Dante (eBook)

Chapter Five

August 2017. The Clatsop State Forest, located in the Northern Oregon Coast Range, is a sprawling landscape which spreads across one-hundred thirty-six thousand acres. Deep inside the forest stands a heavily guarded government compound that is surrounded by chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, search towers with large spotlights, and armed guards scanning the perimeter of the fence.

On the eighteenth floor of the facility, Charles Wingard, Director of Special Operations peered out the window and squinted briefly before turning around quickly to grab the binoculars from his desk. Pressing the binoculars against his eyes, he scanned the darkness of the forest beyond the fencing and spotlights.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled quietly to himself. He continued to look out into the distance that lay beyond the safety of the facility that he had made his home away from home. Nervously and with shaking hands, he stepped away from the window, reached down to the top right drawer of his desk, pulled it open and gently replaced the binoculars with the standard issue firearm supplied to him by the government. As he made attempts to regain his composure by breathing in and out deeply, he slid the weapon into his belt along his waistline.

The silence in his office could only be matched by the silence in the forest that lay on the other side of his window. Wingard made his way from his desk to the bookshelf that stood waist high on the other side of the room. He knelt down and slid several books on the bottom shelf to the side and revealed a half empty bottle of whiskey and a glass that had his initials etched in it. Forgoing the glass, he stood back up, spun the cap off and took a swig, right as the unnerving silence was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

“Wingard, here,” he said as he placed the bottle on his desk and slid his chair out to take a seat.

“Subject seventy-two is exhibiting combative characteristics and we require your presence in the research wing.”

Wingard sighed and confirmed he would be on his way. He put his phone back on into his pocket and spun his chair around to look out the window again. Several trees began to bend in a wavelike pattern, as if someone or something was running by them and causing the trees to move. “Get it together Wingard,” he said as he slapped his hands on his cheeks and took one last swig of the whiskey before returning it to its hiding place on the bookshelf. As he moved toward the office door, he grabbed his suit jacket from the coat hanger to the left of the door and put it on. He switched the light off and exited his office, making his way to the elevator down the hallway.

Passing several individuals wearing lab coats, Wingard boarded the elevator and made the descent to the basement level, which housed the Research Wing of the facility. This particular area played host to a number of labs which were dedicated to various stages of scientific research and some were classified, he thought perhaps even questionable, experiments. As he exited the elevator, Wingard turned right and strode down a dimly lit hallway which compared to what was happening through some of the doors on either side, was quiet…peaceful, even.

Wingard reached into his left pants pocket and retrieved his identification card which granted him access to the Research Wing. Almost as soon as he passed through the doorway, he was greeted by a research specialist who grabbed ahold of his arms.

“Thank god!” he said. “I have never seen a reaction like this before. Please, come,” the scientist said, already making his way toward an observation room.

Grabbing the file that was hanging on the outside of the room, Wingard hurried in after him and closed the door behind them. “What do we have here?” he asked as he flipped through the chart.

“Subject Seventy-Two began to exhibit hostile traits shortly after twenty-three hundred. With this type of treatment, the reaction shown is typically short lived. But there was something different with this one.” As he was speaking, the man was operating a computer which displayed a security camera feed. Once the footage stopped rewinding at 11:14pm, the man let the video play at normal speed. Initially, not much happened, but then the subject’s movements quickly changed.

The man known as Subject Seventy-Two was being held captive and had been for quite a few years after being plucked from what seemed to be a relatively normal life. That “normal life” was disrupted when certain DNA markers indicated that he bore genes that differed significantly from the typical human being. In a top-secret operation, he was just one of dozens who had been identified, gathered and caged inside this compound, held by the covert organization known as the Department of Human Deviations for “additional research.” As Wingard and the scientist continued to look at the screen, Subject Seventy-Two looked directly at the camera and seemed to be speaking, though what was being said was said was inaudible to the camera.

“Close in on his face. Take the camera as close as it can go without distorting the image,” Wingard commanded as he leaned in closer over the chair in front of him. The Specialist did as he was asked and was able to get the image blown up to a size that allowed both men to see Seventy-Two’s scarred face clearly. “What the hell did he just say?” Wingard mumbled as he motioned to the Specialist to rewind the footage. As they watched the footage again, Wingard stood up and stiffened in his stance. “Dammit…I’m pretty sure he said ‘lights out.’ That can’t possibly be good. Quick, get to the panel and initiate security protocol ten…” Just as Wingard was issuing his new set of commands, the main power of the facility went out and was quickly picked up by the emergency power generator.

Nervously, the research specialist looked at Wingard for guidance and just as soon as their eyes moved from one another’s, there was a sound of an explosion from somewhere in the facility. Wingard pulled his weapon from his waistband and silently motioned for the Specialist to get to the floor and move beneath the desk. Both men were frozen in place, intently focused on the security monitor. In an instant, the stillness of the room was broken by a blast that emanated from the wall behind the monitor. The force was so strong that it sent Wingard airborne, launching him into the wall across the room. Dazed and injured, but unable to determine just where the injury was, Wingard fixed his eyes on the massive opening in the cell wall where the security monitor had just been.

Slowly, methodically, and intently, a figure began to materialize through the dust and haze still hanging in the air. The figure made its way through the opening and was soon flanked by two additional entities. The lights in the observation room were flickering at this point, and Wingard squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out who or what was standing in front of him. Cutting through the silence was a booming voice, deep enough that it echoed between the two rooms. “What’s wrong, Charles? Didn’t you want to see us up close and personal? Oh, that’s right…you would prefer to have us in restraints, in another room… tucked safely away from you,” the man said as he looked at the individuals beside him and raised his arms to shoulder level.

“Seventy-Two, right? That’s what you all called me. ‘Subject Seventy-Two. You took me from my family, stripped me of my name… most of my memories, and gave me a code-number to dehumanize me…to reduce us to lab rats. That’s where you went wrong, Charles. We are human; well, maybe not in the typical sense of the word. But we represent what is best about humanity, what is better, and you just could not let us live our lives. You did this, Charles. Directly or indirectly, you are responsible for what happens tonight when we leave this hell hole.” Seventy-Two began to walk toward Wingard, and in his strides, he gestured beneath the desk to the two men who were with him. At that moment, they quickly closed in on the research specialist and lifted him from his hiding spot.

As Seventy-Two stepped toward Wingard, he saw a flash of light and a scream was cut short as the research specialist was evaporated in an instant. Wingard drew his gun but was just a second too late as Seventy-Two kicked it from his hand, just out of his reach. Seventy-Two tilted his head slightly to the left as he took notice of Wingard’s injured hand. “A wedding band?” Seventy-Two asked as he reached down, grasped Wingard’s wrist, and lifted him violently from the ground. “Do you have children, Charles? I had a child; I can recall that much. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right? You know all about my son AND my beautiful wife, don’t you?”

Wingard nodded his head, but refused to make eye contact with Seventy-Two. Nodding his head in controlled anger, Seventy-Two pulled Wingard closer to his face and ran a finger along the scars that lined his face. “I missed her while you and your ‘Research Specialists’ poked and prodded me and the others. I would have given anything to see my family again. But I can’t see ever them again…not like this. Not after what you’ve done to me. You made me a monster, Charles. You’ll die, but I have to live up to the expectations that were set for me. Judging by the look on your face, you fail to realize just what you have accomplished. Soon everyone will learn of the mistakes that were made here.”

Seventy-Two shifted his gaze again to Wingard’s wedding band. “Will they miss you?” he asked, almost to himself as he released his grasp on Wingard’s wrist, thrust...