by Schow, Ryan
It’s totally dysfunctional, I know.
Blazing through traffic, I guess I still haven’t fully accepted this is the real me. Ten minutes later, Brayden’s like, “What’s up with you two?” and I’m like, “What do you mean?”
“Come on, this is Jacob we’re talking about here. Your first crush. The world class butthole who practically annihilated your happiness not so long ago. Now you’re kissing him?”
“With him, it’s the same game a cat plays with a spider. Eventually the spider dies. Simple.”
He looks at me for a long time then says, “Something’s wrong with you.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“So you’re going to do what exactly? Play impossible to get? Eventually that game will get old and he’ll bail.”
“Yes, but the suffering he’ll have to endure! The way that toilet bug was, I could drag it out for years.”
“But you like him,” he says. “I can tell.”
“So what? I like a lot of boys.”
“Is that what you’re doing with me? Showing me your tits, your body? Letting me see you long enough for the image to be burned into my mind? Am I a spider, too?”
I swallow hard. Oh my God, I don’t want this conversation! “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Damn right. But I’m glad you did.”
“Sometimes I still feel like the porker who has this great body on loan,” I say, anxious to be done with the subject. Of course, Brayden’s always been easy to talk to. Plus, the great thing about him is, he isn’t judgmental.
“Your body is freaking SENSATIONAL. But don’t feel bad about…you know…back in your bathroom.”
“I do, though.”
“What a waste of time, you feeling bad. Hell, if I was smoking hot, I’d point my moral compass south, buy a shit-ton of condoms and turn my life into a massive fuckfest.”
“Nice mouth,” I say. Not that my mouth is that much cleaner.
“I’d totally be a boy-whore, but I can’t. Not now. Not in this town.”
“We always want the things we can’t have,” I say.
“Yes, and I want Vegas back. I want to overindulge there.”
“Then what?”
“I’m thinking overindulgence gives a person comfort.”
“Explain,” I say, curious.
“You were naked in front of me, and you feel nervous. But this is the second time. The next time you’re naked in front of me, you won’t feel so bad. It’ll be easier. More comfortable.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I say.
He grins and settles back in his seat. “Whatever.”
My cell phone rings and I pick up. It automatically goes through the Bluetooth system and into the car’s speakers.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi, Savannah,” Damien says.
“Abby.”
“Hi, Abby,” he says with a glint of humor in his voice. “How are you?”
“Freaking stressed out. You?”
“Not so much. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, what’s up?” I’m thinking if I sound casual, he won’t talk about the last time we saw each other. Right now, talking about the kiss is the last thing I want. Especially since I’m feeling like a total hooker and all.
“I got your text, but…how come you didn’t call?”
Before I know it, I’m squirming in my seat, sneaking a peek at Brayden, who’s looking at me like I’ve been holding out on him, which I have.
“Now’s not a good time, Damien,” I say. “Can I call you later on tonight?”
“I guess. If you actually do it.”
“Do what?”
“Call.”
“I promise I will.” We say our short good-byes and hang up. Yep, it’s official, I’ve totally lost my morals. Even worse—and he could probably care less—it sucks ass that Brayden is here to witness my never-ending string of indecencies.
“If it’s any consolation,” I say, “you’re still the only one to see me naked.”
“Really?” he says.
My eyes close for a moment and for some insane reason, the truth just sort of falls out of my mouth. “Well, you and Professor Teller. He’s seen my tits.”
“Holy shitballs! Are you freaking kidding me?” I look at him with uncertainty in my eyes and he’s looking at me, eyes bulging, mouth plopped open in disbelief.
“Yeah. But don’t say anything.”
“Did you—”
“No!”
“Jesus, Abby, he’s our teacher!”
The grin spreads across my face on its own. “I know,” I hear myself saying. “Sometimes I get sick thinking about it, but mostly, I think it’s so damn hot I can’t hardly stand it.”
“Slut,” he says.
“Massive slut,” I say, and we both start laughing.
A Face of Settled Ash
1
Gerhard muscled Cameron’s blistered corpse into the cramped elevator, rode it down to the first floor, then dragged it head-first down the stairs into the basement where the vat of acid sat waiting. Gerhard was panting, out of breath, cursing in low, private tones even though he was alone. The idea of taking his friends’ clothes off sickened him. He did it anyway. Careful, so as not to inadvertently splash acid on himself, he eased his friend’s body into the same vat.
Gerhard was not one to care much about anything other than furthering his own ambitions, but Cameron was a colleague and deserved some credit for Gerhard’s advances in the genetic sciences and mind control. Not to mention resolving Georgia’s…issues. That was why laying him to rest in a vat of acid so unceremoniously left him feeling uncomfortable. There were other things to deal with, though. Namely his colleague’s remaining subjects.
After depositing Cameron into the acid, there were two genuine clones to deal with, both in their early stages of growth. He hauled their faceless, unconscious bodies into the basement, tossed them in a heap next to the tub of acid, then shot them both in their heads.
All that remained were the children. Whatever experiments Cameron was conducting on them, he kept from Gerhard. Not that it mattered. Gerhard himself gleaned tremendous amounts of pride and satisfaction from his experiments both now and in the past. He could care less for people. To him they were just meat sacks. Disposable victims. If he could lodge one complaint about this world and life in general, Gerhard would make the case that there were simply too many people.
The number of children in Cameron’s care numbered five plus one in a canister. Normally he’d have taken possession of these children for use in his own experiments. But in this case his needs were more specific. First he liberated the child in the canister. She woke rather quickly. He left her there to attend to the others. When he opened the door to the giant holding cell, a cold concrete room with four square walls, a low ceiling and a hard stone floor, he laid eyes on each of the five kids. They all looked starved, emaciated and confused. Fear rode their eyes to the vein. Gerhard saw it, all of the unanswered questions: Who is he? What does he want from us? Is he going to hurt us?
For a long moment he studied the two oldest boys—both sixteen or seventeen—and he eyed the older girl, who could be twenty. The other two, both young and of no value, refused to meet his eyes.
After due consideration, he withdrew his pistol from the back of his pants and shot the two little ones and the older girl in their faces. The older boys were either too scared or too weak to cry.
He pointed to the smaller of the two boys and said, “Do you want to live?” The boy gave a strong nod. “Good, come with me.” And then he shot the other boy, too.
It took the remaining boy a moment to move, but when he did, he wasted no time getting to Gerhard’s side. And he refused to look at the carnage around him.
Out in the hallway, Gerhard said, “You have a chance to earn your freedom, just as promised.” The fear failed to leave the boy’s eyes despite the chance for survival. “All you have to do is fight.”
“Fight?” he asked with a wispy voice.
“And win.”
“Who?” he asked.
“A girl.”
The boy took a deep breath, and though it might have been relief he was feeling, he would not feel it for long. He went back to the room where the girl was standing naked, her body dripping wet. He handed her a towel and the clothes he found nearby and said, “Get dressed.”
“After I fight, and win,” the boy said, “you’ll let me go?”
“Then I will let you go,” Gerhard said in a heavy German accent. “Follow me.”
He did as he was told.
“And I can see my parents again?”
“Only if you win.”
“I’ll win,” the boy declared.
“I haven’t told you the rules yet,” Gerhard said. He walked the boy into the room where Georgia was sitting in the corner, studying the palms of her hands. Looking up at Gerhard and the boy, she was a lovely sight to behold.
Leaning into the boy’s ear, he said, “To win, you must kill the girl. Then you can go free.”
Whatever hope the boy had in getting out of there with a simple fight quickly diminished. He turned to Gerhard and said, “I can’t kill her. But I can win.”
“Killing her is winning,” Gerhard hissed.
He looked to the door, like maybe he could escape. Gerhard closed it firmly.
“I can’t.”
“You say that like you have a choice,” Gerhard said with the slightest bit of irritation in his tone.
“I won’t kill her.”
“Then she’ll kill you,” Gerhard said.
“She won’t.”
“Yes, she will. Trust me. Your best bet is to hit her hard and fast.”
“And if I don’t fight?”
Sufficiently irritated, Gerhard gripped the boy by the ear, twisted it so hard the cinching pain tore a cry from the boy’s throat, and then he said, “Then I’ll kill you myself, you little pest. But not like I did the others. Not quick. Your death will be long, and it will be painful, and I’ll take my sweet time doing it.”
He roughly shoved the boy’s head away and said, “If she’s not dead inside of five minutes, then you’re dead. Got it?”
The boy nodded, determination hardening his resolve. He turned and looked at Georgia for the longest moment, then the boy ran to the end of the long room where she was sitting and kicked her right in the face as hard as he could.
2
The minute she saw the scrappy looking boy and Dr. Gerhard conspiring, her senses sparked. Not a lot, just a little. Normally their eyes upon her and the fear of their conspiring would have at least given her cause for concern. Now she simply felt anxious. No, not anxious. Wired. As if some other part of her knew things she didn’t and was responding accordingly.
What is wrong with me? she wondered.
The palms of her hands, which were smooth just minutes ago—and nearly devoid of the mystery rings—now bristled. The circular, corkscrew pattern of raised skin. Energy flowed through her, pooling into her hands.
This is wrong, she thought.
That’s when she looked up and saw the boy running toward her. She couldn’t stand fast enough. She couldn’t even move. The boy was all over her in a flash. The first kick, it came fast, yet just before it hit, time slowed to a crawl. She turned her face just enough to keep his foot from smashing her nose. Still, the impact on her cheekbone was a crushing blow that rattled her brain.
The pain was colossal. Blossoms of red heat and agony. The back corner of her head bounced off the concrete wall and that’s when the power inside her surged.
Her arms felt juiced, supercharged. The next time the boy kicked her in the face, it didn’t hurt so much. He kept kicking her, in the face, the ribs, the breasts and arms. He kicked her in her shins and in her shoulders, and once he stomped her stomach, but to her it hurt less and less.
Beneath her skin, rivers of liquid heat boiled and rose. Her skin tightened, blistered, pulsed with some sort of strength, or renewed purpose she barely understood. Even the room seemed to lose light, the dark tint in her eyes washing the world in a muted charcoal haze.
She turned her black eyes up at the boy who was out of breath from beating her. In her heart, she felt no remorse, no hatred, no vengeance for him. She just wanted the violence to stop. But seeing her face, it inspired in him neither rage nor disgust. He screamed with panic, and panic escalated every bit of fear now worming its way into his features.
He turned and looked at Dr. Gerhard, who was aiming a gun at the boy. When the boy wheeled back around, his eyes held something new. Turning to Gerhard once more, he said, “What…is she?”
His attack had hurt her, for sure, and somewhere deep inside, she was really, really scared. But there was this new part of her, a part that burned with life, a part of her that was dark and malevolent, a part of her that was vengeful on its very own.
“It’s either her or you!” Gerhard yelled, cocking the pistol’s hammer.
A part of Georgia wanted to know what the boy meant, and why Gerhard was doing this, but the other part of her—the unconscious, more dominant part of her—didn’t need the details. This part of her was like a car whose engine was revved far beyond the redline. If she didn’t pop the clutch now, there’s a good chance she would explode.
The boy grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the center of the room. The monster inside Georgia forced an awkward grin on the girl’s face. The boy looked more frightened than ever. Moving in sheer desperation, he spun on her, mounting her body, clamped his hands around her neck. Thrashing around did little good. He pinned an arm. She clawed at his skin with her free hand, but he ignored her. He kept choking her. The pressure in her head built and throbbed, sending spots into her vision.
She couldn’t breathe!
Through a shaky, smoky haze, she watched the chords in the boy’s neck stand out and strain. A string of saliva drizzled from his twisted, determined mouth. She was on her back, him mounted on top of her and pretty soon that saliva was going to land on her.
Whatever animal was inside her finally fought back. With her free hand, she grabbed his wrist, latched on. The skin in her palms went white hot. The stingers flared. The boy yelped as every single one of them lanced his skin. An impossible push of energy rushed Georgia’s arm and pooled with force in the palm of her hand. Then it fired into the boy, bleeding her power dry for a moment.
The boy’s grip on her neck loosened. He yanked at his arm, yelping in pain when it wouldn’t come lose. Eyes bulging with fear, panic, and pain, he fought her. She wouldn’t let go, no matter his efforts. She just burned her black eyes into his blue ones and gritted her teeth.
His energy was now pooling back into her, leaving him weaker by the second. It was a feeling that shouldn’t have been possible…one person can’t feel the life force of another, can they? But from some remote place inside herself, she most certainly could.
The suppleness in the boy’s skin calcified, the rest of his energy shot backwards from him into her, sustaining her, reinvigorating her. She became aware of the screaming (the boy’s), but all she felt was profound satisfaction.
Whatever was inside her, it wanted to eat him. Georgia freed herself from him, grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. He fought her; she won. Then, because the idea of it was so delectable, Georgia palmed his face the same way she latched on to his wrist. The feeling of her stingers puncturing the skin of his face was at once thrilling and terrifying.
Within moments his arm, and then his face, broke apart like settled ash. His body toppled over sideways. Dead. And when she was done, she stood and stretched, the pain in her face and ribs all but gone. Gerhard put his pistol away. She barely noticed. The eerie silence in the room seemed to stamp her victory. She felt triumphant. The way a soldier must feel when the battlefield was sil
enced, leaving only stillness and death to hang heavy in the air. When she moved, it was not bubbly or happy; no, there was nothing in her walk that made her look weak or girlish. This Georgia moved with purpose. With a chilled resolve that moved even the likes of Gerhard.
She stared for a long time at the dead boy, half his body blackened, his face and arm broken in a heap of settled ash, and she felt nothing. A moment later, a little girl walked into the room. This child was five years old, six maybe at the most. And small. She took Gerhard’s hand into hers and looked at Georgia the way you’d look at a butterfly pinned to display felt.
The girl looked up at Gerhard and said, “She’s like me.”
“Yes,” Gerhard replied, looking upon her like a father would look upon their only child. “I made her just like you. I made her from you.”
“What have you done?” Georgia asked, her voice monotone. The charcoal tint on the world was slow to bleed off, but it faded and soon she saw normal again. Even the jamboree of harvested energy was gone. She felt…strangely normal. It was almost disappointing.
“It’s what I have done for you, my dear.”
“What…am I?”
“My most marvelous creation, my dear. My most marvelous creation.”
Bumpin’ Donuts
1
Just inside the city, my cell phone rings again and I’m like OMFG!!! I pick up and it’s the last person I want to hear from.
“Abby, this is Dr. Gerhard,” the heavily accented German voice says.
Brayden and I exchange a look. He raises his eyebrows like he can’t believe what’s happening. The way my heart starts kicking, you would think Gerhard just appeared in the back seat of the Audi instead of on the other end of the line.
“You’d better have news about Georgia,” I say, my tone bitter and demanding.
“Still on edge, I see.”
“More than you know.”
“Could it be from stealing one of my colleague’s subjects? I understand Dr. Heim was not kind to you.”
