by Jane Hinchey
His eyes met mine, and he said, “Keep going” before crashing to the floor.
I skidded around the corner into the passageway. Where to go? I couldn't get out of the apartment without a chip; the lift doors wouldn't open. But then how had these people gained entry? Overridden the controls somehow? Should I take a chance and try the front lift? I was faster and stronger than them, but Alrik had proven that if they used enough darts, they could take me down.
I was heading toward the lift when I felt them. Three sharp stings in my shoulder. The room blurred and I shook my head, fighting it. Another sharp pain in the back of my thigh, then another. Collapsing onto my hands and knees, the room spinning, I tried to crawl through the mist clouding my vision. A pair of women's high heels blocked the way.
“Told you,” the woman crowed. “Take them.”
Two men grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet. My legs were as effective as rubber bands, rubbery and unable to support my weight. The men dragged my limp body forward. I was out before we reached the lift.
* * *
I awoke to a feeling of déjà vu, only this time my cell walls were grey rather than transparent. I lay on a single bed in the corner. Turning my head, I saw a shower stall and toilet opposite, offering absolutely no privacy. Sitting up, I realised I'd been wrong. One wall was in fact glass. And again I was like a specimen on display, for standing on the other side of the glass was the woman in the stilettos, white jumpsuit, and red lipstick.
“You are quite the find, Sierra Walker,” she purred when she saw I was awake.
“Fuck you.” I was sick of this. My life had been a constant stream of disasters lately, all out of my control. Not only was I sick of it, I was pissed off.
The woman tutted. “Is that any way for a young lady to speak?”
“Fuck you.” Rising to my feet, I was relieved to see I was still in my own clothing and not some medical garb. They hadn't started experimenting. Yet.
“Okay,” the woman said, shrugging and clasping her hands in front of her. “I can see we aren't going to be friends. That is unfortunate, but not necessary. I'm Doctor Keya Francis. I run the Quarantine station.”
“Ah. Quarantine. I've heard of this place. Where you run illegal experiments.”
“Oh, they're not illegal darling,” the doctor said. “Fully approved, but it's better that the little humans running about don't know that. We'd hate to have to cull them.”
I slammed my hands against the glass, glaring at her. “What do you want? I’m guessing you’re not hanging around my cell for the fun of it.”
She looked at me in silence for a moment, her eyes calculating. “I want answers.”
“How about you let me ask a question first.”
The doctor threw back her head and laughed. “You are feisty. Don't worry, we have a cure for that.”
“Where's my brother?” I slapped the glass again. “Where's Alrik?”
“Your brother is here. He is still sedated. Humans can't shake it off as quickly as aliens. And as for your companion—Alrik, you called him? He is otherwise engaged.” Her lips turned up in a smirk.
I took a deep breath and blew it out. Don't rise to the bait, don't rise to the bait. The doctor was trying to make me angry—or at least trying to elicit some kind of response. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.
I sat back on the bed, leaning my elbows on my knees, and watched the doctor from the corner of my eye. Victory! The doctor's brows drew together in a frown. She was probably annoyed that I'd remained calm and hadn't lost my cool. Of course, I had absolutely nothing to base that on, but it seemed logical. What other reason could she have for being here, baiting me, trying to raise some sort of reaction from me?
“You have very interesting DNA, Sierra Walker,” she continued, pacing back and forth in front of the cell. “We've discovered alien DNA strands in your human genes. How on earth did that happen, I wonder? Eighty percent of your DNA is definitely human, and it tested positive for a familiar match with Daniel Walker, confirming his claim that you are his sister. We investigated further. We were curious, since his sister was reported missing in 2016 and declared dead in 2017.
“Yet here you are. It's two thousand and forty-six, and not only are you alive, but you haven't aged a day since you disappeared. And with some extra DNA thrown in, to boot. Where did you go? What, exactly, happened to you?”
I remained silent, mulling over what the doctor had said so far.
“And as for Alrik, your companion?” She paused, smirking. “Even more interesting. His DNA is only ten percent human. Now how did that come about?”
Wait! What? Alrik was ten percent human? I looked sharply at the doctor.
“Oh, that got your attention,” she crowed. “Which part, I wonder? Just the mere mention of Alrik, or the fact that he's part human? I'd say the latter.”
At that, she turned on her heel and left suddenly, her stride urgent, as if she had somewhere she needed to be.
Blowing out a breath, I tipped my head back and looked up at the ceiling. They probably had cameras watching me. I needed to be careful to hide my reactions, but holy shit. Alrik was part human? All this time, he'd been told that his race, the Acarnania, were pure when they weren't.
Or was it just Alrik? Had a member of his family strayed at one time or another and never got found out? But human DNA—had an ancestor been here on Earth? Or had a human, like me, been abducted?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I was left alone in my cell for hours. How they knew it was effective torture for me, I didn't know, but I kept myself busy doing sit-ups and push-ups. My increased stamina meant I could keep it up for hours. I was bathed in a light sheen of sweat and considering braving a shower when a dozen round holes opened up in the ceiling and gas started pouring in.
Seriously? They were gassing me? I figured they must have been scared of me if they weren't brave enough to approach me while I was conscious! I coughed. The air was thick now, and it was difficult to breathe. Falling to my knees, I rolled onto my side, coughing and gasping for air, knowing it was useless. All the while, my mind was ticking over, looking for an opening to escape. I was done with constantly being rescued. I was done with being treated like a lab rat. The time had come to make others pay; the humans didn't realise that the more they knocked me out and made me sleep, the more rested—the stronger—I became.
This time when I awoke, I was naked and laying on a metal gurney shaped like a cross, my arms stretched out from my body and strapped down at the wrists and elbows. There were more straps across my shoulders, hips, and ankles, all belted tightly to the bench. Above, a bright light blinded me. My eyes watered.
“Ah, good. You're awake.” The doctor stepped into view, this time dressed in a white lab coat, a visor over her face, her hands sheathed in latex gloves. Oh, great. Show time. Turning my head, I took stock of the others in the room—I guessed them to be mostly males, based on their build, but it was difficult to say beneath their nondescript gowns.
“Enjoying the view? Perverts,” I spat, feeling vulnerable.
“We're past the point of pretence, don't you think?” The doctor smiled, stepping closer and snapping her gloves at the wrists. “Why bother covering you up when you and I both know we're going to explore every inch of you and discover what it is, exactly, that makes you tick.”
I tried not to shudder. This sounded like a live autopsy. It crossed my mind that they weren't starting with my back. That was where the interesting stuff was, but maybe, just maybe, they hadn't spied my markings yet. If they had, I had no doubt they'd be stripping my flesh right now to get a closer look, and if those markings were attached to my spinal cord, like I suspected, I'd be in utter agony. Maybe even dead.
“Let's start with a scan and take it from there,” the doctor said.
A machine lowered from the ceiling, humming overhead. To my left, an image of my skeleton and internal organs appeared on a screen. The team crowded around, blocking my v
iew.
“Well, I'm not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A human skeleton. The usual organs. At first glance, anyway. Let's open her up and take a look-see.” The doctor practically laughed with glee. Sadistic bitch.
An orderly wheeled over a tray full of instruments and the doctor picked up a scalpel.
“This may sting a bit.” Her tone was patronising. I couldn't wait until our roles were reversed and it was me dishing out the pain to the doctor. Then she'd understand suffering.
The blade hovered over my chest, then moved lower, to the bottom of my rib cage.
“We'll save the heart for last, folks,” she called over her shoulder. “After all, we can't keep it beating if we take it out first. Let's start with the liver, then go for kidneys, reproductive organs, intestines, lungs, and finish with the heart and brain. Remember, I want everything measured, weighed, sampled, and stored. And for Heaven's sake, make sure it's clearly labelled. We don't want any mix-ups.”
The doctor had the gall to smile beneath her visor. I gritted my teeth, heart pounding. This was going to hurt. Oh, who was I kidding? This was going to kill me. My heart was beating so fast I was sure it would either burst out of my chest or simply stop from over-exertion. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead. It was hard to breathe.
I felt something welling up inside me, almost as if someone else were sharing my body. It wasn’t a voice, but a feeling—a feeling of refusal, of outrage. That feeling gave me strength, even as the blade sliced me down the middle, even as I screamed in agony. My arm twitched. The metal surface it was strapped to groaned. No one noticed; all were intent on watching me be filleted.
The doctor laid the scalpel down on the instrument tray and lifted a clamp, the kind surgeons used to hold the body cavity open during operations. The doc clearly wanted to have a good old poke around inside and remove my internal organs without disruption. Well, too bad. Things were about to get disrupted big time.
With a roar, I wrenched my arm up, tearing the metal base away from the table. Those closest to me gasped and scurried back. Another flex of my muscles, another roar, and my other arm was free. I swung the pieces of table that were still strapped to my wrists, catching those who hadn't moved away quickly enough, sending them sprawling across the floor.
We were at a standoff. I needed to get one arm totally free so I could undo the rest of my restraints. They needed to get close enough to pin my arms without getting whacked in the face. A foolish medic might try to approach from what they thought was my blind spot—but these idiots didn't realise I could hear them, their laboured breathing, the trepidation in their shuffling footsteps. I'd let them get close, let them think they had the upper hand, then boom. Metal to the face, thanks for coming.
After I'd taken down the third medic, the restraint around my wrist had loosened enough to wriggle my hand free. With a grin of triumph, keeping a close eye on the medical team surrounding me, I brought my free hand, still restrained at the elbow, around to untie my other wrist, then elbow. While I was occupied, they tried again, but with one arm free, I could now grab the metal arm and extend my reach, swinging out and catching several of them with a blow hard enough to make them reconsider approaching me. I worked quickly, freeing myself of the restraints. I wouldn't have long before they came to their senses and drugged me. This was my one and only opportunity. Finally, free from the restraints around my upper body, all that was left were my ankles.
I glanced at the bleeding incision in my stomach, afraid to sit up in case anything fell out. Jamming one hand against the wound, I did it anyway, making short work of the restrains at my feet and swinging my legs to the floor.
Blood was pouring from the wound, seeping through my fingers and running down my belly, but it didn't hurt. The strange feeling inside had numbed me.
The room was in panic; these were medical personnel, not soldiers. No one had bothered to try to subdue me. They were all trying to save their own skins, practically crawling over each other to get to the door. It was comical.
Launching myself across the room, I blocked their exit. En masse, they screamed and veered away from me, falling over each other in the process. I didn't know what came over me—whether it was that strange inner feeling, my police training, or a combination of both—but I incapacitated them with ease, smashing heads into walls, twisting necks, breaking bones. Within minutes, the dozen medics who'd been eagerly participating in my slow murder were now on the floor, either dead or unconscious. Only the doctor remained upright, fumbling with something—probably a tranquiliser—on the trolley. I let her, revelling in her fear, which I could sense even from across the room.
I glanced down at my stomach. My wound was starting to heal, the edges pulling together to form a pink line. I was a mess, though. I had blood smeared all over me, dripping down my legs, pooling at my feet. I wasn't feeling the effects of blood loss, but I had a feeling that my alien DNA was responsible for that.
The doctor spun, a syringe shaking in her grasp. “Stop!” She didn't exactly scream, but she was far from calm, “Stop right there, you—you animal!”
“Or what? You'll tranquilise me?” I cracked my knuckles and stepped around the table. “You’re the animal. You were about to dissect me alive. Hello, pot, have you met kettle?”
The doctor stepped back, knocking the instrument tray to the floor with a crash, and waved the syringe at me. “Don't you come any closer,” she warned.
“Really? That's the best you’ve got? If you want to stick me with that thing you're going to have to get closer than that.”
In the blink of an eye, I closed the distance between us, slamming the doctor into the wall, my arm pinning her by the throat. The syringe fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Okay, doc, this is how it's going to go down,” I growled. “I'm guessing, since you freaks are always ‘experimenting’, that you have some sort of contamination protocols programmed into the door. Right?”
The doctor gurgled and clawed at my arm, which was effectively cutting off her air supply.
“Oh, can't breathe? My bad.” I eased the pressure a little, but kept my arm in place. “Try again.”
“Yes,” the doctor rasped.
“Okay, excellent.” I removed my arm, grabbed the doctor by the hair, and dragged her over to the door. “Program a one-hour contamination lockdown on this room only. No alarms. No silent flashing lights anywhere. Just deny access to this room. Understand?”
The doctor nodded.
“If you even think of trying to trick me or raising the alarm, I will snap your neck,” I added.
“I won't, I won’t!” she cried, terrified. I watched as she placed her palm on the panel and a holographic screen appeared. She swiped several times and pressed a few buttons, before the panel disappeared. “Done.” Her voice trembled.
“Good girl,” I said. “Now take your lab coat off.”
With shaking hands, the doctor shrugged the white coat off and held it out to me.
“Nu-uh. I'm covered in blood. Lay it over the back of that chair.” I looked at her, appraising. “Now that I think about it, take the rest of your clothes off, too.”
“What?” the doctor squeaked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You heard me. That lot. Off.” I waved a hand in her general direction. “You can keep your underwear. But those pants and that blouse? Off. Put them with the coat. And be careful not to get any blood on them.”
The doctor moved slowly, her hands shaking as she started unbuttoning her blouse. She was taking too long.
“For God's sake, this isn't a strip tease,” I snapped. “Take the fucking clothes off now, or do you need some help?”
“Okay, okay.” Picking up the pace, the doctor soon stood pale and trembling in her lacy knickers and matching bra.
“Yes, they'll do nicely,” I said. Grabbing the doctor’s hair, I slammed her head into the wall, then let her drop to the floor in a heap. “Hold that thought.”
I grinned, steppin
g over her unconscious body, and moving to what appeared to be a spray tan booth from the year two thousand. “Now, I'm pretty sure you're a decontamination unit, aren't you big boy?”
I examined it for a moment. I didn't particularly want to be disinfected, but I did want to be clean. Spying a button near the bottom that looked like a symbol for water, I took a chance. Bingo! A fine spray emitted from three sides of the unit, as well as the top and bottom. I stepped inside, running my hands over my wet skin, watching as the blood ran down the drain.
The unit kept pumping water for another ten minutes, so I stayed under the spray. The room was in lockdown for an hour; I could afford to enjoy getting clean. Through the glass door, I kept an eye on the injured, dying, and dead medical staff sprawled across the floor. All was quiet. No one stirred.
Once the water shut off, a warm air blew all around me, drying me off. With my hair blowing up all around my head, I knew I was going to look a treat! I pulled on the doctor’s clothes—tailored black pants that fit almost perfectly, and a soft, white, semi-transparent blouse that was a little revealing in the nipple department. But it was better than walking around naked, and pulling on the white lab coat fixed that particular issue.
“Hmm. Shoes.” I wasn't about to wear the doctor’s heels, but I couldn't walk around barefoot, either. I'd blow my cover right away if I did that. I spotted a woman wearing ballet flats that looked like they'd fit. I was pulling them on when the doctor groaned and stirred. Perfect timing.
“Come on, doc.” I dragged her to her feet and pushed her toward the computer console, forcing her into the chair. “Show me the floor plans of this place. Now.”
Still groggy, the doctor fumbled at the keyboard, but finally managed to bring up a floor plan of the Quarantine facility. I studied it intently, doing my best to commit it to memory.
