I'M NOT DEAD: The Journals of Charles Dudley Vol.1 (23 page)

“What? It’s alright, just spit it out. I’m tired.”

“I’m going to tell you what happened the day you met me, just please give me a chance to explain…”

“What’s that in your hand?” I asked.

“I’ll show you. The morning you found me outside, that was no accident. I was supposed to come here. We were trapped …”

“Who’s we?”

“Myself and the others, you saw the bracelet.”

“I did.”

“That morning, what you call the Deviants finally broke through the doors and killed almost everyone in the clinic, but we hid; we didn’t eat; we didn’t sleep. After the storm, the clinic set up a triage on the first and second floors, but then people started changing into these things—these monsters.

We were behind secured doors on the floors above for a long time. We were safe for a while, but after a few days, they found us.

There were eighteen of us in that wing, then twelve, nine, and finally there were only two,” she said holding up a picture she found in the house.

“He, he told me to come here, for you. He told me to find you,” she said.

Stewart?

I’d be lying if I told you my first instinct wasn’t to laugh in her face because of how ridiculous that story sounded. As expected, one emotion morphed into another, unfolding into denial, disbelief, insult, and the overall urge to tell her to “Fuck off.”

“Ah, girlfriend, you are high. You don’t know my brother,” I said even letting out a little laughter, but I was serious. I thought she was nuts.

“Bubba, Charlie, he’s your brother isn’t he? This
is
a picture of him.”

“Yeah, no shit, that’s my brother, but there is no way in hell you know him. Maybe you heard me talking about him or something and that’s it. Like some suggestive subliminal subconscious thing.”

“No. We separated when they attacked, and he told me to come here. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Why are you telling me this now, after all this time? Okay, look, forget it, it’s not even him because he’s three hours away from here in some, I don’t even know, it’s not even possible. I haven’t seen my brother in years.”

“He didn’t want me to tell you.”

“Why is that? Let’s say I believe you just for a second, why would he say that?”

“Stewart is dead, Charlie. He didn’t want me to tell you in case he didn’t make it. The Deviants outnumbered us, and he saved my life. He held them off the best he could, and then I don’t know what happened. The next thing I know I’m here.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not even funny what you’re doing right now,” I said pushing her away to go downstairs.

She stopped me from leaving. “I wouldn’t lie to you, I swear.”

“You swear? Well, you did. This whole time, it was one big lie, wasn’t it? You kept this whole thing from me.”

“I made a promise to Stewart not to tell you, even if I found you.”

“How does that work? How is that fair to me? You’re talking about my brother.”

“It isn’t, but I am telling you the truth. Yes, I screwed up, I’m sorry. I should have told you. In my defense, I wasn’t even sure if it was you when you found me outside. Everything was a blur to me. You should at least give me that, okay? You kept the truth from me too. I wasn’t even sure until you told me about Stewart downstairs and then everything just…”

      “We have to go back!” I lashed out at her.

“What? No, we can’t go back there, Charlie, there’s no one left. What about the Deviants?”

“Oh yeah, we’re going back. You don’t know my brother like I do. Get your bag ready…and, babe, get my gun.”

Oh, Stewart, the plot thickens. Daddy never put you in a cozy psyche ward upstate somewhere with trees, did he? He just dumped you off at the community nuthouse and took off, that son of a bitch. I should have known better to believe him. I’m coming, Bubba.

It was 2 p.m. and we had just enough time to get to the hospital before it started getting dark. 

I packed some things into my knapsack, made sure the dog had plenty of water, and said my goodbyes to Peter, Nana, and the poodles. I wasn’t sure if we were coming back this time, but I wasn’t going to tell Jane that. If we do make it back, I really have to get rid of Peter’s body. This time I was all in and wasn’t coming home without Stewart and some answers.

“What’s that? Is that you knocking, Charlie?” I heard Jane ask from the bathroom across the hall as I was packing.

“No, why? I don’t hear anything.”

“I think someone’s at the door downstairs.”

“The door... Dusty? Dusty came back? Son of a bitch!”

I ran down the stairs to the sound of the frantic banging. Cooper pawed at the front door with his tail excitedly whipping from side to side. The boy made it back home!

Just wait until I get my hands on that kid, I swear. I swung the door open and as the sunlight blasted my eyes and blinded me, Jerry shoved his way into my house, again.

“Get your shit, man. We have to get the fuck out of here!”

“Jerry?”

I felt as if a ghost had just rushed past me. I waited a second, then, I punched Jerry square in the face as hard as I could, and he went skidding across the linoleum tiles.

“What was that for?” he squealed, holding his jaw in horror.

“I wanted to make sure it was really you.”

“Yes, it’s me! Who else would it be?”

“Where the hell have you been, asshole? I thought you were dead!”

“What? Why would you think that?” Jerry screeched, massaging his jaw.

“Because I buried your ass across the street, that’s why. Literally, I buried your ass across the street. Jesus Christ, I even wrote you a letter.”

Jerry’s eyes froze in place for a moment.

 “You did?” he said, nervously clearing his throat, looking out the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through since you’ve been gone?”

“Charlie?” Jane came down the stairs looking frightened.

“Oh, it’s okay. He’s my friend,” I assured her. Jerry nodded at Jane and then did a double take.

 “I know, Chico, but listen to me, I will tell you everything you want to know, but we have to get the hell out of here before
they
come!”

       “What are you talking about?”

Jerry shot up from the floor, walking right past me to the open door and beamed his finger to the sky... “Them!” he said.

To Be Continued …

THIEVES OF

DESTINY

THE JERICHO DOSSIER

Today, the mysterious Jericho Island sits just five miles off the Long Island Sound–a square mile shrouded in mysteries.

In the 1930s, Jericho Island was home to the controversial Rothschild Asylum, which closed its doors in the late 1950s for reasons unknown. The city transferred the inmates of the asylum to a similar institution, but, to this day, there’s been no record of the institute or their supposed relocation.

In 1955, independent contractors began construction on Jericho Laboratories. At the time, the labs functioned as an animal research and disease control center under the supervision of young German bio-engineer Keiser Ludvig and virologist Johann Krause.

In the late 1960s, Jericho came under heavy scrutiny from nearby residents for its participation in the bio-chemicals and weaponry program called “The Cerberus Project.” They considered the lab a disaster of cataclysmic proportions waiting to happen. The people insisted the labs shut down or move out.

In 1974, there were reports of bodies washing up onto the shores of Long Island.  Some local residents, unfazed by these cases, quickly dismissed rumors and accepted that it could have been crime or drug related incidents since the bodies were unidentifiable. They believed if no one came looking for them; then they must not have been missing. It could have been hookers, drug dealers, junkies, homeless people, or runaways.

Witnesses, who insisted on remaining anonymous, claimed that some of the bloated and deformed sea creatures, in addition to the human remains discovered on the beach had strange appendages or genetic alterations on their bodies, and might have originated from Jericho Labs.

Unhappy residents suggested the labs may have been experimenting on human subjects, rather than just animals, calling them: “Beasts, Monsters, Mutants, Demons, Aliens, and the
Spawn of Jericho
.”

Local police never cooperated and refused to release a statement on the matter. Authorities swept it under the rug as a hoax, further enraging the public. The investigation eventually lost traction and was closed.

Vandals retaliated against those individuals who spoke too much of the matter. The People vs. Jericho— DENIED.

A movement for investigation and removal of the facility by the people continues to go unheard.

1981–Dr. Kaiser Ludvig dies of unknown causes and Johann Krause resigns.

A reported outbreak of an undisclosed pathogen on Jericho Island shuts Jericho’s power grid and containment units down for three hours on August 16, 1982. The meltdown subsequently affects over thirty-five percent of both Jericho employees and the livestock farming system.

Jericho officials reportedly destroy the infected livestock and quarantine the rest, in fear of the pathogen leaving the island. There have been no reports of contamination on or off the island since the incident that year.

The exposed officials and employees were said to have “fully recovered” under the watchful care of colleagues and scientists, but were never seen again, on or off the island.

In the summer of 1993, not too far from Jericho, three Port Washington residents died of what was speculated to be mosquito and tick bites.

Pictures taken of each of the victims’ bite marks indicated abnormalities in the infected areas: bruising of the skin, protrusion of the veins. Prior to their deaths, victim experienced  aggressive changes in mood, and flu-like symptoms.

There is still not enough evidence that Jericho poses a threat great enough to warrant an investigation by Homeland Security.

Paging Doctor Windham –

Thursday, November 21
^st
, 2012

ROUTINE BOARD MEETING: Jericho Island

Tighten some screws, tweak some of the security, and close up some of the loose ends. INSPECTION TIME—look ALIVE, you monkeys! The suits will be here any minute, and they will hang your balls from a flag post if there are any inconsistencies in the lab.

They
were not happy the last time.
They
won’t be happy this time either. Windham’s department raced against data corruption–again.

A chronological list of all subjects that showed violent or fatal results to the NX-36 serum have been wiped from or is choking somewhere in the archives this morning. Dr. Windham learned his lesson the last time this happened and began funneling data to his home office onto the back-up drive just in case
and
on the down low.
No one needed to know.  It was his work but company property nonetheless. They would “have his ass”—as some would like to put it.

There was no time to call in tech support. This is what happens when you outsource work to other countries like India.

The weather outside was causing brown outs throughout the building and trips in the system. Retrieving data from the home network now would be the nail in Windham’s coffin if anyone caught on. His closest colleagues didn’t even know.

You just never knew who had their tongue up the boss’s ass when you weren’t looking.

Clarence Windham was a go-lucky-likable fellow. At thirty-six years old he still hadn’t let his brains or good looks go to his head. He preferred his last job, but this one pays better—much better. He preferred Fantasy Football league night, old sci-fi movies, and beers with the fellas’, but that didn’t pay at all.

Dr. Windham was very good at his job, but he never flaunted it. King of the nerds, top of the class, made smart kids look stupid, honor roll, Ivy League school, enough certificates to fill a wall, and plenty of awards he could wipe his rear with.

He was “the works.”
They labeled him a child prodigy at five years old, but Dr. Windham found himself pulling his balls down from that political flag post more than he’d like to these days and didn’t care much for the super geek badge. Today his presentation had to be on course with the Board of Directors and legal.  He had to nail it
or it was back up the pole
the boys
go.

Cherry flavored chewable antacids, coffee, cigarette, stick of gum, and Dr. Windham was off to the races collecting last minute data from the labs.

A smooth jazz rendition of “Papa was a Rolling Stone” jangled through the halls, but the tension was mounting. Hard soles and marble floor tiles weren’t helping the migraine.

Another stop to the boy’s room, the bladder is in overdrive today—nerves will do that to you; pressure will put holes in your stomach.

“I should have taken the Valium,”—too late. Shake twice, flush, zip up, spit, make a quick stop at the automated hand sanitizer dispenser, and back down the pearly white halls.

“Come on people! The sooner we lose our jobs, the sooner we can all get home to our families and stuff our sorry faces for Thanksgiving dinner!”

Was it worth moving here from the sticks and away from his girlfriend? That was debatable. New York was too expensive for his taste, and people moved faster than what he’s used to, but the food and the women made up for it—Thai food and fiery women.

Windham didn’t get out much to soak up the rich social life New York had to offer. He was now a Long Island native buried in his much to-do-work with the company of his subjects—primates, canines, insects, and plants—
kid’s stuff
.

Bioengineering and genomics research was the name of the game: sequencing and modifying DNA maps for the greater bad.

Here, at Jericho Island, he was the adopted whipping boy. He and his previous team had cloned ears on the backs of mice. His team had repaired damaged tissue and transplanted hearts at remarkable speeds in Billings, Montana.