The Withered Series (Book 1): Wither

by Miles, Amy

  A green uniform encases the man, tailored to perfection right down to his shiny black shoes. A colorful array of medals dangle from his chest. He must be high ranking to be decorated like this. Perhaps a general or commander of some sort.

  “I’m an American citizen. You have no right to detain me.”

  His throaty laugh grates against my frayed nerves. Beside him, three soldiers snicker behind their hands. A doctor, with a three-quarter length white lab coat shifts uncomfortably. He wears a matching uniform beneath his coat.

  As I look beyond him I see that I am in a darkened room that stretches out before me. The ceiling is metal and domed. It looks like an aircraft hangar that’s been converted into some mad scientist’s lab.

  I am in a long row of chairs, each with its own light, heart monitors and web of tubing. Men and women sit in the chairs, emotionless, unconscious.

  I turn to glare at the man, knowing he is in charge. “This is wrong.”

  “No.” The humor in his eyes vanishes instantly as he steps forward. His arms cross behind his back and he leans over me. “What is wrong is that my men are dying out there trying to save your sorry ass. Trained soldiers, good men fighting for freedom are being cut down by the scum that thinks they own this city now.”

  “I’m not one of them!”

  He rises back up and appraises me coolly. “You’re right. You’re part of the cure now.”

  He turns on his heel and starts away. “Wait!”

  The man pauses but does not turn. I grit my teeth, blowing out a breath before I speak. “I had a friend in the city. She was in danger, needed my help. I have to get back to her.”

  The general doesn’t respond, doesn’t make a sound as he resumes his march away from me, leaving me helpless and hopeless. I lower my head as tears sting my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” a voice whispers beside me after the resounding echo of the door slamming fades away. I lift my head to see the doctor is the only one who remains. “About your friend, I mean.”

  “Then help me escape.”

  He shakes his head. I notice his hands are small for a man. His stature not nearly as imposing as the others. This man has most likely never seen a day of real battle, certainly not hand to hand combat. He is a doctor. A man who might still have a conscience.

  “She was only a girl, a teen who went into labor,” I press, praying that I can reach his humanity. “She started bleeding. We tried to stop it but she just got weaker....”

  He closes his eyes. His head lowers as he shakes his head. “Please,” I beg without apology. “I have to help her.”

  When he raises his head, I see evidence of his compassion in the curve of his lips but then he turns aside. His fingers work the buttons of the machine beside me and I watch the IV drip increase. Another increases the flow of blood trailing from my arm. As the doctor silently works, checking my feeding tube and monitoring the output of the catheter snaking out from beneath my hospital gown, I begin to feel weakness anew.

  Finally he stops and turns to look at me. My head presses heavily against the headrest. His lips purse and he shakes his head. “I’m truly sorry. I’m sure you cared for your friend, but she was probably dead long before you were even captured.”

  He turns and starts away, my file tucked under the crook of his arm. “He’s going to kill me.”

  The doctor pauses. “No. I won’t let that happen.”

  My eyes slip closed as the sound of his footsteps retreats. Tears stream down my cheeks as I mourn the loss of the only friend I’ve truly had in a long time. Eva wanted nothing from me. She extended friendship for the sole purpose of being nice. That is rare in my life.

  I have no way to monitor time as the hours pass. Lethargy comes and goes. The doctor returns twice to readjust the machines. Neither time does he truly look at me. Not like before.

  The silence seeks to drive me crazy. I call out from time to time, knowing that no one can hear my hoarse cries over the steady droning of mechanical beeps filling the air. None of the other captives move or wake. Why have I not been sedated again like them?

  My vision grows fuzzy, my eyes ache from peering into the dark in search of an escape route. For all intents and purposes there are no walls to this room. None that I can see or hope to reach.

  Just as I’m about to drift off again I hear a sliding footstep against the floor. A burst of adrenaline shoots through me, waking my senses as I wait for another shuffle or the moan that I fear might come. Surely they have Moaners here as well. The commander said he is losing men. That can’t only mean by bullets.

  “Hello?” I call out and wait, straining to hear. Another sound. Followed by cautious footsteps. I can just see movement in the shadows beyond the borders of my light. They move with stealth, far too fluid for a Moaner. “Who’s there?”

  “Shit,” a husky voice breathes out. A pair of boots enter the ring of light first, followed by a lean waist, broad torso and strong jaw. I lift my gaze and blink rapidly, sure that I’m dreaming.

  “Cable?”

  He pauses at the foot of my chair, his gaze flitting over me. He looks intense, perplexed and rigid. “I thought you got out.”

  I bark out a laugh and my head falls to my right shoulder. He rushes forward and helps me lift it again. My chest rises and falls with exertion. “Not all that different than last time, huh?”

  His expression tightens in light of my attempt at humor. He glances back over his shoulder. “I have to get you out of here.”

  He starts to reach for the straps holding my arms down and then hesitates. He glances all around. “Why are you here?”

  “I got lost looking for the bathroom,” I croak, rolling my eyes. “Why do you think?”

  “No.” He says in a hushed voice as he peers back over his shoulder again. “I mean here, in this room.”

  My attempt at a shrug comes off as more of a slump. “They didn’t exactly give me the grand tour when I arrived.”

  Cable’s gaze narrows in on a chart hanging next to my IV pole. He steps carefully around my feet and grabs the papers, flipping through. I roll my head to the side to watch him. The effort is exhausting.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible but his expression darkens further. “You’re a candidate.”

  “For what?”

  When he looks up, I can tell that whatever it is, I really don’t want to volunteer. He places the chart back down and steps to my side. “Getting you out of here won’t be easy. We’ll need help. My men won’t be back from their patrol until tomorrow. We will have to wait until then.”

  “I can’t wait that long.” Panic pinches my voice, making me sound like a terrified mouse. “That creepy general guy wants to take all of my blood.”

  Cable’s head snaps up. “What?”

  “I heard them saying they wanted to take more. A lot more.”

  He wipes his hand over his mouth as he blinks rapidly. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re a universal donor. They should let you rest so you can generate more blood, not steal it all and risk killing you!”

  I close my eyes, feeling a heavy pounding in my head. “Maybe you need to admit the fact that your boss isn’t such a good guy.”

  I sound sleepy. I feel sleepy. I surface only when Cable presses his palm against my cheek. He leans in close. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

  EIGHT

  They came for me in the middle of the night. I heard their heavy march first, followed by the shouted commands to prep me. I remember my arms feeling like lead when they finally removed my restraints. My arms fell over the sides of the chair, like useless limbs, but still I couldn’t resist. My legs were no better. I had no energy, no will to fight back, even as I was placed on a stretcher and taken from the room.

  I have only a blurry memory of a biting cold hitting my exposed skin as I was carried from the hangar. The whirling sound of helicopter rotors filled my mind as we passed by and entered another building, this one white and exceedingly sterile
looking.

  Hands jostled me as I was placed on a soft surface. A mask was placed over my face, though there was no need for medication to knock me out. I was barely lucid as it was.

  Now I am awake. I feel stronger, though only slightly. My surroundings have changed. I sit propped up against a white wall on a small cot in the corner of an empty room. There is no other furniture save for a porcelain toilet in the corner. A large pane of glass lies on the wall before me. I’m being watched. I can feel it.

  A new team of doctors monitors me now. None of them speak to me. None of them look at me, beyond a general perusal of my physical condition. They are cold, callous.

  With my knees tucked into my chest, I stare at the tube feeding into my wrist. They no longer take blood from me. Now they seem to be giving it.

  My hospital gown is gone, replaced by long white pants and white cotton top, the sleeves drawn up to allow access for the IV. My hair has been washed and falls in waves about my shoulders, frizzy from air drying. My skin smells of lightly scented soap, clean and blood free. The remnants of my wounds have been cleaned and bandaged. I’ve been sterilized too.

  My questions fall on deaf ears. The two-way glass is my only connection to the outside world and a reflection of the only thing I have left to depend on: myself.

  I have not seen Cable in what feels like days and know nothing of his whereabouts. A part of me hopes that he is trying to find a way to fulfill his vow. To save me from this cage. Another part of me believes that I will never see real daylight again.

  During the endless hours I’ve spent beneath these brilliant fluorescent lights, I’ve begun to question Cable’s intentions. I knew he worked for the government, even suspected them of being corrupt after speaking with Eva about the missing children, but is it really a coincidence that he stumbled across me in the blood bank? How did he gain clearance for what was obviously a secured room? He is a familiar face, someone that I might be inclined to trust. Has he been swayed to betray me?

  “How are you feeling this evening?” a voice calls through a speaker near the door.

  I turn and look at the silver box, then lower my head again. I do not recognize the voice. It is feminine. The first I have heard since arriving in this god forsaken place.

  “I expect you have questions.” The clank of a lock captures my attention, as does her thick, foreign accent. I place my feet on the floor and curl my fingers around the cot’s frame as the door slides open. Just beyond her in the hall I see two soldiers with guns at the ready.

  A tall brunette enters, her heels clacking against the tile floor. Her hair is piled in delicate curls around her face. Her eyes bear a hint of eye shadow. The overwhelming scent of her floral perfume makes me wipe my nose as the door closes behind her.

  I scan her button down dress shirt, the white a near perfect match to the walls behind her. A tight, navy blue, knee length skirt hugs the curve of her hips. Four inch heels carry her toward me. As I stare at her, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen her before.

  She pauses a few feet away and clasps her hands before her. Up close I notice a thick sheen of foundation pasted onto her skin. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Why do I think that’s a lie?”

  She ignores my sarcastic remark and motions to the end of the bed. “May I?”

  “It’s your bed. I’m just visiting.”

  The bed creaks under her weight. She curls her legs back under, crossed at the ankle as she shifts to look at me. “We are not your enemy, Avery. I realize that all of this might seem a bit extreme, but it’s for your own good.”

  “Really?” I turn my torso to look at her. “Cause I’m pretty sure kidnapping an innocent person, stealing her blood and then performing experiments on her is still all sorts of fucked up, even in this new world.”

  The corners of her lips twitch, almost hinting at a genuine smile. Her hands lay one over the other in her lap. I notice that her nail polish is cracked, the glossy tips recently colored over. Upon closer inspection I realize that my first impression of her Barbie doll exterior was wrong, though I’d give her points for trying to pull off the look.

  “Rough day?”

  She blinks. “Excuse me?”

  “You have bruises on your arm. Kinda look like mine.” I raise my forearm to show her a nearly identical set of marks, bearing evidence to the manhandling I received when I was brought here. “My mom used to date some pretty nasty guys. Always had a knack for finding the beaters. I know a thing or two about cover ups and yours is pretty decent.”

  The woman’s gaze darts toward the glass then falls to the floor. She clears her throat and straightens her spine. “You are a very special girl, Avery. We have no intention of harming you.”

  “Not exactly feeling the warm fuzzies right now.” I draw my legs up into my chest and cradle myself. The surface of the cot is hardly what I would call comfortable, but after weeks spent camping out on the hard floor beside my mother’s bed or sleeping next to Eva in that warehouse, it feels like a five star hotel.

  She nods. “I imagine all of this must be hard to understand. My name is Natalia and I’ve been commissioned as your liaison, your go between.”

  “Between who, exactly? Me and the US government? Russia?” Her gaze narrows. “You’re not American. The crappy accent was a dead giveaway.”

  She glances toward the window again and stares for a moment. I follow her gaze, knowing there is no way she can see through that glass. After a minute of silence passes, she lowers her head.

  “Twenty minutes,” she murmurs under her breath and rises.

  I stare after her as she moves swiftly toward the door. She slams her palm against the metal twice. The door opens an inch. “I’m finished with her.”

  A tall, heavily armed soldier sweeps his gaze past her to me as he opens the door. I smile and wiggle my fingers at him in mock greeting. His scowl deepens as he allows her to pass then slams the door.

  What just happened? I lie down on the cot, rolling to my side so that I’m facing the wall only a few inches from my face. It would not surprise me if there weren’t cameras that can see me from every angle in this room, but I feel better knowing that the faceless men behind the glass window can't see.

  Twenty minutes. What is that supposed to mean? She’ll be back in twenty minutes? Something terrible is going to happen? Maybe it’s another experiment.

  I clasp my hands and tuck them under my head, wincing at the tug of the IV in my arm, and I force myself to rest. A mock rest, one with the sole intent of appearing to sleep, but my mind dashes through countless scenarios. The more I try to puzzle through Natalia’s conversation and the change in her demeanor, the more frustrated I become.

  Minutes tick past slowly. I count the seconds in my mind, wondering just how many were lost or miscounted during my mental rants. Surely it is nearly time, yet no one has come for me. I hear nothing beyond the walls of my cage. The painted concrete block is soundproofed, probably so no one has to listen to my screams.

  I roll onto my back and stare unblinking up at the ceiling, unwilling to feign sleep any longer. Idiot. She was just trying to get a reaction from me. Another stupid mind game.

  Rubbing my hands over my face, I rise to the edge of the bed and cradle my head in my hands. My elbows dig into my thighs as I release a deep breath. When am I going to stop falling for this shit?

  I hear something. Raising my head, I glance around. A tremor works up through the floor into the soles of my bare feet. I start to rise but pause as I see a vibration in the glass window. Cocking my head to the side, I watch the mirrored surface appear to ripple.

  The blast catches me off guard. I throw up my hands to shield my face as thousands of shards explode. Small nicks appear on my arms, slicing through the thin fabric of my clothes. Lines of crimson begin to appear along my body as I slowly uncurl to see a darkened hole where the glass once was.

  A man stands there, waiting. “Cable?”

  Placing
his hands against the window frame, he launches himself through. Glass shatters beneath his boots as he rushes to my side. He offers me an apologetic grimace before ripping the IV from my arm, disconnecting me from the monitors. They beep loudly just before he kicks the cart over. As he reaches out to cup my face, I realize his palms are wrapped in fabric. “Can you walk?”

  “Not exactly.” I glance at the sea of glass all around. Cable follows my gaze to my bare feet and instantly sweeps me into his arms.

  “Be ready to run. Keep your head down. Stay close behind me.”

  He hoists me through the window and into what looks like some sort of operating room. An array of scalpels, needles and monitors stand before me. A bin of tubing wrapped in protective sealed bags hangs along the wall. A heart monitor’s green flat line trails silently across the screen at the head of the bed. Three clipboards with charts, printed cardiograms and who knows what else lies on the table to my right. I fall still at the sight of the name on the top of the page: Avery Whitlock.

  “Oh god!” Flashes of memory seizes me as I stare up at the darkened dome light. “I remember.”

  I step back into Cable, stopped by the breadth of his chest. “Don’t think about it. Just move.”

  “They know my name,” I call after him as he rushes to the door. As he tugs it open to look out, I hear the blaring of sirens for the first time. “How do they know my name?”

  “I told them.” His response is flat, unemotional.

  I close the gap between us and seize his arm. He glances back at me with mounting agitation. “I only ever told you my first name.”

  His gaze softens as he places his hand over mine. “Do you really think they wouldn’t know everything about you by now?”

  His words leave me cold as he ducks his head back into the hall. I curl my toes against the frigid tiles, wishing for a pair of warm fuzzy socks. Heck, I’d take a pair of flip-flops at this point! “Follow me.”

  I do, as if on autopilot. We clamber over two fallen soldiers that once guarded my door, pausing for Cable to check their weapons. “Why aren’t you taking the big ones?” I ask as he tucks a small pistol in his back waistband.