Read Online Fortunes & Failures - 03 by T. W. Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. W. Brown
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None of the others seemed to notice or care. He walked up to the thick safety glass and stared up at the dead, filmed over eyes. It seemed to consider him as well, its one hand pausing for a moment from its exercise in futility.
“Do you have any comprehension?” Dr. Reginald Cox asked…then chuckled.
Of course it didn’t. They classified that hypothesis as a scientific fact back when there were still three scientists in this bunker.
The creature began to pound on the glass. Well, as much as it could. It had no concept of drag, so, in a forced slow motion, it continued about its futile attempts against the smooth surface. Reginald reached up and placed his hand against the glass. The zombie leaned forward, trying in vain to bite him.
“Amazing,” Reginald said and shook his head. He returned to the subject strapped down to the table.
With a scalpel, he went through the process of removing the esophagus. When he was finished, he wheeled the subject into the safe room—a ten-by-ten room of stainless steel. These were the times he missed his co-workers. This was supposed to be a two-man evolution.
He unlocked the leg bindings first. The subject immediately began the slow churning of its limbs; almost like it was riding a bicycle. He unstrapped the head, then the arms. In one quick motion, he dumped the gurney sending the body tumbling gracelessly to the floor. He pulled the gurney as he backed out of the room, then slammed the door shut.
When he returned to the observation window, it was barely making it to his feet. Still, he always had the feeling in the back of his mind that these things would play possum one of these times, and in an uncharacteristic display of speed, hop to its feet and tackle him.
Reginald went the large box and peered inside. “And how is Missy today?” he asked, reaching down and gently stroking the female calico curled up, five kittens nursing at her belly. “I’m just taking one.”
He picked an orange kitten that looked like a miniature Morris. Its immediate mewling and frightened cries began. Missy yowled, rising up, heedless of the four remaining kittens which tumbled into a heap.
“I know, Missy,” Reginald said with a sigh. “But we all must make sacrifices.”
He went back to the chamber. His former colleague, Dr. Fox, stood at the window. Reginald turned the handle and opened what looked like a giant deposit box. He placed the kitten inside and closed the door. Then, operating a series of switches, he effectively opened a second odor inside the chamber and dumped the contents of the box.
He watched the subject’s head jerk to the right. Its body followed, albeit slowly, and began moving. The kitten’s eyes had not yet opened and it provided an easy target. Reginald watched, clipboard in hand, as it was scooped up. It vanished in five bites. Reginald observed furry, bloody clumps fall from the hole in the subject’s throat.
“Fascinating,” he whispered, then remotely activated the recorder.
“Subject, designated “F” consumes in the same manner as before. Removing the esophagus has no effect. Reminder: Subject F has no digestive system. Everything it consumes can be visibly seen falling from either opening. Conclusion: subject receives no nutrients, nor any other discernable benefit from consuming its supposed food.
“Excellent work today, Dr. Fox,” Reginald said after switching off the recorder. “I’ll come back and clean up you and the mess you made a little later. I’ve got a new batch of wine…and Lucy is waiting.”
Removing his gloves and tossing them in the disposal, he washed up and grabbed the one hundred twenty-eight ounce beaker of dark red liquid and headed towards the door turning off the banks of lights when he went.
Entering the decontamination sally-port, he allowed himself to savor the giddy excitement over the possibilities of the upcoming evening. The last two times he’d produced his wine, she’d been a different person. The
“Do you have any comprehension?” Dr. Reginald Cox asked…then chuckled.
Of course it didn’t. They classified that hypothesis as a scientific fact back when there were still three scientists in this bunker.
The creature began to pound on the glass. Well, as much as it could. It had no concept of drag, so, in a forced slow motion, it continued about its futile attempts against the smooth surface. Reginald reached up and placed his hand against the glass. The zombie leaned forward, trying in vain to bite him.
“Amazing,” Reginald said and shook his head. He returned to the subject strapped down to the table.
With a scalpel, he went through the process of removing the esophagus. When he was finished, he wheeled the subject into the safe room—a ten-by-ten room of stainless steel. These were the times he missed his co-workers. This was supposed to be a two-man evolution.
He unlocked the leg bindings first. The subject immediately began the slow churning of its limbs; almost like it was riding a bicycle. He unstrapped the head, then the arms. In one quick motion, he dumped the gurney sending the body tumbling gracelessly to the floor. He pulled the gurney as he backed out of the room, then slammed the door shut.
When he returned to the observation window, it was barely making it to his feet. Still, he always had the feeling in the back of his mind that these things would play possum one of these times, and in an uncharacteristic display of speed, hop to its feet and tackle him.
Reginald went the large box and peered inside. “And how is Missy today?” he asked, reaching down and gently stroking the female calico curled up, five kittens nursing at her belly. “I’m just taking one.”
He picked an orange kitten that looked like a miniature Morris. Its immediate mewling and frightened cries began. Missy yowled, rising up, heedless of the four remaining kittens which tumbled into a heap.
“I know, Missy,” Reginald said with a sigh. “But we all must make sacrifices.”
He went back to the chamber. His former colleague, Dr. Fox, stood at the window. Reginald turned the handle and opened what looked like a giant deposit box. He placed the kitten inside and closed the door. Then, operating a series of switches, he effectively opened a second odor inside the chamber and dumped the contents of the box.
He watched the subject’s head jerk to the right. Its body followed, albeit slowly, and began moving. The kitten’s eyes had not yet opened and it provided an easy target. Reginald watched, clipboard in hand, as it was scooped up. It vanished in five bites. Reginald observed furry, bloody clumps fall from the hole in the subject’s throat.
“Fascinating,” he whispered, then remotely activated the recorder.
“Subject, designated “F” consumes in the same manner as before. Removing the esophagus has no effect. Reminder: Subject F has no digestive system. Everything it consumes can be visibly seen falling from either opening. Conclusion: subject receives no nutrients, nor any other discernable benefit from consuming its supposed food.
“Excellent work today, Dr. Fox,” Reginald said after switching off the recorder. “I’ll come back and clean up you and the mess you made a little later. I’ve got a new batch of wine…and Lucy is waiting.”
Removing his gloves and tossing them in the disposal, he washed up and grabbed the one hundred twenty-eight ounce beaker of dark red liquid and headed towards the door turning off the banks of lights when he went.
Entering the decontamination sally-port, he allowed himself to savor the giddy excitement over the possibilities of the upcoming evening. The last two times he’d produced his wine, she’d been a different person. The
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