by Blou Bryant
BETRAYAL
THE ALTERED: BOOK 2
By Blou Bryant
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact the author at [email protected].
Acknowledgements:
Cover design by Laura Gordon (www.thebookcovermachine.com).
Primary editing by Stacey Fletcher.
Copyright © 2016 Blou Bryant
All rights reserved.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Prologue
The party was into its fourth hour and Jackson Criggs had two girls hanging on his every word. It was Halloween and his frat was hosting their annual costume night. He was dressed as Darth Vader. “Pledge, go inside and get us another drink,” he yelled.
Wrapping one arm around each of the girls, he pulled them close. “How about we find a private room,” he said. Both were freshmen and in over their heads. He knew the type; they’d do anything to fit in. They murmured agreement, or what he figured sounded close enough to it.
As he was about to take advantage of their acquiescence, a stretch limo pulled up and stopped in front of the house. The driver got out, and Jackson recognized him immediately. It was Sean, his father’s chauffeur. The older man motioned him over.
Jackson didn’t move, and raised an eyebrow, waiting. He didn’t come when hired help called, but still, he was curious. His father never called, much less visited in person. This was something he was fine with. Money was always in the account, his credit card was always paid and the best thing the old man had given him was his last name.
Sean picked his way across the mess of a lawn, avoiding puke and broken bottles. “Mr. Criggs,” he said, “your presence is required.”
“Is everything all right?” Perhaps the old thing had croaked. “What’s up?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Your father is waiting for you, sir.”
At ten-thirty? wondered Jackson. He ignored Sean and walked to the car, making sure not to run in front of his friends, but not hesitating either.
He opened the door and looked in. His father had a drawn look and motioned for Jackson to sit down next to him. The old man was dressed the same as ever, ready for work, shoes shined, and a perfectly knotted tie that matched a pocket square.
Who the hell wore pocket squares anymore, thought Jackson. “Dad, what’s up?”
The elder Criggs pointed to a seat. Jackson shook his head. “Get in the damned car.” The man stared at him, almost through him, his eyes dead.
Jackson considered arguing—nothing new there— but one look into his father’s sad eyes stopped him. With a regretful glance at the house and the two girls waiting for him, Jackson got in the car.
“Drive,” said the older Criggs and rolled up the window. Once it closed and the help was no longer listening, he asked, “Son, have you been drinking?”
“No.”
The senior Criggs smiled through thin old man lips at the obvious lie. His father opened a small bar and poured a large whiskey for each of them. “We’re going to see a business associate. Drink more.”
Jackson took the glass, and tossed it back. “Who are we meeting?” he asked, brash as always.
Hayworth Criggs simply stared at his son and downed his own drink. “It’s time for you to earn all the money you throw away. Time for you to earn your name.”
“At this time of night? What sort of business…”
“Shut up,” his father said and poured two more drinks. “Two won’t hurt, but we can’t be drunk for this meeting.”
“What meeting?”
His father continued, but introspective, as if he was talking to himself. “A Friday night summons after months of negotiations, it’s just like her,” he said. “And the price of the meeting was that I had to bring you. They demanded that you to be there.”
“Like this?” asked Jackson, indicating his costume with a tap on the helmet sitting on his lap. “And why on a Friday night?”
“Don’t ask questions. When we get there, say nothing.”
Jackson didn’t understand what was going on. His father hadn’t asked him to a business meeting ever before. They both knew he wasn’t interested in the business except for the money it provided. “Dad?”
His father shook his head, threw back his drink and refilled his glass. Jackson experienced an unfamiliar emotion—fear.
They sped to their destination in the express lane reserved for those with the money to pay for special plates. Soon, they arrived at one of the many skyscrapers that dominated the Chicago skyline. As they passed into the bowels of the building, the senior Criggs gave one final warning. “This is important for the family, for the business. Don’t screw it up.”
Jackson didn’t have time to respond as they were greeted at an interior loading dock by four large men in black suits. Black sunglasses hid their eyes. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Follow us, please,” one of the identical men said. They were led down a sparkling white hallway to an elevator.
There were no buttons or controls inside, but they weren’t needed, and when the doors closed, the elevator immediately started upward. About thirty seconds later, they opened again. His father exited and waved for him to follow. Together they stepped down a few feet into a large, high-ceilinged room. It was extremely open-concept, taking the entire corner of whatever floor they were on. Immediately in front of them were steps down into an area centered by a wide marble boardroom table.
The table was unoccupied, but there was movement on the other side of the room, in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Jackson had to do a double take. There were several men lounging on a bed, all dressed for Halloween themselves. He suddenly was less self-conscious wearing his Darth Vader uniform. The men—six, in total—wore gold and silver chains, loin cloths and not much else. What the hell was going on, he wondered.
“I came as asked.” said Hayworth Criggs, loud enough that he could be heard by the men, four of whom immediately jumped up from the bed and walked gracefully across the room. None spoke.
A thin shadow rose from the center of the bed and pushed aside the remaining two men. It wore a large black cloak, a hood pulled low over its head. It replied, “Welcome, Hayworth. Sit down.”
Hayworth Criggs was fifty-five and the president of a firm that employed over ten thousand people, in addition to the eighty thou
sand robots that operated his factories. He ruled with an iron hand, God at home, and God to the people who worked for him. He complied at once.
Jackson sat down next to his father and three of the costumed men rushed over. They grabbed him and pulled him from the chair.
One whispered, “She didn’t say you could sit.” Jackson struggled, but they held him firmly.
“Only do what you’re told,” another whispered.
The shadow drifted over to the table and looked Jackson up and down, her face hardly visible. “Nice outfit,” she said. “How appropriate.” With that, she sat across from his father. “I’ve decided to use your firm for production and distribution of some machinery from the Mennar subsidiary I acquired last year. I’ve been told you’re efficient.”
“We have over a hundred thousand distribution nodes…”
The figure raised a finger to his mouth. “Shh. Details are for little people. Tell me, Hayworth, are you efficient?”
“Yes?” said Hayworth Criggs in an obsequious tone that Jackson had never heard his father use before.
“Do you follow orders?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We will make you a lot of money. But then,” the shadow said, “it’s not money you want, is it?”
Hayworth Criggs didn’t reply.
The shadow giggled. “Honey, you’ve got all the money you need. Your health on the other hand… I hear it’s not good.” Criggs didn’t reply, but the expression on his face said that it was true.
“I’ve heard you have drugs, not yet released… there are rumors…”
“There are always rumors. Do as you are told, and Service Inc. and Mennar will support you.” The shadow took a wire from the table and plugged it into her neck. She took another and connected it to a hidden socket in her arm. “I’m sending details to your office now.”
As she connected herself, Jackson got a brief glance under the hood. He saw twisted flesh, white hair, and eyes that were solid black. “What are you?” he said, his voice shaking.
One of the men holding him gasped.
Another grabbed him from behind and put a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t speak. He struggled, but the three held him tight.
“Don’t talk,” one whispered.
“Unless spoken to,” said another.
The shadow didn’t reply to him. “And, I’ll take your son to ensure your obedience. I’ll teach him how to be a man. Do we have a deal?”
The senior Criggs said, “How are you going… what are you going to do with him?”
“Shh, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. Do we have a deal?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Jackson whimpered, and found his eyes watering. He’d never been restrained. Not like this. Not in any way. He looked at the man on his left, trying to plead with him. The man’s eyes were flecked with red and lacked any sign of compassion or concern. His skin had the same red flecks. He didn’t budge.
The creature turned briefly to Jackson and then looked back at his father. “There are always choices. By coming here today, you’ve already made yours, haven’t you?”
“I’ll get the drugs?” he asked, his son already forgotten. Jackson looked at his father in horror and struggled. What the hell was going on?
“Do I need to ask a third time?” The shadow asked.
Hayworth Criggs shook his head. “We have a deal.”
“Good.” To the three holding Jackson, she said, “Take the boy to the back and have him change. Start him with the K series of pills, and… a blue one too, to make him pliable.”
When he resisted, one punched him in the side. He dropped to the ground, gasping for air. “Dad? What’s going on?” he managed to ask, and received a kick on the side for opening his mouth.
“Don’t speak, don’t argue.”
“You can’t do this to me,” Jackson said, and tried to get to his feet. One punched him in the back of the head and he fell to the ground again. He rolled to the side and climbed to his feet, ready to run when the shadow stood, took two steps towards him and pressed a hand to his head. Electricity sparked between them and he fell to the ground, his body spasming.
As the men dragged him out of the room, he heard her say, “That is how the training begins. Good day, Mr. Criggs. Our designs and directions will be sent to you by Gordon, along with a bottle of pills. Make sure you follow our instructions to the letter and a bottle will come every other week, and you’ll go into remission. And make sure you never mention that you were here. You’re not pretty like your boy. If you weren’t useful to me…”
Jackson saw his father give him one last glance as he left the room. “Thank you, Miss Golde,” was all he said.
Chapter 1
Wyatt Millar sat on a folding chair in a dark corner of a large, windowless room in the basement of an old elementary school. He was waiting for a woman. Sandra had told him—as always—that the subject was properly screened, that she was safe. He’d been told that he had to do it, that he needed to transfer the virus, or that he’d get sick again. He’d been told it was the right thing to do. He knew that he didn’t have a choice. It didn’t mean he wanted to do it. “Is she coming?” he asked.
Hannah was alone with him, on a break from hanging out with her newest boyfriend. She was always with Wyatt when he used his power. Everybody worried about him, but her more than the others. “Rocky went to get her five minutes ago. Relax, it’ll be over soon.”
He scowled in her direction. She wore a bright and flowing button down shirt over black tights that made her behind look too big. A feather necklace completed the outfit. These were all things he disliked. She was getting more and more weird as she lived with the Dogs. With a grunted reply, he sat in silence and waited. No matter how many people were around him, he was always lonely. Nobody understood the burden he carried.
Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He pulled the hoodie over his head. The subjects weren’t allowed to see his face, for their protection and his. His enemies looked for people who’d been ‘miraculously’ cured. They followed them, surveilled them and used the police to pull them in for questioning.
Wyatt took a moment and stared at Hannah, taking in her curves and dark red hair, he still had mixed feelings for her. He shook his head to clear those thoughts and nodded. He was ready.
An old woman entered the room. Her hair was wispy and white, she walked slowly, with Rocky helping her along, holding her by one arm. Halfway through the room, he handed her off to Hannah and left the three of them alone.
Wyatt pulled his gray hoodie lower as she approached. “Hello, Marylyn, welcome to my home,” he said sarcastically, indicating the mostly empty room around him. “You’re here for the cure.”
She sat down, across from him, the second chair the only other adornment. “That’s what they told me. I don’t believe it.”
“But you came anyway.”
“I don’t mind passing, but I’d rather not yet,” she said with good humor.
“You have work left to do.”
Marylyn nodded.
“Don’t we all,” he said, feeling tired. He’d done this seventy-eight times in the last three years. “Have they told you about the risks?” he asked, even though he knew they had, they always did. With so little interaction, he dragged these conversations out for a chance at a little human contact.
“The young man with the lived-in face told me there might be side-effects. I’m ready for whatever change comes.”
Was that what Rocky called them? Side-effects, thought Wyatt. That’s one way to describe indiscriminate re-writing of someone’s DNA. How about unplanned and uncontrolled evolution? Who could ever be ready? he wondered.
“Change?” asked Wyatt bitterly. “Do you know that you might grow scales, or skin as hard as rock? Did he say that? How about your eyes shrinking in their sockets? Do you want to see in the dark? Are you ready for that?”
Marylyn looked at him with pity. “Y
ou’re angry. All you young men are. Always been like that. Boys like you are the Devil’s hands, you need busy work, something to do.”
“Do you want to see the Devil’s hands?” Wyatt pulled off the glove on his left hand and showed her the bitter red wound that festered there. Three years had passed since he’d been first infected with V32, and it’d never healed. “How’s this?”
She didn’t reply directly. “He told me what happened to some of the others you’ve healed.”
“And you’re not frightened?”
“I have cancer growing in me. Doctor told me I’ve got six tumors. There is one in my chest the size of a baseball, and they won’t operate ‘cause I can’t pay the freight. You think I’m afraid? Damn right I am, but not of you.”
Wyatt raised his head slightly and pulled his hood back so he could see her better. He wished he could see into her soul. Was she deserving of life? How was he to tell and who was he to decide? The Red Dogs who’d screened her had said that she was a good woman, and that she had devoted her life to helping others, first as a scientist then as a community worker.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
Instead of offering hers, she reached out and grasped his. She stared intently at his palm. “Does it hurt?”
“I’m used to it.”
“Oh, don’t be manly around me. Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She confidently placed her hands in his.
With his eyes closed, he focused on their connection. How the virus was transmitted was still a mystery, but it seemed that it would only flow if he wanted it to, and only to a willing recipient. He’d failed a few times, and he recognized that it had happened when he was unsure or unwilling. If he didn’t want to heal someone, the virus wouldn’t transmit.
There was no such issue with the old woman. A burst of adrenaline was followed by electricity that surged through his body. The old woman tensed and he gripped her tighter, giving a mental push to force the V32 to move through his hands into her. The air around their hands crackled with blue electricity as a final shockwave of power passed between them.