Page 12 of Once Upon an Apocalypse

“I do apologize for the way my men treated you and your companion. Sometimes they must act according to how they are treated and since the boy you were with attacked without warning–”

“Is Jonah okay?” I interrupt, anxious to know if he is alive.

That smile of his turns vicious for a second before resuming its charming position. “Jonah. Very good to put a name to his face. And may I have the honor of knowing yours?”

Shit. I shouldn’t have said his name.They will probably use it against him. Against us. I shouldn’t tell him my name, but it feels like a betrayal to give up Jonah’s name and not be willing to betray my own.

“Laurel,” I whisper loud enough for the doctor to hear.

“Very nice to meet you, Laurel. I am Dr. Tuwile, but you can call me Gabriel if you’d like.” He smiles brightly at our introductions as if he has won me over. So I let him think I feel safe and offer a shy smile back to him.

“So now that you know how you got here, I will tell you where you are. This is Novus Seclorum. It is a safe haven for those who are looking to start anew and create a new generation of humans. All who enter are required to make a sacrifice for the greater good in order to remain here. Since you were unconscious, your sacrifice was chosen for you. Well, your DNA chose for you, I should say.”

My heart pounds in my ears as terror takes hold. This is a cult. This is a freaking cult.Jonah. Where is he? Please be okay.Tears leak from my eyes as my head pounds from the sound of my hammering heart. I need Dr. Tuwile to tell me the rest, to tell me what my sacrifice is. Yet, I don’t think I’m ready to hear it.

“Your genetics meet a certain criterion for a mutation I have been attempting on humans. One that will make us immune to the virus running rampant all over the world. If your body accepts the mutation, you will live. However, if your body rejects it, then you will die and become a monster.”

The frequency of the heart monitor beeps quickens as a sharp pain shoots down my spine. A scream releases from the depths of my soul at the pain and anger that boils under my skin.

“I know this is a terrifying idea, but I believe you are the missing part we have been searching for these last few months.”

Something I’m sure he’s said to every other lab rat he’s kidnapped into captivity. I scream at him, my anger coursing through my veins, making me feel stronger. I use it, every ounce of strength until I hear the velcro on my restraints loosen. Before I can try again, Dr. Tuwile adds something to my IV drip. The strength I felt a moment ago disappears, leaving me limp and immobile. I’m so tired.

As my eyes flutter shut, I hear Dr. Tuwile say, “Keep her sedated. I think it’s working.”

My dad, a hero, the bravest and kindest man I’ve ever known. I’ve relived the night of his death over and over again since losing him. He died how he lived, protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. I was eight years old when he got the call. We were out celebrating Hayden’s tenth birthday, so we all hopped in the car and drove over to the fire station.

Mom drove Hayden and me home, but we couldn’t sleep. We never slept when dad got called to a fire, car accident, whatever required his skills as a trained firefighter. This call was for a domestic. A man set fire to his house after arguing with his wife. His kids were inside with his wife, but all he did was sit in his front yard and watch the house go up in flames as he drank himself into oblivion.

The three of us sat quietly at home, but after an hour of waiting, my mom couldn’t take it anymore. It became a routine of ours to remain calm at home and wait for dad to get back. But Mom would always cave and drive us to the scene, putting together some snacks for Hayden and me as well as for the responders before heading out. That night, she made two dozen salami and cheese sandwiches and brought along a big carton of Goldfish.

The fire was nearly out when the three of us arrived, pulling up behind the emergency vehicles. Mom told us to stay in the car, but we never would. As soon as she disappeared around the ambulance in front of our car, Hayden and I hopped out. We stayed on the sidewalk a safe distance away from the scene. Far enough that we couldn’t see anything that was going on, but close enough to hear.

A few minutes passed by and the controlled fire burst into flames again. Shouts echoed around the cul-de-sac neighborhood and I swore I heard my dad’s voice in all the chaos. Three loud bangs sounded close-by and that’s when Hayden wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back to the car. But I was a statue. My mom’s wailing came next, screaming for my dad.

I just stood there, staring at nothing, unable to see the scene, but I could hear all of it. I could hear the agony in my mom’s voice, willing my dad to stay alive. I could hear the shouts from the bastard who shot my dad, threatening to keep shooting if anyone else attempted to save his family. And I heard the final shot that came from Officer Boggan’s gun, putting the insane bastard down.

This memory is one of the flashes of my life that has kept cycling through my mind while stuck in a constant state of sleep for days, weeks, maybe months. I’m only granted small moments of lucidness when my consciousness wins its battle against the drugs I’ve been given. I have no idea how much time has passed by, if any time has passed by. It is like I have become a non-corporeal being, shifting between dimensions of non-existence. I am nowhere, yet everywhere all at once.

Sometimes I can hear the doctor’s voice, other times I hear the voices of more strangers. And once, I thought I heard Jonah. Perhaps that was a dream. It is difficult to recall reality from the nightmares I get trapped in or the moments of awareness from the dreams I want to stay in.

It is an endless cycle that begins with a searing fire in my veins and ends with a flash of clarity. I am left with nothing of myself. I feel like I’m slipping away. Falling into an abyss I will never fully wake from. Yet I hold on. I remember. Jonah. Hayden. Sarah. My mom and dad. Jenni. Elice. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg. Even Jake and Lexi. I remember the names of the people in my life. A life I will never get back. A life I want to keep in my memory.

I fight the pain. I fight the blackness. I fight to remember who I am.

And I hope Jonah is fighting too. I hope we will find each other again, somehow. I cannot accept that this is the end for me, for us. I know the world outside holds no hope for a future, yet I still want to live.

As I blink my eyes open to the dim lights of my dank prison, I feel the pressure of fluid enter my veins. Yet my veins do not burn this time. I no longer feel the searing pain that follows. I welcome a new sensation. Cold. My skin comes alive with goosebumps and I shiver as if I am trapped in the arctic without proper attire. Perhaps this means my torment is over. Or maybe it’s just begun.

Chapter 8

I’mjoltedawakebythe sound of an alarm. Like a siren. As it continues to ring, I take in my surroundings quickly. My body feels light without the pressure of restraints. But I don’t feel free. The room—no cell—I’m in has no doors or windows. Though the ceilings are tall, it’s basically a big cement box.

There are five other people in the cell with me. All of us are wearing the same gray clothing, like a uniform. Loose fitted joggers and nondescript t-shirts. I can only describe the ensemble as gray prison garb. At least they are sort of comfortable. No shoes though. All of us are barefoot.

As my fellow inmates come to full attention from the sound of the alarm, I inspect them closely. Two men and one little boy. One woman. One little girl. Two genders from three different age groups. This has to be an experiment.

I try to recall what Dr. Devil Eyes said to me when we first met. Well, that was the only time we actually met, as he had me in a medically induced coma for an unknown amount of time. I must have been strapped to that bed for weeks. Or maybe it could have only been a few days. I honestly don’t know. My body feels strong though when it should feel weak.

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