Zion Rising

All Sneak Previews offered here are rough cuts, which may or may not make the final version. I'm open to suggestions.

Easter Egg...hm...what's this? what's this?

Scene Setup: Victor Caldwell [who died in an explosion at the end of Book 1: Prodigal Journey] attempts to finish his research through influencing Dr. Kensington, if at all possible.

Victor Caldwell was tired of hanging around Kensington’s laboratory. No results. He wished he could kick something. He’d learned by now that trying to kick anything, now that he was dead, was pointless. It didn’t even hurt.

He actually missed his body. He never expected that little side effect.

This whole thing would go a lot faster if he could just get his hands on the supplies and do the experiments himself..

He couldn’t stand this total boredom. Kensington was such a yawn. Sure, a scientist should be meticulous, but he took it up a notch to “painstaking”--with the emphasis on pain.

He had to duck out for a cigar. If he could find anyone smoking one anywhere, that is. It was tough to find sometimes, but he had his usual haunts.

Smoking wasn’t the same anymore, anyway. He didn’t know why he still tried.

Finally--the geezer on Seventeenth Avenue had lit up. Three states away, just to find a stupid smoke.

Irritating.

He pushed the edge of his frustration back down quickly, before it started to itch and burn.

He stood in the exhale and wished for a buzz, absorbing as much of the substance as he could. Truthfully, it did very little other than supply his sense of smell and taste, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t much appreciate the type of matter he was made of at the moment. Travel was a breeze, but everything else... lacked beyond compare.

Back to the lab.

 

Once there, he whispered in the Kensington’s ear.  “You’re so close.”

Kensington ignored him, as usual. It would be so much easier if he could get the man on a small regular dose of Elation. Great little invention, now that he understood its true nature and function. Better than he gave himself credit for on inventing it. Caldwell would be able to talk to the other scientist man to man, with Elation. But besides being an inferior scientist, Kensington lacked imagination. He would never accept such a suggestion.

How he got into science without that quality boggled Caldwell’s mind.

Kensington muttered to himself. “...hands on a willing human subject...”

THAT was the problem, right there. Was he still looking for willing subjects? Idiot.  Kensington hadn’t bothered with that on his ATF research. Caldwell thought he had the man figured out--but perhaps not.

No--that was different, his supervisor’s thoughts came to him. Pay attention. Encourage the man.

 

Kensington looked up and sniffed the air. “Now why do I smell a cigar?” he wondered out loud. He called over his lab assistant, Beekley.

“No, Doc, I never smoke. You know it kills ya.”

Do you smell it?”

“I just smell rat cages.”

“Which reminds me, you neeed to be cleaning those out. Get on it.”

“Yessir,” the fat, wobbly fellow answered.

[AUTHOR INTRUDES: Note to self: this is not any good at all. Bleh!]

Beekley set to work around the nearest cage.

You could use Beekley! Caldwell shouted.

Kensington heard it that time. Finally. Caldwell felt relief.

“Beekley. Do you have all your body parts?” Kensington asked.

“’Scuse me?”

“Have you had any surgeries? Anything removed?”

“Yeah, I had my gall bladder out a couple years ago.”

“Reallly.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Would you like a new one?”

Beekley looked at him a long moment. Realization dawned in his eyes. “Oh no. You ain’t using me for no rat,” Beekley said, falling back into an East Central accent. 

“C’mon. It’s harmless, at this point.”

“We don’t know that--”

But Kensington had prepped the syringes while Beekley cleaned cages.

Caldwell added, Might want a little sedative in that--

Too late. Kensington jabbed the syringe into his assistant’s forearm. He didn’t bother to clean the site first; that was a positive sign. “Won’t hurt a bit,” he muttered.

“Hey! What’d you do?

“I just gave you a new gall bladder. Wait and see.”

“Yeah, or three nuts!”

“And what would be wrong with that?” Kensington asked dryly.

Beekley wiped his face with his hand. “I feel hot.”

“That would be normal,” Kensington replied. “All the rats showed a fever.”

“This fast? What if you just killed me? You sure there’s no ATF in there?”

“You had the vaccine anyway. Shut up.”

Caldwell’s job was done. For the moment, he was free to go.

If only he’d been able to finish this himself, he wouldn’t have to--

Victor reeled in agony as anger and frustration suddenly consumed him. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t breathe to calm down--he couldn’t smash anything--he was paralyzed in an agony of unrelenting pain.

He receded into the darkness, wishing there was such a thing as unconsciousness here, wailing as the throes of anger and rage shook him.

Lost in the dark, his thoughts always turned to his mother. He still hadn’t found her. But he knew enough now to realize she had to still exist... somewhere....