Derelict

The Innocent Escape Trouble - Part A

Chapter Twenty Four - Part A

            Bryan felt a jackhammer drilling away inside his head, chipping and breaking until every remaining brain cell had been thoroughly disturbed, explored, and violated. The whole world was vibrating. He could feel his hands and body shaking in response to the jackhammer, even the bed shook. Could it be he had checked in to one those tacky roadside motels, the type with the vibrating beds? He didn't remember doing so, but that had to be what had happened. All he had to do was wait until his fifty cents ran out. Then there would be peace.

Long moments passed before the vibrations faded but then in a perverse twist the bed began to spin. Somehow the bed had transformed into a giant carnival ride and he was powerless to get away. The spinning sensation increased in rapidity until he was helpless and pinned against the wall with his limbs feeling as though each weighed hundreds of pounds. He felt sick and his stomach rebelled, refusing to tolerate the endless spinning.

Whatever it was he had last eaten erupted, trying to force its way up and out but the centrifugal force of the spinning carousel kept the vomit from exiting his mouth. He started to choke, unable to draw a breath.

"He's vomited," came a disembodied voice, one registering as familiar.

"Well turn him on his side and clear him out, you idiot. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"Si, Doctor." Yeah. Bryan knew that voice alright. It was Mr. Sanchez.

Strong hands rolled him to his side and pried open his mouth with rude fingers thrusting inside and scooping out the vomit. He coughed and choked but he breathed.

The spinning slowed and he realized then it had all been in his head. Ugh. He hadn't experienced a session quite like that since spring break in Daytona Beach a lifetime ago. At least he remembered that particular event as having some fun and excitement associated with it.

Spring break? Where did that come from?

He opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the blinding light glaring overhead and then wrestled with confusion and bewilderment. He was naked, lying on a gurney like a specimen ready for dissection. His arms and legs were little more than lifeless appendages connected to his torso, without ability to move or respond to the urgent commands from his brain. Move, you useless arm!

"Welcome back to the land of the living, mi amigo." Indeed. It was Mr. Sanchez. "There's no use struggling, you've got the first round of whatever this junk is pumping through your veins."

"It's not junk, you idiot." This comment originated from the other voice, the speaker away from Bryan's field of vision. "This is clinical trial D-18, although I hold little hope you would understand the nuances of what we are attempting here."

"What you inject these poor gringos with don't matter much to me," said Mr. Sanchez. His upper lip curled into a sneer. "But if you call me an idiot just one more time, you gonna find yourself strapped to this very table as the next victim. Am I making myself clear, Doc?"

Another man loomed into view and Bryan assumed this was the "Doc" Mr. Sanchez had addressed. The man was rail thin with deep circles under his eyes and lacked a single hair anywhere on his head. To Bryan he looked as though he was either exhausted or highly medicated, not that it made any difference.