by Aaron Hodges
Instead, he closed his eyes and pulled the collar closed. The steel links slid across his flesh, icy to the touch, and came together with a loud click.
Struggling to breathe, Chris sank to his knees and fumbled for the pile of clothes. A sudden, desperate shame at his nakedness took him. He felt exposed, as though his nudity highlighted his new bondage, relegating him to nothing but an animal.
Quickly he scrambled into the bright orange uniform, and then sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. A tide of despair rose in his throat, but he pushed it down, struggling to keep a flicker of hope burning. The collar’s icy grip seemed to tighten, stealing away his breath. A claustrophobic scream grew in his throat as he gasped for air.
Halt only gave a satisfied nod and stepped back from the cage.
Glancing at the other cage, Chris saw that Elizabeth had managed to pull on her own orange jumpsuit. The heavy fabric clung to her frame, and Chris couldn’t help but think of what he’d glimpsed of her while naked. A bruise showed on her forehead when her clear blue eyes flickered in his direction. His cheeks warmed as she raised an eyebrow. Her wild black curls hung around her shoulders, the ends jagged and split, as though they’d been cut by a knife.
Taking a breath, the young woman pulled herself to her feet. The collar flashed around her neck, an all too vivid reminder of their new position. Her fists clenched and her lips drew back in a snarl, but otherwise she remained quiet.
Halt gave a satisfied smirk. “Very good. I’m pleased to see you’re fast learners. Perhaps you will surprise me yet.” Chris flinched as Halt clapped his hands again. “Now, before you are taken to your new quarters, I must warn you: I have little patience for agitators. Dissent will not be tolerated. Those collars are more than they appear. Do not attempt to remove them. Any effort to tamper with them without the correct key will have…unpleasant results.”
Chris swallowed hard. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck and he tasted bile in his throat. He clenched his teeth and fought to keep himself from throwing up whatever remained in his stomach. In the opposite cage, Elizabeth showed no sign she’d heard Halt’s words. She stood with her eyes closed, one arm pressed against the chain-link wall, as though that was the only thing keeping her upright.
When neither of them spoke, Halt continued: “The collars are a disciplinary tool, to rein in unruly subjects when they step out of line.”
Leaning against the wall of his cage, Chris stifled a yawn, unwilling to show his fear. “And how exactly do they ‘punish us’?”
The doctor glared at him, then gave a slow shake of his head. “Perhaps you are not as quick to learn as I thought.”
He pulled down his sleeve, revealing a sleek black watch on his wrist, all shining metal and glass. As he tapped its surface, the screen glowed bright blue. Another tap, and a loud beep came from Chris’s collar. The hairs stood up on his neck as Halt looked at him.
“Your collars are capable of delivering an electric shock of five hundred volts, at up to one hundred milliamps. They are activated remotely by these watches, which you will find all personnel within the facility are equipped with.” A slow grin spread across Halt’s face. “A single swipe of the screen, by any doctor or guard, and all collars within a twenty-foot radius are activated. Or an individual subject’s collar may be chosen at our discretion. Perhaps you need a demonstration?”
Silently, Chris shook his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl make the same gesture.
Halt watched them, his eyes aglow with a strange light. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic,” he laughed. “Too bad.” Before anyone could move, he pressed a thumb to his watch.
Chris’s collar gave a loud beep. He opened his mouth, but before any sound could escape, fingers of fire wrapped around his throat, cutting off his cry. His jaw locked as electricity surged through his body. His back arched and the strength went from his legs, sending him toppling to the concrete. A burning cramp tore into his muscles as he thrashed against the ground. The water that still pooled beneath him soaked through his clothes, but he barely noticed.
A buzzing filled his ears, but through it, he could hear Halt’s voice. “This is twenty milliamps. Enough to deliver a painful shock, even freeze your motor functions. Not enough to kill—at least not when delivered for short periods of time.”
Another beep sounded, and the flow of electricity ceased. Chris slumped to the ground, eyes closed, a low moan rattling in his chest. The sudden absence of pain was a sweet relief. He sucked in an eager breath, the cold air burning his throat.
As the last twitch in his muscles ceased, he cracked open his eyes and looked through the wire. He had fallen on his side and now found himself looking across at Elizabeth. She was on the ground as well, her tangled hair covering her face, her limbs splayed out across the concrete. Her forehead sported a nasty cut where she must have struck the ground.
Halt stood between the cages, the same dark grin twisting his face. His eyes found Chris’s, and the smile spread.
“Welcome, Christopher and Elizabeth, to the Genome Project.”
9
Angela Fallow waited until the door closed behind her before allowing the mask to crack. A sharp sob cut the air as she stumbled across the room and collapsed onto the bed. The feather-down duvet cushioned her fall, but it did nothing for the burden weighing on her soul. Burying her head in a pillow, she finally allowed the tears to flow.
What have I done?
For years she had worked in government laboratories, studying the creatures that had come to be known as the Chead, examining their genetic composition and identifying chromosomal alterations within their DNA. While the more superstitious citizens of the Western Allied States regarded the Chead as some paranormal phenomenon, she had dedicated her life to actually dissecting the mysteries of the creatures.
She had been the first to discover the link between the Chead awakenings across the country. A short sequence of nucleic acids in one of her samples had put her on the trail, and within days she had confirmed her suspicions. Whether the Chead had woken in rural California or downtown Seattle, the same virus was present in the genome of every known Chead.
Porcine Endogenous Retrovirus, or PERV, was a well-known retrovirus amongst the scientific community. Since the turn of the twentieth century, the virus had been used to exchange DNA between pig and human cells. PERV was a provirus—meaning upon contraction it fully integrated into the host genome. This led to its initial use in the modification of genes within the organs of pigs, to increase their receptivity when transplanted into human subjects.
But Angela had checked the records of every Chead, and none had ever been a candidate for xenotransplantation.
Normally, the virus alone would have meant little. There was not a person alive whose chromosomes did not contain some viral elements. In fact, many scientists speculated that proviruses played a significant role in evolution, altering genes and alleles at a rate far faster than ordinary mutation.
However, once the link was discovered, it had not taken Angela long to piece out other discrepancies in the Chead chromosomes. Alongside the PERV recombinations, she identified genome markers with foundations in everything from primates to canines, eagles to rabbits. Even genes from rare animals such as the Philippine Tarsier and Cnidaria had featured in the genetic puzzle.
In the end, the evidence all pointed to a single, undeniable conclusion.
The Chead were no accident. Someone had created them, had designed a virus and released it into the world.
The question of who remained unanswered, though the government had quickly pointed the blame on that old enemy—the United States. Or at least the scattered states that remained of the once-great nation.
But the who was not Angela’s concern. Now knowing the cause, she had applied herself to countering its spread. Fortunately, the virus did not appear to be contagious. No cases had been reported of friends or family contracting the virus from awakened Chead, though the government
still rounded them up as a precaution.
That left the question of how the victims were infected. She suspected an external source was at work there, though if true, it was up to others to solve that puzzle.
As for those already infected, Angela had failed time and time again in the search for a cure. Ordinary viruses incorporated themselves into the host DNA, much as the Chead virus had done. However, the similarities ended there. Symptoms of an ordinary viral infection arose when a virus began self-replication, eventually leading to cell rupture and the spread of virons to other cells. Sickness showed as human cells were hijacked by the virons and used for further self-replication.
Instead of following this route, the Chead virus remained latent within its host’s DNA. In fact, it was almost perfectly incorporated into the human chromosome. The symptoms exhibited by the Chead were the result of gene expression in the cells themselves—only appearing once those genes activated. Similar to how many babies had blue eyes at birth, until their genes for brown eyes began to express.
In other words, the virus was a part of the Chead now, and no matter how Angela tried to approach the problem, she could find no possibility for a cure.
Upon learning of her discovery, the government had made the call to take Angela’s research in a new direction. They had transferred her here to work with other doctors on the Genome Project – their own answer to the spread of the Chead.
A new virus was being shaped, one of such complexity and ingenious, Angela could not help but wonder how long it had been in development. Once perfected, it would change the world forever. Now, with Angela’s help, they were close to a breakthrough. Initial trials on bovine subjects had proven successful, but Halt and his government overseers wanted more. They were desperate for an answer, for a beacon of hope to hold up to the people. Even the usually ice-cold Halt had appeared flustered in recent weeks, and she sensed that far more than her career rested on what happened over the next few weeks and months.
Shivering, Angela wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would have been like had she taken a different path. Deep in her soul, she still longed for the wild open space of the countryside, the endless stars and unmarked horizons. Her family’s ranch had been remote, far from the bustling hives of the cities—though of course, it had not really been theirs. They worked the land, harvested the crops, while the landowner in the city took the profits.
As a young girl, she had resented that fact, and the limitations of rural life. So she had studied and schemed, and won a place in a scholarship program in Los Angeles. She had grasped the opportunity with both hands, and run off to find her place in the big wide world.
Funny how things changed, with thirty-five years’ worth of wisdom.
The world was a wild place, but in the city, life was far less forgiving than in the country.
Angela shuddered as she heard again the awful screams, watched as the girl writhed on the floor of the cage. In the silence of her mind, Angela imagined the girl’s crystal blue eyes seeking her out, begging for help.
Another sob tore from Angela’s throat. Those eyes, that face; they were so like her own. In those youthful features, she saw her past, saw the girl she had once been reflected back.
What have I done?
The question came again, persistent. She had never thought it would come to this. When Halt had told her their plan to gather candidates for human trials, it had seemed simple. Family members convicted of treason were destined to suffer the same fate as the accused. So why not make use of those lives?
Young, healthy candidates were needed for the trials to maximize the chances of success. The children of traitors seemed the perfect answer to their needs.
Only now that she faced the reality of that decision, it was more awful than she could ever have imagined. Halt might see the children as a means to an end, but Angela could not look past their humanity. Halt was a monster, seeming to delight in the breaking of each new candidate, but for Angela, the guilt ate at her soul.
She heard again the thud of fists on flesh. Her stomach swirled and it was all she could do not to throw up.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
The plain walls of her private quarters offered no answers, only their silent judgement. This was her life, this little white room, the empty double bed, the white dresser and coatrack beside the door. Her woolen fleece hung on the rack, untouched for weeks now.
Staring at it, Angela was taken by an impulse to escape, to leave this place and walk out into the wilderness beyond the facility’s walls. She stood and tore the coat from its rack. Swinging it around her shoulders, she fastened the buttons and pushed open the door.
The corridor outside ran left and right. Left led deeper into the facility, where her laboratory and the prison cells waited. She turned right, moving past the closed doors of the staff living quarters. It was well past midnight, and everyone else would have retired long ago. Only the night guards would be awake.
It only took a few minutes to reach the outer door—a fire exit, but from past excursions she knew there was no alarm attached. The heavy steel door watched her approach, unmoved by her sorrow. Placing her shoulder to it, she gave a hard shove and pulled at the latch.
The sharp screech of unoiled hinges echoed down the corridor, followed by a blast of cold wind.
Clenching her teeth, Angela pushed it wider and slipped out into the darkness. She pulled her coat tighter as a tendril of ice slid down her back, and listened as the door clicked shut behind her. She wasn’t concerned—there were no locks on the outer doors. Out here, break-ins were the least of their worries.
Beyond the light streaming from the facility, night beckoned. Angela sucked in a long breath of mountain air and looked up at the sky. A thousand pinpricks of light dotted the darkness, the full scope of the Milky Way laid bare before her. The pale sliver of a crescent moon cast dim shadows across the rocky ground, where a thin layer of snow dotted the stones.
Shivering, Angela watched her breath mist in the freezing air. It was eerie, staring out into the absolute black. Other than the stars, no light showed beyond the facility. They were far from civilization here, miles into the mountains, as remote as one could be within the Western Allied States.
Staring at the stars, Angela could almost imagine herself a child again. A desperate yearning rose within her, to return to the simplicity of that life, to the warmth of her family ranch.
She sucked in another breath, watching the darkness, imagining the long curves of the hidden mountains. The first snow had arrived a few days ago, heralding the onset of winter. Climatologists were predicting a strong El Niño though, meaning a mild winter.
Standing there in the darkness, with the icy wind biting at her skin, Angela could not help but disagree. This winter would be long and savage, and few at the facility would survive it. Only the strongest would endure.
She hoped the candidates would prove up to the challenge. They had only one chance, one opportunity. Fail now, and the government would end it all.
Bowing her head, Angela turned back to the fire door. She pushed it open and returned to the warm light of the corridor. Once inside, she leaned against the door and slid to the floor.
Just a little longer. She clung desperately to the thought.
Just a little longer, and she could rest, could put this all behind her.
Just a little longer, and she would save the world.
10
Clang.
Liz flinched as the cell door slammed shut behind her, the harsh sound slashing through her self-control. She clenched her fists, fighting to stop the trembling in her body. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to run, to hide, but she sucked in a breath instead, calming her nerves. Cold steel pressed against her throat, a constant reminder of her captivity.
A sharp pain came from her palms as her nails dug into flesh. With a great effort, she unclenched her fists. The breath caught in
her throat, but she swallowed and sucked in another, refusing to give in to her panic. The thick threads of the orange uniform rubbed her skin uncomfortably, though in truth its quality was better than anything she’d scavenged in the past two years.
Liz cast her eyes over her new home. The plain concrete walls matched what she’d glimpsed of the rest of the facility on the short trip from cage to prison cell. The journey had taken less than five minutes, a quick march down long corridors, past open doors and strange rooms filled with glass tubes and steel contraptions. Some she recognized from her boarding school: beakers and test tubes and other things she’d forgotten the names of. But most were beyond her understanding—plastic boxes that hummed and whirred, steel cubes of unknown purpose, containers filled with a strange, gel-like substance.
The guards had ushered them past each room with quick efficiency, leaving no time for questions. Only once had Liz paused, when they’d passed a room apparently used as a canteen. The smell of coffee and burnt toast wafted out, and she’d seen a dozen people sitting around a table, talking quietly. Before Liz could speak, a guard had jabbed the butt of his rifle into the small of her back.
A little gasp had burst from her lips, and several people inside had glanced her way. Several had raised their eyebrows at the sight of her, but a moment later they returned to their conversations. Seeing their indifference, Liz had felt the last of her courage curdle.
From there they’d been led through a thick iron door, into the grim corridor of a prison block. Faces lined the cells to either side of them as they marched past. Wide eyes stared out, their owners no more than children, ranging from around thirteen to twenty years of age.
Now Liz stood in a tiny concrete cell, the iron bars at her back locking her in, sealing her off from the outside world. Two sets of bunk beds had been pushed against the walls on her left and right, while at the rear a toilet and sink were bolted into the floor. Curtains dangled down beside the toilet, presumably to offer some small semblance of privacy.
