“Master! Master, where are you!”
“Igs? Igs, I’m over here – wait, no, stay there. I’ll come to you. And stop calling me Master. ”
Dr. Viviane Frank stumbled past the operating table and stubbed her toe on something on the floor. She and Igs were going to have to have a chat about working conditions and the need for a sterile laboratory.
Of course, when the laboratory was in a dilapidated, turn-of-the century monstrosity, she supposed sterile was probably out of the question. Seeing as her funding dollars only went so far. . .
“Igs, did you hook up the back-up generators like I asked you to?”
There was no response from the queer little man that came with the antiquated equipment.
“Yes, Mas—I mean, Dr. Frank. I hooked it up just before the experiment began.”
“Hm. Must be a full-blown power outage. Where do you keep the flashlights, Igs?”
“Flashlights, Ma—Dr. Frank?”
“Yes, flashlights. You know – electric torches? There has to be an emergency kit around here somewhere.” Viviane gingerly made her way to the large shelving unit and ran her hands along the shelves. Glass bottles clattered and her hands brushed by something sticky.
“Gross. What is this? Is it just us, Igs, or is the town out, too?”
Viviane sighed. This was ridiculous. Where had the University found this guy? She turned in the general direction of his voice. Her eyes were adjusting to the gloom and she could just see his silhouette against the window.
“So, no flashlights, then?”
Igs didn’t answer her directly. He just motioned to the window and pointed down. Viviane shook her head and looked. Perhaps she hadn’t adjusted to the gloom after all. There was a moving line of light coming up the long path from the town to their hill-top refuge.
“It’s the townspeople, Dr. Frank. They’re bringing us some torches!”
“Oh crap. Not again.”
For the Creative Writing Challenge, Day 11 prompt: Power.