Amoeba (The Experiments)

  AMOEBA

  Experiment Series

  By

  JACQUELINE DRUGA

  Amoeba Books 1 - 5

  Experiments Series

  By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2013 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image Courtesy of © backgroundstore - Fotolia.com

  Thank you so very much to Dan Cote and Denise Moore for all your help with this monstrous project.

  BOOK ONE

  THE FALL OUT

  “We must always strive for excellence in any scientific endeavor in which we approach. Answers can be found in the success as well as failures in any experiment. Our minds must continuously be one step ahead. At the end of one road, we shall think of the next. There is still so much to be learned. It is science. It is never ending.”

  Dr. Randall Jefferson

  Director of The Caldwell Research Institute

  CHAPTER ONE

  I-S.E. Twelve - Manitoba, Canada

  March 4th - 4:00 p.m.

  He closed his deep, dark brown eyes slowly just about the same time he parted his thick lips, letting out a small huff of breath. Billy Griffith leaned back, slouching some in the seat of the helicopter. He took off the baseball cap which he wore backwards, and scratched his sweaty, curly, dark brown hair. He coughed, hoping that sick feeling that had crept up on him would somehow dissipate soon, before he upheaved that take-out breakfast sandwich he hadn’t wanted to eat in the first place. “God, can you fly this thing any worse?”

  Leonard Helms chewed gum, loud and chomping as he flew the helicopter. He only grinned at Billy. He could have gotten away with saying he was just learning how to fly had he not looked the part of the experienced pilot.

  “It’s got to be around here somewhere.” Billy placed on his hat again, and lifted the clipboard. An aerial map laid on top.

  “Your source was wrong,” Leonard told him.

  “No.” Billy shook his head. “Very reliable.”

  “Why are you chasing this anyhow? It doesn’t sound like a boring story to you?”

  “I’m an investigative reporter. There’s nothing about this that sounds boring. Besides that, I have my reasons.” Suddenly, Billy’s tone changed to an annoyed one. “And how in the world does it sound boring to you?”

  “It was an experiment. Big deal. Who cares?” Leonard kept peering ahead as he flew. “They isolate a group of people away for months to see if they whack out.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t think it’s a bit odd that in the forty years Caldwell had been conducting The Iso-Stasis Experiments, only four people out of all the participants survived? One of which shot himself in the head. Undisclosed reasons.”

  “He cracked up afterward,” Leonard stated as if he had the answer. “Look, they lock a bunch of suicidal people up, they either kill themselves or each other. That’s what happens. You said two people survived this one that just ended. You wanna know what Caldwell does to these people, call them.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll just look in the phone book and call up every John and Jane Doe there is,” Billy said sarcastically, checking out his map again then looking up.

  “That’s the names they released?”

  “Hello?” Billy rolled his eyes. “You know this. You were there. Privacy reasons.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention. I was looking at that cute blonde from the science review.”

  “Speaking of cute blondes.” Billy lifted the map on his clipboard and pulled out a photo from under it. “Tim snapped a picture of her walking off the plane.”

  Leonard shifted his eyes between the flying and the black and white photo Billy held up. “Jane Doe? What about John?”

  “Military came, surrounded him completely, and took him away. I got a picture of him from behind. Thank God he’s a giant, or I wouldn’t have gotten that. The guy is like six-five or something. No wonder he survived it.”

  “Survived what?” Leonard asked with an edge. “A mental experiment. Come on, Bill, you’re chasing nothing here. And you’re wasting the station’s gas.”

  The clipboard toppled from Billy’s hand and he sprang forward in his seat. “Oh, shit.” He looked quickly to Leonard. “You were saying?”

  Leonard looked shocked as he spotted what Billy did. It was small in their visual scope at first, but as they cleared the hillside forest, the Caldwell Experiment Complex came into their full view. Or rather, what was left of it. Wooden and metal splinters of the once whole structures were spread about the area like matchsticks. Workers in white suits roamed about, lifting the debris, rummaging through pieces of furniture, carrying crates and even body bags to helicopters that awaited.

  Billy lifted his camera. “Hold it steady.” Billy began to continuously take pictures. “Being awful quiet there, Len. Feel like recanting that crazy person story? Got any new ideas on what happened here?”

  “Barring any blast of nature’s fury, I haven’t a clue.” Leonard moved the chopper closer and held it steady while Billy got what he needed.

  ^^^^

  I-S.E. Twelve - Seal River Complex

  Dr. Randall Jefferson looked up to the helicopter that hovered awfully close. He was a short, stout, older man whose gray hair blew from the chopper’s blades. He wasn’t dressed like his title ‘Director of Caldwell Research’ dictated. Jeans and a tee shirt were his work attire. Donning gloves, he stood at a long table sifting through tiny pieces of the experiment’s remnants, determining what was viable and what wasn’t.

  He grew more disgusted by the minute the closer the chopper flew. They were too close for his comfort. Dr. Jefferson wasn’t worried that they could see something they shouldn’t. There really wasn’t anything recognizable left. He was more fearful of the fierce wind from the helicopter blowing away something he could very well need.

  Dr. Gregory Haynes looked out of place, perhaps because he felt out of place, and he somehow projected it. It was his second day with Caldwell, and at forty-two years old, he was the exact same age that Dr. Jefferson was when he was in Greg’s shoes, in the preparatory training position for Caldwell Director.

  Overseeing the process, Greg noticed Dr. Jefferson’s perturbation with the intruding helicopter. He made his way to Dr. Jefferson. “Want me to have them moved?”

  “How?” Dr. Jefferson asked. “Unfortunately, about the only thing you can do right now is flip them off.”

  Greg snickered. He closed his mouth whenever he smiled which showed his shyness. He was a smaller man with greying crew cut hair. He adjusted his small wire glasses as he peered at what Dr. Jefferson worked on. “Anything I can look at yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Found a few items of interest that we will need.” He handed Greg a clipboard, then lifted a small piece of tin, examined it, and tossed it aside.

  “From room six. Wasn’t that the room where Jennifer Reilly passed on?”

  “Yes. Amazing that with all the destruction, that’s what remained. It’s in the bin.”

  Greg set down the clipboard and moved to the blue bin with a sheet covering it. He blinked, startled when he looked in. Tossed in the bin as if categorized the same as the torn diary, computer disk, and candle that were in there, was a partially decomposed arm which had been severed or seemingly ripped at the elbow. The hand even sported a sapphire ring and chipped red nail polish. Greg covered the bin. “Well, uh . . .” He brought his fist to his mouth, trying to look calm as he cleared his throat. He brought his hand down and flashed a quick awk
ward smile to Dr. Jefferson, clearing the sickness from his throat one more time. “I see now why I left NASA for this.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  March 5th - 11:51 p.m.

  The growling of wolves, the painful shriek of the beast’s cries, could be heard through the walls of the Seal River complex. Cal Reynolds knew she was dreaming, and she kept telling herself ‘it was just a dream,’ but she couldn’t wake up.

  It was so real, just like it had happened to her six weeks earlier. In the lower level watching the black-and-white monitor, watching Major Jake Graison, towering and strong, taunt the creature from the complex. The creature was a blur in Cal’s dream, perhaps her mind’s way of making her forget. She watched the monitors. She did what she was supposed to do. Her hand trembled over the homing device button waiting for Jake to lead the creature out. All was clear. With a slam, she pressed the button. She heard the stampede of the wolves led by the homing signal. The wolves may have been their enemy, but they were also their saving grace against a vicious predator that would not go down. A predator that tried with fortitude to claim the three of them that remained.

  Cal raced from the lower level back up to Jake and young Rickie.

  Rickie.

  Rickie Carlotta. Eighteen, full of life, the only person to make Cal really smile since her own daughter, Jessie, had been tragically killed a year earlier.

  Never did it cross her mind when she reached the upper level that anything had gone wrong. How could it? Jake was in control. Jake had led the beast. And Cal’s world sunk along with her heart when she arrived in what was the recreation room. Rickie lay on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him. Jake, his usually stern and handsome face just looked so lost as he knelt above a disemboweled Rickie.

  At that instant in her dream, the instant she lifted Rickie’s’ thin body to hers, holding him in her arms, feeling his hand touch her face, his warm blood seep against her small-framed body, Cal just wanted to wake up.

  Clutching Rickie tightly to her. Begging Jake to help him. Feeling the life leave Rickie . . . again.

  She sobbed in her dream and looked up to the ceiling. “God!” She cried out. “Take me out of this! Please take me out of this!”

  She felt herself drop as if falling from a distance, and the shaking of her body caused Cal to sit up in bed and gasp for air. Her blonde hair was wet from perspiration. Her shoulders moved drastically up and down as she tried to catch her breath. The room was lit only by the moon. Trucks in the distance were the only noises.

  “Cal.” The deep male voice grumbled her name.

  Still out of it, still feeling that dream, Cal, edgy, twitched her head to the side to see Jake. His eyes were still closed as he lay on his side. She tried to say his name, but nothing would come out. Never could she recall her hands or body shaking so badly. Looking down at them, she saw the blood. Covering her hands, her chest, just as it did when she held Rickie. At that instant, her breathing went out of control, and she started to hyperventilate. She flung the sheet from her and raced with a stumble out of bed and to the bathroom, slamming the door.

  She flicked on the light and blasted the water in the sink. She washed her hands and her face, waking herself up completely.

  She lifted her head to look in the mirror. She was so pale. And Cal still shook. Gripping the edge of the sink, her head dropped and she let out a sob drowned out by the running water. Slowly, and emotionally, she lowered herself to the floor bringing her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them and burying her face to her knees.

  “Cal.” Jake called her name from the other side of the door. He cleared the grogginess from his throat. “Cal, you okay?”

  Cal lifted her head, wiped her eyes, then hurried and reached up, shutting off the faucet. “Um . . . yeah. I’ll be out in a second. Go back to bed.” Cal stared at the closed door. She waited with anticipation for the sound of Jake’s heavy footsteps returning to bed, and when that happened, Cal returned to her post-dream frightened huddle on the floor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  March 6th - 5:45 a.m.

  Jake seemed to increase his dramatics every time he did it. For the seventh time, he opened his front door wearing only boxer shorts. He was a towering man, but fit. Even in his underwear, he looked intimidating. He’d huff loudly, rub his very short brown hair, and snarl his handsome, yet rugged face in disgust as he stared out into the predawn residential street of the base. Stare at that empty spot on his walk that should contain a Sunday paper. Even though he had been away from civilization for seven months, his memory was sharp enough to recall he always had a paper by five in the morning. Where was it? He didn’t think twice about the day before’s paper. It was Jake’s first morning home and he had a lot on his mind. But that was the day before, and Jake now wanted his paper.

  Just as he went to shut his door, something dawned on him. He stepped out onto his small porch and looked to the dark house four doors down, the home of Captain Charles Burgett, Jake’s friend since he joined the Rangers. Thinking it was the same thing as what happened with the phone, Jake pulled his front door closed and walked down to Captain Burgett’s home.

  Jake approached the front door, knocked just once, and waited. A few seconds later, he knocked again, twice to make sure Burgett heard. When no answer happened again, Jake stepped back to the walkway. Knowing that he pretty much outranked everyone that lived on that quiet street, Jake, without fear, called out. “Chuck.” The resonating voice that came from his huge body caused dogs to bark. Raising one eyebrow in annoyance, Jake called out again. This time louder. “Chuck!”

  There was a squeak of the window, and then Chuck, hair tossed about, stuck his head out whispering, “Jake?”

  “Oh good, you’re up.”

  “Along with everyone in the neighborhood. What?” Chuck still kept his voice low.

  Jake did not. “Chuck, did you forget to pay my paperboy?”

  “What?”

  “My paperboy or man, whatever.” Jake’s voice echoed in the street. “The guy who delivers the news? Did you forget to pay him? I wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t have a phone now, thank you very much. I put you in charge of paying my bills while I was gone. If you didn’t use my VISA, that would have been cut off . . .”

  “Jake.” Chuck shut him up. “Are you that anal that you’ll stand in the street in your underwear asking me about your paper?”

  “I want my paper.”

  “Steal Corporal Jenkins. You’re the Ex-O. What’s he gonna say to you?”

  “Good point.” Jake spun around to the house next door. He saw the paper lying on Corporal Jenkins walk, and he happily marched over and took it. He smiled as he unfolded it, and then saw Chuck’s porch light go on. Figuring it was his invitation, he moved to the porch.

  Chuck opened his front door. “Jake, what are you doing?”

  “Getting a paper.” Jake pulled on the screen door and walked in. “Is there coffee made?”

  “Not yet.” Chuck shut the door. “Considering I haven’t even had time to take a leak.”

  “Well, go on. I’ll start the coffee.” Jake moved across the small living room and stopped. He looked around at the papers scattered about. Beer cans on the table, a half eaten pizza that looked really old. “Chuck, don’t you think you should clean up?”

  “Yeah, Jake, I’ll get right on it. Make the coffee, I’ll be right down.” Chuck, shaking his head, walked to the stairs and then went up them. And Jake, in his journey to the kitchen, grabbed the pizza box and a few of those beer cans.

  When Chuck made his way back down stairs, he could hear the gurgling of the coffee pot. He walked into the kitchen, sat at the table, and waited for Jake who was already pouring the coffee.

  “Thanks,” Chuck said as Jake set the cup down in front of him. “Not that I actually planned on getting up this early. Or rather being stirred from a great dream by your ass yelling out
side.”

  Jake sat down. “I would have picked up the phone and called. However, I don’t have a phone. Do you know how embarrassing that is, Chuck? I have never been late for a bill in my life.” Jake sipped his coffee. “I should ask the experiment to issue me a letter stating that I was away for seven months. What do you think?

  Chuck hesitated in taking a drink. “You should.”

  “I will.”

  “God.” Chuck shook his head in disbelief. “Anyhow, I take it Cal is sleeping?”

  “Yes,” Jake said as if that thought bothered him. “I tried to wake her up, Chuck, and she says, ‘Jake, go away’ . . . Get this Chuck, she tells me she’s tired. What do you suppose she means?”

  “Um . . . I don’t know. Perhaps she’s tired.”

  “Ha, ha, ha, asshole. I don’t get it. I had her up and about everyday at five in the morning at the experiment and . . .”

  “Jake,” Chuck interrupted. “You guys did things one way for seven months. Now you’re in the real world, you have to learn to do things different.”

  “I always get up at five.”

  “Yeah, but did she?” Chuck questioned. “Probably not. So let her sleep.”

  “No, it’s more than that. After you left last night, she got . . . she got really quiet.”

  “Did I say something?”

  “No. I don’t know what caused it,” Jake said. “We talked, actually I talked after you left, and then her and I, we were, you know, intimate. And she shut down after that.”

  “There you have it. That’s your problem. You bored her in bed, Jake. I mean, you just referred to having sex as . . .”

  “Chuck, please.”

  “No, Jake, listen to me.” Chuck tried to explain without laughing. “What are you expecting? You meet this woman up there at the experiment. You spend seven months with her in seclusion. Yeah, it’s your element, that survival shit. But was it hers? So she adjusts to that element with you. You step from it, she feels different, you’re still the same. It scared her. That’s why she left you at the airport and wanted to stop seeing you. But you go after her and whisk her down here, her head’s spinning. She needs more adjustment time. See, if you weren’t the relationship illiterate guy, you would know this.”