A hunter cleansed

Chapter 3

"At first glance, the casual observer would think that the acutely infected with tendencies toward marked stalking predator behavior were hardly any physically different from the chronic mass infected. However, unlike the other acutely infected such as the muscularly hyper-developed anger-prone infected and the sporulating-slash-tumorous infected with a prehensile tongue, most of the mutations are internal. Hyper-developed eyes mimicking the night vision of nocturnal cats with the sensory range of an owl. Hardened keratin buildup at the fingertips which create durable and sharp pseudo-claws. The muscles in the legs are lean yet overdeveloped, which when contracted for a short amount of time accumulate kinetic energy like a rubber band…wait, that sounds dumb…" Dr. May leaned her head back and pressed her recorder underneath her chin as she thought out loud. "…like a car revving up, like a pogo stick before it…no, no, no."

"How about a frog, since you keep comparing the bastard to animals?" Jameson rubbed at his temples as they stood outside of a corner safety and decontamination shower. The type for when a careless little beaker pusher spilled a metal dissolving acid or a flesh eating germ on himself. "Isn't it a bit early for you to start your own National Geographic article? Dr. Stacey hasn't even done his x-rays so we can know what makes it tick inside."

"He's going to do an MRI and I'm composing a scientific account of our findings. Besides, what would you know about writing? You have to catch those ideas as they flitter around your head." She raised her hand and fluttered it away from her head to symbolize her meaning.

"Like if anything you just said is new. It's just big words for hunter sees in the dark, has claws, jumps high." He was tired of all her presumptuous attitude. If she wanted to be scientific about it she shouldn't be trying to shove similes that mask the true danger and terror these mutts harbor.

"There's obviously no talking to you." What did he know about anything besides killing? It can't all be cold hard facts and measurements. Future generations will need a comparison point beyond shaky video and frantic descriptions. With their work, she was sure that in two generations time this will all be a bad memory.

He gritted his teeth as his face contorted into a pleasant grin. "Amen to that." The less he has to listen to her, the less likely he'll be tempted to beat some sense into her. Everything about her grated at him; standing quietly next to each other was barely tolerable, yet necessity dictates actions in his world.

She recoiled from the insult but felt too good of a mood to go down that road. "Do you think those brackets on the wall will hold? It looks shoddily made." Better to throw him a bone about a security issue, he loves those.

And that promise of sweet silence was nothing more than a stillborn. "What? You want a fresh coat of paint, a little spit and shine? Make it all nice and humanitarian? This is how it is, we're lucky to have welding equipment and people who know how to use it. You can rewrite history after you make it. Till then you're just another hopeful." Rumors floated around of other compounds and labs and damn if he didn't want to be in charge of one of those.

Always so contrary; if she offered to have the hunter put down, he'd jump on her back on that too. "Oh, no need to be melodramatic. I just don't want Peter coming loose and a hail of bullets heading his way."

"Well, speak of the devil." He had to relent on the stretcher. There weren't any large enough carts to haul it here and walking it was out of the question. It still had that grungy lab coat draped over its face and chest. Having that comfort was too good for it; still, it kept it calm and easier to handle.

Reilly smiled at his complacency, permitting the soldiers to move his limbs about and secure them. She wished that it needn't come to this. A soothing shower wouldn't remove the grime accumulated after months, a sponge bath too dangerous for the caretaker. "Don't take off the coat. The water will tumble it down anyway." She nodded at her two assistants, bright college kids on an exclusive internship, to turn on the hoses. Surely they wouldn't hold a grudge and make this needlessly harsh. Jameson's soldiers would probably try to drown poor Peter.

Listenlistenlistenwait. No womantrap, no smallstrongbeast, only prey. Closemine noeat. Wait. In smallspace, door, smallspace, door, smallspace, door, smallspace, door, tunnel, door, bigwidefreespace. Escape, kill, breakdoor, break weakdoor. No hardoor, please, no hardoor. Pleasepleaseplease.

Wait…almost free? Trap? Small cover, mineminemine, blind. Listen. Prey near. Escape now? Trapescapetrapescapewaitgowaitgo…

HARDWET! DROWNnononono, coverGONEnononono watercoldwaterhard find cover, need cover. COVER! Grabsnatchholdmine…water push, cover far nononono. Trap, farnoreach.

"HAHA HAA, look at the undead motherfucker go. It's gonna rip its arm off just to get to his safety blanket." Young, unblemished, haunted; the man with the hose kept the pressure at max, steering the stream back and forth. Reilly's labcoat, a sodden mess at one corner; the hunter, a jumble of nerves at the other.

A loud clap, the smile evident in his voice. "Looks like you got some real firecrackers on your team, Dr. May. Can't say I don't approve."

STOP…smallstrongbeast near, listen, no hide, quiet, no see. No pain, no eat me…cover close, water push close…grab? Trap? Cover mineminemine. NOnonofarnoreach.

Strident and incredulous, voice edging on physical disgust. "Stop toying with him. What has gotten into you two? I expected more than childish torture from you."

Nonononono, womantrap near. Pain near. Cover far. Badbadbadbad. Hardwater drown. Nonono pleasepleaseplease.

"We're just having an experiment Dr. May, you know, as we clean him up. Just a little multi-tasking." A portly young woman, her face brightened in cheeriness, tinged in madness.

"You taught us that, remember? Always strive to learn a little bit more no matter what you do. We just wanted to see how desperate it can get to hide its ugly mug."The young man's eyes were rimmed in exhausted shadows, his mouth a quirk of joyful despair.

Blind to everything but the ache in Peter's face, divided between struggling for a pitiful sopping rag and plastering his body against the wall for protection, Reilly's heart hardened. "There is nothing educational about this. It's barbaric. Turn off those hoses and get out of my facility."

Womantrap angry. Womantrap catch prey, hurt prey, toy prey, take good cover, give bad cover, touch prey, kill prey. Not me, not me. Pleasepleaseplease.

"You don't have the authority to remove anyone from this compound" Jameson stood behind her, arms crossed, voice strong and sure. He had to nip this conniption in the bud.

She whirled at him, a momentary flare of her eyes quickly followed by false composure attempting to settle her face. "They can get the hell out of the labs. This type of behavior is irresponsible and counterproductive. I cannot work with people who can knowingly sabotage…"

Voices collided with each other, the interns' and the doctor's a mess of syllables and emotions. All addressing the room, none listening to the other.

"I got six brothers and sisters, first one to get into college. I took this damn internship to pave the way for them and now they're all dead…" The man's, now more of a boy, face was cracking, tears a silver sheen on his eyes, mouth contorted into a death grin as his mind raced through his loss, a list too long to consider.

"You think you know everything, that you can solve everything. It took decades to find a decent treatment for the freaking common cold and you think you can just whip up some magical cure for an aggressive and mutating disease when…" Voice shrill in hysterical confidence; hands gesticulating accusingly, sarcastically, hopelessly; the youthful face had aged a decade in a second as she reasoned her way into desolation.

"ENOUGH!" The force of it was essentially physical, a shock to their senses, pulling their attention towards the reigning authority in the room; stoic, certain and pissed. Jameson strode between Dr. May and her disillusioned personnel, prepared to impose his will in order to keep this operation running smoothly. "Doctor, sabotage is a nasty word to throw around these days. Don't use it lightly or some interested third parties might kill the accused to ensure the success of this mission."

As he rounded the older woman, he never took his eyes of her, meeting her withering gaze with a calculated one. He stood between the two interns, patted the woman's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, his other hand rested on the man's neck reassuringly. "You don't want honest realists working for you? Not a problem. Smith. Wesson. Escort these two to their rooms and help them gather their belongings. Congratulations, you are now under the wing of the United States Army as scientific consultants."

The interns left, their mood still somber yet lightened; the lapse in decorum forgiven, another place to rest their weary souls assured and welcomed. Only one soldier remained behind, rifle at the ready as he watched the captive infected who had managed to snag the threadbare lab coat and had draped it over his head, a small tear through which a rolling eye peered at the scene across the room.

"Usurping my authority in front of my staff. Encouraging insubordination and recklessness. Anything else you'd like to check off your list today?" A trembling hand smoothed her hair, mussing it up. It was becoming hard to remain civilized while everyone around her conspired to give up higher ideals and morals for the basest of human emotions. "If not, then you must allow me to bend some rules myself."

"What do you mean by that?" He had an idea what she meant. Had it ever since she cooed at the monster and promised to make things all better. Dr. May had to say it though, just say the wrong thing and he'll lock her up. Section 8, over and out.

She reached for the valves on the wall and turned the trickling hoses off. She couldn't help but wonder about the point of using two in the first place. "Peter is not clean yet and there is no one I trust to do so humanely besides myself. I refuse to use a hose, especially now that he's been traumatized with it." A slip of reason, she had two interns, so she thought a hose each would half the time it took, make it less upsetting for Peter. That made no sense in hindsight.

She was still logical, well-reasoned. He would have to goad her, just a little pressure to make the already present cracks more prominent. "You're going to draw a hot bath, put some rose petals in it?"

She bit her tongue, for a second it sounded like a good idea. The hot bath, not the rose petals. That's not right. Peter is a human being; however, he's also infected. Treat him like a patient. "How juvenile of you. No, I'm going to bathe him as we should have from the start."

Donning protective gear, Reilly had reached for a bathroom tote kept near the decontamination shower; although it offered no privacy from fellow scientists, it was a better solution than the ones used communally by the refugees. The basket held a mix-up of shampoos, conditioners and body washes, some emptier than others. She kneeled on the wet floor, saddened at the sight before her.

A hand shot from behind, sudden enough to startle, heavy on her shoulder as it stilled her. "I need to verify his manacles before you give the mutt a rubdown. Shorten the chains to shorten his reach. Be a shame to lose a dedicated scientist." His voice was sly, smooth; full of the kind of profound hatred nobody would ever want directed at them.

Reilly remained in place, mutely watching as Jameson directed the remaining soldier to pull the chain on the left through the wall bracket as the officer pulled it on the right. Before, it was lax enough so that Peter could move his arms up and down, could reach around himself, but they pulled taut before he could reach his face or body, before he could scratch at the restraints on himself. The chain was coiled around a metal support; two links secured by a heavy lock that kept it tight on both sides. Peter's legs had been immobile the entire time, a thin loop of nylon rope crisscrossed his legs and lower back expertly knotted; biting into the skin, thigh and calf squeezed together. Inhumane, but it was either this or slicing his heel tendons, never to walk again.

Done with his task, Jameson looked down on the hunter. It was hyperventilating again, arms tensing, legs tightening against the ropes. Luckily, only the bastard's legs are incredibly strong, so it wasn't hard to secure the mutt. He reached down and tugged its single comfort away. A sharp growl and snapping teeth, eyes thin slits in a still filthy face, the muzzle making it all moot. "A last desperate stand, huh zombie?"

"Don't tease him, Jameson." Reilly leaned forward and placed her gloved hand on the side of his face, surprising him into a yelp. She chuckled softly. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't think you wouldn't notice me here. Jameson does get all of the attention, doesn't he?" She smoothed out his features, noting the metal that had dug into the skin over his nose earlier was now being enveloped by flesh as the wound healed. "We can't keep muzzle on; not this tightly."

Jameson reached for a chair and sat to watch, the lab coat soaking at his feet on the wet ground. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Stop babying the goddamn thing and get on with it."

She grabbed a shampoo bottle that promised shiny hair in jasmine scents and squirted a dollop onto her hand, as she lathered at his hair, she hummed a silly tune that her mother had taught her, that many children learn and play, never knowing its history and origin.

The soldier in the corner swallowed, coughed and swallowed again. All but forgotten by the officer and the scientist. Ring around the fucking Rosy. Seriously? The soldier kept glancing at the door, willing anyone else to come in. He thought he was going crazy, this was crazy, everybody's crazy. A fucking modest infected hunter that hates wearing just his birthday suit, a commanding officer that keeps talking about rose petal baths and rubdowns for fuck's sake, and a lead scientist that's treating this like giving the family dog a bath. Ring around the fucking rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes motherfucking ashes, we all fall down, asshole. Endgame, man. Game over. Goddamn, why did he have to look up creepy children's rhymes and songs? They keep popping up, just like now. Oh, come on! It's a ten second song, how long is she gonna hum it!?