“This way,” said the outsider.
He swept the flashlight down the hallway, searching for any sign of Flesh Rotters or survivors. They had been listening to screams periodically since they ventured out, searching for another way out. Half of the time they didn’t know where the screams were coming from, and the other times they always got there too late, only finding bloody puddles in their wake. She supposed it was better that way. Once bitten, you were done for, and she’d rather be dead then turn into one of those things.
“Come on,” said the outsider after the flashlight revealed another empty hallway. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”
Karma followed him, clutching her hammer, ready to strike at the first thing that jumped out at her. They were on the maintenance level, surrounded by locked rooms and massive shadows, following signs that led them deeper into the Nest.
“If we make it down to the Pit,” she whispered. “We may be able to get the power running again and use the light to scare them off.”
Like any monster, the Flesh Rotters were afraid of light, or so she was told. She supposed that’s why they ravaged the generators, assuming they were ruined, that is. But if she could fix them, if she could get one of them running again, then she may survive this yet.
“How do we get there?” he asked, training his flashlight on the empty space in front of them.
“There’s an entrance on the other side of the silo,” she said. “We’ll have to cut through maintenance to get there—”
There was a shriek. They both froze, waiting. After several moments of silence went by, they continued on, their footsteps quieter than before.
“What’s in these rooms?” he asked, motioning toward the doors on either side of them.
“Storage,” she said. “Anything you can think of, old records, supplies, resources. You name it, it’s down here.”
“How long has this prison been around?” he asked.
She said, “Sixty years, since the outbreak.”
He nodded, though he didn’t understand a word of what she said. According to an earlier conversation, he had no memory of the outbreak or how long he was inside the tank for or why he was in there to begin with. Amnesia, it had to be. She heard of it before during one of Doc’s lectures. From what she explained, it could be days, weeks, months, or even years before he remembered.
“How do you know about Operation Blackout?” she asked, knowing that not many knew about it, or were willing to talk about it if they did. It had been bothering her ever since he mentioned it.
The outsider shrugged. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “It just sort of came to me.”
Another fun fact about amnesia; no one could control when the memories came and left. She didn’t question it, either. The outsider had never heard of a silo and knew nothing of the outbreak. It was as though he had been missing for the last sixty years, and considering where they found him, he very well might have been. She wondered if he could be the infamous Captain Benton in the journal, frozen to preserve his life. It would certainly explain a lot, but then again, Captain Benton could have been her grandfather. She was still trying to figure that out—
Suddenly, the outsider turned off his flashlight and stepped in front of her. Something scuttled past the end of the hallway, leading to the next, the scent of rotten flesh trailing after it. Again, he covered her, protecting her.
She looked up into his eyes. “How do you know?” she uttered.
“Know what?” he whispered back.
“That they won’t hurt you.”
It was true. She noticed it back at the med ward. The Flesh Rotter wasn’t trying to get to him, it was trying to get to her, and the same for in the stairwell. If the Flesh Rotter wanted to, it could have sliced him apart within mere seconds, killing them both, but something had stopped it, something had changed its mind.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, flicking on the flashlight. “Next time I won’t bother—”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said. She took hold of his hand. He looked down at it, like no one had ever touched him before, never in his life. “I’m just trying to make sense of this, okay?” She thought of her family. For all she knew, they could be dead. For all she knew, she could be the last, stuck in a Nest that was destined to die—with him.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but ever since you arrived, things have been happening, bad things.” She let go of his hand and for a moment he looked disappointed. “And I just want to know why.”
He looked from her face to the floor, where the beam from the flashlight lingered. When he looked up, his eyes narrowed on her chest. He shone the flashlight in her face and grabbed something off her neck.
It was the dog tags.
“Hey,” she snapped. “Give ‘em back—"
All of a sudden, the outsider crumpled to the ground, convulsing. Somewhere nearby, there was a series of shrieks and she knew she had to get him out of there. Fast. She found an open door and quickly dragged him inside, turning the flashlight off just in time as the creatures bolted past the room, their bare feet smacking against the cold tile. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, holding him tight. She had seen it once before when a resident had a seizure and Dr Carter had wrapped herself around the man like a monkey until he calmed.
The outsider trembled beneath her, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and she turned it to the side to keep him from swallowing his tongue. After what felt like forever, he finally calmed; his breathing grew steady and he fell limp into her lap. Only a handful of times had she seen a seizure, and neither of them were like this.
They sat there in silence as she cradled him in her lap, scared to lose the only one she had left. Though her feelings for the outsider were still up in the air, one thing was for certain, she didn’t want to be alone. Not here, not now.
The dog tags were clutched in his hand; his knuckles were white. “Benton,” he murmured. “Captain David Benton.”
Yes, she thought. It was the name on the tags. But when she caught his eyes, as wide as saucers, she saw they weren’t looking down at the dog tags. They were looking straight up, staring into space. She stopped moving.
“I remember him,” he said. “I remember the island. I remember everything . . .”
* * *
It was a stormy night. The lights flickered inside the laboratory every time the wind blew, howling against the building like an anxious beast threatening to blow down its walls. The two children, Adam and Eve, hid beneath a blanket big enough for the both of them, staring up at the ceiling of their cell as the lights flickered again.
“I’m scared,” said Eve in a small voice, trying to hide from the storm beneath the blanket’s thin fabric.
Adam moved closer to her until their knees touched. “Remember what Mother said,” he whispered. “The sea is having a nightmare, is all. It will pass soon.”
Her voice quivered. “I don’t like nightmares.”
Neither did he, but it wasn’t the nightmares that terrified him the most. It was the needles, the strange machines, the animals, the men in rubber suits, the poking and prodding . . . Mother. Those were the things that scared him.
“I got an idea,” he said to his sister, who shuddered every time the lightning struck. “Let’s play our game.”
“A game?” she squeaked. “Now?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect time to practice while she’s not here.” By ‘she’ he meant Mother. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight until he saw stars. “I’m thinking of a number. Guess it.”
“I don’t want to,” she insisted.
“Stop being stubborn and guess,” he said.
The thunder roared, the lightning clashed.
“Fourteen,” she yelped.
Adam giggled. “Very good,” he said. “But that was easy. Let’s try something else.” He closed his eyes again. “What word am I thinking?”
It took her a little longer to ans
wer. After a few silent seconds, she said, “I don’t know about this Adam—”
“You can’t back out now,” he scolded. “Now think, Eve. Concentrate. You can do this. I know you can . . . What word am I thinking?”
He peered beneath his eyelashes: Her face was pinched, her lips twisted in deep thought.
“Cat?”
He clapped his hands together. “You got it, Eve! You got it—”
Something sounded from outside the door. Both children looked up from their spot. A series of popping sounds hummed through their ears.
“Lightning sounded awfully close,” Eve uttered, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Adam stared at the door. “That wasn’t the lightning,” he said.
Moments later, more sounds followed, sharp cracks and quick blasts, followed by shouts and a series of screams. Whatever was going on out there sounded dangerous.
“What is that, Adam?” Eve squealed. “Is that Mother? Is she mad that we played the game again—”
Before he could answer, there was a thump at the door. The children clung to each other as it burst open, blown right off its hinges, filling the space with smoke. Eve screamed, but not Adam. He fixed his eyes on the smoky doorway as a figure came stumbling through the gray cloud. It was the man who took Conner’s place. Benton was his name. Of course, they would come to check on them, he thought. Mother would never let anything bad happen to them, not like last time.
But Mother didn’t come. Nor did any of the other familiar faces dressed in white that he was used to seeing.
Benton came barreling down the ramp. He was covered in sweat and flecks of blood, carrying a red jerrycan. Adam could smell it through the walls of their cell as he unplugged the end of the container and began spilling its contents all over the walls and floor, dousing cages and cabinets. A gun, tucked in his waistband, bumped against his hip as he moved.
Now this was something interesting, thought Adam, watching curiously as Benton coated the entire lab with the bright amber liquid. He wished he could read his mind as well as his sister’s.
Once it was empty, Benton dumped the last few drops onto the floor and tossed the can. “We don’t have much time,” he said, producing something from his pocket. It was a keycard. Mother’s. Adam recognized it immediately. Her name was stamped along the top of it.
Benton slid it through the control panel. There was an assortment of beeps and twitters, and with a click, the door unlatched. Benton swung it open, holding out his hand.
“Come on,” he demanded. “We have to go.”
Adam looked at Eve.
Eve looked at Adam.
“Come on!” Benton growled, looking back toward the door. His eyes were erratic, his voice on the verge of begging. “They’ll be here any minute! Do you want to be free or what?”
Freedom. Adam didn’t know what that meant. He had never been free before, nor had his sister, who spent their entire short lives living inside the walls of the laboratory. As much as he was scared of Mother, he felt a yearning for her now. He didn’t know what to do or what Benton wanted. But it wasn’t Adam who made the first move, it was Eve.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to him. “We can trust him, Adam. I can feel it.”
“Are you crazy, Eve?” he said. “If Mother finds out you know what she’ll do.”
Eve’s tiny jaw hardened. “I’d rather be crazy, then helpless and blind.” She marched over to Benton and grabbed his hand. The man smiled down at her and nodded.
“No more,” she said. “I won’t let them hurt me.” She reached out her free hand and beckoned him. “Join me, Adam. Come with me.”
It felt like a mistake the minute he stepped out of the cell. All he could see was Mother rushing in to punish them, to lock them away forever, and tear them apart the way she always threatened to if they didn’t behave, but he couldn’t let her go alone. All he had was Eve, all Eve had was him, and now all their faith was in a man they barely knew.
“Stay behind me,” Benton instructed them as Adam joined his sister’s side. “Keep your heads down and out of sight.”
Adam grabbed Eve’s hand; Eve clung to his, squeezing the blood from his fingers. Benton nodded, a smile penetrating the worry on his face. “Good,” he said. “Keep together. Now let’s go.”
Adam flinched when Benton pulled the gun from his waistband. He felt Eve’s fingers tighten over his. Both were prepared for the worst, but instead of aiming the barrel at their tiny faces, he pointed it toward the floor . . . and fired.
Within seconds, the lab was ablaze, flames licking the walls and sweeping across counters. Explosions sounded from all around as Benton led them through a side exit and away from the noise emitting from the opposite direction. There were shouts and screams—Fire! Sound the alarms! Get Dr Albrecht! Save the lab! But there was no saving it. As Benton led them across the island, through the rain, and heavy gales, Adam could see the night alight with flames, the roof was collapsing, the walls crumbling away; a dark, thick smoke enveloped the air, swallowing the stars.
He had never seen such a spectacle, nor had Eve. He could read her mind as she stared at the flames, hypnotized by them—We’re free, Adam. We’re finally free! But they weren’t. They were far from it.
“This way!” Benton hollered as the alarms sounded. They could see people, men in black suits, rushing toward the burning building. Adam wondered if Mother was among them. His attention was drawn back to Benton, who pointed toward something floating in the water, knocking against the dock. It was a boat.
“Get in,” Benton told them. The waves were choppy, crashing against the rocks. The children hesitated. “It’s okay,” he promised. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Now quickly, get on.”
Again, it was Eve who took the lead. She tugged on Adam’s hand, forcing him to follow as she mounted the boat. The deck beneath them swayed and jolted, pushing them around as the sea’s nightmare continued on.
“Get down,” Benton told them. He grabbed two foamy, orange vests and tossed them to the children. “Put these on.”
The children listened, and though the vests were far too big for the little bodies, they slipped them on anyway. Benton cranked the engine, and the boat roared to life. Another shout sounded from nearby and a gunshot rang through the air. A handful of guards came running, but they weren’t fast enough. Benton hit the gas and took off, disappearing into the storm. The children clung to each other as the boat cut through the waves, dipping in and out of billows of blackness. They did it! Adam couldn’t believe it. They had gotten away, or so he thought until, out of nowhere, a bright light lit up the sky.
A helicopter lingered over them, its blades chopping through the air, following their boat with a large spotlight.
“By order of the United States military, stop the boat right now!” a voice said over the loudspeaker. “Or we will be forced to shoot!”
“Stay down!” Benton hollered.
Adam sunk down and out of sight, holding onto Eve as tightly as he could. He was scared. Or was it Eve’s fear he was feeling? Perhaps both. He shook his head as salt water sprayed across his face, stinging his eyes. Benton drove the boat like a wild man, eyes intent, stealing glances over his shoulder, as a league of armored boats came chasing after them, cutting through the waves.
“Stop your engines right now,” said the voice from the helicopter, carrying across the wind. “This is your last warning! Stop your engines or we will shoot!”
Benton cut the wheel right, refusing to give up, trying his best to lose the helicopter as the boats drew closer.
“STOP YOUR ENGINES—” the voice demanded, but Benton ignored the warning, zig-zagging through the water.
The children were soaked and trembling, banging into the sides of the boat as it jumped from one direction to the next. Eve’s orange vest slipped off her body and went overboard. She tried to grab it, but Adam pulled her back before she disappeared with it.
“I’m scared,” s
he whimpered, burying her face into his bony arms.
He slipped off his vest and put it around her. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. He didn’t need to remind her that this was her decision, he could read her rueful thoughts. “We’re free now, remember? We’re free, Eve. Free—”
Suddenly, fire appeared from above, lighting up the entire sky, and suddenly, there was no boat. There was no Benton. There was no Eve. There was only air and shrapnel, broken boards and debris and thick, billowy clouds of black smoke. It filled his lungs and sent him spiraling through the air, deafened by the sound. He hit the water like a fist, lost in blackness, every part of him stinging. Water quickly filled his lungs as he began to sink. Lights sparkled from above. He tried to reach them, tried to swim, but he didn’t know how; all he did was flounder, and the more he floundered, the more he sank . . .
Eve.
It was all he could think of as darkness grew around him. Freedom had cost them their lives—
From above the surface, where patches of fire blazed, an array of armored boats sliced through the water. Dozens of soldiers quickly went into action, slipping on diving gear and rushing to sort through the mess the helicopter’s gunfire had made as its spotlight searched the waters. There was practically nothing left of the boat. It drifted in a million pieces, half of it swallowed by the storm.
General Harper stepped to the edge of the boat, pelted by rain as he glared at the wreckage. He came as soon as the call came through. Benton. He had been wrong about him. After Conner, he made sure he was careful, picking someone he knew—or felt—would be loyal. After all, in his line of work, loyalty was everything. It took him many years to realize that, and Captain Benton had been one of the finest soldiers he had ever met; a man who would cut the baby out of a mother’s womb, if you asked him to. Or so he thought.
His superiors would not be happy. He was lucky if they would let him live after this. A part of him blamed himself. He should have warned the Captain what he was in for. He should have told him the truth. The twins weren’t children, they were aberrations—
The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) Page 14