Spy Games by J.D. Ryan

Author:J.D. Ryan [Ryan, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2015-04-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9: Zombie Gas

Nikoloz’s heart raced as he felt himself falling. He hit the top of the machine, bounced once, and came to rest draped over one edge. His muscles were stiffened, as though frozen in mid-movement. He still lay as if stretched out along the rafter, though now his legs protruded stiffly from the edge of the machine.

“What the hell was that?” The doctor’s voice shouted.

Nikoloz could see nothing but the dusty top of the machine inches in front of his nose. He could not shift his gaze, could not move a muscle voluntarily, though his heart pounded and his lungs gulped air. He felt the impact, though. He’d landed on his right side, with his arm curled beneath him, and that arm was throbbing. His right shoulder and hip ached, and he thought he might have banged his head against something sharp. There was warm liquid seeping along his hairline and soaking the mask, though he couldn’t tell if it were blood or something mechanical. His head throbbed, but was that from impact or a side effect of the gas? He had no way of knowing.

He heard something slap the side of the machine, just below his legs, and felt hands on his ankles.

“Relax your body,” the doctor called, and Nikoloz went limp. He felt himself sliding backwards. The hands hauled him off the machine and passed him down to another set of hands. He caught glimpses of a ladder beneath him as he was unceremoniously carted down to the floor of the laboratory.

The doctor bent over him then, and Nikoloz saw a gleam in his eye. “Excellent reaction. I think you might be on to something here, Miss Beaty. Did you see how quickly he responded to my command?”

The woman approached, wringing her hands. “But who is he, Doctor? Where did he come from?”

“Oh, he is some sort of burglar, of course. Let’s see what’s underneath this mask.”

Rough hands peeled the ski mask from his face, and his head bounced back against the concrete floor when they let go. Now he really had a headache. His gaze continued to point forward, however, and he could only see the metallic side of the machine towering above him and the rafters overhead. He felt the hands tug his kit bag free, heard someone rifling through it. Then, the doctor bent over once more.

“Explosives and listening equipment. I think perhaps you are not a burglar, are you? You are perhaps one of those annoying T.H.R.U.S.T. agents, come to steal our inventions.”

“Should we call the guards?” one of the men asked.

“Why would we need to do that?” the doctor replied. He pried Nikoloz’s eyelids farther open and peered closely into them. His face became a blur as he drew near, for Nikoloz could not focus his eyes any more than he could move his aching head. He hated the hands on his face, hated the doctor’s touch. That gleam in his eye: Nikoloz was just another one of his lab rats to this man, just another possession.

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