Sam grunted in agreement but didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he carried on with the wooden carving he’d been working on for weeks now. It was supposed to be a gift for Lola’s baby, the only thing any of them had to look forward to.
Despite her former occupation, Lola was a sweet girl, eager to please. They’d all come to regard her as a little sister of sorts. Though she was the same age as Katy, the latter was far more mature.
Sam, used to the hardships of the world, became their protector while Rebecca settled into her position as the oldest of the bunch. A type of house mother to them all. They were all excited over the coming baby, a single ray of light in their harsh lives.
Months had passed since the hybrid outbreak. Despite their hopes, neither the government nor the army had been able to halt the spread of the disease. It was no surprise. After the recent war, nobody was equipped to deal with a disaster of this magnitude.
The hybrids moved throughout the country, killing or turning everyone in their path. The president and his closest advisers tried to flee, but their convoy was overwhelmed before they got to their plane.
The army fought to combat the spread, warning citizens to lock themselves indoors. By then half the population was gone already. Soldiers and police officers fought side by side, gunning down countless diseased monsters, but there were always more to take their place. Ill-equipped, poorly trained, and hampered by bumbling officials, the last organized resistance fell over a month ago, adding their numbers to the ranks of the hybrids.
Maybe the rest of the world could have avoided the outbreak if it wasn’t for a few incidents that helped the hybrids to cross the oceans. A few got onto container ships and after slaughtering or turning the crew, drifted on the water until they reached land.
The ISC, cause of the entire crisis, pulled out of the country and retreated to their bastions on the continent. Unrepentant, they took several caged hybrids with them, eager to continue their research.
One of the planes carrying captive hybrids crashed. Why was anyone’s guess. The hybrids escaped, and the entire world was now in flames, aggravated by warring factions and terrorism that helped the plague spread. Rebecca supposed it was justice of a sort, though she prayed every day for the innocent souls lost to the disease, victims of an evil corporation’s greed.
She sighed and moved away from the window. It did no good to ponder on the state of things. All they could do was survive. Eke out an existence far from the cities and hope that no hybrids stumbled upon them. They tended not to venture too far away from shelter as they couldn’t handle the sun.
In the corner of the wooden hut that was their temporary home, Lola moaned. She lay on the only mattress they had, covered by a thin blanket. Her distended belly bulged under the light cover, and her skin was slick with sweat. Katy sat next to her, sponging Lola’s brow with a wet cloth. She’d been in labor for a day now, and Rebecca was sure it wouldn’t be much longer.
Rebecca checked her preparations for the birth. Clean cloths, boiled water, a blanket, the sterilized scalpel and thread for the umbilical cord, and a bag full of baby supplies. All scavenged over the past months at great personal risk.
Everything was ready.
She smiled and walked over to the young mother-to-be. Katy looked up as she approached, worry evident in her gaze. Rebecca smiled and extended her hand for the cloth. “Here, let me take over.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Katy asked in a low whisper as they exchanged places.
“Of course. She’s doing just fine,” Rebecca replied with confidence. She sat down and patted the cool cloth across Lola’s face. It was warm inside the cottage. Hot and humid. “There, there. It’s going to be all right.”
A rumble of thunder droned through the tiny house, followed by the sharp crack of lightning. The hair on Rebecca’s skin rose in answer. Sam set aside his carving and got to his feet.
“We’d better get the buckets out. We’re low on water,” he said, slipping his knife back into its sheath.
“I’ll help you,” Katy volunteered.
Rebecca longed to go with them. Anything to escape the confines of the stuffy room, but she couldn’t leave Lola. The young girl needed her, and Rebecca had grown fond of her over the months.
She’d never had the opportunity to have children. A spinster at forty-three, she’d always longed for a family, but had never met anyone she was willing to settle down with. Her work became her life, instead.
Lola cried out in pain, her muscles clenching until her back arched off the mattress. Rebecca waited until it passed before giving the girl another examination. The news was good. It was almost time.
Throughout the process, she’d encouraged Lola to walk around, sit, change position, and stay as relaxed as possible. The girl had progressed quickly, and her contractions had steadily grown more frequent and severe. She was well into the active stage now and fully dilated.
“Rebecca, it hurts,” Lola pleaded once the contraction had passed.
“I know, sweetie, but it won’t be long now,” she replied in a soothing voice. “Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?”
“A boy,” Lola answered. “For Lee.”
Rebecca suppressed a sharp retort. She had no patience for Lola’s continued adoration of a man who’d done nothing but abuse her. Still, now was not the time to berate her once more.
“What will you name him?” she asked instead, hoping to distract Lola.
“Bradley,” Lola whispered, a smile lighting up her tired features. “After Lee’s dad.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Violet, after my grandmother.” Lola sighed. “I miss her so much.”
“I’m sure she’s watching over you now,” Rebecca replied. “Now, why don’t you rest a bit?”
Lola nodded and closed her eyes. “Okay.”
At that moment, the clouds decided to release their burden and rain poured down to drum on the roof. The sound was soothing and brought with it a release from the suffocating heat. It also meant water, a precious gift from the heavens, and Rebecca smiled at the thought of a wash.
The brief moment of peace was broken when the next contraction came, causing Lola to scream in pain as her body fought to release the child in its womb. Rebecca talked her through it, propping her upright with cushions. Suddenly, the door burst inward to reveal a terror-stricken Katy, and Rebecca jerked around with a cry. “What is it?”
“Hybrids!”
“What?”
“Three of them, outside,” Katy replied.
“That’s impossible. They don’t come out during the day.”
“The storm is blocking the sun,” Katy cried as she ran toward the shotgun propped up in the corner. They had only a handful of shells, and it was meant for emergencies. Three hybrids qualified as such. Other than that, they relied on the Glock which Sam carried, a better shot than any of them.
Through the open doorway, Rebecca could see nothing but darkness and rain, the water pouring from the roof a solid sheet lit by the lamp on the table. She glimpsed movement before hearing several gunshots. Sam.
Katy rushed past into the gloom while Rebecca grabbed an ax and prepared to defend herself and Lola. She stared at the opening with wide eyes, her heart banging in her chest.
She could see neither Katy nor Sam, but she heard more shots go off, indicating they were still alive. Then, a shadow fell across the doorway. A feral snarl echoed through the small space.
With a screech, the hybrid launched itself inside. It leaped across the short distance, knocking Rebecca to the side when its shoulder collided with her chin. She fell to her knees, dazed, but quickly scrambled up when Lola screamed in pain. The thing was on her already, its jaws latched to her arm.
“No!” Rebecca screamed, her heart sinking at the sight. With all her might, she brought the ax down on the hybrid’s unprotected back. The blade cut through the spine, and the monster collapsed in a heap.
She grabbed it by one foot a
nd dragged it off the still-screaming Lola before decapitating it with a final blow to the neck. Without pause, she ran toward Lola.
“Re…Rebecca, help me,” Lola gasped. Blood poured from her flesh where the hybrid’s teeth had torn open the skin. It was too late, however. She was already turning, her eyes glazing over as the virus took over.
“Lola, I’m so sorry.” Rebecca stood rooted to the spot, her hands clenched around the ax handle. Blood dripped from the blade onto the floor. Plop, plop, plop.
Sam stumbled through the door, followed by Katy. Both were drenched to the skin, their eyes wide as they registered the stricken Lola. Rebecca had no eyes for them, however, only for the girl she’d come to view as her child.
“Save my baby,” Lola whispered, her eyes pleading with Rebecca even as her body began to go through the change, twitching and shaking.
“How?” Rebecca asked, though she already knew. There was only one way. She dropped the ax with a thud and looked at Sam. “Give me your gun.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Now!” Her harsh tone shook him from his stupor, and he passed the weapon to her without further protest.
Rebecca raised the pistol and aimed it at Lola’s forehead. Their eyes met and Lola managed a small smile before closing her eyes. With a sob, Rebecca steadied herself and pulled the trigger, even though her entire being fought against it. Lola slumped to the side, her body still in death.
A few seconds passed as Rebecca struggled to come to terms with what she’d done. There was no time for grief, though. Time was of the essence. With clinical detachment, she put down the gun on the table. In a separate bucket, she quickly washed her hands then picked up the scalpel. The metal glinted in the light.
“Rebecca?” Sam asked.
“I have to save the baby, Sam.”
Sam stared at her as understanding dawned. He nodded. “Do it.”
Rebecca walked to the bed and pulled back the sheet covering Lola’s body. Behind her, she heard Katy cry out before Sam dragged her outside into the rain. It was better that way. Neither of them should have to witness what followed. Clearing her mind of all thoughts and emotions, she took a deep breath and lowered the scalpel to Lola’s abdomen.
Save the baby.
Chapter 8 - Violet
Violet sat quietly while her mother combed her hair, the thick black locks falling in waves down her back. The color matched her eyes, the iris indistinguishable from the pupil. It looked all the more striking against her skin, as white as snow. Not even the sun could bring a bloom to her cheeks.
“Mom, why don’t I look like you?” she asked, though she doubted she’d get a straight answer.
“What do you mean?” her mother asked with a frown, the expression highlighting her careworn skin and crow’s feet.
“You know what I mean,” Violet replied.
“No, I most certainly do not,” her mother huffed before tying her hair back into a ponytail.
“Most of the other kids look like their parents.” This was something Violet had observed over the years, along with the fact that she looked nothing like her mother with her greying auburn hair and green eyes.
“You take after your father.”
Her father. A faceless figure her mother refused to talk about. Violet watched her mother in the mirror, noting the way she refused to meet her eyes. She looked…guilty.
“Why don’t you play outside today? It’s a beautiful day, and it’s Sunday, meaning no chores or school for you. Wish I was that lucky,” her mother said, apparently eager to end the conversation.
“Play?”
“Yes, play.” Her mother shot her an exasperated look. “You can join the other kids for once. Make a friend, perhaps.”
“The other kids don’t like me,” Violet answered.
“Nonsense.”
“It’s true,” Violet insisted. “They say I’m a freak.”
Her mother gasped. “That’s rude. I’ll have to speak to Sam about it.”
Violet remained silent. Talking to Sam wouldn’t help. The children knew what the adults refused to admit. She was different.
“Maybe if you tried a little harder to fit in, they wouldn’t call you names.”
This stung, and Violet opened her mouth to argue. Right then, a knock on the door sounded, and a woman walked in. It was Katy, her mom’s best friend who was also married to Sam, the leader of their small community.
“Morning, Rebecca,” Katy said.
“Hi, Katy.” Her mom bustled around the small room they shared, folding clothes and smoothing the bed sheets.
Katy sat down on a chair in the corner. “Hello, Violet. You’re looking pretty today.”
Violet eyed her dubiously, sure she was lying. Her mother nudged her. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, Aunt Katy,” she droned dutifully.
Katy smiled and turned back to her mom. “I’m on my way to the kitchens. Care to join me?”
“Sure, I was just about to go down myself.”
“Perfect. I could use a cup of tea,” Katy said. “I’ve got a long day ahead of me. The fruit trees are ready to be harvested, and you know what that means.”
“My day is also packed,” Rebecca replied. “The infirmary is overflowing with sick people. Flu season.”
“Oh, dear. I hope the boys don’t come down with it.”
“Just keep them away from the apricot trees or they’ll get the runs.”
Violet zoned out as they droned on about mundane things, her thoughts taking her far away. She snapped awake, however, when Katy mentioned her sons, David and Tristan.
“They’re playing ball outside with the other kids. Would you like to join them, Violet? I’m sure they’d like it.”
“Um…”
“Yes, of course, she would,” her mom answered while pushing her toward the door. “Run along, Violet.”
Knowing that it was useless to resist, Violet nodded and allowed herself to be ushered outside. She did not join the other kids, though. They were bullies, one and all, especially David, Katy’s eldest son. Tristan wasn’t quite so bad, but he followed his brother’s lead.
Violet slipped past the other people in the old farmhouse they all shared. It had been converted into a dorm of sorts, divided into several bedrooms clustered around a central living space.
Sam looked at her as she ran past, his keen gaze making her uncomfortable as always. It was like he knew something she didn’t. Something dangerous. Something wrong.
She ran outside before he could stop her and darted behind the assortment of buildings that lined the wall, a stone monstrosity three times as tall as her. It protected them from the hybrids, that and the armed guards who patrolled it.
Not that the hybrids were so plentiful anymore. Once their food supply dwindled, so did their numbers. The elders speculated they’d die out entirely in a few more years. Starve to death.
In the center of the community, an open square and a water well formed the hub of activity. It was here the children played with their pigskin ball, and porridge bubbled in a big pot on the fire. An open-air kitchen flanked tables and chairs filled with people looking to break their fast.
Violet wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t hungry. Her path took her past the pigpen and the chicken roost, past the slaughterhouse, smoke room, barn, and storerooms until she reached a secluded corner.
A swift glance confirmed she was alone. Her hands looked for the familiar holds on the wall, and she scaled it with the ease of years of practice. She was agiler than most, her body lithe and muscular. Within seconds, she was up and over, evading the guards who never even caught a glimpse of her.
In the shadow of the wall, she paused. Mr. Dawson was taking the cattle out to graze. This was a daily ritual. They were allowed out while the sun shone before being hustled back to the barn at night. A simple arrangement, and one that benefited her.
While the guards were occupied at the gate, Violet crossed the open ground to the forest. Her f
eet pounded along the familiar dirt path toward the pond. Her pond. Her secret.
It was a secluded spot and hard to reach, but she did so within a few minutes. Its fresh waters welcomed her, willows trailing fronds of greenery in the current from grassy banks.
The pond had formed at the base of a cliff, fed by an underground spring. It flowed further down the steep hillside to join the local river, the same one the community used for fishing and washing.
Violet’s thoughts darkened when she thought of them, the people. It wasn’t that she hated them, or even disliked them, but was tired of the looks, the whispers, the conversations that ceased whenever she entered a room. She knew something about her was different. Always had been. Yet, they refused to tell her why and wouldn’t even admit she was right.
She sat down in her favorite spot and stared into the water. Her ears twitched as she listened to the sounds of nature, her keen hearing picking up even the slightest rustle of leaves.
Her reflection stared back at her, her features sharp and pointed. Even her ears. She looked predatory. Dangerous.
Her lips peeled back to reveal long canines, and she tested the tips with a questing finger. A drop of blood welled up as the razor sharp teeth cut the skin. They’d appeared about a month ago when she turned thirteen.
At first, she’d cut her lips continually until she learned to avoid it, and after the other children called her a freak, she’d learned not to smile anymore. It was not the only change her body had undergone.
With the onset of puberty, a host of strange things occurred. Her senses grew sharp; her sight, smell, hearing, and taste became amplified. Her body grew strong and agile, her legs able to push her at great speeds when she ran. Her hunger decreased to the point where she could go for days without food or water, and her body’s ability to heal was astounding. As if to prove her point, the cut on her finger had already closed.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, a single tear leaking from the corner of her eye. It was exhausting to act normal, to pretend to be like the rest.
As if in answer to her question, heavy footfalls announced the arrival of a person. She jumped to her feet and turned to face the intruder. A man appeared through the brush, his face familiar.
The Hybrid Theory_Subject 306_An Apocalyptic Short Story Page 5
