Adrian Smith - The Rule of Three - An Extinction Cycle Novella

Is that what I am? An incubator?

His fevered mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing. He had no idea how long he’d been down here. His throbbing head and intense hunger told him it was several days, at least.

Jack could feel the tube of his water bladder resting on his shoulder. Fleeting memories of the last few days returned, flashing in his mind's eye.

Struggling against his bonds; rubbing his wrist raw; water so tantalizingly close. Screeching. Clacking. Cutting. Thud…!

With all his remaining strength, he pushed his backside against the wall, relieving some of the pressure on his right arm, which was twisted around uncomfortably so the back of his hand touched the concrete wall, the membrane holding it fast. This time, he managed to wrench his left arm free. He grabbed the water valve and, twisting it towards his mouth, sucked on the tube, releasing the tepid but wonderful water into his mouth. Jack could feel it as it ran all the way down into his rumbling stomach. Gulping a few mouthfuls, he stopped himself from drinking too much. Making himself sick would alert the creatures.

His mind began to clear. Pushing his left arm back under the membrane, he felt along the waist belt of his hiking pack for the little pouch. Finding it, he unzipped it. Slowly, fearful of alerting the monsters, he removed one of his protein bars. Rabidly, he tore off the wrapper. Forgetting about the creatures for now, he fed his hunger. To survive, he had to eat.

With his appetite sated for now, and his thirst quenched, Jack took stock of his situation.

What is it that guy always said? There’s always a way out?

All right. I’m stuck to a wall. In some horror-filled nightmare. Surrounded by dead or dying people. Creatures from the seventh circle of hell want to eat me.

Great. Just great.

Typical.

Jack tore at the membrane holding his right arm fast against the wall, stopping every few seconds to listen for them. Hell, but the stuff was tough. Again and again he pulled on it. It was like trying to tear a plastic shopping bag at the handles: it stretched, but refused to break. With a final tug, he managed to free his right arm.

The stench of rotten fruit wafted down the corridor, alerting him to creatures approaching. Clenching all his muscles tight, he rammed his arms back into position and went stiff as a board. Prayed to anything.

The horrors scurried along the corridor, their joints popping as they moved. Heart pounding, Jack risked a peek through his semi-closed eyelids. Two had stopped a few meters away.

One of the creatures used its claw-like appendages to quickly saw through a membrane, and as he watched, a blonde-haired women dropped to the floor with a thud. Shock made him unable to look away. The other creature bent down, joints popping, and scooped her up with ease. The pair turned and scurried away. Jack was about to look away when a shadow to one side caught his attention.

A short, overweight man with a red trucker’s cap loomed into the light. He scratched his butt, and looked over toward Jack. Then spat on the floor next to a red-haired women. He reached up and groped her breasts.

Quite clearly, Jack heard him say, “Pity. This one’s pretty.”

Then he shuffled off after the creatures.

A man was walking around in this place of horrors, unscathed? Jack’s foggy mind struggled to comprehend it. He inhaled to call out for help, but some innate sense stopped him. Instead, Jack just stared as the man walked away down the corridor. The whole thing felt wrong to Jack. Very, very wrong. He needed answers. Wanted answers. Where am I? How long have I been here? What is this place? Why is that creep walking around when the rest of us are stuck to the walls?

With renewed determination, Jack redoubled his efforts to get free. He wanted to see Dee again. To see those beautiful, smiling eyes. To feel her reassuring touch. He needed her. When Dee was around, everything seemed right. I have to survive this. We have to survive this.

He wondered what was happening to her. She must surely be really worried about him by now.

With both arms now free, he started working on liberating his legs. Pulling and tearing, even biting when he could. But the membrane tasted foul, so he gave that idea up quite quickly.

Once he got one leg free, he was able to twist his body and, with one last shove, wrenched the rest of his body free. He landed on the floor with a thud. Cringing, he glanced down the corridor in the direction the creatures had gone, followed by the red cap-wearing man. Seeing nothing, and more importantly, hearing nothing, he gingerly got to his feet. As soon as he put weight on his right leg, he winced in pain. He quickly adjusted his weight off the leg. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped around his leg. Removing the bandage, Jack found a gash that ran twenty centimeters up his thigh from his knee, cutting deep into the skin. Congealed blood had crusted around the wound, but plasma was beginning to seep thanks to his recent activity. As quietly as he could, he removed his pack and opened the bottom compartment, pulling out the outdoorman’s best friend, a roll of duct tape. Tearing off a segment, he closed the wound as best he could, then wrapped the bandage back around his leg. Adjusting his pack on his back, Jack then crept toward the humming.

As he slowly made his way down the corridor, warm air flowed over him. Treading carefully down the centre of the corridor, he kept his focus straight ahead. He dared not look to either side, at the other victims strung up like slaughtered cattle. Waiting to be butchered and fed on.

Is this what animals think of us?

Jack didn’t want to put any faces into his memory, traumatised as it was. What if he saw someone he knew? Could he deal with that? What if he saw Dee? This last thought made him pause and crouch down. Forcing himself to breath slow and deep, Jack looked farther down the corridor. About halfway down was a door with a big red sign on it, but the text remained unintelligible. With something to focus on, he was about to rise when something moved at the edge of his vision. Half stumbling, he fell back on his arse. Staring into his eyes was a young, red-haired boy, his ice blue eyes piercing. Jack knew him, and as he stared back, his tired, traumatised mind cleared.

Shivering in the river, half floating, half swimming, Jack could see the creatures on the banks. There seemed to be packs of them. Never entering the water. They weren’t afraid, just unsure…

Following him, they gathered into larger packs. Screeching. Howling. Spitting.

Occasionally their heads would lift, sniffing the air, and they would tear off with excited howls, gone for a time. Jack enjoyed these interludes. He didn't feel so on edge, waiting for one of them to pluck up the courage and dive in for him. But they returned… always. And in greater numbers.

He laughed to himself; they were like the sandpeople! If Dee was here, she would be telling Jack to be serious, but this was his superpower. His coping mechanism. Always finding the silly side of something, or finding a movie or TV reference in anything. He had once been on the wrong side of an armed robbery and had had a gun pointed at his head. This was how he’d got through the trauma; well, the Valium was nice too…

The sun came up, the sunlight turning the sky from red and orange to pink, to blue. The nightmare creatures slowly left the riverbank, and by late morning Jack couldn’t see any. Not wanting to risk it, he stayed in the water for another hour. As he came around a bend in the river, he saw a house he recognised thanks to its unique architecture. Swimming ashore, Jack clambered out, then sat for a while on the riverbank, enjoying the warmth of the sun. At length he field dressed his wound, then made for the house, hoping for food.