by Amy Cross
Copyright 2016 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: February 2016
This edition: August 2016
This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.
“We can fight them, Asher. They think they're untouchable, but they're not. We can get to them and we can make them pay for everything they did to us!”
Five years after it was born in a patch of mud, the town of Steadfall is slowly getting stronger. As she tries to retain control, however, Asher finds that her authority is being whittled away. Just when she thinks she might lose the town entirely, three strangers arrive and offer to help. One in particular, a man named Harold, seems to understand exactly what Asher needs. Unfortunately, his help comes at a terrible cost.
Meanwhile, Iris has left town and set out to explore the island, searching for a lost town that supposedly pre-dates Steadfall. What she finds, however, is a chilling reminder of the island's savagery, and a warning that more horror is to come. Soon, the residents of Steadfall find themselves fighting for their lives, while Asher starts to experience terrifying glimpses of the past that was wiped from her mind.
Persona is the second book in the Island series, about two people trying to establish their own order in a mad world, and about the horrors that take place when humanity is let off the leash.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Epilogue
Persona
(The Island book 2)
Prologue
“Asher? How are you, my dear? Did you have a pleasant journey?”
Looking up from the comic I've been reading, I spot Doctor Phillips coming this way along the corridor. I immediately smile, since she's the first friendly face I've seen for a long time. At the children's home, everyone is so harsh and angry, but Doctor Phillips genuinely seems to like me.
“You look well,” she continues, crouching in front of me. She smells of perfume, which makes me smile. I haven't smelled perfume since my mother died. “Now Asher,” she continues, “did the people from the home tell you why I asked to see you today?”
I shake my head.
Her smile grows. “Well, you're a very lucky little girl, because I've got a wonderful surprise for you. Out of all the little girls at the home, you have been chosen to come and take part in something very special. And do you know why?” She pauses. “It's because you're not like the others, Asher. You have something that's lacking in most little girls. You have potential! You can be useful!”
I stare at her for a moment, but I still can't help smiling. It's been so long since anyone was nice to me like this, maybe it hasn't happened since the policeman who helped me after my parents died.
“Do you remember what we talked about last time?” she asks.
I nod.
“Well, I've come to a decision about it,” she tells me, reaching out and taking my hand. “All you have to do is come with me to a room at the end of that corridor, and I'll show you the most amazing machine. Trust me, Asher, this is the first day of the rest of your life and you are going to absolutely love what we have in store for you.” She reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Only eight years old,” she continues, with tears in her eyes, “and already set on such a wonderful course. You trust me, don't you?”
I nod.
She grins. “Are you sure?”
I nod again.
“That's perfect,” she replies, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “Asher, I have a very good feeling about you!”
I hesitate for a moment, before allowing myself to smile again. After everything else that has happened since my parents died, I think finally I've found someone who's going to take care of me.
***
“Okay, Asher, I want you to be a good little girl. Try not to -”
Doctor Phillips flinches as I pull on the leather restraints, but I can't get close enough to bite her face. I try again and again, before falling back exhausted against the cold metal table.
“Asher,” she continues calmly, making a note on a chart, “that's really not the kind of behavior we expect from young ladies here. We had a little talk about that, remember? About how you should comport yourself? Displays of raw emotion only make you seem like a very immature child.”
“Mommy!” I scream, my voice echoing across the sterile chamber. “Help me!”
“Your mother's not here, Asher. Your mother's dead, remember?”
“Mommy!”
“Your mother is dead, Asher,” she says again, more firmly this time. “I thought you'd accepted that fact by now. What are you, some kind of baby?”
I open my mouth to call out again, but I know she's right. My mother died in the crash, along with my father. In moments of panic, though, I sometimes forget and call out for them anyway. Sometimes, I even secretly hope that they can hear me somehow, that they might come back and save me.
“Please don't hurt me,” I whimper, barely able to see Doctor Phillips through the tears that are filling my eyes. Glancing over at the metal door, I see that it's still shut. “Help me!” I cry out. “Please!”
Doctor Phillips shifts in her seat. “I need you to focus, Asher. Can you do that for me?”
Pulling again on the restraints, I feel the leather starting to cut through the flesh around my wrists. I'm already so sore from fighting back when they grabbed me at the children's home, and from struggling in the van on the way here, and from trying to run when they were transferring me to the dormitories. I don't care about the pain, though. I have to get off this metal slab before that machine – whatever it is – comes down again. Arranged high above me, a metal disc waits with several lights and mirrors and a series of needles. I don't know what the machine is for, but I don't want to be anywhere near it.
“All the psychological
tests point to the same conclusion, Asher,” Doctor Phillips continues. “Some girls display a broad set of talents, which is admirable in its own way but... Well, it makes it much harder for us to decide where they'd be best utilized. Our aim here is to make sure that everyone is useful, and that means determining your most valuable qualities. You scored extremely highly in certain areas of the tests, and it would be a terrible waste if you were not to maximize your talents. Doesn't that sound exciting?”
“Help me!” I scream.
“Do you know what it means when I talk about a perfect trace?” she asks.
Sobbing, I try once again to pull free.
“It means that your test results showed very strong values in certain core areas that fit precisely into one of the pre-defined roles. The good news, Asher, is that this means we know exactly what to do with you.”
I pull on the restraints, even though they're starting to cut through my wrists.
“You're going to be the most wonderful soldier,” Doctor Phillips. “Soldiers are wonderful, Asher. They play a very important role, and everyone knows that they're heroes. I understand you might not feel it right now, but once you start your training program, you'll really start to blossom. You'll fit right in!”
“Help!”
She smiles. “You're lucky that you get to start so young. Most soldiers don't start training until they reach ten or twelve, but you show exceptional abilities. Don't worry, children are never sent to fight in the war. That would be monstrous, and we have strict rules against such things. You won't be sent until you're at least twenty-one. But by starting your training at the age of eight, you'll be one of the best-prepared soldiers in history. Doesn't that sound so -”
“Help me!” I scream, cutting off the rest of her speech as I strain toward the door. “Somebody -”
Before I can finish, she slaps me hard on the side of the face. As I feel a sharp stinging sensation, I turn to her, and – no matter how hard I try – I can't keep tears from my eyes.
“Asher,” Doctor Phillips continues, with a little more steel in her voice than before, “this is extremely important. There's to be no discussion about this, and I'd appreciate a little less silliness. As a ward of the government, your future has been decided, and your monitoring implant will be inserted right now.”
“Help!” I shout.
“You'll learn,” she replies, checking her clipboard once again. “You're not the first girl to be brought into the army, Asher. Far from it. You are, however, possibly the loudest. Please try not to shout so much.”
“Help me!” I scream, with tears rolling down my cheeks.
“How utterly tiresome you're becoming,” Doctor Phillips explains as she heads over to the terminal in the corner. “You'll thank me later.”
“What did I do wrong?” I sob, unable to keep my bottom lip from trembling. “Why are you punishing me?”
“Asher -”
“Stop!” I scream as soon as I see her activating the terminal. “I'll do anything you want, but don't make the machine hurt me again!”
“You're not being punished, Asher. You're being rewarded, for showing exceptional potential. You're also very high up on one of the top floors of the recruitment center, so I can assure you that nobody is coming to rescue you. In fact, you were specially selected for this project, so I hope you feel a little pride in that fact. There are so many little girls we could have chosen, but we chose you. We already know that you're a strong young lady. You just have to find that out for yourself.”
“Help!” I scream, as my whole body starts convulsing with sobs. “I don't want this! Let me go! Stop -”
Suddenly the machine comes to life above me, clunking heavily as the metal arms and gears start to move. I stare in stunned horror as the lights start to turn in a series of concentric circles, and my terrified face is reflected in the mirror at the very center of the device. At the same time, several mechanical arms start to adjust into new positions, each with a long, thin needle at the end. A moment later, there's a loud banging sound followed by a repetitive, echoing thud that seems to be coming from the ceiling, and finally the metal disc starts to shudder as it descends toward me. Pneumatic valves hiss and stutter.
“No!” I shout, filled with panic. “You're not allowed do this to me!”
“You want to serve your society, don't you?” Doctor Phillips asks calmly, her voice barely audible over the machine's approaching hum. “You're so lucky, Asher. Most people struggle to work out where they fit in, but you've been chosen to play a very special role. The war has been going on for so very long, but it's people like you who offer us a chance to finally win. You're going to be useful, Asher. Don't you want to be useful? So few people get to be truly useful.”
“Stop!” I shout as the machine comes closer and closer. The mechanical arms are constantly adjusting, as if they're working out exactly where to insert their needles once they reach my face. At the same time, a pulsing light has begun to flash in the machine's center, constantly cycling between a blinding white glare and a hollow darkness. It's trying to make me go to sleep like last time, and I can still see the lights even when I squeeze my eyes tight shut.
“Let the machine lull you to sleep,” Doctor Phillips' voice continues nearby. “You can't fight this, Asher. You can't even try. Embrace your destiny.”
“No!” I scream, but when I squeeze my eyes even tighter shut I find that the light is somehow still pulsing, flashing through my mind. I squeeze tighter and tighter until my eyes hurt, but a moment later I feel the tips of the needles touching my face in several different spots, slowly pushing down until they start to perforate my skin. I try to scream, but the light in my mind is too strong and I don't even know if anyone else can hear me. Finally, I feel some kind of liquid being pumped into my face, burning as it enters my brain.
When I try to scream again, I can feel the inside of my skull vibrating. After that, I slip into darkness, and everything goes quiet.
Chapter One
Asher
Thirty years later
I can hear them out there in the rain. Shouting. Arguing. Waiting for me to make a decision. The chaos of angry, scared people who live in constant fear. People who look to me for answers when things get tough.
“It's time.”
Turning to look across the dark hut, I see Deckard framed in the doorway. I should have known he'd be the one to come and push me, to force me to step up. He never wastes an opportunity these days to express his distrust, or to let me know with subtle digs that he thinks I'm making mistakes. The worst thing is, he's right.
“I could do it if you prefer,” he continues. “I mean, if you can't...”
“No,” I reply, getting to my feet. He'd love the chance to take control, to show the others that he's stronger than me. It'd make him so happy if he could chip away at my authority just a little more. “It has to be me.”
“So have you made a decision?”
I pause for a moment, listening to the raised voices outside, coming from the main part of our little town. The people of Steadfall are angry and frustrated, and they need a strong leader to take a stand. They need someone who'll make quick, firm decisions. The problem is, their idea of a strong leader might not be the same as mine, so which role do I choose to act out in front of them? Do I give them what they want, or do I impose my will? Why can't I just know instinctively what to do in these situations?
“Asher,” Deckard says after a moment, “the longer you wait -”
“I know,” I mutter, heading over to him. I've been sitting here alone in the hut all morning, trying to make a choice, and now the bright light actually hurts my eyes for a moment as I reach the doorway. I look out at the patch of dirt that serves as our community's meeting point, and I see that pretty much everyone has come to take part in this moment. There's so much noise out there now, so many people are jostling for position and shouting their opinion. So much anger and fury and hatred, and I'm supposed to make everything o
kay again. They want blood, and anything less will just add fuel to the fire.
“I'm ready,” I say finally, as Deckard steps up behind me. “I've decided what we're going to do.”
***
“Kill him!” an angry voice shouts above the others. “Make an example of him! Show him what we do to thieves!”
“You're not gonna let him go again, are you?” a woman asks as I walk past her, making my way through the crowd. A cold wind is blowing steadily out here now, but that hasn't deterred people from gathering for the spectacle. “You can't let him walk away, not this time. He'll just come back again and again!”
“Stupid bitch!” another woman sneers.
I refuse to give her the satisfaction of a response. I've been called worse.
Up ahead, old Harry Shaw is on his knees, held down by two men who have their hands planted firmly on his shoulders. Harry is naked and covered in mud that has begun to mix into his wounds, and it's clear that he's taken another beating. People are standing back from him a little now that I'm here, but only because they know I don't approve of mob justice. I don't want Steadfall to be completely lawless. When a problem like Harry Shaw comes up, I want it dealt with fairly.
Right now, that means I have to decide his fate.
His life is in my hands.
I've encountered Harry several times over the past couple of years but I've never worked out his age. He's so thin and wiry, he sometimes seems pretty young, but occasionally I also see lines on his face that make me think he's in his fifties or even sixties. Life on the island is hard, and the lines of fear are often indistinguishable from the lines of age. Right now, Harry's terrified white eyes stare at me from his mud-stained face as I step closer. We've been in this situation so many times before, and I've given him so many final warnings. Clearly the diplomatic approach is never going to work.
“Thief!” a man shouts.
Stopping in front of Harry, I watch as he struggles to get to his feet, only for the men to keep him on his knees.