Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Dani

An envelope is setin my palm, and I glance up to Doctor Falkenrath’s stern eyes. “Please deliver this to Doctor Salisbury for me.”

At the doctor’s name, I breathe a sigh of relief and nod. I don’t mind Doctor Salisbury so much as some of the others in this place. He’s a bit like Doctor Falkenrath, only more ornery, however that’s possible. He curses, too, but his lab work is strictly third stage subjects—ones who are full-stage Ragers, so it doesn’t trouble me as much to pop in on him.

Not like C block, where Ericsson’s lab is.

I exit the room and head toward the experimental wing.

“Well, well. Look what we have here.” At the familiar voice, I turn to see Raymond coming up behind me, walking with a limp. It’s somewhat odd to see another subject walking around the halls so freely, but perhaps he was sent to deliver something, as well. “Where you off to?”

“I’ve been asked to deliver a package to Doctor Salisbury.”

“So, you’re a gofer for them, too, eh?”

“Keep your voice down!” I chide, as we pass a section of offices.

“I’m sorry.” His hobbling hastens to keep up with me, as I try to ignore him. “Hey, you seen your brother?”

“No.” I slide a glance to him and back. “Not that it’s any of your business …”

One of the doctors approaches us, one I’ve seen chatting with Doctor F before, and I nod in passing, catching the frown on his face.

Once he’s out of earshot, I continue, “My brother was sent out for adoption. On the other side of the wall.”

“Who told you that?” The smile in his question grinds me, immediately setting me on defense.

“Doctor Falkenrath. Who happens to have a better idea of what goes on in this place than you do.”

The grip at my elbow flinches my arm, and I drop the envelope. With an irritated huff, I kneel down to fetch it, and Raymond kneels too. His head scans left then right, and he leans in. “Listen to me. He lied to you. After Shawn went missing, I searched the building. Found his limp body in a trashcan. Whatever they told you isn’t true.”

A zap of pain hits my skull from my clenched teeth, as I scowl back at him.

“There’s a file on your brother, I guarantee it. They document everything here. Find that file, and you’ll know the truth.”

“Why are you doing this? Are you jealous? Is that it?” I don’t want to look for a file, or hear any more of his suspicions. I want to know that my brother is safe and happy, living a good life on the safe side of the wall.

“Of a gopher?” He sneers and shakes his head. “Not even.”

“I may be a gopher, but at least I’m not their guinea pig!”

His eye twitches, and he pushes off the floor to straighten himself. Standing before me, I notice the slight lean in his stature, an observation he seems to pick up on. “Beginning of the week, they removed a section of bone from my leg. I just got out of the surgical ward. One more piece. Small pieces at a time.”

The remorse gurgles in my stomach, and I push up from the floor. “I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“When you decide to wake up, go look for that file.”

He hobbles off down the hall, leaving me standing there, and my mind battles over which of my two evils I can face—keep swimming in what could be a lie, or drown myself in what might be the truth.

* * *

Everything about this is wrong.

Through the dark halls, I tiptoe toward Doctor Davis’s office. The advantage of not being cooped up in the bunks with the other boys is complete access to the hospital wings at night, when the power shuts down and the majority of the medical staff have left. A few of the rooms still function on backup generators, powered by solar-batteries, but there’s not enough to feed the entire hospital.

Over the soft patter of my feet against the cold tiles, the sounds of suffering echo down the hall, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Their agonized wails remind me of ghosts that call out to me, as I slip past laboratories and surgical wards, keeping my gaze forward to avoid seeing inside of them. Each of the blocks is connected by a hallway that bridges the buildings—a harrowing stretch that offers nowhere to hide, in the event guards are patrolling at night.

Scampering down the hall, I reach the double doors to the next cell block and slip inside. A new set of doors opens up to a whole new surgical ward, where I do glance into the rooms, only to be sure Abel isn’t tucked away in one of them. The knots in my stomach untwist a bit to find them completely empty, and I continue on toward the offices.

Reaching Doctor Davis’s office, evident in the name plastered to the door, I set my ear to the panel and listen. At the lack of sound on the other side, I twist the knob and enter the dark room. Nabbing the flashlight I brought along with me from my pocket, I shuffle toward the filing cabinet. It’s when I open the first drawer that I see that they’re in numerical order, based on the patients given serial number.

“Shit,” I mutter, lifting a file from the tight collection of them. Thankfully, a picture is stapled to the front of each—a normal picture of the child that must’ve been taken when he first arrived, judging by the fullness of his face and hair. Not recognizing him, I stuff it back and go for the next.

Another face I don’t recognize.

I continue to lift files in search of Abel’s, but there must be at least a hundred of them in this drawer alone.

A thump from outside the door steels my muscles, and I click off the flashlight, eyes scanning for a place to hide. I take shelter underneath Davis’s desk only seconds before the door opens, and a beam of light trails across the wall in front of me as a flashlight sweeps through. Seconds later, it flicks off, and I peer around the corner of the desk to see one of the guards, dressed in black, closing the door behind him.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I crawl out of hiding and return to the file, picking up where I left off.

Thirty minutes pass. I’ve seen at least six dozen faces before a familiar one pops up. One of the small boys from my hive. The next is another boy I know. Two more files, and I finally lift Abel’s.

In the picture, he wears a half smile through a shine of tears, holding Sarai’s rabbit in the crook of his arm. I choke back my own tears and tug the file from the drawer. I flip it open to papers, dated notes that detail things like how much he weighed, how long he slept, and numbers I’ve come to recognize as vital signs, from working in the lab. A picture shows an isolated shot of a large red sore on some part of his body. The attached note reads inoculation #1, followed by the date. Another shows him lying on his side, with a doctor knelt beside the bed, sticking a needle into the base of his spine, while a second doctor holds him down.

The sight of it sends pangs of nausea to my stomach, and thankfully I can’t see Abels face to know if he’s awake, or sleeping, during the procedure. The deeper I venture into his file, though, the more my heart pounds in my chest and a slight tremble hums beneath my skin.

I flip to a note and pick up on specific words scrawled across the page.

Child cries incessantly. Suffers from night terrors. Placed subject in sleep observation room. No change in behavior. Non-carrier status. Transfer out of cell block. Terminate.

I anxiously thumb to the next page. A picture sits atop another set of notes. In it, my brother lies on a stainless steel table, eyes closed, as if he’s sleeping. The irritating shield of tears keeps me from seeing his face clearly, as I study it. I need to know if he’s sleeping.

I lift the picture to see Autopsy Report stamped on the page below it, and I drop the file, falling to a slump. Clutching the back of my skull, I open my mouth to a silent scream, but nothing comes out. A numb sensation crawls across my skin, at the same time a tight fist clamps around my lungs.

I can’t breathe.

Lifting a trembling hand to my mouth, I capture the first break of a sob into my palm.

He died alone, on a cold, metal table. No warm embrace, like my mother and Sarai. No one to tell him not to be afraid. He was surrounded by strangers, prodding him until his last breath. Without a hand to hold onto.

The pain drags me deeper into tormenting memories.

Abel lies beside me in my bed, as we stare up through the window above us at the stars that glitter the night sky. Mother says, when she was younger, the stars didn’t shine near as bright, with all the light in the cities. I point to them, smiling when Abel follows the path of my finger, as if he hopes to pinpoint the very star I’m looking at. “There’s grandma, and Aunt Jess. And there’s Emilia and Garrett.”

“And Daddy?” he asks.

“Yep. Daddy’s a star, too.”

“Someday, I wan’ fly to da moon an’ see him.”

Hands clasped together, I curl my fingers into my brother’s small, baby hands and squeeze. “Maybe you will.”

I stare down at the picture of him, distorted by my tears, and brush my finger over his innocent face. “Say hello to them for me, Abel,” I whisper, and close my eyes to weep.

For the first time in my life, I’m completely alone.

* * *

Minutes pass.Maybe hours. I push up from the floor and gather up my brother’s file. Before placing it back into the drawer, I snap Abel’s picture from the front and stuff it into my pocket.

I don’t care if they catch me with it. I no longer care what they do to me.

Everything I had left to fight for is gone, leaving nothing but an empty shell. And shells don’t feel pain, or fear being broken.

My whole body is numb, locked in a state of shock as I exit Davis’s office. I don’t even notice the sweep of the flashlight at first, until it flickers in my periphery.

I twist to see the guard from before standing at the end of the hallway. Spinning on my heel, I push through the door beside me, looking for a place to hide and take cover in a dark stairwell. A minute later, the guard passes the window, and I blow out a breath, sagging against the wall. Clicking on the flashlight, I edge toward the bannister and peer down the spiraling stairwell.

Perhaps the buildings are connected in their basement level as well. The apartment we lived in was connected to the next building over. It was supposed to be an escape route, in the event Ragers managed to get in.

One we never used.

I scamper down the staircase, rounding each floor, until I’ve reached the lowest level where a B is stamped onto the door panel. Pushing through brings me to an open area, where a variety of equipment and appliances are stored. The area is vast, and when I come upon a hallway, the surrounding darkness has me completely turned around until I’ve no idea where I am.

I keep on, anyway, and catch the shine of something in the beam of my light. A black gloss off in the distance. As I approach, it comes into clear focus, and I can make out the shape of a body propped on a chair, completely covered in some kind of rubber suit that shines. The face is covered by the rubber, as well, but a wide rusted pipe sticks out from the mouth, and I follow the path of it to one of the large structures beside me.

Is he alive?

I reach out and push my finger into the suit.

It squishes unnaturally, casting a shiver down my spine, and I rub the pads of my fingers together as they carry the lingering sensation.

I lean toward it a second time, catching a burnt smell that crinkles my nose, and once again, I glance upward toward the structure attached to the pipe.

What is it?

Arms wrap around me from behind, at the same time a hand covers my mouth.

With waves of terror washing through me, I scream into the palm.

“Shhhh,” the voice whispers in my ear, but I squirm and kick, trying to break away. “Do you know what this is?”

At his question, I still in his arms. I’ve no idea who’s captured me, but he’s strong, stronger than me, and fighting him is proving useless.

Shivering in his grasp, I shake my head.

“Ever heard of an autoclave?”

I have. It’s the large, refrigerator-looking thing in the lab, where instruments are set on the shelves inside and pressurized steam sterilizes them. I nod in response, and he points a finger toward the pipe.

“Same concept. That pipe is connected to a boiler, and steam is sent into the suit.”

The horror of what he’s describing crawls over me, and bile inches up my throat.

“See, we can’t have one of our own becoming infected and spreading the disease. Unfortunately, the prion can’t be destroyed by much of anything, really. So we contain it in the suit. Kill off the virus that carries it, and discard the whole damn thing after. Here is where we test the suit. To make sure there are no leaks, or mishaps. Only the older subjects are used for testing, though.”

A whimper leaks from my mouth, still captured in his palm.

He releases me, allowing me to turn, and dread burbles in my gut as the halo of my flashlight shines on Doctor Ericsson’s son. The one who walked in on us.

Close up, I can see he’s much older than me, but still carries the features of a boy—youthful skin and little facial hair that places him at nineteen, or twenty. The black suit he wears shows his broad shoulders, which taper down to a small waist, telling me he’s far stronger than I am, to even consider fighting him.

“Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“Please. I … I just got lost, is all.”

“I’ll take you back after.” The promise in his voice is the only measure of comfort that compels me to do as he says. We wade through the darkness, and I shine my light on objects that seem unfamiliar to me. Relief washes over me when we finally reach a staircase, and I follow him up flight after flight, until we reach a door with a large red S stamped to the panel.

S block.

“Sir, I’m actually from cell block B.” I glance back down toward the stairwell, convincing myself to run and sort the mess out with Doctor Falkenrath tomorrow. Something tells me Ericsson’s son would sort it out for me, though.

“This will only take a minute.” He pushes through the door that opens to yet another dark corridor. “My apologies for not introducing myself,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m Ivan.”

“I’m Dann … Daniel.”

“I know. I remember you from last week. In my father’s office.”

The memory sinks to the pit of my stomach, and I have to swallow back the lingering scent of the doctor’s manhood still clinging to my nose. Those thoughts are quickly tamped down by the droning sounds that reach my ears, and fear needles my muscles.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Why were you in my father’s study that day?”

I wish he’d stop asking me about that day—something I’ve wanted nothing more than to forget. “He … wanted to show me his laboratory. I’m an assistant for Doctor Falkenrath.”

Ivan chuckles and shakes his head. “And what makes you special enough to be anyone’s assistant?”

“I can read. And write.”

He stares down at me, shrinking me. “Well, that is special. But you’ll never be an assistant. You’re a savage. A slave.”

I open my mouth to slap him with a snarky comeback, and he swings open the door behind him.

The room opens to something that looks like an auditorium, like the old abandoned theater where the kids in the hive would sometimes play. Chairs are set up in a row, and six older boys, perhaps Ivan’s age, sit restrained in them, their hands strapped down to the arms, heads secured to the high backs of the seats. Multi-colored wires stem from their shaved heads, attached to white patches taped to their skin, and at the other end they’re plugged into a black box on the outside of the chair. Like some kind of monitor. More wires hang out of the band of their pants, and those are attached to a separate box that leaves me questioning its purpose.

“These are S block subjects,” Ivan says beside me. “Essentially, they are savages who carry the Alpha gene. Ragers, in a sense, but they haven’t yet turned. Still boys, as you can see. They seem to control their infection, unless provoked.”

A wooden box, similar to the confessionals used in church, stands off to the side, in front of them, but instead of being completely enclosed, there’s a window. Through the window, two men stand naked, one slamming his hips into the other from behind, and the boys in the chairs watch them. I turn my head to keep from looking at the men in the booth, squinting my eyes for some reprieve, before I open them again. The knuckles of the boy closest to me turn white as he clutches the arm of the chair, his head propped by metal guards strapped across his forehead to keep him facing the men in front of him. His eyes skate to mine, chin trembling, spilling drool, while he struggles to direct his attention away. A terrifying screech echoes inside the room, as his eyes squint, and his whole body convulses in the chair.

Hands grip my head and urge my attention back to the men on stage.

“As with all Ragers, sexual aggression is a common trait among the Alphas. Their minds are somewhat primitive, in that they seek to mate. Male. Female. It doesn’t matter, the little faggots.” Releasing me, he tips his head toward the boy nearest to us. “Is it any coincidence that faggot rhymes with maggot? Disgusting insects that infest and feed on shit?” Hands clasped behind his back, he paces. “They’re driven by pleasure and pain. The docs in S block seek to modify their behaviors. So, every time they become aroused, they receive a very painful shock. After all, we wouldn’t want them distracted out there in the Deadlands. Trying to fuck the very thing they should be killing.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“You like boys, don’t you? Are you not turned on by watching two men fuck each other?”

I shake my head, the anger welling inside of me spurring tears in my eyes.

“Then, why would you seek out my father for sex?”

“I didn’t seek him out. I told you. He invited me to his lab.”

“My father is a respected man. An honest man. A God-fearing man. He doesn’t need some faggot twink like you destroying everything he’s built.”

“I want nothing to do with him. I didn’t ask to be there that day. He came on to me!”

“You’re a liar!” He juts his chin toward the box. “If you like men so much, maybe you can be of use. Get undressed.”

I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “Please.”

Pulling a gun from his holster, he points it square at my head. “Remove your clothes. Now.”

In the seconds that follow, I contemplate the choice, if it’s a choice, at all. Abel flashes behind my shuttered lids, and the hopelessness from before settles into my skin again.

I do as I’m told.

I lift the shirt of my uniform over my head, exposing my small but budding breasts.

His brows pinch to a frown, still holding the gun to me. Prodding the barrel, he urges me to remove my pants.

Growls echo in the room, and the thud of movement tells me the boys in the chairs have taken notice. Their chasing cries of pain make me cringe.

I push my pants to the floor, and straighten, crossing my arms to cover my breasts. Tears stream down my cheeks as his eyes wander my exposed body.

“Well, what the fuck have we here? It’s a girl.”

Cold and bare, I shiver, as he circles me, and flinch at the first touch against my arm.

“This is a pleasant surprise, indeed. Don’t see any girls in this place.” Coming to a stop in front of me, he pushes away one of my arms, tipping his head as he brushes a finger over my sensitive flesh beneath. “You’re a clever one, yeah?”

I don’t answer, dropping my gaze while I let him fondle me.

“Do you know what they’d do to you here, if anyone found out?”

“Please.” I shake my head and another round of tears fall down my cheeks. But my plea is weak. I don’t care if he kills me. As long as he kills me.

The screams from behind heighten, seeming to grow more intense, and I clamp my eyes shut to tune out the sounds of suffering that crystalize my spine, leaving me paralyzed and terrified.

“Do you hear them? Do you know why they’re in pain? They want to mate you. Their instincts tell them to impregnate you. I’ve heard the docs chatting about it. Rounding up young girls like yourself to produce third generation subjects. But I can help you.” His lips are at my ear, his hot breath fanning my skin. “I can keep a secret, if you can.” His fingertip drifts down my arm, raising the hairs on my skin. “Can you keep a secret, Danny girl?”

I flinch at the sound of my name and nod in response.