Broken - Broken Alpha Series Book 2

by Amanda J. Baker

  The reason Jeremy had been drawn to science and medicine was because it made things explainable. Nothing happened that could not be explained— certain things just could not be explained quite yet. With other topics, such as English or Philosophy, things got too interpretive and subjective. But science and math were different. He had never encountered a problem he couldn’t solve. In fact, he had solved many problems previously thought to be unsolvable. He had never been as disheartened as he was right now.

  Even during the darkest of times, when he had faced the toughest problems of his generations, he kept hope and faith in himself and his team. He held faith that they could persevere through whatever was thrown at them. It was this tenacity and optimism which had given him the strength and courage to keep going when everyone else had tried and failed. It was how he had gotten so successful.

  It began when he was in college. He was faced with his most important task, his senior keystone project. As a science major, anyone who specialized in the field in Lax was required to complete a massive project—a cumulative effort based off of months of research. Money was no object, as every proposal was granted regardless of the cost. Jeremy’s project had been based around solving an unsolvable physics problem, and only god knew how he got approval and funding for his project. His peers laughed at him and his professors distanced themselves from him. Frankly, Jeremy wasn’t sure if the government was monitoring his odd behavior.

  He still remembered the night he did it. It was after all the money was gone, and after eleven odd months of research, development, late nights, and a lot of takeout. He had been dozing off over some briefs he had been researching. The strenuous nature of his experiment was taking a toll on him. Jeremy had been disheartened over the past year numerous times, and right about then he was getting ready to throw in the towel. He wondered why he had tortured himself in this way, and why he had chosen to throw away his entire career over a stupid problem that didn’t even matter to him. He was a biology major—or at least he was planning to make that his specialty in grad school. But he just had to show off. He just had to be the smartest person in the room.

  Jeremy remembered how his head had slipped off his hand and slammed against the table, waking him. He had then slowly gotten up from his chair to clean the takeout containers, when he knocked over a folder full of his notes. He had almost packed up and gone home. “What does it matter?” he had asked himself. After all, Jeremy was planning on dropping out. To this day, the most brilliant scientist in the world did not know what had prompted him to kneel and clean up his mess. But he had done it, and that simple choice changed the course of his life.

  He discovered he made a slight error in one of his calculations. So, he had eagerly fixed it, hoping the problem would work itself out and support the findings of his experiment.

  They did. Jeremy then went on to present and publish his work, catching the attention of scientists all over the world. One night he was a lonely college student working on the impossible, just trying to make something of himself. The next morning his name was on every paper, being uttered at every scientific institute and university. His research had won him countless prestigious awards, and equally as many not so prestigious ones. Most importantly, it had caught the eye of the government. The rest of his schooling had been paid for, and he had been offered a high-paying, high-ranking job immediately following his schoolwork. He’d been here ever since, although he never forgot where he came from.

  To Jeremy, his past was everything. He had come from a poor family. He had grown up on the mainland. He was one of the few who had been lucky enough to go to university, to really make something of himself. He had ensured that he would be set for life at his current job. He was a high-ranking member of his government, and he never had to worry about money or other frivolous needs ever again. Still, he never forgot his humble beginnings. If Jeremy had thrown in the towel every time he was faced with a daunting task, he never would have made it this far, which is why he always believed that there was no such thing as the impossible; until now, at least.

  He sighed and stood up, gathering his things. It had been a long day and it was time for him to go home, clear his mind, and come back to the drawing board the next day. That tactic usually seemed to work. If it didn’t this time, he was out of ideas.

  Jeremy was driven home by his chauffeur. No words were exchanged. It wasn’t as though he was typically a talkative person, but this was the first time Jeremy noted the unusual, awkward silence. He realized for the first time just how much his work dominated every aspect of his life. He always had something to work on, every night and morning on his way to and from work. Typically, he flipped through research papers or briefings from his boss, or he read the paper. That was why he had never noticed the silence. Now, however, it was exceedingly obvious, settling on them like a dark cloud. He wanted to say something to ease the tension, but he didn’t know what to say. The rest of the short drive was spent with Jeremy attempting to recall his driver’s name. He’d introduced himself years ago, but like most trivial things the name had gone through one ear and out the other.

  “Erm, thank you,” Jeremy said awkwardly, bowing slightly to the driver on his way out.

  The stout man, who had run around to open his door, looked astounded and taken-aback. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure and come to his senses. He stammered, “Of course sir, you have a good night.”

  “You too,” Jeremy said awkwardly. He lingered for another moment, staring at the driver, before turning to head indoors. He shut the door behind him as he entered his vast foyer and shook his head, disappointed at the interaction he had just had. He had never been socially adept; he never had that skill set, the ability to just talk to people. Even when he’d been put in charge of another group, the only reason he was able to do so well was due to a mixture of two elements: fear, and the fact that he had known most of them for the majority of his adult life. Jeremy figured he should just give up trying to talk to strangers. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any lack of friends in his life.

  With that thought, he poured himself a glass of scotch. He settled onto his couch and deeply exhaled. Did he have any friends? Jeremy wondered. What exactly would he classify as a friend? The deeper he pondered his question, the lonelier he realized he was. He had no one he could call a friend, per se. The closest relationship he had was with his colleagues, and he doubted they considered him to be anything other than a massive pain in the ass. And aside from that he had no family. Most of them had passed away, the most recent loss being his mom the year before. He had no pets, no neighbors, no one he liked anyway. After today’s interaction, he wished he didn’t have a driver. In terms of a wife and a family—Jeremy had always wanted kids, but his social anxiety kept him from approaching anyone he may have liked throughout his life. Every time he saw an attractive woman outside of work, his brain stopped functioning. The mere thought of talking to a woman caused him to lose control of himself, sometimes even resulting in panic attacks. After the umpteenth time embarrassing himself in public, Jeremy had simply given up. He promised himself that he would never allow anyone to see that weakness again. And just like that, he had given up on the pursuit of women. That was decades ago, and it was a vow he had yet to break to this day.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t want a family. He’d always wanted to have children, if for no reason other than to give somebody a better life than his own. Furthermore, he wanted to stop being so damned lonely. That was all he had ever wanted.

  Jeremy closed his eyes and dreamed of being married. He had a beautiful wife. They were out in the park on a gorgeous summer day. His three children, who had been holding his and his wife’s hands, spotted their friends and ran over to the playground set. Their dog pulled at her leash, wanting to follow after them. Jeremy and his companion just laughed. There was not a cloud in the sky and not a single problem in their lives they could not overcome. It was a perfect life he had built for himself.

&
nbsp; However, there was only one problem with all this. It wasn’t real.

  He opened his eyes and downed his finger of scotch, drinking to forget the fantasy he yearned for far too often. He knew it would never happen, and in the end it caused him more hurt than good. Jeremy was a realist. He knew he would never be able to make his fantasies come true. So, it was time to move on. It was time for him to accept the fact that he would die all alone. He would never have his perfect vision of the future.

  Feeling incredibly lonely in his mansion, Jeremy felt a sudden ache for companionship. He took out his phone and scrolled to a number with a trembling hand. He knew he would likely regret this decision in the morning. But right now, he knew it would make him feel better. Feeling himself get second thoughts, he quickly poured and drank another finger of scotch before dialing the number. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. A brisk female voice spoke on the other end.

  “Savannah Escort Services, how can I help you?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Lana had stopped running a while ago. Now, she was just sobbing.

  She had made it past the tiny encampment on the dirt road. She was well on her way back to her own residence, when she had stopped on the side of the road. She had leaned against a tree short of breath, tears already streaming down her face. Then she had thrown up. She threw up again, and finally a third time. Now, she was resting against the tree. She tried to make herself stop crying, but she could not. Lana wanted to stop the tears. She tried to distract herself, but every time she closed her eyes she saw the image of the boy. He was staring straight at her with lifeless eyes.

  He had suffered. He had been in pain, and no human should ever have to suffer that. It was a terrible existence having the virus. You wouldn’t die for a while. It took about a week or so, which was still relatively quick. The symptoms would set in in a day or two, and then you would be rendered immobile. You would not only have very limited control over your body, but you would also be far too drained of energy to utilize those parts you did have control over. After that, the boils would appear and erupt frequently, causing puss to ooze all over your skin and your clothes while also dehydrating you. On the third day, the blood loss typically began, and by this time you were essentially dead. The only movements would be caused by your muscles spasming and your brain convulsing. You would not eat or drink for the next three days, while continually losing fluids and blood. At this point not only were you barely alive, but many people—including Lana after today—believed that there was no free will within you. You were braindead, unable to think and reason the way any human being ought to. Any person who got to such an advanced stage of the disease was nothing more than a useless old animal, wounded and unable to make themselves useful. Most importantly, they were suffering. They were experiencing something no human should have to go through. The way it crippled a person was humiliating, and at this point, it was better off to be dead than alive.

  Lana was sure that many would beg to be put out of their misery, if they could. At the same time, another part of her wondered if they could even feel pain anymore. It was a terrifying thought. To be infected by a disease that takes over you, takes away your control and your liberty, even your ability to think. It was all a scary mess, but the one thing that got to Lana was it taking away your ability to feel pain. If the disease did do that, it would be a terrifying conclusion. Most viruses don’t attack your pain receptors. Hell, most of them leave your body alone. The sole purpose of a virus is to infect its host and use the body as a factory to produce more viruses. The objective of the body and the immune system at this stage was to fight and kill off any of these viruses by using its multi-stage defenses. That was how most, if not all, viruses worked. If this one was attacking the pain center, then it was not only using a person’s body as a host. At that point, it was strategically ensuring it would have complete dominance over a human body.

  The tears had stopped pouring, and Lana was grateful for that. But one thing from the tent had stuck with her. Ingrid had told her that a similar disease rampaged the nation thirty years ago, and while pandemics were not wholly uncommon, Lana couldn’t shake the symptoms that Ingrid had described. The bleeding through every orifice and how the ill were rendered useless; they were the same symptoms Lana had noticed. That, coupled with the advanced nature of the virus, led to a theory popping up in Lana’s head.

  She shook the theory away, almost laughing at her own ridiculousness. She knew It was a longshot, and it embarrassed her even to think of it. If somebody came up and explained her own theory to her, Lana would think they were a lunatic. Hell, the members of the council could admit her conspiracy theory was correct, and she would still consider herself to be the loon. It was a preposterous idea, but the more she thought about it, the more she considered its validity.

  No, she shook it out of her head again. It was ridiculous even by her standards. There was no way the government would genetically engineer a killer virus and release it into the world. That would be insane. For starters, there would be no reason for them to do so. Not to mention they would be killing hundreds of thousands of their own people. While Lana tried to fight against her instincts, she began answering the tough questions. Why would the government do this? To her, from where she stood, it seemed like a pretty simple answer. It could seize more power by striking fear into the hearts of its citizens. Still, it would be cruel and unusual to murder a significant amount of its own citizens just to be further in command.

  Lana chuckled, realizing that she was wrong. The government and the council would never kill their own citizens. She had made a minor mistake. She had assumed they, her and her peers, were citizens. The truth was, the government did not consider them to be members of their nation. Or, for that matter, of any other nation, group, or entity. Lax officials would come in, take their money, then take away those who broke the law that was imposed upon them. That was the only involvement the government had in their lives. There was no welfare, no protection, no rights or guarantees that a citizen should possess. Lax did not consider the poor to be citizens of its government. They considered them to be slaves, and if there was one thing Lana knew from experience, it was that this government did not mind killing its slaves.

  She had nightmares about the bombs sometimes. When she dozed off to sleep, she was transformed into a little girl in these visions. It was nothing special, and usually always started out the same way. Lana would be playing outside while her mother and father looked over her. It was a beautiful sunny day with a few clouds scattered here and there, but life was good. She would run around and yell for her parents to come to play with her, and they would usually oblige, but no matter how her dreams began, they all ended the same way. At some point, Lana would hear the roar of airplane engines. She would look up to see a squadron of bombers approaching her, which for now, were nothing more than specks in the sky. She would point at them and yell, “airplane!” trying to direct her parents’ attention to them, and that was where the mood would turn glum. All of a sudden there was shouting, panic, people running in the streets. Her parents would pick her up, yanking her off the ground, and ran along with the crowds, headed for the bomb shelter, but they never made it there.

  The planes would always catch up to them, no matter how fast or how far they ran. The first few bombs would explode behind them, sending rubble flying towards them, and then, they would get hit. A bomb would usually explode beside them in Lana’s dreams, not injuring them, but knocking them off their feet. Her mom and dad would grab her firmly and tell her to run to grandmas.

  “Run,” her dad would yell at her, and scared, she would oblige. Lana always ran away in her dreams, and although she didn’t see what happened next, she knew by the sounds of the explosions, that she was now an orphan.

  Lana was brought back to reality as her flashback ended. She wiped away her fresh tears, realizing she could be right. The government, if she could even call it that, did not care about her or her people. She had no t
rouble believing that the Council could undertake such drastic measures to stay in power. Everything was beginning to make sense to Lana. Except for one thing. If the goal of this play was to maintain power, why would the Council attack the middle class? The government served its middle-class citizens fairly, if not impressively well. The lower-middle-class families struggled and were only a little better off than those in the slums, but the others experienced a pretty full life. There were education programs and work opportunities; government assistance and travel programs; recreational activities as well as a public project. The government adored its middle class, and for good reason. They were responsible for producing everything the higher classes may ever need or want.

  The thing about those who lived on the island was, they didn’t produce anything themselves. Sure, they dictated policy, made weapons and military technologies, and worked on scientific and medical projects. But they did not produce any consumer goods of their own. Despite thinking of themselves as better than the rest, it turned out that even the top one percent needed some basic necessities used by the common folk to survive. And so, the flourishing industry of the mainland was born. The government loved the middle class. Why they would attack them in such a flagrant way was beyond Lana’s comprehension, so she was still hesitant to jump to any conclusions.

  She jumped up and gathered her items, heading back home. Looking up at the sun, she figured she could get back and nap quickly before starting on her work. To prove her point, she would need research, which meant she had a long night ahead of her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jeremy was on his fourth glass of scotch when his doorbell rang. He rushed up from his chair and ran over to the door, sneaking a quick peek through the windowpane.