Genesis War (Genesis Book 3)

by Eliza Green

  Tanya shifted in her chair. ‘Please believe me that I’m sorry for what happened to Isla. She got caught up in something that was beyond my control.’

  Bill jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘Don’t ever use her name again. She didn’t deserve to die for helping others.’

  Tanya dropped her hands and laid them out flat on the table. ‘We do not live in sane times, I will agree. Things happened that I wish I could take back. But Peter Cantwell was in charge then, not me. I’ve only been in the position for a year.’

  ‘A year is long enough for you to come clean about my wife’s whereabouts. Instead, you let me run around in circles searching for the truth about her disappearance.’ Bill sucked in a breath and released it.

  ‘Again, what happened to your wife was not my fault. But I accept responsibility for not telling you the truth. I have been a little... preoccupied. A family matter. I’m sure you can understand.’

  In his search for Anton, Bill had read a private memo about one of the board members, about a recent death. ‘It was your granddaughter, wasn’t it?’

  Tanya sat up straight. ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘I have my sources.’

  Tanya’s finger glanced off her nose. ‘The past is in the past, Bill, but maybe we can talk about what you need now. I assure you my intentions today are honourable.’

  Bill moved closer to the Light Box. Something didn’t sit right about this call. ‘Why are you calling and not Simon?’

  Tanya looked bemused. ‘Because Shaw said you had to speak to me urgently.’

  ‘I want to trust you, for Laura’s sake. But I’ve been around long enough to know there’s always another angle. So what’s yours, Tanya? Because if I can’t trust you, I’ll find another way to get Laura to Exilon 5.’

  ‘No angle, Bill. And yes, you can trust me.’ Tanya leaned forward; her hands disappeared out of sight. ‘Do you think I’m lying to you now?’

  Bill smiled. ‘Probably. While it’s highly unusual for a board member to drop everything to speak to an employee, that’s not the issue. I’m more interested in why you called me personally.’

  Tanya leaned in closer to the screen. ‘And I’d like to know more about these lies you think you see. Where are they hidden—in my face, in my expression, in my posture?’ She leaned back and her hands came back into view.

  Bill stood back from the screen to get a better look at Tanya. ‘Let’s see, you make a conscious effort to keep your hands on the table. What you like to do most is rest your chin on the top of your hands. It gives you control. You used to wear glasses and you liked the way you could hide behind them. But you can’t anymore. So when you feel the need to assert yourself, you look down your nose as though you still wear them. You touch the end of your nose when you’re lying, which I’ve seen you do once already. But you didn’t do that when you spoke about my wife, or when I mentioned your granddaughter.’

  A smiling Tanya brought her hands up to make a bridge and rested her chin on them. ‘Perhaps you could teach me how to hide my feelings in front of a profiler. Yes, you’re right. I called you for a reason other than the one you want to discuss.’

  Bill folded his arms. ‘Let’s start there. Because whatever you want I’m certain hell will need to freeze over first.’ He shut his mouth that was only making trouble for him. But something told him to be vigilant and that he should not agree to anything if it meant risking Laura’s safety. If necessary, he’d put her into stasis until he could figure out another way to get help for her.

  Tanya laughed softly. ‘I’m afraid you might be eating your words soon. The devil is looking for a new place to live.’

  ‘You and I know he’s already on Earth.’ Deighton. ‘What happened to Gilchrist?’

  ‘She committed suicide.’

  ‘Is that the party line?’

  ‘I have no reason to think otherwise.’ Tanya straightened up and dropped her hands. ‘Okay, Bill. I think you deserve a straight answer.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘We wish to meet with the Indigene leaders and we would like your help in approaching them.’

  Simon had told him as much over lunch. ‘What makes you think the Indigenes will agree to a meeting?’

  ‘Well, that’s where you come in. If you travel with us, we won’t be perceived as so much of a threat. You’re an ally of theirs, no?’

  Bill wondered how much he should tell Tanya Li about his relationship with them. He suspected she already had an idea. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ He decided to keep certain facts hidden for now.

  ‘Well, you haven’t dismissed the idea outright, which I’ll take as a positive sign. Tell me what you think.’

  He paused for a moment. ‘I’ll consider what you ask—if you help me with my problem.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘As I already said, I need to take Laura O’Halloran to Exilon 5.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘If you help us I’ll remove your travel restrictions once we have returned. Then you can go to Exilon 5 any time you like.’

  ‘No, I must take her there now.’

  ‘Your help for mine doesn’t mean unlimited favours, and certainly doesn’t cover the two of you,’ said Tanya. ‘What’s so urgent about her condition? We have the best doctors in the world at our disposal.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘She doesn’t need a doctor. She needs the Indigenes.’

  Tanya leaned forward. ‘I’m losing interest in your problem, Bill.’

  ‘She doesn’t have a medical problem that human doctors can cure. She’s been exposed to a pure sample of Indigene genetic code and I think she’s transforming into one of them.’

  Tanya’s eyes grew large and she mouthed the word How. She composed herself fast. ‘We have the best doctors. Alteration is not something to fear.’

  ‘We’ve already spoken to Harvey Buchanan. He says it’s no normal alteration. The mutations are creating havoc inside her body and she can’t cope. Her immune system is fighting the invasive genetic material and her organs are shutting down. She’s in a state of limbo—neither human nor Indigene. I’m not sure how much more she can take. We need the Indigenes. They’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Alteration is a straightforward process. There are no side effects.’ Tanya looked distracted as she leaned back in her chair.

  ‘Yes, when you introduce the body to it slowly, when you use nanoids to bypass the immune system and deliver the human/Indigene genes directly to the DNA structure. Not when you slam a pure alien dose in there and force the immune system into hyper drive.’

  Tanya nodded and her mouth thinned. ‘I’ll consider your request, Bill. But I can’t promise anything. In the meantime, bring Laura to one of the medical facilities. We can monitor her better from there.’

  ‘Not an option. She needs help from the Indigenes—and I need your answer. Will you allow her to travel to Exilon 5 with me?’

  Tanya paused for a moment. ‘I need time to discuss this with the others. I’ll be in touch.’ With that, she disconnected the call.

  The conversation did little to lessen Bill’s anxiety. While Tanya hadn’t dismissed the idea outright, she hadn’t agreed to it either. He quickly dialled another number. After several rings, a sunken-eyed woman appeared on screen who was yo-yoing between too much energy and none. Laura was disappearing right before his eyes.

  She listened as he relayed the conversation to her. But Bill wasn’t sure how much she understood as she became distracted by something in the room. It wasn’t her fault; she couldn’t control what was happening to her.

  Then she told him she needed to rest, and hung up on him.

  26

  Laura lived on the edge of exhaustion these days, but that wasn’t why she’d ended the call with Bill. She couldn’t bear to see the look of pity in his eyes. It came at her from all sides lately. Even at work, where she’d blacked out at her desk and Suzanne Brett, her s
upervisor had told her to go home.

  But alone in her apartment, she struggled to balance the abundance of energy with the energy-sapping sickness that raged inside her. She popped another Actigen to counteract the tiredness, but it no longer helped. She staggered to her bed and fell onto it.

  Sleep. No sleep.

  She had no idea what her body wanted to do. The excessive hunger had passed, as had the cough she’d had at the beginning. Now, she no longer had an appetite. She’d even tried to eat a little cereal that morning, but it passed through her.

  What was she becoming? Was she turning into an Indigene as Harvey Buchanan had suggested? Shouldn’t she feel stronger than this? She crawled forward and got to her feet. The weakness in her legs threatened her efforts to reach the bathroom.

  But she made it. Laura turned on the light and shielded her eyes from its harshness that had never bothered her before. But she needed to see the changes for herself. In the mirror, she pulled at her gaunt skin around her face and neck that looked sickly in the artificial light. Her sunken eyes had almost been swallowed up by two rings of dark purple. The weight she’d recently gained had dropped off again. Her green eyes shone under the light. They had always been her best feature, she thought, but now, flecks of bright yellow eclipsed the green pigmentation. Her pupils had lightened from black to dark grey.

  She flicked off the light and continued to study her reflection in the mirror. In the dark she could see the yellow flecks in her eyes, shining like reflective dots. She left the bathroom and went back to bed.

  An hour later, she sat bolt upright feeling strong and energetic. She also felt a little hungry. She darted to the mirror hoping to find her change had reversed itself. But what she saw brought tears to her eyes. She pulled at the remaining hair on her head that came away too easily and left patches on her scalp. Laura choked back tears as she ran to the kitchen and pulled open drawers until she found what she wanted. With shaking hands, she clutched the tube of glue.

  She collected all the hair she could find—from her pillow, from the floor, from the bathroom sink—and in front of the mirror she placed small dots of glue on her scalp. She pressed her hair into the sticky mess. When she’d finished, not a spare strand was left in her hand. Laura stood back and admired her clumsy work through a cascade of tears. She looked like one of those cancer patients she’d seen in old medical textbooks.

  Why her? Why was this happening?

  She dropped to her knees, still holding the tube of glue in her hand. Small drops of clear fluid leaked out and fell on her pyjamas. She didn’t care when her sleeve stuck to her pyjama leg and she tore both garments trying to separate them. Her hair was gone. Her green eyes no longer looked... green. This was her punishment for trying to help the Indigenes, for thinking awful thoughts about her mother, for wanting something for herself—a cure for her seasonal depression. This was punishment for... No, she didn’t kill him. Her father took his own life.

  She tossed the glue away in anger. Climbing to her feet she dried her tears and went to the living room, careful not to look in any mirrors she passed. She sank into the sofa and drifted off into another world. When she came to, she knew what had to be done.

  While energy remained in her system, she stripped the sheet off her bed. Using the glue, she affixed the sheet to the wall over the Light Box’s shimmery facade. Then she gathered up some towels and covered all the mirrors in her apartment. She could feel her energy sapping; moving around would become difficult soon.

  She stared at the dishevelled duvet on her bedroom floor and the clothes she hadn’t washed for weeks.

  This room feels wrong.

  She dragged the bedside tables out into the living room and pushed the bed into one corner. She pulled the mattress to the floor next to the bed. After, Laura stood back and checked over her work.

  Almost.

  She worked fast. The clothes, duvet and pictures of her family—all tossed out onto the living room floor. She moved the bedside lamp to the floor beside the mattress and turned it on.

  Too bright.

  She placed it outside the door so that only a low light crept in under the door and cast an eerie glow inside the room.

  Perfect.

  She stripped out of her clothes and lay down on the bare mattress, just as the energy slump hit. Naked and curled up in a foetal position, she waited for her overheated body to cool down. She thought about getting some ice to cool the fever that raged inside her, but moving about was too much effort now.

  Her fingers grazed the glued strands of hair. Her eyes closed and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  27

  With the access code to Laura’s apartment block memorised, Bill entered the building and ran up several flights of stairs to her apartment door. A sick feeling swirled in his stomach as he banged on the door. He’d tried calling her from the docking station but she hadn’t answered. It had been six hours since they’d last spoken. His breathing laboured as he continued to pound his fist on the door. Faces appeared in the doorways of the other apartments—an old man, a young woman, an older woman. Only the older woman stayed after the others disappeared from view.

  ‘What’cha making all that noise for? Another one of them junkies, is it?’ She opened her door more. ‘Well, I saw her only yesterday, wandering around in her pyjamas. Went out, then came back with a large bag. Hardly appropriate wear for decent folks to be lookin’ at. Him next door has been gettin’ quite the eyeful. Likes to spy on the young girls. I tried to warn her, but she didn’t wanna listen.’

  Bill ignored her and kept banging on the door. ‘Come on, Laura. Open up.’

  ‘Laura—is that the girl’s name?’ The old woman folded her arms. ‘As mad as a cut snake, but not as crazy as the old fart next door. You here to arrest her? ’Bout time.’

  Bill pressed his ear against the door and listened.

  The old woman continued. ‘There’s no place for whingers like her here. This is a decent block. She belongs in a place with no visitors. You get me?’

  Her chatter drowned out Bill’s efforts to listen. ‘She don’t look well, sunken eyes, her hair falling out. I hate to yabber on but that girl needs professional help.’

  Bill couldn’t take any more. He turned and strode towards the old woman. Her eyes widened when he pushed her back inside her apartment and closed her door. He heard a string of expletives before another inner door slammed.

  Bill turned back to Laura’s door. Without Laura’s security code, he couldn’t use her building code to unlock her door. He slipped a small device from his pocket and placed it over the lock, shielding it from the lens of the security camera positioned high on the wall. Random red numbers flashed on the display as the device worked through the possible algorithms. Bill hit the override button and keyed in 4—1—3—6—8, the code Laura had given him to use only in emergencies. This qualified in his book. The lock clicked open. Bill released a breath and entered her apartment.

  But the sight before him made him draw in a new breath: the upturned chairs, the bedside lockers on their side, clothes strewn around the living room. And then there was the stench. He inched forward with a deep sense of dread. His breathing quickened and his chest tightened as he checked under piles of clothes for the cause of the smell.

  This was his fault. He never should have left Laura alone.

  The stench of rotting flesh drew him towards the kitchen. Along the way he sidestepped mounds of debris that littered the living room floor. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he prepared to face his greatest fear—that Laura was dead.

  Tears blurred his vision when he pushed the swing door open. He surveyed the scene fast and gasped.

  He didn’t look at the spilled milk that had turned to lactic acid. He didn’t look at the cereal on the floor nor the plate of barely touched lasagne. His eyes focused on the dead body lying in a small pool of its own blood.

  He willed his legs forward and stared into open, dead eyes, wondering what had caus
ed this—what had changed. He crouched down beside the body and grabbed the fur matted with blood. He turned it over to see a large gash and a hole in the centre where its heart and intestines had once been. Bill laid the corpse down, grabbed a tea towel and covered it. He cleaned his hands and left behind the white Persian cat that Bill assumed had belonged to Laura’s mother.

  He strode to the bedroom. There he found Laura, curled up on her side on the mattress on the floor. She was naked, her skin a strange sickly colour, her arms covered in scratches from where the cat had probably fought for its life. Her hair was all but gone, except for patches where it looked like Laura had glued it back in place. Her breaths were shallow, her mouth bloody.

  Bill picked up a sheet and covered her with it. Then he checked her pulse that felt strong, but too fast for her human heart to cope with. She looked like an Indigene now, but the scratches on her arm yet to heal and her rapid heartbeat told him that the alteration hadn’t taken.

  He rocked her shoulder gently. ‘Laura, wake up... Come on, Laura.’ He slapped the cuts on her arm to evoke a different response.

  Her eyes flickered open and she gave him a blank stare.

  ‘Shit, Laura, what happened out there?’

  She stared at the wall and licked her blood-caked lips. ‘I got hungry.’

  ‘So you killed your mother’s cat?’

  ‘It was the only place I knew to get fresh blood.’

  ‘Come on.’ Bill pulled on her arm to get her to sit upright. He retrieved clothes from the living room floor and dressed her. ‘Come on, we need to go.’

  ‘Where?’ Bill carried her to the living room.

  He cleared the sofa of debris with his foot and set her down. ‘First, I need them to see you.’