Adam Baker - Terminus

He sat alone in the carriage. He wore a red prison-issue smock and pants. Bare feet. He was chained to the passenger seat by an ankle shackle. Garbage bags had been taped over the windows so he couldn’t see medical personnel carry surgical equipment across the platform to the improvised operating theatre in the adjacent carriage.

Knox had been given a bible. A faux leather King James. It sat unopened beside him.

I set down a tray. His last meal. A couple of luncheon meat sandwiches and a fruit beverage.

‘Do you want to pray?’ I asked.

‘Fuck you.’

‘It might help.’

‘Help who? You or me?’

‘You’re not a religious man?’

‘Look around you. A billion dead. A billion prayers unanswered. If Jesus didn’t break cover to help countless grieving mothers, why the hell would he intercede to save my sorry ass?’

‘It might ease your mind. The sound. The old words.’

‘God is gone. Packed his bags and left. No forwarding address. Nothing in the sky but infinite dark.’

‘I brought a clock.’

‘To watch my life tick away? How the hell would that help?’

‘Anything you want to talk about? You got a few hours left.’

‘Seriously. Fuck you.’

‘Any messages you want to pass on? I could help you write a letter.’

‘Think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know how to write my name?’

‘No.’

‘Read a damn sight more books than your cracker ass. Better educated than half the guys in this sewer.’

‘I could fetch pen and paper. Got relatives somewhere? We might be able to get a message to them, somehow.’

‘What if I said I had kids? A family out there, worrying about their dad? Would you give a crap?’

‘Maybe we should just sit a while.’

‘I’m chained to the seat. Ain’t got much choice.’

‘I can get water. More food, if you need it.’

‘Let me ask you something. Ekks. Do you trust him?’

‘Barely spoke to the guy. I’m just a turn-key.’

‘You’ve known the man, what, a week? And here you are, colluding in murder.’

‘He got us out of Bellevue. The handful that stayed behind? Those assholes convinced tanks and planes were coming to the rescue? Long dead.’

‘He saved you folks because you were useful.’

‘Those doctors and nurses out there have known him for years.’

‘Got a mind of your own, don’t you? What do you think of the guy?’

I shrugged.

‘I’m sorry it came down to this.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Knox.

‘Moxon. David.’

‘They’re going to kill me, Dave. They’re going to kill me and cut me up. Pull out my spine. Crack open my head.’ He tapped his temple. ‘This skull. Right here. They’ll saw it open and scoop out my brain. My brain, dude. Thoughts, memories, emotions. They’re going to take it all away.’

‘I’m sorry, man. Sorry you drew the short straw.’

‘Do you even know why you’re doing this? Any of you?’

‘A cure.’

‘They are going to inject me with the virus. They’ll watch me change. Then they’ll set the cameras rolling and dissect me like a frog, do it while I’m still alive. How the hell does that help? Thousands of infected roaming the streets. Why would one more make a difference?’

‘I’m not a doctor.’

‘Even the white coats don’t understand why this is necessary. I’ve heard them whispering outside the window. No one has the balls to stand up to the guy. Too chickenshit. He wants to instigate murder, and everyone falls in line. Makes no damned sense whatsoever. He’s going to stick a needle in my arm, watch me die, and somehow that is going to result in some big-ass eureka moment? He’s going to kill me, here in this tunnel, and that’s going to provoke some world-shaking breakthrough, produce a cure that eluded Nobel Prize winners working in fully-equipped labs? You have to set me loose, kid. Undo these cuffs.’

‘Sorry. Can’t do it.’

‘Give me a paperclip. I’ll pick the lock. Tell them I broke free and overpowered you.’

‘I’m so sorry. I wish I could help. But I can’t.’

‘It’s not about me, dumbass. It’s about you guys. This whole sick cavalcade. One big, deliberate mindfuck. The team in these tunnels, the doctors, nurses and soldiers. They all took an oath to preserve life. Built their lives around it. And they are going to throw it all away.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Ekks is a nut. A psychopath. He’s laughing at you guys. Laughing his ass off. I don’t understand why you can’t see it. It’s like you’re all blind. He acts all paternal and concerned. He smiles, plays The Great Healer. But deep down, any fool can see this is the most fun he’s had in his life. The monsters dancing in his head, the dark carnival locked in his skull, finally made it out into the world. All the death and horror out there in the streets? He loves it. He’s exultant. Euphoric. Never felt more at home. It’s like his dreams leaked out of his ears and took over the world.’

‘Have you ever spoken with the man?’

‘Ekks? I’ve watched him real close.’

‘But have you actually spoken with him? Have you exchanged a single word?’

‘I’ve looked in his eyes. Told me all I need to know.’

‘Everyone respects the guy. He’s smart. He organised defences back at Bellevue. He rationed food, showed people how to drain water from the pipes. It was his idea to hide here at Fenwick. We’d all be dead a long time ago, if not for him. He saved our asses a dozen times.’

‘He saved you so he could kill you. It’s not enough to see those infected folks rip you to pieces. Too easy. He’s got something better in mind.’

‘Like what?’

‘We’ve all become killers. Every one of us. I killed a couple of folks back at the hospital. Patients in gowns. Met them in a corridor. Tried to rip out my throat. I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall, did what I had to do. And those 101st grunts. They expended a shitload of ammo during the run from Bellevue to 23rd Street. Hell of a body count. We’ve all got horror stories, a lifetime of nightmares. But we killed folk who had long since ceased to be themselves, people who were pretty much dead already. Shit, we did them a favour. If they had a voice, if they had a mind, they would have pleaded for a bullet in the brain.

But this is different. This is how Ekks intends to break you. He wants to see his team of ministering angels transformed into a lynch mob. He wants to see them violate every code. Descend to his fucked up level. He’s going to rub your noses in the dirt until you admit you are nothing more than pissing, shitting animals, no better than those creeps crawling around the streets outside. He doesn’t want to kill me. I’m nothing. A lab rat. A germ in a Petri dish. He’s going to push you guys until you destroy yourselves. You have to say No. You have to make a stand.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. The guy has been a surgeon for years. He’s healed thousands of people.’

‘Because he enjoys life-or-death power. That’s how he gets his rocks off. He likes to drill a person’s skull and probe inside their mind.’

‘People with strokes, people with Alzheimer’s. He isn’t some sanatorium butcher dishing out twenty lobotomies a day. He’s a world-class neurosurgeon. He’s trying to help.’

‘Everyone who got wheeled into that guy’s surgical theatre came out changed. Maybe for the better. But they got tweaked. That’s the kick. That’s the buzz. He’s a real-life Doctor Frankenstein. He gowns-up, stands over the operating table and creates something new. The guy is an insect. And this is his time. The Year of the Bug. His moment to reign.’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just a guard.’