by Vi Lily
No matter how often we move, though, they come. I wonder for the bazillionth time how they keep finding us. There has to be some sort of tracker implanted on my body somewhere. Maybe one that doesn't always work right, because we can go months without being chased…which is kind of weird, considering DEE has labs all over the world.
But they always come, eventually. There's no real escape. I'd give my left ovary for a freakin' break from all the fear and looking over my shoulder.
When we first left, I'd thought we'd actually managed to escape, because Carlie was six months old before the DEE-men first came. We'd been staying with a sweet old couple in a little Norwegian village deep in the Saltfjellet mountain range. The Halvorsen's had thought Carlie was my baby and that I was running away from an abusive boyfriend. It was a good story. They'd felt sorry for us and took us in.
Living there, safe and away from the worries, watching Carlie go through her infant milestones, was awesome. Other than missing my parents and my friends, I was pretty happy…until the day Per had hobbled in from his garden and said trucks were coming up the valley's dirt road.
I hadn't even paused to think—I'd just grabbed Carlie and my backpack that I always kept ready by the door, kissed the kindly couple goodbye and ran out the back door, into the mountains. It wasn't until I'd gotten up on a knoll that I'd looked back. Even from the distance, I could see the sweet elderly couple had been gunned down, their bloody bodies left in the yard for the wild animals.
After that, we never stayed more than a week in any one place.
I have a bag full of travel visas and passports for Carlie and me. Thankfully, we've never been searched, because that would be kind of hard to explain. But my father wanted to make sure we had plenty of aliases for our flight. He'd told me to change my name as often as I changed locales.
We've traveled through at least a dozen countries. I've lost track, and frankly, some of them sort of run together because they're so much alike. I'm thankful that my father had insisted I learn as many languages as possible, though. I'm fluent in seven. So far. Maybe that's another special ability I have. Who knows.
Thankfully, my parents had thought of everything. They'd known Carlie was a girl and I got to pick out her name before she was even born, so Dad had a birth certificate—well, actually, we both have ten of them with different names—and passports for each of us. Twenty different names between the two of us.
We even have bank accounts in each alias we'd been given. Most of them are at Global Bank, which has locations in over one hundred countries. But some are in smaller local banks, and I'm still not sure how my parents managed that. I'm always shocked at the foresight they'd had.
As for money, we're set. DEE paid my parents a lot—a lot lot—for the use of their DNA…and in my mom's case, her body. And of course, for the fact that they would be allowing their child to be a lab rat. Naturally, Dr. Smythe had never come out and actually admitted that. I'm pretty sure my parents would have balked. Hopefully, anyway. I can only think they had the best intentions.
They're good people, seriously. Or were. Good people who made a huge mistake.
I spent a lot of time in the lab, even though it was evident right away that I was a "failure." Me, and all the other test tube kids Smythe had genetically modified, all failed experiments. Except for Carlie. She turned out to be just what Smythe had hoped for. She was his perfect "specimen."
Well, almost.
I remember the day I'd sat next to my mom for one of her obstetrical appointments when Smythe had told us that due to a chromosomal defect he hadn't taken into account, the baby would eventually need CBD injections to stop some sort of neurological misfiring, something that would cause seizures.
I don't know what came over me—probably some protectiveness that I was already feeling toward my baby sister—but I told Smythe that he should have had his crap together before he started experimenting on humans.
The "good doctor" banned me from further appointments after that.
He'd spent the rest of my mom's pregnancy assuring my parents that the child would simply have blood drawn once a month or so…for "testing purposes," of course. What he really meant was he was going to take the baby and pretty much put her in a cage to be pricked and prodded indiscriminately.
And the minute she started menstruating, she was going to become a breeding machine.
Mom had discovered the true plan, told my dad, and they started planning the escape. My parents had thought of everything. Well, sort of. A safe house would have been nice. Even a furnished cave would have served the purpose. Maybe a platoon of badass bodyguards.
At least they did cover the rest of the bases.
Of course, my parents had months to plan the escape. From the day my mother overheard what the real plan was for the baby—a superhuman Smythe called the "UniGen"—my parents had plotted. Planned. Prepared. They knew I was the only hope for stopping Dr. Smythe's stupid plan.
Kind of makes me feel like the heroine in some crappy story. Seriously, "Young, clueless girl has to go against all odds to stop the evil scientist who wants to take over the world…"
Gwen is the only hope for mankind, I say to myself in a deep announcer's voice, and it makes me bark out a laugh.
Yeah, my life is a bad story in the making.
I'm pretty sure said evil scientist had good intentions when he'd started the Lazarus Project. Otherwise, my parents never would have gone along with it. The idea behind the project was modifying DNA in a bloodline that was prone to illnesses—sickle cell anemia, diabetes, cancer, and many others. Definitely a noble cause, despite the fact he was messing with God's design, big time.
Combined, my parents were perfect genetic matches for Lazarus. In fact, Dr. Smythe had claimed they were among only a handful in the world who were, as far as the massive global DNA database had shown. The fact that two people who could combine their DNA for the "perfect genetic storm" were already married was just, well…it was fate, I suppose.
The really weird thing is, all the other "matches" were couples too. Kinda strange…and oddly convenient, if you ask me.
My parents had agreed to the experiment without much thought. They'd been trying for five years to have children and had just found out my dad had azoospermia—no sperm cell count—thanks to a childhood tumor in his groin that he'd been treated for with radiation.
Yeah, I know. TMI.
But get this—every one of the other matched couples had fertility issues too. Something freaky going on there, I'm thinking.
My parents were devastated about being unable to have children and I guess they were pretty gullible at the time. Susceptible. When Smythe had promised a child of their own using their DNA without the need for sperm, they'd jumped on it. And they'd regretted that decision ever since.
Regretted us…Carlie and me.
It's weird to know that your parents were sorry they had you, yet loved you with ever fiber of their being. Love you enough to die for you. But considering what our fate turned out to be, it makes sense.
I know I'm just one of Dr. Smythe's failed attempts at a "clone," for lack of a better word. And the douche made sure I knew that I was a failure for my entire life. It was just after my birth that he'd realized he had made a miscalculation in the genome sequencing and so my DNA was useless to him. All the other babies born that year had been "failures" too. I think all those "mistakes" drove Smythe a bit crazy.
It was at that time that his focus shifted from helping mankind to controlling it. Cue spooky music.
While he considered us failed experiments, there isn't anything wrong with us. Well, most of us, anyway. We all have special abilities, too. But Smythe wanted that one person with all the special abilities. So even though we're sort of "super human," we're not super enough for Smythe.
Of course, not being what he wants is sort of a good revenge.
I have ridiculous stamina for an eighteen-year-old girl, and I'm pretty sure I can run faster than a freak
ing race horse. I'm also "empathic," meaning I can sense people's feelings. If I'm not too tired—like I had been this morning when the DEE-men had found us—I can sense danger, almost seeing it coming. That has been seriously useful so far.
Since being on the run, I've discovered that I can also hit a target. Any target, moving or not. And with anything—arrow, knife, bullet. I prefer knives, though.
Other than all that, I'm normal in every respect. Ha.
But that's the problem—as far as DEE is concerned, I am normal. Dr. Smythe doesn't want normal; he wants super.
And apparently, "Super Smart Ass" doesn't count.
In the early stages of his DNA manipulation, Smythe had discovered something that made a "superhuman" possible—one that could withstand disease, tolerate temperature extremes, run faster, jump farther.
His focus shifted then, as greed for money and power took over when he realized just what he'd discovered: The means to basically create a super race that could potentially take over the planet. Under his control, of course.
It was the perfect backdrop for a comic book villain. Play the spooky music again, Sam.
Carlie doesn't have any "super powers," not any that I've seen anyway…unless "amazingly sweet, cuddly and obedient" counts. But it isn't her abilities Smythe is after; it's her blood. Her DNA. She's his control sample. And when she's old enough, he wants her eggs.
And this is why I really want to kill that sick psycho with my bare hands.
I glance over my shoulder and realize with a start that the ATVs are a lot closer than I thought. I curse myself for letting my thoughts and memories rule me—I need to stay focused if I'm going to get through this and keep Carlie alive.
I turn to my left and dash toward the denser area of forest, the ATV in the lead just yards behind me at that moment. I hope the drizzling rain keeps the man from seeing that I'm cradling my pack in my arms and not my baby sister.
Just a few more feet…
That's the last thought I have before I look back at the ATVs again and then turn back just in time to see the tree that I'm going to hit headfirst.
Chapter 2
A WARENESS CAME slowly. First, a creaking. Cracking. The sound of stone being chiseled, crushed. And then an acknowledgement of warmth…light…weak sunlight. The wind. The smell of rain.
A sense of urgency forced a more expedient awakening. Avisha's eyes flew open then and he winced. It had apparently been a very long time since he'd gone to sleep, judging by the pounding in his head.
The last time he'd "slept" for an extended period, he'd awoken with a stiff body and aching head; but that was nothing compared to what he was suffering at the moment. And back then, he'd slept for nearly a century. It was something he realized he would never get used to—the physical aches and pains that came with living in a fleshy body.
Especially one that could be turned to stone.
As he stretched stiff wings and shook the stone dust from them as they creaked and crackled, he searched for danger, an attacker. While he could sense great danger, he saw nothing, heard nothing. No shouts of attack, no smoke from enemy fires, no dust from an enemy army.
No visible danger could be seen in any direction, but he did note that his once magnificent fortress had crumbled down around him during his sleep.
How long was I dormant? He wondered. It had to be at least several centuries, judging by the erosion of the stones. The tower he was perched upon had withstood the elements, however. Avisha knew that had to be the Creator's doing.
When he'd walked the earth—and flown over it—he'd enjoyed his time in the flesh and had taken great advantage of the unearthly knowledge he possessed. That knowledge had come in handy when growing his earthly wealth and possessions.
He wasn't greedy, of course. To be so would limit his time as a human, since his good deeds were what bought his time in human form. He gave freely to the poor and deserving. He had spent a fortune on the "least of these."
But that didn't mean he'd lived the life of a servile monk. He had built a magnificent fortress, complete with its own thriving village; had walked among kings and emperors as an equal; had ridden beside Solomon's men, guarding the immense treasure they carried; and he had even amassed his own fortune in gems and gold, which he'd kept hidden deep beneath his fortress.
Avisha wondered if the treasure was still there, below him under the fortress ruins. Before he'd been put to sleep by the Creator, he'd had thoughts of giving it to some destitute soul, but then he'd remembered the reason he was being put to sleep in the first place: He had decided mankind was not worth helping. Greed was their downfall, and Avisha refused to contribute to that.
The feeling of impending danger washed over him once again and made his wings tingle in preparation for flight. But he didn't know in which direction he should travel. He supposed he could just circle the area and search; but the last time he'd done that in his creature form, the humans had shot arrows at him, screaming "Dragon!" as they ran, terrified.
Avisha snorted. The humans always assumed he was a dragon. In fact, they thought all the gargoyles were. He and the others like him had never tried to educate them otherwise. Humans were just too stubborn and ignorant to bother trying.
As far as he knew, there was only one dragon relegated to the earth now, and if the humans were unfortunate enough to see that evil creature, they might as well put the arrows into their own chest. Death was imminent either way. By their own hand would be less…painful.
A heavy sigh escaped him and he grimaced at the dust that flew out of his nostrils. There really was no choice—something was calling to him, and he if had been awakened, it meant that he was to help, like it or not.
He didn't want to think what the Creator's next punishment would be if he refused to help mankind this time.
His massive wings popped painfully a few times as he spread them wide, then he took a few swipes with them, testing their strength. They seemed sturdy, as always. He put more effort into beating them and leaned forward, off his tower perch. If his wings weren't up to the task…well, it would be a lethal fall. If he were mortal.
As he fell, the speed of his descent blew the rest of the dust from his body. Avisha aimed toward a dark cloud below that looked heavy with rain. He could use a good washing.
The cloud was hiding a tall tree that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep and as he crashed through the branches, he wondered once again how long he'd been asleep, if such a towering tree was able to grow from the forest floor.
He stopped his fall by grabbing a hold of a thick branch, then pushed off once again to take flight. Until he was familiar with the changes in the terrain, he decided he'd have to be more careful. While he was an immortal, he unfortunately wasn't impervious to injury. Being incapacitated while his help was needed wasn't something he wished to repeat.
His cheek twitched in agitation at that memory as he swooped over the tops of the trees while his eyes scanned the area for the threat he'd sensed. He figured as long as he lived—which was eternity, actually—he'd never forget how he'd been a fleshy sack of broken bones and bleeding parts when Ailis and her family had been cut down by the invading Romans.
He hadn't been able to lift a single claw to help.
It was shortly after that when the Creator had punished him. Again. Right after he'd gone on a rampage and wiped out an entire Roman family…and their neighbors. And all the animals in the village.
Maybe I got a wee bit carried away with the vengeance, he thought as he swerved around another tall tree. At least he could admit that now.
The Creator had not been pleased, to say the least. He'd told Avisha, "You know vengeance is not yours to take. You have broken the covenant and killed those who are not true evil."
And then the Creator had buried him in rock.
Avisha wondered if the Roman still roamed the land, attacking helpless villagers. In their bid for world domination, they'd been some of the most relentless humans he'd ever seen
in his many millennia in the earthly realm. Certainly some of the most deadly. And brutal.
While some of the trees in the forest that had surrounded his mountaintop fortress were now much taller than he remembered, he also noticed that the forest was sparser than it once had been. There didn't appear to be any new villages in the area to account for the felling of that many trees, but then he couldn't see far due to the clouds that hovered in the area.
At least the weather hadn't seemed to change—wet, dreary, drizzly. Just the way he liked it.
His keen ears picked up on a buzzing sound in the far distance. It sounded somewhat like an insect swarm, but it would have to be incredibly large to account for the drone he heard. As he turned to fly toward the direction of the sound, Avisha cringed at the thought of getting hit by thousands of stinging insects. But he instinctively knew that was the cause of whatever—or whoever—was in distress. His skin was thick enough to deflect even an arrow, but insects had an annoying way of finding their way into eyes, ears and mouths.
As he drew closer to the sound, he swooped down near the mountain, where the trees were even fewer. His heart was beating harder, not so much from the exertion, but from the exhilaration. It was thrilling to race over the ground as he was, avoiding obstacles such as boulders and thick-trunked trees. He would never get tired of the feeling and was thankful he had been given a winged body for his earthly form.
Others of the Fallen Moral had not been so blessed.
Just a few more beats of his wings brought him into view of what was causing the drone he'd heard. It wasn't a swarm—it was some sort of fast-moving creature. Two of them, actually, racing just ahead.
Avisha frowned. They were unlike any creatures he'd ever seen. With the exception of a few deep-level sea creatures, he was fairly certain that over the many millennia he'd existed he'd seen everything the Creator had fashioned.
Everything, except the droning, swift-footed creatures racing below him, which were the strangest things he'd ever seen. And heard.
