by Shanon Hunt
Layla put up a hand to brace herself against the corridor wall. A siren blared in shrill pulses in every direction, no doubt in her honor, so she only took a momentary break before dragging herself down the corridor in search of a stairwell. Someone would surely be surveying the security monitors. Even in the endless sea of white linen, she’d be easy to identify. She had to keep moving.
We’ll burn it.
They had done this to her. They had made her a killer, and they would pay. She had to stay focused.
Up ahead, the symbol of a stick figure climbing some stick stairs glowed under a red security light. Relieved, she took several long awkward strides toward the door, ignoring the excruciating pinch in her groin. As her hand closed around the cold steel stairwell railing, something popped with a twang deep in her lower abdomen. She took two ungainly steps down before she felt warm liquid running down her legs. She clutched the rail with both hands. Pink-tinged fluid was pooling around her bare feet. Her water had broken.
Her hands instinctively flew to her crotch in a vain attempt to stop the progression, but the parasitic monster inside her seemed determined to leave her body. She was no longer of any use to him; she was no longer of any use to the Colony.
In a matter of hours, she would be scrap salvage.
A spark flickered in the most primitive part of her brain, igniting something that flowed through her veins like gasoline, moving through her in a fiery inferno. She was rumbling inside, and she wondered if the monster might simply explode from her.
She threw her head back and howled like a wolf, desperately trying to release the pressure building inside her. The anguish of being enslaved. The self-loathing of being a killer. Her deep, dark revulsion for the thing, the demon parasite, that fed off her body and destroyed her mind.
Breathless, she leaned back, squatting against the top stair. She was drained. So hungry, so sleepy. Her eyes darted up and locked onto her reflection in the bubble mirror. Her face, red and blotchy from crying, was hideously distorted by the curvature. Her eyes were too far apart, her nose wide and flat, her lips deep red and swollen. But that’s not what captivated her.
She awkwardly pushed herself up and took a couple of steps closer to the mirror, opening her heavy eyelids as wide as she could. She didn’t recognize the eyes looking back at her. There was no connection there, no sense of self. She wasn’t looking into the eyes of the woman she’d seen in the mirror every day she could remember.
She was looking into the eyes of a stranger.
“It’s you.” The words came out as a guttural growl. “You’ve taken my soul.”
Movement in the reflection brought her back into the moment.
The stairwell door banged open. “Freeze!”
The guard dropped his gaze to the puddle on the floor, and in that moment, Layla lumbered down the steps, leaning heavily on the railing. She clawed open the door on the lower level, praying it was the kitchen.
It wasn’t.
She recognized the elegant dining tables, the espresso machine against one wall and a dessert table opposite. The far end of the room was demarcated with a wooden banister. This was the physician’s loft.
Heavy footsteps vibrated the stairwell behind her. They were coming for her.
She scuttled to the balcony and peered over the edge. Two stories down—she couldn’t jump. There was no escape except the door she came through, and it would be only another second before it flew open.
She backed up against the wood.
“Don’t move, Layla.” The guard stepped back into a power stance and pulled a gun. Unlike Isaac, he held it with confidence, and she had no idea if it was a stun gun or a tranq gun or an actual handgun.
It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t shoot until he was told to do so by a Colony leader.
She threw a leg over the balcony. Instead of a graceful swing, she misjudged her center of gravity and ended up painfully astride the banister. She cried out and fell forward, crushing her abdomen, and flailed at open space. The only thing that prevented her from falling was her left knee, which hooked the top rail.
She grabbed hold and pulled her second leg over.
“No, no, don’t shoot. You’ll harm the fetus!” A familiar Italian accent preceded the man shoving his way through the guards, who huddled in formation to block the door.
Dr. De Luca froze when he saw her position on the wrong side of the banister. “Layla, what are you doing, bella? Let’s talk this out. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
A trickle of amniotic fluid slipped off the back of one heel and pattered in the darkness below. “Drop the act. You don’t care about me.”
“Of course I care about you. I care about every carrier in the program. You’re like my daughters, miei tesori.” He strode toward her with on hand out. “Let me help you.”
“Bullshit.” She could smell the contents of the syringe in his pocket even before he closed the distance. “Don’t come any closer.”
Fear crossed his face, and his gaze dropped to her belly.
“We’re just vessels for your fetuses. We’re breeding slaves, forced to bear whatever genetically mutated freak you want to mass-produce.”
“Please think about what you’re doing. You’re carrying the future of the human race. That fetus is what will purify the earth. It is a necessary part of a greater whole.”
She adjusted her grip on the railing.
“You don’t understand the big picture,” he continued. “You mustn’t do anything to hurt yourself or the fetus. Your role is so important.”
His eyes were begging her, but it was nothing more than selfish greed.
The fetus, for once, remained silent and unmoving. It knew. It knew she was standing precariously on the edge of death. An unevolved parasite, virulent and deadly, would destroy its own source of survival, but an evolved parasite had a commensal relationship with its host. It benefited as long as it didn’t harm its host. An evolved human parasite might even sense when its host, and therefore its survival, was in danger.
Maybe it even understood Newton’s law of gravity.
The doctor dropped his charade of compassion and tried another angle. “You made a commitment to Eugenesis and the Colony that you would serve its mission. The Colony has made a significant investment in you. We will not allow you to dictate the terms under which you exist, and we will not allow you to endanger the life of that fetus. Step back over the rail, Layla, or you’ll spend the rest of your days behind bars. I’ll make sure of it.”
His ultimatum fell on deaf ears. She could already see her future.
She had failed. The fire that had burned so hot inside her, the one fueling her mission to make Eugenesis pay, had extinguished. The sacrifices of all those women in salvage had been for naught.
She had only one thing they wanted, and once they had it, she would be scrap salvage.
“Fuck Eugenesis, and fuck you. I will not bring another monster into this world.”
Layla released the railing.
55
October 2022, Mexico
“Excuse me, my friends.”
James recognized the Italian accent that interrupted their pre-dinner drinks in the executive lounge of the corporate offices building.
News about Layla. Without looking at the doctor, he shifted his weight to get up, but Stewart put a gentle hand on his arm and locked eyes with him for just a second, a subtle message that anything to do with Layla would not be private.
James gave Dr. De Luca a curt nod as he picked up his martini to hide his discomfort. He needed to keep a poker face no matter what news the doctor came to deliver.
James’s search for Layla in the tunnels had been futile, and he’d reluctantly stepped away to deal with today’s landmine: a surprise visit by senior officials from the Department of Defense Threat Reduction Agency. Just as he and Stewart were making introductions with the military team, he’d received word that Layla had been found and that she’d survived a fall from a second-sto
ry balcony. Stewart, ever concerned about James’s emotional well-being, had insisted that he let the doctors take care of her. They need to work, James. You’ll only be in their way.
But that wasn’t why he stayed away. The unfortunate timing of this DOD inspection was a huge risk, and he wasn’t about to leave these men alone with Stewart to tour the campus. His reversion research team was so close to getting an efficacious dose, they were working overtime. He’d expanded their lab space, which now occupied several rooms on the first floor, and the work would be impossible to conceal if someone with medical training were to poke around the research building.
And if Eugenesis discovered that he had been formulating a therapy to reverse the praefuro mutation, undermining the billions of dollars that went into the praefuro development, he’d be indicted as a traitor and sentenced to death. No prosecution, no trial, and no defendant rights.
Stewart slid next to the doctor and put a collegial hand on his shoulder for the benefit of the four suits at the table. “Alessandro De Luca is the chief physician for the carrier program. His brilliant work has accelerated our praefuro program.”
De Luca flashed them a tight smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. I just wanted to alert Stewart and James that Layla is in good condition in recovery. She shows no signs of injury, thanks to the exceptional coordination of the security team in cushioning her fall.”
Stewart dragged a chair over from another table and gestured for the doctor to have a seat next to Colonel Shaffer, the most senior officer of the group. “And the offspring?”
James fisted his hands under the table. Stewart was trying to trivialize the role of the carrier. He wanted the colonel to perceive the women the way he did, as nothing more than delivery systems for their newest, most destructive weapon.
De Luca took a seat. “The offspring is in the care of our exceptional nursing staff. We harvested the cord tissue successfully and will harvest the brain tissue in the coming days. This specimen will provide dosing for 420 subjects with Layla’s HLA type. They’re prepared and ready for transplant as early as tomorrow.”
Stewart exhaled a dramatic sigh and flopped backward, which James knew was all for show. “What a relief.” He met the eyes of his guests around the table. “We put quite a lot of money and resources into each and every offspring. It’s tragic to lose one, especially due to mental illness of the carrier.” His eyes darted back to James’s for a reaction.
It was a cheap asshole shot. James kept his expression impassive. “Great news, Alessandro.” He refused to let Stewart denigrate Layla’s reputation, but he only had one angle. “Layla is one of our brightest in the praefuro program, a brilliant predator. Her phenotype is exactly what the program is looking for. We’ll need to spend some time with her now that she’s no longer a carrier.”
Stewart slapped his knee. “Yes! James, brilliant idea. Let’s get Layla into the simulation tomorrow.” He raised his hands to the heavens. “Sometimes the planets just line up. I’ve been feeling good about tomorrow’s demonstration, but this—putting our best out there for you to see in action, a real application of the furo model—that’s practically divine intervention.”
Divine intervention, seriously? From a man so vocally atheist that he once called Charles Darwin a mystic. But James was well aware of Stewart’s motives. Stewart didn’t want to show off Layla as much as he wanted to torment James. She’s a furo now. It was a test, like God’s test of Abraham. James was meant to demonstrate his devotion to the vision, to sacrifice Layla as an offering to Eugenesis.
James turned his lips up in a slow grin and nodded as if he were just now clueing into Stewart’s ingenious idea. “Just wait until you see her. She’s incredible.”
“I’ll get it all set up with Eva.” Stewart dropped his eyes to his watch. “Oh, look at the time. I’m going to have to leave you all in the capable hands of James, who’ll be giving you a tour of the campus. He has a real treat to show you—our new senior employee cigar bar is open. I’ve reserved it all evening for us, although James will undoubtedly be burning the midnight oil on the furo training program.”
James felt a flush crawl up his face. This was another squeeze play. Stewart had kept James locked at his side from the moment their plane had landed early this morning, all to prevent him from seeing Layla. He narrowed his eyes at Stewart, who remained gleaming with joy. A power struggle with Stewart right now could compromise their already tenuous relationship. He couldn’t allow an ego-fueled battle of wills to set off alarms, not with the Department of Defense watching their every move.
James rose with his most charming smile. “Well, if you’re ready, gentlemen, let’s get right to it. We’ll start at the purification center, the place where it all began.”
And I’ll see you right after the simulation, beautiful girl, I promise. And I’ll make everything right.
56
October 2022, Mexico
Layla shoved her dinner tray away with such force it slid off the overbed table and crashed to the floor, splattering cream of mushroom soup and chocolate pudding all over the white marble. It was a childish tantrum, but it gave her the tiniest sense of satisfaction. They could all rot in hell, every single one of them: Dr. De Luca, the members of the Eugenesis council, and yes, Bradley James Elliott, liar-in-chief.
She stretched as far as her wrist strap would allow and rubbed her blubbery belly. The fetus was gone, despite her having no memory of giving birth. Of course, given today’s technology, no carrier actually gave birth; fetuses were taken, extracted by robotic arms through the vaginal canal, without the usual childbirth injuries. No pain, no recovery necessary.
At least, that’s what the nurse had explained.
Layla’s response had dripped with bitter derision. Gotta make sure the baby factory slaves are ready to get right back on the horse, hmm?
But the nurse apparently hadn’t noticed because she giggled. That’s right, sweetheart! You’ll be ready for your next implantation before they even saddle up the ol’ mare. She’d giggled again at her addition to the idiom. If Layla hadn’t been strapped to the bed, she would’ve choked the woman until her stupid giggle became a gurgle.
Dr. De Luca had been far less chatty. He hadn’t spoken to Layla at all when he arrived to check her progress.
It wasn’t until he was at the door on his way out that she raised her voice. I want to see James.
James has been informed of the situation. He hadn’t even looked back.
All day, she’d been imagining how that conversation—James being informed—had gone. Had he somberly replied fine, with one of his famous dismissive waves? Or perhaps he’d just shrugged and gone back to schmoozing with Stewart and the latest group of suits. Layla? Who?
She might have cried at the thought if she were still human, but they’d stripped her of every last trace of humanity. Only weeks ago, she’d been a powerful Colony leader. Days ago, she’d been reduced to just another soldier for the greater cause, one of hundreds of carriers. Yesterday, she’d become scrap salvage.
And today? What could be less human than scrap salvage?
She didn’t feel sorry for herself; she felt sorry for failing her mission. This had been her moment to rivet the attention of the powers behind Eugenesis, to foment a rebellion from the inside that might have changed the future. She might have halted the conception of the praefuro army, Vanessa Sykes and the hundreds like her incubated below ground, comatose husks being transformed into the subhuman creature she had now become. She might have burned that underground factory, releasing those victims from a lifetime of misery.
She rolled onto her back to relieve the grating of the cuffs against her raw, chafed wrists just as the door of her infirmary room clicked and swung open.
“What the hell is all this?” Stewart Hammond paused in her doorway and scanned the floor.
“Nurse! Get in here and get this cleaned up. This is not how we run our infirmary.”
“I’m so sorry, sir
.” Nurse Giggles was far less giggly as she dropped to the floor and collected the plastic dishes and tray.
Stewart stepped over the woman and made his way to Layla’s bedside. “Who the hell authorized restraining a leader of the Colony to a goddamn hospital bed?”
“Sir, Dr. De Luca said she might be a threat to—”
“Jesus Christ.” He unstrapped the cuffs and inspected her wrists, gently running his fingertips over them to soothe the burn. “Layla, my dear.”
The nurse hustled out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
Stewart leaned over and gazed deeply into Layla’s eyes, the same gentle way he’d looked at her during her purification, those deep brown eyes drawing her into his aura. His heart. Thank you for coming to us, Layla. Thank you for bringing all the beauty of your impure life to us. You have so much to give.
She averted her eyes to avoid being drawn into the spell. She wasn’t that same submissive, gullible girl anymore. He wasn’t her friend. He was the enemy, just like the rest of them. She should have burned them all.
He gently turned her chin so that she couldn’t avoid him. To her surprise, his eyes were shining, and his mouth spread in a slow, curious grin. “Do you remember the words I said to you, Layla, on the day of your purification?”
Lies. Every word was a lie, you son of a bitch.
“I said that I’d been watching you. And I had. I said I was not disappointed in you, and I wasn’t. I said you’d even surprised me, and to this very day, you continue to surprise me.” He slid a small leather armchair next to her bed without moving his eyes from hers, clasping her hand in both of his tightly enough that she couldn’t yank it away.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgment.
After at least a full minute, he spoke again. “I’ve never been prouder, Layla. You’ve accomplished everything I ever hoped for and more. You are my vision. You’ve made it real.”
