Unnatural Instinct: Abduction

25.

I leave you behind in the communal eating area and rush to my room. The door whooshes open and I hasten to my desk. I pop out the drawer containing a new needle of vaccine. Quickly I press the trigger and inject it into my arm.

I sit at my desk, panting, rubbing my hand across my neck. I feel bumps. It feels hot. I stand, zip down my suit and wriggle out of the top half. Then I stand before the mirror on my wall. My heart sinks. The rash has spread to just above my nipple line. It's purple and when I press down on it with the tips of my fingers there's no blanching.

This is not good.

You've infected me with something and it's affecting me with astonishing rapidity. It's not your fault; it's mine. I should have known better. I should have taken proper precautions. I sit on the edge of my couch, gripping my knees as I take deep breaths. I can only hope the vaccine will work. If it doesn't ...

I can't think about that. It'll work. It must.

I wait ten minutes, then fifteen minutes, then twenty. At every five minutes I get up to check myself in the mirror, only to discover that it's gotten worse. It's spread down to my lower abdomen now and the purple colour has deepened to an almost black.

Sitting back down, I drop my head into my hands. I have no choice; I have to contact the mother ship. Though my life is in peril, I think only about you and your safety. If they arrive and discover you wandering around freely, they'll kill you. But I can't not contact them. If I die, my drones will take control of the ship and bring you back to them anyway.

I click my intercom. 'Emergency. Room 6A2. Medical assistance required. Emergency.' Every drone on board will hear it.

I grip my knees again, trying my best to expand my chest. My lungs feel tight. My throat suddenly feels unbearably dry. I try to clear it, only to give a hacking cough.

My drones are fast. The door opens and at least a dozen rush inside, dragging in the emergency hover system along with them. It has everything they need to save my life—if they can. Protocol dictates that they must immediately contact the mother ship at any emergency or distress call. My seniors will be making their way over now.

Time is short. The drones quickly surround me, helping me onto the floor in the centre of the room. I collapse. My joints are stiff. My limbs are heavy. My eyes turn blurry. It becomes a struggle to understand what's going on as my drones rush about. They cut off my suit and attach electrodes to me and insert needles in my arms. They're quiet and efficient. Except for their pattering feet and their muted jabbering, I hear only a faint ringing in my ears.

It's agony to lift my arm but I manage it, seizing onto one of their skinny wrists. My voice is a croak. 'Bring species ... 821 to me ... ASAP.'

He and four others rush away and I lie back, trusting in their expert care.

You arrive soon after. I hear you before I see you. 'What's going on?!' you shout from across the room.

I try to call you over but don't have the strength. I can't even lift my head. I can hardly move at all. All I can do is stare up at the ceiling. Even rolling my eyes is a fight.

Your pale, worried face suddenly appears above me. You see my rash and your expression twists in horror. 'What's wrong?' you say. 'What's happening?!'

I can hardly hear you, my ears ringing loudly now. 'Come close,' I whisper.

You do, dropping to your knees beside me, your eyes bright with fear. The drones move around you as though you're not there, continuing with their work. I tell you what's happening and give you instructions as to what you must do. It's imperative you listen. If you don't, it'll not only be my own life at risk.

Tears spill down your cheeks. Your eyes seem to sink into your face.

'I can't leave you,' you say, resting your trembling hand against my cheek.

With a strength that astonishes me, I raise my heavy arm and grab your hand. 'You must ... they're coming ... do as I say ... or die ... Go. Go.' I squeeze your hand as hard as I can to instil in you how important it is that you listen. You wince, then slowly rise, but hesitate. And I can see you're not going to leave. You give me no choice. Through my intercom I speak to my drones.

Several leave my side to grab onto you. 'No!' you shout. 'No! Let me go!'

'It's going to be okay,' I croak but you don't hear me amid your screaming. You thrash and kick and hurl yourself around but my drones are strong and manage to drag you away.

I can still hear your screaming as they haul you down the corridor. My limbs feel so heavy. My chest and neck and torso where the rash covers me feel like they're on fire. I'm really struggling to breathe now. It's like there's a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it's flopping around.

I lose sight of the ceiling. Everything starts to spin. I vaguely hear the beeping of the heart monitor amid the ringing in my ears. It's not good; my heartbeat is too fast and it's irregular. The drones act quickly. One of them clasps my face and tilts back my head. Another prepares an injection. I know what it is. They're going to anaesthetize me. They're going to intubate.

Death is close. I'm going into shock. I only have minutes. I know they're going to need to resuscitate me. My heart will stop. You envy my knowledge, but you'd be surprised to know that sometimes I envy your ignorance. Sometimes it's better not to know so much, particularly when in a position like this.

I'm at the mercy of fate now, and yet all I can think of is you. I close my eyes, shutting out the room around me, as I focus on how you looked that first day I beamed you onto my ship. You were nothing to me then, except an interesting subject I could extract important information from. I remember the first time you opened your eyes and looked at me. You were so fearful. I remember that tear.

Then you escaped and I remember how you felt in my arms as you fell through the vent. You don't realise it but you had me then. For the first time I saw you as a real being with a heart and mind and soul.

And how can I forget that night when you were sleeping on my couch? What a surprise that had been! That night when so much had changed. Despite everything now, I don't regret a thing. For a brief few days you made me live. I wish we could have those two weeks. I wish for it hard.

Don't feel guilty. It's not your fault. I made the choice.

The heart monitor hums. The drone at my head grips my chin more tightly. I feel a rush of cold up my arm as the anaesthetic is injected into my vein.

Darkness falls.