Specimen (4 page)

“Riley…”  I plead with her.  I don’t even know what I expect her to do, but I need her to do something before I explode.

She stands up straight, squares her shoulders, and walks to me with confidence.  She reaches out with one hand.

“It’s all right, Sten.  Take my hand.”

When our skin touches again, some of the tension subsides.  She runs her hand up my left arm, and I can breathe again.  Her fingers stroke my hand, and my legs give out.  I drop to my knees in front of her, instinctively reaching out to wrap my arms around her, but I stop myself.  She said I had to let go of her.

I lean forward just enough to lightly press my forehead against her stomach.  I clench my hands into fists until my nails are cutting into my palms.  I feel her hand against the back of my head as tears fall from my eyes.

Time is an elusive and undefined thing.

I think I’m losing track of entire days.  I’ll be standing in the shower, checking for missed shaving areas, and the next thing I know, I’m strapped back to the bed with several days’ worth of beard growth.  Once, I woke up with shorter hair but no memory of receiving a haircut.  I was disoriented and confused, like I had been the first day.  Then Riley appeared, and all my misgivings dissipated.

As long as she’s near me, I question nothing.  She’s my doctor, my guide, and the subject of nearly every thought in my head.  Everything I do—everything I
am
—centers on her.

My days are broken up into two segments—when Riley is present and when she isn’t.  When she’s gone, I’m alone in the lab.  I use the sink and the shower to clean up.  I sleep on the small bed.  The lights are never dimmed, but I’ve come to realize that doesn’t matter.  I’m not sure if it is just the way I am now or if it’s because my food is drugged.  Maybe it’s both.

When Riley is here, she monitors my progress and administers treatments to further my transformation.  Under her guidance, I train.  At first, all my training is done in a gym.  I run; I lift weights; I swim.  Eventually I progress to virtual training in a simulator.  I’m given objectives and evaluated based on how efficiently I achieve them.  At first, the goals are easy, but they become increasingly difficult.

“Time for some simulation training,” Riley tells me as I finish drying off from my shower and pull a pair of pants up over my naked ass.

I’m never bothered by the lack of privacy in the lab room.  Even with the large mirror and the presumed omnipresence behind it, I don’t care.  With regards to Riley, I wish she’d look at me more than she does.  I wish she’d look, touch, and maybe consider taking my cock in her mouth.

“What is it this time?”

“Battle simulation,” she says.  “This one will feel very real to you but shouldn’t be too difficult.  We’re going to get some benchmark numbers on this one.  The simulation itself isn’t overly taxing.  It should be pretty straightforward and easy for you.”

I sit in the virtual training chamber as Riley attaches electrodes to key points on my body.  Once they are all in place, she tells me to lean back in the chair and then attaches an interface to a spot behind my right ear.  As soon as she does, the implants in my brain switch to simulation mode.  My vision, hearing, and other senses are rerouted from the virtual training chamber to the computer.  At first, I sense myself in a large, dark area of undefined proportions.  A few seconds later, the simulation begins.

“All set?”  Riley’s voice is inside my head.

“I’m good.”  I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck.  The black around me fades to a grey fog.  The fog takes shape, and a landscape appears.  The sky is cloudless but filled with a thick haze.  The ground is hard, and there’s a dry, cool breeze in the air.

“Your destination is two kilometers to the north.  Find a tactical position to counter the numbers.  No survivors.”

“Got it.”

I make my way to the north at a fast run.  As I move, I check the contents of the pack I’ve been supplied with by the simulation.  There’s ammo for the AR slung over my back as well as for the Glock at my waist but nothing else.

I come over a small hill and slow my pace.  I can see a line of buildings in the valley, and I make my way to the largest one.  There are smaller outbuildings surrounding it, providing adequate cover from the few guards posted around.  I just need to get to the far side—I can see a tower there, which would provide an excellent position for taking out the guards near the main doors.

I climb the side of the tower, watching the movements of each of the nine guards outside.  They don’t look my way as I reach the top and settle myself into position.  I check the extra magazine for the rifle, placing the clip next to me so I can access it easily to reload.

I lift the rifle to my shoulder, and I’m about to start firing when I hear a sound inside my head.

“Sten, there’s a problem!”  There’s panic in Riley’s voice, but I don’t understand why.  My position is sound, and I should have no trouble knocking out the enemy.  Besides, it’s just a simulation.  Why is she rattled?

“Everything looks good to me,” I say.

“Not in there,” she says.  “Out here.”

The grey fog fills the area around me once again.  There’s a tug at my right ear, and I’m abruptly back in the virtual training center.  The sound of sirens fills my ears.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”  Riley quickly pulls the sensors from my skin.  “Those alarms are supposed to be reserved for an invasion.”

My body stills as my brain activates.  Scenarios play through my head—everything from a false alarm to a small recon force looking for more information on the facility’s activities to an all-out attack.  Every possible situation is processed.  Every action I may take, and the potential consequence for the given action, is calculated.  It happens so quickly, I barely realize how much information has gone through my head before the best line of action is determined.

Riley’s safety is key.

“I need to get you out of here,” I tell her.

“Shouldn’t we find out what’s happening first?”

It’s a question, not a command.  There is no compelling need to do as she says.  The tactical information inside my head takes over.  Until I know she’s safe, she’s going to do as I tell her.

“Until we understand what’s going on, you need to be out of this building.  I need you somewhere where I can protect you better.  I don’t know how many people have infiltrated, how they’re armed, or where they’re located.  I need space.”

I grab her hand, go to the door, and wait for her to access it.  Once it opens, I quickly check the corridor for signs of intruders.  The blaring alarm continues, but there is no sign of people.

“Do you have access to weapons?” I ask her.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head.  “Not here, anyway.  There’s an armory in the building next to the medical center, but that would be a long haul.”

“We need to mobilize the other soldiers like me. The other eighty-eight of them.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re all dead, Sten.  You are the only one who survived the rest of the transformation.”

She hadn’t told me anything about this.  I’d barely thought of the other men who shared my fate.  I knew of their existence, but what was happening to them hadn’t been a consideration.  How could I be the only one?

“Back to the lab.”

We encounter no one as we make our way through the halls, but the alarm continues.  I’ve always followed Riley from room to room, never thinking about the complex twists and turns in the Mills facility, but somewhere inside my head, I’ve stored a complete map of every corridor.  I’m only slightly confused when we get close to the room I usually occupy—I seem to have miscounted the number of doors down the left side.  Numbers come so easily to me that I’m shocked I had it wrong, but the miscalculation is inconsequential at the moment.

Inside the lab, a red light pulses from the ceiling.  From behind the mirror, bright lights show a small room with several chairs and a desk with a computer sitting on it.  There is an identical red, flashing light inside of that room as well.  There are no people to be seen behind the mirror, but there is an open door at the back of the room.

Ignoring the mirror room, I look around quickly at the lab equipment.  My options are slim.  I upset one of the medical carts and grasp the metal legs with my hands.

“What are you doing?”  Riley asks.

I strain against the metal legs until one end breaks from the top.  The edge is jagged and sharp.  I grip the other end of the leg in my hand and swing it a couple of times, testing the weight.  It’s lightweight and hollow, but it will do.

I meet Riley’s eyes, and she nods her understanding.  We head back to the door and out into the hall.  The sirens are louder here.  I place my left hand on her back and push her slightly ahead of me.  I have a clear view of what’s in front, and no one can sneak up on her from behind without going through me first.

The echoing sound of boots on tile floors reaches my ears.  There are two sets of them heading in our direction at a quick pace.  From the synchronized and heavy sound, I know they’re male, largely built, and highly trained.  I push Riley behind me a split second before they turn the corner.

Everything slows down.

I watch as the two men, dressed in combat gear and armed with rifles, come around the corner.  As they notice us, their eyes dilate and their shoulders flex as they raise their weapons.

With my chair-leg club in my hand, I take seven quick steps in a zig-zag, dodging each shot.  The sound of the bullets hitting the walls tightens my stomach.  The angle of the hits could come close to Riley, but I can’t stop now.  Her best chance is for me to kill these men quickly.  I pull my arm back and swing in an arc, catching the barrels of both weapons with enough force to throw them from the hands of my opponents.  I slam the chair leg into the thigh of one man as my fist reaches the other.  One of the rifles discharges as it smashes into the wall, and one last shot hits the ceiling behind me.  I hear Riley cry out.

In the back of my head, I register her quickening breaths and the beating of her heart.  She’s been hit, but her pulse is strong.  I keep my focus in front of me as I grab one man by the arm and twist sharply.  The crack is loud, and he starts to scream as he drops to the floor.  I wrap my fingers around the back of the other man’s head, pulling him toward me and slamming my forehead into his nose.  Blood erupts, covering my arm as he punches my gut ineffectively.  With my hand still around the back of his neck, I punch his throat, collapsing his trachea.

He drops next to his still-screaming comrade.  He claws at his throat, and I stomp my foot into his face, smashing his skull.  Dropping the chair leg, I grab the other man by the head and twist.  Another crack echoes in the hall, and his body goes limp.

A second later, I am at Riley’s side.

“My leg!” Riley looks up at me.  She pulls her hand away, revealing blood.

There’s a gash in her calf where the bullet grazed her.  It’s not life-threatening but definitely painful.  If it’s not treated, chances of infection are high.  I will need to find medication for her and get her to a safe location.  Her injury is going to slow us down, and I have to recalculate every potential action we might take to compensate.

“I don’t know if I can walk.”

I pause and listen for additional footsteps, but I hear nothing.  The gunfire hasn’t attracted anyone yet, but it’s only a matter of time.  Somewhere far ahead of us, I can hear other shots, but there is no immediate threat.

Crouching next to her, I reach up and touch the side of her face.

“I’ve got you, Riley,” I tell her.  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I slip my arms under her legs and behind her back, lifting her up.  I make sure she’s well balanced and hanging on before I squat down and retrieve the table leg.  Riley directs me down another hall, through some doors, and past a large conference room.  Still, we encounter no one.

The facility is so large.  How can there be no one else here?

As we approach the end of the hallway, it intersects another, larger corridor.  I can hear faint voices.  There are tall windows in front of us looking out over the cityscape.  I can see a sliver of water between two of the tall buildings.

“Sten.”  Riley’s grip on my shoulders tightens.

I look into her eyes as I place my finger over my lips to quiet her.  I point to myself and mouth “I’ve got this” before setting her gently on the floor.

I peer around the corner.  There are four of them, each heavily armed.  They’re wearing fatigues with a geometric symbol over their biceps.  Two are only a handful of steps from the corner, but the others are farther from reach.  There’s no way to take both of them out without the others noticing and having an opportunity to fire.

I have to succeed.  Riley’s life depends on it.

In my mind, flashing images filled with sight and sound tell me exactly how to proceed, who to attack first, and seventeen different parry tactics based on the most likely reactions of the man next to him.  Further instructions fill my head as I make my first move.

Using all my speed, I enter the corridor and run to the back of the first man.  With the sharp end of the table leg, I jab at the space between his hairline and the collar of his jacket.  My weapon isn’t sharp enough for an instant kill, but it’s enough to drop him to the ground, incapacitated.  An instant later, I slam the metal rod into the face of the man next to him, and he joins his companion on the floor.

Shots ring out.  I dive to one side, rolling to the wall and coming up in a crouch.  I’ve moved quickly enough to confuse them and spoil their aim.  With my feet planted firmly against the floor, I lunge with my arms spread, tackling them both to the ground with one blow.  Neither has a chance to get off another shot before they’re down.  I slam the palm of my hand into one man’s face, grab his weapon, and bash in his teeth.

He flies backward, and the weapon flies with him.  I reach for the throat of the other, shoving him to his back as I straddle his chest.  His eyes bulge as he struggles for air, but he has no hope of unlocking my fingers from his neck.