Created (Book 1 of the Created)

by Shaw, Shannon

  Hell, I wasn't sure if she was alive because best I could tell with any certainty was that she wasn't breathing. There was no rise and fall of her chest, no moment of her nostrils or of the mask. She never adjusted or seemed agitated by anything. She worked; a perfect employee.

  Eventually, she completed her tasks, leaving to attend to another tray of medical equipment located near a bay of thick glassed windows and a heavy, riveted door of brushed steel.

  Preoccupied with yellow eye, my new nickname for this unknown woman, I had failed to notice the entire surgical team was standing side by side with eyes closed and heads bowed as in prayer. The call to attention was located in front of a bank of rather complicated looking machinery.

  Curious to see if my personal nurse was the only person with yellow eyes, I waited for a member of the staff to show his or her eyes, but none did.

  Soon yellow eye was done busying herself with the items before her. Job completed, she joined the collective, assuming an identical posture at the end of the line furthest from the bed: head bowed, arms to her side, eyes closed.

  Lying back down on the cold metallic bed, I saw the soldiers above me stop pacing the catwalks. Most of the men were running into predetermined positions, the pounding of their boots belaying the urgency at which they moved. Confused, I lay taking in my room.

  The facility was oversized and too complex for a medical ward. The room was cavernous, the size of a basketball gymnasium. Along the far wall to my right were rows of bindings in a variety of different positions made from silvery steel chain. To the left were a darkened row of windows. Shadowy figures and shapes could barely be seen through the glass. Through parted and restrained feet, stood the series of windows where yellow eye had been spotted working. Tilting and turning my head, I could see behind the bed were large pools of a watery substance with empty cages strung several feet overhead.

  Bored and scared beyond belief, I opted to be a smart ass, I asked aloud, "Would it kill any of you to get me a pillow?"

  The room remained eerily quiet except from the rising drone emanating from the bank of strange machines brought in by the workers.

  I was becoming unhinged the longer I waited. I had to find out what was wrong with me and what was happening with yellow eye. She was my focus of attention, the rock that kept me from wigging out. Occasionally, I would roll my head far enough to one side and off the bed to see if yellow eye and her fellow freaks were still stoically standing by. Sure enough each member was there.

  I asked myself, how could people, if they were people, act in such a manner?

  This was beyond anything in my experience in regard to professionalism.

  Screaming seemed a great option to release my frustration and fear, but I wasn't sure how the soldiers above would react. Looking skyward, I could see the difference in posturing. In fact, they too were now too ready. A more subtle difference was the unflinching nature of the stance and expressions that framed every face. Complementing the body language, the weapons were no longer slung over their shoulders. The guns were hanging over the railing, pointed down in my direction.

  My mind filled with questions I could not answer. However, a couple of things I did know was the soldiers were ready for someone more dangerous than me, and though attended to by a cast of bizarre medical staff, I was not being treated for an injury. I was being detained for another reason.

  Chapter 5

  I must have dozed off.

  Through glazed eyes the room did not appear different. The guards were still at the ready overhead, and any change in their position was imperceptible. Rolling my head to the side, the hunt for yellow eye began. The IV bag she had strung earlier was still full. The drip had never been started.

  Past the end of the bed, yellow eye still stood with her eyes closed. This sight somewhat relived me. The rest of the medical staff was on hand. The group members were stationed along side my silent nurse with identical, motionless, head bowed postures.

  Drugged, restrained, guns trained on and cared for by freaks, I was somehow at ease knowing yellow eye was nearby. I had once read that captives often identify with their capturers as they broke under the stress. I was sure I was breaking. She was a sweet comfort but it wasn't her lack of caring that made me feel safe or the touch of her lifeless skin. She was the only contact I had with anything resembling a person since I was brought from the woods after the attack. If I had awakened without her there then I would have been crushed.

  The soft, low hum of the machines was calming. The consistent droning had been the soft lullaby that had gently soothed me to sleep and not the low grade cocktail of drugs mingling loosely within my system. Quickly, I was finding myself drifting back into the ether.

  A crackling pop echoed throughout the chamber as the seal was broken around the heavy metal door allowing the atmosphere inside to escape into the antechamber. The air seemed to be sucked from the room as a cluster of men, among which was Mr. Smith and the angry gentleman from the hospital, entered through the previously locked door.

  "Ethan, how are you feeling? I hope the staff has treated you well. I am Mathias Dencourt, Director of Future Systems for the Chadron Corporation." The angry man from the hospital was friendly in his attempt to make conversation with me as he flipped through a chart hanging from the end of the bed.

  "Sir, I feel fine I guess." I made it a point to jerk at the bindings securing my wrists to call to attention my predicament though I knew the man was well aware of my situation.

  "Your medical staff is a little different in their complete lacking of any bedside manner." The metal bracelets that held my arms in place clanked again as I adjusted in the bed to attempt to sit upright as much as my shackles would allow.

  I spied yellow eye in the same posture as before the men entered; head bowed, hands behind her back, eyes closed, face expressionless, no rise or fall of her chest.

  "Yes. The Zs are state of the art. They can be trained and maintained at a fraction of the cost of traditional human personnel. We can modify each to specific tasks through a unique upload system that allows data uploads directly into the cerebral cortex."

  I asked, "Traditional human?"

  "The staff in this part of the facility were created two years ago from our previous medical personnel; one of my greatest successes. The staff no longer becomes angry, sad, tired or even hungry. If one does happen to break or be destroyed, then any grunt or street urchin we can find can take his or her place. I am so proud each time I get to see them managing the patients in this wing of the facility," The angry man commented as he replaced my chart to its original home on the bed.

  "Traditional human?” I inquired again since the question was not answered to anything nearing my satisfaction.

  "That is a pesky question that you have asked. I was avoiding it because I was unsure how to explain something people can only fathom in dreams. This staff is very unique, special so to speak, in that the staff members that have been attending to your medical needs since your movement to this wing of the hospital ward four days ago are all dead."

  The truth hit me gradually. First seeing vampires and now the undead in my short stay on the Farm, the smaller details were slipping through the lapses in my understanding. The man had said it had been four days, but the days lost were unimportant. I had to know about this surreal world of monsters I had been thrust into with my decision to join the hunt.

  Hands casually resting in his pockets, Mr. Dencourt glibly looked around the room as he spoke. "The Constructs are different than the other projects we have undertaken. They have limited, predetermined function with high rewards. Only a single generation has been needed thus far which means we can maximize usage of a smaller controlled group. This recent finding will be the basis for other lines of Zs. A small change in formulation will save billions in dollars and possibly revolutionize the medical industry. These are exciting times, and you are about to witness the next step first hand."

  Since the last observation, t
he other men who had entered earlier had edged closer to the bed I was occupying. The entire group nervously shuffled from one foot to the next in silence, staring heavily in my direction. The expressions ranged from smiles to furrowed brows.

  Worry began to emerge. Handcuffed to a bed in an experimental facility surrounded by Constructs, armed guards and well-heeled men, some in military garb, I came to understand the twist and ounce of truth from my earlier assumption. The guards were needed to protect the room's other occupants from what I was about to become.

  Slammed with the thoughts, I felt ill at first then angry. I would be a mindless, soulless yellow eyed medical technician. I was about to become another test subject, another rat for Dencourt's game. I wanted to speak, to scream, but my body, my lips did not respond to my pleas for movement. Only my eyes would do my bidding and it was an extreme tiring effort.

  Dencourt smiled as he hovered over me. The pristinely dressed man roughly clutched my head, using his thumbs to peel away the skin around the bottoms of my eyes. Satisfied, he checked the IV drip put in place by yellow eye.

  Talking at me though not to me, Dencourt straightened. "Our scientists have produced a synthetic paralytic ten times more potent than any ever approved by the FDA. It will allow the nanites to transition more fluidly throughout your body and deliver the virus more efficiently. Unfortunately, the process is excruciatingly painful, and we have had our share of deaths on the table, but the most recent breakthrough I spoke of will rectify that side effect."

  I was not feeling the confidence in the breakthrough. I was so scared.

  Turning away from me to face his audience, Dencourt spoke sadistically aloud, "The paralytic won't take away the pain. I cannot stand the thrashing and the screams can be horrific. This new drug will eliminate the nastiness from our prospective. Ethan, however, will be tormented harshly for the next twenty four to thirty six hours."

  The man moved to speak quietly with his gallery. Only the tops of their heads could be seen occasionally as the group debated my fate. I alternated between watching the drip and straining to hear bits of information. Luckily, my body was relaxed by the drug and my heart was not racing as best I could tell. I wanted to hurl myself from the bed. A loud outburst from one of men distracted me from the reality of my possible impending death. "He is just a damn boy!"

  I couldn't see the face, but the voice was firm.

  The statement was rebutted by Dencourt. "His memory will be wiped clean. He could be the bridge between the generational lines we have already created. We need a young participant and he is here. The time is before us to take the next step. The rest of his group is dead, and we have already informed his family of his passing. This is not for question or debate. The situation and timing cannot be more perfect. This will be done Tobias!"

  The chatter of argument and dissension died. The solitary footsteps of a lone walker could be heard moving away from the hospital bed. The clank of the handle of the chamber door could be heard as someone forced it violently open. The audible hiss was missing, yet the effect was the same with the slamming of the large metal door; the room was filled with dread.

  Chapter 6

  My earlier sleepiness was gone.

  The noise from the machines in the room had faded to silence. It seemed fitting. Both man and machine awaiting the next phase patiently, but it was driving me insane.

  My brain was frantic as thoughts of my demise flew wildly. I knew focus was needed if I was going to survive. There had to be hope, there had to be a way out. I concentrated hard trying to force my arms and legs to become active participants and not casual observers in this dilemma. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. Damn.

  In the corner of my eye, I could see mass movement from the Constructs, including yellow eye who was steadily approaching in a simple, feminine gaunt accented by the sound of the scraping of her slipper covered feet a across the textured concrete. I could not look away from the eyes.

  They were haunting. The glossy sheen made the eyes seem less than lifeless. Behind them was possibly a hint, a very small bit, of kindness. Framed by the light blue surgical mask, the brightness was another matter. Wait something isn’t right. Why was she wearing a mask? She was dead. Was the mask to protect her or me? Maybe the process disfigured her? The small distraction lasted only moments as her eyes beckoned me to stare deeply.

  The yellow eyes were bordering on being garish I realized. A thought caught me curious. I wish I had asked about the eye color. How did being reborn as a member of the undead give you to flashy, yellow eyes? Would mine be yellow?

  I felt her cold undead hand on my arm as she checked the connection to the IV. Knowing she was once a person was maddening, but I had other troubles to worry about. I had to find a way to move before this group of mad men killed me or made me their pet.

  In the back of my mind, I knew I was too late. I had been unable to free myself when I could still move so what right did I have to think that I could escape while paralyzed. Was it the fear? Was being so close to dying bringing out the courage that had lain dormant the entire trip?

  WHAT?! What just happened?! Oh, shit! I was dead. A quick cut of my eyes presented me with Dencourt withdrawing a heavy gauge needle from my arm; he had officially begun the experiment.

  He smiled as he quickly placed the spent apparatus into the open palm of a member of the medical staff, another attractive female Construct with strawberry blonde hair and the same yellow eyes framed by her mask.

  This one was more buxom in appearance than the others. Unquestioning or needing any further instruction, she proceeded to shuffle away from the Director. As she passed, I heard one of the men exclaim, "Look at the ass on that one."

  The statement was soon followed by a smack of a hand against the thin material of the hospital scrubs the blonde was wearing. A cackle of laughter was emitted by the cluster of men. The sound of the shuffle of her feet did not slow nor speed up; it was steady; unperturbed by the caustic action of the man.

  My attention soon returned to my own precarious situation. I felt nothing. Dencourt had explained to the onlookers the transformation was unbearable, yet I felt the same, aside from being grossly more scared than I was previous to the injection if that was possible.

  Dencourt stood over me. He smelled of a combination of citrusy cologne and cigar smoke with an underlying hint of lime. The odor was calming; his goal was not. His gaze did not waver. There was intensity in his eyes that I had never experienced. He was studying me. What was he looking for?

  There was still no conversation in the room. Everyone waited. The men drew closer now. I could tell by the heavy, labored breathing of two of the heavier men they drew nearer still.

  I averted my eyes from Dencourt. I looked to yellow eye for comfort, but she was as emotionally absent as an antique doll. Her hand slipped from my arm as she took her position alongside the other staffers who had since dispensed of their duties and were now standing at the ready.

  Mr. Dencourt spoke firmly, "I see the change is beginning to happen. Come closer gentlemen and see the next evolution of our product line. This is the future we are building."

  Reluctantly, the men lined the edges of my bed on both sides.

  What change?! Nothing was happening. Nothing, I wanted to scream into the man's face that his truth was different. But suddenly I felt something. A small tingle then a twinge. It WAS beginning. My skin was now tingling in long narrow stretches down the front of my legs along my thighs. Both of my eyes itched in one location for seconds then the itching would move to another spot. The events were minor, but worrisome.

  Dencourt searched the skin around my eyes, spreading and pulling, then turned my head from one side to another, beginning the hunt anew. "The nanites are distributing the virus. You can see traces of the progress in the eyes first."

  He held my left eye open as he stepped back to show the men standing beside him what he was talking about then rotated my head repeating the procedure for the opposite sid
e.

  The itching was worsening as was the numbness. I wanted to rub my eyes in the worst way. The numbness was more of the concern. The sensation was creeping toward my toes. I could feel only two per foot for the past two minutes though even now the lone toe on my right foot that had been the hold out was beginning to tingle. It would not be long before the other toe would also follow. The tingling would begin then the numbness then the empty, hollow feeling that was left.

  I wanted to cry.

  The men continued to watch.

  I tried to close my eyes. The paralytic drug would not even allow the trivial to occur. Finally, the tingling abated. If I could sighed in relief I would have, but I felt extremely disconnected from my body. Only seconds passed until a different feeling emerged - a piercing pain underneath my ribs. I hoped, prayed, my body would animate the action of sitting up with the hopes the pain would subside. Instead, my body lay motionless, deceiving me, and deceiving the onlookers.

  "Watch his chest!" A decorated Marine colonel shouted.

  The group leaned forward as one entity to get a better view as my ribs started growing under my skin. The pain was unimaginable. If I could have screamed once I would have never stopped. Dencourt had been right. He had been right about it all.

  He pointed out what was happening. "The bones here are widening to alleviate the gaps between each one to make the ribs provide better protection for the heart." He pointed to both sides of my rib cage. "Notice the subtleness of the skin changing texture to make him more efficient." Dencourt felt of the exposed flesh of my stomach.

  "Beautiful, just beautiful," he whispered quietly as I passed out from a sudden burst deep of intolerable pain deep within.