Shudder (Stitch Trilogy, Book 2)

by Samantha Durante

  Shudder

  Samantha Durante

  Copyright © 2013 Samantha Durante

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-3013212-2-3 (Smashwords Edition)

  Required Smashwords License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To Deep, for always supporting me in pursuing my dreams, no matter how crazy they may be.

  Table of Contents

  Preface: Fury

  1. Manipulation

  2. Disquiet

  3. Clatter

  4. Dash

  5. Confederates

  6. Phoenix

  7. Dream

  8. Evasion

  9. Composure

  10. Waiting

  11. Philosophy

  12. Journey

  13. Comprehension

  14. Chronicles

  15. Turmoil

  16. Infirmity

  17. Brink

  18. Defense

  19. Logistics

  20. Release

  21. Contact

  22. Jackpot

  23. Exploration

  24. Hesitation

  25. Botch

  26. Intentions

  27. Approach

  28. Homecoming

  29. Reunion

  30. Lull

  31. Reveal

  32. Breakout

  33. Power

  34. Closure

  35. Flight

  36. Resolve

  37. Briefing

  38. Scheme

  39. Stowaway

  A Note to Readers

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Epilogue: Traitor

  PREFACE: FURY

  The General slammed his fist on the table, the noise reverberating through the large room. “This is completely unacceptable.”

  The Developer rested his elbows on the table, one lanky arm bending as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He let out a long sigh before leaning back in his chair, tossing his shaggy, unkempt hair back in an awkward motion. He waited for the grumbling to subside before he spoke – as the youngest billionaire on the planet, he’d grown used to having a captive audience.

  “This rebellion has become more than a headache; it’s putting our plans for Paragon at risk, and it’s time we take more drastic measures to resolve the problem. We should never have let it get this far.” His whiny voice and slouching shoulders didn’t command much in the way of esteem, but the four other men in the room – the Engineers, as they liked to call themselves – sat rapt nevertheless. They had quickly learned that what the Developer lacked in presence and age, he made up for with brilliance and guile.

  “If I may…” The Economist cleared his throat. Though this was technically a group of equals, he often found himself deferring to the others, being more comfortable with books than he ever was with people. But if their plans for Paragon were ever to succeed, this group above all else needed to keep their focus on the end game, instead of allowing themselves to be sidetracked by minor setbacks.

  He continued. “It’s only two people, and given the weather forecast, it’s unlikely that they’ll even make it through the week. How much trouble could they cause? I vote that we let them go and focus our efforts instead on reaching our goals for the collective. It’s been years since the deliberations have made any real progress and –”

  The Doctor cut off his remarks with one biting look. “Only two people? And what traits might those two people be carrying that are essential to our race? Do you presume to know why they were chosen for Paragon? Presume to decide who here is expendable?”

  “N-n-no… I just…” He took a moment to compose himself. “We’re supposed to be working toward a true communist society, and every day that the Ruling Class remains in power, we are one more step away from achieving that goal. The only reason the rebellion thrives today is due to the continued existence of the Ruling Class, so to me it seems that recapturing a couple of rebels is treating the symptom, not the cause. Let them go, and instead let’s put our energies towards facilitating the deliberation process, thereby hastening the birth of the ideal society that was the entire reason for this whole undertaking.”

  The Doctor’s silver hair glinted in the sharp artificial light as he devoted his entire head to the effort of rolling his eyes. “Save your pretty rhetoric, Ben. There won’t be any society if we don’t have the genes to support one.”

  The Developer nodded vigorously in agreement. “He’s right. The algorithm was very specific in who was selected, and we need to trust that everyone here deserved to be chosen. Otherwise, what was the point of everything we did?”

  Everyone took a moment to digest his last comment. They had agreed from the beginning that sacrifices would be needed to make this work, and indeed those sacrifices had been huge – the biggest the world had ever seen. But they had only agreed to the plan knowing that it was the only way to do this right, and that everyone would benefit in the end. Everyone who was left, anyway.

  “So what are you suggesting?” The Draftsman – the oldest and most levelheaded of the group – spoke, as always, in a steady, reasoned tone, absentmindedly stroking his paunch.

  Before the Developer could respond, the General chimed in with a suggestion of his own, his raspy voice filled with retribution. “We have the girl, the one that helped them escape. I say we make an example of her, send a message to the rebels that we won’t tolerate their insubordination any longer.” As he rubbed the scar across his lips, he muttered, “Stupid bitch.”

  The Draftsman wondered if he was referring to the girl or to the rebel leader, but either way, he dismissed his comments as bluster. Over the years he’d come to despise the General’s deep insecurities, and his resulting tendency to overcompensate. It was a shame, really – the man had a magnificent reserve of military knowledge, but his personal flaws marred his usefulness considerably. And at least the rest of them had actually achieved the titles they’d chosen for themselves – the General had never earned that rank at all, he’d just christened himself upon finding that he had the power to do so. To say that the Draftsman found the General trying was an understatement indeed. But much to the Draftsman’s chagrin, the others had not yet come to the same conclusion.

  The Developer, in fact, seemed to be seriously considering a show of force. Shaking his head, he reflected, “If only we knew where Regina Green were hiding… we could drop the girl’s head right at her front door.”

  “That’s sick!” the Economist blurted, appalled.

  The Doctor once again shot him down. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t agreed to worse.”

  As barbaric as it was, the Draftsman had to admit that the Doctor spoke the truth. “Eugene has a point there – we’ve all agreed to worse. ‘The ends justify the means’ has been a de facto tenet of our philosophy…”

  “Thank you, Pascal.” The withering glare subsided from the Doctor’s face. “Now, as I said before, I don’t like the idea of tinkering with the algorithm’s selections, but in this one case, I suppose we could make an exception. After all, she wasn’t part of the original results set to begin with.”

  Chastised, the Economist held his tongue while the others nodded in agreement.

  The Developer stood, signaling that the meetin
g had come to a close. “Then it’s decided. We’ll use the girl to send a message. Given that we don’t know Regina’s location, everyone think about what might be our most effective strategy and we’ll reconvene in the morning to finalize the plan. And remember, as distasteful as this might be, the rebels haven’t left us much choice.”

  He held his right fist at his shoulder in the customary gesture, and the others stood and followed suit. “For Paragon,” he stated, accompanying the sentiment with an almost imperceptible nod of the head.

  The room echoed in unison as the men added their response, each earnestly believing the mantra in his own way. “For Paragon, always.”

  1. MANIPULATION

  Hundreds of acid voices swarmed about her, their derisive gibes poking at her ears as she shuffled her way through the crowd. Stumbling over a loose rock, she caught herself, steadying her breath as it dawned on her that they’d all been gathered here for one purpose: to kill her.

  She couldn’t see where they were taking her with the thick canvas bag slung over her head, and even if she managed to shirk the binds holding her wrists, she doubted she’d have anywhere to run. The rebels couldn’t possibly risk a rescue; there were just too many people. And with this damn bag over her head, her allies probably didn’t even realize it was her.

  Resigned, she did her best to hold her head high through the mob’s suffocating contempt, fighting the tug of the rope around her neck that propelled her ever forward. She knew he was enjoying this, having her on a leash. After all they’d done to her, everything they’d put her through, it was this one last indignity that stung the most. She’d almost rather die than suffer their abuse again. Almost.

  All too soon her feet ceased scraping against gravel and landed on wood. His footsteps ahead of her beat in time with her stock-still heart – thump, thump, thump – and she slowly ascended the stairs behind him, determined not to fall. He could drag her to her death like a dog, but she would follow with grace. That much she was determined to do.

  As they mounted the platform, a heavy silence cascaded through the crowd. She straightened her spine and threw back her shoulders as the ominous hush threatened to crush her chest. For a moment, the world stood still and her only sensation was that of snow flurries drifting onto her clasped fingers where they rested behind her back. For a moment, the serenity took her breath away.

  And then the peace was broken by the rasp of his voice, and she shot straight back to reality. That voice rang larger than life in her ears, and his face burned in her memory – a handsome face, if not for the cold, black eyes betraying the ugliness inside him. But she had done her best to mar that visage, to make his outside match the monster within. And the memory of the scar steeled her – she would face whatever he had in store with strength, never fear.

  “People of Paragon,” he began. “You have been gathered here today to serve justice to one of your own.”

  His words cut through the cool winter air, stirring the rancor of the mob into an audible hum. She braced herself for whatever lies came next.

  “As a society of equals, we all have a responsibility to keep our community safe from the ravages of the outside world. As you know, the deadly virus that put us here still lurks beyond our gates. We are under constant attack from a vicious plague that would claim us all if given the chance. And this woman –” She felt him drop the rope and take a step away from her. “This woman would let it in!”

  The crowd roared in response, spitting hisses and jeers in her direction. She could only imagine how much difficulty he was having suppressing his smile.

  The venomous gruff of his voice filled her head once more, unnaturally blocking out all other sound; she would tear off her own ears if only it would bar the invasion of his voice. “She was caught scaling the walls, attempting to leave the compound and with full intention of coming back in. If she had succeeded, there is no doubt that she would have brought the virus with her, putting all of us at risk.”

  Her ears burned, but she remained staid. She had done no such thing, and he knew it. But the crowd didn’t. And the people of Paragon were incensed.

  “What we must decide today is her fate. Should this woman be forgiven her transgression, and be allowed to take her place among us once more?”

  He paused, a menacing silence buzzing across the mob, the tension growing ever thicker as no one dared to speak. She pressed her shoulders back once more and gulped down her fear. These were her people – reasonable, normal, everyday people, people who had banded together to survive an apocalypse, who had vowed to start fresh together and leave the worst of the old world behind. Surely, they would have mercy. Surely, they would give one of their own another chance. Surely, they would renounce the barbarism of a public execution, at the least. Someone would come forth, someone would save her.

  Paragon was better than this.

  But no one spoke. In a harsh whisper, he put the final nail in her coffin, slowly and deliberately taking pleasure as his mouth formed each solitary syllable: “Or should she be punished?”

  The crowd replied with a deafening roar of condemnation, snarling and howling like a rabid animal just itching for blood. As the mob whipped itself into a frenzy, she could feel his wry smile branding itself into her back. His job was done – now all he had to do was watch.

  Finally the tears came, a single drop of heartache snaking its way down her cheek. So that was his plan – he would use her to draw out the allies of the resistance, and if they didn’t save her from the wrath of the mob, so be it – one less rebel to deal with. She was glad then that her face was covered, that they could not see her break.

  Because someone did come forth then, but not the savior she’d been holding out for. No, on the contrary – someone had cast the first stone.

  A stinging sensation buried itself in her shoulder. And then another, in her gut. And another, on her thigh.

  And then she was nothing but pain, every inch of her body pounding with the impact of each jagged rock. She tried to stand tall, to fight through the agony, but it was too much. The blows ripped the air from her lungs and she doubled over, trying in vain to shield herself.

  Her mind shut off, all conscious thought leaving her body as the crippling ache took over, and some distant part of her prayed quietly for the torture to end.

  And then one violent strike connected with her temple, and she was gone.

  2. DISQUIET

  Again. What was that?

  Alessa whipped her head around in the direction of the movement and stood motionless, peering through the sparse underbrush. But despite what she was sure she’d seen from the corner of her eye, nothing was there… just like the last two times. Alessa swallowed back the alarm slowly welling in her gut, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone – or something – was toying with her.

  It was hard to sense much of anything with the wind howling through the trees and the heavy snowfall adamantly slicing across her field of view. She cursed the storm and reluctantly went back to piling brush on the makeshift shelter to ward against the arctic weather.

  How much time had passed since Isaac had left? It felt like hours, but she knew that couldn’t be.

  Something just didn’t feel right to Alessa. A fleeting sense of panic had been mounting in her chest ever since he’d set out to scavenge, but she couldn’t make sense of why. Well, except for the mysterious movement she kept just missing in her peripheral vision. That was certainly reason enough to worry.

  But it was more than that, too – she felt confused almost, and frustrated and scared. What she didn’t understand was why.

  It’d been days since they’d escaped from Paragon, and she and Isaac had been splitting up regularly without issue. Between the frigid weather and their minimal supplies, it was all they could do to stay alive, and neither of them had had any anxiety about leaving the other alone for a few moments; Alessa was as confident in her own abilities as she was in Isaac’s, and vice versa. So why all of a sud
den had that changed for her?

  Then again, Isaac should really have been back by now. The snow had just begun to fall when he’d set out, an ill-omened stillness settling over the woods, no sound breaking the silence except the gentle pattering of heavy snowflakes against the frozen ground. It’d been clear that a storm was coming, but their food stocks were mostly depleted. So Isaac had gone out to forage for whatever he could, promising to return before the weather got dangerous.

  But the weather was dangerous now. Alessa could barely see ten feet in front of her with the angry cloud of white pelting her face in the twilight, and with every minute the blizzard was only getting worse. The sense of disorientation she’d been feeling earlier only compounding with the fury of the storm, she pulled her hood tighter against the icy air and stopped for the first time to consider the chilling question that she’d been stubbornly pushing out of her head all afternoon: what would she do if Isaac didn’t return?

  Before the bleak implications of that thought could settle through Alessa, another dash of movement from the other side of the clearing caught her eye.

  She froze – her heart pounding in her ears – and took a deep breath. She was done with this game.

  Throwing down the bundle of branches in her arms, she withdrew the knife from her side and concentrated through narrowed eyes on the stand of trees a few yards to her right. She listened closely, hoping without avail for a break in the savage moan of the wind. But with or without the storm’s cooperation, she was not about to drop her guard again.

  Waiting, Alessa watched the forest, ignoring the snowflakes gathering on her eyelashes and the stinging of the frozen shards scouring her face. With a slow, deliberate movement she raised the knife to her shoulder, coiling to strike.

  Remembering her stealth training with the rebels, she waited with bated breath for the opportunity to come. A flash of darkness between two snow-covered trunks was all the signal she needed; one flick of her wrist sent the knife hurtling through the darkened sky, intent on its target.