CHUPACABRA

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Monitor

Forty wakes to the image of blurry LED panels flying overhead, their flickering bulbs like stars in a sea of white. There's a mask over her face, an IV in her arm. When she tries to move, she finds all her limbs are tied down.

It all comes rushing back to her, and so does the pain. She can't move her hand like she wants to, and somehow that causes the deepest, most burning ache. When she flexes the muscles where fingers are supposed to be, she screams.

"Specimen Four-Zero is awake!" a woman yells from overhead. Forty strains her neck to see the panting face of Dr. Hanna, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. "Move, move! Clear the infirmary!"

Forty chokes on something in her mouth, realizing as she feels with her tongue that the monitors have put some sort of metal bit between her teeth. Right, I threatened to bite my tongue off.

She knows where Dr. Hanna is taking her. She's been there numerous times, counted those LED panels like each time she went there would be a new one. Forty strains against the bonds holding her to the hospital cot, the pain in her hand making her lightheaded. She's strong, she knows that. Stronger than Thirty-Seven, even. She can break these, right?

"Don't bother," a voice says. It's cold, devoid of any emotion besides hatred, but there's also a smugness to it. "The chains under those straps are meant to anchor ships to the ocean floor. You're not weaseling out of them."

Forty can't see him, but she knows who it is. Dr. Taft. He's somewhere off to her right, just out of range of her grip. Even if she could reach him, he's intelligently decided to stay on the side with less claws. "I told you when I say jump, you jump. Did you really think it would be so easy to get away from me?"

"She's lost a lot of blood," Dr. Hanna says hurriedly, hooking Forty up to an EKG. "We shouldn't put any undo stress on her."

"Undo stress?" Dr. Taft guffaws. "Did you see what she did to the capture team?"

Dr. Hanna goes quiet, not meeting his eyes. Forty doesn't blame her. Dr. Taft has corpse eyes, like he's been buried so long in the ground they've sunken into his skull and turned permanently red. She clamps down on her bit, hoping the metal will give a little. It does not.

"You've caused me a whole host of problems," Dr. Taft continues. He walks to the top of Forty's head, staring at her upside down. She'll never get used to the way he looks so devoid of character, like he's a doll that's been animated. She attempts to convey just how pissed she is by trying to kill him with her eyes.

Dr. Taft's hand shoots out like a whip, slapping Forty across the face. It's not enough to stun her, but she still looks at him incredulously. He's dropped all pretense of professionalism. This is personal. "You put me years behind a cure. Are you happy now, that you've seen what it looks like outside? You caused all of that by shirking your responsibilities."

Gritting her teeth against the bit, Forty manages to slither her broken hand out of one strap. It isn't designed for people with half their fingers blown off, so she manages to break the hold pretty quickly. She doesn't so much as blink at Dr. Taft before she's buried her two remaining claws in his cheek.

"What the fuck?" He screams, falling backwards into the EKG. It collides with the wall, pulling Forty's IV with it. Dr. Hanna manages to catch it before the needle rips out. She stays well clear of Forty's free hand.

Ripping her mask off, Forty spits the bit out. It's like a demon possesses her mouth, fire spewing forth from it. She can feel her fangs graze against her lips. "It's not so fun when it's holes in your face, now is it?" she laughs, tossing her head back against the cot and trying to strain her body out of the rest of the ties. It really is no use, especially when she's this weak.