Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

              “I’m sorry, Sam,” I whisper, a bottomless pit expanding in my gut. I may not have cared about her as much as she wanted me to, but I never desired to hurt her. Or anyone. It is at times like these when I wish I was normal.
Super powers? Sounds awesome!
Until met with the calamitous consequences.

              I wait for the guards to file outside. The night is cool and electric in the aftermath of a thunderstorm. Several black Navigators idle in the curved driveway, their headlights searing my retinas. Leaves rustle in the sky-scraping poplar trees lining either side of the freshly-mowed lawn. The air smells like wet mud, metal, and gasoline.

              “Place him in the back with the others.” They are leading me to a large black truck parked on the side of the road.

              “How much do they pay you?” I inquire, lazily placing one foot in front of the other.

              Obviously, they ignore me. I shrug.

              “Whatever the amount, it isn’t enough.” And I punctuate the statement with an elbow in the nearest helmet, cracking the visor and sending its wearer to the ground. Immediately, shots are fired. I dodge possible hits by crouching to the wet grass, and snatch the head of another victim, flinging the helmet thirty feet. “Fire again, and this man dies!” This time, I am not joking. A twitch of my pinky can snap this guy’s spine in half.

              Doctor B calmly instructs his men to lower their weapons. “We don’t want to kill you, Juan. Not anymore. We just want to talk.”

              Wow. That was unexpected. I almost keel over in a fit of laughter. “Please enlighten me before I crush this man’s skull.” I begin squeezing his temples gently, and he screams, flailing and gripping my wrists in a feeble attempt to pry my hands away.

              B nods. “All right.” He takes a breath. “We need you to bring Kandi back to us.”

              The crickets cease chirping. The leaves cease rustling. The world stops turning. “What?”

              He raises his hands like a white flag. “Kandi has escaped the facility with another patient, a little girl. We need your help to locate and detain her before she inflicts harm on anyone.”

              “Why the
hell
would you need
me
when two months ago you nearly
killed
me?” The man cries out again when I apply more pressure to his cranium.

              “You are the only Patient left who is strong enough to face her.” He glances left. “And we believe she might trust you more than anyone else at this point.” His eyes return to me.

              “And if we never find her? Or I fail to subdue her? What then? You plan to kill me
again
?”

              B grimaces. “We’ll figure something out, Juan. Now, please. Put the man down.”

              I start weighing my options – I have never murdered in cold blood. Should I kill him to make a point? Would that do any good? Killing him would anger B. He would order my assassination without hesitation. What if I just...

              I smack him upside the head, and he collapses unmoving on the ground. I will find Kandi without the “help” of the Doctors. “I am not an instrument for you to meddle with,” I seethe. Guards assemble behind me. I pull my wrists against the manacles, and they fall soundlessly on the lawn. “Go ahead and fight me!” I shout for the entire neighborhood to hear. “Tonight, I am free!”

              Doctor B appears disappointed and angry. “Shoot him.”

              I sprint toward him in a flash and twist his head hard enough to sever it. He drops like a rock. I use his body as a shield during the gunfire, gunning straight for the trees, heart pounding in my throat. I run faster than I ever thought I could, my super strength seemingly equating to super speed. I don’t feel the ground beneath my feet, or the air in my face. I am flying, and no one can stop me. I pass the trees and tear through the open field behind Ned’s house.

              I will never again see Sam, Isaac, or Ned. I will never ride their horses, or sweep their store, or eat their delicious homegrown food.

              All I must focus on now is finding Kandi before Doctor L. I cannot fathom what they would do to her if they found her first.

***

The Room

              June 23, 2017

                           
“I need to save her.” I kneel reverently
beside the Patient on the ground, rain dumping relentlessly upon my head. I summon the knife from Uncle Jim’s chest and hold it to my neck.

              “You are willing to bleed yourself for a girl whose name you never learned?” Dad chortles quietly. “Let her go. She is a mere human child. You shan’t undo the sacrifice, or James walks free.”

              I gaze down upon the little female’s sallow corpse. Her skin is ashen, save for the clean slice across her jugular – so red it shines its own light. My hand is shaking. I press the knife into my neck, drawing the first drops of blood.

              “How can you be sure she is rectifiable, Kandi? Shall you bleed for nothing?”

              “To bleed for
you
would be for nothing,” I tell him sourly.

              “You know how this will end.”

              I glare in the direction of the oak tree. I am tired of his voice. “Try to stop me, Dad.”

              He laughs. “I won’t need to, sweetie. You don’t possess the recklessness to save an innocent child. You don’t even have the nerve to save yourself.” He ventures a few steps closer. “So go ahead. Cut your own throat. I will remain
right
here to pick you up when you fall.”

              She never should have died in the first place. This is my fault. If I endeavor to resurrect her, I will be rendered completely vulnerable in the process. Bringing the Patient back would break the sacrificial code, thereby reviving Jim with her. She would be killed all over again, and Jim would have his way with me while I lay healing.

              So I make the most foreseeable move in the world: I turn and hurl the knife in Dad’s path. It halts an inch from his invisible third eye. He grins, his flawless teeth glowing in the darkness, and tosses the knife over his shoulder. “You remind me of your mother. So temperamental and predictable.”

              Somehow I can sense he is not talking about my adopted mother, Talia, though he has never mentioned my birth mother before, except to tell me Talia was not.

              I cast my eyes back to Patient 100, grief and guilt shredding whatever humanity I may have gleaned from this world. “I will willingly submit to you if her body is returned to her parents.” I stare at him. “You must swear to me.”

              Dad’s expression cools. “I swear, Kanidie.”

***

              My next conscious moment dawns in a large bed encompassed by a beige silken sheet and comforter. I survey my new surroundings, surprised that he didn’t lock me in a dungeon with rats and dripping cracks in the ceiling. Instead, he placed me in a basement with carpet, a bed, basic furniture such as a couch and a small end table with a lamp, and a wide-screen television. There are no windows, but the room is spacious enough to compensate.

              I run my hands over the sheets and lie spread-eagle for a few minutes. I hear nothing upstairs – no creaks, voices, or footsteps – so I assume I am temporarily isolated, wherever I am.

              I rise from the bed and explore, first dressing in a silky nightgown left on the edge of the bed, then opening the door under the stairs to discover a toilet, sink, and shower. After closing that door, I tiptoe upstairs to test the exit. A single jiggle of the knob tells me that my father not only locked it, but sealed it with his blood. Brilliant.

              With nothing left to do, I locate the remote beneath the lamp and turn on the TV. I flip through several uninteresting channels until I arrive at the local news, by which time I am forced to sit through ten thousand commercials before I can listen to what I want. I am curious to see if the Blue Skys fire will be reported, or if the government has effaced it from existence.

              The anchor recounts a politician’s controversial actions, a college student suicide, and the birthday of some celebrity before broaching the topic I seek.

              “We will discuss the event after these messages.”

              More commercials. Return to program. Five minute summary of previous three stories. And....
now
Blue Skys. Finally.

              “A deadly explosion occurred off 1
st
Westerson Street last night. Paramedics and firefighters are unable to approach the fire due to toxic effluvium and the inextinguishable nature of this mysterious black flame. An estimated fifty-seven people have been killed, with thirty left critically injured. The death toll is expected to rise, as the injuries are untouchable... and untreatable.

              “Meanwhile, the widely-dubbed Coma Contagion continues to spread, with eight million children and adults suffering worldwide and a seventy percent death rate with currently no cure on the horizon. Further investigation indicates the disease originated right here in Utah, in our reservoirs, which has assisted in its rapid dispersion over the United States and ultimately the entire world. Some believe it was created as a form of biological warfare; others deem it the scourge of God and a sign of His judgment. While doctors are unsure of its exact origin, they do know it is highly contagious, and symptoms may include dizziness, hallucinations, and paranoia, before the infected fall into a coma. The coma is guaranteed, and chance of survival is estimated at around thirty percent. To avoid infection, doctors
urge
you to drink bottled water, stay away from those who exhibit the symptoms, and...”

              I turn off the TV. I would rather stare at a wall than listen to any more. I know this is not a sign of the Apocalypse. No, this is much, much worse. Worse than anything humans could devise.

              This was my father’s plan in the beginning. I had no idea until now that he had succeeded.

              “
You underestimate me, Kandi
.
”
He is speaking Gídnei,
[2]
his native tongue. He must mean business.

              I smell bacon. I watch my father descend the stairs with a tray of breakfast, already frothing at the sight of real food. I don’t wait for him to bring it to me – opting rather to summon it through the air to my lap.

              Dad smiles, a gleam of pride in his luminescent eyes.

              I cram three pieces of bacon into my mouth at a time, unable to control my appetite. I don’t care if this is my last meal.

              “
It isn’t your last meal, of course
.” He rests his back against the wall beside the television and crosses his arms and legs. “
Things are different now, Kandi. No more experiments, no more drugs, no more lies. This is where I shall keep you safe until Time has come
.”

              So the childhood experiments were not for nothing. That’s good news. The 110 Patients at Blue Skys (one third of the 330 total Patients) foreshadow that approximately a third of the world’s population will survive the pandemic. I gulp some orange juice to wash down the food. “
How long
?” I ask.

              “
Not long. The Zidivin will spread quickly. Soon after Leyla acquires your blood for the cure and people begin to change, we should be gone
.”

              Suddenly I am fighting to keep my food down. “
How can you be sure
?”

              “Because I feel them.”

             
Dad shook me awake in the middle of a Thursday night, his finger to his lips. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

              I blinked groggily and glanced at Trace in the adjacent bed. “When can we go home?”

              “Soon. Now come on.” He scooped me from my bed and held me close. I wrapped my arms around his neck and inhaled his natural, unhuman scent. The nightlight in the hallway cast eerie shadows along the walls. With a little concentration, I could hear Mom’s steady respiration as she slept alone in her bedroom, and Traci’s subtle snores as she dreamed.

              Their sounds faded as Dad took me into the secret room beneath the shed in the backyard. Leyla was already there, as usual, and three unclothed individuals lied sedated and leather-bound to stainless steel gurneys. She greeted Dad with a peck as he dismounted the ladder.

              “You ready, Jer?” she inquired, full lips curving.

              He nodded and turned to me. “Take off your jammies and hop on the table, Kandi.” I obeyed him without a second thought; I was more terrified of punishment for disobedience than of grotesque experimentation, if that was possible.

              Leyla lifted me onto the fourth gurney, and the cold metal immediately shocked my bare skin. I shivered as she tightened leather straps around my wrists and ankles.

              “We have attempted just about every plausible method,” Leyla remarked. “What else is there?”

              “We have yet to try decapitation,” Dad stated.

              “You can’t be serious.”

              His lips quirked. “She will live, Leyla. The question is, will they?” He gestured to the man, woman, and child to my right. “We must know for certain.”

              Leyla smudged her forehead. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.” She walked to the weapon rack and removed an ax, then returned to my side. “Lie still, Kandi.” My eyes watered as I focused on the blade. “Ready, Jeremy?”

              “Daddy?” I whimpered, sparks crackling at my fingertips. Tears of anguish and mortification rolled down both temples.

              “It’s okay, sweetie. Stay completely still and you will be all right.”

              I nodded and clamped my eyes and lips shut as tightly as I could. I heard three swings and crunches before my lights went out.

              For the umpteenth time I regained consciousness on the frigid table, blood leaking out of every orifice, including my eyes and mouth. Dad appeared with a bucket of water and dumped it over my head while Leyla patted me with a towel.

              “You did it, sweetie,” he said, grinning excitedly. “They lived.”

              Tears of blood stained my vision. I lifted my arms. “Daddy,” I cried, ready for this to be over, for me to never regain consciousness again. I was only ten years old and already prepared to end my own life.

              When I returned to my bedroom fully healed at dawn, seven-year-old Traci opened her eyes and raised her head. “I had a dream of a ship,” she told me sleepily. “It was a big ship, and it could fly.”

              “Like Captain Hook’s ship?” I asked, yawning and crawling into bed.

              “No, like a spaceship.”

              My eyebrows knitted. “What happened on the ship?”

              “Lots of things,” she said. “I couldn’t see much because it was dark, but they could see.”

              “Who?”

              “The Edinön.”
[3]
 

              “Trace, who told you about the Edinön?”

              Her pigtails wagged as she shook her head. “No one. I saw them. They had Daddy’s eyes.”

              “You can’t tell anyone else about your dream, okay?” I said, panicked. “Not even Mom. This will be our secret.”

              “Why?”

              “Because it is pretend. The Edinön aren’t real.”

              Traci laughed. “I know. It was a dream.”

             
I lied on my back.
Please don’t tell anyone
, I mentally commanded her
. If Dad finds out...

              Oftentimes I wonder if I could have stopped my father years ago. I am aware there was a grander purpose to the frequent cruciation to which he subjected me, but I can’t help but concede that the memories of those nights has impaired me. His knife whittled me to a husk of broken powers and shattered will. I believe that is why he never sedated me before the procedures. He wanted me to remember the pain so I could never inflict it upon others – or myself, even if I could save a life. The trouble is, how can I fight this? I can’t forget what he has done or ignore what he is about to accomplish. Without some higher power, how am I supposed to muster the resolve to stop my father as Mom wanted? How can I “live up to my full potential” when I am paralyzed by my own shadow?

              Instinct tells me I should give up and acknowledge that Dad won. He has succeeded in breeding the “coma parasite”– pure liquid death – and has already infected millions. Within a few months, the entire world will be either dead or...
different
. The Zidivin is out. There is no stopping it.

              But my mother was a wise woman. She may have known me better than I know myself. I wish I could talk to her now. I wish she was here to help me figure this out.