Mortal - Chapter 8

 Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the eighth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here for Chapter 7.

There’s a gentle pressure on my forehead, and I snap my eyes open.

An assistant stands over me, pressing a damp cloth to my face. Her long black curls brush against my jaw when she glances down at me and smiles slightly. “You’re awake...” she says, her voice soft and sweet. Only when she walks over to the counter with the telephone do I realize we’re in a test room.

Only when I try to sit up do I realize I cannot move my arms or legs. Leather straps squeeze my arms to my chest, and push my legs together. There’s a ringing in my ears as I struggle to escape the restraints. Hopeless gasps and grunts spill from my mouth as I twist and yank my body up. All to no avail.

I stare at the young woman as she speaks into the telephone, her back facing me, but her chin is to her shoulder as she watches me out of the corner of her eye. I see her lips move, but can only hear the monotone and quiet screech that begins from nowhere, yet ends everywhere.

It’s the worse sound to hear when you already feel alone.

I try to scream, trying to replace the sound, but my throat is strained and can only create a raspy moan. The assistant hangs up the phone and walks towards me and places her hands on either side of my face. “Shh. Shh. Shhhhh,” she tells me, “Calm down, Garrett. Everything is going to be okay. Dr. Long and the Secretary will be here shortly.”

My stomach twists, and I begin to tremble. What is wrong with me? Memories of the bunker fill my mind, and it takes me a while to understand that the screaming, pitifully sobbing maniac was me. I had gone crazy. What would they do to me? I can feel tears slipping from my eyes and falling down my face. The assistant wipes them away with her thumb. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

She must be a specified assistant for the insane. Never would an assistant be so kind, especially if someone just ruined a test. Her face is so pretty and youthful, I can’t help but want to trust her.

Dr. Long enters the room followed by the Secretary. The scientist carries a clipboard, his spectacled eyes staring down at whatever it holds. The Secretary scratches his head, looking nervous as he ducks into the room and closes the door.

“Hello, Garrett,” Dr. Long greets.

As soon as I see his eyes, I ferociously restart my efforts to break free. Dr. Long writes something down on his clipboard. The woman speaks up, “He still shows signs of trauma, Doctor.”

“Yes, I can see, Addison,” Dr. Long responds absently.

“What happened?” the Secretary asks, exasperated.

“Garrett seemed to have experienced a mental breakdown during his recent test,” the doctor answers smoothly.

Arthur Paracot’s dark eyes bore into me for a moment before turning to Dr. Long, “And how’s that important?”

Dr. Long blinks, and his lip twists, “Don’t you see?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow and his mouth twitches, “See what?” he snaps, “When you came into to my office, you said you’ve discovered something crucial. I don’t see how observing yet another case of insanity is worth my time.”

Dr. Long flinches, but resumes his composed voice, “This is different. I think this case of…” he gives me a side-ways glance, “frail mentality, has something to do with what we discussed a few weeks back.”

Arthur Paracot grimaces, “What are you…” his voice trails, and there is an ominous glint in his eyes, “I see…and what makes you think this, Dr. Long?”

“Well,” Dr. Long shifts uneasily, “Garrett’s test today was with weaponry.”

The Secretary’s eyes linger on me for a while, and I lift my arms against the restraints, grunting.

“And this means what?” he asks curiously. He tilts his head slightly as he stares at me, and chills run down my spine.

“A bullet wound to the heart or head is one of the most painless tests we facilitate here, Mr. Secretary. And Garrett knows this,” Dr. Long responds.

I turn to face the scientist slowly, and I search for answers in his eyes. He seems to know more about my strange reaction than I do…

The Secretary takes a seat on the stool, and rests his chin in his hands. “What happened, Garrett?”

I lower my gaze as my body tightens, “I don’t know…” my voice is still a hoarse whisper.

“What were you feeling, Garrett?” Dr. Long suggests the question.

I roll my shoulders in response as I stare blankly into the wall. I can hear the buzzing of the lights, and I try focus on that as I croak, “I knew I had to get away…”

“Why?” Dr. Long asks, blinking, “What were you afraid of?”

The girl’s face flashes across the back of my eyes, and I whisper, “I saw a…”, but quickly, I clamp my jaw shut, and my eyes narrow as I realize I can trust no one. And although it seemed impossible that this vision has something to do with death, I would not share anything that would get them closer to their goal.

“What did you see?” Dr. Long asks eagerly.

I ignore him, and chillingly demand, “Where’s Abel?”

Dr. Long blinks in confusion, but the Secretary’s eyes narrow in recognition. I’m surprised he remembers the name.

“He’s eating breakfast, like all the others,” Arthur Paracot responds coolly.

I bite my lip as I comprehend I’ve been passed out for nearly a whole day. Or maybe they made sure I’d stay out. “What did you do to him?”

“I’d focus less on his fate and more on yours, if I were you,” the Secretary retorts.

I can feel the icy coiling of a snake inching up my legs, and I stifle a gasp as my eyes widen.

“Arthur…” Dr. Long begins warily, “What are you thinking?”

“Let’s try this evaluation one more time, shall we, Doctor?” the Secretary stands up, and coughs into his fist.

My whole body tenses, and can only seem to sift air into my mouth through a small crevice in my lip. I can feel Addison’s hand squeeze my shoulder.

“Sir…” Dr. Long protests softly, “I’m not sure that’s a very good idea. We don’t know what would happen if we…”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Arthur Paracot snaps with the jerk of his head. “Perhaps young Garrett is right…” the Secretary crouches down, so our eyes are trained on the other. “Maybe a little spontaneity is all we need to find the cure.”

“Please, Mr. Secretary,” I can hear Addison’s sweet voice begging, “If we try this again, without knowing what even set him off, he could be lost forever.”

“I agree with Addison,” Dr. Long asserts himself, “We need to calculate all the variables before we try again. If this test works, we might never be able to figure out why.”

“Did I just get a sudden hit to the head?” the Secretary laughs mirthlessly as he straightens his back, “Or have I just lost my mind?” he glances down at me with a smile, “You just told me you thought the gun caused his reaction, Doctor!”

“You’re right,” Dr. Long agrees, “But in this business, we can’t afford to have hunches without evidence to back it up.”

“Sure we can,” the Secretary says, “Do you know that we are living through a world crisis, Dr. Long?”

“Of course I do, but—“

“Do you know how long this problem has been endured?”

“About twenty-five years, sir, but that’s beside the—“

The Secretary’s soft voice suddenly rises, yet the terrifying calmness remains, “Do you know, doctor, that not a single human being out there, cares about another single being?”

“That’s not true,” Addison whispers, but her head lowers.

“Is it not? The other day, Mr. Gild brought up a very valid point that intrigued me. How can we find death without pain? Surely, this isn’t a difficult concept to understand. The world knows now that we are searching for death. I’d like to believe they aren’t stupid enough to think all we need is a treasure map and a flashlight. And yet, all I hear is praise.

“Doctors, the world of morals no longer exist. So quit trying to act like its inhabitants. Prep the test. I’ll be down shortly to observe.”

The Secretary leaves without another word while the scientists stare at his absence.

“I suppose he’s right,” Dr. Long sighs after a moment.

“How can you say that?” Addison asks bitterly.

“The boy is currently detached from reality, yes? It makes sense that if we try again in his current state…” Dr. Long’s voice trails into uncertainty.

Addison grumbles, and she begins to wash her hands in the sink. “And what if it does work, huh? We’ve tried this test hundreds of times, and only Garrett reacted this way. How will everyone else get the same results?”

Dr. Long glances to me and without emotion says, “We’ll find a way.”

The realization of what they plan to do to me finally sinks into my stomach. “Please…you don’t have to do this…” my whole body shakes as Dr. Long makes a phone call.

“Relax, Garrett,” Addison whispers as she dries her hands with a paper towel. “It’ll be okay…just take deep breaths. I promise you won’t have to do this test anymore after this, alright?”

Before I even know it, I’m screaming at her, calling her nasty things, spit flying from my mouth. Because at that moment, the only thing I am sure of, is that she’s lying.

 Her back presses up against the counter, and she stares at me with wide eyes. Without leaving my gaze, she lifts her hand to the counter, and grips a syringe tightly.

“No!” Dr. Long shouts over my hysteric screams which are hoarse and cracking from the strain in my vocal chords. “He needs to be alert when we do this.”

Addison grimaces and she reluctantly drops the syringe back on the counter. Guards enter the room and push me against the chair as Dr. Long begins to unbuckle the restraints. I scream and struggle against the hands. Finally, they pull me upward and one of them restrains my hands with his strong grip, and pushes me off the chair, lowering me to my feet.

“Take him to Bunker Eight,” Dr. Long orders. “We’ll be overseeing the experiment from the box.” 

Both guards grab one of my arms and slides me out of the room. “Please,” I moan, “Please…don’t…”

I feel my energy being replaced by fear, and for some reason, I believe this gunshot could kill me. Never have I wanted to live more than I do now.

We enter the bunker, and the guards carry me across the floor to the spot of dried blood. The familiarity of the place is sickening, and sweat speckles my face. The guards lower me so that my feet touch the concrete, but they do not release my arms, and with their free hand grip my shoulders. “I don’t want to die…” I croak, and when I see the same man with the gun come into the room, my heartbeat rages in my ears, and I try to struggle free. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dr. Long and the Secretary standing next to each other, through the window.

I return my terrified gaze to the gunman. His face emotionless…so different from…

The gunman vanishes. A girl my age takes his place. She is shaking as she holds the gun. Her dark hair clumped to her face, and make-up running down her cheeks as jittery sobs escape her. She holds the gun with two hands, and as far away from her as possible—her arms looking uncomfortably strained from the long stretch. Her finger twitches, and—

I jolt in place, and the gunman has returned. Tears fall from my eyes as I tremble, and try to jerk myself free. The man with the gun lifts the gun to chest-level, and I scrunch my eyes shut, knowing I have lost the fight.

“Let’s see if you’re the one we’ve been looking for, Garrett,” Arthur Paracot says right before the explosion of noise ricochets off the walls.

And then the swelling pressure comes ripping through the skin of my chest. Red blotches cloud my vision. The sound of the drum in my ears is now gone. I sink to my knees. My face hits the floor as darkness claims me for itself.

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