Winter's Wrath: Sacrifice (Winter's Saga #3)

by Karen Luellen

  The abrupt change in questioning was meant to throw off the soldier, but he wasn’t biting.

  “Do I need to?”

  “Are you curious?”

  “I am only curious about things I am asked to be curious about.”

  Dr. Williams stared, unblinking at the soldier.

  “Today is May 30.”

  “Yes, sir.” Creed responded with no affect to his voice.

  “The Match against your brother here took place in October.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any memory of the events that took place during the past six months?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That doesn’t cause you concern?”

  “I am a soldier, sir. I follow orders. If you tell me to be concerned, I will be.”

  Dr. Williams nodded slowly and fingered the papers in front of him, thoughtfully.

  “You were given an assignment six months ago. You failed the objective of that assignment.”

  Creed stared, stone-faced.

  The Director continued, “You suffered extensive injuries during that assignment and were brought back here for recovery.”

  Again, the words elicited no response from the silent soldier.

  “I have to tell you, I was very disappointed in you and seriously considered your termination.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “However, you were exposed to a compound during your injuries that piqued my scientific curiosity. So, rather than destroy it along with you, I decided you would better serve our purposes here. The scientists assigned to your care and subsequent observation were able to extract an exciting amount of information locked in your newly altered DNA, Mr. Young.” He paused for effect before reaching under the table and making a show of pushing a button there.

  In walked four metasoldiers, heavily armed. They each positioned themselves in the four corners of the room and stood at attention, eyes staring straight ahead. Dr. Williams smiled at them before continuing.

  “Did you know that a human female is born with all the eggs she will ever have already stored in her ovaries?” Dr. Williams’ face took on an even more grotesque smile bordering on elation.

  “No, sir.” Creed frowned deeply now, unable to maintain his stoic façade at the sick change of topic.

  “It’s true. Anywhere from one to two million of them,” Williams continued. “Did you further know that these eggs can be harvested and frozen indefinitely for scientific study and use?”

  “Harvested from a baby?” Creed’s eyes widened at the thought.

  “Of course.”

  “But why?”

  “I already told you, for scientific study.”

  Creed’s face went pale. The Director nodded happily at the effect.

  “You see, Mr. Young, I’ve been studying physiology for decades. It’s how I was able to create the first Infinite serum. I enhanced nature; made it better, stronger, smarter, faster, more resilient and quicker to heal. You are a product of my science.”

  Creed looked away from the Director and met the sickly gloating expression on Dr. Bjorn’s face. He nodded with fake empathy. Dr. Chaunders, on the other hand, was studying a paper clip at the edge of his folder—obviously less comfortable with this discussion.

  “Some fourteen years ago, Mr. Young, I was working in the States at my first research facility affectingly dubbed ‘The Institute’ where I began working with human subjects. The first few dozen didn’t survive the test serums, but through their deaths, I perfected my work. The first surviving subject was a female, M57.

  “Once I determined she had survived the dosing, I proceeded to further my testing on her by harvesting a couple hundred eggs from her ovaries. I was already in the process of building this site here in Germany, so I sent her samples to be cryopreserved onsite. The decision was a fortunate one on my part because it wasn’t long afterward that the subject, along with two other infant metahumans, were stolen by a rogue scientist who had been in my employ.” The Director paused to take a sip of his coffee. Creed watched in disgust as he left bloody smudges around the rim of the white mug.

  He looked up at Creed and motioned to his untouched drink. “Would you prefer tea or a glass of water, perhaps?”

  Creed stared for a moment, overwhelmed by the macabre tale the Director spun before shaking his head, no.

  “You must be wondering what this all has to do with you, Mr. Young,” he chuckled to himself as he used his red handkerchief to absently rub the bloody marks off his mug.

  “You see, I lost everything pertaining to those successful test subjects when the thief stole them. She destroyed or took every document I had on them including everything stored in our computer files,” he shook his head sadly. “But, she didn’t destroy the harvested eggs safely tucked away in the cryogenic state here in Germany,” he smiled widely causing fissures to crack open in what should have been his cheeks.

  “The female meta was remarkable, by the way, Mr. Young. I wish you could remember meeting her.” He watched Creed’s eyes as he said the last.

  Creed frowned anew. “I’ve met her?”

  The Director nodded. “She was part of your assignment six months ago. Here, I have a photograph somewhere,” he shuffled through a second folder in front of him and pulled out a single page. “Here she is.” He held it to himself for a moment and beamed at the image before sliding the picture across the table to Creed.

  It was the dark-eyed beauty from his dream. His jaw nearly dropped.

  “She is lovely, isn’t she?” the Director nodded at the picture Creed held as though he was her father and felt pride for everything beautiful about her.

  “She is still in the thief’s possession, with the other two metahumans stolen from me. They go by the name Winter. She is called Meg.”

  Creed couldn’t speak, so struck by a flood of emotions woven with fear and confusion.

  “During your recovery, Dr. Bjorn was easily able to extract the necessary samples from you, Mr. Young. Your unique gifts are to be, how shall I say—recreated? Yes, I suppose recreated is a good enough word. Your sample can easily be combined with the eggs harvested from that female meta. Dr. Bjorn, how quickly could we begin creating metahuman zygotes?”

  Creed didn’t want to take his eyes off the dark-eyed girl in the photograph, but he was equally terrified at what Dr. Bjorn was about to say.

  With a wicked glint in his eyes, Dr. Bjorn said, “We could have the eggs thawed and ready for fertilization in seventy-two hours.”

  Creed stood so fast, his chair flew back and crashed against the wall. His face was a picture of rage. “WHAT?”

  The soldiers who had been unmoving seconds before were at Creed’s side, guns drawn.

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Young. There’s no need for the theatrics. You could be the father of a new generation of metahumans, and my Meg, the mother. It’s exciting, don’t you think?” He smiled happily at the torment he created in the metasoldier before him.

  “Now you understand why I had to back up and tell you the whole story. Oh, well, I’ve left some parts out, but I’m sure we can fill you in en route.”

  Creed was shaking with fury. His fists clenched into white rocks at his sides. Blue veins bulged in his neck and his skin twitched involuntarily. He was a caged lion who only wanted to shred his captor with claws itching for vengeful blood.

  The director laced his fingers together and leaned back in his leather seat, smiling.

  “Oh, dear. We really don’t have much more time to discuss matters, Mr. Young. Your flight leaves in,” he glanced at his Rolex and shook his head, “two hours.” The Director motioned to the soldiers. “Please help our Mr. Young locate his seat, gentlemen.”

  Meaty hands grabbed Creed and shoved him back into his chair. They stayed on his shoulders, guns pointed at his head.

  “Your assignment, Mr. Young, hasn’t changed. You and Gavil will lead the team to kill the thief, Dr. Margo Winter, and return the stolen assets to me. One o
f whom, I might remind you, will be the mother of your children.”

  Creed’s head was spinning. He almost wished one of the assholes with the gun would just shoot, and put him out of his misery.

  “And if I refuse?” he spat, boring a hole through the bloody eyes of the Director.

  The Director shrugged. “If you choose to disobey orders again, I will personally see to the creation of as many of these thoroughbred metahuman embryos as possible—your children—and further my research by dissecting each and every one at different stages of their development.

  “If, on the other hand, you obey orders, I will have no need to toy with the creation of embryos and will enjoy the task of recreating the original serum using the blood of the stolen assets—essentially unlocking the key to their enhanced skills.” The evil scientist nearly giggled. “You see, Mr. Young. It’s win, win for me either way!”

  He made a sick, tisking sound with his bloody tongue. “If you want to protect Meg, bring her to me. I’m really more interested in the youngest of the three, Evan. He was given the most advanced form of the serum. His blood will have the best DNA crop to harvest, but the other two, Meg and Alik, they need to come home. I have great plans for all of them.”

  The room was silent as Dr. Williams let the weight of his words hang like noxious gas in the air.

  “I know you’ll do the right thing, Mr. Young,” Dr. Williams nodded reassuringly, as though a grandfather offering some precious piece of wisdom he was sure would eventually be received with the awe it deserved.

  “Gentlemen, please escort Mr. Young to his quarters. You have one hour, Mr. Young. Choose wisely.”

  The metas flanking Creed yanked him to his feet and started pushing him toward the door to exit, “Oh, feel free to take the photograph with you, Mr. Young. Maybe it will help add some clarity to your thoughts.”

  With shaking hands, Creed reached out and grabbed the picture of his dark-eyed dream girl—his mind oscillating from terror to rage at what was happening to him.

  The barrel of a gun in the back of his neck prompted him to move his unsure legs. He stared at the picture of the girl called Meg the entire walk back to his room. His eyes traced the curve of her jaw and the line of her dainty nose even as the door to his room slammed shut behind him. He imagined burying his face in the long, dark mane and inhaling the scent of strawberries as the deadbolt engaged with a solid thwack. He walked to his military issue metal bed and sat heavily, eyes never leaving the photograph.

  She was real.

  She is a metahuman and if what Sloan told me was true, I chose her and fought against Williams. Now Williams wanted to punish me.

  Chapter 27 The Mind of A Madman

  The door closed behind a tormented Creed Young, escorted by the heavily armed metasoldiers.

  Gavil Young stared blankly at the place he last saw his brother and for the first time in his life, he felt something akin to pity for him. Gavil was accustomed to treating his brother like shit, but this was different. That demented plan Williams just laid out was seriously messed up.

  “Dr. Williams, if I may ask a question,” Chaunders spoke and tentatively waited for a response from his Director before proceeding.

  Williams nodded graciously.

  “Sir, why even bother with Creed Young for this assignment? It is a task of great importance. Perhaps it would be better handled by another?” Chaunders stared not at the grotesque face of his boss, but at a spot over his right shoulder, as had become his habit so he wouldn’t find himself affected by the man’s horrid appearance.

  “Ah, but what fun would that be?” Williams smiled widely.

  “Sir?” Chaunders was taken aback by the flippant response.

  “Of course, I could choose any number of metas to complete this assignment, and may eventually need to do so, but for now, I’m having too much fun playing with Creed Young. He betrayed me; whether he remembers the betrayal is irrelevant. He will be punished in a way that pleases me. I have all the time in the world, Mr. Chaunders. I find it exciting, nay exhilarating to shred the dreams of those who think they have any semblance of control over their lives.” Kenneth Williams stood, collecting his papers carefully lining the corners of each page perfectly and secured them with a black marbled clip.

  “Personally, I couldn’t be happier with the way things are progressing with Creed. No matter what he chooses to do, I own him. If he runs, I’ll find him. If he agrees to go through with the assignment, I get to watch him tortured as he kills Margo and watches the others assimilate into our happy family at the Facility.” Williams began pacing the room, absently reaching into his front pocket retrieving his spheres, rolling them in his leather, gloved hand.

  “If he tries to betray be, I’ll destroy everything he loves and make sure he knows it was because of him. If his decisions cause me to proceed with the plan to create his and Meg’s offspring, I’ll love every minute of the science that task will provide. Who knows, maybe those offspring may be even more powerful, more gifted, than their parents. Regardless, I’ll make sure Creed suffers with the knowledge that it was his decisions which caused all the pain and suffering.” Williams grinned as he walked. “We have hundreds of M57’s eggs still in cryogenic storage—and even more of Creed’s seed. If he betrays me, we get right to work. I am, after all Dr. Chaunders, a man of my word.”

  Williams stopped pacing, but didn’t stop the metallic scraping of the spheres as they twirled against one another in his hand. “Checkmate.”

  “Sir, if your need for my services have concluded for now, I must ask to be excused. A shipment of new recruits is scheduled to arrive within the hour and since Commander Oldham is no longer here to help with the paperwork, I really ought to be present.” Dr. Bjorn looked expectantly at the Director, truly anxious to see the terror in the eyes of the newest crop of children who would be the next metas—that is, if they survive. It was his favorite part of his work.

  “Of course, Dr. Bjorn. I’ll look forward to visiting them myself sometime soon.” Williams found he couldn’t stop grinning and had to remove his trusty handkerchief to dab at the oozing cracks around his bloody mouth.

  Dr. Bjorn nodded politely and stood from the conference table. Just as he was reaching for the door, Dr. Williams stopped him. “Dr. Bjorn, I believe it’s time to find a replacement for our former Commander Oldham. I want you to focus on your science and not worry about the tasks that had been a part of his job description.”

  Gavil could hold his tongue no longer. Oldham had been here for as long as Gavil could remember and his absence over the last few months had been the source of many rumors. “Sir, what happened to the Commander?”

  Williams’ beady black eyes of a shark swept toward Gavil. “Did you know, Mr. Young, that this compound has the most state-of-the-art surveillance technology? I have eyes and ears everywhere. Did you further know my precious daughter June was cared for here at the Research Hospital basement? No, of course you wouldn’t have known.” Williams stared pointedly at Gavil before continuing.

  The grin that had taken up residence on Williams’ raw face moments before disappeared. Instead, his face dropped. His eyes began to seep bloody tears. The abrupt change in his sentiments had the whole room staring with weary fear.

  “Well, Commander Oldham took it upon himself to try to manipulate me by murdering June. He saw my ill daughter as my weakness. I have watched the video of him killing her over and over. Oldham was terminated, but not before I was able to seek out every living relative of his, however distant. Each was killed in the most unpleasant way possible, every moment video recorded. I made sure Oldham watched their deaths before his own came.” Williams stared across the room as though replaying scenes himself before sighing deeply.

  “Now that June is gone, I’ve decided, on a personal note, to return to basics. I have all the time in the world to exact the kind of revenge on whom I chose, as I see fit, just as I did with Oldham. One must find pleasure where one can.” The knowing dead
eyes in the smallish bloody face of the scientist locked onto Gavil.

  The soldier swallowed hard.

  “Um, yes, sir,” Dr. Bjorn nodded. He felt a sense of awe at Williams’ power and madness.

  “Yes, well,” Williams seemed to shake himself out of a daze, “go on with you, Fredrick. You have new recruits to welcome.”

  Bjorn nodded deeply, nearly bowing, before exiting the room.

  Gavil and Chaunders exchanged unsure glances as they sat alone in the room with what was very obviously insanity wrapped in bloody flesh.

  “Mr. Young,” Dr. Williams abruptly turned to the wide-eyed metasoldier. “Please prepare a squad to accompany you and your brother to Texas. You’ll need to add to the ranks of our Perficio Res, so chose carefully. If these metas prove themselves valuable during this task, they can be offered the additional serum upon your return.”

  “Am I to lead the team, sir, or will Creed?” Gavil’s mind was racing as he thought back to all the times he may have been monitored by Williams and was completely unaware of it—but he said nothing.

  “Oh, you’re going to have to work that out between yourselves, Gavil.” Williams grinned wickedly. “Let’s see who the soldiers find themselves choosing to follow. That will be the true leader, won’t it?”

  “Sir.” Gavil mumbled and stood to leave.

  “Gavil, I hope you realize by my allowing you to be privy to the conversations that took place this morning, that you are being groomed for even bigger things. I also hope you took note of what happens to those who cross me.” The doctor shrugged innocently, as though simply stating the most obvious of natural consequences.

  “Of course, sir,” Gavil nodded, feeling his stomach drop.

  “Good. I’ll see you in the hangar at eleven.”

  “Yes, sir.” The door clicked closed behind him.

  “Dr. Chaunders. I have other matters to attend.” Williams locked eyes with Chaunders.

  “Of course.” Getting the hint, Chaunders rose from his seat and grabbed with shaking hands at the papers in front of him. He stumbled a bit working his way out from between the empty seats around the table, but he was in a hurry to get away from Kenneth Williams. Being in a room alone with this man made Chaunders feel like a moth playing on a freshly spun web. He couldn’t get away from the bloody mass fast enough.