David Bernstein - Machines of the Dead

Jack continued to shake his head. He was dreaming. This was all some kind of nightmare; his sick wife, the city in a crisis, and his sitting tied to a wheelchair. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. He opened his eyes, feeling none the better, because he wasn’t dreaming, and no matter how many times he told himself he was, he knew he wasn’t.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

A sound, like metal sliding over metal, came from the door. A moment later, it swung inward and a small man, dressed in a white lab coat, followed by a large man dressed in black fatigues and wearing a Taser on his belt, entered the room. Jack recognized the man in black from his apartment.

“You here to let me out of this thing?” Jack asked.

“All of your questions will be answered shortly, Mr. Warren,” the small man said.

“Good, where’s my wife?”

The small man walked out of the room as the man in black came around behind Jack, took hold of the wheelchair, and pushed him out of the room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’re lucky to be here with us, Mr. Warren,” the small man said. “Sit tight and the doctor will answer all of your questions.”

“Please, just tell me where my wife is.”

“You’ll see her shortly.”

Jack was wheeled down the hall to an elevator. From there, he and the others traveled down three flights to another hallway, which ended at a set of double doors. A man and a woman, wearing black fatigues, each carrying an M4 machine gun and holstering a sidearm and Taser, stood to either side of the doors.

The small man used his keycard and the doors parted.

Jack was wheeled into a large room. Bookshelf-sized electronic equipment took up the entire rear wall, while a number of computer stations occupied most of the floor space. A large plate glass window, about six feet tall and twenty feet wide, occupied the wall space to Jack’s left. Looking at it, he could see nothing but darkness.

Finally, Jack was parked at the side of one of the computer terminals. He turned his head around and saw the guard walk off to the back of the room. Not a moment later, a tall man with a full head of salt and pepper colored hair came over to him.

“Hello, Mr. Warren,” the man said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I know you have a lot of questions and I’ll be happy to answer them as best I can.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“I figured that would be your first question.” The man walked behind Jack and reposition ed his chair so that he faced a large window. “I want you to know, Mr. Warren, that you are being restrained for our protection, as well as yours.”

“Great, I feel better. Now tell me where my wife is.”

“We’ll get to that soon.”

“Look, Mister…?”

“Doctor, ” the man said, correcting him. “My name is D r. Reynolds.”

Through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm an d submissive, Jack said, “Dr. Reynolds, I have no idea where I am or what’s going on. I just want to know where my wife is.”

“I know,” the doctor said, and Jack couldn’t tell if the man was looking upon him with pity or contempt, “but I need you to understand what has happened. Your world has changed and in more ways than one.”

Jack met the man’s eyes. “I don’t give a shit about anything right now. Fuck the world and fuck you. I just want to see my wife.”

“As you wish,” the man said, then turned toward his computer monitor. Jack watched as the man bent over and began hitting keys on the keyboard. Bright light erupted from the large plate-glass window and Jack could see into another room.

A woman was standing hunched over in the center of the room with her long hair hiding her face. She had on a tattered white gown with a red floral pattern on the front. Upon closer examination, Jack noticed that the pattern wasn’t of flowers, but something else. A door opened at the back of the room and a guard entered. He had on a puffy suit of armor, like something a dog trainer would wear. Shutting the door, the guard stood still, facing the individual in the center of the room.

The woman seemed to jump into gear. She turned toward the figure, raised her head and began to walk forward. Her arms were outstretched, and she walked stiff-legged, as if she’d had too much alcohol to drink.

Jack was captivated, unable to look away or speak. He was glad the woman’s back was to him, because for some reason, he didn’t want to see her face.

When the woman drew close, Puffy Suit held out his forearm, just like a dog trainer does with an attacking canine. The woman grabbed the man’s arm and began viciously gnawing at it, as if it was a juicy chicken leg. A chill ran down Jack’s spine.

“What are you thinking, Mr. Warren?” D r. Reynolds asked.

Jack swallowed. The woman in the other room was acting as his wife had acted. Whatever had infected Jess had infected this woman too. He needed to see Jess; to make sure she was okay.

“I think it’s awful what that lady is going through. She’s obviously very sick and needs help. Why are you showing this to me?”

“Because you need to see it with your own eyes.”

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” Jack demanded, turning away from the window. A dreadful sensation, like knowing someone only had moments left to live, fell over him. “I want to see my wife, now.”

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Warren, but your wife is dead.”

“Bullshit. She’s alive. I was just with her in our apartment a few hours ago.”

Doctor Reynolds reached out and grabbed a microphone that was sitting on his desk. He pressed a button on his keyboard and said, “Bring it to the window.”

“What are you doing? I said I’ve seen enough.”

Puffy Suit shoved the woman away and jogged over to the glass, then faced in the direction of the woman.

“What day is it, Mr. Warren?”

Jack had to think for moment. “Saturday.”

The woman in the room was walking toward the glass now, toward Puffy Suit.

“And today’s date?”

Jack, thinking, then said, “November 12th. What’s next, you want to know the year?”

The woman in the room was closer now.

“It’s the 15th of November. You’ve been unconscious for three days. ”

“What?” Jack asked shocked, and turned to meet the doctor’s eyes.

“We took you from your apartment three days ago.”

“What about Jess? I know you took her too.”

“ That is true,” Reynolds said, then motioned to the window. Jack moved his gaze from the man to the window.

Puffy Suit had his forearm out in front of him again, readying for it to be attacked. The woman was close now, her face clearly visible. She looked barely alive, face gaunt, eyes sunken in, and flesh, the color of a cadaver’s. Her eyes were lifeless, chin covered in red. What Jack thought was a pattern on the fabric; he now knew was blood. All over the blood-covered gown were holes and rips, as if someone had gone at her with some kind of implement or weapon.

The corpse-like woman looked familiar. Jack shook his head, refusing to admit it. It couldn’t be. He didn’t want it to be. But it was his wife, Jess. She looked dreadful, malnourished and ailing, but at least she was still alive.

“Jess,” he shouted. “Baby.”

“She can’t hear you, Mr. Warren.”

Jack was teary eyed, shaking. “She looks terrible. What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s dead, Mr. Warren. Your wife’s dead.”

“Don’t say that; don’t you say that. You took us for a reason. You can save her.”

The doctor stood. “No, I can’t. She’s already dead.”

“She’s right there,” Jack said, motioning with his head, as if the doctor couldn’t see her. “What are you saying? That there’s no cure?”