by Aaron Hodges
Shuddering, Chris tore himself from the waking nightmare and again cursed his foolishness. He should have stood his ground, should have died before allowing the woman to trap him. Instead, he had sacrificed his freedom, his body, and for what?
The students had died anyway.
He had learned his lesson now. There was no helping anyone in this awful world, no protecting the weak, no saving them from the cruelty of the powerful. Every time he tried, every time he interfered, he only made things worse, only added to his own suffering.
So why should he try anymore?
He looked at each of the prisoners in turn. “Lie down. Resisting will only make this worse.”
“There’s only one of him,” the boy at the front said sharply. “We can take him!”
Chris gave a sad smile beneath his visor. He remembered his own last stand, when he—along with Ashley, Liz and Sam—had tried to fight off a pack of guards. They’d almost managed it, but numbers had overwhelmed them in the end. If there’d been just one, he would have liked his odds as well.
Unfortunately for these four, he was no ordinary human.
Arms crossed, Chris let the first teenager slide towards him. The boy had his hands raised like a boxer, but from his stance, Chris could see he was no fighter. His feet were so close together a weak breeze would knock him over.
Chris let the boy throw a punch anyway, though he hardly had to move to avoid it. Then, faster than thought, his hand swept out and tapped the boy on the side of the head. The blow sent his opponent reeling. Stumbling back, the boy tried to recover, but his legs no longer seemed to obey him, and finally he slumped down against one of the beds. Cradling his head in his hands, he began to sob.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said as he faced the others. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you go. They have plans for you.” He nodded at the doctors waiting outside.
The only girl in the cell swallowed. “Please…” she said, her head down, her big brown eyes reminding him inexplicably of Liz. “Help us. You could stop them…”
Chris waved at the collar around his throat. “We both know better. Trust me, it’ll go…easier, if you don’t fight it.”
The girl shivered, her eyes darting past Chris to the doctors. “What…what is it?”
Chris followed her gaze, his keen eyes lingering on the syringe a doctor was preparing. “The future.”
The girl bit her lip and retreated to where her remaining cellmates waited. Chris stood in the space between the bunks to hem them in. Then he gestured to the boy.
“He won’t put up a fight now,” he said to the doctors.
The boy sat with his back against the wall, still moaning softly, one hand clutching his head where Chris had hit him.
Wary, the doctors held back, until a look from the Director sent them scuttling into action. Three of them entered the cell, one holding a syringe, the others holding the boy in place. Only one remained outside, preparing the next syringe.
Chris’s eyes drifted to Ashley. She stood with her arms crossed, and he quickly looked away again. He couldn’t understand where she found the courage to resist. Since their capture, the terror-stricken girl they had rescued from Halt had vanished. In her place was the Ashley Chris remembered from their imprisonment, the girl whose will never wavered, who had never given up despite the odds stacked against them.
And while he was glad to have her back, seeing her only reminded Chris of his own failed courage.
He watched the three prisoners in silence as the doctors finished their work. Fists clenched, he waited for what came next.
It took thirty seconds, but the boy’s first scream was as sharp as he remembered. Despite himself, Chris flinched. Something inside him recoiled from the agony contained in that cry. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to slap his hands over his ears. It was happening all over again—the torment, the death. Only he was no longer the prisoner, but the perpetrator.
“The next subject, Christopher,” the Director called from outside the cell.
A tremor went through him as he looked back. The boy’s screams echoed off the concrete walls, deafening, especially to his sensitive ears. He stared at the Director, teeth clenched, rage building in his chest.
Then his gaze caught the woman’s eyes, and he knew it was hopeless. Whatever he did, she was always a step ahead, waiting to catch him out, to punish his transgressions. Even were he to somehow succeed, if he managed to break her little neck, the torment wouldn’t cease. She had taught them that their first day, when she had taken off her watch. Instantly, their collars had given a harsh beep, and sent them crashing to the ground.
She had left them there for ten minutes, writhing in helpless agony, before finally strapping the device back to her wrist.
“If my heart stops, those collars will choke the life out of you. That should be motivation enough for you to keep me alive.”
And with that, she’d made them her guards. She seemed to take a perverted enjoyment in having them around, though Chris suspected it was more than that. She had deliberately worn him down to the point he would do anything to avoid more pain.
Even if it meant subduing innocent teenagers for the government’s experiments.
Facing the huddle of prisoners, Chris caught another boy by the hand. The kid yelled and tried to pull away, but there was no resisting Chris’s strength. He dragged the next candidate out as though he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
When the doctors had finished with him, Chris went back and took the third. His eyes caught the girl’s as he dragged her last friend away. She had retreated to the back of the cell, her cheeks wet with tears. Her curly black hair hung around her face, and again Chris was reminded of Liz. He watched the girl as the doctors finished their work on the last boy, wondering absently where Liz was, what she was doing.
He knew by now their gambit had failed. They’d had no contact with the outside world since their capture, but surely they would have heard if the truth about the Chead had reached the public. Not even the President could survive if the entire country rose against him.
The third boy’s voice joined the chorus of screams. Knowing the order was coming, Chris started towards the girl.
“Your turn,” he said, offering his hand.
She shook her head, her eyes wide, pleading for his mercy. He had to grab her by the waist and haul her out, kicking and screaming. As he cleared the bunk beds, her elbow caught him in the face. Off-balance, he staggered past the doctors, out into the corridor. They crashed into the trolley, sending equipment flying as the doctors and the Director retreated out of range.
Still struggling to get a firm grip on the girl’s twisting body, Chris cursed as her knee came dangerously close to his groin. Finally losing patience, he lifted her up and hurled her down on the concrete. The impact drove the breath from the girl’s lungs, and she lay back, mouth wide and gasping.
Turning, Chris found the Director, flanked on either side by her guards. The other doctors had left the remaining candidates in the cell and followed him into the corridor. The first boy had finally passed out, though the occasional convulsion still raked his body. The second’s screams were beginning to fade, while the third still writhed on the floor.
The Director smiled as she approached. “You’ve done well, Christopher. I—”
A scream cut her off. Spinning, Chris saw the girl spring to her feet. She’d managed to grab a scalpel from the fallen trolley, and now she leapt, eyes fixed on the unarmed Director. With her guards behind her, there was no one left between the Director and the girl.
Chris acted without thinking. Stepping in front of the Director, his fist flashed out to catch the girl square in the chest. A sharp crack echoed down the corridor as the blow brought the girl to a sudden halt, then hurled her backwards. She struck the ground with a thud. Her eyes flickered closed, and a long sigh hissed between her lips.
For a moment, no one moved. They all stared down at the fallen girl. T
hen, as if on cue, the doctors and guards rushed forward, one picking up the discarded scalpel while the others gathered around the girl. One of the doctors put a finger to her throat, checking for a pulse, but a few seconds later she shook her head.
Chris choked and stumbled back. Tearing his eyes from the girl, he looked at his trembling fist. There was no trace of blood, no hint of the life he had just taken. Desperately, he shook his head, as though that might somehow take back what he’d done.
He flinched as a hand brushed his hair. “Very good, Christopher,” the Director whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “Very good.”
The doctors quickly gathered up the instruments that had fallen from their trolley. Two took the girl between them and dragged her from the prison block. Another pressed a finger to her watch, and the cell door slid closed.
Standing amidst them, all Chris could do was stare at the pale concrete. He didn’t need to look to know that Ashley’s eyes were on him, that beneath her visor she was watching him, hating him.
When the doctors were done cleaning up, the Director strode forward. Placing a finger beneath his chin, she forced him to look up. Grinning, she nodded at the next cell.
“Shall we continue?”
8
Susan shoved the woman through the barn door and followed her inside, Hecate one step behind. Within, the heady scent of the Chead swept over them like a blanket. Its cloying sweetness calmed her racing heart, and she drew in another breath, savoring its ecstasy. Then she pulled the roller door shut, the metal wheels squealing.
The few dozen women and teenagers kneeling on the concrete floor flinched at the sound. Their soft sobs echoed from the tin walls, interspersed by the rumbling of the generator outside. A ring of Chead surrounded the prisoners, while in the corner the cylindrical refrigerator unit gleamed in the faint light. The Chead had carried it faithfully across the countryside, from farmhouse to town, ensuring its precious contents remained viable. Now it was all but empty. If things went well, this would be its final stop.
Turning, Susan found her captive standing nearby. Her eyes wide, she had stumbled to a stop. Seeing Talisa waiting, Susan grabbed the woman by the hair and dragged her to where the other prisoners knelt. The women and teenagers scrambled back from her until the barn wall brought them up short. Soft laughter came from the other Chead. Smiling, Susan strode to where Hecate waited with Talisa, and bowed her head.
“You are late, my child,” Talisa whispered in admonishment.
Susan shivered as the elder Chead’s milky white eyes bored into her. “I’m sorry…Talisa,” she stammered. The change had robbed her of speech, and she was still struggling to regain her words. “The rage was…on me. Hecate…brought me back.”
The lines on Talisa’s aging face deepened as she smiled. “You must learn control, child.” She gripped Susan by the arm. “Come, you are needed.”
Talisa led Susan past the kneeling women. Her eyes drifted over the faces of their captives. They were all young, in their late teens or early twenties. Most kept their eyes fixed to the ground, but a few had the courage to stare back, defiant, the dried tears on their cheeks the only sign of their fear. The few males present had been herded into one corner. They would face the choice last—if there were any vials left.
She counted thirty prisoners in all—too many. But no doubt some would refuse; they always did.
The refrigerator unit waited for her in the corner. The steel casing had seen better days; its sides were streaked with mud, and several dings now marked the metal where its minders had been less than careful.
Talisa nodded for Susan to proceed. She knelt beside the unit, her hands trembling, eager to do the ancient Chead’s bidding. There was an aura about Talisa, a power that demanded obedience. Taking a deep breath, Susan waited until her hands stilled before opening the lid.
Licking her lips, Susan counted the remaining vials. Once there had been hundreds inside—now there were only a few dozen left. Quickly, she checked the power level on the side, then waved at the two Chead who guarded the contraption. Each took one handle and followed her to the waiting prisoners. Several whimpered as the Chead set the unit down in front of them.
Susan smiled, tasting the bitter tang of their fear. Outside, distant screams could still be heard, as her brethren continued their wanton slaughter. Watching the pitiful creatures huddle on the ground, Susan wondered how she had ever been so weak. Memories drifted through her mind, of a woman lost and alone, scared to live. Those emotions now seemed as foreign to her as the moon.
Hecate crossed the barn to stand beside her, his arm curling around her waist. Her own hand drifted to her stomach, to the life growing there. It was already beginning to swell, the accelerated growth of the Chead taking hold. She recalled their reproductive cycle from her other life, though her small mind had never contemplated experiencing it herself.
Almost always in heat, the Chead could have anything from one to eight eggs attach to the uterus at one time. And once fertilized, gestation took only six weeks before birth. Her children would then continue growing at an accelerated rate, reaching the size of teenagers within two years.
Detaching herself from Hecate, Susan smiled up at him. It had been four weeks since their night in the cave. The birth would not be long now, and she was glad this would be their last stop. Shortly, they would set out for the underground labyrinth Talisa had made home for the wild Chead. There her children would be safe. Warmth filled her stomach at the thought of holding them in her arms.
But for now, there were new souls to welcome into the ranks of the Chead.
Susan delved into the cylinder and retrieved a syringe and the first vial. The captives watched as she prepared the needle, silent now. The process only took a few seconds. Holding it up to the light, she checked for bubbles, before nodding at Talisa to proceed.
Striding forward, the elder Chead grasped the nearest prisoner by the shirt and hauled her to her feet. The woman tried to resist, but she was only human, her strength like a mouse before the cat for the Chead. Talisa slapped her hard across the face. The blow whipped the woman’s head to the side, and she sagged in the elder Chead’s arms. Scowling, Talisa tossed her at Susan’s feet.
“Stand,” Susan growled.
Sobbing, the woman scrambled to her hands and knees. Blood ran from her lip, but when she saw Susan’s cold grey eyes, she quickly nodded. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, but somehow she managed to stand.
“What is…your name?” Susan whispered, moving forward until her face was just an inch from the prisoner’s.
The woman swallowed, her eyes darting around the room before returning to Susan.
“My name…my name is Lucia.” The woman barely managed to get out the words. “How…?”
“Lucia…” Talisa murmured, ignoring the question. “Do you wish to live?”
The woman moaned, looking from Talisa to Susan. For a moment it seemed she would bolt, but finally her shoulders sagged and she shook her head.
“I don’t want to die,” she said, the words barely audible.
The soft laughter of the Chead whispered around the barn. Holding out the syringe, Susan offered it to the woman. “Then join us.”
The color drained from Lucia’s face as comprehension came. The liquid inside the syringe gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the slits in the ceiling. The other Chead stood in silence, watching with their cold grey eyes, waiting.
Lucia started to back away, but Susan’s hand whipped out to catch her by the shirt, bringing her up short. Lucia shook her head, her mouth gaping, still trying to break free, but no words came out.
“Is that your final…answer?” Susan asked.
A tremor passed across Lucia’s face as a single tear slid down her cheek. “Please…” she whispered.
“There is only…one answer,” Susan replied.
She tightened her grip around the woman’s shirt, pulling her closer. A growl rose from Susan’s chest as she bared he
r teeth. She could sense the woman’s terror; she was on the brink of panic. If she cracked, if she succumbed to it, she was worthless to them. The Chead needed to be strong, to cast off the weakness of humanity, not continue its follies.
“Don’t do it, Lucia!” one of the captives shouted, leaping to her feet. “They’re m—”
Whatever she’d been about to say ended abruptly as Hecate sprang. Catching the woman by the throat, he lifted her into the air and hurled her at the wall. She managed a brief, bloodcurdling scream before slamming headfirst into a steel beam. A sickening crack came from her skull as she slumped to the ground.
The prisoners screamed and scrambled away from Hecate, but there was nowhere for them to go.
“Silence!” Talisa’s voice cut through the high-pitched cries.
As one, the voices died away. The prisoners turned to stare at Talisa, their eyes wide, mouths open. Not one of them moved as the old Chead’s gaze passed over them. A long moment stretched out before Talisa nodded for Susan to resume.
Susan smiled at Lucia. “What is…your choice?”
The woman swallowed visibly. Her eyes were red from crying, but she didn’t hesitate now. With a trembling hand, she took the syringe and stabbed it into her arm. Susan waited until she pressed the plunger, sending the virus whirling into her bloodstream, before releasing her. The woman shivered as Susan brushed the hair from her face.
“Welcome, Lucia.”
A Chead stepped up and gently led Lucia across the concrete floor. They only made it a few steps before Lucia crumpled to the ground and started to scream. Lifting Lucia in his arms, the Chead carried her the rest of the way, even as the woman thrashed in his grip. Her gut-wrenching shrieks were loud enough to rattle the walls, but Susan ignored them.