The Homo Vampirous Chronicles | Book 1 | Legacy Of Ashes, page 3
part #1 of The Homo Vampirous Chronicles Series
“Then enlighten me,” the interrogator insisted. It was rare for him to encounter a subject so resistant to his less than subtle manipulations. Normally those he was asked to work on broke quickly from the brutality of what was done to them. The interrogator was exquisitely skilled at his job for he had been trained by the best. Secretly though, he always feared he would meet a subject who wouldn’t crack under the strain.
Perhaps Doctor Mo was such a man. Why will he not tell what he knows?
“Where would the fun in that be?” Mo lurched his head back and took in a deep inhale. The breathing sounded laboured, his ribs bruised from the rubber hose that was used on him. There was a subtle irritation there, a wheeze reminiscent of asthma.
“Perhaps another tooth, then. Removal this time.” The interrogator stood and picked up the bloodied plyers from the table. They were not designed for the extraction of human molars, but they remained sufficient for the job here. The interrogator never claimed to be a dentist and contained no concern if he ended up leaving roots in or loose bits of bone. His interest was the infliction of brutal and mind-numbing pain.
The human body was only supposed to be able to withstand so much, which was why pharmaceutical help was employed here. The infusion dripping into Mo’s veins was designed to keep the doctor hydrated and to stop him passing out. Within it, a chemical concoction was also supposed to make him more amenable to questioning, but strangely hadn’t had the desired effect so far. It was also there to amplify the pain, making the lightest scratch a torment to test the will of Christ himself.
“Why not take them all?” Mo challenged.
“Don’t think I am fooled by your bravery. You will talk. They all do.” The interrogator did not sound convinced by his own words. For the first time in his secretive career, he doubted he would be able to break a man. There was something wrong here, something the interrogator wasn’t seeing.
Why was he chosen for this? Why was this madman in his country?
“I alone stole the virus. There is nothing more you need to know.” The virus, Chinese Respiratory Syndrome or CRS for short, was not a work of nature, but of man, an abomination created by scientists who should have known better. Doctor Mo was the man in charge of its development, his genius at the heart of what made the virus so unique…so deadly. That the Chinese government had authorised such research was just insanity. Knowing the Chinese mentality, for them to share what Mo had stolen proved how dangerous it was to the world.
If the Chinese had been given a choice, they would have covered up this scandal. Alas, they weren’t given that option.
The doctor’s betrayal to his country and his species was partially mitigated by the evidence that showed he had also created a vaccine for the contagion. It would be foolish to release a pathogen you couldn’t protect yourself against, some would say. More foolish than creating such a virus in the first place? The vaccine was experimental and untested, but the technology was there.
The peculiar aspect was that Mo had sent all the research on the virus and his vaccine to multiple international agencies before he had taken flight. This meant it was no longer owned solely by China, the truth known now by hundreds of people. The whole world would have access to it. Of course, the interrogator knew nothing of this, and even if he did, it would have meant nothing.
“But why? For what purpose? And we know you must have had co-conspirators.” The interrogator stepped forward and pushed Mo’s head back brutally. The doctor’s neck cracked. “You can save yourself any more pain. Why put yourself through this?” The interrogator had many tools and techniques left at his disposal. Somehow though, he doubted they would be effective.
“Take that one,” Mo said poking one of his front teeth with his tongue. The interrogator spotted it then, something wrong with Mo’s voice, the hoarseness undeniable. “It was always crooked. You would be doing me a service.”
“You are insane,” the interrogator insisted, but insanity was not a reason to show mercy. Carefully, he latched the plyers onto the tooth and began to twist. He worked the root slowly with his wrist action, satisfied by the cry of agony this elicited. After a minute’s work, the tooth was flung onto the ground.
Who was it that cleaned a room such as this? The interrogator had never met those required to do that task. It took a certain kind of individual to inflict pain in a controlled fashion. And the same went for those who cleaned up after the torture had finally ended.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Mo laughed, letting more blood dribble from between his lips. It dripped from his chin before spreading out across the red stains that already smeared Mo’s chest.
Teeth were clearly not something the good doctor cared about.
The interrogator put the plyers down and picked up an elasticated chord and a scalpel. The doctor didn’t seem to be concerned that he was now disfigured. So be it. It was time to threaten the thing every man surely feared.
“You handle pain well. I am impressed.” And surprised. If he finally succeeded in getting Mo to speak of what he knew, the interrogator realised he would need to re-evaluate his technique. It shouldn’t take this long to loosen a man’s lips.
Previously two hours was the most anyone had ever held out. There was a rumour that torture didn’t work, that brutalised men would admit to anything to just make the pain stop. Such lies were spoken by those with no real knowledge of what occurred in hellish places deep beneath the polluted earth.
“Thank you. I’m sure my mother would be proud of me.” The doctor was filled with an arrogance that was infuriating. It was almost as if Mo wanted to be here. And his body didn’t defy this bravado, the skin getting redder, stress building up. Normally tortured men became pale, which was why smelling salts were always on hand.
“Perhaps you should have thought of your mother. I’m sure your government already has her in custody. You know how she will be made to suffer for your crimes.” Normally, threats made against family members put a dent in those he had interrogated in the past, but Mo just shook his head sadly.
“My mother never understood me. I care little for her.” Alas, the doctor didn’t have children as far as was known. The interrogator had no hesitation to brutalise the young if it got him the information he sought. That had never failed in the past, and usually just the mere presence of those children was enough.
“You sound like a zealot,” the interrogator noted.
Why won’t you break?
“Now you are starting to understand.”
“Do you think your mother will be treated well? I hear your government uses rape as an effective punishment for those who sire enemies of the state. I’m sure they could find some degenerate who would be willing to molest her. Maybe we could set up a video link so you could watch.” The file on Mo stated his mother was still alive. Who could hold their tongue in such a scenario? What kind of sick animal would sit back and allow their own kin to be treated in such a fashion?
The interrogator wasn’t to know that the information was incorrect, a digital backstory to help the good doctor pass the necessary background checks. There was no Chinese mother although there was a now deceased father of that nationality, the seeds of this hidden conspiracy having been planted deep over decades.
“But that would mean revealing to the Chinese that you have me. We both know that isn’t going to happen for they would be demanding my return.” The interrogator could tell that Mo wasn’t bluffing. He was not concerned by these threats. In fact, he seemed to be feeding off the pain. Whatever the reason Mo had done this terrible thing, it was to support some vital agenda that only Mo and his co-conspirators could understand.
It was in that moment the man interrogating knew he was out of his depth.
Why would one of China’s most respected scientists create and deliberately steal a deadly virus? Such research shouldn’t have been authorised, and there were several once prominent and powerful men now sat in the darkest cells the Chinese government could find. The Chinese were panicking, scouring their country for Mo, arresting dozens of people who were associated with him. This situation was bad for the Chinese, worse than anyone there was willing to freely admit.
If released, the virus would change the world. Amazingly, Mo had told the world, hampering his own chances of escape. And now here he was, captured by the unforgiving Russians. The confession video was still an obscurity, but would not remain so.
“You are brave, I will give you that. Let us see how brave,” the interrogator countered. Bending down, the interrogator wrapped the chord around the doctor’s testicles. He pulled it tight, finishing with a bow knot. Mo didn’t wince, despite the bright purple colour that rapidly spreads across those vital dangling organs.
“You can’t be serious.” The doctor looked on in fake horror at the scalpel that was now being held close to his manhood. “Are you really going to reduce yourself to such barbarity? You are supposed to be a professional.” Never before had the interrogator been mocked in such a fashion.
“I’ve done it before, and the trick is to do it slow. The chord helps stop the blood loss so the subject doesn’t pass out. I won’t remove most of the skin, but an incision down the middle will let both of your balls fall out towards the floor, dangling there. Then we can have some fun with them.”
“But that’s going to get in the way of my dance practice.” Mo managed a wink with the one eye that wasn’t damaged causing the interrogator to step back in surprise.
There was another possible reason for such fortitude and resilience. Perhaps the doctor was clinically insane. That would explain a lot. Psychopaths don’t adhere to the normal thoughts and fears of the sane. The interrogator now severely regretted deciding to learn Mandarin. Someone else needed to own this burden.
Strangely, Mo grimaced, shifting in the chair as best he could.
“Or perhaps I will just leave them tied up like that so that you are castrated, your balls slowly dying. That’s how they castrate lambs, you know. Give it a few hours and you won’t be able to think straight from the agony. Then I will remove them as a mercy to you, but not before you beg me.” The interrogator moved the scalpel from side to side, pointing it at one eye and then the other. “And believe me when I say that everybody begs.”
“You’re such a tease.”
“Your traitorous actions could kill thousands. Millions. This is less than you deserve.” Truth be told, the interrogator hadn’t been told much about the virus, but if the hierarchy above him was willing to sanction this torture, then the virus must be something from apocalyptic nightmares.
“My glorious and noble government kills that many in their re-education camps every year. Why am I suddenly the villain? Besides, the planet could do with being culled. Humans are nothing special. Trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about here.” The logic behind the question was surprising. What was it Stalin said?
If one man dies of hunger, that is a tragedy. If millions die, that’s only statistics.
“Your government isn’t on trial here,” the interrogator said defensively. He didn’t like this. Mo was still too cocky, still too unconcerned by his own fate. Last time the interrogator had encountered someone close to such resistance was in a man with a strong religious faith. Even he broke though. It was well known that the doctor was an atheist, so what other kind of ideology could be at play here?
“Oh, this is a trial? You should have said. I would have worn my best suit.” Mo had developed a lisp now, the missing teeth effecting the airflow through his mouth. Mo looked around as if searching for something. “We seem to be missing a judge.”
“Where is the virus, damn you.” The interrogator finally let his own exasperation show. That wasn’t good, you should never let your victim see your emotion.
“I don’t know.” Then it happened again, that grimace responding to pain not inflicted directly by the interrogator.
“Of course you know, you stole it.” The interrogator had been told they had the proof of that which would be of great embarrassment to the Chinese. How unfortunate for them that Mo was now in Russian hands. There was that nagging question though, the one that kept nudging the interrogator. Why was Russia getting involved? Surely it would be better to just hand Mo back to his own government.
“What day is it?” The doctor suddenly asked.
“Days no longer matter to you now.” Keep them disorientated, starved of information. That was how it was supposed to work.
“If you tell me what day it is, I might be able to calculate how many of your fellow countrymen are already infected.” The bombshell landed in the interrogator’s gut, bile threatening to rise into his throat. If the virus had already been released, then there were many who would be of the opinion there was no way of stopping it.
“Get him to tell you what he means by that.” The urgent voice broke in over the interrogator’s two-way radio that was hung by the only door. Those on the other end should know better, they had just given the doctor an added incentive to resist.
“You are willing to kill so many?”
“It’s just mathematics at the end of the day. The sooner its spread goes exponential, the sooner humanity will learn how vulnerable they are.”
The interrogator didn’t know about such things for he was not a scientific man. Nobody could expect him to be familiar with the nuances of viral replication and viral spread through urban populations. All he needed to know was that the virus was deadly, designed to overwhelm a patient’s respiratory system so they drowned in their own bodily fluids.
Five per cent mortality rate was the expected fate of those who caught it. It could have been far worse, but this was bad enough. That was still over seven million Russians that might die.
Why did people always think they could play God?
“You can’t be serious.”
“Tell you what, come closer and I will whisper a secret to you.” Mo beckoned with his head. The interrogator stood back, suspecting a hidden agenda in the promise. If he got close enough, would Mo try and bite him, or spit a mouthful of blood-infused phlegm? The insane were capable of almost anything.
“There is no need to whisper. Speak your truth out loud.” This wasn’t right. What was the interrogator missing? Behind him, he failed to notice the fate of the tooth he had extracted and so casually discarded. Unseen, it had already begun to dissolve.
“You wouldn’t believe my truth. Mere words would be inadequate. I would need to show you.” There was that smile again. “But if I did that, then you would never be the same. I conclude your feeble mind would break.” Mo arched his neck, a low grunt escaped him. “I really am beginning to tire of this. You should let me go.”
“You really aren’t in a position to dictate terms.” With a building fury fuelled by the threat of failure, the scalpel was plunged down into Mo’s right leg, just above the knee cap. Even as the interrogator jerked the surgical steel back and forth to exaggerate the wound, he knew it would have no effect.
Mo just smiled back at him, and then began to shiver.
“I think it’s time. I feel the hunger building. How annoying, I thought I could hold out longer.” Mo’s face was suddenly stricken by sadness. “And now my secret will be known.”
“Hunger? What are you talking about?”
“Let me show you what you are actually dealing with. Those watching had better flee while they can.” Mo suddenly jerked in his bonds, the gap in his dentition glaring. As the interrogator watched in growing horror, the lost tooth began to grow back, only sharper, more vicious looking. It was impossible, and yet there was no denying what he was seeing. Tearing his head sharply to the left, Mo managed to grab the dangling IV line in his mouth and ripped it from his flesh.
“What are you?” the interrogator demanded, stepping back even further. He no longer wanted to be here. The tooth wasn’t the only thing to grow; Mo’s shoulders swelled, his arms bulging as the muscles writhed and pulsed. The speed of the transformation was almost as frightening as the actual changes occurring. Across his skin, the bruises began to disappear.
“I am the end of everything,” Mo answered. There was the sound of metal straining as the restraints holding the doctor down began to fail. Mo began to scream as his arms worked, his body descending into a frenzy of chaos.
“Get out of there, man!” the voice from above insisted.
The interrogator pissed himself. Never before had he seen such a defilement of the natural order. He made to flee, but upon ripping open the door, he stumbled over his own feet. Behind him, there was the sound of metal wrenching.
On his knees, the interrogator scrambled through, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later, something collided with the door, a large bulge pushing out of the metal. An alarm blared, and the sound of men running to his position was like an erotic dream. Then the interrogator was on his feet, not caring if people saw his cowardice. As he ran, the door holding back the nightmare began to fail. If it could break through the thick steel door, what else could this creature do?
***
It was night-time when the helicopter landed, the field thick with snow that was still lightly falling. A trio of flares marked the landing zone, a huddle of soldiers ducked down to escape the downdraft. Two people jumped off after two bags of equipment were thrown to the damp ground before the helicopter plunged back up into the sky.
“Just once I would like to be sent to somewhere with good weather,” the first of the pair said, his breath thick with mist. He was called Orlov Romanov, a formidable man with a prominent burn mark running down across the right side of his weathered face.
“If you are hoping to someday see me in a bikini, you will have a long time to wait.” His companion, Colonel Khristina Sidarov, was a giant of a woman.
“Please. You know my heart weeps with such a possibility.” Khristina didn’t respond, other than to pick up one of the bags and throw it to him.
