Windigo Soul (7 page)

“First thing we do is take it off-line and drain the thermal conductive fluid. Otherwise known as the green shit,” Seamus said. As the pod moved into position at waist height, Seamus showed Hank which buttons to push to shut down the pod. The liquid slowly drained and the man inside settled to the bottom of the pod.

Seamus wheeled a hand operated scissors lift over to the pod and placed it underneath. He released four latches at the base of the pod, raised it slightly with the lift, and pulled it free from the machine. He lowered the safety goggles resting on the top of his head over his eyes and put on his gloves.

“The green shit will burn your fingers if you touch it long enough. Won’t feel a thing now, but later tonight it’ll feel like you got ‘em on a skillet. Learned that the hard way. And don’t even think about getting it in your eyes.”

Hank put on his gloves and goggles and watched as Seamus released two latches on the top the pod. Hank opened the pair on his side and was greeted by a hiss as the pod depressurized. They removed the top half of the pod and that’s when the smell hit Hank’s nose. He let out a groan and took a few steps back.

Seamus let out a deep belly laugh. Judging by the surly face he’d worn all morning, Hank never expected to see the man smile, much less laugh. “Man, I never get tired of that,” Seamus mused. He lifted his goggles and wiped his eye with his sleeve. “Smells like shit, don’t it?”

Seamus bent over the body and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Take it in, baby. Won’t be long before you don’t even notice it. All part of being a boiler monkey.”

Hank waved at the air in front of his face. “I really find that hard to believe. God, it’s awful.” He never wanted to know what rotting flesh marinated in some evil green gravy smelled like before, but it was too late for that.

Seamus’s light mood quickly evaporated and he waved Hank closer. “Come on, man. He ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The man inside of the pod was grey and bloated. His skin had almost a greasy looking transparent quality to it like boiled sausage. Hank could almost see the muscles and tendons underneath.

In order to remove the body from the pod, they needed to disconnect it from the various life support systems. The device over his mouth supplied fresh air for the lungs and removed the exhaled carbon dioxide. Diodes and wires attached to various body parts for reading vital signs. Intravenous ports for supplying nutrients and fluids.

Seamus pointed to a device mounted to the man’s chest. “This here is called the cardiovascular support module.” He tugged on it with some difficulty. “It zaps the heart with a charge to keep it beating, probably the most important part in the whole system. We stick it on with glue but this one don’t want to come off.” He gave it a final tug, removing most of the flesh underneath with it. “Ain’t that a bitch? Gotta clean that off later.”

Hank was glad he skipped breakfast. Between the foul odors and ripping flesh it would’ve been all over the floor by now.

“Now for the poop chute,” Seamus declared. He reached between the man’s legs and pulled a tube from his rectum. He held it up and grinned at Hank. Despite his breakfast-free stomach, Hank finally lost it and gagged. He leaned over and vomited on the floor, adding to the mess already there from the dripping tube in Seamus’s hand.

Seamus laughed again. “Come on, man. You act like you never seen a guy pull a hose out of a dead man’s ass before.”

Hank wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Between you and me, I spent half my first week upchucking on the floor. I’d be more worried if you wasn’t puking. Some twisted motherfuckers get off on gruesome shit like this. I’m just used to it but it still ain’t pretty.”

They removed the catheter from the man’s penis and he was finally free to be removed. Seamus positioned a cart next to the pod and activated a mechanism on the scissor lift to rotate the pod, causing the corpse to tumble out of it onto the cart. They pushed the cart into the furnace room where the body was to be cremated and loaded him in the oven before igniting the fire. It took much longer than he and his family expected, but that retiree was finally laid to rest for good.

After hosing down and disinfecting the empty pod, Seamus took Hank to the room referred to as the warehouse. A single worker was responsible for the thirty coma-induced retirees laid out on tables. Anywhere from sixty to eighty bodies were needed every week for all the boiler rooms so the retirees never stayed in the warehouse for too long. As long as the State kept collecting them at the retirement processing centers, there would always be a steady supply.

Back in the boiler room with a new geezer, as Seamus referred to them, they repeated the process in reverse. They shaved his head bald and then slathered hair removal cream all over his body. Seamus explained without this step, the man’s body hair would dissolve from the thermal conductive fluid and end up as a gritty residue that could damage the precision mechanisms in the main conductors. They placed him in the pod and Seamus showed Hank how to start the IV and attach the diodes, catheter, and waste tubes.

“Okay,” Seamus said. “Time to put this sorry sombitch out his misery.” He removed a device that looked like some sort of futurist ray gun mounted to the wall and brought it over. “This is what zaps ‘em for good. Reach into that bucket yonder and get his head wet with the sponge. It’ll make it more conductive.”

When Hank was finished with the sponge, Seamus placed what looked like a small plunger at the business end of the gun on the man’s forehead. “Two hundred milliamps, coming up. Make sure you ain’t touching nothin’.”

Hank took a step back and Seamus pulled the trigger. A loud snapping noise filled the air and the man appeared to be having a very enthusiastic stretch. Seamus counted to three out loud and released the trigger. He waited a beat and completed another three second shot.

He handed the gun to Hank and pulled a stethoscope from his pocket. Hank watched as he held it to the man’s chest and listened. “Is he dead?”

Seamus nodded. “And he’ll stay that way if we don’t move fast.”

Hank placed the electro-shock device back in the charging station and watched as Seamus quickly attached the cardio module and breathing device. He watched in amazement as they were brought online and the man’s chest rose and fell with every breath. Seamus felt a pulse and gave Hank a thumbs up. “That’s it, man. Another Frankenstein ready to plug into the boiler. Now we just need to seal it up, fill her up, and we’re good to go. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Hank repeated. “I think it’s fucking crazy.”

Seamus laughed and slapped him hard on the arm. “You alright, Hank. Come on, let’s finish this one up and take a break. I could use a smoke.”

Chapter 9

Sanderson let himself into the apartment as quietly as possible. He was expecting Sara to be in bed, so he was surprised to see her in the living room watching TV. “Hey,” he leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed her on the cheek. “What are you still doing up?”

She shrugged. “I figured I’d just be lying in bed for hours anyway.”

“So how did it go?” He sat down on the sofa.

“About what I expected, I guess. It was hard.”

He picked up on the slight edge in her voice and what she didn’t say spoke volumes. It was hard, but Hank’s retirement would’ve been easier if he’d been there with her.

Sara picked up the remote and started flipping through channels. “Did you eat? I had dinner with Mom but I could probably whip up something for you.”

“No thanks, I’m good.” John got up and went to the fridge. He grabbed a can of beer and held the cool aluminum container against his forehead for a moment before breaking the seal and taking a sip. The pungent aftertaste of the hops bit his tongue after the first swallow and he sighed. The six pack of India pale ale was a gift to himself that he picked up from the specialty market downtown last week. Compared to the bland lager most people bought, the microbrew packed a strong punch with a price tag to match. They could afford it, but Sara usually bought the watery mass market beer. To her, beer was beer and she just didn’t get it.

Sara stood in the doorway. “I asked mom to move in with us. They’re kicking her out of her place due to some occupancy rule, so I said she could live with us.”

The statement hung in the air, waiting for him to either accept or challenge. He took another sip and nodded. “Okay.”

“It’s not like you’re ever home anyway. You probably won’t even notice she’s here.”

“I said it’s fine. What do you want from me?”

Sara let out a joyless laugh and turned back to the living room. John sighed and emptied half the can in one pull. The beer was supposed to be savored slowly as a treat but suddenly he felt guilty for drinking it. What did Sara want from him? She could probably talk about that subject for days.

He went back into the living room and sat down. Sara was back to flipping channels. “I know what this is about,” John said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you today, but you know I had to work. I told you about it days ago.”

“Sometimes I wonder what’s more important to you. Your family or that damn job.”

He grabbed the remote from her hand and pointed it at the TV. “Without that
damn job
we don’t have any of this. You think I do it for fun? I’m busting my ass out there every day so you don’t have to live in a dump like that place your mom is getting kicked out of.”

Sara crossed her arms and stared blankly ahead.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. “I’ll get a job down at the munitions plant so you can stand in line for food vouchers and wait all day at the free clinic if you get sick. Hell, tell Peg to stop packing! We can move into the slums with her and just get it over with right away.”

Sara glared at him. “That
dump
was my home for most of my life. We may have been poor, but at least we had each other.” She got up and stormed out of the room. The bedroom door slammed shut.

“Awesome,” John muttered. He finished the beer with one swallow and set the empty can on the oak coffee table in front of him. Just that piece alone was probably worth more than all the furniture combined in Peg’s apartment.

He looked around the room. Most women would’ve been content with the life he provided. Then again, Sara wasn’t like most women. It’s what he found so attractive in the first place. She probably really would be happy if he worked some shitty nine to five that barely put food on the table if it meant he was home more.

Once again, his mind returned to his single years as it did with more frequency lately. It all seemed so simple back then. He worked hard and played even harder. When he wasn’t on assignment, he was with Carter and some of the other guys, staying out all night at the city’s elite clubs and restaurants. The world at their fingertips. They had money, power, and a never ending flow of eager young women. And after the party was over, a quiet and comfortable apartment all to himself. Nobody to answer to or worry about besides John Sanderson.

He thought he had it all until he met Sara and that’s when he realized he wasn’t even close. She was so different from the shallow floozies who threw themselves at him that it shook him to the core. Her natural beauty, kindness, and decency, consumed him. He knew he’d regret it for the rest of his life if he couldn’t spend it with her.

Marriage or serious relationships in his line of work weren’t prohibited, but there was an unwritten rule. An understanding that it was strongly discouraged. Few operators successfully pulled it off, but John thought he was different. He thought he could walk the line and perform the ultimate juggling act. A top-ranked professional and the model family man. After four years, he finally allowed the doubt to creep in. And they were still trying to have a baby, for Chrissake.

Sara had changed. She’d become increasingly angry and bitter and he was to blame. He taken the sweet girl he’d met at the market five years ago and ruined her by trying to hold her in a gilded cage, surrounded by nothing but lies, deceit, and expensive furniture. He hated himself for it.

John ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He knew he had to follow her into the bedroom and talk to her. It’s how the game was played. She loses her temper, storms off, and he follows a moment later. She lashes out in anger and says things she doesn’t mean. He carefully analyzes the venom from her mouth, pinpoints what’s really upsetting her, and he says what she wants to hear. Eventually she feels guilty, apologizes, and once and a while it ends up in some pretty good makeup sex.

The temptation to just fall over on the sofa and go to sleep was overwhelming. He probably would’ve, if not for another slam coming from behind the bedroom door. Sounded like one of the dresser drawers. He sighed and got to his feet.

John paused at the bedroom door and put his hand on the knob.
Sara, I killed a police officer this afternoon.
He was just a kid trying to do his job and I murdered him because I fucked up and he happened to be close by. So you’ll understand if I really don’t give a shit that your mom is getting kicked out of her apartment right now.

He opened the door. “Sara, I’m sorry…”

It’s how the game was played.

Chapter 10

Life for Hank moved slowly. His days were simplified and mundane, compared to the world he left behind. He rose each morning, worked his shift, ate bland meals, read bland books, and watched bland television. He tried his best to keep his mind engaged and stay busy, but thoughts of his family and the outside world crept in when he let his guard down.

As days turned into weeks, he settled into the routine of his new life and his world seemed to shrink with every passing day. When Hank was a little kid, it was still common for life sentences for those who committed serious crimes. He’d hear a story of say, an eighteen year old kid, who committed murder and was sentenced to the rest of his life behind bars. Hank wondered how that kid could possibly process the fact he would be stuck behind the same walls for the rest of his days.