by Eve Langlais
No. Time to get moving. Oliver sat up, the blankets falling from his upper body. The cold air, damp on his skin, brought a shiver. He tucked the sheet tight, pulling at it until he could wrap it toga style around his body. Sat on the edge of the bed, dangling his feet, wishing he could see.
How far was the floor? How much space under the bed? Did he hear something breathing? He paused to listen.
Nope. Just his own fear coming to life.
Before running away, Emma had said something about his clothes being nearby to dry. Doubtful about the dry part, but if he could find his vest, then he might be able to create some light. He’d also have access to a knife.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed to stand. The concrete pressed coldly against the soles of his bare feet. Nothing grabbed ahold of his ankles.
A good sign.
Oliver reached out to see if he could touch anything. He waved his hands, leaning forward until he hit the edges of a cardboard box that had gotten soft and damp. With something to orient him, he felt his way along until he bumped into something that rattled. More groping led him to touching damp fabric, the canvas familiar, as were the cargo-style pockets. Pants. More groping led to his shirt as well, also clammy to the touch. He left them there and kept touching and shuffling slowly until he bumped into a stack of boxes. Lain across them, his goal.
He felt the pockets of his vest, looking for a specific one. His hand closed around it, and he uttered an “Aha” as he pulled it free. It took two hands to crack it.
The glow stick proved too bright in the pitch-black, and he blinked as it flared to life. Then blinked again as he took stock around him.
He was in some kind of room. The bed and the area around it being the only spots free of boxes and heaps of fabric.
Clothes, he realized as he began to wander the stacks. Blankets. Towels. In the boxes, food supplies. Canned goods. A whole box full of microwave bags of popcorn. A variety of items left behind after the explosion and squirreled away.
This was Emma’s stash he realized. It saddened him as he realized she’d obviously moved all these things to a secure place lest they spoil. The sadder part was the dampness would probably destroy them anyhow.
Waving his glow wand back in the direction of the bed, he noticed the thick pile of blankets and wondered if this was where she slept.
Would she come back?
He probably should dress before that happened. Just not in his wet clothes. He rummaged through the piles, managing to find menswear amongst the apparel, big sweatshirts and track pants, a bit cold and damp initially, but after shivering a few minutes, he got warm again. Socks also proved easy to find, but there were no boots or shoes in his size other than his soggy pair. He put on a second pair of socks instead. He found his tool belt. Minus the gun and knife.
All his weaponry appeared lost—or taken. His saltshaker had water inside, the remaining crystals a solid hunk. Not the most auspicious of things. He’d have to stay away from leeching puddles and octopus arms.
For some reason he snorted. Who would have thought he’d ever have to worry about that kind of shit?
His phone had actually survived the dunking, the waterproof casing worth the price tag. It just didn’t have any signal this deep in the ruined clinic. He bundled his things, including his boots and vest, and put them in a drawstring bag that used to hold a bunch of silverware. He’d dumped the forks and spoons and knives on the bed, wincing at the noise it made. He stuffed his things in the bag and then grabbed a fork for good measure.
Better than a spoon if he had to jab something.
Slinging the string bag on his back, he exited out the only door in the room, the hinges silent as it opened. A relief because he’d half expected to be locked in. He found himself in a hall.
A wave of his glowing wand showed numbers on the wall beside each door, much like a cellblock. Which brought another wave of compassion he wouldn’t have expected.
Yes, those Chimera changed were monsters, but they weren’t willing ones. They were kept prisoner to the follies of a madman. Victims that never had a choice.
That line of thinking made his jaw tighten. He couldn’t start feeling sorry for them now. They were a blight on mankind. A spreading virus that could change the face of humanity forever. They had to be eradicated now, before it was too late.
You gonna kill them yourself? his conscience taunted. It was one thing to take down a charging bear or an animal to feed himself. Could he kill in cold blood?
That octopus thing? No problem. Even that puddle of goo if he had a pile of salt to shake. But even he wasn’t cold enough to shoot the unicorn lady.
Thing was he knew there were people out there who would. All it would take was him posting about her existence and this place would be overrun with morons bearing guns. He’d be an accomplice to murder.
What if they didn’t kill her, though? What if instead they took her prisoner? Made her a centerpiece in a freak show? Or worse.
How could he know what the right thing was? Before the valley, it seemed so black and white. Monsters evil. Pharmaceutical company and its plans, really evil. Humanity…in need of saving.
But wasn’t Emma human too? Didn’t she deserve his help?
He tried to ignore the war inside his head. He shoved everything out and stepped into the hallway with its many doors. All closed. He had a choice—make his way to the surface with haste or…
Open the door across from him apparently. He peeked in and saw the same scenario as the room he’d left. A bed and some boxes strewn with more fabric. The room beside it, though, had him recoiling. Upon opening it, he noticed the destruction. The mattress torn to shreds. The bare furniture smashed and destroyed. As he stepped farther into the room, a sudden horrified realization hit him as he noticed the walls by the exit and the inside of the door itself. Scratched. Dented. Painted in brown streaks that could only be dried blood.
“Jesus fucking Christ. They left one here alive.”
“More than one,” said a soft voice.
He cast a glance over his shoulder to see Emma peeked around the edge of the doorframe, the tip of her horn appearing first.
“Where’s the body?” he asked because he didn’t see one anywhere.
“I removed it,” she admitted. “I burned all the ones I found.”
The very idea that this petite woman had done such a thing surprised. “Why?”
Her shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Because I didn’t want the rodents and bugs to get them. I don’t know how impervious to disease I am and because—” She paused chewing her lower lip. “They didn’t get the chance and dignity they deserved in life, so I gave them one in death.”
A noble gesture. For a monster. Who in that moment just seemed lost and alone.
Which reminded him. “I was a dick when I woke, and you didn’t deserve it. Especially since you saved me from dying. Thank you.”
She ducked her head, her hair forming a curtain across her face that only served to highlight the horn. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
“Regretting your decision?”
“Maybe a little.” She sighed. “It would have probably been better to let you drown on level six. Alive, you’ll only cause trouble.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
Her head lifted, and he saw the glow of her eyes through the skeins of hair. “You’re here to expose the clinic. To put an end to me and everyone Chimera touched.”
He thought about lying, but something in her gaze stopped him. He owed this woman his life. The least he could do was give her the truth.
“What happened here was wrong.”
“According to who? You?”
He snorted. “Are you seriously going to argue? All right then, it’s wrong according to everything. Laws. Human rights. Common decency.”
Her turn to make a scoffing noise. “Please. Dr. Chimera and his staff were angels of mercy. If it weren’t for them, I and so many others would be feed
ing the worms right now.”
“The doctors here preyed on the downtrodden.”
“They gave a chance to those of us who never had one,” she retorted hotly, facing him full on. “How dare you judge what they did here without recognizing the good.”
“Where’s the good in the creation of monsters?”
“Am I a monster?” she asked him point-blank.
The right answer stared him in the face. He wanted to shout, “Have you looked in a mirror, lady?” Yet, he held back. Monsters didn’t put themselves in danger saving others. They didn’t care about the dignity of the dead. “You are the exception, I think. Everything else I’ve encountered so far has only proven me right.”
“Meaning what?” She arched a brow. “Is that what you’re really after? The eradication of what you deem monsters? And you would call Dr. Chimera the villain. He at least attempted to improve our lives. Kept us sheltered. Protected.”
“Until he abandoned you and killed those he left behind.”
Her lips flattened. “He tried to save most of us.”
“He didn’t save you.”
Her chin lifted. “He tried, but the helicopter I was on crashed.”
“I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him after what he did.”
“I can’t believe you would condemn without knowing the full story.”
“I know enough thanks to Dr. Cerberus.” He ran his mouth a little too much.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve seen him?”
He almost denied it, but the truth came out instead. “Yes, I’ve seen him. Plenty of times. He’s the reason I’m here.”
“What have you done to him?” she exclaimed. “You better not have hurt him. He was one of the nicest doctors.”
“Me, hurt him? Have you seen the guy?” He paused and frowned. “I guess you haven’t recently. He’s not the man you remember.” He was no longer a man at all.
“What of Dr. Chimera? Have you seen him, too?”
“That prick is still missing. But if he’s out there, he will be found. People are looking for him.”
“I hope they never find him,” she pertly replied before turning on her heel and leaving.
“How deluded are you?” he asked, following her into the hall, barely able to see her in the faint glow of his stick.
“I could ask the same of you. Although, in your case, it’s more that you’re close minded. Dr. Chimera might have been using science in a way the world hasn’t yet grasped or approved, but you seem to be determined to ignore the fact he cured people.”
“A cure shouldn’t change what a person is.”
“By your definition.” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “And maybe that’s why there are still so many illnesses in the world. Do you know, once upon a time, doctors used leeches to bleed their patients? Nor did they sterilize equipment.”
“Because they didn’t know any better.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Exactly.”
“You can’t equate the mixing of animal DNA with human to a better medical understanding.”
“Have you ever taken antibiotics?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Yet they aren’t natural. Neither is most pain medicine.”
“Marijuana is natural.”
“And it’s classified as a dangerous drug in most countries. Funny thing, that. There are things in the world that could help people and save lives, yet they’re forbidden. Why is that, do you think?”
Was he seriously having a debate five stories underground with a woman who thought a psychopath should get a free pass experimenting with humans? He was, and it engaged his mind in a way he’d never imagined. Especially since he saw where her query led. And it led to the very thing he was also fighting against.
“The big pharmaceutical companies aren’t interested in cures. Especially cheap and easy ones.” Because how else would they make their profit selling overpriced medicine?
For a long time now, the conspiracy theorists claimed there was a cure for cancer and other diseases. He knew for a fact they were right. Problem was there was no money to be made in a cure.
“Tell me,” Emma said. “If you suddenly found out tomorrow you had an incurable brain tumor, that you could either die within three months or try something experimental, something that you knew might still kill you but if it didn’t, would let you live, what would you choose?”
The self-righteous lie sat on the tip of his tongue. I’d rather die than become a monster. Yet…was that really true? If he were faced with a life or death situation, would he feel differently?
She opened a door and entered a space that soon filled with light. Following her, he paused as he realized she’d taken him to her room, the one she lived in. It was easy to discern, given the posters on the wall, some simple images torn from magazines, others drawn in highlighter and pen. Along one wall paperbacks were stacked, hundreds of them. Light illuminated every corner, and he frowned.
“I thought there was no electricity here.”
She cast him a look over her shoulder. “There isn’t. But there is plenty of cooking oil.” She pulled off a lampshade to show him the jar filled with amber fluid, the strip of fabric that formed a wick within holding the flame.
“Aren’t you worried about the smoke?”
“I keep my door open, and while the generators don’t circulate the air, the vents do still draw.” She pointed overhead.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just go back to civilization?”
“Weren’t you the one who said I couldn’t? I know what they’ll do to me if I ever go back.”
“So your plan is to live here forever?”
A sad expression pulled down her lips. “I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Because Chimera screwed you.”
That brought the fierceness back to her face. “He was helping me, unlike everyone else in my life. And then because someone—like you probably—tried to take it away, he had to leave. But I’m hoping he’ll come back.”
“So he can finish the job?” he said with a sneer.
“So I can feel normal again,” she snapped. “It’s because of intolerant people like you that I have to hide in this ruin. But you don’t understand what that’s like. Look at you. Handsome. Intelligent. Rich, too, I’ll bet because your equipment sure isn’t cheap. Thinking you’re better than me. Better than everyone who doesn’t agree with you.”
The handsome part pleased him. Even the mention he was bright. But the rest— “You make me sound like an asshole when I’m not.”
“And you keep making me out to be a monster when I’m not,” she huffed.
“You could probably get that fixed,” he said, pointing to the horn in the room.
“What if I don’t want to?” The hot retort held a glare.
Her query boggled the mind. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because, for the first time in my life, I’m someone special. I’m not just Emma Kylie Baker. I’m a freakin’ unicorn.”
Chapter Eight
Chest heaving with emotion, Emma couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out. She’d never dared say it aloud. Yet it was true. For all that the horn meant she had to hide, it made her special.
One of a kind. A unicorn.
It was also what made Oliver eye her with a hint of disgust. At least at first. Now she didn’t know what he felt when he looked at her, but he seemed very set in his plan to reveal her existence and eradicate it.
And if she couldn’t convince him she was worth saving, a man she’d not harmed, a man she’d saved, then how could she convince the world?
“You are not a unicorn.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a lady with a bony protuberance. It doesn’t make you special.”
“Says you. My doctors disagree.” Dr. Sphinx might have been a lot of things—including maggot food in the woods—but she never doubted Sphinx thought she was special compared to the other patients. She knew not all of them got the treats she
did. None of the others got to decorate their room or have their own television.
As to the blackouts—the ones that started with black dancing spots—where she seemed to lose a few days? According to Sphinx, she sometimes fell into a coma-like sleep. He’d even shown her footage. Which, in retrospect, could have been taken at any time. She’d never suspected subterfuge until that moment on the helicopter.
“Why were you being treated?” Oliver asked. “Why did they recruit you into their program?”
“Because I was sick, obviously.” At his continued stare, she sighed. “You want the whole dirty truth? Fine. But I warn you, it’s not pretty. I was born with fetal alcohol syndrome and addicted to heroin. Spent the first few weeks of my life in the hospital. Then a few more in the care of foster parents, according to my file.” She sat down heavily on the comfy club chair Dr. Sphinx had brought her, the flowered pattern worn but bright. “For some reason, child services thought it was a bright idea to give me back into the loving care of my drug-addicted mother. The extra welfare money meant Mama could get high even more often. The only reason I survived is because of a neighbor.” But when Clarice had to move, having gotten herself a job that made her ineligible for the subsidized housing, there went the warm hugs and the food she shared from her meager supply.
A frown knit his brow. “Sounds like you had a rough childhood.”
“Rough childhood. Abusive teen years. Which didn’t stop even when I moved out. There were times I thought I had victim tattooed on my forehead. I never seemed to be able to escape the life I was born into. And eventually, it tried to kill me.”
Actually, what really happened was Manny—the boyfriend of the day—tried to kill her. He’d started out treating her so nice when she met him at rehab for the families of drug addicts. They left, clean and determined to give it a shot. Only, he fell off the wagon.
The last beating he gave her put her in the hospital with a few broken ribs where the x-rays revealed it and a mammogram confirmed it.
“I had cancer in both my breasts. Already spread to my lymph nodes and my lungs. Turned out my cough wasn’t because of the nicotine I inhaled growing up but because I was riddled with cancer. Then, because I was a lost cause with no insurance, I was basically told I might as well go home and prepare to die.”