Chameleon by Otto Gramm (new reading .TXT) 📕

Reality is so simple and so twisted and complicated. People are mostly too narrow-minded to descry its core. Their views are affected with rusty stereotypes and ego, like some cataract. You can’t avoid illusions without a reliable fulcrum. For only this can tell you when you sleep and when you are awake.

I used to think before that nothing is more real than pain. However, later I had to reconsider my views, as sometimes pain is felt even in a dream and it wouldn’t always help to wake up. You may believe in your agony during tortures in damp catacombs of Rome, in a taste of moldy cakes and wormy cheese, in a smell of olive oil with sweat. Your brain can even accept the fact that you are being cremated alive and feel the crackling of charred bones in your dead body; it can believe that you know how to fly and forget the laws of physics, well... as long as it is right presented. Moreover, not every person would understand that this is only a dream, before he wakes up. And what if the dream never ends? How to see illusion? How to make your consciousness awaken... or at least remember who you are in reality?

I think I found a way! And it has not let me down so far...

As One-one-four thought this, he stopped, glimpsed up at the sky then down at his bare feet, and continued the run.

Everything remained unchanged...

It’s been three days.

Therefore, he did escape... Jungle, heat, hunger and a terrible pain in his feet as in his whole body, all this was real. It’s a bit strange that there were no fear and despair, as during his last six flights. Either he had learned a lot in the labs, or they have learned a lot there.

“Nah, my secret is over their heads.”

He was repeatedly convinced in that, although he continued to check it from time to time... Briefly, on the run.

For the last three days, One-one-four had hardly rested and had not eaten a thing. His larynx burned with fire, as if he had swallowed a red-hot sword, every patch of skin itched with mosquito bite, his ulcers and scratches bled and his wounded bare feet treacherously stumbled. However, he couldn’t delay since heavily armed Special Forces dogged after him. Their goal was to take the fugitive lab material alive.

“Bastards have good technics. They’ll catch me till next morning if I don’t come up with something... Damn! Everything swims. I barely distinguish light from shadow. I must take a breath!”

While pondering over his further actions, One-one-four noticed a faint golden flare flashed in the depths of the forest. He automatically slowed down and tried to peer, but saw nothing more in the gloom. After hesitating, he moved warily to the thicket. Common sense resisted immediately, but his body did not obey and strode forward. The fugitive covered his face with his hands and, as he broke through thick bushes, he severely torn his T-shirt and pants. However, he barely noticed few new holes for his previously white clean clothes had long ago turned into gray-brown rags, but his feet were aching terribly. “If I rest again, I’ll wrap them around with my T-shirt.” The thought had hardly flashed in his head, as he felt dizzy and his eyes darkened. The fugitive had time to grab the nearest branch. For few seconds he stood motionless, holding on to the saving vine and rocking gently from side to side. Then he mentally read a short thanksgiving prayer for not being struck with a tranquilizing dart and rose to his feet. “Just don’t fall! Just don’t fall!” he repeated aloud, making tentative steps and clutching at the air roots. He was losing strength and was unlikely to continue running at the same pace. One-one-four hitched forward until he ran across another wall of thick bushes. He cursed himself for this mistake and thought of turning back, when he noticed among crooked impassable thickets a low grove of banana palms that occupied a single strip of sunlight – an expensive and rare luxury in the virgin forest. They had now fruits but there was a gleam behind them. The escapee made his way through dense silky leaves and went out to an open edge. “You can’t! There’s too an open space. They’ll see you!” he told himself, but his feet moved forward.

As he stepped on a soft grass, a blissful gasp escaped from his chest: icy coolness like morphine absorbed his pain and enveloped his mind in a dope.

“Gods!” the fugitive ecstatically closed his eyes. “That’s so good and peaceful!”

When he looked up, he froze in a daze. From the jungle mist, an abandoned Buddhist temple came out before him. The fugitive hadn’t seen such curiosities since the days of the Vietnam War.

“So I’m in Southeast Asia!” One-one-four thought, as soon as the first wave of shock passed, releasing his logical thoughts.

Devoured by time and overgrown with wood ruins were in a small hollow, covered with a dense web of lianas and thin shoots, which protected the shrine from prying eyes with a green dome. Despite a total abandonment, the atmosphere of peace and tranquility still reigned in the cloister. Perhaps, even more chill-out than in existing ashrams, where the fugitive once happened to be. Now everything was different: both the temple and the visitor.

The walls of the former gallery, growing out from the web of lianas and descending to the entrance, looked more like a dragon’s mouth with curved teeth. At the very bottom of the hollow, where the barely noticeable steps led, settled its tongue, the chaos of rotten boards and stones – a former pagoda. Behind it, in the area of the larynx – a similar piling, but a little larger – the remains of the Golden Temple. There, against a dilapidated wall and between four columns, the golden statue of Buddha majestically sat on a small pedestal.

Embraced by a strange mystical fear, One-one-four timidly approached the sculpture. It looked like the deity glared at him with its half-closed eyes, peered through him, read his mind. The slight smirk of drawn lips seemed to ask: “What’s next?” The fugitive paused at the very pedestal. Indeed, what should he do now? He had planned this escape for so long, and finally everything turned out for him, he was free, but...

“Think! Think! You can’t let things go on their own and hope for luck.”

First thing, he must do is to find a river, a torrent is better. Rocks and a stream will be a good cover for he is a good diver. The thermal scanner will not reach him deep under waters and his lungs were rather strong. They had been tested many times in the laboratories... it seems that the result was about six and a half minutes. Quite enough, but the military probably were aware of that. In any case, his chances were better near the water, than in the forest, where none of his attempts to confuse tracks yielded a desired result. Yes, definitely, the river. He will move to the southeast, and there... he will see.

– So, what do you say? – He turned to the statue. – Should I push my luck, or...?

He sharply turned around.

Nothing.

The clearing was empty. Couple of birds on the upper branches tried to chase away annoying long-tailed monkeys from their nest. And yet... The fugitive sensed someone’s presence. It was not an illusion, though...

Couldn’t it be a trap?

He heard a soft rustle from above and raised his head. All he could see was a black spot, swiftly falling down on him.

– What the...?!

When One-one-four opened his eyes, he saw that he was lying on the clearing. Threads of sunlight filtered through a thick net of branches and lianas. The stone ridge was in few inches from his head. The Buddha, calm and unperturbed, still gazed at him through half-closed eyelids. “That’s no cool!” thought the fugitive, rubbing his forehead. He had never had such fainting. Well, without outside interference.

“I’m getting old,” he smirked wearily, as he slowly rose to his feet.

Anyway, he had to continue his running for here he would be caught eventually. Impassable thickets surrounded the temple, so the only open road was that banana grove. However, now it was risky to go back for there he could run into the military. Damn, what should he do? Such indecision was not of his liking, but now he cherished his freedom. He must think.

– I would smoke. – The fugitive said mechanically, as he patted himself in search of a cigarette and a lighter. – Damn!

With his eyes wide opened, he looked up and then tilted his head down.

– Bastards still caught me! – He muttered spitefully.

After a few seconds the forest, the temple, the glade began to fade, until they disappeared altogether. The lab escapee forced his consciousness to awaken.

When One-one-four finally woke up, he was quite surprised to feel neither body straps bounds, nor his habitual dulling pain. He was lying on the bed, wearing the same torn and dirty rags. Perhaps the staff had not arrived yet, he thought, but it was strange that nobody had prepared him. He silently sucked in the air with his nostrils. New smells, but still they had few medical notes: not as acrid as alcohol and not as sickly-sweet as most of the anesthetics. The furniture sent was the oddest: it was acidic synthetics and cold, not warm sterility, as usual. The fugitive opened his eyes slightly. Though his vision range was quite small, he saw enough: an ordinary bright room, nothing unique, except that the walls were odd... The place was new to him. Well, he never expected to find himself back in the place from where he had already fled. “Maybe some carrier?” He saw a table with tools next to his feet. On his right was the door and it was open. Between the door and the bed, there was a man. He sat sideways, so the fugitive could have a good look at him. The stranger did not have any special equipment, or uniforms. Usually, no one was admitted to the test subject without a protective clothing and a mask, except for two doctors. This one was definitely not one of them.

“He’s too frail to be an orderly.”

It was a boy of about twenty-five... maybe more. With his appearance type, it was easy to be mistaken: blond hair of medium length, sharp features, thin physique, but not skinny.

“Either he’s a complete fool to sit between me and the open door, or he’s not alone... In any case, I’ll kill the boy with a tool from the table and come what may!”

In a split second, One-one-four was on his feet and his hand was already rummaging for a sharp object on the table. However, there it found nothing but few transparent capsules, plates of flexible plastic and some sort of bands. Meanwhile, the young man, seeing that the fugitive was ready to attack, rose slowly, put down the tablet that he had studied and stepped back. One-one-four was a little amazed to notice that the boy’s eyes were of an unnatural light-green color, without an ounce of fear and his movements were calm and smooth as he shielded the door and slightly rose his hands. The stranger hardly opened his mouth, when the man jerked forward. He pushed the boy away with his elbow and jumped out of the room...

Long corridor. Dark walls and floor. On the ceiling, the threads of lights intertwined into elongated patterns. A string of identical doors went in both directions and a faint daylight was pouring on the right.

The exit!

The fugitive dashed like a cheetah along the corridor, when suddenly a heavy hand hammered down on his