Intercepts: a horror novel Read online

  “She’s a teenage girl. I’d be more worried if she didn’t.”

  Mr. Aguirre let out a little chuckle. It lasted a moment too long, like a machine learning when to laugh. “Fear not, Joe. It’s all done by algorithm. A human will only be brought in to review any red flags that arise during the normal course of a data scan. Riley won’t even know the process happened.”

  “How comforting,” Joe said. He nibbled on his lip as his eyes studied Mr. Aguirre who blithely tapped more notes into the tablet. He tried to speak casually. “It’s actually fortunate you’re here. There was one thing I wanted to clear with you.”

  “Yes?” Mr. Aguirre looked up.

  “This thing with her mom has been very traumatic for her. In my duty as a father, I feel it would be best if I took her in for some grief counseling. Just as a precaution.”

  Mr. Aguirre’s eyes narrowed. Despite the warmth of his voice, his face was serious. “Of course. You don’t want those kinds of emotions being suppressed and allowed to fester.”

  “But if she’s seeing a shrink, that might be enough to red-flag her. Now, you and I know that it’s a natural response to a mother’s suicide. But I don’t trust the algorithm or them boys back at HQ to necessarily see it that way. The last thing we need ‘round here is for someone to blow up a common-sense approach to a tragedy and turn it into more red tape, restrictions, and oversight. It’ll just slow down what we do. You understand, right?”

  Mr. Aguirre smiled. “It’ll be fine, Joe. We’re not monsters. We have families. We all need time to heal. Just make sure your grief counsellor is from one of our approved lists. As long as Riley isn’t showing any extreme signs of psychological stress — anything that might make her erratic or unpredictable — then I don’t foresee this resulting in a red flag. And we’d be perfectly happy to allow you and Riley to live together.”

  The two men stared at each other, letting those last words linger. Their implication was obvious — the Company didn’t have to allow them to live together.

  Joe had to unclench his jaw in order to force a smile. “I think we understand each other.”

  “Good,” Mr. Aguirre said. “Now, on to business.”

  He quickly changed gears, dropping his threatening smile and replacing it with a genuine one. He had suddenly become more friend than foe as he turned off his tablet and leaned forward.

  “With regards to this investigation, I want you to know that no facility has done more for the Company, or for national security, than yours,” Mr. Aguirre said.

  His voice sounded genuine, although Joe could never quite tell with him.

  “We never worry about you guys,” Mr. Aguirre continued. “You perform your duties on time, you do it cleanly, and, quite frankly, you provide some of the best, clearest intercepts we could hope for. Our clients always tell me that. Your team has saved lives. You’ve defended this country admirably, and you should be very proud of your work.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m sure my whole team does.”

  “So, I don’t want you to view this investigation as a threat—”

  “No, no, no. I get it. If someone accidentally watched a YouTube video from a networked computer, you guys would launch an investigation. It makes sense. And, of course, yesterday, a man died—”

  “I’m more concerned with the welfare of the Antenna,” Mr. Aguirre said.

  “Same here. In any case, an accident occurred. We need to make sure the ship is straight. That my team is firing on all cylinders.”

  Mr. Aguirre nodded. “Precisely.”

  Joe stood from his desk and motioned toward his door. “So, let’s get started.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Ding!

  The elevator doors opened. Joe held it with one hand as he extended his other to guide Mr. Aguirre out onto Level Two.

  The man stepped out and stood there, squinting a bit in the bright fluorescent light as he took in the scene. Joe stepped out and stood beside him. He glanced over at Mr. Aguirre’s face, trying to gauge his mood and reaction.

  But Mr. Aguirre’s eyes betrayed nothing of his internal thoughts. Instead, he stood quietly, taking it all in and scanning every minute detail without wanting or needing input from Joe.

  For his part, Joe also looked around at the various chambers and the Antennas within them who moaned and screamed from their padded floors. He allowed himself a relieved breath upon seeing that his ship appeared to be in optimal shape. His staff went about their business with quiet efficiency. Medical teams and orderlies migrated from chamber to chamber, checking vitals and administering sponge baths exactly as the guidelines dictated.

  Inspections like today’s always had Joe wound up tight. His mind wandered to worst-case scenarios. He could just envision those elevator doors sliding open and Mr. Aguirre stepping into some discarded diaper. Or maybe an Antenna would be loose and wandering the halls.

  But, as always, his team didn’t let him down. They never did.

  Mr. Aguirre took it all in, seeming neither pleased nor displeased. Non-reaction was always a good sign from a man like this, Joe felt.

  He waited for Mr. Aguirre to make a few notes on his tablet. They were quick notes, just checking some boxes. He wasn’t writing out anything in detail. Also a good sign.

  “It was the cell at the end of the hall, correct? Antenna 201?” Mr. Aguirre asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Mr. Aguirre nodded. He began his slow stroll down the hall, glancing through the large glass viewing-windows at the first two Antennas he passed.

  “Do you believe it was intentional?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The attack. Do you believe Antenna 201 purposefully set out to hurt or kill Mr. Phillips?”

  “She can’t see, she can’t hear, she didn’t even know he was there. An accident, pure and simple,” Joe said. “One of those million monkeys, million typewriter things.”

  “That’s a rather flippant way to put it.”

  “They all go through sudden bursts of aggressive motion,” Joe said. “We actually encourage it because it keeps their muscles from atrophying. The ones who perform the most movement outlive the others by a wide margin. Usually, those bursts of motion are at the air or the walls. They can’t tell the difference. Yesterday, it was just unfortunate that a human happened in her path.”

  “So, you’re saying that Antenna 201 just got… lucky?”

  Joe stopped walking. He looked at Mr. Aguirre. “Even luck needs help. What we have here is a situation of an orderly not following protocol during cleaning procedures. That Antenna should have been restrained. The orderly cut a corner and paid the price. That’s all this is.”

  “That sounds like a leadership issue then,” Mr. Aguirre said. He flashed a little grin to tell Joe that he was just busting his balls. But he held that grin, and that intense eye contact, a moment too long. Joe understood the meaning — no one was blaming Joe. Yet.

  They continued walking down the hall.

  Joe pressed the conversation. “The issue is that we need two orderlies per room,” Joe said. “You guys got my staff overworked. They haven’t had a free weekend since March. They can’t do all the tasks that are expected of them in a day, and so they start finding shortcuts.”

  “Oh, Joe, Joe, Joe…” Mr. Aguirre said, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself.

  Joe didn’t find it amusing. “There should be one staffer restraining them, one staffer bathing them. It’s a two-man job. That way one is always available to help the other. A buddy system, Javi. Most hospitals and prisons budget for that kinda work load.”

  “You aren’t running a standard hospital or prison.”

  “Look, you keep short-staffing me and accidents will happen. Not a threat, just reality. More people will get hurt.”

  “Joe, do you know how hard it is to staff this facility to begin with?”

  “Work with me here, Javi.”

  “Your janitors have endured more backgro
und checks and polygraphs than most congressmen. That sort of security clearance isn’t easy, it isn’t cheap, and it isn’t something that organically floats under the radar. Every staff member is a lot of risk and a lot of money.”

  “I like to think what we do is worth it.”

  “And I’m glad you see it that way, Joe. But if I’m being frank, proper Antenna maintenance should be a one-man job. They’re highly-tuned vegetables. How dangerous can they be?”

  “Plenty.”

  They came to a stop at the end of the hallway. Together, they looked in on Bishop’s chamber. She wasn’t exactly proving Joe’s point. There wasn’t anything dangerous about her. She looked like a sleeping dog, flopped onto one side as her limbs idly twitched and pawed. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t even moaning or screaming at this time. If anything, she looked completely at peace.

  The cell had been scrubbed down and only traces of pink remained on the floor where the blood had soaked between the seams of the padding.

  Mr. Aguirre watched her, a thin, satisfied smile etched on his face.

  Suddenly, Bishop’s hands — encased in their protective mitts — came to life. They gouged, scraped, and clawed at the wall. A burst of fury. Her eyelids snapped open revealing two blood-red eyes that roamed around their sockets, looking as though they might spin out and roll onto the floor at any moment. Her mouth twisted open and a scream pierced Joe’s ears. It came from deep within her lungs, contorting and deforming her vocal cords as it passed, forming a heinous, animalistic screech, inhuman in its intensity.

  Joe didn’t flinch, but he took some satisfaction in watching Mr. Aguirre take a half step back from the glass. The man’s neck stiffened as he gulped. A stress-vein slightly bulged near his temple as he clenched up. Joe suppressed a grin at the sight of Mr. Aguirre being so uncomfortable, even if just for a moment.

  The moment passed quickly, though.

  Mr. Aguirre’s face relaxed back into his customary expression of detached analysis. He cocked his eyebrow in curious study of the furious motions of the creature on the floor in front of him.

  But then his eyes glanced over at the airlock door that led to her chamber. His gaze zeroed in on the “Hello, my name is Bishop” sign.

  “Bishop?” He looked over at the other airlocks and all their homemade signs. He read them off to himself. “Hicks… Frost… Vasquez…”

  Joe cursed under his breath. It had been three or four years since an inspector of Aguirre’s ranking had set foot in the Facility. Most inspectors were quick auditors who popped in, walked around, and popped out. This happened every few months, without warning, to ensure quality control. None of them ever commented on, or even noticed, the name plates. Those inspectors looked for major infractions and weren’t allocated the independent thought to have an opinion about the smaller ones.

  In the few years since the name plates went up, Joe had honestly stopped seeing them altogether. They were like those posters in the Level One hallway. Or the stack of files on the corner of his desk that he always meant to organize. For whatever reason, sometimes his eye just stopped seeing things that were always there.

  “What is this?” Mr. Aguirre finally asked, although Joe was sure the man already knew the answer.

  “Well, um,” Joe stammered. “You see, when they’re delivered to us, they arrive sedated and only identified by a number. With the shaved heads, it’s hard to tell them apart, other than by gender and ethnicity. And so, to help distinguish them, we, um, gave them callsigns.”

  “Names. You gave the Antennas names.”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “And this was your idea?”

  Joe’s mind raced in an attempt to spin this, to somehow deflect. Names were forbidden. In the written directions for Antenna care, even the use of pronouns was considered a no-no. They were not to be referred to by “he” or “she,” but simply as “Antenna,” as one would for any piece of expensive equipment. Naturally, the pronoun ban didn’t hold up very long, but Joe had no doubt that HQ would find the names problematic.

  As he tried to think up a response—

  “He was following my professional advice.”

  Joe and Mr. Aguirre turned toward the voice.

  Hannah had stepped out of one of the chambers. She wore hospital scrubs, evidently having just come from working in Hicks’ nearby cell. Her hair was pulled back and sweat glistened from her face and brow, still showing the faint red marks from where her mask had just been strapped.

  “You remember Dr. Chao, our lead physician,” Joe said. “Dr. Chao, this is Javier Aguirre from HQ.”

  Mr. Aguirre held out his hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Doctor.”

  Hannah made no motion to shake. “I would, but I just extracted compacted stool from Hicks’ rectum.” Her left hand held up a little plastic bag that had a biohazard symbol. “I still need to weigh this little puppy, but it’s about the size of a cue ball,” she said.

  She stretched the fingers of her right hand as if she were trying to prevent them from cramping.

  “Believe me, he did not want to let this go. Played a little tug-a-war in there,” she said.

  Mr. Aguirre withdrew his hand and shoved it safely back into his pocket.

  Joe shot her a glare. “Thank you, doctor,” he said with an ounce of annoyance in his voice to signal to Mr. Aguirre that he felt such poop conversations were inappropriate for the workplace.

  And yet, when he glanced over at Mr. Aguirre, instead of seeing a stern look of disapproval, the bean-counter’s eyes had lit up behind his glasses. He was smiling at Hannah.

  “And so, you’re the one who gave them names, doctor?” Aguirre asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And those names come from—?”

  “The Marines from my favorite movie.”

  “And why?” Mr. Aguirre asked.

  “Because it’s an awesome movie,” she said with a grin.

  Joe sighed. “Doctor…”

  Hannah dropped her grin. “Personalization helps staff effectively communicate regarding patient health. I understand why you want us to only refer to them by number. I get it. But on a practical level, it makes our job more difficult. Each Antenna in this facility has his or her own diet, vitamin and medication intake, and cleaning schedule.

  “I know you treat them as equipment, but we treat them as patients, because that’s what we’ve been trained to do, and that’s how we perform our jobs best. Besides, let’s be honest,” she said as she held up the bag, “sometimes it’s nice to know whose bag of shit you’re holding. And weighing. And analyzing.”

  Mr. Aguirre looked from Hannah to the biohazard waste bag. A slight smile formed on his face. “Thank you for explaining that, Doctor. It’s always important to hear how different departments approach their work.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Joe took a relieved breath. “Go wash up, Doctor,” Joe said.

  Hannah turned and walked off down the hall.

  “You got a good team here, Joe,” Mr. Aguirre said.

  “I like to think so, sir.”

  “I won’t include the names in my report. But I want them gone before the next inspection. Policy.”

  “Understood.”

  “And if it makes you and your staff feel better, I’ll relay the opinions of your doctor to some of the higher-ups. Perhaps we can change that policy.”

  “That would be great.”

  “I don’t want you to think that you haven’t been heard. Or that we’re stuck in our ways and don’t welcome suggestions from our boots-on-the-ground. In the grand scheme of things, this program is still in its infancy. We don’t know what the ceiling is for Antenna research. So, if you have any ideas — like names — submit them through the proper channels and we will grant them a fair review and consideration. There’s always room for better.”

  He gave Joe a pat on the back. Joe simply smiled in return. Bullshit, Joe thought. A “fair review” meant a dozen peop
le second-guessing each other and trying not to make any decision that would force them to put their signature on something. Plausible deniability.

  Mr. Aguirre turned his attention back to Bishop.

  Bishop’s eyes seemed to stop their roaming. They had a slight jerkiness to them, but they were more-or-less locked onto Joe and Mr. Aguirre. The fringes of her mouth twitched upward in what could only be described as a grin.

  “I’d like to see a tuning session, now,” Mr. Aguirre said.

  “That can be arranged.”

  “And let’s use Antenna 201,” he said, pointing to Bishop.

  Mr. Aguirre made one final note on his tablet.

  Joe, standing behind him, caught a glimpse of the screen. At the top was a picture of Bishop. Not the shaved-head, gangly creature with the roaming eyes, though. In this image, Bishop, the person, smiled. It appeared to be an ID photo of a normal woman. Probably in her forties. Although her complexion appeared to have always been pale, she seemed healthy, alert, and attractive.

  But Joe noticed something else about that woman in the file photo.

  Her hair.

  Black. And shoulder length.

  Mr. Aguirre turned off his tablet and strolled back toward the elevator, glancing into the various chambers as he passed.

  Joe lingered in front of Bishop’s chamber for a moment. He looked at the woman on the floor in the hospital gown. Her eyes rolled and her mouth grinned. What was it Riley had said? The woman she saw had black hair? Down to her shoulder. Pale face. A hospital gown.

  A loose description.

  It could be anyone. Including Riley’s mother.

  Joe shook the thought away and went to catch up to Mr. Aguirre.

  CHAPTER 11

  Riley sat in the corner of the kitchen.

  Despite staying awake all night, she refused to even try to sleep. She couldn’t risk the black-haired woman sneaking up on her. Her mind was certainly willing to stay vigilant, but her senses and body had grown weak. As her eyes darted around the kitchen, she felt a lag. It was as though she looked at something, some object, and the signal took an extra split-second before it reached her brain to be processed.