fEaR 3, page 1
fEaR 3
Jack Wallen
fEaR3
By Jack Wallen
© 2020 Jack Wallen
Editor
Sheila Shedd
Beta Readers
A huge thank you to the beta readers for their tireless work and thought-provoking input. This book would not be what it is without your help.
Kelly Rickard
Joan MaCleod
Norma Seitz
Ronda Abel
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
fEaR The Series
About the Author
Also by Jack Wallen
Also From DevilDog Press
The fEaR series wouldn’t be possible without the support of readers everywhere willing to take a chance on a new author. To those who have been with me since the early days, those who have just joined the ride, and those who will someday find my work worth a chance, I say to you, from the deepest recesses of my heart...thank you. Your kindness, generosity of spirit, and even friendship means the world to me.
And with that said, let’s get on with this wacky hayride!
1
A MESSAGE
Ah, the smell of surgery in the morning. Blood and disinfectant. My unbrushed teeth kicking back the night's oral funk deep into my lungs, thanks to an unforgiving N95 mask.
The life of a surgeon is so romantic.
What's not to love?
"Retractor," Janet held a steady hand toward Darcy, who immediately slapped the tool into her upturned palm.
Janet clamped open the incision.
"Are you sure about this?" I didn't really want to question my ex wife's decision to go full-on exploratory with the woman's chest, but in the realm of cardiothoracic surgery, she was a goddess.
My atheism notwithstanding, just calling it like it is.
Janet tilted her head up just enough to give me the stink eye over her surgical glasses. I would have much rather she stared at me through the magnifying LOUPES. At least that would have been good for a laugh or two. Instead, I felt the devil's fingers playing Chopin up and down my spine.
"I retract my question," I responded to the look. I'd learned, long ago, to not push my luck with Janet. I loved her, I respect her. I also carry with me a modicum of fear for the woman. She was strong in that Ripley from Alien kind of way. Had this been a sci-fi horror film, it would be her tearing out of the Xenomorph's chest to chase a weeping Chuck Norris into space...where no one would hear him scream.
"Vega?" Janet's voice bumped me from my internal monologue. "You're doing it again." She shook her head. "This isn't ‘Scrubs,' and you're not John Dorian."
"Oh really?" I stepped back from the operating table. "Then explain this?"
I did my best Rerun dance. It was terrible. In the world of popping and locking, I had zero game.
Everyone around the table laughed. Chenica shook her head, but I could see in her eyes she approved.
Mission accomplished.
As I was about to hit the big finish, the door to the OR opened. Jax poked his head through.
"Mask!" Janet shouted.
Jax immediately lifted a mask to his face and shot a glance my way that needed no explanation.
"What is it now?" I asked.
"You need to see this, chief."
"Sorry, Jax, Janet's about to go elbow deep into this woman's chest. She's going to—"
"It's okay, Vega. I'm a big girl, remember? I think I can handle a little exploratory surgery without you."
The tension that wafted over the room was palpable.
Janet broke the spell with a wink. "I'm smiling under my mask."
Everyone exhaled.
"Go. We ladies have this covered."
"You sure?"
"Have I ever not been?"
"That's a trick question, isn't it?" I dared ask.
"Aren't they all?"
I pointed Janet's way and opened my mouth wide enough to accommodate my foot. Much to my surprise, I said nothing and followed Jax out of the room.
"Care to explain?"
Jax shook his head. "Not really, no. I think it's best you just see for yourself. This is some fucked up shit."
I gave the man a pat on the back. "Jax, my friend, the world is overrun by flesh-eating comedians and we're in league with a cannibal mobster. The way I see it...if it's not fucked up, it's not reality. In the words of Pat Benatar, ‘Hit me with your best—‘"
Jax pressed the entryway door open. What stood before me dropped my jaw and threatened to stop my heart.
"Your best..." I whispered. "Shit."
Before me was a crucified corpse only the body was in pieces. Chunks of meat and bone were strung together with rusted chains, like the chintzy wooden Halloween skeletons you'd hang on your door, bones linked together by twine.
To give the sight an extra kick of post-apocalyptic horror, the segments of human had clearly not been sawed or cut, but gnawed asunder.
"What do you think it means?" Jax glanced my way, the look on his face begging for an answer.
"Maybe a Hallmark card from our new boss, Emanuel."
Jax's eyes bulged. "Vega, cut that shit out. I don't know if you're being serious or clowning my ass. This is some—"
I stopped Jax short. "Fucked up shit. We've already established that."
"Am I wrong?"
"You are most certainly not, my friend." Jax stepped in closer to the monument than I thought he'd dare. Our group had slowly become desensitized to the horrific. I hated that this new world order was stripping us of what little propriety we had left. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say it's some kind of warning."
"From who?"
Jax asked the most important question of the moment—one to which I had no answer.
"What do we do?" Jax stepped to the back of the sculpture. I immediately regretted associating this monument of the macabre with a form of art. What stood before us was a mockery of humanity, an assault on dignity, biology, and life itself.
I stared up at the monstrosity and gave the latest question some thought. "We take it down, and we do so without letting anyone else know. We don't need the others laying eyes on this. Our collective sanity is already stretched to snapping. This homage to The Red Dragon might send our gang over the edge."
Jax looked at me, confusion painted across his face.
"Thomas Harris book?”
No change.
"Hannibal Lecter."
Jax shook his head. "You really should consider dropping any and all pop culture references that are tied to cannibalism. It's just cold."
"But you get my point, right?"
"Next question," Jax popped his neck as though this were a testosterone-fueled action film and he was about to go full-on aggro. "Why didn't this trip Randy's alarm?"
Crickets.
Our resident IT nerd had set up a perimeter alarm that would notify us if anyone came within one hundred yards of the Pearly Gates. That clearly didn't happen, otherwise we'd have known cannibal Banksy was setting up his latest installation.
"I'll have Randy look into the matter as soon as we take down this Post Modern, deconstructionist wet dream."
Jax huffed. "Anyone who'd be aroused by something this twisted needs serious therapy."
"There's a fetish for everything, chum."
"Sure. Feet, very tall women, latex, diapers...I get that. But this? Come on."
I crossed my arms and gave Jax the once over. "Is there something you're not telling me? Am I going to walk into your room some night to see you in a rubber diaper, licking the feet of a WNBA center?"
Jax laughed, but also got a dreamy look about his eyes. "I got a freak streak in me."
From behind, the door to the hospital clanked open.
"Oh, God," Randy's voice went from zero to vomit in less than a second. He rushed to a patch of grass and let fly his breakfast.
"You'll never survive the apocalypse with that weak-ass stomach." Jax rolled his eyes and looked my way. "That was rude, wasn't it?"
I nodded.
"I'm a work in progress." Jax turned to Randy, who was still bent over, tossing chunky salad into the foliage. "You okay over there?'
Randy raised a hand into a thumbs up position while simultaneously doubling down on his retching. When the moment passed, he stood, wiped his mouth with the bottom of a tee shirt that had some obscure geek reference emblazoned on the front, and faced us.
"What the hell?" Randy pointed to the objet d'arte.
"We think it's a message." I turned back to the object d’gruesome. "We just don't know who the messenger is."
"Speaking of which," Jax took the lead. "Why didn't this mess trigger your alarm?"
Randy's eyes went wide. "Son of a bitch." Without a word, the kid took off running.
"That boy confounds me. Is he running to or from something? Is he the bravest man on the planet, or the biggest coward?"
I shrugged.
"Looks like it's just me and you, chief." Jax held his hand up for me to slap.
I complied.
"Oh joy, oh rapture,” I did my best Scarecrow impersonation.
Jax laughed. "You'd never say that in front of Janet."
"Hell no."
We shared knowing looks. I wanted to laugh, but the stench of fetid human meat had my sense of humor in a chokehold.
Jax glanced up at the mass Crucifixion. "How do you suggest we take this beast down?"
"Given that's your area of expertise, I'll defer to you."
"You are one cold-hearted bastard, Vega."
"I didn't say I wouldn't help."
Jax pointed my way. "You're damn skippy you'll help."
We fell silent and looked back to the message we had yet to decipher.
"What could it mean?" the thought escaped Jax's mouth.
I pondered the possibilities, of which there weren't many. "Given the deal we struck with Emanuel, my guess is his competition didn't much care for our terms."
"You mean us supplying an army of cannibals with a never-ending McMeal of corpses for take out?"
"Something like that." I scratched my head, deep in thought. "Or maybe it's another cannibal faction giving us some indication it wants to make a deal."
"Oh no." Jax vigorously shook his head. "I'm not getting caught between two warring gangs of cannibals. They can piss right the fuck off. Our answer is no. We already sold our souls for protection, and I have no desire to experience a jilted cannibal army. The post apocalyptic Jets and Sharks can jazz hand and snap their mangey ass fingers on down the road."
Before we could get to work on the nightmare installation, Randy returned. The look on his face was abject defeat.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I can't believe it was that simple," he mumbled.
"What?" Jax and I said in unison.
"They spray painted over the camera's solar collectors, so the entire system ran out of power."
I wagged a finger at Randy. "Hold the phone a sec. Wouldn't the alarm have picked them up while they sabotaged your system?"
Randy hung his head. "Not if they did the deed at night. They could have dressed in all black and—"
Jax broke out in gales of laughter. Randy glared at the man as though every single feeling the poor kid had was bent, broken, and shattered. "You mean all it took to dumbfound your brilliant system was a beatnik costume and a can of spray paint?"
"Something like that," Randy confessed.
Jax shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh—"
Randy shrugged. “Yes you do, but it’s okay. I totally fubar’d this one."
I gave Randy a pat on the shoulder. "Look on the bright side of things."
Randy tossed me some serious side eye. "There is no bright side of this."
"Sure there is, friend-o. No one was hurt and nothing was stolen. You'll learn from your mistake and move on."
Randy tensed until every tendon in his body threatened to snap. "I don't make mistakes."
Jax stepped in. "Whoa now, son. We all screw up now and then. It's human nature. You can't beat yourself up—"
I raised my hand to silence Jax. "I get it, Randy, I do. If I fuck up, someone dies. So the idea of making a mistake is not something I take lightly."
Randy's face twitched. "No, you don't understand. I plan everything out such that mistakes aren't part of the equation. It just doesn't happen."
I very cautiously placed a hand on Randy's shoulder. "Things are different now. There are variables you cannot possibly account for. It's the exact thing I face on a daily basis. I cannot conceive of nor can I predict what those bastards will do next. Because of that, I can't expect myself to have the same success rate in the OR that I did prior to the Hunger. It took me a while to grasp that concept. And, if I'm being honest, I still struggle with it. But it's our reality."
Randy inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. I couldn't be certain of what was going on, but I had a feeling it was his way of processing such a high-stakes situation.
Jax leaned into me and spoke under his breath. "We need to figure out a way to take that thing down before—"
Randy waved his hand toward the statue. "A ladder, a pair of bolt cutters, and a garbage bag." He'd opened his eyes and took in the meat puppet with a hollow stare. When he spoke, his voice was robotic. "Start with the bottom pieces and work your way up, otherwise you'll be buried under an avalanche of limb and chain." Randy looked at Jax then to me. "If you'll pardon me, I have a security system to fix."
And with that, Randy turned and made his way back toward the building.
"That was—"
I cut Jax off short. "Don't."
Jax agreed by changing the subject. "Do we even have a pair of bolt cutters?"
"Surprisingly enough, we do. Come on back inside. I want you to wait at the door and stop anyone from getting a glimpse of that thing. I'll grab what we need to rid us of the goddamn crucifixion."
"You're damn lucky Ellie didn't hear you say that."
"I'm sure I'll still catch hell for it anyway."
Jax chuckled as I left him behind to guard the door.
I wound my way through the building, as ninja-like as possible. There was no need to arouse the curiosity of anyone. Even the slightest hint of danger could been seen as though my gambit with Emanuel had backfired in the worst possible way. The survivors in the Pearly Gates looked to me as their leader. If I let them down, who then could they trust?
The storage room door was but a couple of halls away. All I had to do was—
"Vega," Darcy's voice stopped me in my tracks. "Janet needs you in the OR."
Breaks were falling from the sky, and me without my mitt.
Of course, I had no choice but to heed Janet's call. When lives were on the line, all else faded to little more than noise in the background.
Static and silence within the vortex of my soul.
Why was I waxing poetic? One of these days I'd sit down and have a little chat with my brain.
Or maybe a therapist.
Yeah. That would probably be a bit more productive.
I turned to see Darcy, her blue gown spattered with blood. "I'm on my way. Do me a favor, go to Randy's room and tell him Jax needs his help. He'll understand. And don't ask any questions."
Darcy agreed with a nod and took off toward Randy's office. I, on the other hand, ran to the operating room, where Janet was scrambling to keep her patient from coding.
I gowned, capped, masked, and gloved. "What happened?"
"Her cancer has spread to the pericardium. I was trying to get a biopsy when I nicked the membrane. Next thing I know she's in arrest and I'm shocking the shit out of her to keep the woman alive. Her aorta couldn't stand the pressure and tore."
"What can I do?"
Janet's eyes were wide with fear. I hadn't seen her like this in years. The woman was a rock star with a scalpel. But oncology was not her jam, so it's possible doubt crept into play and gave her a raging case of impostor syndrome.
"Janet?" I steadied my voice. "Tell me what you need from me."
She blinked. "We need to put this woman on bypass."
"We don't have it. Yet. So what can I do?"
I saw the look return to her eyes—that look which said, "I know what I'm doing."
"Massage the heart while I repair the leak."
"She's back,” I said with pride.
"She never left." Janet wiped her brow with the back of her scrub sleeve. "She did, however, take a beat."
I grabbed the heart in my hand and began the massage procedure.
Janet whispered, "Thank you."
In return, I gave her a subtle nod...just enough for her, and her alone, to see.
Janet dove into the thoracic cavity and began stitching the aortic tear. It was tricky business, but she was the best at such things. As I squeezed, she could easily see the exact location of the tears. After fifteen compressions, blood ceased pulsing from the artery.
"Stop the massage," Janet ordered.
I pulled my hand away.
We waited.
We watched.
"Come on, come on, come on," Janet whispered.
Beep, the monitor rang out.
"Yes," Chenica cheered.
