Windigo Soul Read online

  “You know as well as I do if you complain you’ll get the same answer as always,” Sanderson said. “Make do.”

  Young rolled his eyes. “Yes, they love that one. You know, there hasn’t been a single quarter in my thirty years in the agency where the budget hasn’t been cut. Pretty soon they’ll have us using rubber bands and harsh language.” Young chuckled at his own joke and took a few deep puffs from his cigar. “The incidentals are regrettable, yes. Especially the cop. But you did what you needed to do to complete the mission. Taking out the package is always the top priority and you did that.”

  “If that’s not it, then what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “You’re still doing regular rounds up north at one of the plants, right?” Young looked around his desk as if it was littered with papers instead of being spotless. “I couldn’t remember which one.”

  “Windigo.”

  Young nodded his head. “That’s what I was afraid of. I found out this afternoon your father-in-law was passed over for retirement. They sent him there to work in one of the boiler rooms.”

  Sanderson sat up straight in his chair. “What? I requested him to be cremated without being processed first. What do you mean he was passed over?”

  “I’m aware of that. I tried to get it approved, but the FDR is really hard up for recruits these days. I heard he was an excellent candidate.”

  “Dammit,” Sanderson muttered.

  “Look, I’m just as upset as you are. I just thought you should know. I figured you would want to be prepared, in case you ran into him up there.”

  “In case I ran into him,” Sanderson repeated. “Why don’t you say what’s really on your mind, Victor? You’re worried if I saw him then I might be tempted to tell my wife that her father is still alive.”

  “Come on, that’s not it. In all the years we’ve worked together I’ve never known you to be anything less than a complete professional.”

  “Then don’t insult me by implying that I’m not.”

  Young snuffed out his cigar and leaned forward over his desk. “What I’m implying is, you need to be careful. Don’t forget I put my ass on the line for you.”

  “And you’re doing a great job of reminding me of it every chance you get, Brother.”

  “Let’s not get personal about this,” Young glared. “Remember, John. I haven’t always been chained to this desk pushing pencils, you know. I worked the field. Believe me, it’s happened to the best of us. Maybe on a different day you could’ve pulled the trigger. Maybe if it was a man and his teenage son it would have turned out differently.”

  “But it wasn’t,” John interrupted. “It was a woman not even old enough to legally take a drink and her three year old girl.” He looked down at his hands and rubbed the last remaining bit of adhesive from the faulty shaker from his palm.

  “The point is,” Young continued, “whenever an operator shows any kind of hesitation in the field, any sort of emotion that might compromise the mission, a flag goes up. You know that. Your assignment this afternoon was messy, but thank God you at least eliminated the package. The suits upstairs have been watching you like a hawk.”

  John stood up. “You tell the god-damned suits I’m fine. Are we through here? I need to go write my report.”

  Young laughed. “Straight to the point, no bullshit. Don’t worry about the report for tonight. Go home to your wife and get some rest. You look terrible.”

  Sanderson left the office to find his friend Carter waiting for him down the hall. Carter raised his eyebrows. “Hey, pal. Didn’t sound like too friendly of a conversation in there. Everything okay?”

  “What are you still doing here?”

  “What else? Catching up on paperwork and drinking stale coffee. Everything okay?” Carter asked again.

  “For Chrissakes, I’m fine. Just feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

  “Okay, man. Take it easy.”

  The two operators signed out of the building and walked together through the tunnel toward AscentTech. “Sorry I snapped like that back there,” John said. “Just got a lot on my mind these days.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Young has been on my ass for weeks and Sara’s father just retired. She’ll probably be in a funk for a while.”

  “Shit, that’s right. I forgot. Tell her she has my sympathies. Want me and Denise to drop by with a bottle of wine or something?”

  “Nah, thanks anyway. We should probably have some time alone.”

  They exited through the dark cover building and locked up. At the corner they paused, Carter heading a block north to the bus stop, Sanderson heading three blocks on foot to his apartment building.

  “See you tomorrow?” John asked.

  “Yeah, probably.” Carter took a step and turned. “Hey man, I’ve known you for a long time. We were in the same selection class, went through training together. You’re like my brother. You need anything, just name it.”

  “If you tell me you love me, I swear I’ll pull my piece on you.”

  Carter lunged for him and put his hands on John’s shoulders. “Come on, give your old pal a smooch.”

  Sanderson swatted Carter’s face mask off, sending it into the gutter.

  “Asshole! You know I have sensitive lungs.”

  Sanderson flipped him the bird and headed down the sidewalk.

  “Johnny!” Carter called out with a dramatic flair as he retrieved his mask. “Why won’t you let anybody love you, Johnny?”

  Sanderson shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled, appreciating his friend’s ability to always lighten the mood no matter how lousy he felt. Despite that, the meeting with Young had left him feeling bitter and angry. It was bad enough living a double life but knowing he was always being watched, in many ways more than civilians, sometimes made him question his career. The State hired men like him to do their dirty work yet they didn’t trust him any more than the poor sap he left with half a head in that alley.

  If Sanderson ever did decide to tell Sara the truth about his job he probably wouldn’t even survive long enough to hear her reaction. He suspected his home had been bugged for years and wouldn’t have been surprised if there were a few hidden surveillance cameras tucked away as well. If he did spill the beans and try to get away, the tracking device embedded in one of his molars would make escape impossible.

  As for other ways they kept tabs on him, he didn’t even want to know. The State made sure each operator felt that level of uncertainty to help keep them in line. Silence at all costs. It applied to him as well.

  Sanderson reached the front door of his apartment building and dug in his pocket for his keys. Like Little Wall Street just a few blocks away, his neighborhood used to be a safe and upscale part of town. Now, not so much. He’d only paused at the door for a moment and already caught two bums out of the corner of his eye heading his way. It seemed like if you stopped anywhere in the city for more than a second, they flocked to you, looking for a handout.

  He got the door open and climbed the stairs to his second floor apartment. John fantasized about telling Sara right then and there when he walked in how many people he’d killed throughout his career. He knew the exact number by heart.

  Chapter 8

  Hank walked past the cafeteria, nodded at a passing worker, and took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He knew it probably would’ve been a good idea to have something for breakfast, but eating was the last thing on his mind. He barely slept a wink due to a million thoughts swirling through his head all night. He started feeling anxious about his first day of work as dawn grew closer and he got out of bed at four o’clock.

  He showered, dressed, and paced around his room until a quarter to seven, never feeling more isolated and lonely. As nervous as he was, he was a little relieved to finally have something to do. He hoped whatever his duties were would help pass the time.

  Hank paused at the door to boiler room four and held up his palm to the reader moun
ted on the wall. His palm was scanned and the light turned from red to green. Hank took another deep breath and pushed the door open.

  He stood in the doorway, silently gawking at the scene before him. All night he wondered what he would be walking into and his imagination had failed in comparison to the reality of his new work environment.

  The pods, hundreds of them, stuck out of a massive cylinder shaped machine in the middle of the large room reaching at least thirty feet to the ceiling. The air was hot, damp, and had a slightly sour smell to it. Like bad milk mixed with some sort of cleaning solution.

  Hank got closer to the pods for a better look. They reminded him of large test tubes. Each one contained a man or woman floating in green liquid. He stood in front of a pod with a woman in it and gently placed his hand on the clear plastic. It was cool to the touch and vibrated slightly.

  The woman inside was completely nude and bald. A hose from the base of the pod connected to a device covering her mouth and nose. Various other wires, tubes, diodes, catheters, and ports were connected to her through various body parts and orifices. The spider web of cables and tubing lead into the base of the machine by her feet.

  “Hey, who are you?” Hank jumped at the loud voice behind him and spun around. A large scowling man approached him from the far side of the room. He had bright white hair and dark wrinkled skin. Like everybody else besides the soldiers, he was older than Hank.

  “Are you Seamus?” Hank asked.

  The man frowned. He had a good six or eight inches on Hank. “I know who I am, who the hell is you?” He rubbed his chin with one of his massive hands. Hands that looked like they’d seen a lifetime of hard work.

  “I’m Hank. I guess I’m supposed to start working here today?”

  “Oh, another new guy, huh? Nobody told me you was starting today.” He turned around and started walking away. “Well, come on then. Let’s go someplace a little quieter.”

  Hank followed him into a small room with a large window that faced the boiler. Seamus sat in one of the two chairs and pushed the other toward Hank with his foot. He pulled out a cigarette pack and lit one. “So where they find you at?”

  Hank wasn’t sure what he meant. “Uh, Lieutenant Hendricks said to…”

  “Look, man. Let me be straight with you.” He took a deep drag and exhaled the bitter synth-smoke in Hank’s direction. “You’re the third guy I’ve had to train this month and it’s getting old. Shit, I’m getting old. I’m gonna hope you got a brain in your head and the balls to do the job. In the meantime, my expectations ain’t shit. I ain’t gonna waste my time only to have you wrap a belt around your neck and play chandelier like the last sorry motherfucker they sent in here.”

  Hank glanced out the window at the pods and back to Seamus. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle whatever you need me to do.”

  Seamus made a face and turned to the bank of monitors and control panels in front of him. “Don’t worry, he says,” Seamus muttered. “Shee-it.”

  Hank sat down and looked at the monitors. Hundreds of icons which he assumed represented the pods, lined the screen. Each had a block of numbers and graphs. Three red icons stood out from the others.

  “These here,” Seamus tapped the red ones, “are starting to fail. Good day for you to start. We’ll be swapping them out for fresh ones.” Seamus rose and opened a cabinet on the wall. He took out a jumpsuit and handed it to Hank before putting on his own. Thick rubber gloves and safety goggles completed the outfit.

  “We’re responsible for two hundred pods in this room,” Seamus said. He opened the door and headed back into the main boiler room. “Besides us, they got four other boilers in this section so that makes a thousand bodies in this plant. On average two go bad each day and need to be replaced. Thirty retirees are kept on hand in the warehouse at all times.”

  “The warehouse?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah, just a staging area to keep the geezers fresh ‘till we need ‘em.”

  Hank had to remind himself Seamus was talking about people. Never in his life had he referred to a human being as fresh.

  Seamus approached a keypad and punched in a few buttons. One of the pods near the ceiling moved sideways into the empty space in between the columns of pods and slowly moved down a track. A bright red LED at the base of the pod flashed, announcing to the world the failing retiree inside.

  “First thing we do is take it off-line and drain the thermal conductive fluid. Otherwise known as the green shit,” Seamus said. As the pod moved into position at waist height, Seamus showed Hank which buttons to push to shut down the pod. The liquid slowly drained and the man inside settled to the bottom of the pod.

  Seamus wheeled a hand operated scissors lift over to the pod and placed it underneath. He released four latches at the base of the pod, raised it slightly with the lift, and pulled it free from the machine. He lowered the safety goggles resting on the top of his head over his eyes and put on his gloves.

  “The green shit will burn your fingers if you touch it long enough. Won’t feel a thing now, but later tonight it’ll feel like you got ‘em on a skillet. Learned that the hard way. And don’t even think about getting it in your eyes.”

  Hank put on his gloves and goggles and watched as Seamus released two latches on the top the pod. Hank opened the pair on his side and was greeted by a hiss as the pod depressurized. They removed the top half of the pod and that’s when the smell hit Hank’s nose. He let out a groan and took a few steps back.

  Seamus let out a deep belly laugh. Judging by the surly face he’d worn all morning, Hank never expected to see the man smile, much less laugh. “Man, I never get tired of that,” Seamus mused. He lifted his goggles and wiped his eye with his sleeve. “Smells like shit, don’t it?”

  Seamus bent over the body and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Take it in, baby. Won’t be long before you don’t even notice it. All part of being a boiler monkey.”

  Hank waved at the air in front of his face. “I really find that hard to believe. God, it’s awful.” He never wanted to know what rotting flesh marinated in some evil green gravy smelled like before, but it was too late for that.

  Seamus’s light mood quickly evaporated and he waved Hank closer. “Come on, man. He ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  The man inside of the pod was grey and bloated. His skin had almost a greasy looking transparent quality to it like boiled sausage. Hank could almost see the muscles and tendons underneath.

  In order to remove the body from the pod, they needed to disconnect it from the various life support systems. The device over his mouth supplied fresh air for the lungs and removed the exhaled carbon dioxide. Diodes and wires attached to various body parts for reading vital signs. Intravenous ports for supplying nutrients and fluids.

  Seamus pointed to a device mounted to the man’s chest. “This here is called the cardiovascular support module.” He tugged on it with some difficulty. “It zaps the heart with a charge to keep it beating, probably the most important part in the whole system. We stick it on with glue but this one don’t want to come off.” He gave it a final tug, removing most of the flesh underneath with it. “Ain’t that a bitch? Gotta clean that off later.”

  Hank was glad he skipped breakfast. Between the foul odors and ripping flesh it would’ve been all over the floor by now.

  “Now for the poop chute,” Seamus declared. He reached between the man’s legs and pulled a tube from his rectum. He held it up and grinned at Hank. Despite his breakfast-free stomach, Hank finally lost it and gagged. He leaned over and vomited on the floor, adding to the mess already there from the dripping tube in Seamus’s hand.

  Seamus laughed again. “Come on, man. You act like you never seen a guy pull a hose out of a dead man’s ass before.”

  Hank wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it. Between you and me, I spent half my first week upchucking on the floor. I’d be more worried if you wasn’t puking. Some twiste
d motherfuckers get off on gruesome shit like this. I’m just used to it but it still ain’t pretty.”

  They removed the catheter from the man’s penis and he was finally free to be removed. Seamus positioned a cart next to the pod and activated a mechanism on the scissor lift to rotate the pod, causing the corpse to tumble out of it onto the cart. They pushed the cart into the furnace room where the body was to be cremated and loaded him in the oven before igniting the fire. It took much longer than he and his family expected, but that retiree was finally laid to rest for good.

  After hosing down and disinfecting the empty pod, Seamus took Hank to the room referred to as the warehouse. A single worker was responsible for the thirty coma-induced retirees laid out on tables. Anywhere from sixty to eighty bodies were needed every week for all the boiler rooms so the retirees never stayed in the warehouse for too long. As long as the State kept collecting them at the retirement processing centers, there would always be a steady supply.

  Back in the boiler room with a new geezer, as Seamus referred to them, they repeated the process in reverse. They shaved his head bald and then slathered hair removal cream all over his body. Seamus explained without this step, the man’s body hair would dissolve from the thermal conductive fluid and end up as a gritty residue that could damage the precision mechanisms in the main conductors. They placed him in the pod and Seamus showed Hank how to start the IV and attach the diodes, catheter, and waste tubes.

  “Okay,” Seamus said. “Time to put this sorry sombitch out his misery.” He removed a device that looked like some sort of futurist ray gun mounted to the wall and brought it over. “This is what zaps ‘em for good. Reach into that bucket yonder and get his head wet with the sponge. It’ll make it more conductive.”

  When Hank was finished with the sponge, Seamus placed what looked like a small plunger at the business end of the gun on the man’s forehead. “Two hundred milliamps, coming up. Make sure you ain’t touching nothin’.”