Project Pallid (35 page)

“About
time you two dim-wits got it together,” James says, more authoritative than he
sounded back in the SUV, when he lost the walkie and podium to Ronny, his more
empowered counterpart.

“Whatever,
man,” a voice to my left says. “Where’re we taking him?”

“Infirmary,”
James responds.

Infirmary?
What’s this? The infirmary? Like, a hospital infirmary? Were these guys going
to fix me, somehow?
Perform
some sick experiment on me?
I can’t wrap my brain around it, and I’ve got
no idea what to do.
Should I fight? Kick? Scream?

“MMMPPHHHH!!!!
 
MMMPPPPHHHH!!!!!! MMMMMPPPHHHH!!!!!!”

My
legs kick madly as we pass through what I imagine is a set of doors. I can’t
see, but I feel a distinct change in the air. There’s a greater stillness to
wherever we are now, and then there’s the
Ding
of an elevator button as
its pushed, nearby—Electricity??

“MMMPPHHHH!!!!
MMMPPPPHHHH!!!!!! MMMMMPPPHHHH!!!!!!”

My
legs spin furiously as I fight. I bang my torso back and forth between my
captors. Arms bound, it’s better to risk being shot than whatever these goons
have planned for me.

“Enough
of this crap! We don’t have time for it! Grab his legs!!” Ronny commands. His
voice echoes, and he’s already inside the elevator when James and the nameless
fourth join my handlers to lift me by elbows and legs. The pain in my shoulder
is excruciating now, and it, above all else, makes me scream louder in muffled
agony, as I’m carried into the steel box. Its door closes behind us with a
Ding
.

I
flop like a fish on a dock, suspended between the four men, as the elevator
travels down—three, four, maybe more floors—until its doors open
with the same cheerful sound that’s completely ambivalent to my situation.

“This
way. To the lab.” Ronny continues to spearhead my movement, and the others do
as they’re told without further words or acknowledgment to my relentless
struggles.

“Up
on the table, here.” We’d passed through another room—its door opened and
close behind us with a
Whoosh
that reminds me of one of those old, Star
Trek movies—and before I can do anything about it, I’m up on a table.

The
sound of Velcro sounds around me, and whatever fight I’ve got left is stripped
from me as wrists and ankles, then knees, elbows, waist and forehead, are bound
snuggly in place to a padded table below.

“Take
off his blindfold.” A fresh voice—that of a man—booms from overhead
speakers. It reverberates off the confining walls of my newest prison, and the
microphone clicks off.

“Pushy,
pushy,” one of them remarks.

“Just
follow orders,” Ronny answers, in total control of the situation.

And
when the tear-soaked blindfold comes off, I try to open my eyes, but wince in
the fluorescent lights from above. Staring up, the brightness of the room is
debilitating, and it takes minutes before my vision adjusts. Through squinted
eyes, I take in blurred surroundings—or what I can of them. Track
lighting runs overhead. It spans the length of my body and beyond, to cover the
ceiling and fill the room with a light that rivals the sun. In my predicament,
I’ve got no choice but to stare straight up at it, and the brief relief of my
peripheral only captures the camouflaged silhouettes of five men who stand
silent around me.

Eyes
wide and acclimated to my newest confines, I try to speak, to yell, to protest
whatever’s about to happen, but I can’t make more than muffled whimpers.

“Remove
his gag.” The overhead intercom clicks on again, and it provides the men with
final direction before it congratulates them on a job well done and dismisses
them from the room. “We are very pleased with your efforts, Soldiers. You’ve
gone above and beyond in your mission, and your successes will not go
unrecognized. You are dismissed.”

“I’m
not holding my breath on that,” one of them mutters. I can see him now: the one
I’m guessing is James, based on his voice and the cynicism in his words.

“What’s
that?” Ronny asks, while he moves to twist and unknot the handkerchief that’s
kept me silenced for so long. He’s much younger than I envisioned, based on the
deep, authoritative tone of his voice. Late teens, early twenties, I don’t
recognize him, but he can’t be much older than me.

“Nothing.
I didn’t say nothing, Ron.”

“I
wouldn’t count on going too far with The Light if you’ve always got something
to say and you can’t get a job done right,” Ronny puts him on blast.

“I
got this done, didn’t I?” he rebuts.

“Not
alone.”

“Could
you
have done it better alone?” James shoots back.

“Better
than you.”

“Well,
we’ll just wait and see about that,” James laughs and answers. “Still a lot
left to get done out there … we’ll see who they turn to when the chips are
really
on the line,” he challenges.

“Challenge
accepted.” At this, Ronny frees the gag from my mouth to unleash a torrent of
expletives that fall on deaf ears. The five pay no attention to my screams,
threats, and demands, as they take the couple steps it takes to disappear from
sight and to exit the sliding door. It closes swiftly behind them with another
Whoosh
,
and I’m alone again. Far less concerned about being discovered this time around,
I fight my restraints and scream like a mad man to be heard.

“Settle
down, young man,” the speaker clicks back on. “The Pastor will be in to deal
with you shortly.”

Alone
now, I figure they’ve got to be monitoring me from somewhere. And if I’m being
seen, I’m being heard.

“You
assholes better let me out of here!!! I’m going to kill all of you!!! You’re
dead! You’re all dead!!” I scream empty threats because they’re all I’ve got.
But given my grave situation, even I don’t believe them. And my screams, after
minutes, return to sobs. And my sobs turn to tears before I’m back in hysterics
again. A frenzy of emotions consumes me.
Why? Why didn’t I just fade away
like everyone else? Why’d I have to fight it? Why am I going to have to suffer
more than everyone else? I just want to be dead. I want it to be over. I want
to be with my dad. With Nicole. With Catee, again. How much longer can the
horror last?
I cry for them. I cry for me. And I cry for the terrifying
uncertainty of what I’ll have to endure when these freaks start whatever sicko
experiments they’ve got planned for me.

The
door opens minutes later. “Get me out of here!!!” I scream to the overhead
lights and beg mercy from whoever, or whatever, has been sent for me. “Let me
out of this!!!”

“It’s
okay. You’re safe now, Damian.” Mom’s head, in an aura of overhead
fluorescents, looks down at me. “You’re safe, my beautiful boy.” She kisses my
forehead while tears run down my cheeks in pools of emotion: happiness,
betrayal, anger, comfort, fear.

“Mom?”
I see, but can’t process what I’m seeing. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be
real. Is it the infection setting in? Am I hallucinating? “Mom, is that you?” I
ask through sobs.

“Yes,
my perfect son. It’s me. You’re safe now. You’re home,” she speaks soothingly,
and her face registers little emotion as she blots my eyes and clears my vision
enough for me to see her through wet murkiness. She looks like my mom, but
she’s more polished now.

Her
hair, ordinarily less kempt, is slicked back and wound into a tight bun that
sits on top of her head. The upper half of her outfit is crisp and blue; its
tailoring is immaculate, and its refinement, combined with her polished skin,
stands in stark contrast to the casually put-together woman she’d always been.
The picture of her is the antithesis of the carnage and decimation I’d endured
to get here.

“What’s
happened to you, Mom???” I manage to subdue the waterworks enough to speak.
“You look so different. So …

“It’s
been a long time, Damian.”

“It’s
only been weeks!” I yelp.

“Weeks
can be a very long time in today’s world.” Her words, soothing and therapeutic,
are more discomforting than anything I’ve braved until now. The tone of them
confuses me. It scares me.

“Mom,
what’s wrong with you?”

“There’s
nothing wrong with me, Damian. In fact, things couldn’t be more right. And now
that you’re here with us, we can work together to make
everything
right
again.”

“What
are you talking about, Mom? You’re scaring me.” I look away from her the best I
can. Head held firmly in place, I’ve got no choice but to stare up into a face
that I only half-recognize.

“Pastor
Dave had a … a … well … let’s just say he had a change of heart, Damian. And
when he did, it threatened to unravel everything we’ve worked so hard to
accomplish. And if we allowed that to happen, all this … all those who passed
on … well, it would’ve been for nothing, and the world would’ve gone right back
to the way it was.”

“What’s
wrong with the way it was, Mom? What was so wrong with you, me, Dad, Nicole …
Catee??? What was so wrong with Platsville? What was wrong with the life we
had??!! How can you say things like that?!”

“I’m
not talking about any of that, Damian. I’m talking about the big picture, here.
About a world you barely understand yet, because you’re so young. Wherever they
are now, and whatever’s happened to them, there are certain casualties we must
learn to cope with. But those hardships only make us stronger. Those scars will
only toughen us to pave way for the new beginnings that Pastor Dave envisioned
before he lost sight of the goal. And with him gone now, it’s my job to lead
the way. It’s my duty to guide us in reaching that utopia. And now that you’re
here, we can do it together, my beautiful boy.” She leans to kiss me on the
forehead again. “Now that you’re here, we can start fresh. As a family.”

“Mom,
you sound crazy!” I yell, still captive to my Velcro bonds. “Don’t you realize
what’s happening? Do you know what’s been done?! Haven’t you even seen what’s
happened out there?!”

“Shhhhh,
Damian,” her finger lays across my lips. “That’s the plan. It’s always been the
plan. And when the slate’s wiped clean, the pure will walk the land again. We
will clear the fallen, and we will purge our memories of the sins we’d allowed
into our world. And you, as my son, will be second in command. You’ll have more
power than you’ve ever dreamed.”

“Power?!”
I scream. “Power!! I don’t want
POWER
, Mom!! I don’t want any of this.
Let me go!! Forget about me! I want you to rot away … like Dad, in our
basement! Like Catee … in some hole in the woods! Like Nicole, too! I want you
to suffer for all of this! For becoming some mindless zombie! You’re nuts!! You
deserve to die!!!!”

“Shhhhh
… Shhhhhh … ” she consoles. “You need to rest and keep your strength. It sounds
like the infection’s starting to kick in. Dementia’s one of the first signs.
Trust me, Damian, just as soon as we get you taken care of, you’ll see things
much more clearly. You’re not right, but you will be. Soon.” She ducks from
sight before she stands over me again, syringe in hand. “Now, I’m going to give
you two shots, Damian. The first—

“Get
that away from me!” I scream and flail in my restraints, but I move nowhere.

“Shhhhhhh
… Just relax,” she says. “Now, like I said. I’m going to give you two shots.
You’ll feel the first, but it’s just a prick. Something to relax you. Then,
we’re going to give you a second to treat that nasty bite you’ve got there and
set you right again.”

“Don’t
do it, Mom! Don’t!! Just let me die!!! Leave me alone!!!! I don’t want any of
your shots!! Let me die!!!”

“My
baby,” she says. “My poor, sick baby. It’s the infection talking. I understand.
You’ll feel much better when you come back around. Trust me, Damian,” she says,
as the needle disappears from sight and I fight to pull my arms free from the
shackles that hold me exposed and vulnerable to her.

“Stop,
Mom! Don’t do it!”

The
prick is mild. The sedative, warm. I feel it enter and spread outward in
concentric circles as she pushes the plunger in further and further and empties
its contents into my body.

“Mom,
STOP!!!” I scream.

“It’s
okay, baby. Everything will be okay now. Just relax.”

I
try to keep yelling—to keep pleading for mercy—but my mouth won’t
move. Words won’t come. And my eyes grow heavy, and heavier still, until as
much as I try to fight it, I lose all will, and darkness consumes me.

END OF
BOOK ONE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to
my editor and friend, Danielle Littig. Your support and attention to detail is
unparalleled. You’re a master of craft, and your feedback throughout this process
has been invaluable.

Cover artist,
Barry Bridgette, for being there in my youth, and returning from nowhere,
fifteen years later, to capture my story with a quiet brilliance.