The Way the World Ends (The Evolution Gene Book 3) Page 5

  “To be honest, I wasn’t far from agreeing with her.” Sam shrugged. “Can’t say I feel much sympathy for the doctor.”

  “Maybe not.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “But they weren’t all bad, remember? If it wasn’t for Angela Fallow, we’d still be prisoners. Or worse—dead.”

  Sam nodded, remembering the kindly doctor who had freed them from the facility in the mountains. “You think he’s the same?”

  “Maybe not…but maybe we should give him a chance to put things right, to balance the scales. When this is all over, he can face justice. But we can’t be judge, jury and executioner.”

  “Look who’s gone soft,” Sam teased.

  “I’ve seen the alternative,” Jasmine replied. “This morning…I found Liz choking the life out of a man with her bare hands. He died in agony. And her eyes…I could swear they were beginning to turn.”

  Ice spread through Sam’s stomach. “She changed?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “No. Or at least, I don’t think so. But she’s losing control. She’s taking too many risks, running around like Rambo.”

  Sam chuckled. “You’ve been watching those movies, too?” On the days they couldn’t sleep, there was little else to do but watch reruns of old movies on the CRT television.

  “I’m serious, Sam,” Jasmine replied. “I don’t want to lose her as well.”

  Sam squeezed her shoulder again. “I know.” He smiled, trying to reassure her. “I’m glad we don’t have you both going off the rails, though.”

  The hint of a smile tugged at Jasmine’s lips. She looked down at Mira. “No time for that, between babysitting the two of them,” she whispered, before her eyes turned serious. “What about you, Sam? How have you kept it together? Ashley was everything to you.”

  Sam’s chest tightened at the mention of Ashley’s name, and he sucked in a deep breath before answering. “You’re right.” He paused, fighting back tears. “That’s why…that’s the only thing I’ve got left to hold onto. She might be gone, but she still needs me.”

  “Sam…” Jasmine’s face betrayed her concern. “You can’t think she’s still alive?”

  His heart lurched again, but he forced himself to look Jasmine in the eye. “No…” he croaked, swallowing his grief. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what?”

  He sighed, wondering how to explain himself. “What the doctor said downstairs, about the project being restarted, about the conscripted kids—it’s all my fault. You know that.” He looked at her, daring her to argue, but she remained silent. Not long ago, Jasmine had accused him of that very crime. Releasing his breath, Sam forced himself to go on, “If I hadn’t stood with Halt and the President, hadn’t let them use me to strengthen their hold over the people, this might have all been over by now. Instead, things are worse than ever. Ashley…she couldn’t stand the role she played, that Halt used her to get to me.”

  “So you’re keeping it together for her?” Jasmine murmured.

  Sam nodded, his vision blurring. “When the time comes, when I’m finally face-to-face with the Director, with the President, they’ll see my anger. Until then, we have to be smart, have to outthink them, have to play their game and win. If we don’t, we’ve already lost.”

  He looked at Jasmine for a response, but for once, she did not speak. Shadows ringed her eyes, her lips were pulled tight, but finally, she shrugged.

  “We still need to do something about Liz,” she said. “She’s hurting.”

  “I know.” Sam’s heart ached for his friend, but since the university, Liz had steadily pushed everyone else away. “She’s frustrated. It’s been four weeks, and we’ve gotten nowhere. But if Doctor Reid is telling the truth, this might be our chance.”

  “Or maybe Liz is just unstable enough to get us all killed,” Jasmine shot back.

  Sam looked away at that, unable to argue with her reasoning. What Jasmine said was true—she was living proof of how unstable they could be, after what had happened in Independence Square. But then, they all might just be bombs waiting to go off. That same rage lurked inside each of them. He had felt it himself, when he was imprisoned. He was sure of that now.

  And while Liz might be the most at risk, they had no chance in hell of convincing her to stay behind if they went after the Director. After all, no force on earth would stop him from going on that mission.

  Finally, he sighed. “I’ll talk to Liz.”

  6

  “Knock, knock.” Liz looked up as the door to the bedroom creaked open and Sam’s face appeared.

  Sitting up on her bed, she raised an eyebrow. “It’s your room too, Sam. You don’t have to knock.”

  The narrow space held two sets of bunk beds. Sam and Mira had claimed the bottom bunks. Liz still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with top bunk again, but she wasn’t too bothered. Most days she didn’t even step foot inside the house, and the sparse plaster walls and rickety bunks reminded her too much of the prison cell they’d shared in the facility. But the safe house was a refuge for more than just the four of them—there were almost twenty people crammed into the little villa—and there was no room for luxury.

  “I thought you might need some time to yourself,” Sam offered as he sat on his bed.

  Liz shrugged, although that was exactly why she’d retreated to their dormitory. “Not from you, Sam.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.” Pulling off his shoulder bag, he removed his radio and set it on the table between the bunks. Plugging it in to charge, he looked up at her. “You lost control back there.”

  A strand of hair drifted across Liz’s face. She blew it away with an angry exhalation. “I didn’t lose control.” She gestured in the direction of the dining room. “That man has information we need. Instead of dragging it out of him like they would us, we’re risking our lives for a family that may or may not even exist.”

  “So you’d leave them to die, and torture the information out of him?” Sam asked softly.

  Liz swung her legs over the side of her bed and dropped to the floor. Lowering herself onto Mira’s bed, she scooted back until she could lean against the wall. She stared at Sam, wondering how he could stay so calm.

  “Whatever it takes,” she replied finally. “I’m going to kill her for what she did to Chris and Ashley, for what she did to those students. If that means going through that monster, so be it.”

  “He’s just a pawn, Liz,” Sam argued, his eyes boring into hers. “And that performance back there was about more than just getting information out of him.”

  Liz’s cheeks warmed. “Maybe it was,” she said, pursing her lips, “but you of all people know what they did to us.”

  Leaning his head back against the plasterboard wall, Sam closed his eyes. “I do. But killing him won’t change what happened, and it won’t help save all those other kids who are suffering.”

  Liz’s stomach twisted. “If they’ve started the project…then it’s already too late for them.”

  “You don’t believe that…”

  “I do!” Liz interrupted. Her lips drew back in a snarl. “Don’t you see? It’s too late for everyone. The Madwomen are slowly being picked apart. Jonathan is spreading propaganda all over the airwaves. Chris and Ashley and Richard are dead. We’ve already lost, Sam. We just don’t know it yet.”

  “Then what are you still fighting for, Liz?” Sam stared at her, his lips turned down, sadness in his dark eyes.

  Liz’s shoulders slumped and she struggled to keep the tears from her eyes. “Revenge,” she murmured. “That’s all there is left. She’s already stolen whatever life Chris and I might have had. I intend to take hers before they come for me.”

  “And to hell with everyone else?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe,” Liz replied.

  Climbing out of bed, Liz moved to the window. Outside, the sky was a dark grey, the wind blowing through the treetops. She could feel the cold air seeping through the thin glass. There was a storm brewing, and who knew if any of them
would survive it? Swallowing, she thought of Ashley and Chris, and the awful hole in her chest.

  She shivered as a hand settled on her shoulder. Liz found Sam standing behind her, his lips drawn tight, his jaw clenched. She embraced him, burying her face in his broad chest. A tremor ran through him too, fed by his silent sorrow, a mirror of her own. They stood like that for a long time, drawing what comfort they could from each other’s presence. But in the end, all it did was make Liz lonesome. His arms around her were just another reminder of what she’d lost; that without Chris, she would never feel the true warmth of human touch again.

  When they finally separated, Liz forced a smile. Sam returned it, tears on his cheeks. “I know what Chris would do,” he said.

  “Me too,” Liz said, wiping away her tears. “He’s not here now though, is he?”

  “No, but he believed we could be better than them.”

  “Maybe.” Liz slumped onto her bed. “But at what cost? How many more of us have to die doing the right thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam replied, “but I know they didn’t die so we could become the monsters we’re fighting, Liz.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?” she asked, her heart pounding. She felt at once drowsy and energized, exhausted from her night’s activities, but stressed by the confrontation in the living room. And now the conversation with Sam.

  “What Maria said,” he replied. “We think things through, take our time, do this the right way. Tonight, if it’s safe, we’ll bring his family here, make sure they’re protected. Then we’ll find out where the Director is holed up and make a plan. We’ll save the kids she’s taken, and find the base of operations she broadcasts from.”

  Liz looked up at that. “What do you mean?”

  Sam smiled. “You didn’t stick around long enough for that part. Apparently the Director has hardly left the doctors’ facility over the past four weeks. She’s managing everything from there. Which means those broadcasts she gives each day, they’re coming from the same place.”

  “So that means…” Liz breathed.

  Reaching into her pocket, Liz pulled out the thumb drive Chris had handed her back at the university. Without a computer, they hadn’t been able to access the information, but if what Professor McKenzie had said was true, it contained everything they needed to prove the government’s responsibility for the Chead epidemic. But after the university massacre, regular news broadcasts had been shut down. A constant stream of reruns and the government-mandated news was all that remained.

  Sam saw the thumb drive and nodded. “That’s right. Not only do we have a shot at her, we’ll have a chance to put things right, to give meaning to Chris and Ashley’s sacrifice.”

  Liz carefully put the drive back in her pocket. “You really think he can lead us to her?”

  Sam shrugged. “We’ll soon find out. I’m going with them tonight, to bring back his family.”

  “Why?” Liz asked with a frown.

  Sam grinned. “Thought it was my turn for a midnight escapade.”

  Despite herself, Liz flushed. “I had to do something…” she murmured.

  “Maybe,” Sam said, “but was beating up helpless conscripts really the best way of fighting back?”

  “I only hurt the ones who put up a fight.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Sam replied, “but can you say the same thing for your other half?”

  Liz shivered. She didn’t bother denying Sam’s words. It was a constant presence now, a force bubbling just below the surface of her consciousness. All it would take was one slip, one moment of weakness for it to break free, for the Chead to take over.

  Clenching her fists, she took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s under control.”

  Sam eyed her a moment. “Good,” he said finally. “Save it for the Director. I know I am.”

  Silence fell between them then as Liz drifted into her own thoughts, daydreaming about what was to come. Whether the doctor was telling the truth or not, Sam and whoever went with him tonight were likely to be in danger. If the doctor had truly slipped away, they would be watching his family by now, waiting for him to return. No one just walked away from the government, not once it got its claws in.

  She thought, too, about Sam’s plan to use the Director’s own broadcast and tell the world the truth. Despite her words, she could find little hope there. It would take all their resources just to infiltrate a government facility. Other than them, there were maybe ten fighters in their safe house—disenfranchised men and women from across the city who were prepared to put their lives on the line to set things right. Harry had given them some training, and there was plenty of weaponry left over from Mike’s stash, but his people were untested. They would never be able to hold the broadcast room for long enough.

  No, whatever Sam said, she would be going for one thing, and one thing only.

  Revenge.

  7

  Chris kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as they followed the Director down the brightly lit corridor. From beneath his visor, he counted the rows of iron bars, glimpsed the pale, desperate faces of those trapped inside the cells. They called out as the Director and her silent protectors passed, begging for help, pleading their innocence. Their cries fell on deaf ears. The Director had no interest in her prisoners—only what they would become.

  A group of doctors waited at the end of the corridor. The four of them stood with their hands in the pockets of their lab coats, watching the Director’s approach. Beside them, a familiar steel trolley gleamed in the overhead lights. On its surface, an array of scalpels, syringes and vials lay waiting to be used.

  “There’s still no sign of Doctor Reid?” the Director asked as she joined the waiting men and women.

  The doctors exchanged nervous glances before shaking their heads. Chris caught the glint of anger in the Director’s eyes, but she only waved a hand. “No matter. If he thinks he can leave so easily, the man’s a fool. He will be found.” She looked at the collection of instruments on the trolley and then back at the doctors. “Are we ready to proceed?”

  Chris shivered. Glancing at Ashley, he tried to read her reaction. She no doubt knew as well as Chris did what was coming, but the reflective visor revealed nothing of her expression.

  The doctors around the trolley took up their instruments and stepped towards the first cell. Chris caught the glint of perspiration on the leader’s forehead as he addressed the Director.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he hesitated, “but…I feel it’s imperative you know we’re still not convinced this is the best way forward. The framework followed by Doctor Halt and Fallow…we believe it was integral to their success.”

  “The framework was used to filter out weak candidates, correct?” the Director asked blankly.

  The doctor nodded. “That is correct, ma’am.”

  “What do you think will happen if an inferior candidate receives the virus?”

  “Fallow’s notes…mention only those with the strongest mental and physical constitutions will survive the change…intact.”

  “The rest will die?” the Director pressed.

  “That or…change.”

  “No matter. The tests would kill them anyway. And what about the immuno…the immunoresponse?” Her tongue tripped over the last word, but the doctor wisely ignored it.

  “From their notes, we believe Halt and his team were able to correct the flaw in the virus, before…before they were attacked. This is the last strain they were working on. From what we can tell of its genetic structure, it should be undetectable to the host’s immune system.”

  “Excellent.” The Director clapped and nodded to the first cell. “Shall we proceed then?”

  Still the doctor hesitated. “Will your guards be assisting us?” he asked. Other than the Director and her personal guards, they were alone.

  The Director laughed. “They’re too well-paid for that.” She looked at Chris and Ashley. “My dears, would you be so good as to help the doctors prepare you
r soon-to-be brethren?”

  Ice spread through Chris’s veins. The four occupants of the first cell stood watching him. Three sported the sun-kissed tans of the rural population, while the fourth had the pale complexion of an urbanite. Each wore a steel collar clasped tightly around their neck.

  Looking at them, Chris remembered being the one locked up, waiting with Sam and Ashley and Liz as the doctors made their inexorable way through the prison block. He recalled the screams, the agony as a syringe injected the fateful virus and changed his life forever.

  Ashley still hadn’t moved. He could hear her breathing growing shallow, could see the trembling in her fists as she looked at the Director. She was just seconds away from doing something reckless, something that would see them both punished.

  Swallowing his memories, Chris approached the cell. Behind the bars, the children retreated from his masked figure. They stumbled over one another in their haste to get away, until they stood between the two sets of bunk beds.

  There was nowhere for them to go from there, no escaping their fate.

  He glanced at the Director, and she reached down to touch her watch. A buzzer sounded somewhere above the door as the steel bars rattled open. Inside, the four teenagers flinched.

  “Chris, don’t,” Ashley called as he made to step inside.

  The pain in her voice froze Chris in place. Bowing his head, he weighed his options. He could still choose to fight, to turn and throw himself at the Director and her doctors. But he knew where that choice led. The collar would drop him before he could take two steps. Then he would spend the night writhing in agony, unable to sleep, to rest, to think. The pain had almost driven him mad the last time.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ash,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  There was no saving these teenagers—just like there had been no saving the students back at the university. Unbidden, the scene played out again in his mind. He heard again the click of the collar as it fastened around his neck, saw the smile that spread across the Director’s face. The roar of machine guns had followed as the soldiers turned on the helpless students.