Read Online Dominant Species Volume One -- Natural Selection (Dominant Species Series) by David Coy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Coy
Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction, series, Space Opera, Alien, Dystopian, space, contagion, outbreak, infections
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best she could. You couldn’t ever really get used to where you
were and what was happening to you. There was no way to adjust to it. All you
did was go from hour to hour, waiting to be tortured.
“Bailey Hall,”
Bailey said repeating herself clearly. “My husband was killed recently.”
“I’m
sorry,” Mary said. “Look, you need to eat. If you get too weak, they’ll kill
you—or worse.” Mary realized how poor her timing was right after she said it
and wished she hadn’t. It could have waited, she knew. All she did was lamely
point out the horror in an obviously horrible situation. She wasn’t too sure
Bailey had even heard her, though. She just stared.
To Mary’s
surprise, Bailey took one of the cakes out of the package and scarfed it down
with two big bites. She stuffed her mouth, chewed and swallowed hungrily while
she stared blankly into Mary’s face. Mary detected a glint of steely strength
in her green eyes that she was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago. Mary got the
feeling Bailey was looking right through her.
“More,” Bailey said.
* * *
He was standing. He knew
that because he could tell which way was down, and he could see his feet. He was
leaning against a thick plate of some yellowish translucent material. Its
consistency was swirled and imperfect like melted glass. He could see movement
and light on the other side. He could see his right hand at the end of his
wrist. Like a drunk after a wild bacchanal, he was completely naked and had no
idea how he had gotten there.
I’m whole, he thought sluggishly.
His entire face hurt; and
when he felt it, it hurt more. He could taste blood in his mouth. He swabbed
his tongue around the inside of his mouth and worked up a bolus of spit and
spit a long bloody string of saliva down between his feet.
Fucking
sonsofbitches, he thought. Wonder
what they found out.
He found a small
grape-like thing stuck in his leg just above the knee. Its surface was wrinkled
and shrunken. It was attached and dangled by a little thin thread, and he
snatched it off his leg and tossed it like a bug.
He wanted his brain to
work, to think clearly. He breathed as deeply as he could. He exhaled and then
forced himself to do that exactly nine more times. After the tenth, he
discovered that his brain was, in fact, working better. He repeated the in-out
ten more times. He’d never had a mantra and understood it had to be given to
you, or some such crap, so he made up his own.
Fucking,
in. Sonsofbitches, out. Fucking, in. Sonsofbitches, out.
The
enclosure was about the size of a large shower. With his mind clearing, he
moved and stretched and flexed his back. For the first time, he was feeling
normal and strong. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so
body-confident. He was ready to kick the shit out of something, anything. He
could see the shapes moving around on the other side of the plate and the
quick, darting movement of the bastards who’d done this to him made his blood
boil.
“Fuck
you!” he bellowed at them. He wanted to kick the plate but knew he’d just
fracture his foot.
I won’t
give the bastards the satisfaction, he thought.
“Fuck
you! Hey! Fuck you!” He worked up another bolus of red spit and let it fly at
the plate. Smack!
“Fuck
you!”
The
shapes ignored him. His mind cleared more. Then the thought hit him like a
rock.
I’ve been
drugged. That ampoule in my leg. It delivered an adrenal or something like it.
I’m wired.
The effect
of the drug was growing stronger fast and rage built up in him like white-hot
magma. He wanted to gnash his teeth and tear something living to pieces with
them. He stood in the middle of the chamber and bellowed as the rage consumed
his reason like a storm.
He heard
a sound like a buzzing insect, and the sound stirred memories of nasty, biting,
nagging, hateful, fucking bugs and insects like the ones that time in that
fucking nest that stung him like demons and he wanted
were and what was happening to you. There was no way to adjust to it. All you
did was go from hour to hour, waiting to be tortured.
“Bailey Hall,”
Bailey said repeating herself clearly. “My husband was killed recently.”
“I’m
sorry,” Mary said. “Look, you need to eat. If you get too weak, they’ll kill
you—or worse.” Mary realized how poor her timing was right after she said it
and wished she hadn’t. It could have waited, she knew. All she did was lamely
point out the horror in an obviously horrible situation. She wasn’t too sure
Bailey had even heard her, though. She just stared.
To Mary’s
surprise, Bailey took one of the cakes out of the package and scarfed it down
with two big bites. She stuffed her mouth, chewed and swallowed hungrily while
she stared blankly into Mary’s face. Mary detected a glint of steely strength
in her green eyes that she was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago. Mary got the
feeling Bailey was looking right through her.
“More,” Bailey said.
* * *
He was standing. He knew
that because he could tell which way was down, and he could see his feet. He was
leaning against a thick plate of some yellowish translucent material. Its
consistency was swirled and imperfect like melted glass. He could see movement
and light on the other side. He could see his right hand at the end of his
wrist. Like a drunk after a wild bacchanal, he was completely naked and had no
idea how he had gotten there.
I’m whole, he thought sluggishly.
His entire face hurt; and
when he felt it, it hurt more. He could taste blood in his mouth. He swabbed
his tongue around the inside of his mouth and worked up a bolus of spit and
spit a long bloody string of saliva down between his feet.
Fucking
sonsofbitches, he thought. Wonder
what they found out.
He found a small
grape-like thing stuck in his leg just above the knee. Its surface was wrinkled
and shrunken. It was attached and dangled by a little thin thread, and he
snatched it off his leg and tossed it like a bug.
He wanted his brain to
work, to think clearly. He breathed as deeply as he could. He exhaled and then
forced himself to do that exactly nine more times. After the tenth, he
discovered that his brain was, in fact, working better. He repeated the in-out
ten more times. He’d never had a mantra and understood it had to be given to
you, or some such crap, so he made up his own.
Fucking,
in. Sonsofbitches, out. Fucking, in. Sonsofbitches, out.
The
enclosure was about the size of a large shower. With his mind clearing, he
moved and stretched and flexed his back. For the first time, he was feeling
normal and strong. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so
body-confident. He was ready to kick the shit out of something, anything. He
could see the shapes moving around on the other side of the plate and the
quick, darting movement of the bastards who’d done this to him made his blood
boil.
“Fuck
you!” he bellowed at them. He wanted to kick the plate but knew he’d just
fracture his foot.
I won’t
give the bastards the satisfaction, he thought.
“Fuck
you! Hey! Fuck you!” He worked up another bolus of red spit and let it fly at
the plate. Smack!
“Fuck
you!”
The
shapes ignored him. His mind cleared more. Then the thought hit him like a
rock.
I’ve been
drugged. That ampoule in my leg. It delivered an adrenal or something like it.
I’m wired.
The effect
of the drug was growing stronger fast and rage built up in him like white-hot
magma. He wanted to gnash his teeth and tear something living to pieces with
them. He stood in the middle of the chamber and bellowed as the rage consumed
his reason like a storm.
He heard
a sound like a buzzing insect, and the sound stirred memories of nasty, biting,
nagging, hateful, fucking bugs and insects like the ones that time in that
fucking nest that stung him like demons and he wanted
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