The Soul Collectors

14

Darby recoiled not so much in fear as in shock. Her head snapped back, as though this… thing might eat her.

She started to tumble backwards until her gloved hand found the leafy ground. She didn't fall but realized she had dropped her flashlight. She found it quickly, snatched it up and pointed the bright, narrow beam into the… what? Not a man's face. This… creature sitting less than a foot from her had human eyes, a human mouth and lips (but no tongue because someone had removed it along with his teeth, he doesn't have any teeth either) yet whatever had made him a man had died long ago. Now he was thrashing from side to side, howling, his eyes clamped shut and jerking his face away from the light. Then his scarred body started jerking. Convulsing.

He's infected.

The thing vomited, spraying her mask.

Darby fell this time, deliberately letting go of the flashlight. She wiped at her mask as she stumbled back to her feet and started running, the vomit, hot and wet, clinging to her scalp and skin. Not looking back, she sprinted out of the woods, feeling the vomit sliding across the edges of the mask protecting her eyes, nose and mouth. She pressed the mask firmly against her face to keep the seal tight. He's infected and now whatever's killing him is lying on my skin.

She reached the side of the house and clutched the hose's spray nozzle. She kept the mask pressed against her face as she lay on the ground and started spraying cold water over her face and hair. She could see the black sky, the dark outlines of the tall pines, and over the jet spray drumming against her mask she heard the man's ungodly howls coming from the woods.

The helicopter's engine was growing louder and louder. She jumped to her feet and started spraying down her vest, catching sight of a searchlight sweeping across the treetops in the distance. She also saw, crowding the lit window next to her, the frightened faces of the elderly man and a woman dressed in a pink bathrobe with white hair wrapped tightly in curlers.

The searchlight was now moving across the street, searching for the APC. Darby dropped the hose, her boots waterlogged and her soaked clothing clinging against her skin. She ran for the street, stopping near the APC and, shivering, looked up at the sky, waving her hands.

The searchlight switched direction. The bright beam whisked across the street, heading her way, and then stopped as the copter began its descent. The spinning blades kicked up leaves, small pebbles and assorted street grit and trash, blowing everything into the air.

The copter didn't have enough room to land. It hovered in the air so close she could make out the pilot.

The hatch opened. Ropes were thrown into the air and she watched, with a growing relief, as four people rappelled to the ground.

They all wore dark green hazmat suits with thick rubber boots and gloves tied off at the elbows, their gas masks connected to oxygen tanks strapped across their backs. They approached cautiously as the copter rose back into the air.

Darby started moving towards them and the one in the lead put up both hands, signalling for her to stop.

'Stay right where you are and keep the mask on your face.' The deep male voice had a mechanical echo over the mask's speakers. 'Where's Darby McCormick?'

'I am.' Darby heard the words in her mask but not over the voice amplification system. The water must have shorted it. She tapped a finger against her chest.

'We need to decontaminate you,' the same male voice said. 'Just stand there and stay calm.'

A spray gun was pointed at her. Foam, thick and white, sprayed across her chest. It covered her mask and when she went to wipe it away she felt hands grip her wrists.

'Stay calm,' the same man said, closer now. She wondered if it was Glick, the man she'd spoken to on the BU hotline. 'We're going to help you sit on — '

'The prisoner is in the woods behind the house,' Darby shouted, praying to God one of them could hear her over the hiss coming from the spray nozzle and the copter's dying but still loud engine. 'He's in the woods — '

Hands gripped her roughly. 'Stand still, we've got to cover — '

'Listen to me. The prisoner is in the woods behind the house, about twenty klicks north. He's tied to a tree, and he's infected.'

'We're going to help you to the ground.'

She let the hands guide her down, shouting, 'He's one of them — one of the intruders from the Rizzo house. He's our only link, you've got to see if you can treat him.'

Sitting, she felt a pair of rubber hands cradling the back of her neck.

'Lie back, Miss McCormick.'

'Did you hear what I said? You need to treat him.'

She didn't get a response. Rough hands pushed her back against the ground and then she couldn't see, as a thick, shaving-foam-like substance covered her mask. She couldn't move either, pinned down by all these arms and legs.

'Miss McCormick, can you hear me?'

She nodded.

'The hazmat van hasn't arrived yet,' the man said. 'I don't want to risk waiting, so we're going to have to undress you here and decontaminate you. I'm not going to lie to you, it's not going to be pleasant.'

Her boots were pulled off her feet.

Now her socks.

'Miss McCormick, I need you to keep your eyes and mouth shut. Nod if you understand.'

She nodded.

Hands lifted her up and she stood, shivering.

'Hold your arms out… Yes, like that.'

Someone unbuckled her vest. Another pair of hands worked the buckle for her tactical belt.

Come on, take off the mask so I can talk.

Her wet trousers were yanked down across her legs as the mask was pulled from her sweaty face. She spoke quickly, her eyes closed.

'The prisoner is in the woods behind the ranch home, and he's — '

A pair of gloved fingers prised her mouth open. She grabbed the wrist and tore it away.

'He's infected,' she screamed.

'Where?' The leader's voice.

'In the woods, about twenty klicks north,' she said, shivering. 'I tied him to a tree. Find him and treat him — he's our only link to what happened at the house.'

The man didn't respond but she heard footsteps running away.

Her long-sleeved T-shirt was pulled up over her head. Now someone gripped her bra and pulled it away from the skin. She felt the strap pop free; someone must have cut it. Another hand gripped the elastic band of her cheap Hanes boy-cut underwear and cut it free. She stood there, naked and shivering, and heard the hiss of the spray nozzle as foam shot across her bare skin.

The person who had prised open her mouth did so again, and even though her eyes were shut she could make out the beam of a flashlight.

'Miss McCormick,' a new voice said — feminine and clearly nervous. 'I need you to spread your legs apart, just a bit.'

Darby did as instructed, too frightened to be embarrassed. Her imagination was racing with all sorts of grisly scenarios as fingers pressed against the lymph nodes underneath her armpits, then her groin. Her mouth was opened again and this time she felt a cotton swab rub its way across the soft lining of her cheeks. They were collecting a sample to see if she was infected. If she was, and if the toxin couldn't be identified in time, she'd soon be lying on the ground, convulsing and throwing up until her lungs finally stopped working.

Her eyelids were pressed open by thick, rubbery fingers and held in place.

'We're going to wash them out with saline,' the nervous woman said.

The fingers held her eyelids open as a jet coming from a bottle of saline washed out her eyes.

Then she was ordered to shut her eyes again. She did and now thick bristles moved across her skin with such force she thought she was being cut by razorblades. An angry voice ordered her to stand still. She gritted her teeth as the brush raked across her breasts and nipples.

When the brushes finally disappeared, the woman said, 'Keep your eyes and mouth shut. We're going to escort you to the side of the house to be hosed off.'

'Am I infected?' Darby asked.

'I don't know.'