Sidestepping what used to be the bulk of a morbidly obese man, she popped two in each of his knees. Legs useless, it clawed after her. Dropping down the MedAid Kits, she switched out to her last clip and scooped up three to her chest. Looking back and breathing heavy, Sienna could feel the brightness swimming behind her eyes. She had almost burnt through her leech and four Feeders had come lurching back in her direction. She and Gemmel had killed half of them, but even a handful were still too many.
Shifting on the ground, her toes hit against something. There, besides Anton’s bloody carcass, sat a fully loaded XM8-MOD. Sienna smiled and clicked off its safety.
Clutching the Kits, she felt the weight of gun as she raised it, but it seemed distant. Two shots, a third as she ran towards the Hummer. A Feeder spun and she pumped it with another explosive round. Two were down as she made it to the vehicle and tossed the Kits in the back. A few more shots as she climbed behind the wheel and started it up, putting it into gear. The last Feeder appeared at door just as the muzzle came up into its face.
Sienna hit the gas pedal two seconds after she pulled the trigger twice.
The hummer barreled through three more in the fifty yards back to Gemmel and Sean. The last six or seven were trying to scurry over the wall and Sienna tossed Gemmel her gun as she collected her brother. Using the last bits of reserve energy she had, she picked Sean up and carried him to the back of the Hummer. Her door slammed shut with Gemmel’s up front.
“Go!” she screamed.
Peeling out, Gemmel took out another Feeder under the tires. Sienna felt a glimmer of the remaining few Feeders disappearing behind them as the extra energy worked its way out of her system. Like she was running on fumes, she broke open one of the MedAid Kits and pulled out a set of wraps. Bandaging Sean’s head after dosing it with steril, she gave him a shot of otics and a shot of dren. Unconscious, he wouldn’t need the phine until he woke up. He could take care of that himself.
Sienna fell back against the seat, Sean’s head in her lap, when she realized Gemmel was stammering her name.
“Sienna, Sienna, fuck… Sienna, fuck…”
“Gemmel?”
“Yeah! Yeah?”
“I hope we don’t run into any resistance, ‘cause I’m gonna pass out now…”
“Sienna?”
Her eyes were already closed, already out.
“Fuck!” Gemmel bellowed to unresponsive ears.
DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 17-04-24
There was light and there was sound, but it was all lessened. Almost muted. She was swimming, the surface of her consciousness so close. Synesthesia tried to drown her, an endless ocean of visceral data. Something shifted, a thicker current. So close…
Sienna woke with a start. Letting a small groan escape, she reached up to massage her aching head and found her right wrist cuffed to the bed. She groaned again, a sound closer to a curse. Sigma-8. The sensors had picked up on her altered bioelectrical signature. While still out, they had locked her in the TransWard. The “Transition” Ward — for Leechers.
A quick tap into herself and survey told her she was fine, no grievous wounds or permanent damage. None except to her life. Maybe even her soul.
A flash of movement behind the screen. A skinny brunette was striding past, purposely averting her gaze. One of the nurses. Kelsey? Carrying two of the MedAid Kits.
“Kelsey?” Sienna called out.
The nurse froze, her eyes still straight ahead.
“Kelsey, is… is my brother…”
A pause. Then, “Sean will be fine.”
“Kelsey? Kelsey!”
The brunette’s head spun, her disgust clearly displayed on her face. All except the eyes. There, there was fear.
“Can I just…”
“You’re a Leecher. Leechers don’t get requests,” she spat back.
As the nurse scurried from the room, Sienna considered the statement. Nope, no requests. All she would be given was a single choice. Exile or death. The death would be swift and painless. The exile would, quite probably, be the opposite. There was no rehabilitation from leeching, one time and your destiny was rewritten. Almost ten thousand times, that new fate had the same ending.
“I will fucking shoot you in the face!” came a familiar bellow.
Sean stormed over, his pistol still pointed back towards the door and whoever had tried to deny him access. Half his head was still in wraps, but his one uncovered eye gleamed with anguish. Not hesitating, he stepped closer to the bed.
“The council is convening tonight. What can I… is there anything I can do?”
Fighting back tears, Sienna said, “I just want…”
“She wants life! A spark! Anything to feed her hunger!” came a shriek.
Sean calmly cocked his gun, hand never wavering, eyes never leaving his sister.
“I would like a mirror.” Sienna’s voice even sounded small to her.
“Done. Anything else?”
Her face ready to fall, she said, “Your forgiveness?”
“Fuck that!”
Tears exploded.
“There’s nothing for me to forgive. You saved me, Sienna. You did this to save me.”
Sean stomped off, barking more threats as Sienna sobbed what she knew might be her last human tears.
DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 17-04-24
She didn’t get it. She didn’t look any different, didn’t feel any different. Shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t everything be painted in hues of hopelessness now?
But no, same fair-olive complexion. Same short, choppy white-blonde hair hanging into her light grey eyes. Same tiny ears that stuck out a bit, slopped button nose and too-wide mouth. Still around five and a half feet, one hundred and fifty pounds. It was almost cruel, almost a mockery.
Sienna knew she was on the pretty side, but the mirror hadn’t been for vanity purposes. She had become convinced that some sign, some physical marker, would’ve made itself visible. A scarlet letter, a mark of the beast, something! But there was nothing. While reason and experience told her there wouldn’t be horns or anything, it felt wrong. Mostly because she didn’t feel changed in the least.
The TransWard was long and narrow, able to accommodate up to ten new Leechers. With only the hum of machinery and the glare of the overhead lights, it seemed like a giant sterile coffin. All whitewashed brick, outdated military tech, everything utilitarian in both purpose and design. There was nothing around her that contained any energy, nothing with current or animation. The Sigma-8 Council didn’t want any recently converted Leecher finding a fix and going Feeder.
She wondered if she’d get the shakes, the jerky movements that were beyond her control. “Ionic Displacement,” she had once heard, physical symptoms that manifested in a mix of diseases found from the previous century — Lou Gehrig’s and Parkinson’s. Would she develop The Seeps before she went Feeder? Molecular breakdown that resulted in a fun series of open, oozing wounds. A pretty-picture combination of leprosy and ebola.