Havoc: Book II of The Evolution Gene, page 22
She had left them there for ten minutes, writhing in helpless agony, before finally strapping the device back to her wrist.
“If my heart stops, those collars will choke the life out of you. I expect that should be motivation enough for you to keep me alive.”
After that, she’d made them her guards. She seemed to take a perverted enjoyment out of having them around.
But looking at her now, Chris knew it was more than that. She had deliberately worn him down, broken him to the point he would do anything to avoid more pain. Even if it meant helping subdue innocent teenagers for their experiments.
Facing the huddle of prisoners, Chris stepped forward and caught the next boy by the hand. The kid yelled and tried to pull away, but there was no resisting Chris’s strength. He dragged the boy out as though he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
When the doctors finished with him, Chris went back and took the third. His eyes caught the girl’s as he dragged the next boy away. She had retreated to the back of the cell, hovering near the toilet, her cheeks wet with tears. Her curly black hair hung around her face, and again Chris was reminded of Liz. He watched the girl as the doctors did their work on the last boy, wondering absently where Liz was, what she was doing.
He knew by now their gambit with the Professor had failed. They’d had no contact with the outside world since their capture, but surely they would have heard if the truth had been made public. Not even the President could survive if the entire country rose up against him.
The third boy’s voice joined the chorus of screams, and knowing it was coming, Chris stepped towards the girl.
“Your turn,” he offered his hand.
She shook her head, eyes wide, begging him for mercy. He had to grab her by the waist and haul her out, kicking and screaming. As he cleared the bunk beds, her elbow caught him in the face and he staggered backwards out into the corridor. They crashed into the trolley, sending equipment flying as the doctors retreated out of range.
Chris cursed as her knee came dangerously close to his groin, still struggling to get a firm grip on her twisting body.
Finally, he growled, and lifting her up, hurled her down on the concrete. The impact drove the breath from the girl’s lungs, and she lay back, mouth wide and gasping for air.
Turning, Chris saw the Director watching him from nearby, flanked on either side by her guards. The other doctors had left the girl’s friends in the cell and followed him out into the corridor. The first boy had finally passed out, though his body was still taught with pain. The second’s screams were beginning to fade, but the third still writhed on the floor.
Smiling, the Director approached Chris. “You’ve done well, Christopher. I–”
A scream from the girl cut her off. Spinning, Chris watched as the girl sprang to her feet and charged the Director. Somehow she’d managed to grab a scalpel that had fallen from the trolley, and now she sprang forward, eyes fixed on the unarmed Director. With her guards still behind her, there was no one left between the Director and the girl.
Chris acted without thinking. He stepped in front of the Director, his fist flashing out to catch the girl square in the chest. A sharp crack echoed down the corridor as the blow brought the girl to a sudden halt, then hurled her backwards. She struck the ground with a thud. Her eyes flickered closed, and a long sigh hissed between her lips.
For a moment, no one moved, as they all stared down at the fallen girl. Then, as if on cue, the doctors and guards rushed forward, one picking up the discarded scalpel while the others gathered around the girl. One of the doctors put a finger to her throat, checking for a pulse, but a few seconds later he looked up at them and shook his head.
Chris choked and stumbled back. Tearing his eyes from the girl, he looked down at his trembling fist. There was no trace of blood, no hint of the life it had just taken. Shivering, he lowered his hand and shook his head, as though that could somehow take back what he’d just done.
He flinched as a soft hand brushed his hair. “Very good, Christopher,” the Director whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “Very good.”
After that, the doctors quickly gathered up the instruments that had fallen from the trolley. Two took the girl between them and dragged her from the prison block. Another pressed a finger to her watch, and the cell door slid closed.
Standing amidst them, all Chris could do was stare at the pale concrete. He didn’t need to look up to know Ashley’s eyes were on him, that beneath her opaque visor she was watching him, hating him.
When the doctors were done cleaning up, the Director strode forward. Placing a finger beneath his chin, the Director forced him to look up at her. Grinning, she nodded at the next cell.
“Shall we continue?”
Forty
Susan shoved the woman through the barn door and followed her inside, Hecate one step behind. Within, the heady scent of the Chead swept over them like a blanket. Its cloying sweetness calmed her racing heart, and she drew in another breath, closing her eyes to savour its ecstasy. Then she reached back and pulled the roller door shut. The metal wheels squealed as it banged closed.
The few dozen women and teenagers kneeling on the concrete floor of the barn flinched at the sound. Their soft sobs echoed from the tin walls, interspersed by the faint rumbling of the generator outside. A ring of Chead surrounded the prisoners, while in the corner the cylindrical refrigerator unit gleamed in the faint light. The Chead had carried it faithfully across the countryside, from farmhouse to town, ensuring its precious contents remained viable. Now it was all but empty. If things went well, this would be its final stop.
Turning, Susan found her captive standing nearby. She had stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide as she took in the barn. But Susan could see Talisa waiting, and grabbing the woman by the hair, she dragged her across the room and pushed her down beside the other prisoners. The feeble women and teenagers scrambled back from her until the wall of the barn pulled them up short. Soft laughter came from the Chead guarding them. Smiling, Susan moved to where Hecate now waited with Talisa, and bowed her head.
“You are late, my child,” Talisa whispered in admonishment.
Susan shivered as she looked into the elder Chead’s milky white eyes. “I’m sorry…Talisa,” she stammered. The change had robbed her of speech, and she was still struggling to regain her words. “The rage was…on me. Hecate…brought me back.”
The lines on Talisa’s aging face deepened as she smiled. “You must learn control, child.” Reaching out, she gripped Susan by the arm. “Come, you are needed.”
Taking Susan’s arm, Talisa led her past the kneeling women. Susan’s eyes drifted over the faces of their captives as they moved. They were all young, in their late teens or early twenties. Most kept their eyes fixed to the ground, but a few had the courage to stare back, defiant, the streaks of dried tears on their cheeks the only sign of their fear. The few males present had been herded into one corner. They would face the choice last—if there were any vials left for them.
She had counted thirty prisoners in all—too many. But no doubt some would refuse; they always did.
The refrigerator unit waited for her in the corner. The steel casing had seen better days; its sides were streaked with mud, and several dings now marked the metal where its minders had been less than careful.
Talisa stopped next to the machine and nodded for Susan to proceed. Susan knelt beside the unit, her hands trembling, eager to do the ancient Chead’s bidding. There was an aura about Talisa, a power that demanded Susan leap to do her bidding. Taking a deep breath, she waited until her hands stilled, and then reached out to open the lid of the unit.
Looking inside, Susan licked her lips as she counted the remaining vials. Once there had been hundreds of vials inside–now there were only a few dozen left. Nodding to herself, she checked the power level on the side, and then waved at the two Chead who guarded the contraption. Each took one handle and followed her across the room. The waiting prisoners watched with open mouths as the Chead set the unit down in front of them.
Susan smiled as she looked at them, tasting the bitter tang of their fear. Outside, distant screams could still be heard, as her brethren continued their wanton slaughter. Watching the pitiful creatures huddle together on the ground, Susan wondered how she had ever been so weak. Memories drifted through her mind, of a woman lost and alone, scared to live. Now those emotions seemed as foreign to her as the moon.
Hecate moved across to stand beside her, his arm curling around her waist. She smiled up at him, her own hand drifting to her stomach, to the life growing there. It was beginning to swell, the accelerated growth of the Chead taking hold. She still remembered their reproductive cycle from her other life, though her small mind had never contemplated experiencing it herself.
Almost always in heat, the Chead could have anything from one to eight eggs attached to the uterus at a time. And once fertilised, gestation took only six weeks before birth. From there, her children would continue to grow at an accelerated rate, reaching the size of a teenager within two years.
Detaching herself from Hecate, she smiled up at him. It had been four weeks since their night in the cave. It would not be long now, and she was glad this would be their last stop. Shortly, they would set out for the underground labyrinth Talisa had made the wild Chead’s home. There, Susan’s children would be safe. Warmth spread through her stomach at the thought of holding them in her arms.
But for now, there were new souls to welcome into the ranks of the Chead.
Delving back into the cylinder, she retrieved a syringe and took out the first vial. The women watched as she prepared the needle, silent now. The process only took a few seconds. Holding up the needle, she checked for bubbles and then nodded for Talisa to proceed.
Striding forward, the elder Chead grasped the nearest prisoner by the shirt and hauled her to her feet. The woman tried to resist, but she was only human, and her strength was like a mouse to a cat for the Chead. Lifting her hand, Talisa slapped her hard across the face. The blow whipped the woman’s head to the side, and she sagged in Talisa’s arms. Scowling, Talisa tossed her on the ground at Susan’s feet.
“Stand,” Susan growled.
Sobbing, the woman scrambled onto her hands and knees and looked up at Susan. Blood ran from her lip, but when she saw Susan’s cold grey eyes, she quickly nodded. Her feet trembled beneath her weight, but somehow she managed to stand.
“What is…your name?” Susan whispered, moving forward until her face was just an inch from the prisoner’s.
The woman swallowed, her eyes darting around the room before returning to Susan.
“My name…my name is Jane.” The woman swallowed, barely getting out the words. “How…?”
“Jane…” Talisa murmured, ignoring the question. “Do you wish to live?”
The woman moaned, looking from Talisa to Susan. For a moment it seemed she would bolt for the door, but finally her shoulders sagged and she shook her head.
“I don’t want to die,” she said, the words barely audible.
The soft laughter of the Chead whispered around the room. Holding up the syringe, Susan offered it to the woman. “Then join us.”
The colour slowly drained from Jane’s face as she stared at the syringe. The clear liquid inside gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the slits in the ceiling. The other Chead stood in silence, watching with their cold grey eyes, waiting.
Jane started to back away, but Susan’s hand whipped out to catch her by the shirt, and she came up short. Jane shook her head, her mouth gaping, still trying to break free, but no words came out.
“Is that your final…answer?” Susan asked softly.
A tremor passed across Jane’s face, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Her eyes flickered to the syringe again, then back to Susan.
“Please…” Jane whispered.
“There is only…one answer,” Susan replied.
She tightened her grip around the woman’s shirt, and pulled her closer. Baring her teeth, a rough growl rumbled up from Susan’s chest. She could see the woman’s terror, that she was on the brink of sheer panic. If she cracked, if she gave in to it, she was worthless to them. The Chead needed to be strong, to cast off the weakness of humanity, not continue its follies.
“Don’t do it, Jane!” a voice echoed through the warehouse as one of the captives stood. “They’re m–”
Whatever she’d been about to say ended abruptly as Hecate sprang forward. Faster than thought, he caught her by the throat, lifted her into the air, and hurled her into the wall. She managed a brief, blood-curdling scream, before she slammed headfirst into a steel beam. A sickening crack came from her skull as she slumped to the ground.
The prisoners screamed and scrambled back from Hecate as he turned to look at them.
“Silence!” Talisa’s voice cut through the high-pitched cries.
As one, the voices died away. The prisoners turned to stare at Talisa, their eyes wide, mouths open. Not one of them made a move as the old Chead’s gaze passed over them. A long moment stretched out before Talisa nodded for Susan to resume.
Smiling, Susan looked at Jane. “What is…your choice?”
Jane swallowed visibly. Her eyes were red from crying, but she didn’t hesitate now. Reaching out a trembling hand, she took the syringe, and plunged it into her arm. Susan waited until she pressed the plunger, sending the virus whirling into her bloodstream, before releasing her. Smiling, she stroked the hair from the woman’s face. Jane shivered and bowed her head, trying not to cry, but Susan reached beneath her chin and lifted her head so they were face to face.
“Welcome, Jane.”
A Chead stepped up beside them then, and gently led Jane across the room. They only made it a few steps before Jane crumpled to the ground and began to scream. Reaching down, the Chead carried her the rest of the way, even as the girl thrashed in his grip. Her gut-wrenching shrieks were loud enough to rattle the walls of the barn, but Susan ignored them. Turning to the remaining prisoners, she stepped towards them.
“So, who’s next?”
Forty-One
“So, just the girls tonight?”
Liz looked up from the sofa at Jasmine’s voice. The other girl stood leaning against the doorway, a smile on her face as she surveyed the room. Liz was sitting on the couch with Mira beside her, a worn book cradled in one hand. The title read ‘1984’, which hardly seemed relevant in 2052. She had been trying to read it for half an hour, but with Sam out on his mission to bring back the doctor’s family, her mind was elsewhere, and she had hardly managed a couple of pages.
Shaking her head, she forced a smile she did not feel. “I guess so.”
Wandering into the lounge, Jasmine took a seat on the couch across from Liz. “You still don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?”
Sighing, Liz shrugged. “No, but there’s not much I can do about it.” She eyed Jasmine for a moment and then went on. “What about you? I’m surprised you haven’t torn his head from his shoulders yet, after what they did to Richard.”
Liz felt a pleasant sense of satisfaction when Jasmine looked away. Shame quickly rose to swamp it. She bit her lip. “Sorry,” she murmured, “I didn’t need to bring him into it.”
Jasmine sighed. “It’s amazing how much they still affect us.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked across at Liz. “I can still hear his voice sometimes, whispering to me.”
“What does he say?”
They both looked around at Mira. She had sat up on the couch, her dual-coloured eyes looking at each of them in turn.
“Mostly the opposite of what I’ve been doing,” Jasmine laughed. Then the smile fell from her face. “I think he’d want me to run, to take you and anyone else who’ll come and leave the city, before it’s too late,” she shrugged, “Or maybe that’s just my subconscious talking.”
Silently, Mira got up off the couch and went to sit beside Jasmine. Snuggling in beneath Jasmine’s arm, she looked around the room.
“But I like it here,” Mira murmured.
Liz hardly heard the girl. She sat staring at a hole in the plasterboard, remembering the green-eyed Richard. He had said more than once that they should do just as Jasmine said. But then, at the end he’d done the opposite. Instead of running from danger, he’d charged straight at it, sacrificing his life for theirs.
Shifting on the couch, Liz stretched her wings, feeling the pain beginning in her back. She would need to go for a midnight flight soon, or the muscles would begin to cramp and spasm.
“I don’t know what Chris would want anymore,” Liz said finally. “Not really. I don’t hear him, don’t see him. It’s like he was never here.”
“Maybe that’s just your mind’s way of protecting yourself,” Jasmine offered.
Mira shifted on the couch and looked across at Liz. “He wouldn’t want you to die,” she said softly.
Liz opened her mouth, and then closed it again as a lump caught in her throat. Swallowing hard, she shook her head, trying to keep them from seeing her tears.
“She’s right you know,” Jasmine said. “He wouldn’t agree with you going off alone like you’re some one-woman army.”
Liz looked back at her. “You’re one to talk,” she scowled.
“I know I’m a hypocrite,” Jasmine replied slowly. “But that was before we met the Mad women. Before I saw just how far they will go to make things right. Before their courage gave me hope,” she shook her head. When she looked at Liz, there was fire in her eyes. “They don’t have wings or super strength. They can’t heal from bullet wounds in a matter of weeks. They aren’t strong enough to fight back when the soldiers come for them. But they’re out there anyway, marching, fighting for a better future.”
