Sneak Peek of Sugar and Splice

Chapter One

Jenna

Two emotions war inside me. Excitement and fear. No. It’s not fear, it’s closer to terror.

At some point today, I’ll be signing away the next two years of my life. When I put it like that, it doesn’t sound like a big deal. People in the military enlist for two or more years all the time.

It’s just that they know what they’re signing on for. I don’t. And they’re allowed to stay in touch with family and friends. Me? I’ll be totally isolated.

The words “totally isolated” ring in my head. That’s going to be difficult.

To combat the terror skittering through my body like a live wire, I focus on the positives. When I walk out of this super-secret program, my student debt of $98,371 will be canceled. That alone is almost worth the price of admission.

I wouldn’t have signed on, though, if they hadn’t sweetened the deal by offering me a salary of $100,000 a year. That’s more than twice what I could get as a chef straight out of school.

With free room and board, that inflated salary will be mostly intact when I exit the program in twenty-four months. I’ll be able to open my own bakery. I’ve been toying with a business plan and already have a name: The Sugar Rush.

Though this program is run by the military, I’m not scared for my life. They promised I’d have my own room and would never be in physical danger or even leave the United States. When I told my parents, they asked if I was being sent to Area 51. Very funny.

The program put me up at a decent motel in San Antonio, Texas last night. Right now, I’m boarding a van along with nineteen other recruits. I imagine we’re on our way to what will be our ultimate destination.

Now that all of us are gathered in one place, my shit detector issues a red alert as I wonder why all of us are female. As my anxiety ramps, a petite blonde slides into the seat next to me and asks in a gentle Southern drawl, “Where do you think they’re taking us?”

I bite back my initial response, “nowhere good,” and shrug.

Our driver is a hulking two-hundred-pound guy wearing military fatigues and a pair of thick, dark sunglasses. He taps his finger against the “do not distract the driver” sign every time one of us steps forward to speak to him. It does not give a warm, fuzzy feeling. Just the opposite, it spikes my fear.

The little transport bus is quiet for the first half hour. We left civilization a while ago and are traveling through acres filled with scrubby bushes and occasional trees when the ice breaks and we all talk at once.

I’m not the only person who’s terrified about the contract we were told we’d have to sign the moment we reach our destination. It seems we’re all worried about where we’re going and what they expect us to do for the inflated wages we’re going to receive.

That old adage “beware of strangers bearing gifts” pops into my mind. It doesn’t bode well, especially since the government isn’t known for its warm-hearted generosity.

“I looked into this as far as the Internet would take me, but I’m no hacker.” This is the woman who introduced herself as Riley.

Her bespectacled face is framed by a no-nonsense cut of straight, brown hair. Perhaps she’s a kindred spirit, because I sense a mountain of insecurity underneath her assured presence.

“Though the trail went cold no matter how hard I searched, one thing I discovered was that this is genuinely connected to the United States military. I not only read the contract they sent us, I had an attorney friend look it over. She confirmed they’re not allowed to harm or use us as medical guinea pigs without our consent.”

“Good to know.” My seatmate has introduced herself as Amber Dawn, which sounds even more charming the way she pronounces it—Ambuh. Wasn’t there an old country music song by that name? No. That wasn’t Amber Dawn. It was Delta Dawn.

We share a bit more about ourselves, then fall silent as the bus motors farther into what appears to be little more than wasteland. We’re traveling near-deserted highways that empty into two-lane roads. For miles, we’ve seen nothing but bushes, trees, and the remnants of dead towns.

I’ve squished my hands between my thighs to keep Amber from seeing them flutter. I don’t want to say anything gloomy in case all the women are feeling optimistic, but all the niggling worries that had been simmering quietly in the back of my mind have sprung up, larger than life.

It’s not like we’re all rocket scientists. I’m a pastry chef, for goodness’ sake. Riley said she’s a librarian, and Amber is a hairdresser. What does the military want from us? I don’t know, but the farther we travel, the more I believe I’m not going to like the explanation.

Chapter Two

Jenna

It’s late afternoon when we arrive at our destination. We left what would qualify as “sparsely populated” hours ago and are securely in “middle of nowhere” territory now. We haven’t seen any sign of humans for miles.

We pull through one of those huge, rustic gates with telephone-size poles as uprights. It’s barren up ahead. No structures of any kind.

Finally, we see a rustic, old-fashioned town.

“I know this place.”

I think this woman with long, light-brown hair introduced herself as Olivia. Did she say she worked in retail? This makes me even more curious. What would the military want with a sales clerk? Do they consider us all… expendable?

“I saw a segment about it on one of the news shows. This looks like the set for a TV show in the ‘60s. See that?” She points to what looks like an old Western town. “That was Main Street in the fictional town called Rattlesnake Flats.”

My gaze snaps out the window as I search the brush-studded dirt for reptiles. Olivia unknowingly just added one more item to my things-to-be-frightened-of list—snakes.

Did she say Main Street? That’s an interesting word to use. I guess it fits the definition, but barely. More than four lanes wide, it’s simply made of dirt. It’s bordered on both sides by what looks like 1800s Old West buildings. What the hell are we doing here?

My growing fear that something isn’t quite right has my thoughts colliding in a drumbeat of fear. Suddenly, I don’t want to go through with this.

Everyone’s tired, and I imagine they’re all as desperate to pee as I am. Olivia’s explanation that we’re on some antique TV set is met with little more than an eruption of quiet murmurs. I guess we’ll all find out what we’re in for soon enough.

My seatmate Amber, who scrolled on her phone every time we had cell service, says, “I was double-checking the documents they sent. We’re allowed one more chance to opt-out before we sign our contracts.”

This gives me a modicum of comfort. I won’t enjoy a long trip back to the San Antonio Airport, but no amount of money is going to be worth this.

Amber glances out the window and says, “Unless things start to look up, I might ask them to take me back as soon as I pee.”

We’re herded off the bus into a structure that might be forty years old or might have been built yesterday in a wooden, rustic style. It’s labeled “Town Hall” on a wide wooden plank over the double front doors.

The bus driver breaks his silence for the first time since we embarked. “I’ll bring your luggage to your rooms as soon as we’ve inspected it for contraband.”

Contraband. That was clearly spelled out in our initial paperwork. “No electronics or communication devices of any kind. Your cell phones will be confiscated upon arrival and returned when your contractual commitment ends. No firearms, weapons, alcohol, or drugs.”

Once we’re through the wooden double doors, I half expect to see a modern military facility with banks of computers. I’d wondered if our destination would be underground, like Stargate, or Area 51, especially after my parents joked about it.

Instead, it looks like an old-fashioned wooden town hall, only instead of benches, there are comfy couches scattered around, all facing a raised dais at one end.

Military men wearing camo greet us with plastic-wrapped sandwiches, chips, bottles of water, and directions to the nearby women’s room.

Twenty minutes later, we’ve pottied and eaten and are sitting in the main area waiting for our turn to sign our contracts. There are five desks set up at the periphery of the large, high-ceilinged room, each laden with stacks of paperwork.

When I’m called to approach one of the desks, a young military man greets me, introduces himself as Corporal Barton, places his hand on a stack of paperwork at least ten inches high and begins what must be a memorized speech.

“This contract enumerates in legal language what has already been explained to you via electronic correspondence. You’ll be given a furnished single room equipped with appropriate clothing. Any internet usage will be performed on computers provided to you. They are heavily monitored.”

He opens the stack to a page marked by a red post-it arrow and has me initial what I guess is the clause he just explained.

“You are allowed zero communication with outside parties. Violation of this rule will result in you spending the rest of your stay in our brig.”

He opens the stack to a different page and has me initial, then continues to enumerate the highlights of what I’ve already read or been told.

I’m half listening to him, half contemplating if I want to bail. Thus far, I’ve only initialed things. I haven’t given my signature yet. I think there’s still time to use my get-out-of-jail-free card and ask to go back to the airport.

His humorless speech is winding down. Any minute now, I’m going to need to make up my mind.

“I’m to show you this,” he says as he opens a laptop he’s been carrying over his shoulder on a webbed strap.

The computer is already teed up to my online banking. All I have to do is enter my username and password to see my pathetic balance.

“To ensure you stay, the program has decided to sweeten the deal. The moment you sign the contract, I’m authorized to transfer an additional $25,000 into your account.”

He’s a soldier, not a salesman. He makes no effort to convince me. There is no sales pitch.

The deal was good before this extra twenty-five grand. If it hadn’t been enticing, I wouldn’t be here. Am I willing to sign the next year and a half of my life away? It’s time to make my choice.

The other women at the four other desks have already signed their contracts and are sitting on couches, looking more relaxed than when we arrived.

With a shrug and a wince, I say, “I guess I’m going to do this.” The pit of my stomach squeezes, evidently voting nay to my logical mind’s yea. Two years from now, this whole affair will be in my rearview mirror, and I’ll be searching for a location to open my bakery.

A moment later, I’ve signed, watched $25,000 appear in my account, and am back on the couch, sitting between Amber and Riley.

“We’ll get to know each other,” Amber drawls. “We can make this fun… whatever it is.”

“The money is for my family,” Riley says. “My mom has cancer and no insurance. The program made an exception and will be dropping three percent of my money into my parents’ bank account each month.” She nods, more to herself than us. “It’s the right thing to do.”

A door on the far side of the room bangs open. I may not know a bar from a stripe, much less what they mean on a military uniform, but by this guy’s bearing, I have no doubt he’s in charge. The male is in his fifties with short-cropped steel-gray hair. With two soldiers flanking him on each side, he marches onto the dais.

“Well, ladies. It’s about time we tell you what you just signed on for.”

Chapter Three

Noble

Threat assessment: high. Red alert. Scan for risks.

The guards have been acting oddly all day. I have seen nothing like this since they moved us from the underground facility in Nevada a month ago. Something big is brewing.

Jones works nights, Barrington works days. They never work the same shift, but, just as I suspected, a deep inhale confirms they’re both here now.

Staffing is higher today. The Colonel must be expecting trouble. I need to figure out what’s going to happen next and protect myself from danger.

Excitement and fear surge through me, sharpening my senses.

Until they allow us out of our rooms, I sit on my bed, back ramrod straight, trying to anticipate what’s coming next. It’s been my experience that change is never good. Not for us—the spliced.

When they unlock our doors, I take the corner seat in the dayroom. My back is to the wall—it’s easily defensible. I motion to my trusted friends to join me.

Hours later, after brainstorming all morning, we’re not certain what’s happening, though we’ve enumerated twenty or thirty possibilities.

Nyx is a deep thinker. As soon as we come up with an idea, the naga drills down, imagines a hundred ways it could play out, and suggests five methods of counterattack.

“It could be nothing.” Brock says with a shrug. He’s one of my closest friends. The male with obvious bear DNA is solid, has my back, and would jump in front of a bullet for me. But he’s just too trusting. How many times have I warned him humans can’t always be believed? And how many times have I been right? Almost all of them.

“Look at Franklin.” I thrust my chin toward the guard near the door. “There are beads of sweat on his upper lip. He’s scared. Look at his carriage. He’s moving differently because his gun has more ammo in it than usual. More ammo, Brock. They’re planning something.”

“And when the humans are planning something, it usually isn’t good for us splicers.” This is Warren. He always has that lean, hungry, angry look. Where Brock is easygoing and optimistic, Warren is as serious as anyone here.

He takes an exaggerated sniff. When it comes to sense of smell, he’s the best of us.

“You smell that?” His nose is scrunching as he repeatedly sniffs, lifting his shaggy, wolf-like head to catch a better whiff.

“What is it?” I ask. Whatever it is, it must be subtle. I can’t even smell it yet, much less figure out what it is.

“Never smelled anything like it before.”

“Must be dangerous.” When Brock, our calm, resident bear, is worried, we all take note.

“Whatever comes next,” Warren says as a few more guards enter the dayroom. “The four of us are going to stick together.”

“Yes. We’ll have each other’s backs.”

Jenna

Without pausing for formalities, the man who took the little stage says, “I’m Colonel Slater. Welcome. After being vetted for months and traveling cross-country, I imagine you want to know what’s so secret. Now that all those non-disclosure agreements have been signed,” he glances at the five desks, each covered with four tall stacks of signed contracts, “I’m going to start with a bit of background.”

I doubt he’s over five foot ten, but his presence is commanding. More than his uniform, it’s his posture and no-nonsense expression that proclaim his years in the military. I don’t expect any sugarcoating as the brush-cut graying officer launches into his story.

“Over five years ago, my team heard rumors of a military science project gone rogue. The misguided sociopaths were well funded in their pursuit of creating supersoldiers.”

He shakes his head in disgust, which somehow makes me like him a little more.

“It took two years of hunting to find the facility. We discovered it had been recently abandoned, so it took another several months to track them down again. When we breached the facility, this is what we found.”

The wall behind him becomes a giant screen as images are projected onto it. It takes a moment for my mind to interpret what I’m seeing. Uniformed men are rescuing men from cells so small they’re barely big enough for the inhabitants to lie down.

Because the pictures are projected onto the log walls of the room, it’s not easy to make sense of what I’m seeing, but after a moment, things become clear.

They’re not rescuing men. Not exactly. Most are bipedal and upright, but they all have animal traits. Some feline, some lupine, some like great, shaggy bears, and is that a snake-guy slithering out of his cage?

I don’t know who reached out to whom, but I’m reassured when I realize Riley, Amber, and I are holding hands. Amber is whimpering, unable to form sentences, while Riley keeps repeating, “What the fuck?”

The Colonel stepped to the side so we could have a better view of the film, but he’s now in front of the lectern again.

“Those males, one hundred of them, were rescued three years ago. They’d been treated like animals and knew very little about the real world. We’ve rehabilitated them, and taught them to read and write, along with other basic skills. We’ve begun the process of socialization, but until today, they’ve only been exposed to men.”

The film stops and the lights turn up. The Colonel looks at each of us in turn before he adds, “We’ve chosen the twenty most compliant males, those we’ve deemed ready for the next phase of the program. That’s where you ladies come in. You are the next step in socializing these males.”

He strides back and forth across the dais, his hands behind his back as he explains that we’re here to bring commerce to the little main street we passed outside. These males will apprentice with us, learning basic skills that might transfer to the real world when they’re deemed ready to leave here. In the meantime, the next step, possibly two years from now, will be to open the front gate for visitors. Then we can bid adios to this crazy endeavor.

My mind is spinning. In the last hour, I’ve gone from being certain I would bolt and return to my life back in St. Louis, to reluctantly signing a two-year contract, to extreme empathy for those poor unfortunates up on the screen.

Did he say socialize? I’m not sure what he means, but my mind throws me pictures of all the heinous things a corrupt, armed military could force a bunch of defenseless women to do. I have the very scary, very insistent thought that we’re going to be given to these males as sexy human treats. My racing heart feels as if it’s going to explode in my chest.