Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve)

by Godwin, Pam

  Black lashes spread over his cheekbones. He inhaled and the lashes snapped up. “Ready for your lesson?”

  Roark arched his back in a swell of outrage, eyes blazing, and voice wheezing through clamped teeth. “Den’ ye bloody touch her.”

  An exhale oozed from the Imago’s flared nostrils. Then he spun toward Roark with an unleashed fist. The wet smack stole my breath.

  Roark stretched a toothy smirk through the red river coursing from his nose. “That’s all ye got, ye goat-fucking toerag?”

  His fist reared again. Roark grunted under the blow to his abdomen, the corners of his mouth rigid.

  My pulse raced, faster than I thought possible, leaving me trembling and panicked. So much so, I didn’t notice the new threat until hot breath dampened the wrap around my neck.

  “Mmm, your quivering is delectable,” the Drone hummed in my ear. His hip chafed mine, his proximity oiling away the layers of air between us, seeping beneath the surface of my skin.

  He ground his flaccid dick against me, punctuating each word with a pant. “I want to want you.”

  Fucking mouth-breather. “I want to gut you.”

  He clutched his side, face twisted, breaths pushing out in sprays of spit.

  “What’s your problem? Dick won’t work?”

  He grabbed a handful of my headscarf, hair with it, and yanked my neck down in a submissive bow. “How would you feel if people thought we were lovers? Do you want that?”

  “There are no people. And there will never be anything resembling love between us.”

  He released my head, sending it careening back. The bite from the wall spiked from my crown to my eyes.

  When my vision cleared, he was gliding over to Roark in that slimy way he moved.

  “Pity to defile such a beautiful creature.” He tore the front of Roark’s pants open, baring his groin.

  Roark growled. My heartbeat swished in my ears and the tension pouring from the leashed aphids stretched to the snapping point. How was the Drone still holding them when his attention was focused on us? Could I wrestle the control away from him?

  The Imago circled Roark, blade in hand, slicing away the remainder of his clothes until he hung nude, biceps twitching against his sagging weight.

  His wide jade eyes locked on the Drone, who hovered close enough to share his breath. Too fucking close. Even if I could get the aphids to attack on command, no way Roark would come out un-bitten. I wouldn’t chance it. My stomach dropped.

  The Drone’s mouth ticked up and his back straightened. A rattan cane appeared from under his cloak.

  An extension of his arm, the cane shot up. I stopped breathing as it whistled down.

  Roark’s torso jerked under the impact. His cheeks paled, flexed, no doubt bottling a scream. A red welt ballooned above his nipple. Oh, Roark.

  My eyes clung to the cane as it rose again. “Not him. No more.” I rammed my arms against the wall. “It’s my punishment. Not his.”

  The next blow landed below the first. A roar escaped Roark’s thinned lips.

  I pulled against the shackles in useless thrashing. “Stop, you sick fuck.” My voice broke. “Just stop. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  His free hand hovered over Roark’s chest, fingers grazing the twin gashes, lingering. Then his touch meandered along pectoral ridges to his unblemished nipple, catching it between finger and thumb. Squeezing. Yanking beyond comfortable extension.

  Roark’s eyes remained fastened on the Drone’s, his body otherwise unresponsive.

  A peculiar sort of darkness pooled in the Drone’s eyes as his attentions moved south, over the bump and dip of honed abs, brushing golden naval hair, caressing that perfect indention where his hip jutted.

  Saliva thickened with an onslaught of nausea. “Stop it.” It was a shout, but came out as a croak.

  The Drone flicked his wrist, catching the bloody nipple. “Ten more cuts from the cane. Each word you utter adds another cut. Are we clear?”

  I swallowed, nodded, then closed my eyes. Time to focus on the aphids. Precision would be paramount.

  The whine of the cane whipped the air. And another and another. The brutality and force of each lunge and swing made my jumps more violent than Roark’s, robbing my concentration, tearing out my heart.

  I opened my eyes. Mutated bodies swayed. Tiny pupils trained on the Drone. I couldn’t get ahold of them, they wouldn’t move, and worse my bones were softening. Feeling escaped my fingers and toes. The sensation of spinning crept in.

  I centered my focus on the barricaded doors. If I stared hard enough, put a mountain of hope behind that stare, maybe Jesse would crash through with arrows flying. If I hadn’t left the States…if I’d just stayed with the Lakota—

  The cane whacked, wrenching a moan from Roark’s throat.

  Whack…Whack.

  Roark’s breathing turned fitful. Grunts became gasps. Tremors rolled over strained muscles, sending aftershocks through the chains. And his freckled skin took on a gray pallor that matched my A’s in their final hours.

  I jerked against the cuffs, helpless and dying inside, desperately reaching for the aphid link. Once again, the connection disintegrated, and stole the last of my strength.

  The hall sang with the whir of the cane’s blow. A ladder of horizontal cuts lined his chest, swelling and springing blood.

  Finally, the cane vanished under the Drone’s cloak and he moved away to whisper something to the Imago.

  I stared at Roark’s hanging head, silently begging him to look at me. All the bullshit between us had dissolved on the cliff at River Tweed. I wanted…needed him whole, canonic vows and all. I wouldn’t survive without him.

  A burn swept through my throat, behind my eyes. Oh Roark…“Please don’t give up. I need you.”

  With slow jerks, his neck straightened. His eyes rolled up. He glanced at me, didn’t seem to see me. Then his eyes focused on mine, lips parted. “I…”

  His molars smacked together. The chains strained. He took a hissing breath and widened those eyes that seem to penetrate my soul. “…love…” His voice cracked.

  Activity flurried through the hall, but the room narrowed to just the two of us and that thing only we could feel. I’d missed that feeling, how big and alive it was, and pushed it into my face, my eyes, so he could read it there and understand.

  His lips quivered. The corner lifted then fell. He mouthed, “Sorry.”

  I shook my head, brows crunched together, a sob locked in my throat.

  “The vow.” His lips moved, but it was the Drone’s voice that reached my ears.

  “Now we feed our army.” His arms spread out and he floated back to us.

  Feed? Oh no, no, no.

  A tear swelled in Roark’s eye, fell over the red rim, skipped down his cheek.

  The Drone pressed against me and palmed my stomach. A violent flutter sparked under his hand and vibrated bone-deep. As if an invisible wall fell away, the aphids surged forward. The doctor evaded a snapping jaw with an acrobatic tumble.

  The hand on my stomach clenched. His voice cut through my tremors. “Your body betrays you.” Fingers pressed against my bucking abdomen. “I can feel the croon rising in you. It is calling to me as well.”

  Was that why the aphids were on the move? “You’re directing them?”

  I didn’t let his manic chuckle disarm me. Think revenge. Mind over body. I projected my will along that invisible thread, the one that led me to the aphids.

  The mutants paused, but their line rippled. Their hunger burned like acid in my stomach. I swallowed back the bile searing my throat.

  The doctor rolled out from under a bent aphid and landed on one knee. His eyes pinned me. There was no malice there. No emotion. Of the three, he seemed the least insane. Maybe that made him the biggest risk.

  The Imago squatted against the far wall. His dart gun lay across his bent knees as he sucked his cigar. That arrogant bastard had to go first.

  I filled my head with images o
f aphids gathered over the Imago’s shredded chest, feasting at a bloody buffet.

  All at once, the aphids pivoted then shuffled toward the Imago. The pitch of their buzzing stung my ears and burrowed deep within me. Their need strained. Soon it would crack. Control over them was an illusion.

  The Drone jerked away. His shoulders shook. The aphids swung back, their orbs directed at Roark.

  I hung onto my will, externalizing it, making it real. Warmth gushed from my nose and trickled over my lip. Copper and iron filled my mouth. Sweat cooled my skin. I gathered my concentration and continued to push images. The Drone peppered with leaking bullet holes. The Imago hanging from a meat hook, fingers dragging through a red puddle. But the aphids’ rush toward Roark didn’t waver.

  Laughter bubbled from the Drone. Arms raised to the ceiling, his cloak spread out and eclipsed my view.

  Halos circled the wall torches and teetered sideways. My lungs labored through short breaths. The muscles in my face strained against the pressure of my wordless command.

  Roark bowed his back and fought his binds. The aphids crawled over each other to get to him feet away.

  My broadcast became vocal. “Stop. Stop. Stop.” The ringing in my ears deafened my screams.

  A warm palm covered my brow. The skin around the doctor’s piercing eyes creased. His touch jolted through me. I shoved my directive at the aphids, with my gut, with my voice. “Stop.”

  Claws rose over Roark. Too late. Too fucking late. I gulped past razor blades and cried, “Roark. No, God. Please. Roark.”

  The aphids fell on him, covered him. His name shredded my throat. The torches flickered into multicolored dots, spun around me and blended to nothingness.

  My eyes flew open. The sun hung high above my cell and warmed my cheek. My leaden arms lay along my torso. The mattress pressed against my bare chest. I tried to move. Straps on my back and legs held me down.

  The doctor bent over me, swabbing something on my shoulder.

  “Roark?” The whisper scratched my throat.

  “What are these spots on your back?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Where’s Roark?”

  Cold dabs wet my other shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are they bites? Birthmarks?”

  “Tell me where Roark is.”

  “The pigment is unusual. Black. And smooth.” He pressed his finger down. “Does this hurt?”

  “Get away from me. You…you created a virus, a worldwide massacre. You watched that sick fuck cane Roark. And you’re asking about the pigment of my skin? Where is he?”

  Was Roark’s beautiful body shredded with bite marks? His face sunken under all-white eyes? I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bear it. I had to find him and find the cure.

  Leather bit into my back. “Let me up.” I bucked as the walls closed in. Suffocating. Choking. “Let me up, goddammit.” My shouting dwindled to a pained rasp.

  Footsteps scraped the floor and the doctor’s dabbing stilled on my back. I angled my head toward the gate.

  The Drone stood on the other side. His infernal aura slithered through the bars and corkscrewed its way to my gut. “I couldn’t let him mutate and taint my army, Eveline.”

  There were no half-breed mutants. If a man were bitten, he became an aphid. If Roark didn’t mutate, then…“You killed him?”

  He closed his eyes. “Shh. Now, now. It will be all right.” A deep inhale and his eyes snapped open. “A cadaver in mid-transition will be invaluable in my laboratory.”

  My existence shattered. I couldn’t let them see. Couldn’t let them know they killed me too. I held the pieces together, forced the air from my lungs. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  “I’m very sorry, Eveline. I’ll give you time to…accept.” The fan of his cape followed him out the door.

  My bindings loosened and fell away. The doctor stepped out of the cell in wooden movements and sat at the far end of the chamber.

  I rolled off the bed and sought the corner. Knees to chest, I blanked my face and waited for the doctor to leave.

  But he didn’t move. The sun circled the sky and the shadows crawled over me. The night showed me mercy, a reprieve from his watchful eyes. It was then that I surrendered to soundless, tearless sobs. The abyss inhaled, and welcomed me back.

  The moon peeked around the ceiling gables and cast blocks of gray on the floor. Morning and night, the tide crashed against the fortress walls. I put my fingers in my ears.

  The corner propped up my back, as it had done for a day, maybe two, maybe more.

  A brown and yellow spider tapped its striped legs on my knee, looking for a place to bury its fangs. Its pinecone body dragged behind it. I hoped it was poisonous.

  The gate to my cell squeaked opened. That fucking sound made me cringe. It latched shut and a hand swung at the spider. The ridged body crunched under the doctor’s sandal.

  “You haven’t eaten in four days.” He waited for a response. He could go fuck himself.

  He crouched before me. “If you don’t eat, I can’t take your blood. If I don’t take your blood, Aiman…the Drone will retrieve it himself. And you already know how he’ll do that.” His dark eyes lowered to my neck.

  Why did he need my blood? I turned away from him, pressed closer into the corner.

  He gripped my waist and threw me over his shoulder. Sandalwood billowed from his sweat dampened shirt. The shadows on the floor chased us out of the cell and into the bathroom.

  He gathered up my skirt. The stool hit my bare butt. The pipes squealed followed by the rush of water in the tub.

  “Go.” He gave the toilet a pointed look.

  I’d given up on my demands for privacy after the first day. To be honest, I just didn’t care. Caring was for people with hopes and dreams. So I let him haul me to and from the bathroom, bathe me, watch me use the toilet. All under the pretense of medical care. I felt like a lab monkey, certain the comparison wasn’t far off.

  Maybe I should’ve been concerned about an inappropriate touch or worse, considering he had a regular viewing of my naked body. But, I never glimpsed anything in his eyes or manner to seed the doubt. Maybe if he crossed that line, my body would find the fight that had abandoned it.

  Bladder empty, I let him lift me into the bath. Warm water rose to my chin. Each slow drop from the faucet echoed the dirge of my heartbeat.

  He ripped away the garment bunched at my waist. His hands moved with efficiency, lathering soap over my body and through my hair. He slowed his ministrations on my back. “I want to talk about these spots.”

  Not that bullshit again. “Want spots on your back? Get me a cigarette.”

  He clenched his jaw and finished washing me in silence.

  In my cell, I returned to the corner. He sat on the outside in a moonlit square and dug in his pants pocket. A pack of cigarettes dropped on the floor before him.

  I was in no mood for mind games.

  Sometime later, he reached in his pocket again. My battery-powered bullet appeared next to the cigarettes.

  I hid my surprise. “Shove it up your ass.”

  He placed my MP3 player next to the bullet. “I retrieved your pack from the truck at River Tweed. I have all your personal items.”

  Paper rustled in his hand. I straightened. He laid the stained letter next to the other items. Scrawled words glared back at me. Words poured from Joel’s heart.

  My hand shot to my forearm, seeking a dagger, fingers curling at its bareness. “You have no right.” I scrambled to the bars, reached for the letter. He inched it back.

  “It’s yours when you eat.” He nodded to the plate of food on the bed.

  So began my sentence on Malta. Three times a day, the doctor bribed me to eat, taking away the letter when I wouldn’t. Every day, after midmorning prayer, the Drone brought an empty vial. And every day, he watched with hungry eyes as the doctor pricked my vein. When the vial was filled, he snatched it and rushed out without a word.

  Between visiting hours, I fantasize
d about Annie and Aaron’s world. I knew it didn’t exist. Still, I would close my eyes and look for their smiling faces. I would look for Joel and Roark too. But it was always so dark. I’d stretch out my hands and feel nothing. Then I would call out for them, sinking deeper. I thought I came close sometimes. The tide would fade. The wind would still. The tightening in my chest would uncoil. And just when I thought I found them, the doctor would drag me back, forcing fluids down my throat or dropping me in the bath.

  Every night, I curled in the corner and plugged my ears against the sea. I let my skirt bunch at my thighs and watched the spiders dine on my legs. Often, the doctor would show up and chase them away. Always, he arrived at dawn to nurse my bites and give me a bath.

  I didn’t fight him. My fight died with Roark. I kept my gaze on the abyss. Until one night, I fell into restless sleep, and the abyss gazed back.

  Grasshoppers chirped. Ice settled in my mint mojito. Perspiration teared on the glass lip and I caught it with my tongue. Something splashed in the pool, drenching the sun warmed towel beneath me.

  I leaned over the coping. Annie cut across the crystal bottom with lithe strokes. Her blurry figure approached. My smile widened as she came up for breath.

  Her face broke the surface and stared into mine with all-white eyes. Black gore drooled from her broken teeth. A pincer clamped my throat, cut my scream. Water burned my nose as she dragged me in.

  The pool darkened. We spiraled down, farther and farther. A sea of ink, the bottom never came. The water began to spin and roar around me.

  I stood in the center as it gravitated away. Gravel dug into the soles of my feet. Annie was gone.

  Clank. Clank.

  The darkness receded into the purple shade of twilight. The post in my father’s vineyard emerged. Chains suspended Joel’s body to it. Metal links hung from Joel’s waist, clanking on the post like a dinner bell. A glowing figure clung to his body.

  The distance between us blurred. My hands closed over the aphid’s mandible. I yanked. The hole in Joel’s chest puked flesh and bone. The insectile mouth slipped in my hands. I tightened my grip, bowed it at a right angle.