The water was still washing down, the dog creature had long since departed and the two boys who had found the cat had left with their vehicle.
Sarah, struggled back onto her feet from among the foliage. Some of the bullets had torn ragged holes in the desks around her, and yet she had stayed untouched.
She steadied herself against the desk, it sagged a bit under her weight as she picked up her rucksack and rifle. She walked out through the entrance that the boys had been at. Four small furry objects lay on a small sand bar next to an opening in the wall. She leaned down and petted the little balls of fur. Some were still warm.
---
The rain was still falling when she stopped her car outside of the entrance to the Danish Museum of Art and Design. A small box rested in the passenger seat next to her rucksack.
She ignored the scene outside, of the sagging sand bags around the perimeter, the two rusting armoured personnel carriers, the faded signs indicating that there would be an exhibition nigh hundred years ago. The wind moved around to the smell of chemical smoke that wafted from the blackened windows.
She re-read the story. Sarah Hansen had won silver in the junior 10k run on the 6th of April. Two years later, her parents took a picture of her at the age of fifteen in a white washed room. The re-purposed exhibition space could be difficultly seen in the painting behind. Hospital space had run out and this was one of the major research hospitals still in existence. Sarah's parents had insisted on taking her home, even when the drug trials were still on going.
She closed the book. Tears came and the madness was again at her gates gnawing on her mind. She closed the photo book. She placed the photo book back into her rucksack, picked up the small box and exited the car.
She walked past the rusting vehicles, the open hatches black holes of danger. She walked through the open gates into the courtyard. Se could feel eyes watching her from all sides. Somewhere a pig squealed.
She reached the main entrance, the closed door. A murder hole was opened and an eye stared back before the bolts were withdrawn, the door shuddered open.
A boy and a girl perhaps of fifteen years old stared back at her. They wore ragged uniforms, many times patched. One of them was dressed as a stable boy, the other as a maid. The lights flickered as she walked in and the bolts on the door were closed.
The boy coughed and the girl squeaked "Your weapons, please."
Sarah looked at the maid as the maid hastily gestured towards the garderobe with a bored woman in her mid twenties standing by the desk. The woman's body was slouched in easy laziness, but her eyes were hard, constantly looking at Sarah. Her mouth a dangerous white line as she held out her hand.
Sarah gave her the rifle and a pistol in her rucksack. She walked closer offering to open the box. Ever closer until they were near touching. The madness lurked ever mocking inside of her. Repulsed Sarah took a step back, the lazy woman quickly pointed to the maid.
"Prepare her to the doctor. Quick now." The maid jumped a bit and ushered Sarah up the stairs.
---
She was ushered into the high walled, glass book-cased interior, by a mouse of a receptionist. Sarah was dressed in a paper gown stamped with the new Swedish government symbol. She held on to her rucksack fro dear life. Even during the examination as the play acted a doctor's check-up, waving devices they barely understood in a robotic manner, she held on to her old rucksack.
She blinked in the light. The window was open, light rain spatter was puddling around the cast iron radiator.
A man wearing a white coat, smart leather shoes was standing in front of the window looking down into the court yard. A large desk with a high leather chair divided her from him.
Softened noises from people could be heard between the patter of the rain. The door closed behind her.
The man turned partially around, his features were craggy, his white hair windswept across his sloped head. He smiled his lopsided grin as he gripped the back of the leather office chair.
The wind shifted blowing in a spray of cascading water. The head continued to turn, revealing blasted features of flexing muscle terminating in bone shards. Things writhed under his white jacket as he tapped the back of the chair.
One perfectly normal eye and another a bloodish black mess, constantly twitching, looked on her, as he ran his hand self consciously over his head, wiping away the rain. A thin smile ran across his ragged lips.
"Hello. Come closer so that we can begin."
The wind blew a little harder. The scalpels and sharpened bones hanging point down from the ceiling on near invisible threads, clinked against each other.
The maid delivered a tray with notes, vials and the small box on the desk and departed. Closing the door with an ominous click behind her.
He walked from behind the desk and caressing the hard wood under his hands. "This generation is much more obedient than the last. It sees that it takes three generations before the will can be truly subsumed into obedience. Still, their resistance to the contagion is frustrating."
He walked ever closer to Sarah. His height becoming ever more apparent as he towered over her. "You do not need to be afraid little one. I will not hurt you. We have after all known each other for a long, long time. I miss our little conversations. How long has
it been again?"
Sarah looked up at the Doctor. Doctor Lasse Hessel, consulting virologist, the faded tag was still pinned to the lapel of his coat. "Over ten years, but we haven't really talked since the invasion."
"Ah yes, that. An unfortunate series of events, but still that allowed me to replenish my depleted genetic stock and gain some valuable creature comforts. You were always one of the better infiltrators. I considered you more valuable than some of the other brutes we had to call in to assist with the repelling."
The rain beat down as they both stared at each other. Finally the doctor coughed and continued, "What do you think of my patients?"
The doctor walked over to one of the glassed bookshelves, opening a bottle and pouring two amber coloured shots into whisky tumblers
Sara continued to stand where she had stood before, "You mean the people you have working here as slaves?"
he handed Sarah a glass. "Yes! What delightful and simple people. They do die out quickly, but they are our livestock and our purpose after all is to stand above them as their masters, while we still carry out our valuable work."
Sarah took a drink from the tumbler, the cut glass and warm liquid feeling strangely civilising in this world of shambles. The liquid hurt as it ran down her throat and then warmed her insides. The hand shook, it had been that long hadn't it?
"They serve a valuable purpose, stocking this research facility with living subject matter for us to better understand the contagion, while allowing me to continue undistracted in my work. For this reason I maintain strong quality control of all our patients, not allowing undesired elements to grow inside of our island of civilisation in this desolated landscape. A place free of disease and dissent."
The doctor opened the box. "A present for me? Please I have cat catchers of my own, but still appreciated." He held out one of the dead limp kittens in his hand smiling like a doting maniacal father.
"I thought I would show you, what I saw. I also saw two boys with a vehicle near one of the old schools." Sarah said carefully, she drank the rest of the whisky, the burn was hard and the madness restraining her in this joyously torturous situation.
He rifles through paperwork on the tray as he gnawed. "I see, Sarah Hansen is still what you like to be called?" he tut-tutted. "We really need to talk about your delusion, and perhaps your concept of a semblance of humanity." he waved vaguely at the box and the other items.
He continued to read through the paperwork, "I see your blood work still shows the usual traces."
He looked up hungrily, "Sarah of course wouldn't know anything about these, but perhaps your father, Doctor Larsen would."
"I need to go. It was a mistake to come here." Sarah says as she places the glass on the floor. She takes a few steps back. Turning her back on the doctor was never safe, always dangerous.
"Sarah, Sarah, it was just a joke. Please stay, I miss your fascinating conversation. Please sit in my waiting room, while I make sure that these kittens are well taken care of. I will also explain the blood-work."
The doctor opened the side door and lead Sarah to a musty ill-kept room with bookshelves a leather divan and a patched leather armchair.
"Wait for me, please." The doctor said as he closed the door on her.
The doctor went to his desk and pulled out a heavy phone. he cranked the handle until the power indicators started up. He punched in a key sequence and held th receiver up to his undamaged ear. "Yes, put me through to that councilwoman on the Nordic Council in Reykjavik."
He took another bite from the small box on the desk.
