ABOMINATIONS

QUINCY

The silence was deafening. Quincy's ears rang and the only thing he could hear above the noise was the crackling and sizzling of live wires that had been ripped out of various places on the wall by the computers. Brett was laying face-down a few feet from him. Struggling to get his arms under his body to lift himself up, Quincy made his way over to Brett and turned him over. He was unconscious, and blood lined his mouth. He looked like he was missing a few teeth. Even after shaking him, Quincy couldn't get the young scientist to come to.

"Brett?" Quincy pleaded, shaking the boy's shoulder. Brett's head lolled to the side in response.

Quincy grunted and tried to pull himself up, wiping off the back of his arm above his left elbow to dislodge what felt like little pieces of glass in his skin. The quiet clinking noises as they hit the ground confirmed his suspicions and his vision swam as the blood rushed around his body away from his head. He had to force himself not to look at his hand when he felt it come away from his arm wet and sticky. Seeing his own blood made Quincy extremely nauseous.

He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. Despite having been to Brett's lab a few times, he still didn't know where everything was. Multiple rolling shelves that were full of syringes and beakers full of random substances had toppled over, and all of the blood samples that had been set up so perfectly had shattered all over the floor. Quincy carefully walked around broken glass and spilled fluids to make his way towards the back wall, where the only untouched shelf boasted a first aid kit on the top shelf.

Quincy carefully walked around broken glass and spilled fluids to make his way towards the back wall, where the only untouched shelf boasted a first aid kit on the top shelf. He fumbled with it, his fingers not wanting to function. When he finally got it open he saw only a piece of paper that read in shitty handwriting, "I'm god so I don't need first aid" and a poorly drawn hand sticking up the middle finger. Brett proved to be more immature each day Quincy spent with him. Tossing the useless first aid kit box to the side, he turned around and tried to think through the fog in his brain. If he could find his wallet, he could go to the drugstore across the street from the alleyway the lab was located in and buy some band-aids, but he was afraid if he left Brett alone for too long he would choke on his own blood or vomit or something. The other option was dragging Brett's limp, bloody body with him across the street in broad daylight, which would stir up attention that was not needed now since his brother was missing.

"Shit," Quincy mumbled. His brother. Blinking hard to clear his vision, Quincy looked around the destroyed lab for any signs of Quentin. The table they had him strapped to was on its side, and so was the cart next to it. The floor was almost completely covered in shattered glass, various suspicious liquids, and a lot of blood. The blood was probably a mix of the spilled test tube samples, Quincy's cuts, Brett's mouth, and whatever Quentin had bleeding. There was an obvious line of footprints from out of the blood puddle towards the hallway that led to the exit. The prints were bigger than Quincy's feet, and he had a feeling Quentin wasn't in the building anymore.

"Brett," he called again, hoping to wake up the young scientist. His body did not move, and Quincy walked back over to him to try to wake him up, crouching next to his small frame and shaking his shoulders. When that didn't work, Quincy grew frustrated and with some hesitation, backhanded the young boy across the face.

When he did so, Brett spluttered and responded by coughing and spitting out a mouthful of blood directly into Quincy's face.

"Aagh!" He screamed, dropping Brett's shoulders and ignoring the thud of his torso onto the concrete in favor of rubbing his blood-sprayed eyes. "What the fuck, man?"

"What happened?" Brett said weakly, pushing his bangs up over his eyes and squinting around. "Where in the hell is the subject?"

"Quentin? I don't know. I think he left."

"What?" Brett said, trying to sit up. He coughed again, and spit out a tooth. "What do you mean?"

Quincy pointed at the footprints that were leading to the exit.

Brett's face went slack and he sighed. "This was not part of my plan," he growled, wiping his chin of the saliva and blood that was there and weakly getting to his feet. "We have to get him back."

"Hold the fucking phone, dude, we need to get you a first aid kit first."

"First aid is for dumbasses," Brett responded in a flat tone.

"You're a dumbass. You're bleeding. You have a huge red stain in the side of your coat which I'm assuming is from a cut. I'm going to the store to get some band-aids and hydrogen peroxide because you don't seem to have any here."

Brett didn't say anything, just made his way towards the chair that sat in front of the monitor that was hooked up to the Xbox and sitting down, clutching his side with his mouth set in a grim line. He didn't protest, so Quincy took it as a yes, going back to looking for his wallet.

"We can track down Quentin later," he said in passing as he grabbed the small brown fold off of the back desk.

"Fine," Brett responded simply, swiveling the chair towards the screen and booting up the Xbox, acting like he wasn't covered in his own and an unknown number of other people's blood. Quincy just turned and headed towards the exit.

Keeping his head down the entire way, Quincy managed to make it into the drugstore. When he got there he caught a glimpse of himself in the window as he walked in and realized his face was still covered in the blood that Brett had spit at him. He made a beeline to the bathroom and started running the sink, frantically washing off his face and watching the pink water go down the drain. When he felt like he got all of it he looked up at himself in the dingy mirror. He still had a red ring lining the outside of his face, and a huge bruise on his left cheek, but it was passable. Then, to his horror, his eyes slid to the left and he made eye contact with a young boy behind him who was staring at Quincy in the mirror, his mouth open.

Quincy didn't move for a moment, then grabbed a paper towel, rubbed it on his face, threw it in the trash can, and bolted out of the bathroom, heading for the pharmacy section to hopefully find some bandages. He flipped his collar up around his neck in an almost entirely futile effort to hide his identity should the kid from the bathroom tell someone about the man washing blood off of his face. That kind of attention right now is the last thing Quincy needed.

Locating a box of bandaids and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Quincy looked around the shelf for anything else he might need, and grabbed a box of Ace Bandages as well in case Brett's side wound needed pressure. When he was sure there wasn't anything else he needed in the first aid section, he went an aisle over to grab a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers as well. He didn't need them, but he wasn't sure how well Brett would be able to handle missing teeth and part of his side. He continued to keep his head down and exchanged little more than "hello"s with the cashier before taking his small plastic bag of first aid items, his change, and heading out the door, speed-walking as soon as he was out of the vicinity of the store.

 

His heart was hammering in his chest as he arrived back at the lab, safe. With a grunt, he swung open the heavy metal door and made his way into the dimly lit building, his makeshift first aid kit in tow.

"Brett, I'm back," he called, walking into the main room. Brett was sitting with his back away from Quincy, watching one of the monitors on the wall. It was playing the news, and Quincy almost immediately recognized the blur of black hair on the screen as Quentin. His heart fell directly from his chest into his right foot and he felt like his stomach iced over. A chill made its way up his back and he shivered.

"This dangerous subject is on the run, and he could be anywhere from eastern Nevada to California. He should be treated as dangerous, and if you see this individual or have any clue to his whereabouts, dial 911..." The droning voice of the news anchor was drowned out by the blood roaring in Quincy's ears. The guilt he was feeling was palpable, manifesting in the form of fat drops of sweat on his forehead and palms. He sat down on the overturned operation table, holding his head and trying to make the room stop spinning.

Brett turned off the television and turned around to face Quincy. There was still dried blood around his mouth, and he was holding his side. "We have to find him," he said.

"Uh, okay," Quincy said, tearing his gaze away from the blurred image of his younger brother on the screen. "But first I think I should fix you up."

"I'm fine!" Brett declared, standing quickly but almost immediately wincing and clutching his side, leaning against the back of the chair to steady himself. "This is more important! He's the first one that survived! I have to run some tests on him! And if the cops kill him then I CAN'T!" He yelled, throwing a tantrum.

Quincy swallowed, trying to figure out what to do. "Dude, calm down," he said quietly, and Brett just huffed in response. When he felt like he was in the clear in terms of more yelling, he set down the bag of first aid items and pulling out the hydrogen peroxide and ave bandages. "Can I see that cut on your side?" He asked.

Hesitant, Brett moved his lab coat to the side and lifted up his shirt to reveal a deep and festering cut. The skin around it was pink and irritated and blood and bruising ringed the entire area. Quincy blinked hard, fighting off the chill that made its way up his spine. "Shit," he murmured.

"Ugh, can you just hurry up?" Brett growled. "I don't have time for this. Put the shit on me so we can get going."

"I'm sorry, it's just hard for me to look at stuff like that," Quincy said just above a whisper. Brett looked angry and he opened the hydrogen peroxide without another word. Realizing he forgot to buy something to apply it with and not knowing where a clean rag or towel would be, Quincy unscrewed the cap completely, peeled off the plastic disk, and poured the clear liquid directly onto Brett's side before the younger boy could react.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Brett screamed, then added another wail mixed with a growl, ending his sharade by sucking a full breath of air through his teeth. "What the fuck?" He asked, looking up at Quincy with watery eyes.

"I'm trying to hurry," Quincy said flatly, and Brett fell silent as Quincy began to open the package that had the bandages in. "Okay, you need to stand up and take off your coat so I can wrap this around your torso."

Brett obliged, taking the oversized coat off and standing, holding his shirt up, wincing. Quincy began to wrap the bandage around, tying it off when he was done. "There. And if you need to cover up any smaller cuts on your face or whatever there are band-aids in the bag."

"Thanks, Quincy," Brett said quietly, not looking at Quincy as he put his shirt down and shouldered his coat back on. Quincy said nothing, confused by Brett's sudden change in demeanor. Instead he focused on cleaning his own cuts and bandaging them, then headed to the side of the room that had the sink at it. He had to move a broken shelf out of the way but the sink itself was untouched and he used it to finish cleaning the blood off of his face and arms. Brett spoke again after Quincy turned off the water. "We'll go tonight."

"Huh?"

"To find him. We'll leave after dark. Do you have the ability to track his location with your phone?"

Quincy shook his head.

"Hm. Well, do you know where he might have gone? You're his brother, think like he would."

"That's not really how it works," Quincy replied.

Brett groaned. "This is going to be a long manhunt."

To pass the time, the two boys cleaned up the lab. Brett was quiet the whole time, fuming that Quentin got away and that so many of his samples were destroyed and scattered all over the floor. Brett had never thought of buying anything like a mop or broom, and he refused to let Quincy go to the store again since Brett claimed it would be suspicious for him to go twice, and could also give away their location. So, Quincy picked up the bigger pieces of glass as carefully as possible and Brett used an unnecessary number of paper towels that he found in another room to clean up the various liquids on the floor. It was a hellish and slow experience, and they were barely halfway done when Brett's phone chirped an alarm.

"It's dark," Brett said. "We have to get going."