Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  He sees me too. Our eyes meet before an explosion between us sends mud and water flying twenty feet into the air.

  Frost shields his eyes and I use the distraction to grab the hood of his jacket and yank him back inside. Chubs comes to my side and helps drag Frost’s large frame into the house as he fights against us.

  “You’re no good to Eve if you’re dead,” I shout at him. “You’ll have your chance to avenge Johnny, just not here. Not today.”

  Frost relaxes his fight against us and releases a final tear for his son. He looks me in the eye and nods.

  “Let’s go!” I call, and the men fall back from the windows and make their way down the corridor to the back of the house.

  “Someone’s got to stay and give covering fire or they’ll catch us,” Chubs says, releasing a few rounds from his heavy gun through the front door before closing it.

  “You go. I’ll catch up with you,” Frost says, taking Chubs’s gun as well and heading to take his place at the window.

  “No, Frost, we need you,” I say, grabbing his arm.

  “I’ll catch up,” he growls, pushing me away with a strength I’ve never felt before.

  I have no choice but to obey. There’s no time to argue. I scramble to my feet and head to Ernie’s side, sharing the old man’s weight with Saunders.

  “He’s not looking great, Bram,” Saunders says.

  “Hang in there, old man. For Eve,” I whisper.

  “For Eve,” he says softly back—and I know he’s going to make it.

  “Wait!” a frail woman’s voice cries out to us, and Anne comes up the stairs. She’s nothing like the strong woman who held us at gunpoint a few moments ago. “You can’t leave us. They’ll kill us all,” she pleads.

  “They’re coming. You need to get Ernie out of here now,” Frost barks. “Take the women with you.”

  Anne looks from Frost to me.

  “It’s either come with us or take your chances with the EPO,” I tell her.

  She dashes for the stairs, calling for the other women.

  “Get out of here now,” Frost orders, then ducks as a spatter of bullets slices through the front of the house. He quickly returns fire. “I can handle these idiots, but more will be on the way. If you don’t go now you won’t get out alive.”

  I turn my back on Frost and help Saunders to carry Ernie. We head down the hallway, followed by Anne and, at a glance, five other terrified women scrambling behind her.

  We follow Anne’s screamed directions through the hallways of the manor house. After dragging Ernie’s weight for a few minutes to the soundtrack of gunfire and grenade blasts, we hear the noise suddenly stop.

  The silence is almost worse than gunfire.

  “What do we do?” Saunders asks.

  “We keep moving,” I say. We follow in the footsteps of our remaining men as we find our exit through a conservatory, onto a grand patio, and into the gardens.

  “You’re out!” Saunders whispers to Ernie, who, despite the pain, manages a rebellious smirk.

  “I’ve been waiting thirteen years for this,” he mutters.

  “We’re not clear yet,” I say, picking up the pace as we head to the bushes at the back of the garden.

  Suddenly gunfire rattles the windows of the hallway we just escaped from.

  We all turn.

  “Frost?” I whisper.

  “Are they inside?” Ernie asks. “Th-the EPO?”

  “I’ve got to go back,” I tell Saunders. “I’ve got to help Frost.” I’m interrupted by the sound of gun blasts. Shadowy figures emerge from the hallway.

  With each flash of gunfire, their blast-proof helmets and riot shields light up.

  “They’re coming!” I cry. “Get to the trees!” Anne and her rabble of terrified women scramble past us, deeper into the garden.

  A gunshot suddenly cuts through the air. It’s closer than before.

  “Is that Frost?” Saunders asks, looking at a large figure hurtling past the windows of the long hallway, silhouetted in the gun flashes that chase him.

  “We need to run,” I say. I pick up Ernie’s shivering body and move away from the house as fast as I can, Saunders helping me with him. “RUN!” I bellow, and the team of Freevers and the scared women don’t wait around.

  We fall back into the trees, the grass under our feet transforming into ankle-deep water.

  I look back to see Frost barreling through the glass of the conservatory. I catch sight of the crazed look in his eyes as he frantically unwraps a woolen blanket.

  My heart catches in my throat as I realize what he’s done. What’s about to happen.

  Bullets connect with Frost’s back, but it’s already too late. He pulls Ernie’s severed arm from the blanket. As he stumbles across the threshold of the house and steps into the garden, the glass around him shatters. More bullets and pulses from Ketch’s squad catch up with him.

  “FROST!” the Freevers cry.

  “He’s not going to make it!” Chubs yells from behind.

  “He never planned to,” I whisper as Frost launches the bloody limb away from the house. It hurtles through the chilled air, the device implanted inside it flashing red under the cold skin.

  It doesn’t even reach the ground before I feel the heat. Intense warmth hits my face, like an oven door opening. Then the brilliant glow of orange-red, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, followed by blinding white and a burning sensation on my face, neck, hands, any exposed skin. I shield my eyes and try to place as much of my body as I can in front of Ernie to protect him as the entire building behind Frost’s tumbling silhouette breaks apart and explodes in a great fireball, engulfing Frost and incinerating everyone inside.

  I scramble to my feet as the flames settle and the thick black cloud ascends to join the gray sky above. My body aches, but not as much as my heart. Aching for Frost, for Johnny, for Ketch and the men I used to see at the Tower. How many were caught in the blast? Are there any survivors?

  I step forward, instinctively wanting to search the inferno for anyone in need, when a hand grips my leg.

  “Ernie!” I whisper, helping the old man up.

  “We need to go—now,” Saunders growls. I look at the frail figure of Eve’s father. He’s my responsibility now. I’m in too deep.

  I hoist Ernie up with Saunders’s help and turn away from the smoldering wreck where the house once stood. There is no turning back now.

  52

  EVE

  Beep, beep, beep. The sound is so monotonous I find my brain beeping along with it. Beep, beep, beep. Beep.

  I try to move but wince in pain.

  “It’s okay, Eve,” I hear Mother Kimberley say, a quiver in her friendly voice. “You’re all right.”

  I don’t feel it. There are wires around my chest, tubes under my nose, a clamp on my finger, all monitoring me and bleeping out my stats.

  “Up her meds,” Vivian orders sternly.

  “Yes,” murmurs Dr. Rankin.

  I let go.

  * * *

  —

  I pry open one eye and feel a searing pain shoot through my head at the bright white sight before me. I’m not in my room.

  “Where am I?” I ask, hoping someone approachable is with me.

  “Downstairs. You’re being taken care of,” says Mother Tabia, all sternness and authority gone from her voice as she mothers me.

  “Why? What’s wrong with me?” I ask feebly.

  “Shush now. There was an accident. You—”

  “Enough. Out,” Vivian’s voice orders.

  I close my eyes and try to sleep again, attempting to ignore the tightness in my chest.

  * * *

  —

  My breathing is calmer. My body feels better. My mind seems less foggy. This time when I
open my eyes, I do so without too much of a fuss. I’m able to take in what’s around me, a hostile examination room. At least I’m no longer hooked up to all that monitoring equipment.

  “That was quite a little adventure you had.”

  Vivian is at the end of my bed, as composed as ever in a gray pantsuit, yet I vividly remember her screaming my name—the horror and fear, the desperation.

  “What happened?” I ask, crinkling my forehead into a confused frown. “Why am I here?”

  “You tried to escape.”

  “I did? Why?”

  “You panicked,” she states, her voice measured as she looks me up and down.

  “About what?”

  “Retraction.”

  “Really?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Where did I go?” I ask as glimpses of the collection bay, the car, those trees, and me flying toward one flash through my mind, along with all the lies and deceit.

  “Not far enough that the public saw, don’t worry,” she says, with a look that tells me she feels sorry for me. Not in a way that reveals she’s suddenly full of compassion, but rather that she thinks I’m pathetic. “Your little secret will stay here, within the safety of the building. We can’t have them thinking you were about to abort mission and abandon them all.”

  “No. I’d never do that.” I shake my head, wondering if she really believes I was running away.

  “Quite.”

  “How long have I—”

  “Just over twenty-four hours,” she interrupts, looking at her watch.

  “Oh.” I hadn’t realized I’d lost a day. I hadn’t intended this to happen. All I’d needed was to confirm what I already thought I knew, before heading back here. Although any other way and I’d be upstairs in my room. This is better. “Where’s Mother Kadi?”

  “Poor Mother Kadi.” Vivian sighs, feigning distress and shaking her head regretfully. I have a sinking feeling that I’ve put her in harm’s way and that Vivian has evicted her, or worse. “You treated her terribly.”

  “I did?” I ask, confused.

  “Yes. Barricaded her in the shower, apparently.”

  “I didn’t want her stopping me,” I confirm.

  Unimpressed, Vivian just stares at me, her eyes full of contempt. “Sleep, Eve. Rest. I’ll be back later,” she says, looking at the door. Clearly she’s needed elsewhere. “Now close your eyes.”

  I do as she says, relieved to hear she’s leaving.

  “Where’s Vivian?” says Mother Kimberley seconds later as she pops her red head around the door and looks about.

  “She just left.”

  “Must’ve missed her. Good,” she says, sounding relieved as she walks in. Her rosy cheeks are full and round as she stops and stares at me, her hands clasped to her chest. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  She comes to my bedside and grabs my hand, stroking it. “Are you? You really had us worried, going off like that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she shushes me, giving my hand a firm squeeze.

  “Can you do me a favor?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Grab me something nicer to wear? I can’t stand this gown. It reminds me of…” I stop and take a breath. “I just think I’d feel better in something else.”

  “Oh, little love. I won’t be long.”

  As soon as the click of the door lets me know she’s gone, I sit up slowly. My head spins, but I close my eyes to steady myself. My body feels painfully bruised, but I don’t have time to acknowledge the state I’m in. I’m just thankful for the medication.

  I go to the door and turn the handle as quietly as possible. Peeping around, I see Mother Kimberley heading to the elevators, but otherwise the corridor is empty. I’m glad I’m on the same corridor as usual. I know where I am.

  My bare feet step out and I’m at the door within fifty meters or so. It’s locked, although that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, given that they’re creating a human life in there, possibly the new savior of humanity who’ll lap up this lie like I have.

  The thought is chilling.

  I bash the vast metal door as hard as I can, the force against my muscles and bones making me cry out in agony.

  The chrome handle lowers with a squeak before the door is opened and a face appears.

  “Eve?” Dr. Rankin frowns, looking me in the eye—a rarity for her. “Can I get you something?”

  The phone behind her starts ringing. Her face turns toward the sound while her jaw slackens, a question forming.

  No time, I realize.

  I barge through, accidentally knocking her over and wincing when her hip hits the corner of a low cupboard and she yelps.

  My first thought is to go to her, to check I’ve not hurt her too badly, but then my eye is drawn into the room in front of me and my body tenses in horror. It’s big, cold, barren, and sterile, with row upon row of science equipment and technical apparatus spread across each table. What causes my jaw to stiffen and my stomach to convulse, though, is the sight of test tubes, jars, and larger glass containers, all filled with liquid. Its subtle green hue casts eerie streaks of light on the cold floor. But it’s what occupies the jars that I can’t pull my eyes from—the results of their experiments, floating lifelessly inside. Through the tears that form in my eyes, I read one of the labels stuck to the side of the glass. It is dated—twice.

  My heart pauses as I realize what these two dates are, what they mean. They leave me in no doubt that at some point these creations lived. Lungs would have filled, hearts would have beaten, yet now they are no more than tortured souls looking out through the glass preserving them and their brothers.

  I want to speak to Dr. Rankin in the hope of gaining some answers, but I can’t focus when I’m surrounded by this failure of human life and the extent to which they’ve meddled, their work seemingly spanning decades.

  This isn’t trusting Mother Nature or the gods. It’s experimental science—science that’s repeatedly gone wrong.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand breathlessly, turning to face Dr. Rankin, who has been taking in my reaction. With my focus now on her, she backs away from me, rubbing her hip and shaking her head in a defiant silence.

  “Tell me!”

  “We’ve been doing all we can to prolong life, Eve. You know that,” she says, her jaw clenching as she tries to regain her calm.

  “With me. You’ve been doing that with me,” I state, thinking of how many times they’ve scraped out my insides and stuck needles into me.

  “Well, yes.”

  “What are these?” I demand, pointing at the jars and test tubes. “Science has failed us before. Decades were spent testing, screening, and manipulating to no avail. You got it wrong time and time again. Haven’t you learned?”

  “We need you to have a girl,” she says curtly. “We’ve been learning how to rule out the variables.”

  “How?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How have you been doing that?”

  She glances around the room.

  “Creating and killing,” I say, agog.

  “Be thankful you’re not part of the experiment.”

  “But I already am, aren’t I? ‘Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh…,’ ” I quote, edging closer to her as the contempt inside me builds.

  She doesn’t deny my assumption.

  “There was never going to be a Revival ceremony, was there?” I say, the words making sense as I hear them. “It was always planned to be this way.”

  “I shouldn’t…I can’t…”

  Another lie.

  Before I can stop her, she reaches for the insistent phone and puts it to her ear. “She’s here,” she hisses. “Come quickly.”

 
; With no time to think, I simply act. I grab hold of a metal fire extinguisher and start by whacking the locks on the door several times, breaking their mechanisms and hopefully buying myself a few moments more. Then I start swiping the tables clear of their contents. The glass containers tumble and smash, the metal equipment clanks, the wood snaps and splinters—all of it falling to the floor with a deafening noise, filling me with conviction and rage, propelling me to the next workstation on the route of my destruction. I want it all gone. They can’t be allowed to play God—to pick and choose which experiment gets to live and which to die.

  My body moves like it’s not my own, my burning muscles becoming more frantic by the second. My mind focuses on the initial reason for my being here: my retrieved egg. I think of it in this laboratory of horror and let out a cry of fury. It could be anywhere within these walls, so everything becomes a target.

  Fighting blind, I decide I won’t stop until there’s nothing left to smash and destroy, so that none of it can be used in this way again.

  Clearly worried that her team of helpers isn’t coming quickly enough, Dr. Rankin tries to take control of the situation. Her arms wrap around my chest while she attempts to pull me back from a workstation I’m obliterating. I manage to shake her off, pushing her to the floor again with a thump.

  I leave her and move on, lifting the red metal weapon above my head to swing it into a row of test tubes and Bunsen burners, but Dr. Rankin tries again.

  Her hand reaches out and grabs my ankle. I struggle to get away from her tight grip. I look around me. I see all the equipment and experiments waiting to be demolished, and I groan in frustration. I shake my foot manically, feeling her hold loosen. Somehow managing to pull it free, I hear her cry of horror as I run across the room.

  I fly around creating chaos, screaming as I go. Sweat drips off my back as I sweep, smash, hit, and throw every object within my reach. Running around the room like a human hurricane, I ache to destroy everything in my sight. At first I had hoped to find the parts of my soul they’d extracted from me, but now, with adrenaline pumping through me, I’m charged with a fire and hatred I’ve never let free before. I feel alive, I feel wicked, and I feel driven. A powerful force from within shows me I’m far more physically capable than I could have imagined. It leads me on. It goads me. These lives they’ve created and destroyed, these experiments they’ve conjured and failed at, are all the result of their barbarism. I want it all gone. I don’t want them to be able to create perfect little boys only to dispose of them because they’re surplus to requirements. I don’t want to be a part of their lie.