Chapter Twenty Four - Part A

            Bryan felt a jackhammer drilling away inside his head, chipping and breaking until every remaining brain cell had been thoroughly disturbed, explored, and violated. The whole world was vibrating. He could feel his hands and body shaking in response to the jackhammer, even the bed shook. Could it be he had checked in to one those tacky roadside motels, the type with the vibrating beds? He didn't remember doing so, but that had to be what had happened. All he had to do was wait until his fifty cents ran out. Then there would be peace.

Long moments passed before the vibrations faded but then in a perverse twist the bed began to spin. Somehow the bed had transformed into a giant carnival ride and he was powerless to get away. The spinning sensation increased in rapidity until he was helpless and pinned against the wall with his limbs feeling as though each weighed hundreds of pounds. He felt sick and his stomach rebelled, refusing to tolerate the endless spinning.

Whatever it was he had last eaten erupted, trying to force its way up and out but the centrifugal force of the spinning carousel kept the vomit from exiting his mouth. He started to choke, unable to draw a breath.

"He's vomited," came a disembodied voice, one registering as familiar.

"Well turn him on his side and clear him out, you idiot. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"Si, Doctor." Yeah. Bryan knew that voice alright. It was Mr. Sanchez.

Strong hands rolled him to his side and pried open his mouth with rude fingers thrusting inside and scooping out the vomit. He coughed and choked but he breathed.

The spinning slowed and he realized then it had all been in his head. Ugh. He hadn't experienced a session quite like that since spring break in Daytona Beach a lifetime ago. At least he remembered that particular event as having some fun and excitement associated with it.

Spring break? Where did that come from?

He opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the blinding light glaring overhead and then wrestled with confusion and bewilderment. He was naked, lying on a gurney like a specimen ready for dissection. His arms and legs were little more than lifeless appendages connected to his torso, without ability to move or respond to the urgent commands from his brain. Move, you useless arm!

"Welcome back to the land of the living, mi amigo." Indeed. It was Mr. Sanchez. "There's no use struggling, you've got the first round of whatever this junk is pumping through your veins."

"It's not junk, you idiot." This comment originated from the other voice, the speaker away from Bryan's field of vision. "This is clinical trial D-18, although I hold little hope you would understand the nuances of what we are attempting here."

"What you inject these poor gringos with don't matter much to me," said Mr. Sanchez. His upper lip curled into a sneer. "But if you call me an idiot just one more time, you gonna find yourself strapped to this very table as the next victim. Am I making myself clear, Doc?"

Another man loomed into view and Bryan assumed this was the "Doc" Mr. Sanchez had addressed. The man was rail thin with deep circles under his eyes and lacked a single hair anywhere on his head. To Bryan he looked as though he was either exhausted or highly medicated, not that it made any difference.

"Whatever you say," responded Doc. It was clear this conversation or a variation on a similar theme had occurred previously. "Just realize the Mandu wouldn't take too kindly to anything happening to me. Who else are they going to get to run all these bio-modification tests? Are you qualified? Do you want to tell them you don't like the way I run my lab?"

Bryan struggled to speak. He again willed his arm to move and was rewarded when his fingers twitched. Sensation began to trickle into his hands and feet. His throat burned from the vomit and the taste in his mouth threatened to induce a whole new round of sickness. "Mandu? Who are the Mandu?"

Mr. Sanchez looked startled. "Hey! It speaks. How about that Doc? This is the first one to survive this far."

Doc bent close, shining a painfully bright light into his eyes. With his face only inches away, Bryan could smell his breath. Bologna. It smelled of bologna.

"Alright. This is good," muttered Doc. "Go fetch Number Twenty-nine, if you would please."

Mr. Sanchez paused. "You know the rules Doc. I'm not supposed to leave you alone with a test subject. What if it your miracle injection wears off and he hops off that bed?"

"Please. He's got enough of that drug running through his veins to paralyze a bull elephant. He's not going anywhere. He can't even feel his arms and legs. Just get going, Sanchez. They're going to want to see this."

"Your funeral Doc if this falls to pieces. And it ain't gonna be on me, let me tell you." Mr. Sanchez spat a stream of tobacco juice into a plastic cup and grabbed his rifle leaning against the wall, shutting the door behind him.

Doc watched him go then turned back to Bryan and patted him on the shoulder. "Disgusting pig, isn't he?"

"What are you doing to me? What's happening?" Bryan's head reeled as he tried to get the words out.

Doc gave another pat on the shoulder. "Well, it seems the Mandu have a desire to see how humans react when a bit of alien genetic material is introduced into their systems. I guess they're thinking they can create compliant slaves, ones that retain all their intelligence but none of their belligerence. You know, blend a little of them into a human and who knows? It might even work."

Disgust and rage filled Bryan. "You're helping them? They're the enemy you traitor! How can you do this? How can you even consider working for them? As bad as Sanchez is, you're the disgusting pig."

Doc gave a little smile and turned away, writing notes in the file. Bryan clenched his fist and realized he was able to raise his arm. He glanced at Doc and continued working and straining to restore circulation and life to his limbs.

Doc turned back to Bryan, who let his hand fall lifeless to his side. "The Mandu are smart and they're tougher than nails to kill, but I expect you already know that," said Doc as if lecturing a class of students. "What you may not know is that they wouldn't lift a finger to work if they can get someone or something to do it for them. And that's where you come in."

"What?" Bryan began to get worried. "You shot me up with their blood or something?"

"Oh now. Don't you worry. It'll all be over soon." Doc tried his best to sound comforting but it instead came out as condescending. "Either it will work and the Mandu genetic material will have coalesced into your body or it won't. But it won't: no one has survived. Every single test subject has died and I'm afraid you're not going to last too much longer."

He turned back to his notes and Bryan renewed his efforts to move. You better move! It's now or never. Both arms lifted and he felt strength returning.

"Sanchez, you idiot!" Doc slammed the file down on the work counter and continued his rant. He glanced over his shoulder at Bryan and continued. "That moron gave you the incorrect dosage. When he gets back here with Number Twenty-Nine, you can bet he'll hear me call him an idiot once again. And this time the Mandu will be right here to witness his screw-up."

Bryan watched with growing apprehension as Doc grabbed a syringe and filled it from an amber colored vial. Doc held it up to the light to examine it, then placed it on Bryan's chest and turned back to the counter to grab a pair of latex gloves.

Bryan realized Doc assumed he was still completely paralyzed and took the opportunity to grab the full syringe. As Doc turned back to the gurney, snapping his gloves into place, Bryan drove the needle deep into his thigh and emptied the contents into the traitor.

"What have you done?" cried Doc. "You've killed me!"

"Yeah. I hope so. You should have thought of the consequences before you sold out to the other side."

Doc collapsed in a heap to the floor, still awake and aware but lacking strength and control of his extremities. "What do you think? You plan to escape? There's nowhere to run, you fool." His words began to slur and his eyes slid shut. A thin line of drool slid from the corner of his mouth. "Why else do you think I work for them?" Then he was quiet. He did not move again.