REBIRTH
Shaun Eyles
© 2012 by Shaun Eyles
Smashwords edition
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ISBN: 978-0-9872762-0-9
PROLOGUE
Her mother had labeled her curious. Her father often called her his little genius because she took after him with her thirst for knowledge. Her mother had been content to flow through life a dreamer, to not create a little pocket of her own. That happened when you were happy being average. Lucy never wanted to be average. Her father had created something of his own, which he hid in the big building. She had been warned to never enter, under any circumstance. Warnings made Lucy more curious. They had lived in the facility near on two months and she watched as the big buildings arrived in pieces for assembly. During that time, her father had been hard at work underground. She thought it silly that the locals in the town below were only told two weeks ago that the research station had opened. Grown-ups like to keep secrets for the silliest reasons.
Late at night, when her father thought her asleep, Lucy often peeked through the curtains across her bedroom window. She hoped to spy a late night truck arrival or departure, perhaps delivering something for her father. Once or twice she had even crept like a cat out of the small house and through the dark to garner a closer look at the building. Tonight she had decided to sneak down before darkness fell.
Earlier, that afternoon, she had overheard her father speaking on the telephone to the big boss man who gave him orders to follow. The big boss man never visited the facility. She had the feeling he was powerful and dangerous like the villains in the James Bond movies her mother had loved to watch. If he ever visited, she planned to escape into the woods until it was safe to return. By chance she had discovered a small gap in the fence in the far corner of the grounds soon after they arrived that would serve as an escape route if the time ever came. Her father’s excitement on the telephone caught her attention and she listened intently. When he finished the call he noticed she had crept into the room with her favorite dolls, but believed her too busy playing to have taken any interest in the conversation.
The evening had already started to chill the air outside. Lucy knew it would be one of those cold nights that made her want to curl up like a kitten in her bed. Many of the workers started to leave, her father not among them. Sometimes he told people to leave hours before he would return home. Holding her breath, she stood and dashed towards the big building. She had memorized the combination to key into the building. The binoculars given to her last Christmas had proved their worth.
Once through the door, she eased it closed behind her until she heard it click. The large room shimmered with a strange blue light. For a moment she stood still, like a statue, and watched the light wash over the room. Looking down, she noticed how it danced on her clothes and skin. It made her think of Smurfs. She giggled and then cupped her hands over her mouth. This was no time to play the silly little girl. If her father caught her standing in the room like a stunned bird, she would be in mega trouble.
A steel machine stood in the center of the room and supported a large glass container filled with blue liquid. It spun like the water in a washing machine, though without the bubbles made by the detergent. The lights from the room cast through it, flickering weak sparks in the air. Lucy felt as if she had walked into another world. This would be what magic looked like, if she believed it were real. The lights rated high on her all-time list of the most amazing things she had ever seen.
“I told you that it needed more time,” a man said and appeared from out of a hiding place at the rear of the room.
Lucy hid in the small space beneath a metal desk, hoping the man would not walk over and sit down.
“They want to see results now,” that was her father’s voice.
He spoke in his angry voice. The last time she had heard him speak like that was when he had caught her sneaking cookies from the delivery truck last week. He refused to accept her excuse they were for her dolls. Fathers did not understand dolls sometimes. She closed her eyes tight, repeating in her mind that she would be fine. They wouldn’t find her here.
“The only results they’re going to get now won’t mean anything,” the first man said. “It’s just not ready and it’s too unstable.”
“We still have time to perfect it. They just need to see that we’ve revived what they wanted. They want to know that the solution will work.”
Footsteps stepped further into the room and stopped. She did not dare leave her hiding place and look over the top of the desk. She could be brave, but she was not stupid. For a moment Lucy wished that she had brought her doll with her, the chided herself for being such a baby. Being brave meant not being a stupid baby.
The voices dropped and continued in tones too low for her to understand what they said. Suddenly, there burst a noise that hissed and burred at the same time. Lucy jumped and banged her head on the underside of the desk. As she rubbed her head and fought back tears, the concrete floor beneath her vibrated gently, then with more ferocity. The burring sound grew in intensity. It sounded like the lawn mower when her father had run over the doll she had left on the lawn. When he managed to free her, she had been beyond saving.
“Can you turn it off?” her father yelled above the noise.
She covered her ears with her hands to stop her head from hurting. At that moment, being caught in the room did not seem such a big deal. She wanted to run to her father for safety.
“I think so, it just needs to-“
A loud explosion shook the building, cutting off the man’s response. The sound of exploding glass bounced from wall to wall and cut through her to the bone. Lucy screamed and covered her head with her arms, pressing further in the space beneath the desk. A man screamed. Only once had she heard a man scream like that, in the horror movie she secretly watched a few months ago. She heard wet popping noises, followed by the sound of water falling onto the floor in a torrent. She jumped again as pieces of glass showered the top of the steel desk like hail stones. Fragments of glass bounced from the wall, landing near her feet.
When the glass shower stopped, silence filled the room. After counting to sixty, Lucy peeked over the top of the desk. The machine in the center of the room had been blown apart. Large shards of glass that pointed like jagged rocks from the metal base were all that remained of the glass vessel. Shard of glass littered the concrete floor. Where was her father? He had to be in the room. She took a step into the room, glass crunching underfoot. A shape lay on the concrete floor. She moved closer and saw the telltale sign of a white uniform. Crying out, she ran towards the white clad figure that lay mere meters from the ruined machine, ignoring the crunching of glass underfoot and the caustic smell of the blue liquid. Her father’s body had been peppered by the exploding glass. Blue tinged fragments stuck out like porcupine quills from his exposed flesh and white uniform. She knelt by his body, tears coursing down her face. She wanted to touch his body, to hug him. Maybe that would bring him back to life.
Strong arms lifted her out of the blue liquid and away from her father’s body. Struggling against the grip, her arms reached out to grab his red and blue stained coat, but only grasped the chilled air of the laboratory. The strong hands passed her to another person, this one gentler. Carried from the laboratory into the cold woodland air, a voice told her not to move. She nodded and watched as they closed the laboratory door, sealing her father in a windowless tomb. Looking at the ground, she felt tears fall down her cheeks. Blue liquid soaked through her pants and shoes and brushed upon her skin, tingling and warm like a bubble bath. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rocked back and forth on the asphalt as the warmth flowed through her.
CHAPTER ONE
Spring often came slowly to Lower Brennan, this year being no exception. Cool mountain air funneled down and engulfed the town, reminding the small population how weak they were against nature’s will. One of the harshest winters in memory had finally thrown down the gauntlet and the summer, predicted to be short this year, patiently waited in the wings. Spring gradually defrosted your body, allowing blood to trickle through your veins. The brief warmth was only a tease. Before long, you dragged out the much loved thick coats and pulled woolen beanies over your ears.
David had prepared for the cold. Dropping the backpack to the cold forest floor, he shot the zip across and yanked out his winter coat. Tonight would not be a night for a forced retreat home. Coat zipped, he pushed a flashlight into the front right pocket and checked his watch. Simon was, against all expectations, already twenty minutes late. In their fifteen year friendship Simon had always arrived on time, to a fault. David often felt the urge to tamper with Simon’s watch, just to see what would eventuate, yet the idea seemed pointless. Simon’s biological clock would simply take over and override the time on the watch. Still, the idea still appealed. You could not devote your life to science fiction without being warped by it to some degree.
After waiting another ten minutes, as earlier agreed, he shouldered the backpack and continued along the track through the eastern woods. Locals called the eastern section The Black Woods, after the legend of the three witches said to have resided near Lower Brennan approximately a hundred and fifty years ago. Parents used the tale of the three witches to traumatize children during Halloween, or to prevent them from exploring the woods in the dark. David had no fear of the woods. Both he and Simon had braved them many times at night. Once, they had hiked to the opening of the Lost Caves, yet lacked the courage to enter its depths. The return trip had taken hours, from sneaking out of the house before breakfast to sneaking back after dusk. The two week grounding had been well worth the trip. This time the destination lay closer to home, just to the fence line of the new complex.
During the final period of school, Simon had scribbled on his notebook about his plan to check out the new complex. Construction had finished two weeks earlier, and the center opened at the beginning of the week. Locals branded the development, The Complex. David found the name rather unimaginative. A few locals had found employment there. Outsiders filled most of the high-level positions, some preferring to live on The Complex grounds, while others moved into Lower Brennan and tried to mingle with the locals. Simon’s mother had been employed as a cleaner. Upon discovering that she had signed pages of confidentiality agreements, just to clean a few buildings, Simon knew he had to investigate.
Very little detail had been made public about who built The Complex, or its purpose. Local journalists, if you used the term loosely, attempted to interview workers both high and low on the food chain without success. The usual small town gossip and rumor mill that started over all things new tried to fill in the gaps. His father vehemently believed it to be a government research station of the kind that tested new communication technology or something as equally boring. His mother made care to nod at the right times to show agreement. Later, David heard her confess over the telephone to Aunt Jeanette that she believed if it indeed were government run it would be used for something they did not want exposed, taking into account the considerable effort to build in a remote location such as Little Brennan. If he had realized just how close his mother came to revealing the truth, he may not have continued on alone.
Simon’s offer of night-time espionage could not be refused, and David now crept alone towards the high cyclone fence that bordered the southern section of The Complex. Not for the first time he wished his mother would stop buying him winter coats in bright colors. If he were not so disinterested in fashion he would have started to select his own clothes. Maybe being seventeen years of age meant insisting on a few changes in his life, the first being no more jackets in blinding colors. Even in patches of high undergrowth he worried that the orange material would be easily visible. If a passenger jet flew overhead at that very moment, people looking out the window would ponder over what large object glowed in the woods through the branches of pine, oak and birch. Spies in the movies never crept through the darkness wearing bright colors. They were clever enough to don black clothes and paint their faces to match. Mind you, they also had years of training and lived without parents who would interrogate them for leaving the house wearing black face paint.
Dropping to the ground at the edge of the undergrowth, he crawled the remaining few feet to the fence with backpack in tow. Visions of what he might see raced through his mind. Men, armed with machine guns, patrolling the grounds with large dogs that salivated over fantasies of devouring a teenager with tender flesh and juicy bones. Towers capped with huge spotlights manned by precision perfect snipers. Men in white coats rushing from one building to another, brief cases clogged with unlabeled vials and secret documents. Staring at the fence, now a mere arms lengths away, he paused a moment. At first glance it had not been twenty feet high and covered in wicked metal spikes. Nor did fences move closer and further away, over and over, with dizzying speed. His lungs froze and he scrunched his eyes tight. Fear threatened to suffocate him as it dawned on him how close he had come to The Complex, alone. The sensible decision would be to turn around and return in daylight, after the fence had returned to its natural state. With Simon here it would have been different. He would not feel afraid. Simon was always the brave one, the leader of the pair.
Breath exploded from his lungs in a rush of sound. Clamping trembling hands across his mouth, David’s body went rigid like a startled puppy. With luck, the sound would not have travelled far. Eyes snapping open, he fervently scanned the area ahead as thoroughly as possible without moving. No footsteps from armed men or the barking of flesh eating dogs. Nothing moved or rustled in the trees. Relieved, he laid his hands flat against the cold earth until the shaking stopped. Nobody had ever warned him that night surveillance could be so nerve wracking. Then again, they did not teach this sort of thing at school and it probably received little mention in the parenting books that now seemed all the rage. Heart no longer thumping, he reached into his backpack and, with care not to make a sound, removed a pair of binoculars. He flattened the now empty backpack and pushed it aside, planning to retrieve it on the return trip. Excitement pumped fresh adrenaline through his veins, silencing earlier fears. The butterflies that had earlier wanted to rip open his stomach, like wildflower seeds bursting in a gust of wind, settled down to a tickle. Whatever lay beyond the fence line promised to be extraordinary, he just knew it. Simon would die from envy when he heard of the things seen tonight.
David peered over the edge of the ridge and sighed with disappointment at the banality before him. Toward the center of the grounds stood four square buildings surrounded by stark concrete pavement. The smooth grey walls of the structures were interrupted by high windows that emitted faint light from within. He scanned the buildings with the binoculars, in hope to see through the windows, and clicked his tongue in exasperation. All he could see were light and what he guessed were either the interior walls or ceiling. This could not be what he had risked life and limb for, four ordinary buildings that would without question blend in with the buildings at his school. He would have rolled his eyes skyward if somebody else were there to notice.
In the southeast corner a group of smaller buildings, the size of small houses or units, had been constructed. He studied them for a few minutes, hoping that mysterious men in white coats would be seen leaving with metal cases like those he had seen on television. All he could make out were small gardens and lawns. Maybe all the interesting stuff happened underground, like where they hide all the UFOs in Roswell. He hoped so, or it meant a lot of trouble getting here for nothing. With lifted spirits, David trained the binoculars to the western fence line, where a large park had been created. Through the dim light he made out the climbing equipment and swing set of a playground near what he figured were barbeques. Evidence children lived at The Complex. Either they moved here with their parents or were the subjects of government testing. If there were any his age they could end up attending school here. Children with mutant powers could be at his school right now! Maybe he could bribe them to take down the bullies that tormented him and Simon on a daily basis. He made a mental note to investigate any new students after the weekend.
Lack of guards boosted his confidence to the point where he felt certain he could at least snatch a glimpse inside some of the houses and the four central buildings. Breaching the perimeter remained the immediate problem. Secret complexes were always surrounded by electric fences, or so television would have him believe. The only way he knew how to test the fence involved touching it and hoping for the best. Surely the shock would not be enough to kill, but it could stun or cause pain. A great deal of pain! Not being a huge fan of pain, he wondered if he could gather the courage to go through with it. The very idea of admitting his cowardice to Simon provided all the motivation he needed. Before sudden bravery inevitably gave way to cowardice, he closed his eyes and grasped the wires. Nothing happened. In hindsight, clutching a possibly electrified fence would not have been the best option. With a Cheshire cat grin, he pumped the air with his fist and wanted to call out “whoohoo”, but stopped before he made a stupid and loud noise. One step closer, yet he still needed to get through the fence.
Feeling brave enough to use the small flashlight, he directed the beam at the base of the fence. Even without an indication of guards being present, the noise of his climbing the fence still seemed risky. The only way he saw into the grounds involved burrowing underneath the fence. Setting the flashlight between his teeth, he grabbed the fence with both hands and pulled. He let go before causing himself an internal injury. The mesh had been attached to something buried underground and the wires were too thick to break. As committing trespass had not been part of the original plan he had not considered packing wire cutters, and quickly rejected the idea of digging a hole without a shovel. Maybe if he had joined the scouts when his father insisted he would have been prepared for committing trespass. Did they award a merit badge for that? If they did, it would be up there with the badge you earned for hotwiring cars.
By his watch an hour had passed since setting off from home. That gave him another hour tops before he had to head back. Being a Friday night he could extend his curfew, though his parents would panic if he stayed out too late. Sometimes they forgot he was no longer a child. Quick decisions were needed. Simon always made the decisions. Left to himself, David procrastinated for hours and then still wondered what to do.
“Okay think numbskull,” he thought out loud. “Right. Time to check along one side, and if that doesn’t work we’ll both come back tomorrow and watch the place in action.”
The safest side to explore backed onto the park, as it appeared the furthest from any structures. Crouching close to the ground, he headed towards the west side of The Complex at a quick trot and then paused at the corner of the property and scanned the buildings with his binoculars. It was just an excuse to catch his breath, although he would never admit how nervousness had almost caused him to hyperventilate. Lamp posts were planted along what he assumed were walkways, with more circling the buildings and the edge of the park. They emitted enough light for him to verify there were no guards patrolling the grounds. Tucking the binoculars beneath his jacket, he crouched once more and followed the fence line northward, the narrow torch beam scanning the base of the fence in hope of finding a way in.
The sound of a branch snapping cracked through the quiet. David fumbled the torch and managed to hit the off switch before it slipped from his fingers and shoved it in his jacket pocket. With held breath, he crouched until he felt safely covered in shadow. Well, as safe as one could be while looking like a giant citrus fruit.
Another branch snapped, this time further away from him and nearer the forests edge. A stout shrub shook in the dim light. For the first time David not only realized that the sunlight had almost vanished, he also realized his urgency to find a bathroom. There were plenty of trees to hide behind, but that involved moving through dwindling light with something unknown and quite likely dangerous up ahead. Trying to ignore his bladder, he hoped the clouds would not build tonight as they were known to do during cold spring weather. A full moon had not been predicted, yet with a clear night even a quarter moon should cast enough light to be of some use. With only the outline of the shrub visible, it was unmistakable that something hid amongst the branches. According to local legend, spring had been when the three witches hunted through the woods and here he crouched, trying to hide in an orange jacket that glowed in the dark like a huge neon sign advertising fresh teenage cutlets and juicy shanks.
The shrub shook again and he sunk lower to the ground. Whatever shook the shrub seemed either pissed off or deeply disturbed. He considered the chance of outrunning whatever waited for him up ahead. Given his unremarkable track record at running events, he doubted he would cover much ground before succumbing to a grisly end. Then again, if it were one of the witches, she could just fly on a broomstick and scoop him up. Everybody knew any witch worth her salt preferred eating plump children. He had no idea what witches thought of eating teenagers.
Giving himself a mental slap across the forehead, he told himself to stop acting like a child. Remembering he needed to breathe and the unfortunate consequence of heightened fear on a bursting bladder, he slowly exhaled before his lungs exploded. Blaming his near hysteria on oxygen deprivation, he planned to keep still and low to the ground, giving the, ‘whatever it was’, in the bushes an opportunity to move further away. He hoped it would be far enough away so he could retreat without being noticed. Shoving his hands into the jacket pockets to keep them from shaking, he blamed the cold for making him shake and not the stark terror he felt in his bones. He imagined his mother giving him advice. Witches are just as afraid of you as you are of them. If you don’t startle them they won’t attack. Obviously she had never been hunted by one.
A shape burst forth from the shrub and darted from tree to fence line before it vanished from view. He fell backwards hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. With closed eyes and aching chest, his hands darted across the forest floor for the torch that had spilled from his jacket pocket, finding only cold soil and leaves. He darted from side to side with both hands, hoping to feel cool plastic. In his panicked state, the need to keep quiet vanished. An owl soared to flight from a tree overhead. Diving to safety behind a small rise in the ground, he grunted in pain when the base of the torch dug into his ribs. In haste, he switched on the beam to test the globe, almost weeping when light cut through the dark. With the torch of nine lives guiding the way, David crept towards where the ‘whatever it was’ had disappeared, convinced it must have been a small woodland creature. Foxes lived in the woods, and travelled close to homes at night when food became scarce or during mating season. Judging by its speed it should be long gone now. At least that was what he wanted to believe. Half an hour remained before he needed to head home. He intended not to waste more time in fear over Peter Rabbit or a sly fox looking for food or a good time.
Better luck than expected played on his side tonight. The creature’s mad dash led to a hole underneath the fence. It looked too small to crawl though, yet the earth around the edges looked to be loose. Diving to his knees, he scooped handfuls of earth from the hole by torchlight, unaware of any noise he might be making. Blood pumped hot through his veins and the heavy thumping of his heart filled his head. David could not recall when he had ever felt this excited, or in need of the bathroom. Groaning, he stood and darted to the nearest tree. Sound or no sound, if he didn’t void his bladder now then he would explode.
From behind a young pine, he watched the park for movement. The wooded section before him stood dark. Through the thin shrubbery and stands of young trees he had a clear visual that the playground and picnic areas stood deserted. Newly planted, the undergrowth posed little hindrance, enabling David to keep a steady pace. He wondered if the children who lived on the base ran through where he now walked. Some of them could even be outdoors now. Thumbing the torchlight off, he froze, embarrassed that he could be so foolish. After a count of ten, he thumbed the torch back on and continued through the manmade woods. With ten minutes left until he had to turn back, he could not afford to waste any more time. Even he could outrun a child if spotted.
The torchlight skipped over clumps of soil, upturned rocks, and other scattered objects of equal interest. Somewhere a young documentary filmmaker would be having a wet dream over the untold wonders that had potentially been unearthed in the construction of The Complex. When the beam passed over an object larger than average, he thought twice before realizing his mind had not played tricks in the dark. Jerking the light back, he covered his mouth with his free hand. The face of a small animal looked back at him, black eyed and lifeless. He forced his legs to move forward, ignoring how much his mind protested. The matted fur of the dead fox became more defined with each forward step.
A dead animal meant nothing new to somebody who lived near the woods. He recalled the first time he came across a dead rabbit laying on the side of the dirt road heading to Lookout Point. His parents explained to him that all living things died, yet there had been something so heartbreakingly sad about a living creature dying alone and forgotten. So upset by what he had seen, his parents walked with him back home for a shovel and returned to bury the rabbit in the nearby woodland. For the next two years every dead creature he came across received a woodland funeral, until his parents refused to bury any more. Growing older had not made it any easier for him to see a dead creature. As he neared the fox, he noticed something out of the ordinary. The only injury he could see the fox had sustained appeared to be a deep gash across its throat.
The cooling night air slipped beneath his thick jacket and burrowed through his skin. Whoever had killed the fox must either live at or visit The Complex, which meant he could be in danger by being here. How far would somebody have to go before they moved from animals to humans? He had seen the crime shows on television, where they described how serial killers moved from animal torture to murder, wetting many a bed along the way. Thoughts of a urine soaked psychopath, dressed in a clown costume and brandishing a long serrated blade flashed though his mind. He could not estimate how long his parents would search for his dismembered corpse, before giving up all hope and adopting a new puppy to cope with their grief. Maybe they would call it David. Most likely they would go with Sparky, or Rex, or something boring and predictable.