Elie’s POV:
Sleep. One of the only sanctuaries known to man. A blissful abyss of bliss and warmth. And bliss. The covers are so warm, the pillow is so soft. I’m in that happy phase of sleep where I can hear myself snore, but I’m asleep. Bliss and--
“He’s dead, Elie! He’s dead! That guy who tried to kill you? He’s dead.”
What a wonderful set of words to hear at four in the morning.
“Elie, get your ass outta bed. We got a corpse to see. You know, I’ve always wanted to see a corpse, and now I totally get the opportunity!” Ugh, Dev’s voice sounds even worse in the early hours.
What sane person on Earth wants to see a dead person at five in the morning? Ha, not me. I let myself slip back into the loving arms of sleep. Bliss. Just as I settle into that cozy in-between phase, a knock harshly yanks me back out.
Actually, no. Sure, technically it’s a knock. But that freaking knock sounds like a gunshot to a sleeping man. Immediately agitated, I throw off the covers, “What the hell do you want from me?!”
“Geeze, chill. We’re taking you to see the corpse.” Sheila’s words sneak through the two-inch thick door and into my ears like dung beetles.
“I’ve already seen a corpse, don’t need to see another. So, thank you and goodnight.”
This time, Elodie speaks, “No. No, Elie, get up. We are going to see this corpse whether you like it or not. We gotta make a good first impression, which means we’re going to see the corpse like everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
“Fine. I’m coming.”
I swing a leg over the bed, cringing as my feet turn to ice upon touching the floor. Nothing is carpeted here. The floor is literally just a sheet of ice residing in the middle of a plain, plain room. All that manages to sit on the ice is one dull, dull bunk bed with a dull, dull, metal frame. And I got the bottom bed. The bed near the ice-cold floor.
Quentin: So . . . I guess you’ll want to bring a helmet for when you tank? Maybe some knee pads?
Me: For when I tank? The heck do you mean, Quentin?
Quentin: So slow for a human. I mean, that guy who just died was infected. As soon as you get within a few feet from him--WHAM--you down, son. Down with a vision.
Me: No. NO. I’m not doing that again. No.
Quentin: Think about the people. You’re doing it for the greater good of mankind. So what if you see him taking a shit? At least you’ll probably get some helpful clues.
Me: Taking a shit?! Quentin, I don’t want to see that.
Quentin: Don’t make me take over and walk you over there. Don’t think I won't do it!
Me: That’s not fair. I’m going, okay? I’m going.
I dance across the ice to some conveniently placed socks and decide that if I’m going to konk out anyway, I might as well go out in comfort. I keep my jammies on. Technically, they aren’t pajamas. They’re just the night clothes that were given to us the night before.
Quentin: Don’t forget a helmet.
Me: Well, does it look like there’s a helmet lying around?
“You’re going out in that?” Oh, eff off, Dev.
“Yes, you have a problem with it, Dev?”
I don’t wait for an answer, and instead, exit the room confidently.
“Elie,” Sheila’s the first to question me, “Why are you in your pajamas?”
“That dude that just died was infected. Once I get within range, I’m going to have a vision. And if I must have a vision, I’m going to be comfortable.”
Sheila just shrugs and starts leading the way down the hall more confidently than I ever could even if I wasn’t wearing any pajamas. Elodie hovers next to me, glancing at me every five seconds to see if I’m going to have a vision anytime soon.
We head to an elevator down the hall, and only when we’re five feet away do I realize that this place has a morgue. Dungworth is there driving away curious kids. He lets us in. Probably because of the fact that the man that just died held me at gunpoint. I realize that I don’t even know the guy’s name. We enter, and I see that there’s a corpse laid out on a table covered with a sheet. The feeling of a vision comes . . . slowly at first, like a sneeze in the back of your nose, then it hits me full force. Like water up the nose. Good thing that there are a lot of chairs in the morgue.
***
“I have an idea, Carl.”
“Oh no.”
“Carl, I swear it’s a good one this time. We’re gonna go to Lombard’s Pit. Just like boss told us. But this time, we’re going into it.”
“No. No, Jim. This is the absolute worst idea you’ve ever had. Weird shit happens near that pit. There hasn’t been anything but weeds growing around that pit for about a decade now. Mark said that he threw his dead dog down there and the damn dog came back--alive--only to die later after cutting its foot on a rusty nail.” Carl. The man who tried to kill me--the man whose mind I’m currently seeing into--was named Carl.
“We’re going in, and that’s final.” I feel Carl’s emotions surge. Suspicion, fear . . . mostly fear. I feel my suspicious arise too; no rational man would decide to just hop into a pit on a whim. He had to be infected.
Carl tries to talk sense, “Jim, the last man who owned the land around Lombard’s Pit died. He drowned in a lagoon. And just the day before, he had gone down there to see how far down the pit went. He threw a rock in. And you know what? He never heard it hit the bottom. All we are required to do is go to the pit and make sure that the gates around it are locked tight. Then we leave.”
Carl does not get an answer, he simply follows Jim to a truck. They reach a padlocked chain link fence, with the words, “Keep out” written in about five different languages.
They sit there in the truck for a good whole minute just staring at the fence. Beyond the fence is a dirt road--or what would have been a dirt road. The sides are lined with rock, but everywhere around it is the same sickly sand-colored dirt. The occasional plants dotting the plane are scraggly, rough, and barely alive. Oddly enough, just outside the fence, there is not a single dead patch of land. Carpets of hardy grass blanket the area, and poke through cracks on the road just beneath the truck’s wheels. How could an area be so dead yet alive all at once?”
Carl’s unease grows. The sky is dark over the dead land, but bright and glistening over the truck.
“The padlock is open, Carl. The pit is calling us. We mustn’t refuse.” Jim, eyes glazed, unbuckles his seatbelt and crosses over to the fence, removing the chains and the padlock. And poor Carl is paralyzed, unable to move. When Jim climbs back in and slams the door shut, the whole truck shudders, and as he turns the keys, the truck whimpers. Slowly, the truck inches forward. Jim lets it happen in a haze. He barely notices when the truck suddenly dips into blackness. In fact, he doesn’t see darkness . . . only light.
***
Author's Note:
So, how did ya like it?
Also, sorry for the late update . . . You guys deserve more consistent updates!
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Lunar Virus ✔️
Science FictionElodie's life changes at the turn of a doorknob when she is forced into joining a secret organization that claims to be protecting the Earth from aliens. But with every step she takes, she finds the organization, or the facility, as they call it, be...
