What the hell were they going to do to him here?

  Something small and black in the upper corner of the room caught Pierce’s attention. A surveillance camera. They were watching him this entire time.

  Pierce walked as close up to the camera as he could and shouted, “Hey! I know you can see me! Let me the fuck out of here!”

  The rational part of him knew, of course, that demanding to be let out never worked. Oh, you want us to let you out? Okay, sure. Here you go. We also paid for your flight ticket and arranged a seat in first class.

  The right thing to do would have been to stoically sit in silence until someone showed up. From there, Pierce would need to gather as much intel as he could in order to escape from captivity.

  The problem was escaping imprisonment was a lot more difficult once inside the cell. The best chance would have been the moment the soldiers captured him—disarming them and making a break for it. Unfortunately, that opportunity had been squandered. Besides, it wasn’t like he would have been able to do anything against a group of armed men even if he was equipped with the best firearms.

  Being trapped in the cell, Pierce had forgotten all about his POW training and gave in to the panic. It wasn’t just the captivity itself. It was the patient-like clothes that stripped Pierce of his identity and gave him a new one. It was the bright white of the room that screamed sterility. It was the disorientation he suffered due to the concussion grenade blast.

  But Pierce was regaining his soldiers’ instincts rapidly. He silently scolded himself for losing his cool like that. He strode back to the bed and sat on it, panting from panic and the exertion of trying to break the glass wall.

  He stared at his own dark reflection in the window, waiting. Someone would need to show up sooner or later. They wouldn’t leave him here to die. Reynolds himself had said that Pierce and Shepherd would be useful to the government because…

  Because of the infection.

  Pierce had only just then remembered he was infected—if Reynolds was to be believed. Pierce looked down at his hands and wrists. A part of him dreaded seeing purple veins worming down his arms right before his eyes. If he looked in the mirror, would he see bloodshot eyes?

  No, I feel fine. I feel fine. Fine. For now.

  He couldn’t help but wonder where Shepherd was. What had they done to her? She must have been in the same situation as him, trapped inside one of these cells. Inside one of these cells.

  Pierce walked up to the glass and tried to look out into the hallway. He could see cells numbers 02 and 06 across the hallway, but they were empty. Pierce pressed his ear against the glass, trying to discern if he could hear any noises outside the cell.

  Nothing but the hum inside his eardrum.

  He returned to the bed and continued staring at the glass, trying to think of all possible scenarios in which he might grab an opportunity for a way out. He got sleepy fast. Had they drugged him, or had the concussion grenade made him feel woozy?

  Either way, he refused to go to bed. He wanted to be awake, to be ready when his captors showed up.

  ***

  After what felt like hours later, something that danced across the glass caught Pierce’s attention. His head had been hanging down, his eyelids droopy, but the shadows that fell against the floor of the hallway instantly snapped him awake.

  Pierce was on his feet, his heart racing. The elongated shadows grew until a group of figures stopped in front of Pierce’s door. Captain Reynolds, two armed soldiers, and a man in a lab coat approached Pierce’s cell.

  Reynolds took out a card and slid it across the panel on the wall. Something beeped and clicked, and the door cracked open. One of the armed soldiers walked in while Reynolds conversed with the other one. Pierce could hear the murmurs now that the door was open, but he couldn’t discern any words.

  Moments later, the other soldier saluted Reynolds and disappeared down the hall back the way he came. Reynolds and the man in the lab coat entered the cell, a smug grin on his face.

  “Pierce. Good to see you again.”

  Pierce badly wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. He resisted the urge.

  “Where’s Shepherd?” he asked instead.

  “Don’t you worry about her.”

  Pierce took an invasive step toward Reynolds. “If you hurt her, I swear to God, I’ll—”

  The soldier in the cell pointed his rifle at Pierce. “Back up!”

  Pierce froze. He wondered if the soldier would really shoot him. The government needed him because of the parasite. Or did they?

  “You’ll what?” Reynolds jeered. He was leaning with his back against the wall, one foot crossed over the other. “There’s nothing you can do. We own you now, so shut the fuck up, and sit down.”

  Pierce didn’t budge. The man in the lab coat looked at Reynolds as if expecting him to solve this dilemma. The soldier turned his gun around and slammed it into Pierce’s gut. Pierce jackknifed, his breath knocked out of his lungs. For a second, he couldn’t inhale because the soldier had struck his diaphragm.

  “Get on the bed! Now!” the soldier shouted.

  “Fuck you.”

  Something heavy cracked against his ear. A boot, maybe? Pierce was on his side. He had no time to react when the soldier’s foot collided with his gut again—multiple times.

  The beating quickly stopped. By then, Pierce was in a fetal position. When he opened his eyes, Reynolds was squatting in front of him. “Do what you’re told. I won’t ask again.”

  Pierce knew he’d only get beaten more if he didn’t listen. He could perhaps take the beatings, for a while. But no one guaranteed that his captors would stop even after he was unconscious.

  Best-case scenario: they’d get him to a doctor to get patched up. Worst-case scenario, they’d leave him in the cell with enough cuts and bruises to prevent him from falling asleep due to the pain.

  They knew how to inflict pain on their prisoners without doing permanent damage.

  Pierce planted his palms on the floor and pushed himself into a wobbly standing position. He plopped onto the bed, his gut screaming in pain.

  “Do your thing, doc.” Reynolds motioned for the man in the lab coat to come closer.

  The scientist approached the bed. Pierce noticed then that the man in the lab coat had a medical kit in his hand, which he laid on the bed and popped open. Various items lay in there, which Pierce was sure weren’t part of first aid.

  The scientist pulled out a syringe, screwed on a needle, and took the cap off. He inserted the needle into a vial and pulled. Purple liquid filled the syringe.

  “What is that? What are you going to do?” Pierce asked.

  He already knew the injection was going into his body; he just didn’t know what the purpose of it was.

  “This is going to slow down the growth of the parasite so we can monitor it better,” the scientist spoke for the first time, his voice nasally and raspy as if full of phlegm. “You’ll be getting these once a week.”

  “What you’re volunteering for over here is a noble cause, Pierce,” Reynolds said. “And who knows? If the parasite works on you the way it was originally supposed to affect the people of Witherton, then we might let you go. But only if the parasite is under control and we’re sure you’ll be obedient.”

  “Your arm,” the scientist said.

  Pierce put his arm forward, and the scientist ran an alcohol swab over the crook of his elbow. He tightened his upper arm with a tourniquet and then went to fiddle with the syringe full of purple liquid. He craned his head and said to the soldier, “Come help me with this.”

  The soldier walked up to the doctor and did something with him that Pierce couldn’t see because the armed man was facing away from him. Pierce’s eyes fell on the soldier’s sidearm. He looked up at Reynolds, who was staring elsewhere, yawning. This was Pierce’s chance. All he had to do was grab the weapon, kill the soldier, and then he could take Reynolds down.

  But he had to be quick.

  Pierce braced himself. He would either get the gun, or he’d die in the attempt. The soldier was still distracted with whatever the doctor had him do. Pierce lifted his hand off the bed.

  “Doc,” a voice at the door boomed, which caused Pierce’s hand to drop back down by his side.

  Fuck!

  It was the soldier from before. He was standing at the entrance. “HQ wants those blood tests now.”

  “Yes. Right away,” the doctor said then turned to the soldier helping him. “Thank you.”

  The soldier moved away. The moment was over. The doctor injected the purple liquid into Pierce’s arm, and then the group was gone, leaving Pierce with a looming sense of defeat.

  This was going to be his new life it seemed.

  Krista/James

  The strangers introduced themselves as James and Angela.

  “Nice to meet you.” Krista offered a hand.

  Angela and James looked down, but neither shook her hand. When Krista glanced down, she understood why.

  Her hand had red stains on it from when she tried to feed Nelson the raw liver.

  “Oh my. I’m so sorry. I… there was an accident,” Krista defended herself with a shaky voice.

  A moment of silence lingered between them until Angela asked, “Are you alone here, Krista?”

  Krista couldn’t possibly tell them she had a son who was locked up in the closet. They’d think she was crazy and leave. They might even try to hurt her son.

  “Yes.” Krista nodded.

  “In a house this big?” Angela raised an eyebrow.

  What the question really meant was: Why are you lying?

  Krista cleared her throat. “My family… didn’t make it.”

  She hoped at least that sounded genuine enough.

  “I’m sorry,” James offered his condolences.

  Angela didn’t.

  “You must be tired and hungry. Please, come with me. I’ll make you something to eat,” Krista said.

  She led them toward the kitchen and stopped when she heard sniffing behind her. She turned around to see Angela’s nostrils expanding as she smelled the air. She grimaced.

  “What is that smell?” she asked.

  It’s just the dead body in the garage. Just ignore it, Krista wanted to say but knew that it was yet another secret she needed to keep from them.

  “We’ve had… incidents in the house. I barely made it out alive. I, um… haven’t gotten around to cleaning the place up yet.”

  Angela nodded in understanding. The explanation seemed sufficient for her because she didn’t ask anything else. They went inside the kitchen.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  James and Angela pulled out the chairs and sat. Angela leaned the ax on the wall next to her. Krista’s eyes lingered on the weapon for too long because Angela caught her staring.

  Clearing her throat, Krista decided not to justify why she was looking there as it would only make her look more guilty. “I’m afraid I don’t have much that I can offer you for food, but I’ll do my best.”

  “You don’t need to bother with that,” Angela said.

  “No, I insist. You two look like you’ve been through hell.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” James said.

  “Sit tight. I’ll grab some food from the pantry right after I use the bathroom.” Krista flashed the two a wide smile and exited the kitchen.

  She climbed upstairs into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills. They were very strong and always left Krista feeling drowsy the morning after she took them, so she only popped one when she knew she could sleep in.

  After shoving the bottle into her pocket, she climbed back downstairs and entered the pantry.

  “Is canned pasta okay?” she shouted.

  “Whatever you have is fine,” James shouted back from the kitchen.

  Krista pulled out two cans of pasta in tomato sauce. She looked toward the door just to make sure no one was there. She then discreetly fished the bottle of sleeping pills from her pocket and poured a bunch into her hand.

  She placed them on the lower shelf and, as she crushed them under one of the cans, shouted to muffle the noise, “Just need to find where I left them! Gonna need a minute!”

  She hoped Angela and James wouldn’t hear the crunching of the pills. Once they were all fine powder, Krista opened the pasta cans and swept the powder inside. She stirred the pasta with her index finger to hide the powder.

  Before leaving, she made sure to wipe her sauce-stained finger. She wasn’t about to make another stupid mistake like when she offered to shake their hands even though hers was bloody.

  Please, don’t let them suspect anything. Please let this work, please.

  Krista forced her best smile as she entered the kitchen. “Here you go.”

  She put the pasta on the table in front of them then retrieved spoons from the drawer and gave them to the pair. She stood in front of them, still smiling.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” James asked.

  “I’m not hungry. I ate earlier. I had the same thing,” Krista said.

  James and Angela stared at her. They knew. They could see through her. They were going to refuse to eat the pasta, and then her plan would go to waste.

  “Thank you,” Angela said as she pulled the can closer to herself.

  It was something Krista expected to hear from James, not her.

  They both started eating. Krista watched intently as they shoved spoon after spoon of pasta into their mouths, urging them in her mind to eat faster. Minutes passed as they ate in silence. It wouldn’t be long before the pills started to work.

  “So, what happened to you two?” Krista asked, mostly to kill the silence.

  Angela and James exchanged an exasperated look.

  “It’s a long story,” James said as he put the spoon into his mouth.

  “I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Come on, start working, pills.

  “What happened to your family?” James asked.

  “I…” Krista started, unsure of what to say. “My husband left to find help days ago. He never returned.”

  “And your son?” Angela asked.

  Krista’s heart skipped a beat. They definitely knew about Nelson in the closet. They must have snooped around while she was upstairs.

  “I saw pictures of a little boy. I assume he’s your kid,” Angela said.

  The need to laugh out loud in relief was as strong as a sudden urge to sneeze. Krista licked her dry lips while she contemplated what to say next. She could see Angela’s eyes fluttering. James’s head was starting to slump.

  Just then, something banged inside the guest room. Angela’s head mechanically turned toward the source of the sound then back at Krista as if to ask what that was.

  “He’s still here,” Krista said.

  It was safe to tell them so now. But she didn’t do it to taunt them or anything like that. She needed them to know she wasn’t a monster and that she was doing all of this to protect her son.

  “Wh… what?” Angela asked.

  She noticed the specks of white on the bottom rim of the can. Another stupid mistake Krista had made, but it was too late already. Angela overturned the can, staring at the white bottom, realization washing over her face.

  “You… You…” she said.

  She was swaying from left to right. She lost balance and fell to her side, her eyes struggling to stay open.

  “Angela…” James said, his voice tenuous.

  “He’s very sick. My son needs help. I need you to help make him better,” Krista said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have, but I knew you would try to leave if I did so. I’m so sorry.”

  James stood, pushing the chair out behind him. He looked like he was about to fall, but to Krista’s amazement, he stumbled out of the kitchen and toward the foyer.

  ***

  Everything around James spun. His stomach did backflips. His legs felt like they were made of lead. Through his blurry vision, he saw the exit in front of him. If he just managed to get outside…

  James stumbled forward, sliding his hand across the wall for support. Behind him, he heard a voice shouting after him, but it might as well have been coming from three blocks away.

  He ran into the door, unable to stop his body before it happened, and turned the lock. He jangled the knob, and the door opened. He stumbled out of the house and fell headlong.

  Except, he wasn’t out of the house. In front of him stood a car and a pallid, bloated face. A dead person’s face. Somehow, in his dazed state, James had missed the front door and stumbled into the garage.

  It was too late. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, and his body refused to obey his commands.

  Calm footsteps approached him from behind, and then a soft, feminine voice said, “I’m sorry.”

  Pierce

  Hours blended into days, days into weeks.

  Pierce couldn’t tell anymore how long had passed since he’d been imprisoned in the cell. He was visited daily by the doctor—always escorted by two soldiers—who drew his blood and monitored him for signs of infection. Pierce was given the injections with purple liquid on a weekly basis. He had three bland meals a day. He was taken out of his cell to get hosed down with cold water once a week.

  On his way to the showers was the only time he glimpsed outside the cell. He couldn’t see much beyond the cellblock and the few corridors he was escorted through, though. He looked for Shepherd, but she was in none of the cells he passed. She must have been in one of the cells lower down the hallway, but he never saw her, even though she had to have been taken right past Pierce’s cell when getting escorted to get hosed down.

  Pierce obsessed over finding an escape plan, but everything seemed futile. He had that one chance to grab the soldier’s sidearm on the first day, and he’d missed it.

  Still, Pierce patiently waited for an opportunity to present itself. That patience morphed into despair, so gradually, the difference became imperceptible. Willpower turned into lethargy. Hope turned into acceptance.

 

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