by Isobel Hart
From what I recalled, we were five hours ahead of New York in London – assuming I was still somewhere near London – so at a quarter to eleven I stood and opened the door to my room, half expecting it to have been locked. It wasn’t. Edward was sitting outside the door, his back propped against the wall.
“What are you doing here?”
“Guarding you.”
“From whom?”
“From everyone.”
I laughed. “Who would want to bother with me?”
“You have no idea,” he said, his voice flat as he looked at me. He peered at me more closely; “You really don’t, do you?” I shook my head. “The men want you for themselves, and the women just hate that you’re pregnant before them. You’re not safe here.”
“I’m already pregnant. Why would the other men want me now?”
“All our men want to be among the first to succeed in producing the next generation. It’s hugely important to us. Most women seem to be reproductively hostile so far. It makes you very special. A prize.”
“Thanks, but I’m not really interested in being your brood mare.” I sighed. “I’m not safe anywhere now, am I? You made sure of that.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. Genuinely. I wish things could have been different.”
“Yeah, me too.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “Listen, I want to watch that interview before I go to bed. I want to see what they’re saying. Are you going to try to stop me?”
“No, of course not, but . . .”
“What?”
“They’re out there.” He nodded towards the lounge. “Some of them prefer to do it as a group.”
“Do what?” I walked towards the lounge area, Edward close on my shoulder. I stopped when I reached the doorway of the lounge. It was an orgy. I didn’t think myself a prude – I mean, I liked sex, particularly when it was done well – but this was way beyond my personal comfort zone. Those who weren’t actively participating on the large daybed were watching, touching themselves. Ella had pride of place in the middle, three men in bed with her.
“You might want to tell them you can’t get pregnant putting it there,” I muttered, squaring my shoulders as I put my head up and walked past the scene.
“Edward, come and join us,” Ella called as Edward shadowed me.
I wanted to slap her, again. “Really? He’s knocked you back publicly once already tonight, are you going to make him do it again? Do you have no pride?” One of the girls in the room sniggered; It appeared I wasn’t the only person who wasn’t all that keen on Ella.
“Come on, Sam, the interview is about to start,” Edward said, pulling me past the bed. “Ignore her.”
I scowled, as she sat there unashamedly naked, her eyes willing Edward to fuck her. My palm itched. It was the sound of the television from the corridor beyond that reminded me of my priorities, and gave me the strength to walk away.
In the hallway, I headed towards the origin of the television noise, which thankfully overwhelmed the sounds from the orgy. I had no doubt Ella was putting on the show of her life, determined to make Edward believe he might be missing out.
I looked at Edward. The old version would never have been able to say no to a girl like Ella, if offered. This Edward was looking at me.
“What?” he said when he caught me staring.
“Nothing.”
He smiled and grabbed my hand as we entered an already crowded room.
“Edward, Sam, just in time,” Richard said from the front. “I saved you both seats.” A path opened up for us to shuffle through. “Samantha, sit here,” Richard said, patting the seat beside him. Edward manoeuvred me aside so I ended up beside Tara instead, placing himself in the seat next to Richard’s. “As I said before, share nicely Edward,” Richard muttered.
“Hi,” Tara said brightly, I smiled, but was prevented from saying more when the introductory music for the news programme started and our attention was drawn to the screen.
“Good evening and welcome,” the anchor-man said. I recognised him, a seasoned news pro for more than a decade. They’d pulled out the big guns for this interview. “Tonight we have the first interview with Aiden Parrish, the self-proclaimed leader of the Homo Evolutis species. They’re the group known to represent the men who’ve been altered by the virus that arrived in the fog.” The camera shifted to focus on an extraordinarily handsome man. He possessed a wicked combination of chiselled cheekbones and a strong jaw, all enhancing naturally fair hair that had been swept neatly over to one side, framing bright blue eyes. He looked like a poster boy for the US military, and the kind of man most mothers dreamt their daughter would bring home. The women in the room unanimously sighed with pleasure – I could almost hear the eggs popping out of their ovaries.
“I’d make babies with him any day,” Tara whispered, echoing the thoughts of almost every woman in the room.
“Wait and see if you still feel like that after you hear what he has to say,” I whispered back, returning my focus to the screen. A second individual was being introduced. A woman – the interviewer named her as Doctor Reynolds. She looked severe and professional, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, not her usual choice of attire judging by the way she pulled repeatedly at the hem of her skirt.
Richard leant over. “Who is that?” he said to Edward. “What happened to Henman?” Edward shrugged.
The camera panned away as the presenter introduced some of the background to the discussion; showing pictures of the fog, citing earlier reports of how the virus had been initially identified as having arrived in the fog, and how activated virus had most recently been found in ten percent of male samples taken. I gasped at the figure.
Richard leant across Edward. “I think it’s safe to say that’s an underestimation.” He smiled. “Our own people calculate we’re running closer to thirty percent, and that number’s believed to be rising rapidly. We estimate we’ll reach an excess of sixty percent saturation in about six weeks, maybe sooner depending how this goes.”
I stared at him, unable to speak for several seconds. “That can’t be achieved naturally. You must be killing people to achieve a conversion of that rate.” Richard smiled at me. My earlier meal turned over in my stomach.
“Mr Parrish,” the presenter began again, pulling my attention back to the screen.
“Aiden, please,” Parrish interrupted with a smile. He appeared depressingly presentable. I knew that would be enough for most people in this “spin over substance” society. You only had to look at our elected politicians to know that pretty liars won out most of the time over the honest but ugly.
“Aiden,” the presenter began again, with a warm smile. “Tell us about the Homo Evolutis species. What are you, and where did you come from?”
“Thank you for inviting me, Robert.” Aiden Parrish’s voice oozed with practised sincerity. “It’s simple really. Homo Sapiens literally means ‘intelligent man’. Homo Evolutis means higher existence. It was originally thought this next evolution would come about as a result of the way humans incorporated new technologies, but the virus acted as a more immediate trigger. We’re a peaceful group of men who’ve been fundamentally altered by the recent fog virus – given birth to by it, if you like. It wasn’t by choice. It just happened to be a selection of us that were affected. In every respect we’re just like any other minority group. We want people to know about us because otherwise they’ll fear us, and with fear comes repression and persecution. The media’s been doing a good job of stirring up the masses and vilifying us to create a tide of hatred against our people. We’re just trying to show the other side – seeking to put a face to our kind. We want to show we’re just like them, we’re trying to ensure we’re not oppressed by others who, in their ignorance, wish to penalise us for our differences. We want to live our lives as peacefully as we can, grateful for the fact that life is still life, and it’s always precious.”
Doctor Reynolds snorted at that comment, in perfect harmony with one of my own. I cheered m
entally.
“Thank you,” the presenter said, directing a scowl towards Doctor Reynolds. “We’ll come to you for comment in a moment, Dr Reynolds.”
She sat back in her chair, looking sullen.
“Please continue, Mr Parrish.”
“Well, as I was saying, we represent a group of men who currently have no other voice. But we’re not a threat.”
Doctor Reynolds snorted again, this time louder. “Really, Dr Reynolds,” Parrish said, his hands out in a placating manner, “I know you find this hard to believe, but we do just want to live our lives peacefully. We value the people in our lives, and the women who choose to share their lives with us are even more special. We worship them.”
Doctor Reynolds couldn’t contain herself any longer, leaning forward with her finger wagging. “You, sir, are a liar.” Her hand trembled with suppressed rage. She gave up trying to hold back her fury. “Can you explain to the people watching how it is that this virus becomes activated in the first place?”
Parrish frowned and leant back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.
“Would you care to explain, Doctor Reynolds?” the presenter filled the silence.
There was no doubt she intended to, as she took a deep breath. “It’s been widely established, by my fellow scientists, that the virus becomes activated after the human body hosting it dies. We know this because of the analysis we have done. All the early documented instances were recorded in hospitals where resuscitation activity was required in what were deemed to be fatal circumstances. In every instance the patient died and then seemingly came back to life. It was some time after this that doctors began to make the link to activated virus. We have now seen this repeated in hospitals across the world. We even have it on film.”
The presenter looked amused. “Are you telling me he’s a zombie?” he said, chuckling. “Best damn looking zombie I’ve ever seen.” He laughed again. Parrish and most of the audience joined him.
Doctor Reynolds seethed. “That’s as may be. The fact remains that the virus only becomes activated in the eligible population after the death of the host, and the eligible population is males between sixteen and sixty, we believe. The very fact that you have suggested ten percent of the male population now register active virus, a number far higher than the natural mortality rate for that age group, suggests your people are killing our men to achieve a faster transition. The real question is why.”
“I can assure you–” Parrish began.
“I can tell you why they are killing men between these ages. Because these are the prime reproducing ages. They hope to pass the virus on to women in the next generation through their offspring. If you follow that line of logic, where all men of reproducible age possess the virus and pass it on to their children, then there will be no individuals in future generations who do not possess the virus. The human species will be forever changed. The fact is we have been invaded. And just because they didn’t arrive in spaceships shooting fire from the sky at the White House, we’re sitting back and letting them get on with it.”
“Really, Doctor Reynolds, I think you’re being overly dramatic,” the presenter looked at Aiden, seeming worried.
“Overly dramatic? I don’t think so. Tell me, what is the average mortality for the age group you suggest that now has ten percent active virus?” She looked expectantly at Parrish, who said nothing, his lips clenched together. “Don’t know? Well fortunately for the people watching I do. I make it my business to know. In 2013 in the U.S. alone there were two thousand, eight hundred and eight deaths per 900,000 population of males you mentioned. That’s 0.3% of the population. Even if your estimation is correct at ten percent, and my own data suggests this may be a woeful underestimation, then something else other than natural causes is happening to change our men into people like you.”
“Really, Doctor Reynolds, you have nothing to fear from us. We are a peaceful people. We only want to help this planet flourish. We’re a natural evolution of your species.”
“There’s certainly nothing ‘natural or peaceful’ about you. I’d call you a parasite except you’ve already killed your host.”
“We didn’t kill the hosts; they died of natural causes. You might even say we’ve enabled these men to carry on with life when they would otherwise not have survived.”
“There’s nothing about the changes we’ve seen in our men that makes me believe this is a continuation of the life they lived before. Women all over the world are reporting that their husbands, fathers and brothers have significantly changed in personality from one day to the next. There are reports of it happening in men who were perfectly well, with no previous ill health or reported accidents. The only consistent sign we’ve heard about is strangulation marks to the neck. I believe you’re killing our men and replacing them with your own. I repeat,” she said, looking straight at the camera, “we’ve been invaded.”
The television was silent, as the three individuals stared at one another, Doctor Reynolds’ chest heaving after her passionate words. Then the screen went black. At first I thought Richard had turned it off, but it soon became apparent the network had gone down. The room remained equally silent, until Richard said, “Code black,” and all the men swung into motion.
“Ladies, please return to your rooms,” Richard said.
“What was that?” Tara sounded frightened. She should.
“Please, just return to your room, Tara,” Richard said again, his voice cold.
“But what was that? What that lady said, about you guys and the virus. Was that true? What are you? Are you dead? Are you killing people?”
“Do we look dead, sweetheart?” One of the men leered at her.
“But you died to make the virus active?”
“What does it matter? I still make you feel good when I sleep with you, don’t I? Go back to your room, honey. We’ll be with you later.”
Tara allowed herself to be led out. The other women put up next to no resistance as the men coerced them. Ella protested loudly from the other room when someone put an end to her sexploits. After a few minutes, only Edward, Richard and I remained in the small television room.
“We’ll need to act more quickly than we thought. That was a disaster.” Richard paced the room, I’d never seen him so shaken before.
“I don’t know what Aiden thought he’d achieve by doing an interview with her,” Edward looked concerned.
“It was never meant to be with her. We had one of our own set up to be interviewed with him. They must have cottoned on to him and made a switch at the last minute. It’s a disaster.” He stopped pacing and looked at Edward. “Well, what’s done is done. You’ll need to make sure this place is locked down. There may be some trouble with the natives. We’ll need to get the women ready to evacuate. We can’t wait any longer. Make sure the word goes out to seize control of the prisons, army and police. Governments are already in hand. Have the men transitioned, then move them out the prisons and get the women in. There’s going to be some hysteria while they adjust. I want it squashed quickly.”
Edward nodded while I stood there waiting for someone to pinch me.
“I’ll check the status with the other countries, but the agreement was if the interview went dark then we’d move to phase two. You,” he said, finally looking in my direction. “You need to come with me. Aiden will want to meet you.”
“What does he want with her?” Edward stepped closer to me.
“Samantha here’s the only woman we have at her stage of pregnancy globally. This species is proving hostile in every respect. We need to understand what it is that’s different about her. Aiden’s taken a personal interest. He’d already planned a visit. We can expect him here in the morning.”
“I want to be there too.”
“Edward, this is no time for you to become possessive about her. She’s important for all our futures, not just your own personal needs.”
“I want to be there,” he repeated, looking stubborn.
“Fine, whatever. Get her back to her room and keep her calm. Keep all the women in early pregnancy away from any of the news outlets. Take the general Wi-Fi offline, just leave the secured network, and remove any other devices including phones. I don’t want mass hysteria causing any more women to miscarry. How many do we have at the moment?”
“Apart from Sam? Only one. She’s very early and on bedrest anyway. Two others were but have shown signs of bleeding. They should be unaware of all this unless the other girls have been in to see them.”
“Well, make sure they haven’t. And get Sam back to her room,” Richard said, scowling.
I allowed myself to be led back through the now silent lounge area and along the quiet corridor to my bedroom. Occasional sounds of weeping drifted from the rooms beyond, as men milled around, their presence intimidating. The façade of the building changed in a moment from the happy harem it had pretended to be, to the prison I knew it was.
Chapter 26
A scream in the corridor woke me just as I was drifting off to sleep. I sat up with a jolt, slipping out of bed and pulling on my robe. It wasn’t the kind of scream I’d been hearing nightly up until now. This sounded terrifying. I debated whether to go looking for its source as my heart pounded, the need to protect my baby foremost in my thoughts. A second scream had me moving anyway.
I looked out of my door. A girl lay on the floor, restrained by two guards, both twice the size of any of the women on this level, a third pointed a gun at her head. “Let me go,” she said, sobbing. “I want to go home.”
They held her in place, arms pulled tight behind her back, as she fought them. A fourth man slid a needle into her neck. She slumped into unconsciousness.
They hoisted the woman up between them and carried her back to her room. “Get back in your rooms,” one of the guards said, as they stationed themselves at either end of the corridor, their automatic weapons resting across their laps.
