The Genome Project

by Aaron Hodges

Liz glanced from the mirror to Joshua and back. She sought out some sign of the watchers beyond, but the glass showed only the horror on her face. And the boy’s wide eyes, the hardening of his brow, his fists clenching as he faced her.

  Whatever her own thoughts, Joshua had clearly already made up his mind.

  Only if you’re human. Ashley’s words from their midnight conversation returned to her.

  They weighed on Liz’s soul as she watched Joshua, saw his muscles tensing. In that moment, she knew in her heart that she too would do whatever was necessary to survive.

  The fear had already fallen from Joshua’s face. His eyes weighed her up. A smile spread across his lips as he realized his chances of victory were high. There was no question who the doctors expected to survive.

  He stepped towards her, and Liz quickly retreated. She studied him as they circled one another, searching for a weakness. It was easy to see she could not match his strength, but she was light on her feet and hoped he might prove overconfident. After two years on the streets, wandering between towns and cities, Liz was no stranger to a fight.

  Yet with the padded walls ringing her in, there would be no room to run if she made a mistake. If he caught her in his long arms, it would all be over. Though his capacity for murder was yet to be tested, she had no desire be at his mercy.

  She certainly would not be giving him any second chances.

  Joshua gave a shout and leapt towards her, eating up the space between them in a single stride. Liz twisted as he came for her, jumping backwards to avoid his flailing arms, and smiled as he staggered past. Despite his greater size, the boy was no fighter.

  Maybe she had a chance after all.

  Joshua came to a stop near the wall and spun to face her. A wicked scowl crossed his face. Liz swallowed hard and braced herself.

  Raising her fists, she nodded. “Let’s get this over with then.”

  A low growl came from Joshua as he started forward again, his footsteps controlled now, each movement carefully measured. Liz spread her feet wide and slid one foot backwards, readying herself. She had no intention of letting him get close enough to grab her, but he needed to be a little closer yet.

  As Joshua took another step, she screamed and hurled herself forward. His eyes widened, but close as they were, he had no time to react. Liz slammed her fist into the center of his chest, aiming for the solar plexus.

  Air exploded between the boy’s teeth and he staggered backwards, a half-choked groan rattling from his throat. The color fled his face as he clutched his chest, mouth wide and gasping.

  Watching his distress, Liz hesitated, guilt welling within her. Joshua hadn’t been expecting her to fight back, certainly not with such sudden violence. But as he bent in two, wheezing in the cold air, she knew she could not spare him. If he recovered, he would not fall for the same trick twice.

  Doubled over, Joshua’s head provided the perfect target. Liz clasped her hands together and brought them down on the back of his head.

  Joshua’s legs buckled and he slammed into the ground without a sound. His arms splayed out on either side of him and a muffled groan came from his mouth. Relief swept through Liz at the sound—at least she hadn’t killed him. Maybe they would allow him to live. After all, they couldn’t have expected her to win this matchup.

  Turning to the one-way mirror, she raised an eyebrow in question. As she did, Joshua’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the leg.

  Liz screamed as fingers like steel closed around her ankle and yanked, sending her crashing to the ground. The shock of the fall drove the breath from her lungs, and she gasped, struggling to breathe. Pain shot through her ankle as the fingers squeezed. Cursing, she kicked out with her foot, but Joshua surged forward and caught it in his other hand.

  Panic clutched Liz’s stomach as she fought to break his grip. Sucking in a lungful of air, she tried to roll away, but his hands held her like iron shackles. However hard she strained, they refused to give. Joshua’s teeth flashed as his lips drew back in a grin.

  In a sudden rush, he dragged her across the floor, pulling himself up as he did so. He released her, but before she could squirm free, Joshua’s weight crashed down on her chest, pinning her down.

  Hands fumbled at her throat, fingernails tearing at her skin.

  Liz lashed out with a fist, catching Joshua in the side of the head. He reeled sideways, but his weight did not shift and she failed to break free.

  Recovering his balance, Joshua snarled and raised a fist. Liz raised her arm in time to deflect the blow, but a scream tore from her lips as it glanced from her shoulder. She swung at him again, but there was no strength in the blow this time and it bounced weakly off his chin.

  Liz was not so lucky.

  Stars exploded across her vision as Joshua’s fist connected with her forehead. Her head thudded back into the soft ground. Distantly, she thought how considerate it was for the doctors to have provided a padded floor while their prisoners beat each other to death. Then another blow slammed into her jaw, and the fight went from her in a sudden rush. Darkness spun at the edges of Liz’s vision.

  Cold fear spread through her stomach as a tentative hand wrapped around her neck. She sucked in a breath as the pressure closed around her throat. Panicked, she stared up at Joshua, silently pleading for mercy.

  Joshua stared back, his eyes hard, lips drawn back in a snarl, teeth clenched in rage. Whoever he’d been before entering this room, that Joshua was long gone. He’d been burned away, the innocence of the boy replaced by anger, by bitter hatred, by the desperation to live.

  Fire grew in Liz’s chest, willing her to action. She kicked feebly, trying to maneuver herself into a position to attack. But his weight was far beyond her strength to lift. Before she could struggle further, he lifted her head and slammed it back into the ground. Despite the spongy surface, Liz’s vision spun.

  She opened her mouth, gasping in desperation, but the pressure did not relent and she managed only a whisper of a breath. Darkness filled the edges of her vision as every muscle in her body began to scream. Bit by bit her strength slipped away, replaced by the endless burning of suffocation.

  On top of her, Joshua leaned closer, eyes wide with vicious intent.

  In that moment, Liz saw her opening.

  He was so close, just inches away. She could not miss. With the last of her strength, she clenched her fist and drove it up into Joshua’s throat. The steel rim of the collar bit into her knuckles, but behind it, she felt something give, something fracture with the force of her blow.

  The pressure around her throat vanished as Joshua toppled backwards. A low gurgling echoed off the walls as he gasped, his hands going to his own neck, his legs thrashing against the soft floor.

  Liz sucked in glorious breath, her throat aching from the icy air. She struggled to her hands and knees, still coughing and wheezing. Her head swirled and the room spun, but she dug her nails into the spongy floor and willed herself to remain conscious.

  Get up, Liz!

  Slowly, Liz pulled herself to her feet and stood swaying in the center of the room. The white lights burned her eyes, blinding her, but she clenched her fists, and by sheer will stayed upright.

  She looked down at Joshua, bracing herself to continue the fight. Her stomach lurched when she saw him.

  Joshua no longer moved, no longer thrashed, no longer breathed. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide and staring, but the boy within was gone. His face was a mottled white and purple, the veins of his neck bulging, and a black bruise was already spreading from beneath his collar.

  Joshua lay dead at her feet.

  Tears ran from Liz’s eyes as she sank to the ground.

  The darkness came rushing up to meet her.

  17

  Chris watched as William staggered upright, his heart sinking at the thought of fighting another round with the sickly boy. To his relief, William’s strength failed him, and he toppled forward, landing with an undignified thud on the padded floor
.

  Closing his eyes, Chris let out a long sigh.

  It’s over.

  The thought was scant comfort. In the end, it hadn’t been much of a fight. William was tall and had long arms, but there was not a scrap of muscle on him. And he had never quite recovered from that first day on the field. Young and inexperienced, he had attacked Chris first, but his heart had never been in it, and Chris had easily deflected his clumsy blows.

  Crossing his arms, Chris had looked at the glass, and shaken his head in defiance.

  A harsh beep had come from his collar, followed by a bolt of electricity that sent Chris to his knees. Gasping, he reached for his throat, but the shock had already ceased.

  The voice had come again as Chris regained his feet.

  “That was your only warning. Engage with your opponent, or forfeit your life.”

  Out of options, Chris had obeyed. Despite their captor’s command, Chris had held back, pulling his blows where he could. But as the fight progressed, William had grown desperate, fighting harder, and Chris had been forced to act.

  A kick to William’s head had sent him reeling, and he’d never recovered.

  Now Chris waited, guilt eating at his stomach, curdling the measly remnants of his breakfast. He stared into the mirrored glass, struggling to pierce the reflection, to find the faces of their tormentors. Whoever they were, Chris hated them with a violence he had not thought himself capable of.

  The door behind William opened with the whisper of oiled hinges. Two guards entered, followed by a woman in a white lab coat. His heart lurched—but then he realized the woman was not Fallow. One of the guards checked on William, while the other approached Chris, gesturing him back against the wall.

  Once the doctor was satisfied both prisoners were secure, she strode across the room to the fallen boy. A wireless headset was wrapped around her left ear, half hidden by the curls of her auburn hair. She spoke as she moved, transmitting observations to whoever was on the other end. In one hand, she carried a sleek steel instrument.

  Chris shivered as he recognized the jet injector, identical to the one Fallow had used on him the night he’d been taken.

  The doctor crouched beside William, still talking into her headset. The boy was on his hands and knees, struggling to find his balance. The woman laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Subject is still conscious. He appears to be suffering from a concussion. Assessment?”

  A low groan came from William as he turned towards the woman. “Wha…what happened?”

  Chris closed his eyes, guilt welling within him. He had seen these same symptoms in his Taekwondo Dojang, when younger fighters got carried away sparring without wearing their head guards. Still, he didn’t think he’d hit William that hard, just enough to take the fight out of him.

  The doctor was nodding to the voice in her ear. “Affirmative. There would be no purpose in resuming the fight. Administering the injection.”

  Before Chris could react, the woman leaned down and pressed the jet injector to William’s neck. The hiss of gas followed as the vial attached to the gun emptied. Quickly, she withdrew the gun, stood, and retreated across the room.

  Still on the ground, William raised a hand to his neck in bewilderment.

  The woman watched on, her face impassive, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her elbow.

  Whatever had been in the injection did not take long to work. Chris stood frozen in place as William started to cough. Then, without warning, his eyes rolled back in his skull. A violent shudder went through him as he took a desperate gasp, as though he were sucking air through a straw. He bent over, groaning, his mouth moving as though he were trying to speak. Wild eyes flickered around the room, pleading for help.

  The spell broke as Chris’s gaze met William’s. He started forward, but the outstretched arm of a guard barred his way. Before Chris could slip past, the man grasped him by the shirt and tossed him back against the wall. The pads broke the impact, but Chris staggered as he landed and barely kept his feet.

  He looked up in time to see William pitch face-first into the ground, a low moan marking his final exhalation of breath. His feet kicked for a second longer, then stilled. Silence fell across the room as the guard stepped back from Chris and faced the doctor.

  The woman crouched again beside William. She touched a finger to his neck, then gave a curt nod.

  “Subject has expired. Subject Christopher Sanders is cleared for advancement.” The words were spoken without emotion, as though she were discussing the weather.

  “Why?” Chris screamed.

  The woman looked up quickly, her eyes widening. The guards edged forwards, placing themselves between Chris and the doctor.

  “Why?” Chris said again, taking another step.

  The woman’s surprise faded, though her eyes flickered to the guards before she addressed him. “He was weak. He would not have survived Phase Two. This was the humane option.”

  “Humane?” Chris clenched his fists. “He was helpless!”

  “Because of his concussion, he passed without knowing what was happening,” The doctor spoke with a calm efficiency, as though explaining something to a child.

  A wild anger took Chris then, an impossible rage that swept away all caution. He leapt without thinking, fingers reaching for the woman’s throat. The guards raced to intercept him, but Chris never made it that far.

  Agony tore through his neck, spreading instantly to his every muscle, taking his feet out from under him. He screamed as he struck the ground, and felt the pain of a thousand needles stabbing him. His head thumped against something solid as a convulsion rippled through him. The reek of burning flesh reached his nostrils and his back arched.

  When the agony finally ceased, he found himself staring up at the ceiling. The bright light sliced through his skull, and he quickly closed his eyes again.

  Movement came from nearby, followed by a voice. “Try that again, and we will find someone else to take your place.”

  Chris opened his eyes to find the woman standing over him. She held a finger over her watch, a ready smile twisting her lips.

  He nodded, swallowing hard as the collar pressed against his throat.

  “This is for the greater good, Christopher,” the doctor continued. “Without us, you would already be dead. At least here, we have given you a fighting chance. Trust me when I say the government interrogators are not nearly as humane.”

  She stood then, waving a hand at the guards. “Get him up.”

  Rough hands grasped Chris beneath his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled as they held him, struggling to control his legs. They jerked and twitched, refusing to obey, but eventually he got them firmly on the ground. Even so, the guards did not release him, perhaps knowing from experience how unstable he was.

  “Bring him,” the woman said as she turned and opened the door.

  Chris’s gaze lingered on the dead boy as the guards dragged him from the room. William still lay where he had fallen, still and silent, eyes wide and staring from the lifeless husk of his body.

  Then they were outside, marching back down long white corridors. Distantly, Chris thought they were heading for the cells, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. His mind was elsewhere, locked away in the room with William, the dead eyes still staring at him.

  It’s your fault. The thought ate at him.

  William had never stood a chance. The minute they’d entered the room, the boy’s life had been forfeit. These people had known it, had wanted it to happen.

  Doors slammed as they moved deeper into the facility. He knew where they were heading now, that he would soon find himself back in the tiny cell. The others would be waiting for him. And they would know, would see the truth in his eyes.

  That he was a killer.

  18

  The steel door to the prison block appeared ahead, the guards outside already opening it. In a blink, Chris and his captors were through, and they were marching him dow
n the rows of cells. Only a few faces remained now to watch Chris’s return.

  On first glimpse, Chris thought his cell was empty. He felt a second’s relief, that he might not yet have to face the accusations of his cellmates, but as the guard drew the door open, he glimpsed movement from Liz’s bed. Her haggard face poked into view, and she watched in grim silence as the guards propelled Chris inside.

  Steel screeched behind him, followed by the clang of the locking mechanism. Footsteps retreated down the corridor, fading until another clang announced the guards’ departure from the prison block.

  Standing there, Chris’s legs began to shake. Gasping, he gripped the metal bar of his bunk, struggling to stay upright. He closed his eyes, waiting for Liz to speak, to hurl her accusations.

  You killed him.

  The words screamed in his mind, but Liz remained silent. Only the distant whisper of other prisoners could be heard. He took a deep breath, tasting the bleach in the air, the blood from a cut on his lip.

  “Are you okay?” He jumped as Liz finally spoke.

  He looked up then, finding Liz’s big eyes watching him, and saw his own pain reflected in their sapphire depths. She sat on her bunk, knuckles white as she gripped the metal sidebar. Her eyes shone, and a single tear streaked her cheek.

  “No.” Chris’s shoulders slumped. “You?”

  She shook her head, looked away, but he had seen the guilt in her eyes. The truth hung over the room like a blanket, smothering them.

  They were alive. And that could only mean one thing.

  Chris took a better grip of his bunk and hauled himself up. Crawling across the sagging mattress, he collapsed into his pillow. Then he turned and saw Liz still watching him. Her lips trembled. There was no sign of the proud, defiant girl he’d first seen in the cages. The last few days, last few hours, had broken her.

  Broken us both, a voice reminded him.

  Chris pushed himself up and twisted to face Liz. “Did you…?” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t finish the question.

  Her crystal eyes found his. “Yes,” she whispered.