Pit Episode 11 Section 1

So a bit of a preface here.

I have had this done for pretty much ever, besides the last few pages, but i , for the life of me cannot figure out any way this chapter can be chunked up for easy reading, and still retain its flow. So instead of letting everyone think i have given up on the series, i am just shitting it out in a random chunking of ten pages every few days until this section is complete. This is the end of what could be called Act one, this is the big reveal, so trying to find a good place to break it up, just isn't going to happen.

So, while reading, keep in mind, it is meant to be taken as one solid piece of writing, but chunked up for ease of reading, and to be more blog friendly. With that in mind, enjoy, Pit Episode 11 ( section 1.)

Pit Episode 11 : Breakthrough

By my best guess I have been in here for at least 2 days. 

My skin is soggy and pruneish from the damp sponge of the wall, my body aches from not being able to move, and the reek of alcohol, something more sinister, and my right arm, keeps me from sleeping.

There is a numbness about it, a combination of not being able to move it, and the collection of horrific wounds I have sustained. But that is far secondary to the fact that I am starving. 

And I don’t mean hungry, I mean starving, my stomach feels like a plastic bag filled with acid, I find myself straining to remain conscious , and realizing that even being unable to move so much as an inch, I am going to wither up and die rather quickly if I don’t get some form of nourishment. 

On the 4^th day it hits me, and as much as the thought sends a paranoid shiver down my spine, I am hit over the head , again, with the fact that I have no choice. 

The liquid in the sponge like walls tastes foul, like whiskey made in a rusty bathtub. But after managing to gag down a few mouthfuls, i realize that it is not simply poison. That being said I also realize rather quickly the downside to having only a foul alcohol with the taste of spoiled meat permeating it to live off of. 

My next week is spent in a drunken stupor rapidly approaching insanity. I find myself wishing that I could remember how alcohol effected me, I also find myself wondering why exactly it is that I am a collectors edition firearm, and my owner never takes me out of the box. In my moments of lucidity , I make the assumption that there is more than just alcohol in this fluid. The thought mentioned being a rather large give away. 

The week after this, is spent in a kind of mounting horror, I begin to think, both in my most inebriated and most sober moments, that this is the end, that finally, this asshole has decided to just let me rot here, drinking myself to death and living in a combination of my own filth and my only source of food. 

I find myself having conversations with no one, I try to convince myself , from time to time that I am talking to those voices I heard during the fight, but it feels like trying to wedge a square peg into a round hole. Insanity is one thing, even insanity that is so thorough one does not notice it, but that, was something different. 

I find myself hating the hallucinations less and less, and coming to think of them as my islands of respite in this macabre sea. Sometimes I am home, I don’t know if it’s my home or not, but it feels right. Sand and mountains on all sides, a nice little garden, and plenty of wide open space to wander . And other times I am walking through the streets of a large city, gritty and grim encrusted, with a sense of giddy fear flowing through me, and this I enjoy as well. Anything is better than the reality I have been forced to endure. 

And once, I found myself having the most beautiful dream, falling through a sea of stars, a cool mist flowing over my body. And it all seems so real, the wind on my face, the freedom of having space to move my stiff limbs…and the blinding pain of slamming my head against something very solid at a very high rate of speed…

The group of about twenty or so people stared at the chute with a mix or terror and elation.  Maybe this would be another batshit insane EJA they would have to find a way to deal with, but maybe it would be the person they were told they were all waiting for. It hasn’t happened the last 28 times, but maybe just maybe it would happen this time. 

The group was a great example of diversity , children, adults, metal workers, one doctor, the old , the young, it was a control group of sorts, in this experiment, and it succeeded well at its role of representing the population. 

The unofficial leader of this group was Theodore Mcginty, half black, half irish, and an accountant in a life that seemed so far away from his current existence, his no bullshit nature, and ability to pragmatically understand many situations elevated his status rather quickly. 

And it is a good thing that it did. Before Ted took the reins of this loosely knit group, they had been at each other’s throats to the point of what could accurately be described as a civil war. People need a leader, and Ted was exactly that leader. 

He wasn’t a large man, standing 5’9 with a rather impressive middle aged beer belly, but few could match the sheer determination of will he possessed, once continuing a rational discourse with Jamal Dixon (now his second in command, though the relationship is strained at best.) , after being stabbed by the man. 

And it was Ted, and what he called “ The vanguard” ( 6 of the largest and most combat capable men in the group.) that saw the new variable in their experiment first. 

The man was blood soaked, and dripping with a clear liquid, and followed by what was at least a half dozen partially dissolved corpses, and a waterfall of the same clear, alcohol smelling fluid. He stood well over six feet, and while it was obvious he hadn’t eaten in a few days ( after mistakenly giving away too much information, the group got used to seeing what it looked like when folks havn’t eaten for a few days.) , he was built like a tank. He was shoeless, shirtless, and wearing only a pair of torn jeans, and a massive chain coiled around his left hand. His right arm, even from the point of view of someone who has never known the first fact in regards to medicine, was in critical condition. Puss and blood dripped freely from it, and even over the yeasty stench of the alcoholic fluid and bodies, one could easily smell the fresh and progressing rot. 

Having his sense of fear removed a long time ago, Ted spoke up  “ You allright there Bubba?”

The blinding pain that cuts through the inebriation comes from my ankle, I don’t hear a snap, but I realize that I am going to have a hard time walking , as I land hard, onto a cement floor. 

The world is spinning, warping, twisting, changing color, noises repeat, change tone, and linger.  My mind no longer wants to stay on the straight and narrow path, and even as I try to make sense of my surroundings, random thoughts take my fancy, and it is only through a supreme amount of effort that I can manage to keep any kind of handle on the situation at hand. 

The first thing I truly register , besides the cement floor, is a group of about 7 men standing in front of me, all looking, and smelling like they are ready for a fight. And in truth after weeks of being caged , so am I. 

I meet the gaze of the leader, a small dark skinned man whom I could, and want to , crush with one blow. He says something, it doesn’t seem like a threat, but I can’t understand the words, I hear them just fine, but they don’t seem to click, their meaning lost as much as whoever I was before this entire mess. 

I stand up, and I notice the group take a step or two back, the leader , still calm, says something again, very slowly, very clearly, and I , with all my effort do understand it this time. 

“ I asked if you were allright Bubba.” He says, his tone not confrontational, but making sure to show no hint of fear. 

“What do you think?” I growl with a small laugh, knowing he is going to end up as just another corpse at my feet. 

I go to say something else, continue that line of conversation, but a random thought burrows its way into my head, and I act upon it. I throw my gaze to the ceiling and scream, “ What am I supposed to do now?” , and within a few seconds, the room is echoing with the sound of “ The voice.”. But not for very long.

“Nothing, nothing at all son.” It says simply. 

But that has to be a trick, that has to be some kind of subtle hint as to what he wants me to do. But even with every neuron in my misfiring brain , I can’t think of what it means. 

I feel a hand on my arm, and I realize I had spaced out completely. I snarl and raise my right arm for a strike, and I find myself staring into a face that I trust. There is something about it, a look of determination with a side order of trepidation, that makes me feel at ease with the man. For as long as it takes for me to realize that maybe by killing him I will fuck up this process.

“ Hoss, none of us here mean to hurt you, we’re trapped here just like you, you’ve talked to the redneck before havn’t you?” he says, his tone kindergarten teacher nice. I nod, fixing him with a glassy stare.

“Well, we aren’t working for him, we just want to get out of here. “ he says continuing his plea.

“ What is going on?” I say this putting the emphasis on all the wrong words and syllables, and it ends up coming out more as a statement than a question. 

“I am going to be honest with you, we know more than you do, but we can’t tell it to you. Cletus, and no that isn’t his name, just what I call him, has been very specific about that, and we’ve paid the price for not listening to him, more than once.” He sounds sad  at this statement of fact. I find myself thinking of garbage being blown through an amusement park. 

“Your just some of those things… aren’t you?” I say this before even thinking it, but I find myself instantly believing it. My heart starts to hammer in my chest , and I clench my first around the chain. 

“Whoa , what things are you talking about?” The man says calmly.

“You know what I am talking about.” I say in an over the top ‘You’ve got a secret’ tone. 

“ No I don’t, I mean, we don’t. We havn’t seen any ‘things’ Hoss, we get the occasional visitor, like yourself. But no things, these things , were they the ones that roughed you up?” he takes another step forward, I give him a grunt , to tell him to give me my space, but he ignores it, reaching up to put a hand on my shoulder.

“They were, weren’t they? Listen, I know you probably have some apprehensions about us, but none of us are anything but normal folks. And none of us wants to try and take you out. Think of it Bubba, if you were one of us, would you be rushing in to try and see if you could kill us?” His words, flattering, ring true.

“ I guess, “ I say, pausing for a long time to consider the statement, over and over, and finally finishing with , “…not.”

The man smiles, and removes his hand, “ I’m no doctor, but you’re pretty bad off Bubba, especially your arm, and by the way your acting, I am going to take a guess and say you got dosed something fierce. Now, I am not a doctor, as I said, but we do have one, and a damn good one too.  We don’t have any sedatives, so no one is going to try and put you under, and if he tries to hurt you, well, I am sure you can think of a way or two to stop that, right?”

I nod like a toddler, smiling, “Yeah!” I say gleefully, “ I could just rip out his guts if he tries anything, right?” I look to the man for vindication of this viewpoint, he does his best not to seem disturbed, and says “ You got it Hoss, so what do you say? Give us a chance to show we are playing on the same side here?” 

“What if we don’t fuckin want his nutty, EJA ass coming back Ted?” a man behind Ted says. Only now to I start to recognize again that there are others in the room.

Ted snaps his head to the other man, also dark skinned, but a bit taller and leaner, and holding what I believe to be a handgun. 

“Jamal, you fucking want to skirt the line a little more? Huh? Maybe you can almost kill Rogers god damn kid again because you don’t know what to shut the fuck up about.” Ted starts, turning his back to me and getting within inches of Jamal’s face.  “I swear to fucking Jupiter, Loki, Ra, all the fuckin gods, if you get us in shit with Cletus again, you aren’t going to have to worry about this guy killin you, I will do it my god damn self. “ The man, about a decade Jamal’s senior, slaps him. Jamal is angry, but submissive.

“ My fuckin bad chief, this shit is just getting to me is all.” The younger dark man walks over and extends his hand “ Sorry bro, but usually the people coming outta that chute want to kill us in a real hurry. Name’s Jamal.”

The gesture confuses me and I stare at his hand for a long time. “ I don’t know my name.” I say in a monotone. 

“ That’s not anything new Hoss, let’s just get you back and patched up, and we’ll see where we can go from there.” Ted says, walking down the long sporadically lit hallway, and motioning for me to follow. 

After a 2 minute walk, we enter what can be best described as a bunker, a dozen or so living quarters, a large common area, and the most surprising, a well stocked kitchen, and three functional, modern bathrooms. Which isn’t to say the place was pretty, it put off a very survivalist vibe, but compared to what I have been living in, and through, it was a welcome breath of fresh air. 

“ So Hoss, you have a real name? I’m starting to feel like a bit of an asshole calling you Hoss.” Ted says, striking up a conversation as I observe the bunker. 

“ Don’t know.” I say as a sudden burst of laughter hits me, it goes on full force for about a minute, then I find myself instantly silent. 

“Well, I don’t feel so bad then. Well, you want to go see the doc? He isn’t the most gentle guy on earth, but I havn’t seen him come across an issue he can’t fix.” Ted starts to walk to the living areas, and I remain silent. 

“Food” I say, trying to find the quickest way to express my desires.

Ted laughs, “ You know, I get that Hoss, but have you taken a good look at your arm? To use some jargon , it’s in the red pretty deep.”

“ Don’t, care, food.” I say a bit more forcefully, I start to walk toward a large polished steel fridge. 

“Hoss, “ he says exasperated, though for the life of me I don’t understand why, I am hungry, he should know that by now. “ I didn’t want to freak you out, but truth be told, that shit is gonna kill you, and pretty soon.” He fixes me with a look that makes me want to crush one of his arms. Not kill him, but just make sure he never looks at me in that manner again. 

“ Your not a doctor.” I say this as if it is just a piece of passing trivia.

Ted sighs, loudly, and this is more than I can take, before he has time to register it, I have him slammed up against the fridge with my right arm, I fix his eyes with a stare that I hope is cold enough to convey my rage. 

“I know I am hurt, and unless you want to be hurt, I need some fucking food.” I let him go for a moment, but only to change my grip from his shirt to his neck. I squeeze, I don’t want to kill him, just to make a point “ And don’t treat me like I am your slave. Do it again and I will twist off your leg and eat that.” I drop him, and standing rather shakily fold my arms across my chest, and stare, the archetypal drunk about to start a fight pose. 

Of all things Ted starts to laugh, even as I notice large purple bruises showing on his neck.

“That has to be the first time a white guy has ever said that to a black guy.” He raises an eyebrow and laughs in a way that invites me to join in. And I would, but I simply don’t get the joke. The joviality though makes me realize that I am letting whatever is coursing through my bloodstream control my actions. 

“ I am sorry.” I say much too sincerely. And as I do I suddenly feel a large rush of emotion, I begin to cry, and almost out of reflex, grab Ted in a hug tight enough to make him give a grunt of pain, and tap my shoulder to signal me to lighten up. “ This is all just so, fucking terrible.” I say through choked sobs, “ I’ve killed people, lots of people, “ and I hold him out to arm’s length our eyes meeting, so he knows how serious I am, “ And I killed them, lots of times.” I say in a whisper.

Fear, pity and acceptance all briefly flash across Ted’s face. And I notice his previously rather clean ( for this place anyway) beige button up shirt is streaked with dark red blood, greenish pus, and a few bits of sloughed off skin from my hug. This tells me that maybe medical attention should be higher on my priority list. 

“ I’ll see the doctor.” I say in a hangdog , child’s tone. 

“ Don’t worry about it Hoss, I’ll fix you up something before we see him. You like fried chicken?” he says this as he opens the fridge, he looks back to me, as if expecting some kind of reaction, laughter probably. But again, I simply don’t get the joke. 

“He really did a number on your head, didn’t he?” Ted says.

The meal was not chicken, as he had stated. But a few sandwiches made on large buns that had more crust than my wounds, but remained soft and delicious on the inside. I remember to keep note that at least one thing has went well in this ordeal. 

After a half dozen, I am still hungry enough to literally try and bite Ted’s hand as he tries to take a plate away to refill them, but satiated enough that my right hand, which is beginning to lose all feeling, should be top on the list. 

Ted walks me to the second door from the hallway, and knocks, turning to me and saying , “ The doc likes his privacy. And I can see why, everyone around here has some little issue, and they just won’t shut the hell up about them. It gives them something to do, it gets kind of boring down here, but hearing about hemorrhoids and the need for tampons , when we are in this situation, gets him pissed off pretty quick.” 

The man who answers the door is not the old codger I envisioned, but rather a young guy, early twenties, with slicked back , well greased hair. He actually does wear a white labcoat, and as he looks at me his eyes widen a bit. 

“New rat?” he says to Ted, then looks to me and adds, “ No offense, that is just what we call the guys like yourself that come in here, from what we hear it’s kind of like a maze what you had to go through.”

I give a snort, “ Then you got told wrong.”

He gives Ted a ‘Gee Thanks’ look, and motions for me to walk into his office/living quarters. Ted attempts to follow him, and the doc blocks the way with his arm. “ Sorry Theo, but doctor patient confidentiality and all that. Can I trust your not going to listen at the door?” the doctor says.

Ted looks legitimately hurt by this, and says “ Of course not. Why would you… you know what, never mind. I trust you Carl.” And leaves. 

Carl looks out the door, to the right and the left, and then shuts it, and slides three locks into place. He points me to a chair and says “Sit” , and I comply. 

He goes over my body, giving some hisses, and saying “ oh boy” a few times at the wounds. But eventually telling me that besides a few scars, they should be fine. He then sits down and puts on what I can assume is his ‘bad news’ face. 

“ You got lucky, none of the lacerations on your body have begun to show signs of infection. As you noticed though, I didn’t bother looking at your arm. And do you want to know why? Because even a first year med student, hell any knob with a Net Card and some time, could tell you that it is rotting off. I’m not going to sugarcoat this, even though, believe it or not, that is my style,  you don’t lose that arm, you do lose your life.” Instantly my mind snaps to attention, screaming at me ‘ This is it, they want to cut off your arm. This is all just a big test to see if you have learned anything about this place. And I half stand, planning on caving in Carl’s head and making a dash out of the room. But I have started to get a handle on how my mind is working, and with a few deep, shuddering breaths I manage to calm myself down. 

“What else” I say simply “ I am not losing my arm.”

“ Well, you can die, that is the other option. “ He retorts.

“That’s fine, but isn’t there anything else you can try?” I ask trying to keep my tone level. 

“Nothing that is likely to work. “ he says slowly. 

“Not a problem, what can you try that is unlikely to work?” I am literally straining with effort, to try and make sense, my mind is begging me to go skipping and jumping around to a thousand different thoughts, but I manage to keep them at bay.

“So you want to go for the long shot? Fuck me, well I could try and clean the wounds, but that isn’t going to exactly be fun, those wounds are deep, and are going to require debridement, do you know what that is? No , of course you don’t, even if you did, that fucking redneck probably took it away from you. It means that I am going to have to cut off all the dead parts, and without any kind of pain killers, that is going to feel like hell, and at this point, it has about the same chances of working as I would have at knocking you out, with a broken wrist, after I fell into a coma.”  He says this in a no nonsense way that cuts through the drug induced haze that has clouded my brain. 

“Sounds good.” I say, finding the shortest phrase I can, I want him to know how serious I am, and I don’t need slurring, gibberish or tangents to get in the way of that. 

“And there is something else, piss in this.” He says out of left field, I laugh and shake my head as he hands me a small metal cup. 

“Seriously, I get the feeling you realize you’ve been fed something, I want to find out what…as well as I can, and for that I need you to urinate in a tin cup, can you manage that?” he looks at me as if he really has doubts that I will be able to. 

“You know, I was a doctor once. “ I start to ramble, but the serum, or drink, or poison running through me fuels my tirade, I get loud, and energetic, punctuating my points with hand motions that send tiny sprays of pus and blood about the room , “ not a real one you see, not like you doc, Carl, Doctor Carl. But with a stone, yeah I know, but I did it. “ I loom over him like death itself, he doesn’t flinch, in fact he reaches into a pocket, heedless of if it looks like he is going for a weapon, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes , I try to read the brand, but my vision is too blurred for that, I can see it is red, but not much more. 

“You smoke?” he says, I can’t tell if he is being polite or manipulative, and I  growl at him, letting my chain rattle a bit before I reply, “I don’t know.”.

“It goes that deep?” he says thoughtfully as he lights himself a cigarette, thinks for a moment, and lights another from the glowing ember of the first, and hands it to me. 

I don’t know what to think, my first reaction is that it could be another in the series of hellish steps in this procedure. But if it is, I can’t fathom what I am supposed to do. I give up , wiping my right hand on my jeans, I take the cigarette. 

I inhale, and I see the doctor expecting me to cough, but I don’t. I enjoy the feel of the smoke filling my lungs, and the rush to my head, for a moment drives out the insanity, and the blur, but only for a moment. As the smoke hangs in a cloud around me, I decide that I probably was a smoker, and if not , now is a great time to start. 

“Why do you want my piss, really?” I say leaning forward, I exhale smoke into Carl’s face, and tilt my head , staring at him for any sign of a lie. 

“Because, I don’t like having a massive guy who could snap my neck with one hand, regardless of level of rot, wandering around on a substance that is completely unknown to me. If I can get some kind of handle on what you’ve been slipped, then maybe I can at least act accordingly.” He says, his gaze meeting mine with a determination that makes me suddenly respect the man. 

“Why can I do that?” I ask, sitting not on a chair, but the Doc’s bed. 

“I can’t go into specifics. Even if I knew them, which, in your case I don’t. What I can tell you are things you can already see. And as you can see, your built much different from the folks out there, you understand this , right?” he asks , his tone lecturing. 

“Uh huh.” I say, trying to keep up with what he is saying. 

“ Okay, well, you saw how they have seen people like that before right?” he says, staying slow,  and taking his best guess as to how much of the information I am absorbing. 

“So that would draw you to the conclusion you are not the only one like this, right? And that they are familiar with people like this, am I correct?” I nod my head twice as he talks, still following the thread of the conversation. 

“That is about as far as I can go without risking the health , lives, and safety of these people. “ he sighs, I know he wants to say more, but I don’t press. If there is anything I know it is the seemingly random cruelty perpetrated by The Voice.

“So how about that piss?” he says.

I snatch the cup from the arm of his chair without a word, and without even turning around proceed to attempt to unzip my fly. Unfortunately I attempt this with my right hand, and realize how far gone it really is. I can not even feel the zipper , and fumble for thirty seconds or so before Carl says, “ First , go behind that screen, second, that is nerve damage, that isn’t going to go away.” Leading me to a white dressing screen in one corner of the room. 

“ I thought you were a doctor, you should be used to all kinds of gross things.” I say as remove my unit and begin to fill the cup. 

“Being used to it, and going out of my way to see it when there is another option are two completely different things.” He says this as I realize the piss I am taking has no chance of being done before the cup is filled. I realize I could care less about this, and begin to simply urinate on the floor. 

“Thor's fucking hammer , stop that!” He yells, sounding legitimately worried versus simply angry or disgusted. 

I do, suddenly not even sure of why I decided that pissing on the floor would be  a good idea. 

“You giant fucking… I can’t even call you anything appropriate, how sad is that.” He mumbles this as he brings over a bottle filled with some kind of sand, he pours this over the urine, and after waiting a few minutes sweeps it up and dumps it into the garbage.

“It’s just piss.” I say both accusingly and apologetically. 

“Not if I am right.” He says, setting up a steel table in a corner of the room as far as possible away from anything flammable. 

“If I am right, “ he continues as he puts on a pair of safety goggles “ Spraying this around the room, is probably a terrible idea.” He strikes a match as he gets to the word idea, and brings it slowly to the cup of urine. I try to suppress a giggle, and it is unsuccessful. 

The match hits the urine, and suddenly it develops a pale blue flame, almost invisible in the lit room.

“ This is both one of the most interesting, and most disgusting things I have had to do.” He says with a grin, as he blows out the flame. 

“And I am still wondering why you did it.” I say, trying to add something to the conversation. 

“It tells me a few things. The flame confirms that it was alcohol, the color on the other hand confirms it wasn’t just alcohol, by the way your acting I would narrow the list down to about a dozen or so hallucinogens. But the fact we could get the flame gives me an idea of how solidly your put together. You try getting anyone out in that room to drink enough to make their piss burn, and your going to end up cleaning up corpses and vomit. You on the other hand, are still up, about and threatening things. “ I can’t say I follow his entire line of reasoning, but I nod just the same. 

“ My best guess, “ he continues “ Is that your going to be really drunk for a really long time, as to how long the more…pharmaceutically elegant effects last, I couldn’t tell you. A match and a tin cup are very poor diagnostic tools. But they are all that I have, if you want my advice, just try and keep on your best behavior, believe it or not, those people out that have means at their disposal to defend themselves.”

Carl butts out his cigarette, and as he does so suddenly mine tastes quite foul, without thinking I grab Carl by the shirt and slam him against a wall. This time there is no cool collected gaze, but legitimate fear.

“ What did you put in the fucking cigarette?!” I say, low and dark, I don’t want to attract attention, but I want him to know that I am serious. 

“ What do you mean , what did i…” his voice chokes off as I slug him very lightly in the stomach. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, but before he does I hear a gun being cocked. I look down and see a tiny pistol, aimed at my chest. 

“ I’ve been shot before doc.” I say with a smile, putting my face almost touching his, “ Now, what was in the fucking smoke?”