Sanctuary's Aggression Complete Collection Box Set: A Post-apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series

by Maira Dawn

  This lab seemed exactly as the first one she visited in except for three things. To her left sat an enormous desk holding a small stack of papers. And across from her stretched another long white countertop with a larger array of small medical machines than the other room.

  Beyond that were the cages.

  Along the wall beside her, under the row of windows, stood barred enclosures. Small to large, plastic and metal barred, at least twenty of them.

  Her gaze halted on the largest one—large enough to hold a man.

  A finger of ice ran down Skye’s spine. Evil slithered through the room.

  She took a nervous step to one side and bumped into the most disturbing item of the room.

  The deafening clatter of metal on metal startled her, and she jumped away.

  The steel table looked more like something used in a morgue than in any regular doctor’s office.

  She prayed it wasn’t still in use, but she knew better. The shackles attached to the table with a bulky chain left no doubt unwilling victims had laid here.

  Skye whirled at the tap of leather-soled shoes.

  That would be him. Her stomach lurched.

  Her gaze lingered on the metal table even though she begged her eyes to move on. If this was the “nothing big” Kevin promised, what was in store for her later?

  Devon entered the room and stopped. He gave Skye a tight smile and an odd look.

  Skye put a hand to what she was sure was a pale face after the fear rushing through her.

  Devon put the chart he held onto the desk and rushed over to her. “Oh my dear, you do seem to be in a fit. Here hop up on the table before you fall over.”

  “Please,” Skye muttered, a wave of dizziness coming over her. “Please, don’t make me get on that table.”

  Devon put an arm around her and hurried her to a chair behind the desk. He crouched down, looking her in the eye. “Here you go then. Better?” He chuckled. “You are a sensitive one, aren’t you?”

  Skye closed her eyes and put her hands to her face. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Oh, Skye,” he said as he patted her arm. “This room isn’t for you. I wanted to show you where I have done some of my best work. I’m sorry if it frightened you.”

  Skye continued to draw in several deep breaths until her head stopped swimming.

  As soon as Skye felt herself return to something resembling normal, she straightened.

  Devon started talking, and she let him rattle on, but tried to ignore most of what came out of his mouth. It wouldn’t take much right now for her to end up on the floor in a faint.

  Eventually though, she tuned in.

  Devon ran on about DNA experiments and the similarity and differences between the two races, Human and Atlantian. But he definitely didn’t consider Atlantians simply another race of people.

  The man abhorred them on a level Skye had rarely seen. To the point where once he’d identified them as Atlantians, he then used the term abominations.

  As much as Devon hated them, the Atlantians also fascinated him. He bragged about their build, their strength, and their mannerisms until Skye doubted her own certainty the people did not exist.

  Devon pointed to the metal table. “I’ve had them strapped and chained to that very table and only kept them still by drugging them out of their mind. They are strong, so strong. Their organs are larger than ours and are more efficient. They breathe far less often than we do. That is how they survive underwater.”

  Devon pointed to the large cage at the end of the room. “I kept them there.”

  At the sorrowful drop of Skye’s face, he said, “I know, but I had too. Drugged and confined in spaces too small for them was the only way to keep them docile. Don’t underestimate them, Skye. Never do that. If you do, it will be the end of you. They will make sure of it.”

  Devon waited for a response.

  All Skye could manage was a nod.

  “I wish I could show you more, but the time is not right. However, I have this chart.” He grabbed the papers off of the desk and shoved them into her hands.

  Skye’s stomach tightened. Listening to Devon’s tirade had been enough—now he expected her to read it blow by blow?

  She glanced up at him. His hard expression told her she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of this.

  She flipped open the folder.

  On top was a picture of a man lying on the table that stood in front of her. It was clear he was either unconscious or near to it.

  The drugged man was in fantastic shape, muscular and toned to the point he almost appeared sculptured. His feet hung over the end of the table. So he was very tall—maybe as tall as some of the larger basketball players—but not tall enough for people to gasp in amazement and pronounce him nonhuman.

  Devon punched the picture with his index finger. “That was the last one before this all started. He called himself Ian.”

  Devon fairly spit the word as if it was an insult the man had so human a name.

  “This abomination wasn’t as big as some others, but he was enlightening.” Devon turned to the next image.

  Ian sat, curled against the bars of the cage, and turned away from the camera.

  Skye swallowed her sympathy. Devon would judge her harshly for it.

  “See here?” Devon pointed to Ian’s back. “They all have these tattoos. They embed the decoration into the skin at birth, and it grows along with them.”

  Skye examined the picture. The mark shimmered in the light and seemed a language, though not any she had ever seen. “What does it say?”

  “It is the names of both his father’s and his mother’s house. It’s his lineage.”

  “How do they get that shimmer to it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “They have . . . ,” Devon’s mouth twisted, “different technology than we do. The abominations say it doesn’t hurt the children when they are tattooed, and it doesn’t warp as they grow.”

  “Interesting.” If the situation would have been different, Skye would have chuckled over how hard it was for Devon to admit these people had more advanced technology than humans.

  “That barely scratches the surface.” Devon turned the page again.

  Page after page, picture after picture, until Skye felt the bile again rise in her mouth. So much cutting, so much blood, so much invasion.

  Despite her fear of this man, Skye slammed the file closed as Devon was in mid-sentence.

  Skye put a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m not that sort of doctor. It’s too much for me.”

  “Oh yes, of course, dear. You are a doctor of the mind and spirit. Well, I’m sure you would have found something interesting there too. It might make you feel better to know he lived through all this. It was the virus that killed him.”

  Skye pushed the chart toward him, not believing his claim. “How could he live through this?”

  “I told you, the abominations are resilient. But the virus killed them all, I’m sure of it. And that one took it home to the rest of his nest. Just like a poisoned ant.”

  He chuckled. “At least I know my work amounted to something. They are gone. All gone.”

  Devon’s eyes lit. “Except one, I still have one here. But we’ve spent enough time on them today. We need to get to you.”

  Devon rose and turned to the door leading to the hallway. “Come along now.”

  Skye’s heart thundered. Her hand tightened around the Atlantian’s folder of horror.

  What did he have planned for her?

  She tried to stand, but her legs gave way. She swallowed a sob that tried to escape.

  Devon glanced back at her and frowned. “Come along.”

  Skye put her hands to the desk and shoved herself up. “I ask again, what are you going to do with me?”

  Devon’s eyebrow rose. “Today? Just get a general idea of your health. Nothing more painful than a blood draw. I promise you.”

  Did she dare believe him? He could be
lying through his teeth, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  Skye followed, surprised the numbness spreading through her body allowed her to do so.

  Once again, she was at this evil man’s mercy.

  Twenty-Three

  Something More

  Devon glanced back at Skye as they walked down the hallway.

  She was a little unsteady but managed on her own.

  She was a tough one, strong. Most of the women he tested became puddles of tears by this point, and they hadn’t seen the chart of experiments Skye had.

  Skye stumbled. A guard reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. Once she got her feet under her, she pushed him away.

  Devon smiled. Good—that was good.

  She would need that determination. It would help her through the days ahead.

  Devon liked these two women. They reminded him of his nieces, both of whom he believed dead.

  His heart grew heavy. Even though his family had turned on him, he still mourned them.

  They hadn’t understood—that was all—weren’t capable of it. How could they? Most people didn’t have the intellect to understand the need for the experiments even before the AgFlu.

  Had he used his family? Yes, but the years he’d watched them while feeding that information to his higher-ups had been hard on him. He didn’t like using people who he cared about.

  Devon shot Skye another glance. He also didn’t like using people who interested him, and this woman was interesting.

  But the testing was more necessary than ever now. It was only by finding those truly immune could he ever hope to create a real cure. Then everyone would realize he was right all along.

  Devon’s mind drifted to his earlier meeting with Kelsey. She had seemed extraordinary in her own way.

  It had been clear she was nervous. Her hands clenched the arms of her chair during their entire conversation.

  He’d tried to put her at ease. “Kelsey dear, this is only a conversation. There is no need to be uneasy.”

  Kelsey quickly nodded. “Uh-ah.”

  When her hands only gripped the chair tighter, he decided a brief conversation might help her become more comfortable.

  “Tell me about your family,” Devon said.

  Kelsey stared at the tile floor. “They are all gone now.”

  “From the AgFlu?”

  “No. Not all. Someone shot my dad. My mom too, but she had the AgFlu so she would’ve—you know—anyway.”

  Devon picked up a pen and jotted down a few notes. It was rather common to find immunity ran through families. Kelsey’s father may have been immune.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Any siblings?”

  “They all died during the outbreak.”

  Devon scribbled in his notebook. Kelsey was the only one who inherited the immunity.

  Devon put his pen back in his pocket and smiled. “We help people. Do you like to help people?”

  Kelsey looked from Devon to the floor and back again. “Of course.”

  Devon smiled, his heart warming at her willingness. “I’m so happy to hear that. I have a good feeling about you.”

  The girl gave him a weak smile.

  Devon’s heart ached a bit. He missed his nieces so much, and this young girl had the same lovely spirit they did.

  Sydney later reported Kelsey sobbed on the way back to her room, but Devon gave that little consideration. The girl seemed perfectly happy to him.

  Ahead, a door banged closed, bringing Devon to the present.

  He turned to Skye and pointed out several rooms along their route. “These recovery rooms are used after procedures. Would you like to see one?”

  “No, not really.”

  Her quick response amused him, and he laughed. “Of course, you would. Then you will see how well we’ll take care of our Immune.”

  He stopped in front of one door and knocked. A nurse answered the door. Devon smiled. She was one of his favorites—always happy with a smile on her face.

  Behind her, tucked into bed, a patient slept peacefully.

  “How is she doing?” Devon asked the nurse in a low tone.

  “Very well.” The nurse smiled. “As soon as she wakes up, she’ll be able to go back to her room.”

  Devon turned to Skye. “See. Everyone is happy. Everything is going to plan.”

  Skye gazed at the woman in the bed. The panic that had hovered in her expression eased as she returned the nurse’s smile.

  Devon’s tension eased. It was critical to gain the trust of a test subject—at least, at first.

  But as he eyed Skye, Devon wished for more than her trust. He wanted her respect too.

  And maybe, he thought as he rubbed his chin, something more.

  Twenty-Four

  The Dark Room

  Skye had to admit her afternoon was going as smoothly as Devon had promised, she had to give him that.

  Other than being tired from another massive blood draw, she had nothing to complain about. All other tests were non invasive.

  There were questions, a lot of questions, but Devon seemed to be happy with the answers. Especially when she told him her father died of a heart attack and not the AgFlu. After that, he’d taken to whistling as he went about his work.

  Skye sat on the padded exam table, staring at the recovery rooms across the hall.

  How could she get into one?

  She’d love to believe that each one held a happy, though drowsy, patient—but somehow, she doubted it. And if that was where she would end up, she wanted to know exactly what to expect.

  Skye bided her time. Once Devon and his assistant were engrossed in their work and they had excused the guards for a break, she was ready to make a move.

  With another glance at the restrooms lined up beside a set of recovery rooms, she said, “I’m sorry, Devon. I really am, but can I go to the restroom.”

  She held her breath. Hopefully, he didn’t have one here in the lab.

  Devon frowned as he looked at his glove-covered hands and the test tubes laid out in front of him. He glanced at the bathroom in the hallway, then at Skye.

  She wiggled a little. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  Almost unable to believe Devon would allow it, Skye jumped off the table. “I’ll try not to be too long.”

  She gave him a quick smile that he seemed to appreciate and turned for the door.

  As she reached for the knob, he stopped her. “Skye, consider this an exercise in trust. You do not want it to go wrong. Untrustworthy patients don’t stay in a nice room or come to this lab. They go to another one.”

  The assistant winced and added, “He means it.”

  Skye curled her suddenly icy fingers against her palms and nodded.

  After one more glance at Devon’s stony stare, she gulped and looked at the floor.

  Her show of submission worked, Devon’s hard face eased, and he nodded. “Go now.”

  Skye rushed out of the room, walking directly to the bathroom.

  Once in the bathroom, she leaned back against the wall and tapped the block with a fingernail. She had to wait at least a few seconds before venturing out in case they watched her.

  After about thirty-seconds, Skye peeked around the door and at the lab. Through the large windows, she could see both Devon and his nameless assistant bent over the countertop.

  She glanced to the closest patient’s room and back at the lab. She could make it. Maybe.

  If they kept their eyes on their work.

  After hauling in a large breath, Skye ran to the room. It was only a few footsteps, but it seemed like a football field.

  She rapped on the door and ran back to the restroom. If there was a nurse in that room, they’d open the door and see no one.

  Heart pounding, she waited, trying to watch both the recovery room door and the lab.

  She waited. No one peeked their head into the hallway.

  Another glance at the lab assured
her that Devon and his assistant were hard at work.

  Skye raced back to the patient’s room and turned the knob. For a moment, it resisted. Then it opened.

  She slipped inside the dim interior and closed the door behind her.

  Skye blinked her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the low.

  A click and a rush of air broke the silence.

  A groan of pain.

  Skye pushed back against the wall, every sound amplified, wishing she could see better.

  Once her vision adjusted, she saw a larger room than the one Devon had shown her.

  Four patients—two women and two man—lay on metal tables similar to the ones in the Atlantian’s lab.

  Straps held three in place. The fourth man had no restraints but was intubated.

  Another groan.

  Skye stepped closer.

  One man raised his shaky hand, motioning for her to stop.

  A sheet covered him to the waist. Tubes crisscrossed from his arms to the pouches hanging from an IV hook above his head.

  His eyes rolled back into his head even as he tried to warn her. His arm dropped back onto the table.

  The slow rattle of a chain against steel sent a shudder through Skye.

  The woman lying on a table to her right dragged the sheet around her down, exposing red, angry skin. Massive boil-like sores covered the woman. Some of them appeared lanced, but not well. The ooze rolled down her side onto the table.

  Skye’s stomach turned.

  Her gaze darted back to the man and landed on the large red bumps trailing along his side. Soon he would look just like the woman.

  The sick woman cleared her throat, and their eyes locked. Skye stepped toward her.

  The woman slowly shook her head and rasped out, “Go back. Don’t make him angry.”

  Skye’s hand flew to her mouth.

  The woman raised her hand, pointing at the door. As she did, the chain circling her wrist dragged link by scraping link across her metal bed. “Go.”

  Another voice echoed hers. “Go.”

  A third voice resounded, and it shook Skye into action.

  Quaking, tears blinding her vision, Skye blindly yanked open the door and raced down the hall to the bathroom. She threw a blurred glance at the lab window.