Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #6: School's Out pt.2

[jackalope]

Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #6
School's Out pt.2

The background hum of just over a hundred children talking fills the hall. Two boys take turns punching each other arms. A ball of paper hits the back of another kid’s head who barely notices. A girl whispers to her friend, giggling and pointing at another girl. At the back, the gym teacher checks his watch and rolls his eyes. A kid near the front is waving his hand in the air, wiggling on his seat, obviously desperate for the toilet.

tup tup tup fhosssh

The principal taps his microphone then blows into it. “Excuse me, excuse. Is this on? Excuse me children, if you would be quiet please.” The noise in the room slowly lowers until the children look at the principal in near-quiet. “Thank you, now if we could keep at that level of quiet for the next hour or so, that would be great.” He stares out at the children, trying to gauge whether any rebellion was building. He continues, “You are all very lucky to be here today, because we have a very special guest speaker. Now you might all think that you want to grow up to be “famous” because that’s “cool”...” He takes the time to do the quote narks with his fingers, “but I think you'll find that the real “cool” people are smart people, like teachers, and principals, and scientists.”

A child yawns. The principal fires his best death glare.

“And that leads me to our special guest-speaker. The scientist, Professor Ivan.” He starts clapping, followed by the teachers, and then half-heartedly by the children. A short, think bald man walks towards the microphones. He adjusts the microphone stand so it stands a foot lower and pushes his glasses up his nose. Clearing his throat, he looks about waiting for the clapping to die down, which it does rapidly.

He leans in to the microphone. “Actually it's Professor Ivo.”



“GIVE IT BACK!” the child shouts as he charges. Manbat steps back in puzzlement and the small kid grabs for him, his limbs moving frantically trying to grasp onto the bat creatures elongated arm. Manbat shakes the wing but the child's grip is strong. It bites, drawing blood.

“Get off!” Manbat shouts through its vicious pointed teeth. He bites the kid, a warning, just to get the crazy boy's attention but it's useless. The zombie child barely seems to notice, its little hands tugging his fur while its teeth bite harder. Manbat turns to the teacher who trying to find the coordination to scramble away. “Could you pull him off?”

The man's eyes are wide and quiver as he looks at the once pupil, now gnawing on the arm of the monstrous creature asking him a favour. The child’s face turns to him, blood dripping from his chin, eyes glazed and sunken. “Why can't I...I...”

The teacher's flight instinct kicks in properly and within seconds he disappeared into the darkness, followed closely by a fading scream. Manbat knock the zombie kid of with his other wing. On the ground it spasms, a strange fit of rage and frustration, growling and hissing. He brings his foot down on the child's chest, holding him still and looks closely at him. “Speak.”

The zombie kid lies still, almost dead looking. Manbat feels the slight movement of breathing under his foot, but the eyes... Manbat tries to keep his voice as human sounding as possible. “Why can't you what?”

The boy's eyes are drifting across the night sky, they look at him, but at the same time don't seem to see him. Just moving slowly, no fear, no curiosity, nothing. The words that came out were emotionless, though they seemed to Kirk, to linger with sadness. “Why can't I feel. Give it back.” The boy blinks, his voice rambles on, a recording of a once alive mind, “...give it back.”

Kirk Langstrom clenches his teeth. He steps back and places his hooked thumb claws on the base of the child’s necks. He closes his eyes, but in this form he hears it all, the breaking cartilage, the blood squirt, the last breath escape. His huge bestial head leans in close to the boy’s corpse. “I promise to get it back for you.”

He turns and flies.



“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Each word matches a footstep as she runs. Turning back Lyta sees the swarm of running zombie children pouring out of the gym's doorway into the darkness. She turns around the first corner she sees but they are fast behind her, their feet padding lightly on the concrete. She turns again towards a doorway of one of the class blocks. Up the small ramp and she pulls at the door. It's stuck. The children are rounding the corner now. She pulls again, rattling the door, there's a slight creak. Through her night vision glasses the young faces look haggard and hungry, mouths open for her. She pulls again and the handle comes off. She looks at it and at the door. She pushes. It opens and she ducks behind it. Small hands cover the bubbled glass windows, as she leans back against the door, breathing heavily.

“This isn't how it is supposed to go,” she whispers to herself. A thump on the door pushes her forward but she quickly leans back. “Fuck, I shouldn't be here, I'm supposed to be in University, studying, or partying.” A moaning scream is followed by more bangs. “Why couldn't they be the slow zombies? Not kids on meth...”

“I know what you mean...”

“Oh fuck...” She almost leaps forward. Lyta looks around, “Who said that?”

The voice is at her ear again. “It's Bride, dummy. The glasses are comms. You've had them open.”

Even in this situation she feels weirdly embarrassed. “Oh.” Inside thoughts dammit. The thumps behind her are getting louder now. She's sure the glass sounds like its creaking.

“Where are you?”

“I'm in one of the school blocks. I... I don't know which one.” There is a strange squeaking sound from the corridor ahead of her.

“Ok, stay put.”

“O...kay.” It's hard to make out in the shadows but something appears at the end of the corridor. Her night vision makes out the shape as it approaches. A girl in a wheelchair. “Hello?”

The girl stops, her pale face looks to her. “Warmth.”

“Ah.” Behind her the glass shatters and bleeding hands push towards her. She ducks down, trying to keep her shoe wedged in to stop it opening. The wheelchair bound girl starts to push herself along, gaining momentum as she gets closer to Lyta. Lyta closes her eyes and sticks her hands out as the girl flings herself, from the chair, at her. The girl’s arms latch onto hers, and she tries to bite her scaly skin. Lyta opens her eyes. The child is weirdly light, even with her legs dangling. Medusa's clawed arms are barely being injured by the attempted mauling. From behind her one of the zombie kids jump through, leaping on to her back and biting her neck.

She falls forward and turns elbowing the kid off. The other children scramble over and through the door now unguarded. She throws the disabled girl at them and rolls on to her feet. As she tosses the wheelchair aside and runs, she whispers to herself, “I'm so going to hell for this...”



Robotman's feet hit the concrete with metal thuds.

“Stop.” Father Time's voice in his head.

“No, I need to save her.” He fires a net ahead of him. Two running kids fall, wrapped in the black net.

“No, you need to find out the cause of this.” Always the voice of bloody reason. He fires a bolas out, another kid trips.

“She's scared, she's young. You heard her.” The strangest sensation of being old, even after over fifty years in a metal body, he feels like an old man.

“Stop now Robert. Frankenstein and Bride are on their way, and she's a lot stronger than you think. You remember Myrra.” Robotman stops. “You need to find out what caused this, and whether it can be reversed. Manbat is on his way to help you.”

He turns, hesitating a moment, and runs back.



Hours ago

“What is Science?”

“God, he looks familiar,” Matt, the Gym teacher, says looking at Beth's chest. Beth, the Science teacher, nods. The small bald man at the front of the hall does look curiously familiar; she probably saw his face in one of the Science journals she tried to make herself read sometimes. Not that science really mattered to most of the kids anyway, not at this age. As long as she gave them a good shot at understanding evolution, she would be happy, but out here near the middle states it was hard. They asked her all sorts of weird questions.

“Science helps us understand the world and ourselves. It can help us solve problems, cure diseases.” The Professor smiles at the kids.

The children looked confused, as did the teachers, except for the principal who still seemed annoyed with getting the guest's name wrong.

“Any idea of what is the most is the most dangerous disease in the world?” The Professor points at a child. “Yes?”

“Aids?”

The Professor shakes his head. He points at another.

“Cancer?”

He shakes his head again, “close.” He lifts a finger. “Age. The worst disease in the world. You can survive everything that comes at you and in the end age will get you.”

Matt scratches his head. “A little morbid...”

“Mainstream Science will tell you that there is no such thing as a soul, there is no proof, no evidence that such a thing exists.” Beth raises an eyebrow; hopefully he wasn't one of those 'intelligent design' proponents, weaselling his agenda- pretending it is science. He really did look familiar. Between his oversized lab coat and round glasses he was coming close to being a stereotype. “They accept the concept of the mind, electricity zipping around our neurons, creating thoughts, but the idea of a soul, a true essence to ourselves, they cannot understand.”

He clapped his hands together. “What if you could take the life from one person and give it to another? Of course the ratio would probably be a little uneven because of the prototypal extraction methods. It would probably take one young life for each extra year another person.”

The principal stands. “Uh, well thank...”

Professor Ivo holds up his hand. “And now for a demonstration.” He hops to a table covered in a sheet, which he pulls off revealing a large control box and a gas mask. He removes his glasses and straps on the gasmask.

Of course, Beth recognises the man, the janitor. The funny little man always playing around with the vents and ducts, fixing locks, hanging out in his little basement under the gym. Under here. She stands to say something but the man has pressed a button on his box. Green gas pours through the vents. Everyone is coughing, some kids start to run but they drop down, the adults collapse too. Professor Ivo stands watching.



The sky was slowly becoming lighter blue as dawn crept closer. Frankenstein points to the far block and nods at Bride. She nods back and veers towards it. He keeps running at the building in front of him. Jumping, he smashes through the glass and rolls on to the desks which collapse under him. He quickly scans the room. Empty. He runs to the doorway and leans around. There are two more classrooms. He moves through to the next classroom. Empty. The last room's door flies inwards, and Frankenstein lowers his boot. A man sits in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. Frankenstein removes the rag from his mouth.

“Thank you,” coughs the greying man.

“Speak.” Frankenstein stares at him.

“My name is Edward Ivan. I'm a lecturer at Utah State University. Someone wrote asking me to come give a talk. When I got here I was tied up and gagged.” His eyes adjusted on the huge blue man in front of him. “...he took my lab coat.”

“Thank you.” Frankenstein runs from the room.



Robotman's scanners are working at full speed, taking in and analysing visual information. He turns the corner; Manbat stands over a basement shelter off the back of the gym. The giant bat's clawed feet grab the chained metal doors and he flaps his mighty wings. The metal hinges tear from the concrete frame. Manbat tosses it and lands back on the ground. He turns his head to Robotman, his face looking even more monstrous with anger. He drops into the basement.

Robotman follows.

Robotman flicks on the light, causing Manbat to hiss, covering his head with his wing. “Sorry.” The room is covered symbols painted across the walls. Some were formulas, basic chemical reactions, others contained symbols he hadn't seen. Others still seemed occultish, circles and pentagrams, Chinese and Latin writing, gibberish as far as he could tell. Manbat sniffed about the books stacked against the wall and through to a makeshift bed set up in a corner. His claws tear it apart, making stuffing fly everywhere.

“Father Time, are you receiving?” Robotman stands back from the walls.

“I copy Robert. What have you got?”

“I'm going to send you some pictures. I assume Brain is on standby.” Internally his mind clicks. Captured images are uploaded and sent to S.H.A.D.E. HQ. He turns slowly around the room. In a corner two large chemical vats have been rigged to be attached to the air vents above. A table stands covered in ancient looking lab equipment. Dissected frogs lie at one end. “You getting this?”

The Brain's voice crackles in. “Yes, I can see it. Please turn, see if there are any notes lying around.” Robotman shuffles through the piles of papers covering the floor and the table, taking care to get good shots of each one. Behind him Manbat seems to be getting restless, the combination of his altered form and the situation is beginning to cloud his thinking. He snares as he stares at the writing on the walls.

“It's some form of alchemy, combined with modern biochemistry and particle physics. I've never seen anything like it.” The Brain's voice sounds envious. “On the outside it seems like he's found away to transfer the energy potential from young cell DNA to older DNA. To effectively prolong life.”

Robotman looks up. “What does that mean for the children who it was taken from?”

“Premature aging, early death, not to mention what it would do to them psychologically...”

“Can it be reversed?”

“I believe the saying is- 'Have you ever tried getting toothpaste back in the tube?'”

Manbat smashes the table against the wall.



When Frankenstein reaches the right class block, there is a frenzy of biting and grappling. Medusa is desperately punching and clawing, her face looking surprised by her own strength. Beside her, Bride kicks at the leaping children, trying to stay upright against the tide of small savages. The closest children turn to him, running at him, biting where they can. The sheer numbers of bodies overwhelm Lyta, forcing her backwards onto the ground. Frankenstein wades through the mass as far as he can. The first light is breaking through the window, shining white on his scarred blue skin.

“Medusa,” Frankenstein shouts, “there is no saving these young gone. They are already lost. You must end this.”

Bride turns and tries to pull a child off the pile that has formed on top of Lyta, but soon the zombie kids are jumping at her, dragging at her arms.

Underneath the pile, Lyta struggles to breath. The sensation of her hair actually biting flesh is hard to wrap her mind around. All over her aches with the pain of small teeth biting at her scaled skin. A small hand rips her glasses off. She tries to keep her eyes shut but the constant pain whips them open. She looks at her clawed arms, so strong and powerful looking. She balls her hands into fists. The pile of children burst out under her. She leaps onto her feet.

“Get down!”

Frankenstein and Bride avert their eyes. The children stand and look at her, transfixed. A silence passes over the room. Lyta quickly ducks and picks up the sunglasses. “Uh, it's over.”

Bride peeks from behind her hands. She looks out over the room of small stone statues. Frankenstein opens his eyes. “You have done well Lyta Trevor.”

Lyta half smiles.



“Well I guess everyone is buying Lyta pizza then.” Father Time smiles beams in the early morning light. Lyta, back to her normal self, looks at him quizzically. “The bet. Looks like none of us were right, so you win the bet.”

Behind them teams of S.H.A.D.E. agents are sweeping the school and setting up explosives. An old man and a small fat kid are being escorted to a black van. “What's going to happen here?” Lyta pulls the blanket tighter around her and looks at Father Time.

“What happened here was there was an outbreak of Bird Flu, followed by quarantine, followed by an accidental gas explosion.” He no longer smiles. “An unforeseen and unfortunate tragedy.”

The group look downwards at the ground. Langstrom's face is especially stern. Robotman's voice comes over the radio into Father Time's ear piece. “You probably want to see this.”

Father Time walks down into the underground lab. Agents are systematically cataloguing papers and items. “What is it Robert?” Robotman points upwards at the roof. Father Time looks up at the words painted in red across the roof, his face shows a hint of fear. “Shit.”

'See you in Infinity, Time'



Elsewhere

A person waits at a bus stop. The sun is shining, he smiles in the warmth. In the rubbish bin, outside the petrol station behind him, a dirty white lab jacket is screwed into a ball. He runs his hands through his hair slowly, as if feeling it for the first time. He sees in the distance a bus approaching. Reaching over his shoulder into the hoodie he wears, he pulls, then looks down at the shop tag in his hand. He pulls out his wallet, removes a wad of cash, and pushes the wallet back in his pocket. With a screech and grinding of gravel the bus pulls up and stops. He steps forward. In the reflection on the glass door he stares at the young boy who stares back. He reaches to touch his face and the reflection copies. The door thuds open, a black moustached driver looks down at him.

“Getting on?”

The boy steps onto the bus. “Yes, one child ticket, please.”