by Aaron Hodges
“Excellent,” the Director clapped her hands and nodded to the first cell. “Shall we proceed then?”
The doctor paused, glancing around. Other than the Director and her personal guards, they were alone. “Will your guards be assisting us?” he asked hesitantly.
The Director laughed. “They’re too well paid for that.” She looked at Chris and Ashley. “My dears, would you help the good doctors get your soon-to-be-brethren ready?”
Ice spread through Chris’s veins at her words. Turning, he looked into the first of the cells, and saw the faces staring back at him. Three sported the sun-kissed skin of the rural population, while the fourth had a pale complexion matching Chris’s own. Each sported a steel collar clasped tight around their necks. Looking at them, Chris remembered being the one in the cage, waiting with Sam and Ashley and Liz as the doctors made their inexorable way through the prison block. He recalled the screams, the agony as the syringe delivered the fateful virus into his bloodstream.
Beside him, Ashley hadn’t moved. He could hear her breathing growing shallow, could see the trembling in her fists as she looked at the Director. She was just seconds away from doing something reckless, something that would see them both punished.
Swallowing his memories, Chris stepped in front of her and approached the cell. Behind the bars, the children retreated from the masked man, until they stood between the two sets of bunk beds. Chris watched as they stumbled over each other in their haste to get away from him.
But there was nowhere for them to go, no escaping from their fate.
He glanced at the Director, and she reached down to touch her watch. A buzzer sounded somewhere above the door, and the steel bars rattled open. Inside, the four teenagers flinched as Chris stepped inside.
“Chris, don’t,” Ashley called from outside.
He froze, hearing the pain in her voice. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath. He could still choose to fight, to turn and throw himself at the Director and her doctors. Yet he knew where that fate would lead him. The collar would drop him before he could take two steps, and then he would spend the night writhing in agony, unable to sleep, to rest, to think. The pain had almost driven him mad the last time.
Slowly he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ash,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
There was no saving these teenagers—just like he hadn’t been able to save the students back at the university.
In his mind, he saw the scene play out again—the loud click of the collar as it fastened around his neck, the smile that had spread across the Director’s face, the roar of machine guns as the soldiers murdered the helpless students.
And the blood, dripping down the stairwell, soaking the carpet on which he lay.
He shuddered, tearing himself from the waking nightmare. Silently, he cursed again his foolishness. He should have stood his ground, should have died before allowing the woman to trap him. Instead, he had sacrificed his freedom, his body, and for what?
The students had died anyway.
But he had learned his lesson now. There was no helping anyone in this awful world, no protecting the weak, no saving them from the cruelty of the powerful. Every time he tried, every time he interfered, he only made things worse, only added to his own suffering.
So why should he try anymore?
He looked at each of the prisoners in turn. “Lie down. Resisting will only make this worse.”
“There’s only one of them,” the boy at the front of them said sharply, glancing at his fellow inmates. “We can take him!”
Chris gave a sad smile beneath his visor. He remembered his own last stand, when he—along with Ashley, Liz and Sam—had tried to fight off a pack of guards. They’d almost managed it, but numbers had overwhelmed them in the end. If there’d been just one, he would have liked his odds as well.
But unfortunately for these four, he was no ordinary human.
Arms crossed, Chris let the first teenager slide towards him. The boy had his hands raised like a boxer, though from the way he moved his feet he was no fighter. They were so close together a weak breeze would knock him over.
Chris let him throw a punch anyway, though he hardly had to move to avoid it. Then, faster than thought, his hand swept out and tapped the boy on the side of the head, sending him reeling sideways. The boy struggled to recover, but his legs no longer seemed to obey him, and he finally slumped to the ground near one of the beds. Cradling his head in his hands, he began to sob.
Turning back to the others, Chris shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you go. They have plans for you,” he nodded at the doctors waiting outside.
The only girl in the cell swallowed and stepped towards him. “Please…” she said, her head down, her big brown eyes reminding him inexplicably of Liz. “Help us. You could stop them...”
Chris only shook his head. He waved at the collar around his throat. “We both know better. Trust me, it’ll…go easier, if you don’t fight it.”
The girl shivered, her eyes darting past Chris to where the doctors waited. “What…what is it?”
Chris followed her gaze, his keen eyes lingering on the syringe a doctor was preparing. “The future.”
The girl bit her lip and retreated to where her remaining cellmates waited. Chris stood in the space between the bunks, hemming them in, and then looked back at the doctors.
“He won’t put up a fight now,” he said, pointing at the boy he’d struck.
The boy sat with his back against the wall, still groaning softly, one hand clutching his head where Chris had hit him.
The doctors hesitated, wary, until a look from the Director sent them scuttling into action. Three of them entered the cell, one holding a syringe while the others made sure the boy wouldn’t move. The last one remained outside at the trolley, preparing the next syringe.
Beside him, Ashley stood with arms crossed, and he quickly looked away again. He still couldn’t understand where she found the courage to resist. Since their capture, it was as though the terror-stricken Ashley they had rescued from Halt had vanished. In her place was the girl he remembered from their captivity, the girl whose will never wavered, who had never given up despite the odds stacked against them.
And while he was glad to have her back, seeing her only reminded Chris of his own failed courage.
Facing the three prisoners, he kept an eye on them while the doctors finished their work. He clenched his fists, knowing what would come next. After all, he had lived it.
It took thirty seconds, but the boy’s first scream was as sharp as he remembered. Despite himself, Chris flinched, and something inside him recoiled from the awful agony of the cry. For a second he closed his eyes, resisting the urge to slap his hands over his ears. It was happening all over again—the torment, the death. Only now he was no longer the prisoner, but the perpetrator.
“The next subject, Chris,” the Director called from outside the cell.
A tremor went through him as he looked at the hateful woman. The boy’s screams echoed off the concrete walls, deafening, especially to his sensitive ears. He stared at the Director, teeth clenched, rage building in his chest.
Then his gaze was drawn to the woman’s eyes, and he knew it was hopeless. Whatever he did, she was always a step ahead, waiting to catch him out, to punish his transgressions. Even if he were to somehow succeed, if he managed to break her little neck, the torment wouldn’t cease. She had taught them that their first day, when she had taken off her watch. Within a second, their collars had beeped, and sent them crashing to the ground.
She had left them there for ten minutes, writhing in helpless agony, before finally strapping the device back to her wrist.
“If my heart stops, those collars will choke the life out of you. I expect that should be motivation enough for you to keep me alive.”
After that, she’d made them her guards. She seemed to take a perverted enjoyment out of having them aro
und.
But looking at her now, Chris knew it was more than that. She had deliberately worn him down, broken him to the point he would do anything to avoid more pain. Even if it meant helping subdue innocent teenagers for their experiments.
Facing the huddle of prisoners, Chris stepped forward and caught the next boy by the hand. The kid yelled and tried to pull away, but there was no resisting Chris’s strength. He dragged the boy out as though he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
When the doctors finished with him, Chris went back and took the third. His eyes caught the girl’s as he dragged the next boy away. She had retreated to the back of the cell, hovering near the toilet, her cheeks wet with tears. Her curly black hair hung around her face, and again Chris was reminded of Liz. He watched the girl as the doctors did their work on the last boy, wondering absently where Liz was, what she was doing.
He knew by now their gambit with the Professor had failed. They’d had no contact with the outside world since their capture, but surely they would have heard if the truth had been made public. Not even the President could survive if the entire country rose up against him.
The third boy’s voice joined the chorus of screams, and knowing it was coming, Chris stepped towards the girl.
“Your turn,” he offered his hand.
She shook her head, eyes wide, begging him for mercy. He had to grab her by the waist and haul her out, kicking and screaming. As he cleared the bunk beds, her elbow caught him in the face and he staggered backwards out into the corridor. They crashed into the trolley, sending equipment flying as the doctors retreated out of range.
Chris cursed as her knee came dangerously close to his groin, still struggling to get a firm grip on her twisting body.
Finally, he growled, and lifting her up, hurled her down on the concrete. The impact drove the breath from the girl’s lungs, and she lay back, mouth wide and gasping for air.
Turning, Chris saw the Director watching him from nearby, flanked on either side by her guards. The other doctors had left the girl’s friends in the cell and followed him out into the corridor. The first boy had finally passed out, though his body was still taught with pain. The second’s screams were beginning to fade, but the third still writhed on the floor.
Smiling, the Director approached Chris. “You’ve done well, Christopher. I–”
A scream from the girl cut her off. Spinning, Chris watched as the girl sprang to her feet and charged the Director. Somehow she’d managed to grab a scalpel that had fallen from the trolley, and now she sprang forward, eyes fixed on the unarmed Director. With her guards still behind her, there was no one left between the Director and the girl.
Chris acted without thinking. He stepped in front of the Director, his fist flashing out to catch the girl square in the chest. A sharp crack echoed down the corridor as the blow brought the girl to a sudden halt, then hurled her backwards. She struck the ground with a thud. Her eyes flickered closed, and a long sigh hissed between her lips.
For a moment, no one moved, as they all stared down at the fallen girl. Then, as if on cue, the doctors and guards rushed forward, one picking up the discarded scalpel while the others gathered around the girl. One of the doctors put a finger to her throat, checking for a pulse, but a few seconds later he looked up at them and shook his head.
Chris choked and stumbled back. Tearing his eyes from the girl, he looked down at his trembling fist. There was no trace of blood, no hint of the life it had just taken. Shivering, he lowered his hand and shook his head, as though that could somehow take back what he’d just done.
He flinched as a soft hand brushed his hair. “Very good, Christopher,” the Director whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “Very good.”
After that, the doctors quickly gathered up the instruments that had fallen from the trolley. Two took the girl between them and dragged her from the prison block. Another pressed a finger to her watch, and the cell door slid closed.
Standing amidst them, all Chris could do was stare at the pale concrete. He didn’t need to look up to know Ashley’s eyes were on him, that beneath her opaque visor she was watching him, hating him.
When the doctors were done cleaning up, the Director strode forward. Placing a finger beneath his chin, the Director forced him to look up at her. Grinning, she nodded at the next cell.
“Shall we continue?”
Chapter 8
Susan shoved the woman through the barn door and followed her inside, Hecate one step behind. Within, the heady scent of the Chead swept over them like a blanket. Its cloying sweetness calmed her racing heart, and she drew in another breath, closing her eyes to savour its ecstasy. Then she reached back and pulled the roller door shut. The metal wheels squealed as it banged closed.
The few dozen women and teenagers kneeling on the concrete floor of the barn flinched at the sound. Their soft sobs echoed from the tin walls, interspersed by the faint rumbling of the generator outside. A ring of Chead surrounded the prisoners, while in the corner the cylindrical refrigerator unit gleamed in the faint light. The Chead had carried it faithfully across the countryside, from farmhouse to town, ensuring its precious contents remained viable. Now it was all but empty. If things went well, this would be its final stop.
Turning, Susan found her captive standing nearby. She had stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide as she took in the barn. But Susan could see Talisa waiting, and grabbing the woman by the hair, she dragged her across the room and pushed her down beside the other prisoners. The feeble women and teenagers scrambled back from her until the wall of the barn pulled them up short. Soft laughter came from the Chead guarding them. Smiling, Susan moved to where Hecate now waited with Talisa, and bowed her head.
“You are late, my child,” Talisa whispered in admonishment.
Susan shivered as she looked into the elder Chead’s milky white eyes. “I’m sorry…Talisa,” she stammered. The change had robbed her of speech, and she was still struggling to regain her words. “The rage was…on me. Hecate…brought me back.”
The lines on Talisa’s aging face deepened as she smiled. “You must learn control, child.” Reaching out, she gripped Susan by the arm. “Come, you are needed.”
Taking Susan’s arm, Talisa led her past the kneeling women. Susan’s eyes drifted over the faces of their captives as they moved. They were all young, in their late teens or early twenties. Most kept their eyes fixed to the ground, but a few had the courage to stare back, defiant, the streaks of dried tears on their cheeks the only sign of their fear. The few males present had been herded into one corner. They would face the choice last—if there were any vials left for them.
She had counted thirty prisoners in all—too many. But no doubt some would refuse; they always did.
The refrigerator unit waited for her in the corner. The steel casing had seen better days; its sides were streaked with mud, and several dings now marked the metal where its minders had been less than careful.
Talisa stopped next to the machine and nodded for Susan to proceed. Susan knelt beside the unit, her hands trembling, eager to do the ancient Chead’s bidding. There was an aura about Talisa, a power that demanded Susan leap to do her bidding. Taking a deep breath, she waited until her hands stilled, and then reached out to open the lid of the unit.
Looking inside, Susan licked her lips as she counted the remaining vials. Once there had been hundreds of vials inside–now there were only a few dozen left. Nodding to herself, she checked the power level on the side, and then waved at the two Chead who guarded the contraption. Each took one handle and followed her across the room. The waiting prisoners watched with open mouths as the Chead set the unit down in front of them.
Susan smiled as she looked at them, tasting the bitter tang of their fear. Outside, distant screams could still be heard, as her brethren continued their wanton slaughter. Watching the pitiful creatures huddle together on the ground, Susan wondered how she had ever been so weak. Memories drifted through her mind, of a woman los
t and alone, scared to live. Now those emotions seemed as foreign to her as the moon.
Hecate moved across to stand beside her, his arm curling around her waist. She smiled up at him, her own hand drifting to her stomach, to the life growing there. It was beginning to swell, the accelerated growth of the Chead taking hold. She still remembered their reproductive cycle from her other life, though her small mind had never contemplated experiencing it herself.
Almost always in heat, the Chead could have anything from one to eight eggs attached to the uterus at a time. And once fertilised, gestation took only six weeks before birth. From there, her children would continue to grow at an accelerated rate, reaching the size of a teenager within two years.
Detaching herself from Hecate, she smiled up at him. It had been four weeks since their night in the cave. It would not be long now, and she was glad this would be their last stop. Shortly, they would set out for the underground labyrinth Talisa had made the wild Chead’s home. There, Susan’s children would be safe. Warmth spread through her stomach at the thought of holding them in her arms.
But for now, there were new souls to welcome into the ranks of the Chead.
Delving back into the cylinder, she retrieved a syringe and took out the first vial. The women watched as she prepared the needle, silent now. The process only took a few seconds. Holding up the needle, she checked for bubbles and then nodded for Talisa to proceed.
Striding forward, the elder Chead grasped the nearest prisoner by the shirt and hauled her to her feet. The woman tried to resist, but she was only human, and her strength was like a mouse to a cat for the Chead. Lifting her hand, Talisa slapped her hard across the face. The blow whipped the woman’s head to the side, and she sagged in Talisa’s arms. Scowling, Talisa tossed her on the ground at Susan’s feet.
“Stand,” Susan growled.
Sobbing, the woman scrambled onto her hands and knees and looked up at Susan. Blood ran from her lip, but when she saw Susan’s cold grey eyes, she quickly nodded. Her feet trembled beneath her weight, but somehow she managed to stand.
