I didn’t expect to have to come to terms with my own death.
I suppose sometimes in the deepest, darkest of sleepless nights, we wonder what is the best way to die, the least painful or dreadful. To come face to face with it in my mind, I could see the fear and desperation take hold of me. Death and life truly were two sides of the same mirror. They paired together like wine with poison, sweetness and toxicity.
When babies are born, they cry at their first inhale of oxygen. It was a sign of life, a jovial feeling that their existence had only just begun. Mothers celebrated upon hearing such a cry for life. But, what if they cried because they realized the turmoil and pain ahead of them?
Nonsense, of course, as babies don’t have the cranial development to think that way.
But in the past few hours, I had believed it. I believed life was nothing but suffering, pain, and most of all, torment. There was beauty and joy to it, but not enough. Not enough to eradicate the scars across my face and neck. Not enough to bring back everything that had been purged.
Not enough to save everyone here.
That was why I had been so harsh with Damien. I had come to terms with my death. Yet, seeing the odd hesitation in his eyes made me wonder if he had noticed that. I wanted my eagerness for a swift death to be seen on a heroic level, not wanting to turn and bite someone else further; a selfless sacrifice. In reality, I just wanted to escape all of it. All of this.
Yet, he persisted. I could not fault him for it. His team had failed as had I, but he had not. And now, seeing him forced to the ground handcuffed, shouting as if I were the anathema locked up behind him…I knew there was a goodness from him that didn’t stem from direct orders.
Orders would have commanded him to kill me. He didn’t. Orders would have been to leave me after I fell unconscious. He didn’t. Yet I had disobeyed his orders of getting out of there. My death would have been my own doing.
Here, I remained. And so did he.
Damien and I walked over to a small bunker built into the mountain cave. Given the geography of the area, the nearest mountains from District Five’s base was possibly fifty miles west. Damien had traveled far carrying me, just perhaps not in the right direction.
“Sit, let us talk. I will have some of my team heat up some broth for you,” the man cleared his throat, “I am Doctor Iso Wueh, District Three lead scientist. Doctor Deveraux, I am a fan of your work. I must admit, I am more of a biologist than anthropologist, but I admire your perspective and study. You…must be Damien.”
Damien looked uncomfortable as he sat down beside me, our thighs touching. I knew it wasn’t because he was just jostled into the hard cave ground. Damien acted naked without his weapons, awkward, fleshed out, bare for everyone to see. I briefly thought what he’d look like actually naked, but blinked that idea away.
I was hungry, dehydrated, and most of all just exhausted.
“So, this is what remains of District Three,” Damien hummed.
“‘Remains’ indicates the idea of being left over. Our main base is fine. This is a forward operating base,” Iso clarified, “You two are far away from your base of operations, it seems.”
“Yes, well, return our weapons and gear and we will be on our merry way,” Damien suggested.
“Rest. Doctor Deveraux needs some rest. I assure you, we will let you on your way once she is fully recovered,” he explained, “Do not worry, Rok. You are safe here.”
Nowhere was safe.
I could see Damien glance my way, his eyes softening as he wanted to make sure I was ok. I was pretty sure I had a few specks of dried anathema and grime on my skin. The bite wound was sore with the numbing beginning to wane, but I was okay.
“Your data suggested a mere bite wasn’t enough to make me turn. How is that possible?” I asked, already wanting answers.
“Hm,” he smiled, as if charmed by my desire to push away this fake camaraderie, “We were able to study a dead alien’s biological makeup, but only briefly. The genetic material decomposes at a fast rate given the amount of enzymes. These enzymes are the reason for the bite. Half of it follows that of a venomous reptile, paralyzing the nervous and circulatory systems. The other half establishes dominance over those systems.”
“You said the anathema-pardon-the alien’s genetic makeup was only studied briefly. How soon does it decompose?” I inquired, taking mental notes in my head. I would have liked my datapad, but that was stored with the rest of my gear.
“Three hours,” he declared.
“Shit,” I sighed, “That’s not long at all.”
“Precisely why we made an operating base here, bringing most of our scientific gear and personnel to this location,” Doctor Wueh explained, turning his attention towards Damien, “Why did you let her stay alive? You knew she was bitten, yes?”
Damien stirred uncomfortably, his eyes steeling at the man across from us. It was clear from his demeanor and emotions he would never trust Wueh. He didn’t need to. But he was thinking before he spoke, for once. Even the slightest give away, a slip up of verbiage could make a difference today. Damien Rok was proceeding with profound caution.
“I knew she was bitten, yes. Intuition told me not to kill her,” Damien talked slow, as if trying to think of an answer himself, “It seemed different from all the others.”
“All the others?” Wueh probed.
“Don’t act like we’re the only ones to lose people to these anathemas,” Damien scoffed, a twinge of a smirk on his lips, “not surprising. Given how ineffective your soldiers are here, they’ll drop like flies. Tell me, how many of these aliens have they killed?”
Wueh said nothing for the moment. He only stared Damien down, wondering if he was probing for information of his own. I gently let my elbow brush him, hoping he got the hint to stay nice. “The ratio is near perfect: one for one. We kill one, one our own gets slayed and turns. The cycle continues. How many have you killed, Mister Rok?”
“Nine,” he answered immediately, as if that number rested at the top of his brain. He kept a kill count. How…grossly inappropriate but also Damien-esque of him. Wueh seemed skeptical of the number, scoffing himself as he didn’t believe it.
“Agent Rok is an exemplary fighter,” I swallowed before complimenting him, “take heed of an experienced, old leader in a profession of death where the young perish so easily. His intuition could be just as valuable as our science. He saved my life.”
Damien was surprised at my sentiment. I suppose that was my way of thanking him. Thanking him for believing I would live, and not only that, but dragging me into safety when he didn’t have to. He could have left me there. Just as I knew he didn’t want to leave Cole behind, despite knowing the ramifications now, he didn’t want to leave me either.
Wueh shouldn’t dismiss him as some pathetic soldier, just as I had weeks ago. He was far greater than that.
“That said, given what you’ve told me so far, the enzymes die almost as quickly as they can take over. You’re suggesting that this mere and brief bite wasn’t enough,” I changed the subject. I didn’t want to keep having these men around me constantly comparing their cocks or ego. Wueh was a scientist, yes, with no experience in killing. But even scientists and doctors had ego. I was guilty of it myself, from time to time.
“Yes. It must not just bite, but it needs to…savor you,” he had paused before choosing that word carefully, either worried the translation wasn’t strong, or there wasn’t a better word.
Savor. The sound of the anathema screeching and clawing at me reverberated in my memory. There was something a bit chilling about that word coined with these aliens. It was depraved gluttony on an epidemic level, a lust for flesh that never expired.
“So, they need us to survive?” Damien asked.
“No. No, we don’t have the science yet to study that, how an alien reacts to savoring its prey. But they don’t bite and eat for sustenance. There is an ongoing theory that they have been here for hundreds of years. We took samples only two weeks ago, yet there’s enough data to try and study for at least a year,” Wueh sighed.
Which meant this data could take time. That was to be expected. My job was to collect, reference, and ultimately collate all the data I could find. It would be up to experts on a molecular, biological, organic level to process that information. Just as I wasn’t the one to cure cancer. I only found the tool to do so, it was up to the others in my field to wield the tool as a weapon.
“Temperature would have an effect on these enzymes, would it not?” I asked, “We had a deceased agent in cold storage who did not turn for at least twelve hours. Others…it could take mere minutes before they turned.”
Cole had somehow made it all the way back into the morgue without turning. Ultimately, that might have saved us if he had turned any earlier on the way back to base. Yet, when he started to bite others, they turned so much quicker.
“Temperature could make a difference. My working hypothesis is time. When these poisonous enzymes enter a new human’s body, it ignites the cells and spreads like a cancer. Those newer, fresher enzymes are much more potent and stronger. A new alien biting its prey could result in them turning quicker. Of course, it also varies from person to person. If you’re still alive when turning, your body will resist and fight, buying yourself a moment of time before the inevitable,” Wueh answered, looking at me, “You got lucky, Doctor.”
I did, even though I didn’t really believe in luck.
The way he said it resembled cancer made my mind go to the attempted assassination on my life by District Two. Did someone think I could actually find something here, akin to that level, that they didn’t want me to? Did they want it for themselves? Whoever held such important information in their hands would be seen as a hero, even if they had to assassinate every scientist on this colony to make it happen.
Another scientist came in with two bowls of steaming broth and canteens of water.. The smell of it alone made my aching stomach growl in delight. He placed those down before speaking to Wueh in Oceanica. I could only understand bits and pieces of it, as the dialect was intentionally different than what I was used to.
The data…well protected…not enough to hack.
From the grave sound of it, it seemed like they were trying to access information from our datapad. It sounded like they had more information than my team did, from a glimpse. Yet, with how exemplary and extensive this colony was, I could bet every District had a piece of information the others didn’t.
“I will let you two rest for the night. You can use the beds in the corner. We can talk more in the morning,” Wueh smiled, leaving us to the bowls of broth.
Damien looked at the meal with skepticism. I, for once, didn’t seem to think twice. I was starving, and a hot broth might be just enough to fill my stomach and also make my head a bit more clear. Despite my mask, I was able to drink all of it, tasting the salty and hearty beef broth.
“Here, have mine,” Damien offered, sliding the bowl over to me.
“Are you sure?” I asked, “I don’t think they would have poisoned it. What a waste of broth. You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” he insisted politely, turning away from me slightly to watch everyone else in this camp. He studied them, their movements, the various and small weapons in their possession, and mostly their intent. Some stared back, mostly at me, which he didn’t seem to like.
I drank his portion of broth much more slowly, hoping maybe he would change his mind. He didn’t. I knew what I had to say, what was on the tip of my tongue but I was worried how he might react.
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“Thank you,” I whispered softly, my eyes resting on the back of his posture. His backside and shoulders were broader from behind, most likely riddled with muscles without all that armor on. There was a scar on the back of his skull, trailing all the way down the middle of his neck. It looked more like a surgery scar than that of serious injury. It looked precise, intentional, and most of all painful.
“For what?” he asked, keeping his eyes forward.
“You know what for,” I rolled my eyes, “for having faith, I suppose. You could have killed me, but didn’t. You could have left me there, but didn’t. I didn’t mean what I said back in that room…that you have no feelings, that you’re cruel and take joy in killing.”
“Perhaps you are right about that,” he answered very bitterly, clenching his jaw, “I do like killing these things. I like the power it gives me.”
There was a long pause of silence.
Those feelings he had were programmed by Sabbath, no doubt. They had removed any sense of his morality, gave him a sole purpose in killing and only killing. The only worth he seemed to have in himself was pride in the dominion over others. Yet, what he had done to save me also showed a resistance to that programming.
“I didn’t mean what I said either. You aren’t heartless. Or a victim…” he trailed off, “While I might enjoy seeing you struggle or squirm, I did not enjoy the thought of having to kill you.”
“Could you have done it?” I asked, closing my eyes soon after at how stupid that question was.
“Depends. Maybe if you had closed your eyes,” he bemused. When I opened my eyes, he was craning his neck over his shoulder to stare at me.
“My eyes?” I implored with a soft laugh.
“Yeah, they’re too green,” he answered, that boyish smirk appearing on his dry lips, “I don’t know. When I think of green, I think of life.”
Green was the color of optimism. Red, quite the opposite, embodied pessimism. He might like the green, emerald nature to my eyes. Just as I seemed to like the glowing red of his laser sword, or specks of blood acting like freckles on his skin. Odd of him to think of life, when all he seemed to do was take that away from others…from everyone but myself.
We both sat and watched the anathema in a distance, never resting, just constantly pacing behind the glass. How they managed to get it in there, I didn’t know. This would be the best way to study a live one. Running tests, however, would prove more difficult than just observation.
“They have your datapad,” Damien observed after a period of silence, eventually turning to me to begin signing: I think they want whatever data you found in that room.
My fingers worked gently together, trying to keep our conversation quiet and most of all subtle: Do you think they will be able to hack into it? Into yours as well?
No. The encryption will change before they get close. If the system knows that someone else is trying to access it, the datapad will shut down. Only we will be able to look at our own data.
If that gets flagged, will our team think we are dead?
Possibly.
Maybe they will let us communicate with our team. We can make a deal with them.
Damien hesitated for a moment, knowing it wouldn’t hurt to use threats. Maybe, just maybe, we could threaten that District Five will send a full task force here and annihilate them if we couldn’t communicate. If they let us talk, we could establish a partnership, or perhaps just promise to leave each other alone.
They will use you as ransom, Damien insisted, looking at me directly in the eyes, how much do you think you are worth?
I blinked, not understanding what he was saying, We might not have anything to offer them. If anything happens to me, District Five will find another anthropologist-
None as good as you, Damien interrupted silently, his hand motioning with almost aggressiveness to get his point across, They know you and your work. They like you. To me, that means they will not hurt you. But they will want something from you. They will ask something of you.
What do you think they will ask?
He merely shrugged, still looking my way.
“Have you ever been…captured before?” I asked, this time talking loudly. If we discussed too much in sign, others might grow suspicious.
“Yeah,” Damien nodded, “District One insurgents captured me once. They tortured me for two weeks, asking for information about who I worked for.”
Meaning Sabbath.
“Did they come and rescue you?” I inquired, but saw a scoff appear on his lips. He probably thought my question to be childish, when in reality that’s how it should be. He had never left a man behind, or at the very least hated doing so. Milithreat probably had different policies. Sabbath clearly cut ties the second they noticed a thread fraying in their grand design.
“No. That’s what District One wanted: a full blown retaliation. They didn’t get that. I escaped on my own. Same as I’m planning on doing if this doesn’t go smoothly,” he paused, “with you, of course. Unless you’d rather stay here with strangers.”
“How did you escape in the first place?”
“Most men all their life are practiced pretenders in feigning strength. Real strength is being able to pretend to be weak, and succeed in fooling everyone else. I played this meek prisoner for two weeks. When I found an opening, I took it with the remaining strength I had. A little anarchy can go a long way with unprepared soldiers. You have to do what they least expect, even if it sounds like a bat-shit crazy idea.”
“I don’t think we can use that same method here,” I yawned slightly, knowing it sounded rather odd with the mask. A slight grunt of pain left my lips as well after the motion of exhaustion.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, moving to stand to his feet to glance over at the small cots before observing my bandaged arm.
“It’s not the bite,” I sighed, realizing there wasn’t much hiding it now, “it’s my…condition. My neck and jaw hurt if I don’t lather a heavy dosage of enhanced lidocaine. It helps soothe everything. I usually do it every two days but…I should’ve known to bring some with my gear.”
I was beating myself up for it, as if I should have prepared for a scenario like this. Well, nothing changed SOPs better than mistakes. If we got out of this okay, I’d be sure to take some extra with me to avoid this ever again.
I moved to my cot, still seeing his eyes on me with slight worry, “I’ll be fine.”
“What happens if we don’t get you that cream?”
“Pain. Nothing I am not used to,” I shrugged, seeing that answer did not please him, “The mask helps. It would be worse if I didn’t have that.”
Which meant if Damien truly wished to cause me pain, all he would have to do is remove my safety blanket, the gag I wore willingly around my own face. Yet, with the soft look on his tired face, it wasn’t something on his mind. I remembered how eagerly he had protected me when the District Three agents got the surprise on us. Despite just mere seconds earlier, claiming he’d refuse to protect me, his own actions proved otherwise.
“Okay, get some rest. I’ll keep watch,” he whispered.
“And brainstorm some bat-shit crazy idea, right?” I teased, sinking into the cot. It was oddly comfortable, much more comfortable than the hard bunker ground.
He didn’t answer my question, which made me wonder if he already had a crazy idea up his sleeve, compressed tightly by those large biceps of his.
—
My sleep was a painful one. Sleeping still had always been hard for me, and it didn’t help that my bite was the shoulder I predominantly slept on. I could have swore I once felt soft gentle fingers stroking through my short raven black hair. It hadn’t felt uncomfortable or unsettling. In the past twenty-four hours, it was the most comforting sensation I had imagined.
Damien was asleep when I woke up, his body angled towards the opening to our small living quarters. Even his boots were still on. If something had happened amidst our rest, he’d be the first to wake up and be called into action. Luckily for the both of us, it had been nothing but quiet. I took about five minutes to see if he’d awake on his own, before rising to my own feet. I decided I could give him a bit more rest on his own.
He fucking deserved it.
Goosebumps hit my bare arms, usually warmed with the top half of my suit but that had been damaged in the fight for my life against that anathema. It must have been noticeable as I warmed myself up with the friction of my hands rubbing the obnoxious cold. Dr. Wueh stood near the anathema with his team, ordering someone around as he glanced my way.
The scientist returned with a small leather jacket, sizing me up with his eyes before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, repeating the words in Oceanica before slipping the jacket on. It was a bit too long at the wrists, but it would do fine in keeping me warm in this cold hell.
“Are you feeling better, Doctor?” Wueh asked.
“Yes, thank you again for your hospitality,” I smiled softly, “I don’t know how to repay such kindness.”
“Knowledge might help,” he laughed, his voice hoarse from the dry air surrounding us.
I knew if he had given me something, I had to give him something in return. I just had to be careful in distinguishing not to give too much away.
“There are locked doors in these…facilities, if you can call them that. Panels on the right have twenty nodes to press. We’ve figured out how to open them,” I approached the topic slowly, seeing his interest grow, “They mirror soundwaves of these aliens, producing either a sentence or word statement. One of the statements found in our recordings seemed to match a pattern and opened a door.”
I had to lie in that last sentence. I had a feeling he really wouldn’t believe me if I stated a deaf woman with hearing aids could hear those phrases in the walls deep at night.
“Interesting. That is good to know,” he hummed, pleased with my minor assistance, “Do you think these aliens are intelligent, Jacqueline?”
I wasn’t expecting a heavy question like that so soon in the morning, but it was a rather intriguing one. My eyes watched the anathema in front of me, its glossy ugly eyes rolling in a continuous circle as it paced, trying to sense movement or a sound in its cage.
“Depends, what are the measurements I’m using to consider it intelligent?” I asked in return.
He laughed softly at that, “Mm, there’s that anthropologist side of you. You are right. We cannot use IQ, a faulty measurement anyways. I think we must consider if this thing in front of us is still human, or animal.”
“If I were to consider the basics, then yes I would consider them to be intelligent. They can move, despite the weird physicality of their nature. They talk, in which every phrase I’ve heard is different than the one before. They are aware of their surroundings, drawn to sounds and quick movements. Whether they have deep critical thinking or analytical skills, that remains to be seen. A lot of humans lack those qualities too,” I answered, a bewildered hum leaving my raspy mask.
“Yes, I’ve met plenty of those kinds of humans lately,” Wueh agreed.
“My question is…what drives them? What do they feel is their ambition, their reason to live?” I asked myself, “Do they have a sense of community with the others? If they do not need to eat or savor to survive, then what makes them kill? Animals kill to eat, to survive…and humans-”
“Yes, why do humans kill?”
“I don’t know,” I frowned, knowing that was probably the main issue in my study. How could I stop violence if there wasn’t a singular issue that caused or catalyzed it? “It all depends on the human.”
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Wueh exhaled a light sigh. At first, I thought he was talking about humans, which were rather remarkable beings. Yet, he continued to stare at the anathema. I glanced around to see if anyone else had heard that comment but it was clear he oddly cherished them. I don’t know why. When I glared at the anathema in front of me, I felt sick to my stomach. I was facing a problem I didn’t know how to solve, let alone even begin to picture.
Doctor Wueh sickly admired them.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Doctor,” I retorted, not knowing how else to respond to that.
“Those doors open with the same pitch and tone these aliens do, according to your research. Does that not mean that they were designed, just as this place was? Someone was their grand architect, made for a reason,” he observed.
The observation definitely gave me more questions than answers. He could be right. If our ancestry really came from here, they had planned this place around the idea of anathemas.
What was it that I found on that projection? What were they trying to teach or instill? Was it for the anathemas, or humans? Were our ancestors even human?
“Perhaps they are the butterfly, and we are the caterpillar, Jacqueline,” Wueh wondered, “Metamorphosis in human form.”
“Humans evolve but don’t transform,” I rejected his idea.
“Are they not the same?” He questioned my belief. He liked the idea of someone challenging him, which was fine. Everyone else around here seemed to follow his orders. Maybe he liked having me around to prove him wrong, or if anything, prove himself right with that odd godly ego he seemed to wear like an essence.
“Most, if not all animals, if I remember my ecology correctly, use metamorphosis as a sacrifice. They give up one part of their body, or maybe it’s entirety to create something new. All for survival, for themselves but also their kin. It eliminates the competition for food or hierarchy within their community. It is meant to help, not destroy or damage something already considered ‘perfect’.”
All the potential, brainstorming ideas for what these were just continued to bounce around in my head. Bacterial infection, zombies, enzyme developing proteins of this aggressive behavior, and now mutated and purposeful metamorphosis.
Get me off this fucking Colony, I thought to myself.
“I wish to see it for myself, study on a molecular level this transformation. We have all the tools we need,” Wueh sighed, taking a moment to think before glancing my way, “Doctor, this is something I must ask of you. Do this, and we will arrange District Five to pick you up safely as soon as possible. As a bonus, I will also give you all the data we already have to help your research.”
They had all the tools at their disposal. What were they missing?
The subject of such a horrid experiment.
“What do you need?” I approached the situation cautiously.
Damien was right. They would ask something of me, otherwise this would begin to turn into a desperate ransom. Whatever they wanted had to be worth more than myself if they wanted this so badly.
“Agent Damien Rok. I want to throw him into this cage and watch him transform…”