Chapter 8

Chapter 8

            After Brock had finished dressing and strapped his gun on his waist, he and Marshall stood in the hallway, deciding which way to go.

            “So, you came in here from which way?” questioned Brock.

            Marshall pointed down the hallway to their left. “That way.”

            Brock was trying to get a sense of where he was. “And did you by chance see anything like a courtyard that way? There was a fountain right in the middle.”

            Marshall thought about what he had seen. “No. I don’t ‘member anything like that. Just hallways and rooms.”

            “Abby and I had come from a courtyard. But then they knocked me out. God only know s where they took me. I don’t even know where the hell to start looking for her,” Brock said.

            Marshall looked down the hallway, both ways. To the left, the halls came to a T. To the right, the halls crossed; an intersection. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what way we go. I mean, we have no clue where yer girl is. I don’t really recall seeing much when I was over that way,” he said nodding down the left hall.

            Brock looked one way, then the other, pointed to the right and said, “That way.”

            The two headed down the hallway to begin their search for Abby. Nothing perked their interest for a good while. They went through one hallway after another, searching in every room for Abby or a hint to where she may have been.

Mostly they just found rooms with medical supplies. Marshall took a roll of bandages and some tape and stuff the items into one of his pockets. But they couldn’t take a lot since they didn’t have a bag or anything to carry things in.

            After stepping into one room, Brock spotted a journal on a desk. It was small and had a brown leather cover. “Hey, Marshall. Check this out,” Brock called. When Marshall entered the room Brock held up the journal. “Found a journal. Think it could have anything worth reading in here?”

            Marshall shrugged. “Open the damn thing ‘n find out!”

            Brock undid the strap on the journal and began skimming through the pages. “The date says this thing’s modern. Last entry was June 15. That was… hell, I don’t even know what day it is!” Brock had been in the hospital when the explosion and he didn’t remember a thing. He had no clue of the date.

            “That woulda been two days ago, son. Today’s the seventeenth,” informed Marshall, looking at his wrist watch. “See what that entry says. Maybe it’s something worthwhile.”

            The journal entry was written in a sloppy, rushed hand writing, as if the person was hurried.

           

            June 15, 2011,

                        It’s horrible. Like the devil. I don’t know what the hell happened but we’ve created a monster. The doctor’s research was flawed… but it isn’t possible! We checked it so many times! Over and over and over! The operation showed no signs of going wrong! But she just turned on us. A hulking brute. It attacked us all. It’s still out there now!

The entry ended with illegible scribbling.

            Brock looked to Marshall. They locked eyes. “What the hell happened here?” Brock asked, bewildered by the journal entry.

            Marshall answered, “I’ll tell ya what, son. God damn gov’ment’s always messin with s**t they shouldn’t be tamper’n with. Read the journal entry from a few days back. That might explain some more of what happened.

           

            June 12, 2011,

                        Same old thing around here. Sick of this bullshit. All Mike ever does is b***h at me about the closets being unorganized! I didn’t mess with any of it! If he wants the god damn closets organized so bad, he can go organize them himself. Not my damn job.

                        We performed the operation on that woman today. I believe her name was Stacy. As far as we know nothing went wrong. We’ll have the results of it in a few days. Hopefully Dr. Martin’s research is correct. We’ll finally have the army we need. Think about it. An army of super soldiers. Women, though? Not the best choice in my opinion. But it isn’t up to me, I guess. Hell, if it works, it works. Thank goodness. We’re going to need it in these coming days.

           

            “What’d I tell ya, boy? They tryin’a make some army but all they did was cause deaths. Gov’ment needs to learn when enough’s enough, damn it. But nope, they just keep goin’. There’s no damn limit, anymore.”

            Brock just shook his head, not sure of what to say.

            Marshall continued on his rant. “Now, they created this… this monster! And ya know what? This,” he pointed to the journal, “is probably the dam n reason for all of this! The so called, explosion! It wasn’t an accident. They created a monster and so they had to kill it! Clean up their damn mess! All these lives, gone!” Marshall shouted.

            Marshall was being dangerously loud. “Marshall! You gotta keep it down. Someone’s gonna here us in here. Then we’ll be screwed,” Brock reminded the man.

            Marshall took a deep breath. “Sorry, it just pisses me off. Then I’m sent in to help these damn people! If the government hadn’t done this bullshit then I wouldn’t be here,” he said, seeming to have cooled down, now.”

            “Keep moving!” shouted a voice out in the hall way. There was a thud.

            Brock took a quick glance at Marshall before slowly pushing the door open just enough to be able to peek out. There was nobody in the hall. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and went out.

            “Go, damn it!” the voice said.

            Brock hugged up to the wall, slid down it and peeked around the corner. It was two of the men; the government agents, in black. In front of them on the ground was Abby. She seemed to have fallen. Both men carried automatic machine guns.

            “Get up!” barked one of the agents.

            Abby was whimpering but pushed herself up off of the ground and the group began walking again, the men nudging Abby with their guns, keeping her going the right direction.

            Brock wanted to just go get her, but he knew that was too risky. He quickly went back into the room where he had left Marshall. “She’s out there!”

            “Yer girl?” the rugged man questioned.

            Brock nodded frantically. More shouting came from down the hallway, but Brock couldn’t make it out. He looked at Marshall with a sense of urgency. “We have got to get her! This is our chance.”

            Marshall didn’t say anything at first, then, “How many are there?”

            “There are two of the agents. They’re walking behind Abby and they have machine guns,” Brock informed.

             Marshall smirked. “Two of them and two of us. If they don’t know we’re coming, this shouldn’t be too hard. You got that gun I gave ya, boy?”

            Brock pulled out the pistol and showed Marshall. “We have to hurry though! We don’t want to lose them.”