Excerpt: The Z World

Inside the second door Charlie was almost blinded by the bright light ahead of him. The operating theatre was small but tidy, rows of slim cupboards lining the far walls and a set of trolleys and equipment in the center, clustered around not the table Charlie had expected but a heavy looking chair. Behind the chair, pointing down and towards him, stood a heavy stand topped by a set of brilliant surgical lights, turning the figure in the chair into a faded silhouette, soft at the edges where the light glared past. The head was the wrong shape, and when Charlie lifted his hands to shade his eyes he saw that a rectangle of light-coloured fabric had been erected around the figure's head where his hairline would have been.

"Hello?"

The figure shifted in the chair, and Charlie could tell that its hands had been restrained. It moved again, the whole body writhing in the chair, but the head unnaturally still and the wrists and ankles pinned. Then it relaxed again.

"Brains." It said clearly.

Charlie froze.

"Pardon?"

"Brains," the figure said again.

Looking around, Charlie spotted a half-size fire extinguisher on a rack by the door. He edged towards it, not taking his eyes off the chair, and felt around until he had a good hold then lifted the extinguisher out. It was about as heavy as he could lift with one arm.

Reaching out the other arm he felt his way along the wall, edging slowly around the chair. He expected to be watched, but discovered that he was even more unnerved when the figure stared straight ahead.

"I'm Pastor Charles Wainwright," Charlie said softly, stepping further into the room. Suddenly the cover of the lights eclipsed them and the room went dark as his eyes had to readjust. He could see the seated figure clearly for the first time.

A young man was strapped into the chair by fabric bands around his wrists and ankles. His head was secured in place by a frame of metal struts which extended out into a little rectangular halo from which the green fabric was strung, forming a little barrier between the back of the man's head and the front. There was something wrong with the head behind the barrier, and Charlie moved closer, unwilling to see but realising that he would have to if he was to help.

The back of the young man's head was a mess of red. A curved square of skull was missing, and tiny surgical clamps were holding some kind of skin or membrane out of the way. In the hole Charlie could see a glistening red and pink mass, recognisably the top surface of the young man's brain. A needle-thin probe was planted into it, the top of the probe a mass of wires lashed to the frame. His stomach heaved again and he turned away quickly, but nothing came out. When he could stand again, he stepped back until the open wound was hidden from him. The young man's head was pointed at the door still, but he could see that the eyes were watching him.

"The survive on the brains," the man said, carefully and slowly.