Iris
By
Yolanda Sfetsos
Eternal Press
A division of Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998
www.eternalpress.biz
Iris
by Yolanda Sfetsos
Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-451-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-452-9
Cover art by: Dawné Dominique
Edited by: Andrea Heacock-Reyes
Copyright 2011 Yolanda Sfetsos
Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Cassie,
because she’s always so understanding and supportive
when I get stuck with editing
during her school holidays.
I’d like to thank the many raw and gritty futuristic movies that have inspired me to write a nonstop action story of my own.
Chapter One
A sharp throbbing beat inside her head, and disorientation numbed her mind.
When she tried to sit up by pressing both palms against the cold, hard concrete below, she barely managed to lift her torso. Her arms trembled with the pressure of holding her body up. No matter how much she hoped moving would ease the pain extending through her limbs, it did nothing to help.
Everything still hurt.
Where am I? The question echoed inside her mind until it made her teeth chatter. The temperature was close to arctic, and goose bumps sprouted along her skin.
Her heavy breaths misted in front of her face.
Every muscle tensed as she peered around the unfamiliar and dark room. Even in pitch black, her eyesight adjusted quickly as she examined the surroundings and filth at every corner. Old newspapers—yellowed with age—littered every corner of the vast room in unstable piles, cobwebs adorned the ceiling like falling curtains, musty and haphazardly stacked boxes lined one of the brick walls, and something skittered beneath it all.
Ignoring the tapping of small rodent feet and the ache inside her head, she shot to her feet. Sucking in a ragged breath to wash down the sting, she double-checked the room.
I’m all alone.
A light breeze blew in from somewhere, stirring the strands of knotty hair which fell over her face and tumbled down her shoulders and back.
She looked down at her exposed body and confirmed she was completely naked. No wonder she was so cold. It had seeped beneath her skin. She had no idea how long she’d been in this place or how she’d gotten here.
With wide eyes, she noticed a dark substance covered almost every inch of her skin in erratic patterns, as if she’d been splashed with paint. Her arms lay limp at her sides, but they were also coated in the thick liquid. It streaked down the back of her hands and wrists and had dried beneath her fingernails.
The scent had already filtered into her nasal passages enough for her to recognize what it was.
Blood.
I’m covered in blood from head to toe. Why?
She sucked in a sudden gulp of air, before following it with a series of longer breaths she somehow knew would calm her down. It took a few minutes, but she was able to regain control and felt the dizziness fade away.
Look around, learn your surroundings, and inspect ever detail. She wasn’t sure if these were her own commands or someone else’s, but they made sense.
First, she had to get warm, and that meant changing her naked status.
While checking her body for wounds, a swirling tattoo adorning the top of her left arm and the curve of her shoulder caught her attention. The longer she stared at it, the more the ink glowed green. Patterns that at first seemed to make no sense, eventually morphed into an ancient script she could understand.
It spelled out a word: Iris.
My name must be Iris. Why else would it be tattooed onto my skin? What am I doing here?
A stab of pain suddenly pierced her skull, forcing her to press both hands up against her temples in an attempt to shut it out. Still, no amount of pressure from her icy cold fingertips or palms could stop the voice and images trickling into her brain.
“Iris. Iris, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she responded. Her lips felt rough and dry, and her vocal cords were stiff, as if they hadn’t been used for a long time. She didn’t even recognize her own voice.
The pain intensified, until she thought her head would explode. Her eyes shut involuntarily, and she fell to her knees.
“Iris, do you know why you’re here?” The voice was male, soft, and soothing. In her mind’s eye, she could see his pant legs. His feet were hidden inside shiny, black shoes. Who was he, and why was he inside her head?
Her eyes snapped open.
The pain slowly subsided when she realized it had only been a memory strong enough to momentarily paralyze her body.
She shivered as another breeze washed over her freezing body.
Iris got to her feet again and stepped forward, but she stopped when her toes hit something hard. Her foot became engulfed by what she suspected was the same sticky substance coating her body, and it stuck between her toes. She wrapped both arms around her bare breasts to center herself, quieting the shivers. Her head dizzied at the strong stench of the bloodstained air. Its metallic-sweetened smell rose from what she was positive happened to be a puddle of blood.
Had someone attacked her? Then left her for dead?
She refused to look down and instead stepped to the side, weaving around whatever she’d encountered on the floor. The blood between her toes and on the bottom of her feet made every step she took a little more unstable, until she slipped and ended up back on the floor, staring up at a dark ceiling.
She sucked in a few breaths, trying to clear the white dots in front of her eyes. She must have hit her head a little harder than she thought.
She rolled over onto her stomach, and using both hands to keep her face from hitting the concrete, she pushed her body up. With her fingers sliding along the floor, she eventually managed to get to her feet. Her hip stung from the impact, but it was just another throb echoing inside her body. She wished she could close herself off from everything.
Panic tore through her lungs, and her heart sped up as she realized she hadn’t just slipped on a puddle of blood, but what actually resembled a lake…spilling from the men who’d been slaughtered beside her, and were now only bloody lumps scattered on the dirty ground.
A scream froze inside her throat, and her body shook.
Some of the cooling blood touched her fingers. Whoever had done this could still be in here, hiding behind the newspapers or lying in wait near the wall of boxes.
I could be their next victim.
Iris wouldn’t let anyone do this to her.
She looked around. The room now seemed to be crawling with movement, though it was probably her imagination playing tricks on her.
Fear, horror, and confusion flooded her. She didn’t know what to do, where to go. So, she stepped as far away as she could from the scene of mutilation. Surely someone would come looking for these men soon, which could be a good thing, or it could turn into her worst nightmare. What if they blam
ed her for this carnage?
I have to get out of here before anyone finds me.
She turned around and headed for the wall lined with large, square boxes. She climbed the unstable tower, toward the window at the top of the pile. It would serve as her only escape. She refused to walk through the blood pool.
Her hip ached, but she ignored the pain.
Iris desperately rubbed both hands against the dirty window in front of her so she could see through it. She moved closer, until the tip of her nose was pressed against the cold glass, and she caught sight of the continuous rain pooling on the asphalt beneath it.
Suddenly, all she wanted was to walk out into the growing puddles of water. The rain would wash away the blood drying on her skin, and it would hopefully wash away the horror she’d just experienced.
Before she could move, her vision suddenly filled with a forest. Tall trees, flowers, and grass extended all around her. She could smell nature as if it could sprout inside this claustrophobic space. She was trapped inside some sort of building with no trees or grass or animals, nothing left for nature to nurture. In order to reach the perfect image inside her mind, she’d have to leave this place and find it.
I don’t belong inside this much concrete. I need the grass and the earth.
She smacked her palms against the glass, hoping to shatter it, but it wouldn’t budge. Desperation pushed inside her, encouraging her need to step outside and into the rain, allowing it to wash away the cobwebs engulfing her brain as much as this room.
The latch at the top of the timber frame caught her eye. It was worth a shot. Her fingers slipped several times, stubbing the tips. She cursed at the pain but continued her attempts.
Iris looked over her shoulder at the ruined, dead bodies on the concrete floor. Someone had killed them. If the killer returned, he or she might go for her next.
A sense of déjà vu flowed into her mind. Something about the thought seemed familiar. Had she thought of it before? How many times had her life been in this type of danger?
Think, think…Her thoughts were scattered. Nothing was clear or made any real sense.
The only sure thing was her need to get out of this room. If the water outside didn’t touch her skin soon, she would descend into madness. She was sure of it. The last thing she needed right now was a fever she’d never be able to cleanse away.
Iris turned her concentration back to the window. It took several attempts, and several cuts to her shaky fingers, but she managed to turn the latch. Now, all she had to do was lift the glass enough to squeeze through, and she’d be free of this nightmare.
She raised the glass and peeked outside, enough to suck in a deep breath of the cool night. The smell of wet concrete filled her lungs. Rapture ignited inside her as half of her body successfully squirmed out.
Her mind cleared as soon as the first drop of rain touched her skin, and her fingers splashed into a puddle.
A gust of wind lifted her hair and caressed her face, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
I’m almost home.
All of her newfound excitement and clear thoughts slid away when someone suddenly grabbed her ankle.
Chapter Two
Fox rounded yet another corner. The basement level situated deep inside this old building—far from the heights he’d grown up in—was starting to remind him of a labyrinth.
He tapped the earpiece in his left ear but still had no reception. Not a single sound to confirm there were others with the same device at their disposal. Not even static. It felt as if they’d disappeared, leaving behind radio silence. He pulled it out and shoved it into one of his many pockets.
A team of professionals silenced. How could six Spec-Ops members be hushed at once? Each person had been individually handpicked for this situation by one of the richest men in Nexus. Their last communication had claimed they’d secured the target, seconds before the screaming started. Their panicked yells were so loud, his eardrum almost exploded. Then, all sound was abruptly cut off.
What could have happened to them?
He had no idea, but he was about to find out. The tracking device in his hand pinpointed their location. His team was nothing more than a bunch of unmoving blue dots inside the basement he was approaching.
He swallowed, sweat beading his brow.
Several horrifying scenarios filled his mind. Starting with, why weren’t there six dots, instead of over a dozen? Why were all of them in blue? Red signified they were alive. Blue indicated their deaths.
He was tempted to place the earpiece back into his ear. It was the only means of communication he had left to the upper levels. His father could very well jump on to whisper into his ear whenever he felt like it, but Fox didn’t particularly want to speak to him. He’d gotten them into this mess in the first place.
This was supposed to be a simple mission. Fox’s team would grab and deliver their target, unharmed. Once the thief was safely delivered to the Tower, the team would be well compensated, and divide their bounty between them.
What confused him about this mission was the reason his father wanted this “thief” captured. He claimed she’d stolen a large amount of credits from his personal account, but Fox knew this was a blatant lie.
Fox knew because he’d taken it. He didn’t need the funds, but had wanted to hit his father where it would hurt the most. The credits were still untouched—hidden in a secret place—pending his decision of what to do with them.
He resented his father’s tight grip on so much wealth, when those below suffered so much and didn’t have a penny to their names. Most lived their lives knowing death would close in on them at too young an age. They waited for a miracle from above, hoping the urban legend of the Lottery would one day save them.
Yeah, this damn city was unjust and downright dirty, but it never failed to dish out the urban myths.
Fox closed his hands into fists. The way the two corporations toyed with the desperation of the population always fired him up. Rage balled up inside his gut.
He had luckily avoided the slums on his descent to find this thief, but who knew what he’d see on the way up. He may not be so lucky. There was an escape route ready for him, but if the team had already faced a dangerous compromise, maybe the same would happen to him.
What had this supposed thief really done? Fox knew more than his father suspected but still not enough. This was a puzzle he didn’t hold all the pieces for, but he would enjoy figuring it out. Puzzles kept his mind focused and busy for hours when there’d been nothing else to do but mope about the lack of fatherly involvement and attention in his life.
He shook his head, as if the move would erase twenty-five years of bullshit.
As he approached the narrow doorway, Fox shoved the locator into his pocket and pulled out the gun strapped to his thigh. His boots were standard Spec-Ops and wouldn’t announce his approach until it was too late. Clutching the cool metal in his right hand and keeping it low at his side, he moved quickly.
No point in stalling the inevitable. His father wanted this person alive and kicking, but if he had to use his weapon, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Clearing all thoughts from his mind, he passed through the doorway. The actual door had been ripped off years ago. The thick, twisted hinges were the only evidence left.
With the barrel held out in front of him and the safety clicked off, his eyes were suddenly engulfed in darkness so black, his heart jack-hammered when he kicked something on the floor.
He took a step back, only to bump into something else.
Shit. He needed night vision for this. The standard illumination from the corridors wouldn’t be enough.
With shaky hands, he pressed the button on the visor already over his eyes. His rapid breath spiked when the greenish tinge of his goggles helped him see what he kept smacking into. Bodies were scattered everywhere.
He backed up. They weren’t randomly strewn. The bodies had been struck down in a circle formation, almost as if they’d closed
in on the killer. Most had been broken into unrecognizable pieces and decapitated, which explained the strange readings he’d been getting. None of the wounds appeared to be clean or precise.
Fox fought the urge to throw up. The one detail he did recognize was the uniforms.
He took a step closer, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. The stench of death almost made him gag, but he continued on. To the right, Fox could make out the faces of two of his team members. Nila’s blonde, spiked hair was now stained red. Duff’s bald head lay several feet from his body. They’d vowed to spend their lives together and had died that way, too.
He looked away. The others didn’t even look human.
Rubbing sounds caught his attention. He turned to the side, his gaze falling on old and faded newspapers drenched with blood. Some of the dates were ancient—in the late 1900’s and into the beginning of the 21st century.
The sound continued.
Lifting his head, his gaze followed the stacks of boxes in front of the brick wall he’d turned to face. A breeze stirred around him when he took another step. Rain pounded relentlessly against the pavement outside, and the closer he got, the louder it sounded. He’d never been so close to the streets, and gooseflesh spread beneath his uniform.
He pushed forward with tense legs, eyes scanning the situation to have his worst suspicion confirmed. A window was cracked open. Rain echoed so closely, because the barriers their city needed between the population and the outside world had been breached. Why wasn’t there the familiar buzz of an alarm? This wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to escape the confines of the buildings in order to end their lives. It was why every window and door leading outside was triggered to go off.
He was in the lower levels. No one above cared if the people here all walked out into the rain. In fact, it would save them the trouble of having to deal with their existence.
Iris Page 1
