Parasite (The Domino Project Book 3)

by Hanna, K. T.

  “Debut author Hanna takes familiar sci-fi genre elements...and spins dystopian gold.”

  Kirkus Reviews

  “Wow! A fast-paced, science fiction delight with fabulous action, a seamless world, and the most unique characters I’ve read in a long time.”

  Elana Johnson, Author of the Possession Series

  “Nikita-like post-apocalyptic novel with a heroine that would give Katniss a run for her money.”

  Alina @ Unfazeable.com

  “Psionics is wicked cool and I wish a meteor would give me some super-secret powers. The logistics of the abilities are many, and normally would have been a nightmare to follow. Hanna handles it with enough subtle description laced through the opening chapters that you’re able to grasp their powers naturally.”

  Heather @ Aussie Owned and Read

  “A seriously great sci-fi. Dark, edgy and complex. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It’s a gripping read because of the author’s tense voice; the characters are well defined, believable and likeable, despite all of their flaws; the story flows well; and the ending leaves you on edge to read more. If you like sci-fi, you will love this book.”

  Kate Foster – Author of Winell Road

  “So much at stake. Saving the humanity … Salvaging Sai and Dom’s relationship … The clock is ticking and the circle is closing in.”

  Alina @ Unfazeable.com

  “Very strong second book in a series, with it’s own complete arc. KT Hanna has done an excellent job with worldbuilding, and with characters. Fast-moving and thought provoking.”

  Anne Carpenter – Amazon Review

  Author: K.T. Hanna

  Content Edits: Jami Nord

  Copy Editor: Rebecca Weston

  Cover Artist: S.P. McConnell

  Layout & Formatting: Caitlin Greer

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Katie Hanna

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1522952977

  ISBN-13: 978-1522952978

  Books by KT Hanna:

  Chameleon (The Domino Project #1)

  Hybrid (The Domino Project #2)

  Parasite (The Domino Project #3)

  For Papilie and Mumskins

  You showed me the world and opened doors.

  I love you both always.

  It feels like indigestion, the rumble in his stomach, but it’s not and he knows it isn’t. Bastian puts his hand to his mouth as if to smother a cough, disguising the sliver of white powder he passes through his lips, to control the outburst and dull the awakening. He glances at where a group of children huddle around a boy of similar age.

  Zach revels in the attention, basks in it even. It’s obvious he’s dramatizing everything. At least, it is to Bastian. Not that it matters. The less attention on him, the less likely his abilities will be noticed. Ever since he was a child, his parents worried about when his powers awoke. They warned him and schooled him and treasured him as if he’d break—as if he’d be taken away.

  Just the opposite of Zach, whose abilities are less than he portrays, Bastian’s are more—so much more than he’d ever let on to anyone. Except maybe Mason. Deep down, though, both brothers harbor the same thirst, the same need, the same iron clad will to do whatever it takes.

  The rumble interrupts his thoughts, fighting the drug and his own harsh control of the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, Bastian catches a glimpse of something and for a moment—just a moment—forgets his current plight. Which comes back with an extra sharp dig to his entire diaphragm, as if out of spite.

  He bites down on his lip and leaves Zach to his circle of adoration. Once he’s around the corner, he clasps his arms around his middle, only to stop short and cock his head to the side.

  “Twelve?” he asks softly, having heard of the experiment before. It looks liquid and odd, lacking any real definition except for arms, legs and a head. Nothing like his teenage imagination had pictured. None of the features are defined properly, with an iridescent shimmer running through it constantly, like tiny stars in their own galaxy.

  “Domino.” Its voice is strange, alien-sounding, as if it doesn’t get a chance to use its vocal chords much.

  “You’re a domino,” Bastian states, fascinated by it—so like himself and yet completely different. “You were the twelfth.”

  It nods and mimics him, cocking its own head to the side for a moment before straightening and cracking something that can’t possibly be bones because it doesn’t have them. Bastian fights off a shiver.

  “I am Domino.” The metallic clang is gone, leaving the tone softer, gentler, and decidedly more human. It pushes itself away from the wall and takes a few steps back and forth. As it moves, its legs take on a more defined shape, followed by its upper torso and arms.

  It’s the eyes that are hypnotic—fascinating, really, as they whirl through a multitude of colors Bastian didn’t even realize existed. Slowly, the domino’s face takes on a human shape, the mimicry gone. There are edges to him, distinctly alien ones, but Twelve is definitely male. His skin isn’t skin. It’s an iridescent form of metal, fading in and out with his surroundings, disorienting Bastian a little.

  “Thank you.” And it…no, he smiles.

  The expression sends another shiver up Bastian’s spine. “You’re welcome.” He manages not to stammer. And still, he can’t tear his eyes away, despite how his own gut is twisting and tearing at him, trying to break free. He stumbles a step and leans against the wall, aware that he probably shouldn’t be standing.

  The domino frowns, a strange expression on the reflective face. Bastian wonders why he can’t see himself in it.

  “You are not well,” he states.

  “No, no, I’m really not.”

  “But you hide it. I understand this.” With one quick motion, the domino lifts Bastian up and carries him down a set of stairs Bastian didn’t even know existed. “I will hide you until you wish to be found.”

  Bastian wonders why it doesn’t feel dangerous. After all, the horror stories about the Domino Project could chill anyone’s blood. But this one, the first one, feels nothing but safe. There are no serrated edges and no obvious thirst for blood. There is a strange compassion in those flickering eyes and even the weird expressions that flit over his face.

  The cot he’s placed on is firm but not hard, and the stress of standing, of hiding his awakening powers, has been more than Bastian could bear for a while now.

  The domino frowns. “You are hurt.” He reaches out a hand and lays it on Bastian’s chest, eyes closing for a moment. “You should let it pass. Even I had to let it pass.”

  “I know. I just don’t want everyone to know.”

  “Then not everyone will know.”

  “Why help me?”

  The domino shrugs, such a human gesture that it’s difficult for Bastian to think of him as anything but. “Because you spoke to me. Because you do not believe all the thoughts in your head. No one has spoken to me as a person since Mathur died. Not one.”

  “Oh.” It’s a good reason, a very good reason, and Bastian relaxes. “Thanks, Dom.”

  “Dom?” He smiles, a scary parody of a human smile with a mouth that can’t seem to understand the concept. “I like that.”

  Safer than with Mason, and safer than in the recess area, Bastian finally lets his power claim him. Even the Shine, still bitter on his tongue, can’t dull the pain.

  But Dom—with his cool hand pla
ced gently over Bastian’s mouth to drown out the screams of pain and his own shields tightly clamped around the room—helps Bastian plant the seed of a long-awaited revenge.

  Pieces of Iota’s devastation spread like breadcrumbs around its site. Flames still cling to odd pieces of cargo and hull, and a faint psionic shield wavers unsteadily, flickering in and out of effectiveness as the sun sets. A portion of the lower hull teeters precariously under the shielding, as if a soft breeze could blow it over.

  Dom brings Mele to a halt and steps out slowly. Rapidly switching his vision through infrared and thermal, he approaches the fading barrier, which appears to be shielding them from the fading rays of light, but could also be attuned for protection.

  Behind a stack of rubble, much of which appears to be various appendages of Damascus soldiers, is a soft thermal glow. The shield wavers and blinks out as the final rays of the sun end in a dull red glimmer. Dom moves closer, pushing back the darkness that threatens to overtake him as panic works itself into knots in his brain. There’s no time for it now; he can’t let it control him. He rounds the final portion of rubble mixed with oddly melted adrium, devoid of its electricity, frozen into a rigid splashes of the metal, and steels himself

  Amidst crates and weapons, four bodies are huddled together, and Dom checks the life signs again, frowning. Sai’s black hair drapes over Darrien’s face. Not far from them, Aishke’s skin gleams like a bronze terracotta statue in the flickering light. For once, Iria’s soft sepia tones are grey.

  Dom blinks and scans again. The darkness threatens the edges of his vision, crowding his mind with unneeded negativity. Impatiently, he shakes his head, freeing himself for another respite. He kneels down in one swift movement, gently maneuvering Aishke and checking for Iria’s life signs. But as he does, a coppery smell assaults him with an underlying aftertaste of decay. He knows before his hands come away from Iria’s bloody wound that she’s dead. She’s stiff and cold, rigor-mortis having long set in.

  Sai’s breath comes in short and shallow gasps, but apart from exhaustion and some scrapes and cuts, he can’t see anything wrong with her. Perhaps her synapses are damaged. But he shakes himself, culling that thought, and switches himself into efficiency mode.

  He grapples with the first-aid kit, ripping their body armor, cleaning out wounds, and applying bandages. Working as quickly as he can, he brings all three survivors back to Mele, arranging them on the floor and seats.

  Settling Sai into the passenger side, he hesitates and fiddles with Mele’s console. He sets the frequency to their alternate gauge, searching for the blip that is Alpha, and finally heads out to retrieve Iria.

  The cool night air breezes over his body as he kneels to lift her. She’s stiff, and her still-open eyes gaze lifelessly at the crumbling hull above her. He reaches up and closes them with some difficulty. It seems wrong that she’s so quiet, so motionless. She seems much smaller in death. Anger boils inside him and feeds the lurking parasite. He fights it, determined not to let it win.

  Once back in Mele, he wraps Iria in a blanket and settles her against the rear wall, strapped in for good measure. He changes the gauze on Darrien’s shoulder and stomach wound, douses Aishke’s many cuts with so much disinfectant that she stirs briefly, and then bandages up the deep graze around her midsection.

  He stops for a second when he reaches Sai, ignoring the locator bleep screaming at him from the console. Her body armor is stuck to several of her wounds, almost embedded into the graze at her side, like a blast barely missed her. He kneels and attempts to pick some of the material out, only to cause a gasp of pain. Her complexion is sallow, not the healthy tawny glow he’s used to.

  “…under attack…” crackles through the speakers, startling Dom.

  Only static reaches through as he tries to fiddle with the reception, and he pushes out his consciousness, clicking his tongue in frustration at his lack of range. If only Sai were awake. His hands fly over the controls to set Mele on the fastest course toward Alpha’s last location. Looks like he’ll be pushing her limits again.

  Alpha is stationary and eerily silent when Mele catches up to it. The adrium netting camouflage flickers in and out softly, appearing every several seconds, as if a swarm of fireflies surround the dome. Dom sighs with relief that it’s still standing. Without seeing them, he knows there are people working frantically to get it functional again. If it doesn’t work properly, they’re sitting ducks.

  The cargo ramp lowers slowly, an occasional hitch pausing it. Dom waits impatiently, tapping his foot and the light from the lowering ramp momentarily blinds him. As he pulls Mele into the bay, laser points appear on his vehicle—targeting sights for crossbows. He moves cautiously toward the door as it opens and finds Mason, pale and gaunt, flanked by two guards on each side.

  They acknowledge him by lowering their weapons.

  “It’s you.” The relief in Mason’s tone is palpable, as is the exhaustion.

  “Medics,” Dom says shortly, feeling the irritation trying to poke through his control. “I picked up survivors.”

  Mason raises his eyebrows as he motions over to the cargo bay door. He takes a step inside Mele and glances around. “Survivors.” His shoulders sag, and the tension drains from his frame a little. “I thought we’d lost them all.”

  Dom has a thousand things sitting on his tongue, but he swallows most of them and settles for, “I thought we’d lost her. I can’t afford to lose her.” His grip on the sinuous tendrils of impatience and darkness tightens, choking them back.

  “None of us can, Dom. None of us can,” is all Mason says as he backs out of the way of the approaching medics. Jeffries is hot on their heels.

  “What happened?”

  “Damascus. In and out. Got the Shine.”

  Jeffries’ eyes narrow as his eyes fall on the body wrapped up in the back. He swallows, taking in the scene in the small transport. “Only three, then.” His medics are loading them onto gurneys, and he stops at Dom, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking directly in his eyes.

  “Thank you for retrieving them. They’re the only ones you found?”

  Dom blinks, thinking briefly back to the destruction and carnage around Iota. “Her psionic shield was already wavering around them. There were no other heat signatures.” He doesn’t mention the melted domino parts he found. Just thinking of it makes his insides churn in ways that bring him to the brink again. Jeffries nods at him and follows the gurneys as they leave Mele. Dom watches them go, hesitating to follow Sai.

  “Bastian didn’t come back with you, then?” Mason’s voice is quiet and Dom cringes.

  He hadn’t even thought about Bastian since he left to find Sai. How to… “He got caught trying to disable the device. Zach set a trap for him.”

  Mason’s breath catches, almost like he’s going to cry, but his expression closes off and he shakes his head. “It’s lucky it didn’t ensnare the both of you. He’ll get out somehow. He’ll play it to his advantage.” The last part sounds like the man is trying to convince himself, and Dom waits for a moment before speaking.

  “He always does.”

  Dom sits in the infirmary. Sai’s cubicle is cramped, but he insisted on dragging a chair in there since he can’t lean against the wall. The curtains make for minimal privacy, but he watches her sleep nevertheless. It helps him deal with the constant nagging at his mind, the constant, surreptitiously violent thoughts trying to insert themselves into his actions.

  Her chest rises and falls, and the white of her hospital gown actually allows her skin to regain some of its usual bronzed glow. Even in her healing-induced sleep, she seems concerned. Her brows furrow slightly, and every now and then her mouth pulls down into a frown.

  “Sai?

  Dom glances around the tiny area and shakes his head, chiding himself for hearing things.

  Sai?

  Her eyes move rapidly under her eyelids for a moment and Dom pokes his head quickly around the curtain, but there’s no one there ei
ther, except for Aishke in the next bed. Looking back, he scoots forward and places his hand on her forehead…

  …only to get sucked into the message being sent straight to her mind.

  Listen to me, Sai. I don’t have much time. The voice is poignantly familiar, strangely comforting, even if Dom has to strain to eavesdrop.

  They know where you are. You have to keep them away. Get rid of the tracking device on the frontal under-plating of the hull.

  But… Even her psionic voice is weak, distant. …there’s no way I can do that. Not now.

  The voice persists, and Dom realizes with perfect clarity that it’s Bastian. Listen. On the frontal under-plating, to the left of the secondary steering column, there is a tracking device. They’re trying to tap into the central system to locate all the Mobiles at once. If you do not retrieve it, every Exiled will die.

  Bastian? There’s question in her tone, like she’s only just realized who it is, and Dom sends out a calming thought to try and settle her down.

  It’s okay. Dom pushes the thought through. I’ll take care of it.

  He feels a wave of relief surge from Bastian through Sai to him and hesitates for a moment. We will come for you.

  There’s a pause, and Bastian speaks, slightly softer than before. I’ll be okay. Save yourselves before you think of me.

  An image flashes the length of the projections—of crows finding him, picking at him, pecking at his face. Of Damascus crumbling to pieces next to him as they laugh at him with their chalk-on-a-blackboard voices. Blood drips down his scalp and face…

  Sai cries out and flings Dom out of her mind, walls slamming up against him. He watches as she tries to push herself up in the bed and lays a calming hand against her arm. “It’s okay, Sai.”

  She looks up at him through bleary eyes, her face pale as tears stream down her cheeks. “I can’t. It’s not…” Her voice croaks out the words. “I have to…”

  Dom pushes her gently back in bed. “I know what you have to do. I’ll get it done.” She still struggles to sit up, but Dom calls out to the nurse. “Marlene?” A moment later she’s at the foot of the bed, watching Sai struggle.