Rebirth (The Praegressus Project Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  There had been a point to his father’s tale, but for the life of him, Chris could not recall its meaning now. Instead, he stared down at the collar, wondering if he was about to take the first step into his own captivity.

  But he had no choice but to obey.

  With deliberate slowness, Chris raised the collar to his neck. A tingle ran through his skin as the metal touched the flesh of his throat, and a terrifying dread rose within him. A voice screamed for him to run, to hurl the collar away from him.

  Instead, he closed his eyes and pulled the collar closed around his neck. The steel links slid across his flesh like the coils of a python, icy to the touch, and came together with a loud click.

  Struggling to breathe, Chris sank to his knees and fumbled for the pile of clothes. A sudden, desperate shame at his nakedness took him. He felt exposed, as though his nudity highlighted his new bondage, relegating him to little better than an animal.

  Scrambling into the bright orange uniform, he sank back to his knees. A sick despair rose in his throat, but he pushed it down, struggling to keep a flicker of hope above the rising waters. The collar’s icy grip tightened around his throat, stealing away his breath. A claustrophobic scream grew in his throat as he coughed for air.

  Halt only gave a satisfied nod and stepped back from the cage.

  Glancing across at the other cage, he saw Elizabeth had managed to pull on an orange jumpsuit of her own. The heavy fabric clung to her lithe frame, and Chris couldn’t help but think of what he had glimpsed of her earlier. A dark bruise showed on her forehead as her clear blue eyes flickered in his direction. His cheeks warmed as she raised an eyebrow and brushed a lock of hair from her face. The wild black curls hung around her shoulders, the ends jagged and split, as though they had been cut by a knife.

  Taking a breath, the girl pulled herself to her feet. The collar flashed around her neck, an all too vivid reminder of their captivity. Her fists clenched and her lips drew back in a snarl, but otherwise she remained quiet.

  In front of the cages, Halt gave a satisfied smirk. “Very good. I’m pleased to see you are both fast learners. Perhaps you will surprise me.” Chris flinched as Halt clapped his hands again. “Now, before you are taken to your new accommodations, I must warn you, I have little patience for agitators. Dissent will not be tolerated. Those collars around your necks are more than they appear. Do not attempt to remove them. Any effort to tamper with them without the correct key will trigger a small explosive discharge, which will have… unpleasant results.”

  Chris swallowed hard. A trick of sweat ran down his neck and he tasted bile in his throat. Clenching his teeth, he sucked in a breath and fought to keep himself from throwing up whatever remained in his stomach. In the opposite cage, Elizabeth showed no sign she had heard Halt’s words. She stood with eyes closed, one arm against the cage wall, as though that was the only thing keeping her upright.

  When neither of them spoke, Halt continued. “As we have no wish to risk our guards every time our subjects step out of line, the collars are used as a disciplinary tool.”

  Leaning against the wall of his cage, Chris stifled a fake yawn, unwilling to show his fear. “Seems a little harsh, blowing off someone’s head for a bit of back talk.”

  The doctor glared at him, then gave a slow shake of his head. “Perhaps you are not as quick to learn as I thought,” he raised his arm and pulled down his sleeve.

  He wore a sleek black watch around his wrist, all shining metal and glass. As he tapped its surface, the screen glowed bright blue. Another tap and a loud beep came from Chris’s collar. The hairs on his neck stood up as Halt looked back at him.

  “Your collars are capable of delivering an electric shock of five hundred volts and up to one hundred milliamps. They are activated remotely by these watches, which you will find all personnel within the facility are equipped with.” A slow grin spread across Halt’s face. “A simple tap of the screen, by any doctor or guard, and all collars within a twenty-foot radius are activated. Or an individual subject’s collar may be chosen at our discretion. Perhaps you would like a demonstration?”

  Holding his breath, Chris shook his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl make the same gesture.

  Halt eyed the two of us, his eyes lit with a strange light. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic,” he laughed. “Too bad.” Before anyone could move he pressed a thumb to the watch.

  Chris opened his mouth to scream as the collar around his neck gave a loud beep. Before a sound could escape him, fingers of fire wrapped around his throat, cutting off his cry. His jaw locked hard as electricity surged through his body. His back arched with sudden agony, and the strength went from his legs, sending him toppling to the concrete. A burning cramp tore through his muscles as he thrashed against the ground. Damp water still pooling on the concrete soaked through his new clothes, but he barely noticed.

  A loud buzzing filled his ears, but through it, he could hear Halt’s voice. “This is twenty milliamps. Enough to deliver a painful shock, even freeze your motor functions. Not enough to kill – or at least, not over short periods of time.”

  Another beep sounded and the flow of electricity ceased. Chris slumped to the ground, eyes closed, a low moan crackling up from his chest. The sudden absence of pain was a sweet relief, He sucked in an eager breath, the cold air burning in his throat.

  As the last twitch in his muscles faded away, he cracked open his eyes and looked through the wire mesh. He had fallen on his side and now found himself looking through the wire at Elizabeth. She was on the ground as well, her tangled hair covering her face, her limbs splayed out across the concrete. Her forehead sported a nasty cut where she must have struck the ground.

  Halt stood between the cages, the same dark grin twisting his face. His eyes found Chris’s, and the smile spread.

  “Welcome to the Praegressus Project.”

  7

  Angela Fallow waited until the door closed behind her before allowing her mask to crack. A sharp sob cut the air as she stumbled across the room and collapsed onto the bed. The soft duvet cushioned her fall, but it did nothing for the burden weighing on her soul. Burying her head in a pillow, she finally allowed the tears to flow.

  What have I done?

  For years she had worked in government laboratories, studying the creatures that had come to be known as the Chead, examining their genetic composition and identifying chromosomal alterations within their DNA. While the more superstitious citizens of the Western Allied States regarded the Chead as some paranormal phenomenon, she had dedicated her life to dissecting the mysteries of the creatures.

  She had been the first to discover the link between the Chead awakenings across the country. A short sequence of nucleic acids discovered in one of the samples put her on the trail, and within days she had confirmed her suspicion. Whether the Chead had woken in rural Washington or downtown Los Angeles, the same virus was present in the genome of every known Chead.

  Porcine Endogenous Retrovirus, or PERV, a well-known retrovirus amongst the scientific community. Since the turn of the twentieth century, the virus had been used to exchange DNA between pig and human cells. PERV was a provirus – meaning it fully integrated into the host genome. This led to its use in the modification of genes within the organs of pigs, to increase their receptivity when transplanted into human subjects.

  But Angela had checked the records of every Chead, and none had ever been a candidate for xenotransplantation.

  Normally, the presence of the virus alone would have meant little. There was not a person alive whose chromosome did not contain some viral elements. In fact, many scientists speculated the alterations caused by proviruses played a significant role in evolution, altering genes and alleles at a rate far faster than ordinary mutation.

  However, once the link had been discovered, it had not taken Angela long to piece out other discrepancies in the Chead chromosomes. Alongside the PERV recombinations, she identified genome markers with foundati
ons in everything from primates to canines, eagles to rabbits. Even genes from rare animals such as the Philippine Tarsier and the Western Australian Taipan had featured in the genetic puzzle presented by the Chead.

  In the end, the evidence all pointed to a single, undeniable conclusion.

  The Chead were no accident. Someone had created them, designed a virus and released it into the world.

  The question of who remained unanswered, though the government had quickly pointed the blame on that old enemy – the United States. Or at least the scattered remnant states remaining of the once-great-nation.

  But that was not Angela’s concern. Now knowing the cause, she had applied herself to countering its spread. Fortunately, the virus did not appear to be contagious. No cases had been reported of friends or family contracting the virus from awakened Chead, though the government still rounded them up as a precaution.

  That left the question of how the victims were infected. She suspected an outside source was at work there, though again, it was up to others to solve that puzzle.

  As for those already infected by the virus, Angela had quickly ruled out a cure. Ordinary viruses incorporated themselves into the host DNA, much as the Chead virus had done. However, the similarities ended there. Symptoms of an ordinary viral infection arose when a virus began self-replication, eventually leading to cell rupture and the spread of virons to other cells. Sickness showed as human cells were hijacked by the virons and used for further self-replication.

  Instead of following this route, the Chead virus remained latent within the cells. It appeared to be almost perfectly incorporated into the human chromosomes of the Chead subjects. The alterations exhibited by the Chead were the result of gene expression in the cells themselves – the first symptoms only showing once those genes activated. This was similar to how many babies possessed blue eyes for their first few weeks, until genes for brown eyes were activated.

  In other words, the virus was a part of the Chead now. There was no reversing the process.

  Upon learning of Angela’s discover, the government had decided to take her research in a new direction.

  Now she was close to an answer – closer than they’d ever been before. Initial trials on bovine subjects had proven successful, but Halt and his government overseers wanted more. They were desperate for an answer, for a beacon of hope to hold up to the people. Even the usually ice cold Halt had appeared flustered in recent weeks, and she sensed far more than her career rested on what happened over the next few weeks and months.

  Shivering, Angela wrapped her arms tight around herself. Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would have been like, had she taken a different path. Deep in her soul, she still longed for the wild open space of the countryside, the endless stars and unmarked horizons. Her family’s ranch had been remote, far from the bustling hives of the cities – though of course, they did not really own it. They had worked the land, harvested the crops, while the landowner in the city took the profits.

  As a young girl, she had resented that fact, and the limitations of rural life. So she had studied and schemed, and won a place in a scholarship programme in Los Angeles. She had grasped the opportunity with both hands, and run off to find her place in the big wide world.

  Funny how things changed, with thirty-five years’ worth of wisdom.

  The world was a wild place too, but in the city, life was far less forgiving than the country.

  Angela shuddered as she heard again the awful screams, watched as the girl writhed on the floor of the cage. In the silence of her mind, Angela imagined the girl’s blue eyes seeking her out, begging for help.

  Another sob tore from Angela’s throat. Those eyes, that face; they were so like her own. In those youthful features, she saw her past, saw the girl she had once been reflected back.

  What have I done?

  The question came again, persistent. She had never thought it would come to this. When Halt had told her their plan to gather candidates for human trials, it had seemed simple. Family members convicted of treason were destined to suffer the same fate as the accused. So why not make use of those lives?

  Young, healthy candidates were needed for the trials to maximise the chances of success. The children of traitors seemed the perfect answer to their needs.

  Only now she faced the reality of that decision, it was more awful than she could ever have imagined. Halt might see them as a means to an end, but Angela could not look past the humanity in their eyes. Halt was a monster, seeming to delight in the breaking of each new candidate, but for Angela, the guilt ate at her soul.

  On the bed, she heard again the crunch of fists on flesh. Her stomach swirled and it was all she could do not to throw up.

  “What have I done?” she whispered.

  The plain walls of her private quarters offered no answers, only their silent judgement. This was her life, this little white room, the empty double bed, the white dresser and coat rack beside the door. Her wool fleece hung on the rack, untouched for weeks now.

  Staring at it, Angela was taken by an impulse to escape, to leave this place and walk out into the wilderness beyond the facilities walls. Standing, she strode across and tore the coat from the rack. Swinging it around her shoulders, she fastened the buttons and pushed open the door.

  The corridor outside ran left and right. Left led deeper into the facility, where her laboratory and the prison rooms waited. She turned right, moving past the closed doors of the other living quarters. It was well past midnight, and the other staff would have retired long ago. Only the night guards would be awake now.

  It only took a few minutes to reach the outer door – a fire exit, but from past excursions she knew there was no alarm attached. The heavy steel door watched her approach, unmoved by her sorrow. Placing her shoulder to it, she gave a hard shove and pulled at the latch.

  A long screech echoed down the corridor, followed by a blast of cold wind.

  Clenching her teeth, Angela pushed it wider and slipped out into the darkness. She pulled the cloak tighter around herself as a tendril of ice slid down her back, and listened as the door clicked shut behind her. She wasn’t concerned – there were no locks on the outer doors. Out here, break-ins were the least of their worries.

  Angela sucked in a long breath of the mountain air and looked up at the sky. A thousand pinpricks of light dotted the darkness, the full scope of the Milky Way laid bare before her. The pale sliver of a crescent moon cast dim shadows across the rocky ground, where a thin layer of snow dotted the stones. Beyond the light coming from the building behind her, the night beckoned.

  Shivering, Angela watched her breath mist in the freezing air. It was eerie, staring out into the absolute black. Other than the sky, not a pinprick of light showed beyond the facility. They were far from civilisation here, miles into the mountains, as remote as one could be within the Western Allied State. Or the WAS, as it had come to be known.

  Staring at the stars, Angela could almost imagine herself a child again. A desperate yearning rose within her, to return to the simplicity of life then, to the warmth of her family ranch.

  Sucking in another breath, Angela watched the darkness, imagining the long curves of the hidden mountains. The first snow had arrived a few days ago, heralding the onset of winter. Climatologists were predicting a strong El Nino though, which would mean a mild winter.

  Standing there in the darkness, with the icy wind biting at her skin, Angela could not help but disagree. This winter would be long and savage, and few at the facility would survive its coming. Only the strongest would endure.

  She hoped the candidates would prove up to the challenge. They had only one chance, one opportunity. Fail now, and the government would end it all.

  Bowing her head, Angela turned back to the fire door. She pushed it open and returned to the warm light of the corridor. Once back inside, she leaned back against the door and slid to the floor.

  Just a little longer, she clung to the thought.
>
  Just a little longer, and she could rest, could put this all behind her.

  Just a little longer, and she would save the world.

  8

  Clang.

  Liz flinched as the cell door swung closed behind her, the harsh sound slashing through her self-control. She clenched her fists, fighting to control the shiver running through her body. Every fibre of her being screamed for her to panic, to run and hide, but she sucked in a breath instead, calming her trembling nerves. Cold steel pressed against her throat, a constant reminder of her captivity.

  A sharp pain came from her palms as her nails dug into flesh. With a great effort, she unclenched her fists. The breath caught in her throat, but she swallowed and sucked in another, refusing to give into her panic. The heavy threads of the orange uniform rubbed against her skin, though in truth its quality was better than anything she’d scavenged in the past two years.

  Staring ahead, Liz cast her eyes over her new home. The plain concrete walls matched what she’d glimpsed of the rest of the facility on the short trip from cage to prison cell. The journey had taken less than five minutes, a quick march down long corridors, past open doors and strange rooms filled with glass tubes and steel contraptions. Some she recognised from her boarding school: Bunsen burners and beakers, test tubes and cylinders. But the rest was far beyond her understanding – plastic boxes that hummed and whirred, steel cubes of unknown purpose, containers filled with a strange, gel-like substance.

  The guards ushered them past each room with quick efficiency, leaving no time for questions. Only once had Liz paused, when they’d passed a room apparently used as a canteen. The smell of coffee and burnt toast wafted out, and she’d seen a dozen people sitting around a table, talking quietly. Before Liz could speak, a guard had jabbed the butt of his rifle into the small of her back.

  A little gasp burst from her lips, and several people in had glanced up. Their eyes took her in for a moment, then they looked away, returning to their conversation. Seeing their indifference, Liz had felt the last drops of hope curdle in her chest.