman ordered, peeling off his latex gloves and nodding to Dr. Evans. “I’ll see you in a bit, Danny. Have the nurses yell for me if anything changes, and we’ll get you transferred shortly.”

The nurse led Dr. Roman to a nearby golf cart normally used for parking assistance, and told the orderly driving to get them back to the operating rooms. Several suites that had been undamaged in the explosion had been cleared for use, and the most critically injured were being stabilized on site. Dr. Roman had been there most of the morning, only coming out to triage a short time ago to see for himself what the rumors swirling around the hospital might mean.

“Doctor, do you have any idea what that stuff is? Was it some sort of chemical weapon causing it?” the nurse asked.

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Roman replied. “All of the injuries we’ve seen have been ballistic or incendiary, consistent with a standard explosion. I was speaking with Dr. Evans, and he says that…well, take this with a grain of salt, the man was just pulled out of the rubble…but he said that there was something down there with them that was applying a substance to their injuries, that hardened into that shell. Evans insists that whatever it is, it relieved his pain, and he thinks it is helping heal the injuries. All of the other victims correlated the story, so we’re going to send them for some testing to figure out what exactly it might be. Now, this story of ‘something down there with them’….I don’t have any idea what to make of that. I saw the Guardsmen back a Humvee up to the pile, though, and they were keeping everyone well back. We’ll have to check the news reports later and try to get the big picture. But for now…which OR was the victim taken to?”

“Three, doctor. Nurse Isley is scrubbing in now for you, and the team is on standby.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Roman replied, stepping from the cart before it came to a complete stop and jogging into the hospitals rear entrance. Flashing his I.D. to the Guardsmen stationed just inside, he made his way to the surgical washroom. He could see Nurse Isley already in the room, along with the anesthesiologist and technician on standby. They were all staring at the thing on the table in front of them. The entire team was wide-eyed and pale, from what he could see over their surgical masks. After scrubbing in quickly, he entered the room.

Moving to the table, he asked the team, “What do we know so far?”

The technician and anesthesiologist looked to each other. “We’ve been unable to secure an IV line, or do more than get a rough idea of vitals. Honestly, if some of the other victims hadn’t already been pulled out with this sort of…shell…well, we wouldn’t even have known it might be a person.”

“None of the others were completely encased this way,” Dr. Roman responded. “Nurse, what kind of readings are you getting? Has telemetry given us anything?”

“No, doctor,” Nurse Isley responded. “We’ve only been able to get an idea of a heartbeat with a stethoscope, and an ultrasound once we got it to the OR”

The technician retrieved the ultrasound wand, and handed it to Dr. Roman. Guiding it over the thickly-veined green shell, he studied the monitor closely. “There’s definitely a person in this thing. Male, I presume from the size.” Continuing the scan, Dr. Roman finally came to what appeared to be the head. The shell seemed thinner here, but had an unusual bulge breaking up the otherwise fairly symmetrical cocoon. “This might be the reason this fellow ended up fully encased,” Dr. Roman noted. “See there? That’s a knife hilt, and it appears to be jutting from his throat. I don’t see any other obvious trauma just from this ultrasound, but we’re going to have get some better views before we make any decisions. Turn the speaker on for me, let’s check that heartbeat,” he ordered

Sliding the wand down to what he approximated was the chest, Dr. Roman guided the instrument back and forth across the shell. His brow furrowed in perplexity as the sounds emanating from the speaker became clearer. “Nurse Isley…how many heartbeats do you hear?” he asked.

“Two, doctor. I wasn’t sure about it before, and thought it might be an effect of the shell. But I definitely hear two,” she replied. “Do you think there might be…someone else in there, somehow?”

“No, I think…” Dr. Roman began. With a grisly squelch, amplified through the ultrasounds speakers, the cocoon split apart along a seam facing the doctor. A slime-covered hand shot out of the gap, grabbing the doctor on his exposed forearm, just below his elbow. A thick stream of septic putrescence poured forth from the rip in the cocoon, gagging everyone present. Nurse Isley leapt backwards with a thin screech, bumping into the technician and sending him sprawling to the floor with the ultrasound machine. The anesthesiologist bolted into the washroom, pulling his mask down and gasping for air.

Dr. Roman had earned his way to a Level One Trauma certification through a combination of skill and steely indifference to shock. He had seen the worst humanity had to offer, and while this was outside his realm of experience, the last grips of the dying were all too familiar to him. “Nurse!” he barked commandingly, as he pried the hand off of his arm.

“Yes, doctor? I’m sorry,” she replied faintly.

“I was saying that I think the victim might not be…human. I spoke to Dr. Evans earlier, who insisted that he had been cared for after the explosion by something…alien. You!” he barked at the technician. “Go alert the soldiers, let them know what we’ve got in here!”

“What do we do, doctor?” Nurse Isley asked weakly.

“What we trained to do. Help our patient. Now, bring that tray over here.”

Only minutes later, Dr. Roman could hear soldiers discussing the situation in the washroom and outside the doors to the operating theater. He had no idea how many there were, as his attention was completely focused on the creature he had uncovered as he trimmed around the cocoon. After the initial crack had appeared, the entire structure had begun to quickly decompose, until he was able to simply lift it off of the creature and hurl it to the floor. He was intent on making sure he helped this thing survive, but after considering what manner of diseases or infections they may be exposing themselves too, he had ordered Nurse Isley out of the room.

Alone for the moment with the bald humanoid figure lying in the remains of the cocoon, Dr. Roman attempted to examine the knife that was planted firmly into the armored undershirt connecting the chest plate to the facemask. Probing around the neck, the doctor saw that the cut had severed a series of bands holding the mask in place over the creatures face. Being careful not to jostle the knife embedded in its throat, Dr. Roman shifted the mask to the side, revealing the rest of the aliens features. Its nose and mouth resembled that of a human, but the gaping wound would have certainly severed a normal carotid artery, judging from its location in the neck. As Dr. Roman attempted to assess the wound further, the creature raised its hand to touch his arm again, drawing his gaze to its strange, dark eyes.

“Pull…it…out,” the creature rasped.

“It might kill you to draw it straight out,” Dr. Roman protested.

“No…it won’t,” the creature managed to gag out, before its eyes closed, either in agony or exhaustion.

“All right,” Dr. Roman said grimly. “It has to come out eventually, so let’s give this a shot.” Gripping the handle firmly, Dr. Roman felt an odd tingling run up his arm, and realized the limb was quickly going numb. Bracing his free hand on the creature’s chest, he pulled the knife free in one smooth motion, then quickly tossed the slightly curved blade onto a nearby tray. His hand immediately began prickling as sensation began to return to it.

The armored humanoid retched violently and gasped for air, trembling fitfully. After only a few moments, it relaxed back onto the filthy gurney, which was now completely soaked in the decomposed remnants of the pod. Dr. Roman spread the rip in the armor covering the neck, and watched in amazement as the skin sealed, leaving a dark scar on the tan skin that began to fade in just a few breaths.

The creature’s eyes opened again, and this time the dark orbs seemed to burn with a new intensity. “Thank you, Dr. Roman. You were not who I planned on meeting first, but I’m certainly glad you were available.” With the knife removed, the creature was able to speak clearly, though its voice was still growling and harsh. Sitting up, the figure swung its plated legs over the gurney, sloshing more filth over the side. “My name is Zion. Do you think your soldiers will allow me to use the washroom before we begin the interrogations? Ah well….” he sighed, as a squad began crowding into the operating room, rifles readied. “I suppose that was too much to ask, all things considered.”

The soldiers were in full gear, with even their faces covered by closed respirators. “Thank you, Dr. Roman” one said. “But we’ll take things from here. You!” the soldier motioned to one of his comrades. “Pick up the tray with the weapon. And you!” he barked at the bald figure sitting on the table. “Place your hands behind your back.”

Zion complied wordlessly, as a zip tie was applied to his wrists. Draping a pillow case over the pointy-eared head, they led him out of the operating room. The soldier who had been giving the orders turned to Dr. Roman. “The staff who attended this procedure will need to be quarantined, as will you, doctor. If you will remain here, we will send a team to escort you shortly.”

Dr. Roman nodded absently to the soldier. Only minutes after removing the knife he was left alone in the filthy operating room, flexing his hands at the odd tingling which now seemed to be in both limbs. After a few dazed moments, he moved back to the sinks to try to begin restoring some semblance of sanitation, all the while trying to come to grips with what had just transpired.

Thursday, August 2
nd
, 14:54 EST.

Tyler Morrison, Greensboro, N.C.

The door to the restroom slammed into the wall as the tall young man kicked it open. His steel-toed boots clumped heavily on the tile floor as he stopped abruptly at the entrance. He grimaced at the smell that assaulted his senses. There was only one person working here whose guts were vile enough to offend the nose, mouth, ears, and eyes.

He listened to Phil’s labored grunting from the rear stall and let his eyes adjust to the burning stench. Bracing himself to press on, he swung his backpack unceremoniously to the floor, then pushed up the sleeves on his green hooded sweatshirt as he approached the mirror. His emerald eyes were still red and swollen from earlier in the day, while his cheeks and nose looked raw. Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, he wet them and began mopping at his lean face.

“Tyler!” a voice called from the urinal. “How you holding up today, man?”

“Hey, Greg. I’m holding on,” Tyler said, wadding up the towels and throwing them in the trash can. He moved to stand at the second urinal, and while unzipping asked, “How were things on first shift today?”

“Man, I only got five minutes till your crew takes over, so I’m living large,” Greg said happily. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “Phil just told me we gotta pull a shift Saturday, though, which is kind of rough.”

Tyler was already in a dark mood. Without even thinking, he barked out “Fuck Phil,” adding, “I’ll be goddamned if I’ll pull overtime on one day’s notice.”

“Easy man,” Greg whispered. “He’s right there,” Greg nodded meaningfully towards the large handicapped stall in the back as he zipped up.

“Oh, I know he’s back there.” Tyler snorted loudly. “I’ve been working here six years. I could recognize that fat bastard’s stench in a landfill. I just don’t give a damn if that drain snake hears me.”

“Drain snake?” Greg said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, drain snake. He keeps things flowing smooth, sure, but he’s still a shit-packing tool!” Tyler practically yelled the last part, elbowing the urinal handle as he stepped away.

Toilet paper could be heard spinning furiously from the back stall. “Morrison, I know that’s you out there,” came the angry grunt. “You stay right there. I’m taking you straight to Reggie. He
will
hear about this!”

“Don’t forget to sprinkle your Gold Bond. I got a feeling your ass is gonna get a lot sorer today,” Tyler told the stall door, before beginning to wash his hands. All the helplessness and frustration from earlier in the day seemed to be pouring forth, Tyler realized, and he felt almost euphoric as Phil continued to rage. Pissing him off was just what he had needed.

“You stay right there, you hear me?” Phil roared, as the toilet paper roll spun again.

Greg was staring at Tyler wide-eyed. “Man, you got a pair on you,” he said as they both left the bathroom. They could hear the bolt slide on the back stall as the door closed behind them. “You’re going to run your mouth one day and Phil’s going to choke you out!”

“Hah!” Tyler scoffed. “That dude is built like Wilford Brimley, with half the mustache and twice the ‘dia-beetus.’ I think if it came to a fight, I could hold my own. Hey, look, it’s time. Let’s get you clocked out before you get sucked into this,” Tyler told him, pointing to the time clock that had just clicked over to three p.m., and shouldering his backpack.

“Good luck man…and hey, sorry to hear about your dad,” Greg called, heading towards the exit.

“Thanks. And don’t worry, you’ll see me soon. Just not Saturday!” Tyler waved.

He ducked quickly into an aisle between the large twinning machines, their whine covering his footsteps as he headed towards the back of the factory. He ran two of the plastics extruders on second shift, and was happy to see that they seemed to be operating smoothly as he walked down the line. He checked the metrics against the specification sheet for the product run, then began unpacking his bag at his work bench. He realized he was grinning, truly feeling good for the first time all day. He hooked his iPhone up to the portable speakers he kept in his pack, and punched up “Short Change Hero” by The Heavy.

Tyler was singing along a few minutes later when he spotted his supervisor, Reggie, coming down the line towards him. “How things going tonight, bubba?” Reggie asked, stopping to examine the monitors.

“I’m glad you came by, boss, I needed to talk to you,” Tyler said, still smiling.

“I wish you had come to me before Phil, bubba, ‘cause he’s in the office raising hell right now.”

“Man, fuck that Kentucky fried fat-ass,” Tyler quipped. “He’s been after me for years.”

“Look, bubba,” Reggie rumbled in his thick baritone. “We need you here, and that’s saved your buns from the oven many times. The only crew we’ve got that can run these damned DeAngeli machines are people you trained, and none of them produce the way you do. That’s what we get for buying Italian machines,” he added quietly. “I don’t know what happened between you and Phil before I took this job, but it’s gotta stop.”

Tyler pulled his needle-nosed pliers from his pack, and began gently adjusting the extruder’s tip. The machine ran at over six hundred degrees internally, and sweat was already breaking out on both men from standing so close. “You never heard about what started all this? I guess that makes sense. You only took this gig what, two years ago? I started just outta high school, six years ago. My dad worked here in maintenance back then”.

“I didn’t know that,” Reggie rumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t talk about it much,” Tyler said, his grin finally falling. “It’s embarrassing. My old man was starting to get sick back then, and Phil had it out for him. Phil thought Pops was eating too much of the budget; he had been here twenty years and made a lot. He was always telling people they could hire two younger guys for the same money. He started talking shit about Pops behind his back, calling him ‘One-Job George’, and telling people he could barely fix one break down a day. Pops believed in taking his time and making sure he did shit right the first time…but no one cared. A lot of people wanted to be on Phil’s good side once he got the first shift supervisor job, and that joke caught on. Pops got laid off about four years ago because of that shit. It was hard on him, and he started getting a lot sicker.” Tyler was practically grinding his teeth now, and the flush in his cheeks wasn’t from the machines heat.

Reggie stared at him for a few long moments. “I didn’t know, bubba, and I appreciate you telling me. I’m not gonna lie to you, I don’t have any love for Phil, either. He’s a bully, but this is work. Every job has its trials. Now let me be even more honest with you, man to man. Your lack of professionalism is holding you back. You could have been group leader or even supervisor by now, if you could watch your mouth.”

Tyler snorted. “Not to be racist, but I’m never gonna be a chief in any village. I’m a damned good Indian, and that’s exactly what I want to be. I couldn’t lead piss downhill, and I’m just fine with that. I like being left alone, getting things done, and talking to as few of you suits as possible,” he said, nodding towards Reggie’s tie. “I like you man, you leave me alone as long as I’m making the numbers, and that works out well for us both.” Tyler flipped his pliers into the air, deftly catching them by the handle as they came down. Reggie had seen him juggling his tools hundreds of times, but was always impressed with the young man’s coordination.

“Well if you want to keep it that way, stay away from Phil. I’ll do what I can to calm this down,” Reggie said.

“Hey, I know Phil was talking about running a crew Saturday, and that’s what got me bitching in the first place. You know I’ve been saving up some vacation…for when…well, it’s time. The doctors said there’s nothing left they can do, and we’re planning on pulling Pops off life support tomorrow. I washed him today, and…” Tyler turned his head away from Reggie, swiping at his nose, obviously barely keeping himself under control.

“We talked about this weeks ago,” Reggie told him quietly, putting a hand on Tyler’s shoulder as the young man spun his pliers into the air again. “Anything you need, you let me know. I’ll take care of coverage and any paperwork. You just call me when you can and tell me how you’re holding up, ok?”

“Thanks, man,” Tyler said, grinning again. “Let Phil know to just write down his complaints, and I’ll sign off on another ‘verbal warning’ when I get back.” He swiped his pliers across the head of the extruder again, wiping away a bit of molten plastic overflow. He flipped them into the air again, saying, “If anyone asks...”

As the pliers came down, Tyler snatched them out of the air, this time accidentally grabbing them by the superheated metal tip. “Shit!” he barked out, as he tossed the tool down, sending it skittering under the machine. He shook his singed hand, blushing furiously at his fumble. “Hate when that happens. Pretend you didn’t see that, and help me find them will ya?”

Reggie shook his head, smiling, and clapped him on the shoulder again. “Sure, let me go around the other side, and shine your light under there. You look like one of those Japanese chefs when you do that trick, you know that?”

Tyler got down on his belly, shining his light under the extruder’s feeder. Spotting his pliers, he stretched his arm underneath until his head was pressed against the side of the machine. The feeder was blessedly cool against his cheek, after having been so near the extruder’s heater bands. He stretched his fingers to their limit, and began patting around the dust.

Reggie got down on the other side, peering underneath the feeder to see if he might be able to reach the pliers from this angle. Tyler’s light was shining through the gap under the machine, and Reggie could plainly see that the pliers were still several inches out of his reach. “Let me get the broom to push…” he started to call, his voice fading as he registered what he was seeing.

The pliers under the machine seemed to be vibrating slightly, trembling with what Reggie first thought were reverberations from the motors. As he watched, stunned, they shook violently, opening and closing of their own accord, before sliding straight to Tyler’s outstretched hand inches away.

Reggie popped straight up from his crouch, wide-eyed, just as Tyler yelled, “I got them, thanks, man!”

His mind struggled only briefly with what he had just seen. Pulling off his safety glasses, Reggie chuckled softly to himself as he cleaned them on his shirt. These thick lenses combined with this dim light, he decided quite rationally, can play strange tricks on the eyes. Going back around the feeder, he told Tyler, “You be more careful, with your tools and with Phil. With everything you’ve got going on with your family you’ll probably get off again, but I’m serious, you’ve got to clean up your act.”

Tyler waved him off, too flustered for the moment to talk any further. Reggie left him alone, putting the strange incident out of his mind as the rest of the shift passed.