ABOMINATIONS

CHAPTER SEVEN

Q U I N C Y

The silence was deafening. Quincy's ears rang and the only thing he could hear above the noise was the crackling and sizzling of live wires that had been ripped out of various places on the wall by the computers. Brett was laying face-down a few feet from him. Struggling to get his arms under his body to lift himself up, Quincy made his way over to Brett and turned him over. He was unconscious, and blood lined his mouth. He looked like he was missing a few teeth. Even after shaking him, Quincy couldn't get the young scientist to come to.

"Brett?" Quincy pleaded, shaking the boy's shoulder. Brett's head lolled to the side in response.

Quincy grunted and tried to pull himself up, wiping off the back of his arm above his left elbow to dislodge what felt like little pieces of glass in his skin. The quiet clinking noises as they hit the ground confirmed his suspicions and his vision swam as the blood rushed around his body away from his head. He had to force himself not to look at his hand when he felt it come away from his arm wet and sticky. Seeing his own blood made Quincy extremely nauseous.

He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. Despite having been to Brett's lab a few times, he still didn't know where everything was. Multiple rolling shelves that were full of syringes and beakers full of random substances had toppled over, and all of the blood samples that had been set up so perfectly had shattered all over the floor.

Quincy carefully walked around broken glass and spilled fluids to make his way towards the back wall, where the only untouched shelf boasted a first aid kit on the top shelf. He fumbled with it, his fingers not wanting to function. When he finally got it open he saw only a piece of paper that read in shitty handwriting, "I'm god so I don't need first aid" and a poorly drawn hand sticking up the middle finger. Brett proved to be more immature each day Quincy spent with him. Tossing the useless first aid kit box to the side, he turned around and tried to think through the fog in his brain. If he could find his wallet, he could go to the drugstore across the street from the alleyway the lab was located in and buy some band-aids, but he was afraid if he left Brett alone for too long he would choke on his own blood or vomit or something. The other option was dragging Brett's limp, bloody body with him across the street in broad daylight, which would stir up attention that was not needed now since his brother was missing.

"Shit," Quincy mumbled. His brother. Blinking hard to clear his vision, Quincy looked around the destroyed lab for any signs of Quentin. The table they had him strapped to was on its side, and so was the cart next to it. The floor was almost completely covered in shattered glass, various suspicious liquids, and a lot of blood. The blood was probably a mix of the spilled test tube samples, Quincy's cuts, Brett's mouth, and whatever Quentin had bleeding. There was an obvious line of footprints from out of the blood puddle towards the hallway that led to the exit. The prints were bigger than Quincy's feet, and he had a feeling Quentin wasn't in the building anymore.

"Brett," he called again, hoping to wake up the young scientist. His body did not move, and Quincy walked back over to him to try to wake him up, crouching next to his small frame and shaking his shoulders. When that didn't work, Quincy grew frustrated and with some hesitation, backhanded the young boy across the face.

When he did so, Brett spluttered and responded by coughing and spitting out a mouthful of blood directly into Quincy's face.

"Aagh!" He screamed, dropping Brett's shoulders and ignoring the thud of his torso onto the concrete in favor of rubbing his blood-sprayed eyes. "What the fuck, man?"

    "What happened?" Brett said weakly, pushing his bangs up over his eyes and squinting around. "Where in the hell is the subject?"

    "Quentin? I don't know. I think he left."