The Tartarus Directive

Chapter 18

What felt like an eternity later, Griff woke up in the dark. There was only enough light that he could make out the shape of the room in which he found himself. There was no sound but the low hum of machinery and an almost inaudible beep-beeping. His eyes were excruciatingly dry and no matter how much he blinked, he could not quench them. Trying to move, he realized he had been restrained. His arms and legs were all four fastened firmly to the bed he rested on.

A tinge of fear gripped him. He struggled against his bindings only to be met with a searing pain on his skin at the points of contact. He tried to call for help but he could not find the breath to produce more than a wheezing whimper. A respirator covered his nose and mouth, a long corrugated tube running off the edge of the bed and disappearing into the shadows. The air was cool and soothing to his exposed skin.

He started hearing muffled voices. He could not see who was speaking but he knew the distinct sound. Not commands or formal speech, just conversation. He turned his head slowly to the left then the right, trying to catch a glimpse the people talking. All he saw was the vague shape of plastic curtains on all four sides of him. He tried again to speak but the sound he produced was even weaker than before.

His body was stiff--joints creaking and achy--his skin was tight and uncomfortably warm in spite of the cool air, as though too much movement would tear it apart. He was naked, and only covered in several places by bandages. His sense of smell was nearly gone, and all that remained was the subtle scent of burning wires in his nostrils. He eventually fell back asleep for a time.

#

He woke again to voices, this time whispers close by. He opened his eyes and was met with far more light than before--so much so that he winced at the bright light in his unadjusted eyes. The overhead lamp made his skin tingle and even burn in some places. Two silhouettes loomed over him.

"He's awake," one of them said softly.

"Can you hear me?" the other asked.

The first hushed the second: "Don't talk to him. He can't respond anyway."

Griff felt pressure on his arm. He strained his eyes to see. The first person applied a gel of some kind to his exposed skin. After a few moments, the gel had a numbing effect on his skin, soothing the exterior pain.

"Go back to sleep. It's the best thing you can do," the second one said to Griff.

Sleep, what a novel idea. Sleep, and hope the next time he woke up he'd be in his quarters. Sleep and dream of rolling hills he'd never see with his own eyes. He'd been sleeping far too long as it was. He was sick at the thought of sleep. As sick as he was, his exhaustion was far more powerful.

#

"Can he hear me?" a woman's voice asked.

"We don't know yet. He's been fairly unresponsive," a man's voice answered. "Don't touch him or get too close. He's not been fully decontaminated yet."

"Griff, I'm here," the woman's voice said.

Griff's half-conscious mind was like an empty void in which the words echoed infinitely. It took some time for him to realize it was Selma.

"I heard you were in pretty bad shape, so I had to see for myself. They made it sound worse than it is. You'll be out of here in no time." She choked on the words. "I don't want to lose you, Griff. I can't lose you as well. My dad knew the risks that having that responsibility entailed. I know you did everything you could to save him. I know you did everything you could to save us, too." He could tell, even with closed eyes, she was weeping softly.

The man's voice murmured something to her about having to go. Griff heard her sniffle and said something in the affirmative in response.

"I'll have some chili waiting for you."