Subject 17

TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, murder, injury detail, swearing.

I lie here, suddenly awake. Unable to move, but I can feel. I can feel the blanket over me and the heavy cuffs at my wrists and ankles. I seem to be paralysed. An intermittent beeping reminds me of TV medical dramas, hospitals. I will my eyes to open, straining the muscles around them.

My last memory is of being attacked from behind in the alleyway at the back of the Reaper Club. It had been a good night, a very good night. I was woozy from the drink at 3am but only ten minutes from home, home and safety. The footsteps behind me suggested that someone else had discovered my short cut, but, as I turned to look, two men in the shadows threw a huge net over me. Then I felt an electric shock and fell to the ground, shaking. Then nothing. Nothing until now.

I move my fingers. They twitch into life but every muscle is working against me. My eyelids flicker and I catch a glimpse of white tiles and a ceiling fan spinning slowly in the dim light. I try again. This time my eyes open but the world is blurry. Instinctively I lift a hand to wipe it clear but only a few inches from the bed I run out of chain and the cuff prevents me from reaching my face. At least I can move now.

I blink until the room comes into focus. I move my head to the right, there’s just a featureless white wall. My bed is pushed up against it. No windows. I look to the left and the beeping makes sense. I’m hooked up to monitors, heart rate perhaps, blood oxygen maybe, and a drip. No. Wait. The needle for the drip has come out of the cannula in my arm. Is that why I’m awake?

I lift my head. There's no one else in the room, but the door is open onto a clinical looking corridor with green lighting. It reminds me of the emergency lighting in my old building. Is there a power cut? There can’t be, not with all this beeping. Am I in a hospital? Was I picked up after I was attacked? Why am I restrained?

My mouth is parched. My throat is raw.

The strength is coming back to my arms. I can make a fist. I can tense my biceps. I wonder if they know how strong I am. It’s not long before I’m straining against the cuffs, ignoring the metal biting into my wrists. At full strength I would be out of here by now, but I’m still drugged. My vision isn’t perfect yet and, while I can feel something starting to give under the strain of my arms, I’m not free of my chains.

I rest for a moment and gather my wits. My Marine Corps training kicks in. Maybe just one swift yank against the cuffs would be more effective. I focus on my stronger arm, hold my breath, count to three, and pull. There’s a clank as the chain hits the metal bar of the bed, then a scraping noise and then a snap. My right arm is free. I still have a cuff on my wrist but the bed bar has broken and bent upwards. The chain has come loose from it.

I reach my right hand across my body and turn with it to look around the room. I see a bag of fluid feeding my drip, it’s pinky red, pale and unhealthy. There’s a small table on wheels by my bed. A silver tray on the table holds medical instruments. Scalpels, tweezers, a kidney bowl, something that looks like pliers, a small saw, a large amount of gauze, several hypodermic needles, a small file. A key. There’s a key.

I reach over with my right arm to the table on my left, turning my body as far as the cuffs around my ankles will allow. The corner of the table is just out of reach. I swing my right arm, flinging the other end of the chain attached to it towards the leg of the table. It takes a few attempts but I manage to whip the chain around the leg and catch the other end in my tethered left hand. It smacks my knuckles but I don't feel any pain. I pull the table towards me.

The key is on the other end of the table top. I pull on the cloth table cover and the medical instruments shift with it, clinking against each other. I have no idea if anyone can hear me and I hold still. Breathing shallow. But there is no movement in the corridor.

I reach over and grab the key with my right hand. My fingers are sweaty. It’s difficult to manipulate, but I get the key in the lock on my left wrist. It’s awkward to turn but I manage and the cuff opens, releasing my left arm. I sit up, ripping electrodes off my chest. The monitor flat lines. An alarm sounds. I wonder how long I have before someone comes.

Bending my legs I sweep the blanket aside and lean over. I hurriedly unlock the ankle cuffs. I still have one cuff and chain on my right wrist. I try to unlock it with my left hand but my clammy fingers can’t turn the key properly. I resolve to leave the chain in place. I can work it out later. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing into the room, and then it hits me. I’m naked.

I stand, a little unsteadily, and look around the room for clothes. Nothing. There's a sign above my bed that reads “Subject 17”. Then footsteps running down the corridor. I don’t have time to worry about my modesty. I step across the room and stand behind the door, waiting for someone to come through it. I hold the loose end of the chain in my left hand.

A man in a blue uniform runs into the room and stares at the empty bed. I only have seconds to think. I step forward from behind the door and lift the chain over his head, pulling it tight against his throat. I hold it there as he raises his hands to fight. He runs his fingers along the chain, panting and gasping. He kicks his legs back at my shins. It doesn't hurt. He finds the points where the chain separates from the back of his neck and hooks his fingers underneath, struggling to pull against me.

I’m taller than him. Still pulling backwards and keeping the pressure on, I lift the ends of the chain slightly and pull again, crushing his fingers into his neck. He tries to shout but has no breath and I hold on until his head flops forward and his hands stop fighting. Suddenly the full weight of his body is leaning on the chain around his neck. I let him slump to the floor.

I unplug the heart monitor and the beeping stops. Now all I can hear is a clock ticking endlessly on the far wall. It’s showing nearly one. Is that am or pm? There's a date under the time. "10 Sept" it reads. I've been here six days.

I pull the man’s shoes off and then his navy blue trousers, rushing to put them on myself. They’re a bit short but they’ll do. His shoes are too small. I leave them on the floor. I pull his tunic off and try to put it on, but the sleeves are tight and the cuff and chain still attached to my right wrist make it difficult. I find the key, it’s back on the table. I sit on the edge of the bed and dry the moisture off my hands with the tunic. I’m shaking, my eyes are filling with tears and I cannot get the key in the lock.

I look back at the dead man, his dark staring eyes. He’s got an ID card and a silver cross round his neck. Something about him makes me shudder. I pull the ID roughly off over his head and then on over my own. It may swipe me out. I take a scalpel from the table and edge towards the door with it held out in front of me.

I creep around the open door and extend my neck so I can just see down the corridor. The green lighting makes the place feel eerie, almost abandoned. But there must be more where he came from. They’ll be looking for him soon with the same staring eyes. The ticking clock forces me to make a decision and I step out into the corridor. The shiny floor tiles are cold and slippery. I wish I had shoes.

I look around for an exit sign and see an arrow overhead with a symbol next to it that I don’t recognise. It’s the only clue I have, so I edge that way down the hall. The scalpel held out in front of me does nothing to calm my nerves. I’m not a religious man, but I pray I don’t have to kill anyone else.

There’s a water fountain ahead. I reach it and bend down, opening my lips, eager to refresh myself. I press the button and the water starts to arc upward towards me but when it hits my tongue it tastes putrid, rotten. I pull away, thirst unsated, and I retch. I support myself with one hand against the wall, bent double, trying not to vomit. It’s useless, the sickness washes over me. I empty my stomach onto the floor. In the green light the result looks brown, thick brown liquid. What have they been feeding me? I step back to save my feet from getting covered.

‘Who’s there?’ It’s a female voice.

Sweat runs down my spine and I feel the scalpel handle moisten in my fingers. I may not be able to wield it with much effect. I modify my grip to compensate.

Footsteps follow the voice, and then another question.

‘Is that you Dr Kell?’

‘Y-yes.’ I stutter as I straighten myself up.

‘Everything alright?’

A young woman appears at the junction further down the corridor. She's dressed much like a nurse, carrying a clipboard. She lifts her head as she comes round the corner and looks me straight in the eye.

‘Subject out of bed!’ she yells as she turns and runs.

I turn too and run in the opposite direction. Seconds later an alarm sounds. The noise rises and falls in my ears, pierces my skull. There's also a hissing sound. Some kind of foul-smelling gas is released from pipes that run along the ceiling. As it fills the air I find it hard to breathe. The familiar scent is hideous. My vision blurs again and my limbs are heavy.

I fight to stay awake and bite my lip to distract myself from the gas. I draw blood. They’ve filed my teeth! What else have they done to me?

‘Stop! Stop!’ A deep voice behind me.

Footfall. More than one man, running, gaining on me.

Suddenly a net falls over me and I’m trapped. Like I was outside the club. Two men are trying to gather me up in it. Big men in dark uniforms. I’m still standing and holding my scalpel. I reach through the net and swipe at the man closest to me, cutting deep into his wrist, across his artery. Blood spurts from him. Under this light it looks brown, thick and brown. The man grabs at the wound with his other hand leaving his companion to try to restrain me.

I bend down and lift the bottom of the net, gathering it together to prevent it getting tangled. I pull it high up over my head and I can see a way out. I step through the gap I’ve made for myself and drop the net behind me. The second man is shouting.

‘Are you ok Garry? Are you bit?’

‘No, he’s got a knife, be careful he’s got a knife.’

The uninjured man runs after me, follows me round the corner. He’s carrying a small black object. Maybe a taser? Is that what they did to me outside the Reaper Club? I keep running, but the gas in the air slows me down. Makes me nauseous. It tastes and smells like death. It rips at my dried out mouth and lips. My throat is rusting shut. The relentless alarm sears into my head.

The gas settles as liquid on my skin and burns into my flesh. Every droplet that forms cuts into me like lemon juice on a wound. My eyes stream, nose runs. It doesn’t affect the man chasing me, he’s still coming.

I round a corner and see a metal double door. I power towards it, pulling every sinew in every muscle together to build up some speed, but I’m not even at half strength.

‘Lock the doors! For God’s sake lock the doors!’ the voice comes from behind me.

The corridor opens up into a kind of reception with a curved desk but it’s unstaffed.

‘Lock the doors!’

Another uniformed woman appears from the opposite corridor. She runs to the doors, hands outstretched. There’s a keypad to the right of the exit. She gets there a moment before me and punches in a number. I hear the bolts drop.

I dash through reception, ignoring the agony of the acid burns on my bare chest and shoulders. I reach the doors as the woman turns to run but I catch her ponytail in my grasp and jerk it back towards me. She screams as I pull her head back and lean over, looking up close into her contorted face.

‘Open the door!’ I yell.

A tiny speck of spit forms and hits her cheek, the final drop of moisture has left my mouth. My lips crack as I speak.

‘Open the door or I cut your throat.’ I hold up the scalpel so she can see it.

‘There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re much better off staying here.’ She starts to cry.

‘And where is here?’ my voice is fractured.

‘It’s a research centre, just a research centre.’

‘For what?’

I look around. The guard chasing me backs off and holds his hands out in front of him.

‘You’re not ready yet. We’ll explain it all when you’re ready.’

‘Fuck you Lady. I’m getting out of here. Open the door.’

‘There’s nowhere you can go.’ She glances at the clock above the reception desk. ‘Not at this time.’

I push the scalpel blade against her neck and draw a little blood. It smells sweet. I force her up to the keypad and use her ponytail to direct her face towards it.

‘Let him go Anita. Let him go.’ The guard says, dropping his taser.

She punches in a number and the bolts clunk back from the door. I use her ponytail to drive her downwards until she sits on the floor, facing the wall. I push the doors open.

I blink and lift my right hand to shield my eyes. The cuff and chain are even heavier now and I drop my arm back to my side and use my left instead. Freedom is bright. So bright.

I stumble forward out of the doors and into the shadow cast by the building. The staff don’t seem to be following. The door swings shut behind me and I drag my bare feet forward from the entrance way. I'm out of the shade and into the small staff carpark. The tarmac is so hot that it’s tacky underfoot and agonising to the touch. I pull back. But my feet are horribly burned, and not just underneath. The skin on top has blistered and is peeling away in angry, red and black flakes.

I turn to face the doors, maybe I should go back in.

‘Van Helsing International Research Institute’ say the black letters on the polished aluminium sign. A car is reflected in the metal. But I am not. I finally recognise the smell of the gas that has scarred my skin. Garlic. Essence of garlic. I know what I have become.

With tears stinging my eyes I take my final steps, out into the sunshine. I cannot contain my screams as my body disintegrates into thousands of minute pieces of ash and is swept away, with my voice, by a gentle breeze.