Ill-Fated (Ill-Fated Series Book 1)

by S. C. McMurray

Thatcher stood to his feet slowly. He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a bottle of fine liquor and two glasses.

  “You’re here because I wanted to congratulate you in person on a job well done.” He poured some of the brown liquid into both glasses and handed one to Adam. He raised his glass.

  “To you Adam and to the continued strength and unity of our Party and our people.”

  They tapped glasses and drank. The brown liquid tickled his throat as it descended into his stomach. Thatcher took the glass from Adam’s hand and sat it with his in the drawer. Thatcher pressed a button on his desk and the large blue curtains retreated revealing a tall window. With a wave of his arm, he beckoned for Adam to join him at his side and Adam did as directed.

  The First General’s Mansion was the tallest structure in Washington. Built on the rotted corpse of the old White House, it loomed over the capitol city but also cast a shadow that stretched over each Satrapy. The view from Thatcher’s office of the city below was breathtaking and the two of them stood and admired it for a moment.

  “Look at them, Adam, busy with purpose like bees in a hive. It is a work of Art, what we have created. Do you agree?”

  Adam nodded, mostly because he was supposed to.

  “They work, they produce, they buy and sell, they pay their taxes and what unites them, Adam?”

  “Patriotism.” Adam answered.

  Thatcher scoffed, “Yes…patriotism.” He continued, “What you are seeing is balance, a hard fought balance. And maintaining this balance is my most important duty and what you accomplished two days ago was a huge help to me. I am grateful. Your Party is grateful.” He pointed out the window. “They are grateful.” He paused. “But do they understand their gratitude? No, that is why this job is so difficult. We have provided security, we have given them a livelihood, we have given them purpose and yet they are discontent. Even now, at this very moment, the resistance is growing in the shadows of our fine country. They want more, they aren’t happy with enough, but do I blame them?”

  To Adam’s surprise, Thatcher shook his head. “No. Because it is in their nature and what our government is dealing with is the same that all governments have dealt with from the Romans, to the British, to the Americans before us, how do you control a nature, a will that refuses to be controlled?”

  “Pardon me sir, but isn’t the ability to choose, our will, what makes us human?”

  Thatcher held his hands open. “You are right Adam, it isn’t only the flesh on my bones, the brain toiling in my skull, and the heart beating in my chest that makes me human but my ability to make decisions, to weigh the consequences, to examine the benefits as well. The problem, Adam, is that our wills are bent to serve ourselves and not each other. You and I, we are above them. We brandish the sword and we use it when necessary and if we didn’t, they would tear each other apart.”

  Based on his study of history, Adam had trouble arguing with his reasoning. The human race was marred by violence. But there was good, too. People sacrificing themselves for others, giving of themselves.

  Thatcher continued his discourse. “My duty is to maintain this balance and one day, perhaps soon, that duty will fall to you.”

  The weight of the First General’s words fell on him with the fury of a tidal wave. The hollow man was filling up with something…a burden. “You want me to succeed you as First General?”

  He placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “It’s what you were born to do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I will be making the announcement from the front steps tomorrow evening and you will be there.”

  Adam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Thatcher turned and gestured to the door. “Now, I must get to work preparing my speech. You are dismissed, Captain. Try to get some rest.”

  Adam saluted and walked toward the door but stopped short of leaving. He turned around. “Sir, if I may.”

  Thatcher who was gazing out the window at the city below with his arms linked behind his back answered, “Proceed.”

  “Sir, when I was tracking the young woman, I came across the name of a long dead program.” Adam took a breath and said flatly, “What is the Moiria Initiative?”

  Thatcher’s eyes darkened. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Adam nodded slowly. “What did you mean when you said I was born to be a First General?”

  “I was complementing you on your ability to lead, Adam. That is all.”

  Adam responded with the standard issue, “Yes, sir.” But his expression and body language revealed that he didn’t fully accept the First General’s answer.

  Thatcher noticed and gave one last treatise of explanation. “Adam, some call it fate, others call it destiny. I call it planning.”

  With those word hanging in the air, the hollow man left the First General’s office, knowing two things. His fate had been decided and his Godfather was lying.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  She watched the hologram being projected from high in the corner of the tall ceiling of her cell as one of the guards sliced Carlson’s back open with a whip. Carlson cried out in agony and blood spilled from his cuts but the guard didn’t stop until Carlson slipped into unconsciousness. When he finally succumbed, they dragged him away leaving nothing but a red stain and a trail of blood leading from the whipping post.

  This was the fourth such whipping that Evelyn had been forced to watch. Yes, she could close her eyes, seal her eye lids tighter than a bank vault. But her ears? Every lash of the whip echoed off the walls of her cell, every cry of pain, every plea to stop stabbed at her, fileting her soul like their backs. Everett, Selina, Clive and now Carlson had all suffered because of her, because of her existence and her stupidity. She’d trusted the wrong person.

  Whoever was controlling the beatings knew who Evelyn’s friends were and wanted her to see what was happening to them. She’d awakened in the cell, feeling weak and bound by a steel straight jacket. She hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink and had not had any other human contact. Aside from the light of the projections, she was in complete darkness. She drifted in and out of sleep but had no dreams.

  A few minutes after Carlson registered his last cry of pain, a door opened, filling the thin cell with an obnoxious white light. The shadow of a person emerged and Evelyn closed her eyes and backed into the corner of the room. The door shut behind the shadow and Evelyn felt the bright light soften around her. She opened her eyes. A tall man with a dark complexion and thick slicked back hair stood over her.

  He folded his hands and said in a genial way, “My name is Commander Farez, welcome to my prison.”

  Evelyn didn’t respond in any way. “You have no greeting for me?” Farez asked. “How impolite. I like to believe that I am a gracious host. Have you enjoyed your entertainment?”

  Again Evelyn didn’t respond in any way.

  Farez laughed to himself. “I thought you would. But I must confess. I haven’t shown you that for the benefit of your entertainment. No. No. No. I’ve shown you so that you would be prepared. So, that you would not waste my time, once I came to see you.” He began to pace in a businesslike fashion. “I have been patient, I have bided my time and finally the time has come. You see, your friend, Rillian, cares about you quite a deal and he endured the most, how should I put this, harsh interrogation to protect you. Finally with the right motivation, I convinced him to tell me everything he knew about you and he sang like a bird. His knowledge was truly enlightening, but there was something he didn’t know, something that I believe only you know.” He stopped and bent down next to Evelyn. “My associates and I have been long interested in you. We knew you were out there somewhere and we had been waiting for you to reveal yourself. I must admit you surprised us. Call us chauvinistic, but we thought you were one of the boys not the girl. As I’m sure you are already aware, you are a remarkable specimen. Strong, durable, dangerous. In other words, the perfect weapon. Sadly, however, there is just one of you to be
wielded. But imagine if they were more of you or people like you, what a power that would be. There can be-” He paused and corrected himself, “No, there will be.”

  Finally Evelyn spoke. “I won’t fight for you or anyone.”

  He clapped his hands together. “She can speak. But don’t fool yourself, girl, I don’t need you to fight for me. I just need you to remember.”

  “What are you talking about?” She responded. “I thought you knew all about me.”

  He sighed. “I do. I know about the Moiria Initiative and the Party’s fruitless attempt at population control. I know about your uncle and his ‘gift’ to your parents and I know that you dream.”

  Evelyn coiled away from him. “How do you know that?”

  “Did you think that you were the only one to dream of a life that you didn’t live?” He smiled. “You are a clone, girl, and all clones carry memories. It’s one of the remarkable mysteries of the science.” He paused. “Tell me what you remember, Sara?”

  Sara Larkin, the girl from the photograph in Dr. Larkin’s journal. The life Evelyn lived at night. “I don’t remember anything,” Evelyn said. “You are wrong about me.”

  “No. I am not wrong. You just need the right motivation to remember.” He pulled up the sleeve of his uniform and glanced at his watch. “What perfect timing. It’s time for your favorite show.” He pulled something from his pocket, like a remote, and pressed a button. The room lit up with the projection of the bloodstained whipping post.

  “This program is like a game show, minus the pomp and circumstance of course. You have many friends and loved ones here. Do you think they enjoy this program as much as you?”

  “You’re sick.” Evelyn spit out.

  “No, I’m pragmatic.”

  Two guards appeared in the projection with another prisoner between them. The prisoner’s head was covered with a sack.

  “Another contestant,” Farez said, gleefully. “Let’s see who it is.”

  The prisoner tried to break free of the grasps of the guards but it was no use. They forced the prisoner’s arms around the whipping post and cuffed the wrists together. Finally, they removed the sack. Evelyn’s heart sank. It was Lana. Her face was already swollen and bruised and her hair was matted with dried blood.

  “I believe she is a friend of yours. Are you surprised that she is alive and that her silly coalition of resistance fighters haven’t disposed of her yet? Don’t fear, the first item of business when a member of the SPC is brought here is to have that annoying little death device deactivated.” He sighed. “A pity. It would have saved her from what is about to occur.”

  The guards cut a small slit in Lana’s thin shirt then ripped it right off, revealing her bare back.

  “You can stop this, girl. All you have to do is remember.”

  “Remember what?” Evelyn repeated herself, louder, “Remember what?”

  “The Formula for you, girl. Sara was the one devised it.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  The first lash of the whip came cracking down on Lana’s back. She cried out in pain. Evelyn cringed.

  Farez poked her on the head. “It is in there somewhere. You just have to remember.”

  “Please stop this!” Evelyn pleaded. “I know nothing about a formula.”

  “There were three scientists who worked on the Moiria Initiative, Nicolai and Sara Larkin and my father, Muhammad Al-Farez. They spent years trying to bond nanotechnology to human cells, to make the perfect weapon, and they had little success. That is until Sara found the formula. Sadly, she died and the formula with her, or so my father thought. But she had told someone, her husband, and in his grief, he made you, the last one born of the Initiative. But he soon vanished and the formula with him. And since he was killed by that clumsy, pretty boy, Senator’s son, you are my associates’ only hope of retrieving the formula.”

  Another lash of the whip, another cry of pain.

  “Are you going to let this happen to your best friend?”

  “I…I…don’t remember! Please you’ve got to stop this! I just don’t remember!”

  “Think hard, girl.”

  Evelyn clamped her eyes shut. “I’m trying! I’m trying!”

  She really was, but all she could see was the pond, the flowers and him.

  The whip cracked like thunder in Evelyn’s ears. Her best friend was crying for death.

  Evelyn racked her mind, trying to recall something, but to no avail.

  Another crack of thunder, followed by a whimper, then silence. Evelyn opened her eyes and watched as the guards dragged her best friend’s limp body away from the whipping post.

  Farez stood to his feet. “She will carry those scars the rest of her life.” He shook his head slowly. “Shame. You could have stopped it before she made it that far.”

  He walked to the door and it opened, letting in the obnoxious white light again. Evelyn’s eyes adjusted to the light just in time to see the guards dragging a bloody and unconscious Lana back to her cell.

  “I’m so sorry, Lana.” Evelyn whispered.

  Farez let Evelyn have a good long look before he stepped into the middle of the doorway. “You should be sorry.” His lips curled into a heinous grin. “But don’t worry, with more motivation, you will remember.”

  All the anger she had over Adam’s betrayal and her hate for the man she had just met boiled over. With the little strength she had, she jumped to her feet and charged Farez, wanting nothing else but to smash her metal casing into his rib cage. He took a step back and pressed a button on his remote. An electrical charge surged through the vest, paralyzing Evelyn and causing her to crumple to the hard floor before she could reach him. She lay at his feet, panting for breath. He shook his head. “Tis, tis, tis.”

  He walked out of the cell whistling a happy tune. The door shut behind him.

  Evelyn was still lying with her face against the cold floor when she thought she heard a whisper. “Evelyn, is that you?”

  She ignored it, assuming that she was just hallucinating.

  She heard the voice again, just a bit louder. “Evelyn.”

  She slowly lifted her head. “Who-who?”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “Dad?”

  “It’s me, Evelyn.”

  “Is this real?”

  “Yes.” He answered. “I’m in the cell next to yours. I heard you talking to the Commander through the vent.”

  It was dark and Evelyn couldn’t see a thing. She bent her legs underneath her and used them to push herself closer to where her father’s voice was coming from.

  Her father went on. “I heard what he told you, about your…birth. I’m so sorry, Evelyn. We should have told you.”

  “It’s alright, Dad. I already knew before the Commander told me.” She paused. “Mom told me.”

  His voice became more cheerful. “Your mother, you’ve spoken to her. She’s alright, then?”

  Evelyn pinched her eyes shut to stop the tears.

  There was fear in her father’s voice. “What is it, Evelyn?”

  Evelyn swallowed hard. “She’s…she’s dead, Dad.”

  There was quiet from the other side of the vent. Evelyn could picture her father’s shocked expression as if someone had punched him in the gut and knocked the wind right out of him.

  “She died protecting me.” Evelyn spoke softer. “She gave her life, so that I would have a chance to escape.”

  Finally her father spoke again, his voice quivering. “This is all my fault. I should have done more. I should have protected you both. I’ve failed as a husband and father.”

  “Dad.” Evelyn said. “I know it hurts. The pain, the agony is so bad. Don’t blame yourself. Please don’t blame yourself. You were a great husband and Mom knew that. She told me, Dad, how you two fought to be together and how no one believed that you should get married and that they said—”

  “—that I didn’t deserve her, that she was too good
for me. They were right.”

  “But she married you anyway. Because she loved you and she knew that they were wrong about you.” Evelyn took a breath. “You are a great Dad and the most loyal, caring person I know. I am proud to be your daughter.”

  Evelyn’s father was silent for a moment. “I’m proud to be your father.” There was the sound of a door sliding open and footsteps. “They’re here for me now.” His tone became more urgent. “Don’t give in to him and don’t give up hope. You hear me, Evelyn. Don’t give up hope. I love—”

  There was a loud cracking sound and his words were cut short. Evelyn heard them drag her father out of his cell and then the door shut behind them. Feeling as if all hope was lost, she whispered to his empty cell, “I love you too, Dad.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After his meeting with the First General, Adam declined the ride his father had arranged for him and chose to walk the two miles to his former home instead. He told the driver that he needed the fresh air but in reality he wanted to hit up a local bar and drink away the memory of Evelyn and what he had done to her. He had only taken one sip before a pretty young law student recognized him. Blonde, curvy, a little inebriated, a perfect distraction. She threw herself at him, but he rejected her. He downed his drink, paid the bartender and left.

  He took the long way home, bypassing most of “Senator’s Row”, the long strip of elegant homes with their spacious, neatly trimmed yards and elaborate landscaping, where important Party Members lived. An old Cadillac zoomed by him, he did a double take because he thought he saw Reg, his old teacher’s butler, driving. But when he turned around, all he saw was the red of the car’s taillights fading into the distance. He spun back around and continued walking.

  I must have been seeing things.

  A short time later, he found himself ascending up the stone steps that led into his parent’s home. Their home was more like a small castle, built from hand carved bricks of marble. It was, by most accounts, the nicest home in the nation, aside from the First General’s. But as he reached the top of the steps, he realized that though this had been his address growing up, it had never really felt like home. And he doubted that the First General’s mansion would feel like it either.