by Helen Scott
I almost fall forward, but catch myself on the cage.
Her eyes are a strange blue that borders on purple. They draw me in, and images flash in my mind of these same eyes haunting my dreams night after night. They’re innocent, and yet, the eyes meld with screams of pain, blood, and death. For a minute, I can’t stop the images, the screaming that courses through my mind, tearing at my very soul, and those eyes of hers.
And then she looks away.
I’m panting as I shake my head, trying to clear the nightmares from my mind.
“What do you see, Phoenix?”
Again, I shake my head. Even though he stands behind me, I can practically feel him glowering. I know his mouth is drawn into a thin line of annoyance, and yet, I’m one of the few people he allows to behave this way. He knows how important it is not to distract me, even though he always does.
“We need to know more,” I finally say.
She studies me and her eyes hold suspicion. Not that I blame her. The energy around her shifts and swirls as it reflects her indecision.
“Please,” I implore, “it’s important.”
Her arms curl around her, drawing her knees to her chest, and I sense her vulnerability. Or maybe I don’t sense it at all. Maybe it’s something I’ve seen in my mind, because I already know the nightmares that have been torturing me revolve around her.
“There was a lot of blood. A lot of death. And the screaming…”
Her expression changes, and her energy seems to freeze for a moment before it changes yet again. “There was. Most of their test subjects died. And their deaths weren’t…peaceful.”
“But you survived?”
Her eyes close and her arms squeeze around her knees again. “I guess I did.”
“And the others.” I nod to the cages. “They aren’t like you. Right?”
More flashes enter my mind. Of creatures. Terrifying creatures. Not human. Not supernatural. Something else. Something dangerous.
“How do you know that?” Suspicion creeps into her voice.
Her energies shift again, and I sense that I’m losing her, so I switch tactics. “Can you tell me your name?”
She lifts a brow. “If you don’t know, you must not be one of the cabal.”
“Cabal?”
She shivers. “The scientists.”
“Definitely not.”
“But you’re not…good, either.”
I stare at her. How do I answer that? Of course I’m not good. My life revolves around killing or being killed.
“What makes you say that?”
Again, something stretches between us, but this time it’s stronger. I try not to show my reaction, but my heart races. This feeling…I’ve only ever felt it with the other men. This connection forged by doing something dangerous, by doing something reckless.
“My name’s Dani.” The words come out on a rush of breath. “But for so long I was just experiment six-two-nine-one. I haven’t been referred to by my name in so long that it feels strange on my tongue.”
“Dani.” I take a deep breath, focusing on her real name and not her number. “Did…did the cabal make you drink blood?”
I hear the Prez inhale sharply behind me, but my gaze is consumed by this woman. By her every breath. I’m desperately trying to lock down on the warning screaming in my mind, but I think she feels my panic.
Her gaze darts between the Prez and I.
“Answer him,” he barks behind me.
Silently, I curse. Give her time.
Her eyes meet mine, and I feel her terror as she looks back at me. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not like they were the most communicative bunch.”
And with those words, everything changes.
5
Dani
Just the thought of having been given someone else's blood as part of an experiment makes me nauseous. What the hell is that even about?
These men in front of me aren't part of the cabal. They certainly aren't scientists. Even though that’s a little judgey of me to think, I don't care. They’re standing there in their leather, their torn t-shirts and jeans, grease, beards... There is nothing about them that says science or laboratory. I’m sure they have talents, but I don't think, at least for these two, that they are based in the sciences.
The man who came in later, Phoenix, is strange. When I make eye contact with him, it feels like he’s peeling back the layers of my consciousness like an onion. I can almost feel him in my head when we watch each other, feel him rooting around in my memories, stirring up shit I want to forget.
"Tell me why you signed up for something like that," the older man demands.
I glare at the patch on his leather vest that reads "President".
"No. It's personal and has nothing to do with what they did to me while I was there." I grind the words out, fighting to keep those memories pushed down where they belong. Lock them tight in a box in my mind that I've tried to bury under everything else.
"But it might explain why they picked you," Phoenix says quietly.
I know these men aren't necessarily the good guys. I mean, they still have me in a cage after all, but they seem to be better than the cabal. That fact isn't enough to make me bare my soul to them though.
"Fine," Prez says, one of his hands circling around the bars of my cage like he wishes it was my neck. "Don't answer, but you won't get any food until you tell us." He scowls at me some more.
They’re cute, in a way. Like I'd been fed every day by the cabal? Not so much. I'd been given nutrients, occasionally fed, but my stomach is more used to being empty these days than it is being full. I don't understand why they didn't feed us, but it seemed like they wanted us weak, as though depriving us of food kept our energy levels low and kept us pliable. Which, for the most part, was true.
What they didn't expect was that some of the test subjects would lose their shit and attack anyone who came near them, biting off chunks of arm, ear, neck, whatever they could sink their teeth into. It was like we were in some weird future version of Jamestown. Watching the other prisoners, sorry, test subjects, chow down on some long pig was enough to make me turn away from the small window in my door and never look out again unless I absolutely had to.
Whenever I heard a commotion, I always hid away, not even glancing in the direction of the window.
That little window had been my only break from the four white walls of my cell, though, and after a while, if things were calm, I let myself peek out once more. It never lasted long though. The experiments that were being run on us were not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.
As much as I want to spill my guts and explain everything that happened to these two men who are standing in front of me threatening my life, I can’t. Reliving that is more than I can handle. Living it once is more than I can handle, in all honesty, but it isn't like I have anything else to do in here. Hell, actual prisoners in actual prisons get better treatment than the test subjects did.
We never got to leave our cells unless it was while we were being manhandled by the beasts that the cabal had already created, and even then it was just for the short walk to the chair or table where the experiments were performed. There was nothing else for me to do except mentally work myself through it and keep myself sane. That simple task had nearly been too much for me to accomplish anyway.
Finally, when the president realizes that I’m not going to react or beg, he storms out of the room. Phoenix, however, does not. There’s something different about him, something that makes my chest ache whenever I look at him for an extended period of time. I feel...drawn to him somehow, like we have something in common, but I don't know what it is yet.
"You need to talk to the Prez," he says eventually, although he keeps his voice low as though he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he has to say. "The more you piss him off, the worse it will be for you. Just tell him what he wants to know and we can help you."
I scoff. These boys really are full of themselves. "You
think I'm scared of starving? You think they treated me like a princess in there?" I snarl at him. "They treated me like exactly what they thought I was: a test subject. Nothing more, nothing less. Hell, they treated us worse than any other test subjects I'm aware of. There were rats in my college psychology class that were treated better than we were, and that's not an exaggeration. What you and your Prez don't seem to get is that I have nothing, no one. Kill me. I literally don't care. I have nothing to lose." I start hacking and coughing then, as though speaking so much has worn my throat out. The water bottle still has a little left in it and I guzzle that down, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid on my fried vocal cords.
"Just tell me something I can tell the Prez, and I can talk him into getting you some food," Phoenix pleads with me.
"Why do you want to know so bad?" I ask.
"It's our job. It's our mission."
"Rescuing test subjects?" I raise an eyebrow at him before trying to drain the last couple of drops of water I can still see in the bottle.
"Saving people-- yeah." He was going to say something else before he cut himself off.
"Why do they need saving?" I ask, playing along even though my voice is getting croaky.
"There are bad people in the world, as you well know. There are monsters that want to hurt others for no real reason. We try to stop that from happening. We...color outside the lines in terms of getting the job done."
"You’re guns for hire?"
"Not for hire. We have a very specific goal."
"The monsters?" I clarify. He gives one nod. My mind whirls. Does he mean monsters like the ones the cabal are creating or are there other kinds? Ones I don't know about? It seems likely given everything I've seen under the cabal's tender ministrations. "Worse than those half-man half-animal things the cabal created?" I ask.
His head tilts to the side and his eyes take on a far-away look, like he’s having a private conversation with someone I can’t hear or see. Maybe he’s a sandwich short of a picnic, but I doubt it. Whatever makes him look like that gives him an edge, gives him insights no one should have. "The cabal created them? They weren't beast-like before?"
I shake my head. "They were just guys, then after a few of the experiments some of them would turn into those...things. Then they became like security guards or something." I don't want to think about them anymore, think about what their transformation was like or what happened if they didn't survive the transformation. A shudder runs through my body and I look up at Phoenix, mentally pleading with him to not ask any more.
"Let me see if I can get you some more water and maybe a roll or something. I'm sure if Prez has calmed down I can talk him into it, but you have to promise to try and answer more of his questions." He pauses and sighs deeply. "If you think we're just trying to pry into your past, we're not. We will use the information you give us to help others."
"Why I signed up won't tell you any of that. I don't know why your boss has such a hard-on about it."
"He wants to prevent it from happening."
"It's not like it's the flu," I say, thinking about my own experience. Nothing could have prevented me from joining, from taking that chance.
"He thinks it could help us stop other people from being taken."
"You can't stop people from going somewhere they want to go," I reply quietly, not meeting his eyes. The man sees too much, and right now I want to keep my secrets to myself.
A moment later, his footsteps track toward the door before fading down the hallway. How can I trust these men with something so personal when they won’t even let me out of a cage?
6
Dani
I think I dozed off. I’m not sure. But when I wake up, I’m in a panic. My body slides along the bottom of the cage, and then an arm is wrapped around my throat. I drag in one last gasp of air, and then…nothing. I can’t breathe. The bars cut into my back and the creature behind me bites into my throat and rips. A small scream wheezes out of me as blood spurts from my throat, soaking my neck and shoulder.
The sickening sound of the creature chewing comes to my ear, and the edges of my vision start to darken. A strange thought echoes through my mind. That after everything, this is how I’m going to die. In a cage, being eaten by another prisoner.
And then a man races into the room. At first I don’t recognize him, too out of it to see him for who he is. The door slams against the wall, and his hazel eyes are wild as they lock onto me.
I expect him to shoot the bastard who has me, like the Prez. But he doesn’t. He leaps across the room, throws back the door to the cage behind me, and suddenly the arms around me are torn away. I gasp in deep breaths and scramble away from the bars of my neighbor’s cage.
My gaze swings to the man I now see is Crash. He has the crazed creature trapped beneath him on the floor. His fists slam into its face over and over again. I almost warn him not to bother, I almost tell him that being punched will only slow them down, but my words die on my tongue. His fists must be made of steel, because each blow sends blood flying. I hear the sound of bones crunching and cracking, and the flesh of the creature’s face changes, like every bone has been turned to dust.
My attacker is dead. I’m one hundred percent sure.
But that doesn’t stop Crash. He keeps punching and punching and punching.
I’m shaking. I curl my arms around my knees once more. I’ve seen so many bad things. Terrible experiments. But this man isn’t like them.
And yet he’s just as dangerous.
When he finally stops, he’s breathing hard. He climbs off of the mass of bloody flesh and turns to me. His hands are covered in blood, but I can’t tell what is the creature’s, and what belongs to him. More blood splatters his chest and even his dark shirt.
I try to push myself back further, but there’s nowhere else I can go.
He walks across the room, disappearing from my view, and I hear him rummaging around for something. When he comes back, he carefully closes the cage beside me on the sleeping experiments and kneels down and opens my own door.
My heart races. I squeeze my eyes closed, expecting to feel those fists crashing against my own face. Instead, I hiss in pain as something stings the wound at my throat. My eyes flash open, and I realize he’s cleaning the bite.
“Human mouths are disgusting,” he says, his voice a hiss of anger.
He has a kit on the floor by his feet, and my gaze moves from it to his face. For a man who just went nuts on a semi-human, he has a beautiful face. Is this man fucking Lucifer? A fallen angel? I don’t know his name, so I name him Lucifer in my mind. His hair is long and wavy, shaggier on the top than on the sides, almost like he’s trying to grow it out. He has oddly high cheekbones for a man, and if not for the scar through his brow and the short beard, he might be too beautiful to be a man. But somehow it all works together.
“I’ll need to stitch this up or it’ll leave a scar.”
“I don’t care about scars.”
He stiffens when I speak, and those intense eyes of his meet mine. “Well, I’m stitching you up anyway, so deal with it.”
I bite my lip, and he gets out a needle and medical thread. When he brings it to my flesh, he sets his other hand on my bare shoulder. I expect to feel a rush of pain as the needle presses into me, but for some reason, I’m only aware of this man and the heat of his hands.
Which is strange.
After all the scientists’ tests, my natural instinct has been to flinch when anyone comes near me. And yet, after watching this man kill someone, I like his hands on my body.
If I survive this, I’m going to need so much therapy.
I feel a bandage press against my wound, and suddenly his touch is gone. But the heat of his touch remains even after. I don’t know if it’s because he’s handsome and intriguing, or if it’s because it’s been so long since someone touched me in a gentle way, but my heart aches in the most unexpected way. I open my eyes slowly, and that wildness in his gaze has changed.<
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But then he turns, grabs the medical kit and trash, and heads back out of my cage, locking the door behind him. I watch him until he disappears from view, then comes back with the kit and trash gone.
“Stay away from the other prisoners.”
“Yeah, I’ll try. Since I have so much room.”
Crash kneels down in front of my cage. “I said stay away from them. Do you fucking hear me?”
I stiffen, images of him beating the creature come back to me. “Yeah.”
He stands again. “I’ll send someone to deal with that pile of human flesh.”
He’s almost to the door when I say, “I wouldn’t call him human.”
I think he hesitates, but maybe I’m wrong. But I do know I’m alone again.
And I can’t help but wonder what my attacker’s number was. How close was I to receiving the same tests that turned him into that...thing? I push the thought away. Instead, my mind turns to the men I’ve met since I woke up here. I’m pretty sure these guys are crazy. Just a different kind of crazy than the scientists.
So shouldn’t I be more afraid?
7
Crash
I don't know what has drawn me to the prison, but then that’s par for the course for my life since I'd joined the Immortal Hunters. I'd known I would gain a skill when--if--I passed my initiation, but I'd expected something more overt, like Phoenix's visions or Striker's touch.
But I didn't get that. Oh, no.
No, what I got was a gut feeling occasionally that I needed to go somewhere or do something.
The thing is, it always works out. This time, it saves the life of the woman who seems to have everyone's attention. What that thing had been that was chewing on her shoulder and neck, I’m not sure, but I know it’s nothing like anything I've seen before. And I've seen a lot of fucked-up shit, both human and supernatural.
Whatever we've brought back from that lab isn't right. Hell, we should have suspected something when they started dying on us for no reason, but things like that have happened before. When the Prez had to shoot one in the head, though? That should have been an indicator that something is way off here.
