Robison Wells - Blackout

Jack forced himself to smile. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“Not comforting, really,” Dr. Eastman said, taking the clip off Jack’s finger. “It’s just interesting. People with the Erebus virus are really on the border of humanity—they have strange side effects that make them almost inhuman.”

Jack stared at the ceiling. The army doctors thought of the prisoners as inhuman. That explained a lot.

“Of course, it’s not all flashy,” Dr. Eastman said. He was looking at his papers again. “I’ll bet you a dollar that when your symptoms manifest they’re not going to be anything ostentatious. Everyone talks about the big ones—the boy who can run incredibly fast or the girl who can yell at a very high decibel range. But ninety-five percent of people can only do useless things. We had a boy in here just the other day that had hot breath. Imagine that. We measured it and he got up to four hundred degrees Celsius.”

Jack nodded. He wanted to ask a question, but his throat suddenly felt very dry and his chest was tight with anxiety.

“On the other hand, we had one of the most amazing young ladies come through this week, too. Simply marvelous. And she’d manifested years ago.”

Dr. Eastman was quiet for a moment, fiddling with his paperwork.

“What are the bad symptoms?” Jack finally said. “How serious is this?”

“That’s another strange thing,” Eastman said. “The negative symptoms are as varied as the so-called good ones. And sometimes the combination is just terrible. I read the case of a boy who had amazing strength—they estimated he could lift ten to twelve times his weight—but he also had brittle bones. Ever since he manifested he’d been in a wheelchair. Imagine that—being able to do something amazing, but knowing that doing it could kill you.”

“Is this going to kill me?”

“I’m not going to lie,” Eastman said, looking down at Jack. “We don’t know. The nation’s top scientists are working on it right now. But we have very little data, and certainly not enough to determine a life expectancy.”

He bent down to one of the drawers and came back up with a handful of brightly colored wires.

“Now,” he said. “We’re going to see if we can’t get you to manifest.”

“Will it hurt?” Jack tugged against the restraints, but his arms felt heavy and sluggish.

“Oh,” Eastman said, attaching the first wire to Jack’s forehead. “It’ll hurt terribly. That’s why I asked about recent injuries. Erebus manifests during periods of intense trauma.”

Jack fought against the leather straps, kicking his legs and rattling the gurney.

“It’s no use,” Eastman said. He tapped the IV bag, which was now three-quarters empty. “You’ve been given a mild sedative so you won’t hurt yourself. Or us.”

He attached a second and third wire to Jack’s temples, and a fourth to the side of his neck.

Another two medics came in from the hallway. One began removing Jack’s shoes and the other used a pair of shears to cut away Jack’s shirt.

“Don’t I have to consent to this?” Jack said, panicked. “You can’t just do this to me.”

Eastman looked down into Jack’s eyes. “In the event that you actually have already manifested a symptom, but have been hiding it from me, now would be the time to say it.”

“I swear I haven’t,” Jack said. The medics were applying the wires all over Jack’s body now. “But there has to be some other way. This is crazy.”

Dr. Eastman tapped himself on the head. “I almost forgot something.” He gestured around at the room and then pointed at the ceiling. “This room is specially designed for this kind of testing, by which I mean that the room is designed to kill you if you should decide to attack someone. Above the acoustical tiles are high pressure valves that will drown you in seconds, and at any time we can use any one of these wires to deliver a strong enough shock to stop your heart.” He smiled. “So, let’s not have any trouble, okay?”

User: SusieMusie

Mood: Mellow

Holy hell, get ready for a landmark piece of information: Sara doesn’t think I’m pretty. She even repeated it about a hundred times today. Erica seems to agree (duh). I often wonder why I even hang out with them. I often wonder about a lot of the stupid things I do.

THERE WERE MEN IN THEstorage room. They were trying to be quiet, but Aubrey could hear the rattle of gear, the light squeak of a boot on linoleum.

She couldn’t see anything besides a sliver of light. Every muscle in her body felt heavy, like she was wearing one of those lead blankets at the dentist’s office. She tried to disappear and was immediately overcome with a panic attack—she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like her chest was sinking in on itself.

What was she thinking coming here? How was she supposed to save Jack? She couldn’t smuggle him out with her—she could barely hide herself.

She heard a box being pushed away, scraping against the floor. She heard a cupboard open, then another.

She concentrated on staying invisible. It took all her effort.

Her cupboard flew open and she was staring down the muzzle of a rifle. She let out a yelp and closed her eyes to stop herself from crying. This was so stupid.

But the soldier didn’t see her. He closed her cupboard and moved on.

She reappeared, and a small wave of relaxation moved over her.

Tears came, but she didn’t let herself make a sound.

She would go back—sneak into her tent the way that she’d come. With any luck, she hadn’t slept through evening roll call. She had no idea how long she’d been in the cupboard, but with the pain in her back it felt like days.

“All clear in room 118,” a voice said. “Over.”

A radio sparked back with the command, “Leave a man there and move to the next room. She has to be nearby.”

Aubrey’s stomach dropped.

She’d been invisible from the moment she’d left the tents to the moment she’d climbed into the cupboard. No one could have seen her. It was impossible.

Unless—was she slipping? Could she not control it when she’d been so exhausted outside?

This was so stupid. She thought she could just do whatever she wanted, go wherever she wanted. And she couldn’t. Someone had seen her. The alarm had been for her.

Had the helicopter been searching for her?

She swallowed the remaining water from the shampoo bottle, and quickly ate the last two granola bars, trying to cram as much energy into her body as possible. Then she disappeared.

Aubrey didn’t worry about being quiet now. She was only concerned with speed. She pushed the cupboard door open and immediately saw the two soldiers. One was standing by a shelf, absently looking at some of the documents. The other was in the doorway, looking out. She’d have to squeeze past him.

She took a deep, painful breath, and stood. She wanted to run, but knew she was too unsteady on her feet. She moved past the first man easily, and then had to press her back against the wall to slide past the second man and out of the room.

The radio crackled to life. “Private Hickman, she’s in the hallway. Over.”

Aubrey froze. Someone could see her.

The soldier in the doorway yanked his radio to his mouth. “Where? I don’t see anyone. Over.”

“She’s right in front of you, Private.”

Aubrey ran, and the radio squawked behind her, shouting orders.

“Turn left. She’s running toward Corridor Two. Over.”

The sound of boots on the hard linoleum clattered behind her.

How was this happening? She sucked at the air, trying to get a full breath but her body was fighting her.