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Authors: Greg Hanks
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bridged the silence.
“I—I was getting some instruments for—”
“There are no instruments in the Conference Station, you know that,” he said, stepping closer.
Peter swallowed. He could feel his fear bouncing off the walls.
“Doctor . . .” the wiry man spoke, “why is your pocket turning red?”
Kipling looked down, and to his horror, the blood from his stump was starting to escape the bandages.
The Vice President took another step, inches away. “Where are they, Doctor?”
Peter’s lips were quivering now. Images of his family filtered through his mind. He could feel traces of snot dripping out of his nose. “I tried. I tried! ”
“Doctor . . . where are they?
“He—he told me to do it. He told me to release them.”
“Who told you?” The Doctor didn’t budge, crippled by his fear. The Vice President approached. “ Who told you?! ”
“S-Slate.”
The Vice President looked furious. He shook with anger. “So,” he said. “It’s begun.”
Doctor Kipling felt a searing pain enter his stomach. He looked down at the thick blade sticking out of his belly. His body locked up. Coughing and spitting blood, he fell to his knees.
The Vice President pushed the Doctor to the ground, turning the blade. “You shouldn’t have let them escape!”
10
Sweat dropped off of my nose, creating a damp spot in my carpet. My muscles burned for the first time in five years. The pain filled me with exhilaration and ecstasy.
It was six o’ clock in the morning, four days after the night of the Vax announcement, and I was wide awake. Once I hit my fiftieth pushup, I dropped on the floor, breathing like a wild dog. I couldn’t believe I made it past twenty. My flabby flesh and brittle bones ached. I rolled onto my back and began a set of crunches.
Today marked the third day of my Volunteer service. I had a purpose. I had desire. And I had Tara. For the first time in five years, I was happy.
Tara and I had become quite the team. Our collection route worked without complications. Our small acquaintance had turned into a warm friendship. And best of all, I figured out that Kevin Bates was just a close friend. Triple score.
“Ow!” I groaned. “Damn it!” My abs howled. I must’ve pulled a muscle.
I started laughing, laying on the carpet with my hands stretched back. Each jolt of laughter made the pain worse, but it wasn’t Edge pain.
I was wrapped in a sphere of elation. Tara came to mind again. God, I was lucky. We got along great, we both had an unfavorable past, and we shared the same conceptions about, well, everything.
My phone buzzed on my dresser. I struggled into a sitting position. I could have sworn I had left my phone on my nightstand.
“Volunteer M-898, please return to the Turnmont apartment complex at five-thirty this evening. A GenoTec supervisor requests your presence. Volunteer . . .”
It wasn’t my phone. The voice was coming from the Collector.
I trained my ears to the repeating message.
What the hell was M-898?
Then my real phone rang. I hurried to my nightstand, scooped the glass device displaying Tara’s number, and dropped to the bed to accommodate my throbbing muscle.
“Please tell me you’re hearing what I’m hearing,” I said automatically.
“Um— yeah . What the hell?” Tara spoke. I could hear the same monotone voice coming from her Collector.
“I guess we . . . do what it says?”
“Ugh,” she moaned. I could tell the Collector had woken her up. “I’ll see you then.”
I tapped the phone and tossed it onto the covers. The angelic voice from my Collector kept playing until I had to shove it underneath two of my pillows.
It was three in the afternoon when I decided to head over to the Turnmont. I simply couldn’t wait any longer. Luckily, the Collector had stopped its ranting, allowing me to safely walk around town without drawing a crowd. Inside the hotel, I moved quietly over to Tara as she sat in a plush armchair within her favorite nook.
“I—I was getting some instruments for—”
“There are no instruments in the Conference Station, you know that,” he said, stepping closer.
Peter swallowed. He could feel his fear bouncing off the walls.
“Doctor . . .” the wiry man spoke, “why is your pocket turning red?”
Kipling looked down, and to his horror, the blood from his stump was starting to escape the bandages.
The Vice President took another step, inches away. “Where are they, Doctor?”
Peter’s lips were quivering now. Images of his family filtered through his mind. He could feel traces of snot dripping out of his nose. “I tried. I tried! ”
“Doctor . . . where are they?
“He—he told me to do it. He told me to release them.”
“Who told you?” The Doctor didn’t budge, crippled by his fear. The Vice President approached. “ Who told you?! ”
“S-Slate.”
The Vice President looked furious. He shook with anger. “So,” he said. “It’s begun.”
Doctor Kipling felt a searing pain enter his stomach. He looked down at the thick blade sticking out of his belly. His body locked up. Coughing and spitting blood, he fell to his knees.
The Vice President pushed the Doctor to the ground, turning the blade. “You shouldn’t have let them escape!”
10
Sweat dropped off of my nose, creating a damp spot in my carpet. My muscles burned for the first time in five years. The pain filled me with exhilaration and ecstasy.
It was six o’ clock in the morning, four days after the night of the Vax announcement, and I was wide awake. Once I hit my fiftieth pushup, I dropped on the floor, breathing like a wild dog. I couldn’t believe I made it past twenty. My flabby flesh and brittle bones ached. I rolled onto my back and began a set of crunches.
Today marked the third day of my Volunteer service. I had a purpose. I had desire. And I had Tara. For the first time in five years, I was happy.
Tara and I had become quite the team. Our collection route worked without complications. Our small acquaintance had turned into a warm friendship. And best of all, I figured out that Kevin Bates was just a close friend. Triple score.
“Ow!” I groaned. “Damn it!” My abs howled. I must’ve pulled a muscle.
I started laughing, laying on the carpet with my hands stretched back. Each jolt of laughter made the pain worse, but it wasn’t Edge pain.
I was wrapped in a sphere of elation. Tara came to mind again. God, I was lucky. We got along great, we both had an unfavorable past, and we shared the same conceptions about, well, everything.
My phone buzzed on my dresser. I struggled into a sitting position. I could have sworn I had left my phone on my nightstand.
“Volunteer M-898, please return to the Turnmont apartment complex at five-thirty this evening. A GenoTec supervisor requests your presence. Volunteer . . .”
It wasn’t my phone. The voice was coming from the Collector.
I trained my ears to the repeating message.
What the hell was M-898?
Then my real phone rang. I hurried to my nightstand, scooped the glass device displaying Tara’s number, and dropped to the bed to accommodate my throbbing muscle.
“Please tell me you’re hearing what I’m hearing,” I said automatically.
“Um— yeah . What the hell?” Tara spoke. I could hear the same monotone voice coming from her Collector.
“I guess we . . . do what it says?”
“Ugh,” she moaned. I could tell the Collector had woken her up. “I’ll see you then.”
I tapped the phone and tossed it onto the covers. The angelic voice from my Collector kept playing until I had to shove it underneath two of my pillows.
It was three in the afternoon when I decided to head over to the Turnmont. I simply couldn’t wait any longer. Luckily, the Collector had stopped its ranting, allowing me to safely walk around town without drawing a crowd. Inside the hotel, I moved quietly over to Tara as she sat in a plush armchair within her favorite nook.
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