I’m a contract cargo/escort driver. A passenger broke my mind.

You will deliver every cargo and/or person to the assigned destination within a given time, if specified. You are forbidden from opening the trailer if there is cargo.

You may not question passengers about Hilltop Museum’s business.

─Hilltop Museum Contract to Michael F., cargo/escort driver

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Previous

The housing my employer gave me was quaint by Foxglove Hill standards, though by any other it would have served a king. It had been arranged in the manner of those modern interiors that seem contrived to assure a man he has entered the future. Yet there was something in it awry. The walls and doors looked back at me. Even the mirrors appeared to wait.

I had never felt more alone.

I did not want to sleep with so many eyes upon me. I found myself hoping for another page, another delivery, anything that might send me out again under orders and spare me from that furnished stillness. I searched the pantry and the icebox. They were full. The Museum had seen to it that I should need nothing beyond what it chose to provide.

I went to the sink for water. The fixture yielded with reluctance. The water itself seemed too pure, too considered. I left it behind and kept the phone with me, looking at it again and again for want of any better occupation of the spirit. No message came. At some hour of that night, in that bright and hostile place, weariness overcame fear.

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I woke on a white silk couch. It was soft enough, though I had the uneasy sense that the room had not consented to my presence. I rose on trembling legs and went to the window. The museum lay below in all its symmetry. From that distance I felt a kind of confidence, though I knew better than to trust it.

My phone rang, and with each vibration there came into me a small and guilty relief. I answered with a subdued excitement that betrayed how long I had been alone.

“Michael F., we need you to escort an employee to Gloves. We will see how detail-oriented you are.” The Representative had taken to speaking around meaning.

“What do you mean detail-oriented?” It was then I understood that whatever the Museum was, I would live at its edge.

“Please arrive soon.” The beeping that followed flattened whatever the exchange had briefly given me.

I approached the fridge in my kitchen. Of the two starvations inside me, the lesser one waited there. I took hold of the cold handle and had to pull with more force than seemed reasonable. The air around the open door felt damp and faintly hostile. I stood there too long. By the time I seized a protein drink, my hands were already shaking.

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I stepped into the Museum, meeting the eyes of the same receptionist. I still felt the thread of intimacy between us.

“Hi! Welcome to Hilltop Museum. Do you have a prepaid ticket?” The sameness of her words stung. The thread was weaker than I had thought, though our interactions remained extraordinary to me.

“I am a new contractor. Do you know where the Representative may be?” Her eyes softened, but not because of recognition.

“He’s down to the left.” She pointed at a door I had not passed through yet. Hearing the Representative called “he” unsettled me. Even that was eclipsed by the simple fact that she heard me, and I heard her.

I could not stop looking at people’s faces.

I knocked cautiously, as though the door might bite me. It very well could do so.

Something in the air turned wrong. I faintly heard a choir in one ear and a symphony in the other. They were in tune, yet somehow dissonant. The Representative answered my knock.

“Gloves is a two hour drive. You have four hours to transport─” It looked down at a sheet of paper─it was captive, not owned. “Caleb M. He is waiting near your vehicle.”

Escorting others brought me pangs of anxiety. The craving—no, need—for intimacy was stronger. Each step toward the car took more effort. In my mind the floor was like ice, and I needed to step carefully. White caught my eye before the vehicle did. A man stood beside it in patterned clothes that made my forehead tense. Though a question had slowly crept up my throat, it fell back down fast.

Caleb greeted me and entered the back seat normally. It was not his voice or his actions that made my stomach curl, but the pressure of his presence behind me. Rather than a thread, a chain connected us. It weighed on me and pushed my neck down.

“Gloves’s a good town. I’d been there before, but only a day. No room for fun this time, though. Just business.” Again a question tried to sneak out of my mouth, but a reminder of the contract’s terms scared it off.

“Ya ever been to Foxglove Ridge? Desperate place. More mud than road. Good wine, though.” I shook my head.

“Have ya ever wondered why it’s the only spot near Foxglove Hill that’s so poor?”

“Yes, I have, but I never thought about it too much.”

“Prolly for the better. Politics and economy are too complicated.” Caleb sighed and pulled out a cigarette. “Do ya mind?” I shook my head. He lit the cigarette and cracked the window closest to him. I could not stand the stench. It was not worth violating the relationship.

The first hour of the drive was full of small talk. Then we were silent for thirty minutes. My stomach felt destitute, my skin shook in waves across my body.

“You’ve delivered somethin’ before me, haven’t cha?” His voice hardened. The insecurity rose up from my feet to my neck, forcing me to nod.

“Did ya look at it?” My body said no before I did.

“It don’t like bein’ watched.” My throat was paralyzed.

“Neither do I.” His accent was false. The space between us rapidly collapsed.

“You will not break your contract, I hope?” I tried to remind myself that Caleb was a man. I felt his hands reach into my brain and force me to shake my head.

“Good.” Reality returned. I had already stopped at the destination. “Thank ya kindly.” As he walked away, the feeling of dread went with him. All of my muscles ached like they were injected with something vile. Sweat dripped into and burned my eyes.

I began driving back to Foxglove Hill, despite the summer sun blinding me.

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As soon as I parked, the Representative approached the passenger window and gestured for me to roll it down.

“You have fifteen minutes before your trailer is changed to one with cargo.” It turned away and walked into the museum. While exiting the vehicle, I noticed a thin folder in the backseat. There was print in the center: “Read this.” It was not cargo, but there was a wrongness. Caleb did not seem like someone to make a mistake like this. The Representative must have noticed it. I took it to my housing.

The folder felt cold. Yet, it was welcoming. I read the print on it again and again. I did not have long. The contents dried my eyes and lips.

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Object: Rusty Lung

Class: Tsani

Value: 2

Appearance: A large, lung-shaped rusted metal object. Due to its rules, staff failed to acquire accurate measurements, however it was noted that it was the size of an average man’s torso.

RULES:

1: Do not cough within a 3 m radius of the object.

RB-1.1: Subject 1 entered containment and was asked to approach the object. Subject 1 randomly coughed once. Approximately 10 seconds after, Subject 1 began violently coughing out a rust-colored gas. The gas had coated any surface the subject coughed on. The subject had coughed until asphyxiation.

CB-1: After Subject 1’s expiry, the rust they coughed up suddenly congregated onto the object. Security was ordered to spray the object with cleaner to remove the rust. Unfortunately, security began coughing up a rust-colored gas upon entering containment. Rather than expiring from coughing for too long, once an indeterminate amount of time passed the officer, with their mouth stained with rust, showed signs of possession.

That officer then went outside of containment and latched their mouth onto a waiting room subject’s mouth. After coughing into the subject’s mouth, they immediately expired.

The officer was neutralized and containment was sealed. The free rust on the object had disappeared.

2: Do not touch the object.

RB-2.1: Subject 2 was asked to touch the object. The same effects suffered by Subject 1 were repeated. The generated rust once again stuck to the object. However, the containment room had been fitted with sprinklers after CB-1. The sprinklers sprayed a solution of [REDACTED], which dissolved the free rust. Security was able to dispose of the body without triggering a CB.

3: You may bring a rusted item near the object, but you cannot do it in person.

RB-3.1: Subject 3 was asked to bring a rusted pipe into containment. The object immediately removed all rust, essentially restoring the pipe to factory conditions. However, the breach logic displayed in Rules 1 and 2 still applied, resulting in Subject 3’s fatality. The object was able to be cleaned without the pipe rusting again.

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The skin of my right hand, barely able to hold the file, became flushed and numb. I did not understand the abbreviations and terms, but I did not need to.

This was my next cargo.