13

Chapter 13 of Disease

Thurman would never allow such a fate to befall the ones he loved.

- Kukulcan

At first, Robert couldn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t comprehend the fact that he was no longer in a tent with Terrence, on their way to find a cure for the most deadly disease known to man. He just sat on the ground, eyes bleary, staring at the black rock walls that made up the tunnel. He stood up, stumbling over to one of the walls, and ran his hand over the rough stone.

When realization hit, Robert very nearly fell over; as it was, he stumbled away from the walls.

He was back. Back at CMHI. He looked down and saw he was wearing the same clothes he was wearing when Odin had sent him back to Earth.

Very astute observation, Mr. Thurman. Hunt said sarcastically. I’m surprised you haven’t solved our problems with that massive intellect of yours.

Shut up and let me think! Robert snapped, spinning around and looking at his surroundings. He was definitely back at the Institution; the question was, how long had it been since he escaped? What had happened in his time away from this infernal place?

Alright, Mr. Hunt, I have a question for you. I want you to answer truthfully. He said, focusing on calming himself down. Why am I back here? Why have I returned?

Why, because I brought you here. Hunt replied, amused. You think Odin was authorized to send you back to your dying world? Of course not. In fact, he did it in such a way so that the Caeleste didn’t even realize you had left. They thought you were still here.

So I wasn’t supposed to be back in the real? Robert asked, trying to understand.

Correct. Odin thought he was disrupting our plans. Hunt replied. However, after considering what you were able to accomplish in your world, I realized that Odin may have inadvertently assisted us in our aims.

Hold on. Robert cut in, confused. If I’m supposed to be over there, why did you bring me back here?

Hunt laughed. Because you still have work to do here, Mr. Thurman. You still are expected to fix some things in this world. The Caeleste still need you. He explained, and then he was gone.

Robert stood at the mouth of the cave, breathing heavily, the wheels spinning in his brain to try and figure out what to do next. After a few minutes, his traumatized mind came up with a step one: he needed to get out of this cave. Without questioning the validity of this idea, he began walking slowly but surely to the door leading to the prison hallway. Nearly hyperventilating, he wrapped his hand around the steel door handle, and with a deep breath, he twisted it and pulled the door open.

The prison looked just like he remembered it, dim and uninviting. Robert thanked the gods, real or false, that they had had changed him out of his bright orange jumpsuit while he was staying with the Caeleste. He didn’t want to be captured again by the nefarious guards in their bright blue uniforms.

The Uniforms.

Robert carefully traced his path of flight from when he and Elaine had escaped from the asylum, and tried to remember if it had been there. His eyes fell on the door he was looking for, and he sighed in relief.

The door said Laundry.

Robert quietly pulled the door open, peeking in to see if the room was empty. Satisfied that it was, he eased himself in and gingerly closing the door. He listened to hear if their was any sort of reaction from outside the room, in case he had triggered some sort of alarm from his sudden appearance. Apart from a small rumbling coming the machinery in the ceilings, he heard nothing.

Excellent.

He pulled off his simple shirt and pants he had received from the Caeleste, shivering faintly from the chilly air in the room. He went over to a large basket filled to the brim with the blue uniforms of the CMHI guards. Looking around quickly to make sure he wasn’t being witnessed, he snatched the pants, shirt, and jacket of the uniform and slipped them on swiftly. The scratchy cloth irritated his skin, but this wasn’t the time for him to be squeamish. he needed to blend in with the people here, and he couldn’t do that without this uniform.

After putting on his disguise, he looked around for the equipment the guards always wore; namely, a taser, handcuffs, a flashlight, and a police stick. He finally found different tubs with the equipment in a dark corner of the room, and he grabbed what he needed right before he heard the sound of the door opening.

“Hey!” An angry voice said. A guard had walked into the room. “Why aren’t you on duty? The Warden wanted everyone outside to witness the executions!”

“I needed to get new pieces. One of the prisoners attacked me and broke the other ones.” Robert lied, thinking on his feet. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had been planning on doing just that if he hadn’t found the tubs with the different things in them.

The guard narrowed his eyes, walking closer to Robert. Robert could smell the clean odor of aftershave and cologne on the guard, and he nearly wanted to gag from the unfamiliar smells.

“I don’t know you.” The guard said suspiciously, pointing a finger at Robert. “And I know everyone.” He looked around the room, and his eyes widened as they fell on Robert’s old clothes laying right in the open. He looked back at Robert, eyes gaping.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He nearly shouted, raising his hand and pointing a shaky finger at Robert.

In one quick, fluid movement Robert grabbed the man’s hand with one arm, pulled him forward, and snapped the guard’s arm around his own back. He howled, but Robert silenced him by slamming his head down against a table forcefully, rupturing the man’s skull and killing him instantly. He crumpled in a heap on the floor, blood oozing from the wound in his head. A black lump was already appearing right above his broken nose.

Robert stood above the fallen guard, breathing heavily, and considered his next move. He couldn’t just leave the guard here for someone to find. He needed to stash the body somewhere.

Really, Mr. Thurman, your astounding intellect never ceases to amaze me. Truly. Hunt said drily.

Would you just shut up? Robert nearly shouted. He needed to think.

A light bulb went off in his head as he realized he was in a laundry room, surrounded by easy hiding places. The machines themselves were excellent stash points, and he was sure they wouldn’t be looked at for a long time. First, he would need a little credibility with his disguise. Moving quickly, he snatched the man’s ID badge and clipped to his own uniform. He would need it if he wanted to truly infiltrate the facility.

He grabbed the guard’s left leg and pulled hard, straining against the man’s weight. He dragged the body over to one of the empty machines, and with several quiet grunts and rearrangements of his grip, he crammed the corpse into the small space in the machine.

He stood back and looked at his handiwork, realizing it was just a bit too obvious. HE walked over to a small hamper in the corner and withdrew a few armfuls of the dirty clothes inside. He stuffed those in alongside the body, and then closed the door to the machine. He was about to turn it on when he realized the body would bounce around inside the washer, so he left it off, hoping that no one would look inside until he was safely away.

No one will find it anytime soon, Mr. Thurman. Hunt said condescendingly. Don’t you remember? The man you just killed had said that all the guards and staff were required to be gathered to witness some execution. No one will come and find this grisly sight for a while because of the spectacle that they are witnessing.

Robert started from his momentary lapse, a chill going through him as he thought of what the consequences of forgetting such an important detail might have been.

No need to thank me. Hunt said smugly.

Robert said nothing and walked toward the door, his palm resting on the door handle as he contemplated the path he was taking.

Why me? He finally asked Hunt.

Oh, Mr. Thurman. This is most definitely not the time for existential queries. Focus on the task at hand please. Hunt replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. Then he was gone.

Robert sighed, and he opened the door, once more walking into the dimly lit hallway. As soon as he stepped out into the white passageway, he could hear chanting coming from far away, an eerie, repetitive sound that pounded in his skull. He shuddered, but he assumed this was the execution taking place. He started walking through the hallways, following the noise as it grew louder and more fervent. He felt a cool breeze on his face and he ascended from the depths he had arrived at.

Soon enough, he came to a corridor that he recognized as the hallway leading out to the yard, and the shouting was nearly deafening. He couldn’t imagine the crowd that had gathered to produce a noise such as this. He walked out through the opaque glass double doors.

“This are the kind of patients who would seek to harm your minds and bodies! These are the prisoners that would threaten your safety and your peace of mind!” A gravelly, bass voice was shouting, amplified through a microphone so as to be heard above the raucous din.

Robert quietly and sneakily pushed his way through a massive crowd composed of prisoners, staff, and guards to make his way to view the speaker. He pushed and shoved, but not one of the sweaty revelers paid him heed. He was glad for that. It meant that his disguise was working.

“Do we suffer such patients to threaten our way of life?” The voice yelled again, becoming more shrill as it shouted more propaganda. “Do we allow them their minds, their freedom, their lives?” A deafening from the roar in response to these questions nearly made Robert cup his hands over his ears to protect them from the sudden influx of noise. He continued to push his way through the throng, marveling at how utterly immense it was. As he thought this, however, he broke through to view the spectacle. And he gasped in horror, a guttural cry seeping out of his mouth.

He beheld a raised black platform, not unlike a stage, sitting in the middle of the prison yard, with several speakers projecting the voice of a man throughout the entirety of the yard. On top of the platform sat three prisoners, gagged and bound with black hoods over their heads. They each wore tattered prison jumpsuits with bloodstains spattered all over, showing the torture they had been subject to. The Warden pranced and strode about the stage, shouting his speeches to the the people by way of a small microphone by his left ear.

“This is why I, your warden, have brought these terrible patients before you, so that you may witness how we punish troublemakers here at this institution. It may seem barbaric, it may seem horrendous, but it is necessary. This is all necessary.” He continued, literally spitting out the words to the screaming multitude. “But are they allowed their anonymity? Are they allowed the comfort of knowing they are not recognized for their crimes?”

“NO!” Screamed the host in response.

The Warden smiled.

“Very well! Let us view the faces of our fallen comrades!” The Warden screamed back, a terrible smile crossing over his rough features. As he crossed over to the prisoners, Robert could not believe the sight before his eyes. Cruel light pierced his brain as he saw cold, hard insanity radiating from the eyes of the Warden. He was just as unstable as the people he served, and just as murderous as any Hungered. Robert feared for what this man may do, but he watched idly as the Warden tore off the black hoods of the people before him.

And revealed Bai Williams, Terrence Hundrin, and Elaine Whitney Thurman.

Robert stood dumbfounded as the crowd roiled and pulsed back and forth, screaming and shouting their approval at the Warden’s actions. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, just simply stood and stared at the limp forms of his friends and beloved wife.

“They have committed serious crimes against this institution!” The Warden continued, an impish grin stretching across his face. “For that, what is the punishment that they so rightfully deserve?”

“DEATH!” Responded the crowd, their fists pumping in the air. The Warden’s grin broadened impossibly.

“So be it.” He said malevolently, pinching the microphone off as he finished. He tossed the black device to one side and let it clatter on the ground, stepping to one side as a line of men in camouflage outfits ascended the platform. The men were soldiers, judging from their rhythmic marching and crisp movements.

Robert started to slowly comprehend the situation, and he began to panic as the situation quickly fell out of his control, if it was there at all. His mind raced at a blistering pace as he desperately tried to invent some sort of plan, some scheme that would rescue his loved ones from the fate that had thrust itself upon them; however, he could think of nothing that wouldn’t compromise his identity. He could not risk this being captured again; this, at least, was something he knew for sure. Janus and the Caucus would not be merciful to the man who would destroy them.

And so, he watched in silent horror as the soldiers completed their climb and lined up in a straight row directly across from Terrence, Bai, and Elaine. He watched helplessly as the one in the center barked sharp commands to lower their dark rifles, aiming the silent weapons at the helpless prisoners. He watched how, as they were given the order to aim, Elaine’s eyes slowly opened, dull and unfocused. They swiveled around as if they moved through honey; then they locked on Robert’s eyes. Robert gave a ragged, quiet gasp as he stared at the sea-green eyes of his beloved. He watched as her thin lips mouthed his name, and a single tear rolled down her face.

Then, with a shot like roaring thunder, her head snapped back, and those beautiful sea-green eyes dimmed forever.

Again.

Robert spun around, sobbing uncontrollably, his wails silenced by the roar of the crowd. He was not able to think, wasn’t able to draw breath. This could not have happened again. It couldn’t. He had failed to protect her again. He fell to his knees in the mass of people, hands clawing at his scalp and hair, tears freely flowing down his face.

ROBERT. This is not the time. Hunt shouted in his head, booming through Robert’s grief. You must leave.

SHUT UP. Robert screamed hysterically. YOU HAVE NO IDEA, NO HUCKING IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE. I JUST LOST HER AGAIN, AS IF ONCE WASN’T ENOUGH. LET THEM KILL ME TOO. MAYBE THEN I WON’T KEEP FAILING.

Hunt was silent.

As Robert writhed in the throes of grief, red seeped into his vision. His grief and pain suddenly funnelled into an inferno of rage, blazing in his blood. He stood up slowly, savoring the power he felt coursing through him, driving him to revenge. He turned toward the stage, glowering at the Warden, who was dancing and prancing across the stage while laughing hysterically. His hands balled into white fists, and he began striding over to the stage resolutely.

In that single instant, all light seemed to bend a few feet in front of him. Space itself distorted, and Robert lifted his hand over his eyes to avoid a sudden wave of vertigo that washed over him.

He felt a warm hand rest upon his shoulder, a gentle touch meant to comfort. He lowered his hand, staring at the source of such comfort.

Of all people, standing before Robert at this moment was Samuel Hunt.

“We need to go.” He said simply, tightening his grip on Robert’s shoulder, and the redness and rage escaped from Robert in a single exhalation. He gasped as the power left him, and his knees very nearly buckled. He leaned on Hunt, his face going pale, and he nodded slightly.

Hunt nodded back, and with a fluid movement, he picked Robert up and slung him across his shoulders like a sick sheep. Robert was shocked, and therefore could not say a single word as Hunt carried him out of the screaming crowd unnoticed.