Golden Eyes
by Quinn Harper
She liked to think she’d developed an internal alarm over the past three years,
some sort of prescient sense of trouble lingering on the breeze. She liked to
think that she possessed razor sharp survival skills and that she was, indeed, a
true survivor. She wanted very much to believe that those were the things woke
her from a deep, dreamless sleep on that morning, the kind of rest that was
achieved in her particular circumstances only by sedating drugs, though nothing
too strong or too damaging. No one wanted her damaged. She was no good to
anyone damaged.
The truth was simpler than all of that though. Simpler and much more horrifying
even if she really preferred to not think just as hard as she could about the
facts of her life right now. Not thinking so steadfastly was tiring in her
condition, although her condition was tiring in and of itself.
The thing she was not thinking about tingled through her again and she very
carefully heaved her rotund body up to a sitting position, only just stifling a
moan as her cramped muscles unknotted. The motion set her heavy breasts swaying
and she bit her lip at the harder tingle rippling through her body. It was just
so every morning and had been since the very beginning. Immediately before the
first bell rang to wake the general population up, her breasts would become
taut, aching with the swollen weight of an entire night’s worth of accumulated
milk. Milk her body produced without fail to feed a hungry child who would
never receive that benediction or the comfort of her embrace as he ate. A
hollow pang of loss seized her heart. How many had there been now? Four? No,
five. She’d lost one.
Slowly, she rolled forward onto hands and knees, her naked belly protruding so
obscenely far forward, it was easier for her to crawl to her designated spot in
the line than to get up and walk there. Head bowed, she rocked back on her
heels and waited for the first bell. She wasn’t the first to make her way over
to the line of gleaming metal machines. Several others, more grotesquely
swollen than she was had made it there first. Those among them in such an
advanced condition had to wake before the others and line up at their places
because they moved so slowly these days that if they waited for the bell, they’d
never make it to their place. Being absent from the morning milking meant
terrible consequences to be suffered. Consequences beyond enduring rock hard,
leaking breasts until the next milking.
She shuddered. She knew about the consequences. Everyone did, though not
everyone from experience. She knew from experience. Once, she’d been a rebel,
refusing to obey, denying that any creature could own her body and soul or that
they could do this to her, but not anymore. Four babies she’d never gotten to
hold and thousands of hours of holding utterly still while icy metal fingers
gripped her teats with impersonal roughness before beginning a steady, even
rhythm of squeezing and relaxing. The sound and scent of steaming white streams
of milk flowing from her body and those of her fellow brood stock filled the
silver walled room, mingled with the faint odor of sex and mingled moans and
sobs from all around her.
It wasn’t enough that they milked their breeders several times a day to keep
milk production up. It wasn’t enough to steal their humanity and every scrap of
pride they were left with. It was only enough – the bell ripped through her
bitter musings and she found herself in motion, instinct in charge of lifting
her ponderous form to carefully arrange her limbs in the machine. She’d done it
so many times, it was nothing she had to think about any longer. As soon as she
was in place, she heard the soft sound of locks snapping shut, the metal cold on
her wrists, ankles, neck and finally, her breasts. She swallowed, eyes burning
with tears, and tried to keep breathing.
God she hurt this morning! Her lower back ached which made her think she might
be about to give birth to number five, and her breasts felt ten times their
normal size. She could feel her enlarged nipples puckering and becoming moist
from the milk that simple gravity greedily drew from her body. And, in spite of
knowing exactly what was coming, she flinched when she heard the switch click
and the machine began its impersonal massage. At the first whiff of milk, she
felt her thighs begin to dampen and would have squeezed them together had she
been able. As it was, all she could do was wait, a throbbing ache in her
abdomen, for the machine to slide a cold, sperm filled cylinder up inside her.
In and out and in and out so slowly….enough to drive her mad.
And then it began. Pressure at her opening followed by a full sensation as the
pressure eased into a slick invasion and her thighs began to tremble with
pleasure. Helpless tears of humiliation trickled down her cheeks in concert
with the first shimmers of an orgasm.
The baby hadn’t come yet. She huddled, arms crossed in a parody of protection
across her swollen belly, miserably uncomfortable in the back corner of her
‘stall’, trying to avoid any undue attention. Perhaps the ache in her back was
her body’s way of wishing the horrible mutant thing gone already but the mutant
things living inside her had proven remarkably resourceful. She’d no doubt it
wouldn’t come until it was damn well ready and knew somehow that it would
survive. She thought she hated this one more than any of the others to come so
far, probably because this one was the worst yet.
As if in reply, pain bloomed in her abdomen and she bent over with a harsh gasp.
The thing raked five little razor sharp claws across the inside lining of her
body, back and forth, back and forth. She clutched at the mound of flesh and
fought against moaning or screaming. What was the fucking little freak doing?
Trying to cut his way out? She panted, tossing her head back, teeth gritted
against the pain in her body and the terror of memory because it wasn’t the
first time the bastards had cut their way free.
She remembered when she’d first been brought here to the breeding ground, the
masters had still been experimenting with the exact mix of genetic material
required to produce a viable being that was vicious, cruel and cunning, capable
of understanding and following orders, and adaptable. They’d found a gold mine
of genetic material on Earth and had borrowed a bit from here and a bit from
there to create the perfect little soldier.
Most of the physical attributes they were seeking were easily found in the
animal kingdom, but they needed a species that was infinitely adaptable and
flexible and intelligent enough to communicate with them. Humans proved ideal.
She still didn’t know what their species looked like or much about them, only
bits and pieces gleaned from carelessly dropped conversations. It was
unnecessary to speak to the cattle, evidently.
Hers was the first group to be impregnated by the bizarre sperm cocktail and the
first to uncover a heretofore unforeseen problem. Namely that the beasts had
sharp claws that damaged the mother’s insides as they turned and stretched in
utero. More to the point, when it was time to exit the womb, the nasty
creatures found the birth canal too confining and simply used their claws to
tear open the mother’s stomach.
She remembered one of her best friends…Ada? Angela? Christ…oh Christ she
couldn’t even remember her friend’s names anymore. Hell, she scarcely
remembered her own and the memory of the time when such things had mattered was
farther away then she cared to even contemplate.
She pressed her hot cheek against the cool metal wall then rubbed both hands
vigorously over her face with a sharp hiss. She'd been the one kneeling next to
Ana - yes, that was it. Ana. The name slid easily into her consciousness as if
it had only been waiting to be called. Ana. She smiled, a bit misty eyed at
the image the soft syllables called up of a gently rounded woman with short dark
hair and eyes full of wisdom.
Ana had been among the first to get pregnant and the others were insanely
jealous because suddenly, mousy little Ana was the star. She'd received a room
all her own with a soft, comfortable bed and private facilities, not to mention
the unbelievable luxury of being allowed to wear clothing.
She was the queen while the rest of them huddled naked together, sharing a
large, empty common room with cold walls and even colder floors. Every morning,
in spite of the fact that none of them were pregnant let alone lactating, they
were required to strap themselves into the milking machine where their dry
breasts were massaged and their wombs were pumped full of sperm, over and over.
Did Ana suffer the same fate? The general consensus was that she didn't. Why
would she? She was already pregnant.
Later they discovered that Ana's condition was not one to be striven for.
Later, they found out that Ana's treatment was unique. And later, she teetered
on the edge of sanity with the lonely knowledge of exactly what they were
expected to nurture within their bodies. It was only that Ana was the first and
the masters did not know what to expect. They took her off to her own room
because they wanted to watch her at all times, monitor the state of her body.
And when Ana had gone into labor and screamed for her friend, the masters had
complied.
She remembered holding Ana's hand, petting her sweaty forehead as the great
mound of her distended belly contracted. She soothed and rubbed and sang, but
Ana's face gradually lost color and she grew less and less restless. Then her
abdomen bulged obscenely and the perfect impression of a tiny hand appeared,
cast in flesh. She'd stared, dumbfounded at the claw like bulge and Ana
screamed in such a way as she'd never heard before. Only she'd not been able to
move, frozen by the gnawing comprehension that they deluded themselves. All
them had.
They thought it would all be okay, that what was happening wasn't so bad. They
were women, they were designed to have babies. So what if it was against their
will? So what if they were systematically being broken down into pure animals?
Someone had the brilliant idea that after they'd provided a few babies, they
would all be let go, traded out perhaps. She'd never believed that, but neither
had she understood the scope of the thing and now she knew…oh God, she knew the
truth. The masters didn't want to breed humans.
She pressed one hand against her flat abdomen, the other against her mouth, as
if such an action could prevent the bile from rising in her throat while Ana's
body arched and convulsed, one long spasm of agony accompanied by a piercing
shriek. Her stomach bulged again, first in one place, then another and another
resembling nothing so much as a prize fighter running through his paces. And
then…and then a ragged tear appeared in the very center of the taut mound and
the flesh gaped wide. She remembered a spray of hot, wet blood slapping her
across the face and still she hadn't moved, hadn't been able to move.
Instead, she stood staring at the tiny, perfectly formed reptilian hand covered
in gore waving frantically from the mess that had been her best friend. Ana…oh
God Ana. She grabbed for her friend's icy hand and pressed it to her cheek, but
Ana was already too far gone toward death to understand, her dark eyes rolled
back into her head, glazed with pain.
The room was abruptly full of white-coated men, babbling and shouting, crowding
her back against the wall. She'd been too stunned to protest.
"God damn it, I *told* you it was a bad idea to put the fucking claws in!" One
man shouted, Ana's wrist in his hand. "They're no good to us dead."
"The fault lay not in the design but in the breeders you have chosen." Another
man calmly observed from the door. "They are too weak for our purpose. You
must find a sturdier stock."
The first man hissed in annoyance, his hands gentle as he lifted the hideous
creature out of Ana's torn belly. "This stock would be fine for our purposes if
you would listen to reason."
"Find better stock." The other man maintained, his gaunt features impassive and
immovable. "We need every adaptation we've given these creatures. Adapt the
breeders to the creation."
"You're out of your fucking mind," the first man muttered, but it was without
heat and he clearly was thinking through some grand revelation. He wrapped the
baby thing in a clean blanket and handed it to one of his assistants before
placing his hands on his hips and staring intently at the floor.
She fixed her gaze on him, the dark brown skin flushed with triumph, deep brown
eyes narrowed and alive with interest.
"Better stock," he muttered softly, then brought his head up in a quick,
decisive movement, one that was arrested by the site of her, pressed flat to the
wall. "What the hell is she doing here?" He demanded, incensed. "Get her the
fuck out of here."
She tried to flatten herself even further but four of the white coated men came
at her, grabbing her arms with bruising force, and dragged her toward the door.
"What kind of sick animals are you?" She spat, not really struggling - not yet
anyway. “You can’t do this to us!”
No one bothered to reply but the first man did bring his gaze back to her and
this time, his eyes lingered on her body. She felt the heat of it pour over her
breasts like warm honey that quickly spread out over her hips and ran down her
legs to pool at her feet. The flare of awareness in his eyes made her feel
dirty and, for the first time she could remember, she wished for a flat chest
and fat gut instead of the voluptuous hourglass figure he was perusing with
blatant interest. She needn't have worried about how she would keep from puking
on him while he pounded away between her legs because the man literally had no
interest in sex.
"No, wait," he said slowly, lips curving into a cold smile that froze the molten
honey to ice. "Take her to my lab. I need a test subject anyway and she'll do
as well as the any…maybe better. She's got good, wide hips like a true
breeder."
The gaunt man standing in the doorway glanced briefly at her then back to the
other man with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "Get better stock,
Brendan. We needed them yesterday and we can't afford any more delays."
"Fuck you," the man called Brendan snapped. "I'm in charge of this project, not
you. I call the shots."
She saw the gaunt face tighten then relax and the man shrugged. "Take care that
your arrogance doesn't alter circumstances."
Brendan snorted and she heard no more as she was dragged out of Ana's room and
down the corridor to the lab.
Brendan, it turned out, was a right and proper genius. His solution to the
problem was introduce a softener to the genetic code, one that would make the
little claws harmless in the womb while allowing them to harden upon exposure to
the air. Brilliant indeed.
But he’d not needed her for that. He needed her to test a special membrane he
was working on, an organic material that would mimic the action of the uterus.
It pissed the gaunt man off, clearly, but he did not interfere. Instead, he
watched, face expressionless, black eyes as flat as a basilisk.
Brendan was high with his success, the green in his eyes nearly obscured by the
dilation of his pupils. She'd been given something, not a pain killer per se
but something that made her lightheaded and dizzy. She felt every incision,
every tug on her skin, every agonizing tear as they mucked around in her
insides, but she just didn't care. In fact, she remembered giggling while he
was extracting her uterus though she couldn't recall what had been so funny now.
"This is such a tricky operation…” Brendan breathed. “See a woman’s uterus is
about the size of a pear but so elastic it can stretch to accommodate something
the size of a baby. Most substances you come across won’t cut it. It’s not
flexible enough to stretch all that much. Plus, the uterus is designed to
sustain life and not just anything can act as a substitute. But you know what
the very best part of my success in this arena is, Danley?" he asked, his voice
distant and tinny to her ears.
The gaunt man stood next to the bed and shook his head to indicate he did not,
in fact, know what the best part of this bad situation was. He wasn't looking
at her though; his eyes were fixed on the bloody procedure happening to
somewhere south of her waist. She smiled, giggled a bit and then his hand,
rough and lightly callused, brushed against her cheek with such stunning
gentleness she stopped laughing, her eyes filling with unexpected tears.
"The best part is that we are no longer limited in our choice of breeding
stock," Brendan exulted. "Now we can use whoever the hell we want. You've got
some prisoners no one gives a fuck about, don't you?"
"But what about - "
"Trust me, Peter," Brendan said softly. "I've got it all….figured…out."
She lost a moan in the midst of her memories, though in the end, she knew it
wouldn't have mattered if she'd been utterly silent, she'd not have escaped
notice for long. It was their job to look for breeders like her, ones coming
close to the interminable nine-month mark, to drag them out of their fragile
private cells and rut on them until they delivered. She vaguely recalled
hearing somewhere that having sex encouraged labor, something the masters
Brendan and Peter apparently had heard too.
It was unfair of her to blame this on them, because she didn't know that they
were still in charge. It had been probably five years since she'd been privy to
the inner circle and, coincidentally, five years since she'd spoken a single,
goddamn word.
Still, it had been Brendan's idea to recruit male prisoners for the project,
whatever the hell 'the project' was, and in the beginning, each man had been
provided with a uterus fashioned out of the organic material Brendan had
invented. That combined with a whole counter full of hormones and other drugs
designed to make their bodies accept the implanted fertilized eggs turned them
into breeders as well though that particular part of the project hadn't done as
well as the first part. Women only needed nothing to carry a baby to term and
deliver it naturally, while men had to have a cesarean delivery along with a
host of drugs to keep their bodies fertile ground.
She remembered the first time she'd seen a pregnant man, how startling it had
been. He'd been dropped into their midst somewhere around his seventh month,
the impossibly tight skin of his belly streaked with ugly stretch marks. He
moved slowly, uncertainly into the shocked silence, one hand pressed to his back
as he lumbered along, eyes fixed on the ground. He flicked an embarrassed look
up and around, taking in the entire scene with a single searching glance and
unerringly hobbled over to an unoccupied place against the wall.
He was naked as were they, his cock and balls so small beneath his enormous
belly the major difference between them, that and the pelt of hair that grew
thick across his chest. His breasts weren't huge, but visibly enlarged, the
nipples dark and wide. She wondered if he were milked daily as well.
He lowered his unaccustomed bulk to the floor and let out an audible sigh of
relief, legs spread wide, knees tented with his elbows propped on top of them.
All thirty of them, in various stages of pregnancy themselves, just gaped at the
thatch of hair between his thickly furred thighs, just visible beneath his
swollen belly, utterly stunned.
His name was Ben and he was a homosexual. That was the crime that had landed
him in the military jail for the rest of his natural born life and that
qualified him to be one of the first guinea pigs in 'the project'. They'd
surgically implanted a uterus in his abdomen equipped with a fertilized egg and
balanced his hormone levels out. He'd not been advised of what the procedure
entailed and was horrified when his breasts began to swell. The nipples had
become so sensitive he could practically make himself come just by brushing his
fingertips lightly over them.
Then his belly began to swell and still he'd not known about it. Not until they
hooked him up to the milking machine and then, then he'd suspected. Part of his
suspicion stemmed from the fact that whatever they were giving him had spurred
his body into producing milk already.
She smiled in fond reminiscence. She’d liked Ben, liked him a lot. Whether out
of some odd, esoteric mix of charm, wit, warmth or innate sweetness or because
he shared the same hell they all did she didn’t know. Sometimes she thought it
was because he was the last one to call her by name and to treat her with
unfailing kindness and respect.
The smile slipped off her face because Ben was dead now. Complications, she’d
heard somewhere though how any of them could know that was beyond her. He’d
been the first man used in the experiment but not by any means the last. There
had, at times, been upwards of twenty hardened criminals mingling with the
female breed stock, faces dazed, bellies grotesquely distended, breasts visibly
enlarged and leaking. They had their places in the milking row too.
The masters lost half their male breeders to complications and death at one
point which virtually stalled that portion of the project. Occasionally,
however new men appeared in their midst. It was commonplace enough anymore that
hardly any one paid attention.
The ripping sensation in her gut eased and she blew out a deep breath,
unconsciously arching her back to ease some of the strain in her muscles. The
posture, she belatedly realized, served to push her naked breasts forward in
what might be construed as an offering by the ‘Pussy Patrol’, as the other women
called the knot of six men who’d been retained to assist in stimulating labor.
These were men who had once carried babies of their own but proved poor
breeders. Unfortunately, by that point, they knew too much to return to the
general population so they stayed in the breeding shed, strutting around like
kings. In the absence of the hormone therapy, they reverted to the dangerous,
violent behavior that landed them into prison in the first place though with
some restrictions.
They were given free reign over the pregnant breeders, could fuck them until
they dropped but no damage was to be inflicted on their bodies. And the non
pregnant breeders were to be left strictly alone until their status changed.
She dropped her head and was about to open her eyes when she felt a rough hand
on her arm and cruel fingers digging into her breast. She made a soft sound of
dismay and stared into the twisted leer of one of the men.
“Oh yeah, you look ready to pop any time now, baby. Come on.”
She could have struggled but she was too tired for it now and it would make no
difference. He’d just call for his friends and they would take her right there
or worse. So she struggled to her feet, panting with the exertion while he kept
kneading her breast and yanking on the nipple. He seemed surprised when his
ministrations yielded a trickle of milk and his stupidity irritated her. What
the hell had he expected?
He grinned, delighted with himself and caught the fluid on his finger. “Well,
well, would you look at that?” He murmured, pressing his milk coated digit to
her lips.
Obediently, she licked it clean, as expected, and he pressed in closer, rubbing
his stiff prick against the mound of her belly.
“You know what?” He leaned closer to breathe in her ear. “You know what I do
every time I watch you hook yourself up to the milking machine? I whack off.
It gets me so fucking hot watching you get fucked by a machine and milked at the
same time. That whole line of you, asses in the air, all begging for a good
pounding.” His breath broke with excitement and his hips jerked convulsively.
He swiped her feet out from under her, digging both hands into her hair, fingers
cupping the back of her head. The position placed his cock at eye level, the
thick, evil looking shaft dripping precome and throbbing with heat.
“So now you’re going to suck my cock and then you’ll turn around so I can ream
out your ass like you’ve been begging me to do.”
She hesitated, uncertain. She’d not expected this. They weren’t supposed to
waste semen and she was utterly nonplussed. She’d expected to be fucked, of
course, and fucked hard, by all five of the Patrol. She’d even expected to be
fisted, all in the interest of encouraging labor to begin but she’d never, ever
been fucked up the ass. The men were invaded in such a manner but never the
women. It would have been a criminal waste of resources yet here was a man
possessing twice her weight in muscle, demanding she bend over and open herself
to him. What choice did she have?
She drew in a breath and opened her mouth to comply but it was too late. She
was too slow for the man. His palm cracked hard against her cheekbone, so hard
her vision dimmed and the world tilted slightly.
“I said, suck my cock, bitch,” he growled, twisted great hanks of her hair
around his hands for leverage. Leverage that he promptly used to jerk her head
back so hard it hit the wall and her ears began to ring.
She was dimly aware of making choked little noises of assent, the closest she
came to saying yes, yes, okay. He thought she was being recalcitrant,
apparently. He freed one of his hands and reached down for her breast, finding
the nipple by feel then squeezed until she felt faint with the pain.
This must be a new guy, one who didn’t realize his sexual partners were not to
be harmed. They could be shamed, humiliated, harassed and forced, but they were
not supposed to be hit or damaged in any way. It wouldn’t save her or prevent
him from killing her before they dragged him off her but the thought that he
would be drawn and quartered after her death was curiously comforting.
“Come on man, give her a break,” a soft male voice came from the other side of
the half wall. “She doesn’t talk so she can’t answer you and it sounds like
she’s trying to do what you want.”
She remembered him, the man who lived next to her these days. He was no more
than five months gone and wasn’t showing a lot yet. He was kind to her, had
always been kind to her, but the pregnancy was quite a strain on him and he
seemed tired all the time.
“Who the fuck asked you?” Her tormentor demanded. “Shut up and stay out of
it.”
“Where the hell did you come from? You know you can’t hurt her or they’ll kill
you,” her neighbor protested, his voice tired as usual.
“And I’ll kill you if you don’t shut up,” he snarled.
“Look you just don’t get it, do you? They own you, man. You’re only alive
because they allow it. You fuck her up and they won’t allow it any more.”
However true his words may have been, she could feel waves of rage vibrating off
the man who stood before her and she ached to be able to stop the flow of
incendiary comments. If he didn’t shut up, it would be her neighbor lying there
in a pool of his own blood.
The hand gripping her hair loosened and the man stepped backward, his breathing
hard and fast, his cock bobbing away from her. It was that motion that reminded
her she still possessed some power, even if she had virtually forgotten how to
speak. She ducked her head, fighting back dizzy nausea, and caught the rigid
shaft between her lips.
It was enough of a shock that he stopped, hips moving reflexively toward her.
“That’s more like it,” he murmured, temporarily mollified. He wrapped his hands
around her head again and began thrusting in earnest.
She allowed it and took his entire length without much trouble, owing more to
his size than to practice or skill. He gasped and thrust and gripped her
shoulders with bruising force for what felt like forever but probably amounted
to less than five minutes. The spongy flesh swelled, thickening, lengthening,
and her jaw began to ache but her mind wandered as she let her body settle into
the rhythm.
She wondered if he would do as he'd said, pull out and take her up the ass
because he was losing himself in the pleasure of using her mouth and he seemed
to lack self-control. It had been a long time since she'd swallowed semen in
any quantity, an experience she couldn't honestly say she'd missed. On the
other hand, she hadn't been looking forward to his alternate plan with any
greater relish.
She slammed back into to sudden, agonized awareness with the onset of a
shockingly intense spasm of pain across her abdomen. Every single muscle
tightened and cramped in an unforgiving band around her middle, the agony
tearing at her own self control. She had enough presence of mind to try to back
away from the cock stuffed down her throat, but the man's hands on her head were
relentless.
He pushed forward harder in response to her aborted attempt to free herself,
ramming his prick to the very back of her throat and activating her gag reflex.
She trembled, caught between conflicting needs, the need to gasp or pant or
somehow give voice to the pain ripping through her nearly overwhelming.
"Oh no you don't, you bitch," he growled, tipping her head back farther with a
harsh yank on her hair. "You're not done until I say you are."
Tears pooled in her eyes, her stomach heaved, and she felt a warm trickle of
liquid running down her thighs. While she recognized the tearing sensation as
the beginning of labor, she'd not suffered this badly since the first time. She
pressed shaking hands to the hard knot of her belly, choking back a sob of
terror. What scared her most was that the dampness slowly dripping down her
legs wasn't amniotic fluid; it was too thick and ran too slowly which meant it
could only be blood. If it was blood, it was wrong, something was wrong with
her…or the baby.
She wasn't consciously aware of making any noise at all but she couldn't fight
the tears that insisted on spilling down her cheeks and she couldn't stop mucus
from clogging her nose. It meant that her breathing became labored and the
sounds that issued from her clearly communicated suffering.
The man chuckled softly, passed one hand lightly over her wet face, then pulled
free and gave her a hard shove toward the wall. The momentum didn’t allow her
to catch herself and her head smacked against the unyielding surface with an
audible crack. She whimpered then gasped, instinctively spreading her thighs to
allow her rigid belly a place to rest as she folded down over her knees. The
contraction eased for no more than an instant before the muscles seized again,
all at once rather than the gradual way she'd come to anticipate.
Banners of fire streamed across her abdomen, like she was being mauled from the
inside out. She dipped her hand between her thighs quickly to verify that she
was, indeed bleeding, and the sight of the crimson smear on her fingers made her
feel faint and dizzy with fear.
She'd almost forgotten the man from the 'Pussy Patrol' but he'd not forgotten
her. He towered over her, grinning madly, fingers stroking lightly over his
cock. "That's just right, baby. Just the way I want you, but stick your ass
out this way a little."
She heard the words but comprehension was a distant memory. She needed all her
concentration focused on what was happening in her body. She knew, by instinct
and experience, that she'd adopted the wrong position. If she squatted, back
against the wall, her body would be able to expel the intruder much easier. So
she pushed up on her hands and knees, using one wall to help her struggle to her
feet.
She almost made it. The labor pains were excruciating but bore no resemblance
to the sensation of her bones breaking. The man hovering nearby swept her feet
out from under her in a smooth motion, sending her crashing to her knees, then
deliberately stepped on her leg. Her surprised yelp was followed by a howl
before even that was cut off by expedient of the breath leaving her body when
his booted foot found her ribs. She knew the soft pop she heard was her ribs
cracking.
"You don't listen very well, do you?" The man crooned, his hands efficiently
positioning her unresisting limbs to his specifications.
Her ears rang and her attention was entirely focused on dealing with the variety
of pain blooming in her body.
"What's this?" He asked thoughtfully and she vaguely felt his finger trace a
path through the wetness along the inside of her thigh. "Hmm, well I knew you
were about to drop that thing any day now…been expecting it"
She felt his hands, hot on her thighs, pushing her legs farther apart. Then his
fingers dug inside her body, four of them with no concession to gentleness, but
the twinge from that pain was hardly enough to overshadow the nauseating waves
of agony moving her broken leg had started rippling through her.
"Well, that's okay,” he chuckled. “Blood's a lubricant, right? And I expect as
tight assed as you are, you'll need plenty of it."
Another contraction stole her breath and she tossed her head back and panted.
Her breasts hung heavy and tingled, her nipples tightening and she realized it
was almost time for the next milking session. The thought gave her a tiny
breath of hope. Maybe they would see then, maybe then they would stop this…
She felt the head of his cock pressing at the entrance to her ass. He rubbed
the tip of the thing up and down, spreading a thick layer of blood across her
opening, and she gritted her teeth, limbs trembling from exertion.
"Know what I heard?" He murmured, sliding his prick back to the hole again. "I
heard you were there when the first bitch popped."
She dropped her head, struggling against the pain.
"Were you? I heard she fucking exploded and sprayed blood everywhere." He
laughed, slapped her rear and the whole world went dim before bursting into
searing white light with the abrupt entrance of half of his stiff dick into her
ass. "Fuck are you tight!" He panted, pulling out and ramming back in without
mercy. When he'd buried his entire length, he paused, his balls brushing her
sore vaginal opening.
She felt barely conscious, her body one long spasm of pain. She was distantly
aware of him leaning over her and reaching down, rough fingers squeezing one
aching breast hard enough to hurt. "What about it, baby? Did she bleed on you?
Did it taste good?"
She didn't know exactly what transpired, even later, only that one minute he was
slamming his hips against her, drive white hot steel into her guts while her
muscles jerked and spasmed and the baby struggled to get out, the next, he was
gone. The pain didn't magically stop, of course, but she knew a spreading
relief in the knowledge that he was gone. Finally.
When she looked up, she realized the man in the cube next to her had leapt on
top of her tormentor, one muscular arm looped around his neck. The Pussy Patrol
guy was gasping and wheezing, his face nearly purple while her neighbor's
expression was pure cold anger. She didn't have much energy to spare on relief
just now, though. Now she had to get this thing out of her, this thing that
felt like it would tear her to pieces. Only she couldn’t get to her feet with
one broken leg and she could barely push with several broken ribs. Still, the
urge to bear down and expel this beast was overwhelming.
Carefully, she dropped to the ground on her side and lifted one leg, hands
pressed flat to her belly. It was too fast for a normal delivery. The pain had
hit all at once and she didn't understand what was happening, but she trusted
her body to the point that she let go and pushed with all her strength.
“Jesus fucking Christ! What is going on here?”
The room was abruptly full of a sea of bobbing white coats, hard faced men, loud
curses and smacking flesh.
“Oh my God look at all that blood – “
“Someone get Dr. Raie – “
“Honey, quit pushing now – “
She panted and ignored them all, bearing down, working with the contractions.
Inhale, gather strength, exhale, push.
“Listen to me, girl, you’ve gotta stop pushing! That thing is too big to come
out that way and you’ll rip yourself all to hell if you keep this up.” A gentle
voice, quiet but firm, urged in her ear.
She wanted to say ‘fuck you’, would have too if she’d been able to talk. But
she couldn’t, so all she did was pant some more and ride the contractions.
“Shit, she won’t listen to me. Give me a goddamn sedative someone. Hurry!”
She didn’t feel the prick of the needle in her arm but she knew there must have
been one because the pain clawing at her insides from places all over her body
was fading, bit by bit. She could still feel her abdomen clenching but the urge
to bear down had passed, along with the ice picks hammering her lungs with every
breath. Her eyelids drooped, but she didn’t want to sleep, not with them
around.
“What happened? I thought I told you to watch her, you idiots!” Brendan’s
arrogant voice snapped into her reverie. Ah, so he wasn’t dead; more was the
pity there.
“We were….”
“Really? Then our definitions must be different. I didn’t mean you should jerk
off while you watched her get raped.”
“But your brother – “
“Even by my brother. There are so many other women to choose from, why her,
Harry? Why did you have to fuck with her?”
A mumbled apology followed, something nearly inaudible and Brendan sighed.
“Well, it’s done now. What did you give her?”
The gentle voice gave a reply incomprehensible to her – she’d not been familiar
with medical terminology before coming here. A long silence and then the sound
of flesh against flesh.
“You idiot! I told you not to give her anything!”
“She was bearing down and nothing I told her would make her stop.”
“Then she would have died,” Brendan said coldly. “And I would have found a new
breeder. But now you’ve put my special project in jeopardy. It’s the baby that
is irreplaceable.”
“What special project?” A raspy voice this time, steely with authority, one she
recognized dimly.
She smiled sleepily, knowing it had to be Peter. Where Brendan was, Peter
couldn’t be too far behind. And now that she’d slapped the name to the voice,
she remembered him, all burning eyes and sunken cheeks, pale skin and waxy
flesh. He’d had a gaunt face and an even leaner frame, with large wrist bones
that always stuck out past the cuffs of his shirt as if the sleeves needed to be
maybe an inch longer.
“What are you doing here, Danley? I don’t need your help,” Brendan growled
impatiently.
“What special project?” Peter was implacable and she tried to open her eyes to
look at him again, to see if he still resembled a gangly scarecrow.
“You’re getting in the way,” Brendan hedged. “We can talk about it later.”
“We’ll talk about it now,” Peter corrected mildly. “What special project?”
Brendan hissed. “Fine. I made a few modifications to the code, a few
improvements.”
A heavy silence fell between them, finally broken by Peter’s still calm voice.
“I see. And you, of course, got approval for the modifications?”
“Not – not exactly.”
Another long silence, this one even heavier. “I see. Can you save her?”
“Save her? I – don’t know,” Brendan stammered. “She’s lost a hell of a lot of
blood – “
“It can be replaced?”
“I – yeah, I guess. It can be replaced, but I don’t know if I can do it soon
enough. The baby is ready to be born – “
“Save her.”
“But the baby – “
“Save her.”
“But –“
“Save her or I promise you will suffer the consequences. I don’t give a damn
about your special project.” Peter’s voice was colder than she’d ever heard it,
so cold it made her shiver. “Now, this is the man?”
“Yes, sir,” a different voice answered.
“Breed him,” Peter ordered simply.
“You can’t do that!” Brendan howled. “He’s my brother.”
“I don’t care if he’s the fucking pope. He’s damaged two breeders and
endangered two babies. If breeding him doesn’t kill him, then I will. But
first, I want him bred.” Peter insisted.
A warm hand brushed the hair off her forehead and she turned into the touch with
a sigh. All the pain was gone now. In fact, she couldn’t even feel her body
anymore, something that seemed terribly funny for some reason and she giggled.
“Shhh….just be still, Genevieve…it will be all right…”
Genevieve …the name sent a tiny jolt through her, not enough to really disturb,
just enough to get her attention. Genevieve. Oh God, it had been so long since
anyone had called her by name…so long…tears pricked her eyes, something Peter
seemed to call too easily to her. She couldn’t afford tears in her position.
She could afford sleep more than tears, which was to say not at all, but the
blackness was coming to claim her anyway.
“I’m still in charge of this facility, you know,” Brendan blustered, but his
words lacked Peter’s power.
“Perhaps,” Peter conceded, his tone silky. “How do you feel about being bred,
by the way?”
The innocent, curious words hung in the air, full of wicked portent. So wicked,
so shocking were they, she grappled with understanding, struggled as she was
sinking down into the darkness. In the end, though, she simply had to let go
and save the revelations for some later time.
Today was her birthday. She remembered the minute she woke up this morning and
lay in the soft, enveloping comfort of her four post canopy bed for a long time,
just hugging the knowledge to herself. She opened her eyes and traced a loving
gaze over the white lacey fabric that hung directly over her head, down the
gracefully looped curtains that could be drawn in case of a draft. The bed and
matching curtains were last year’s birthday presents and Genevieve loved them as
much today as she had the morning her father had set it up for her.
When she could stand the anticipation no longer, she sat straight up in bed and
tossed the covers off. She had a party to get ready for. Six girls would be
coming to have tea with her today and help celebrate her birthday. She was
eight this very day and much too old for something so crass as a birthday party.
She wrinkled her nose in horror at the very thought of Bonzo the Clown showing
up to inflate and twist balloon animals together as he had done at her baby
brother’s party a few months back, though her mother had suggested it. A
clown…really!
The best part was that her mother was coming home today and would be there in
time to help her play hostess at high tea.
“Give me a clamp. No, bigger.”
“Sir, there’s some bleeding – “
“I’m not blind, you asshole. I see it. Sponge.”
“The bone is splintered here, sir. How will you - ?”
Pain flared white hot and uncontrollable and she moaned, twisting her head from
side to side in a mute denial. It was almost beyond pain but she couldn’t think
of what went beyond pain. All she wanted was to return to her birthday party.
She wanted to go back to when she’d been eight and dressed up as a real lady,
with pantyhose, pumps with heels, a beautiful peach dress and spotless white
gloves. Her mother even allowed her the tiniest dab of makeup, carefully
applied of course.
But the pain shifted, changed course and moved from her leg to her abdomen. She
was so full she felt like she might just explode. Mother said not to eat so
much cake and ice cream and oh God she’d been right.
She moaned again and tried to turn to her side, thinking a change in position
might ease the ache in her stomach but then she did explode. Her entire abdomen
seized up in one long endless muscle spasm. Mommy…it hurts….
“She must be coming out of sedation. Get over here and put her under so she
quits thrashing.”
“Dr. Raie, she’s going into labor again.”
“I see that.”
“Sir, do you want to open for removal?”
“I want you to finish what you’re doing and quit asking questions. Get that
fucking anesthesia over her!”
“But sir – “
A mask clamped down over her face and she could no longer breath. The air was
too damned heavy and she was suffocating. She bucked, arching her back as best
she could and thrashed and twisted. Her stomach ached and her breasts felt like
solid rocks attached to her chest.
It was a strange sensation, feeling such large mounds sitting on top of her.
They’d talked a little about breasts and how they got big like your mom’s, but
only one girl in their class had any swelling at all and none of them associated
with her. Genevieve had secretly hoped her breasts would never get big like
Marta’s were getting, though she couldn’t imagine ever having breasts as big as
her moms. She shuddered at the thought.
“I’d have them cut off if mine ever got that big,” her best friend, Lynn
announced, wide eyed.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Genevieve concurred fervently.
“My sister is trying to talk my mom into letting her get hers enlarged,” Cassie
confided in a hushed tone. “I asked her why and she said I’d understand later.”
The three girls nodded with sage understanding. It was one of those things, the
kind adults didn’t understand and couldn’t figure out how to explain so they put
it off until later and hoped you’d forget.
“Fuck! She’s hemorrhaging! Why isn’t she out yet, goddamn it? Give her some
more and get me another unit of blood. No, make it three. She’s going to need
all the help she can get. Where did you learn your technique, you sloppy bitch?
At the meat cutting counter? You nicked the femoral.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Not half as sorry as you’ll be if she dies. I’ll breed your ass myself if she
does.”
It was time for her party. She was all dressed and the table was set. Mother
had hired a butler for the occasion to serve for them and Genevieve was about to
burst with excitement.
There were tiny cucumber sandwiches carved into hearts and four leaf clovers
with the crusts carefully removed, dry, raisin studded scones, cream cakes and
raspberry jam, clotted cream and root beer instead of tea to drink.
The door bell rang and she smoothed her ruffled peach organdy over her hips one
last time before nodding to the butler who opened the door. Her smile faltered
and slid away at the first glimpse of the girls standing outside on the step,
waiting to be invited in. They were naked, all enormous tits and bloated
bellies. They hobbled in wishing her a happy birthday with sunken faces and
dark circled eyes.
She pressed her white gloved hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. Oh God what
had happened to them? What happened?? She backed away, stopping only when her
back hit the wall and the icy cold shocked her into looking down at her own tiny
body, the one she’d carefully washed and dressed this morning. The beautiful
peach dress hung in tatters from her obscenely swollen body, her breasts as
large as balloons.
She screamed a denial, sobbing with fear and rage and bewilderment. Then her
breasts began to leak, white liquid running down over her stomach to drip on the
floor. She would have stared down at it, but the bulk of her body prevented it.
Her mother saw though and smacked her hard across the side of her head. “You
stupid bitch! Look what you’re doing to my carpet! You’re spraying milk
everywhere!”
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she sobbed, pressing her hands futilely over her nipples to
stop the flow. The pressure built and then exploded, spraying milk all over the
walls, her friends and the black clad butler.
“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Her mother screeched, gripping the back of
Genevieve’s neck and forcing her to her knees. “Look at what you did the
butler’s clothes! You clean him up!”
“No, Mommy, please!” She whimpered. “Please, don’t make me do this…”
“Please…I’m sorry…Mommy, please…” She woke in a rush, surfacing from the
godawful nightmare mumbling pleas along with a gasp and a sob. She shivered,
still feeling the pressure of the hand on the back of her neck, pushing her
toward the butler in his milk stained suit. His face had been curiously
familiar, stamped with arrogance and pleasure in her humiliation.
Who was he? The name Brendan popped into her mind and she knew it was right,
though right off, not why. Her face felt damp, wet with tears and everything
was different; she could feel it in the weight of the air on her skin and the
sensations in her own body. Her mother had never been like that and her tea
party had been a rousing success. The horrifying nightmare was something born
out of her subconscious and that man, Brendan but she didn’t want to look too
deeply for the source. Only no matter how she tried to not remember, it took
only a moment for the reality of the past six years to flood back and she
remembered it all.
A hollow, empty ache at her core told her the baby thing was gone, somehow, some
way. Most likely it had been a c-section, though she wasn’t feeling any pain
and absence of pain was the most troubling thing to skate into her awareness.
She remembered what had happened, from the approach of the strange man who
didn’t belong in the breeding room to the terrible, compelling urge to expel the
creature in her womb. She should have realized immediately that he wasn’t part
of the Patrol because he was wearing clothes, nice, soft jeans, a sleeveless
muscle shirt and heavy, dark boots. She remembered the details of the fabric
now with excruciating clarity though at the time, she must have been too
concerned with her impending labor to notice. The thing was, no one who lived
in the breeding room was permitted clothing. Even the Patrol remained naked.
Not him, though and she vaguely recalled hearing Brendan whine about how the man
was his brother. That would probably explain why he’d been prowling around with
free reign. He’d smacked her several times, raped her ass, broken her leg and
broken her ribs. If he’d accomplished all that, how was it she now could lay
here, blissfully free of pain? And that did not even take into consideration
the aborted birth process and the likely c-section.
"The High Council is going to kick my ass to Alpha Centauri and back," a low,
amused voice commented dryly from a place so near she almost leapt out of her
skin. As it was, in spite of desperately not wanting anyone to know she was
awake, she couldn’t stop her muscles from tensing or the instinctive flinch the
sound of the familiar tones triggered.
"You know that, Genevieve?"
She lay still, barely breathing, and waited. Maybe her movements hadn't been
noticed; she could dream anyway.
"But that's okay. I told them Raie was a fucking psychopath. I told them his
methods were too extreme to ever work long term. I told them - well, it doesn't
matter now, does it?" Peter Danley chuckled. "Come on, Gen. No one is going to
hurt you. Not anymore; I promise," he coaxed.
She didn’t want to open her eyes and she didn’t want to talk to him. He wasn’t
Brendan, but he wasn’t much better. Still, she’d grown so accustomed to doing
what she was told, immediately, without question, that she reluctantly opened
her eyes.
He loomed over her, his sallow face etched with lines of concern but he
attempted a lopsided smile for her benefit.
“That’s better. I was afraid you weren’t going to pull through. Brendan's a
genius, but his interest wasn’t the same as mine and I wasn’t sure I had given
him a compelling enough reason to succeed. How are you feeling? Warm enough?”
She nodded slowly, warily, realizing with a little shock that one of the major
differences between now and the last time she’d been conscious was that now she
was wearing clothes. Clothing, for the first time in six – no, seven years.
She blinked and glanced down at the thick comforter draped over her body without
comprehension. Her arms lay alongside, snugly wrapped in navy blue thermal and
suddenly, terror clawed at her throat. Ana.
She swallowed convulsively, hands knotting into fists, tension vibrating through
every muscle. Peter frowned.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She swallowed again, her breath coming in little panicked pants now as she
fought the urge to press her hands to her stomach in a vain attempt to keep the
nasty creature they were going to make her carry now inside.
“Shit!” Peter swung away from her, frustrated by her silence, and ran a hand
through his sandy hair. “Brendan swore you wouldn’t talk to them, promised me
you’d never say a word about what you’d seen to anyone. I didn’t believe him,
stupid me. What did he do to you, Genevieve? Cut your tongue out?”
She smoothed her trembling hands over the blanket then pressed them hard across
her abdomen while shaking her head. No, Brendan hadn’t cut out her tongue.
“Your vocal chords? Did he cut your vocal chords?”
She shook her head again, tears welling in her eyes. He’d wanted her to have
some means of communication so he’d left those intact. Oh God, she didn’t want
to die.
“Well then, what did he do? Scare you into silence?”
That made her think. Had he scared her silent? It was close to the truth but
not all of it. The truth was he’d hurt her, badly. He’d hurt her over and
over, lots of electric shock among other things that she couldn’t bring herself
to remember and that combined with fear of suffering Ana’s fate ensured her five
year silence.
She stared at him, wide-eyed and helpless to explain. He sighed and tilted his
head back, gaze narrowing thoughtfully. She had no idea how he figured it out,
but a second later, comprehension flooded in.
"Ah, I see…no, you're not the special project of the month, Genevieve. You must
trust me - I'll not let anything else happen to you."
Trust him? And when had he ever done anything to help any of them? He was the
enemy. She dropped her gaze, not wanting him to read defiance in her eyes but
it didn't help.
He laughed softly. "That's the spirit. Maybe if you get mad - well, you've
every reason to be angry, but I'm not the enemy. If you'll let me, I'll try to
explain."
She turned away from him onto her side and curled into a fetal position, numb
with fear. It was all a trick anyway. It had to be. Either that or she was
dreaming a particularly cruel dream and it would wind up the way her birthday
party had, full of the same hollow eyed, hugely pregnant men and women she'd
spent the last seven years of her life with. A trickle of tears slid into her
ear and dripped onto her hair. Oh God, what she wouldn't give to be able to
spend a single minute back in a world made sense, where smiling, happy women
gave birth and the babies were precious, sweet smelling, pink and white bundles
of joy.
Peter stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body radiating
into her, and in spite of everything, the warmth felt good. She'd been cold for
so damned long and yet the unexpected comfort only made her cry harder. The bed
sagged as he settled onto the bed beside her and she immediately began to move,
trying to slide down to her customary position on the floor. His arms closed
around her and he pulled her back against his long, lean frame.
"It's okay now, Genevieve. It's okay."
Once, she would have struggled, but not anymore. Now she remained unresisting
in his embrace, her body shuddering with the force of her sobs while he stroked
her hair away from her face with wrenching gentleness. It was a long, long time
before she subsided.
"Better?" He asked, voice muffled by her hair.
She nodded, her face puffy and swollen.
"Good. Now you have to listen to me. I know this will be hard for you to
accept but I'm not who you think I am…"
From there began the worst series of cliched lies she'd ever heard. He was an
alien from another planet, another galaxy, and there was a war…(and wasn’t there
always a war in these tacky science fiction stories?)
"The ship captains formed a High Council and the Council made the decision to
work secretly with Earth’s government on breeding a species capable of defeating
the Gorgans.”
He was fucking insane, of course. Flat out insane. Either that or he’d been
watching too many B movies and she wasn’t sure which was worse.
“I didn’t have time to watch many movies and last I checked I was as sane as you
are…maybe more so, considering.”
She jerked reflexively. His tone was amused but she was still terrified. How
the hell did he do that? Could he read her mind? The thought was paralyzing
because few of her thoughts had been charitable even if her conditioning was
such that she expected to be abused for no reason other than her very existence.
It had been a long time since she’d actually communicated with anyone in a
meaningful fashion and even longer since anyone had cared.
“Yes, I’m picking up on your thoughts,” he admitted, hugging her body closer.
“It’s something we cultivate among our children that your people never did.”
The statement took her aback but it was hardly evidence in favor of his story.
On the other hand, she couldn’t imagine why it would matter what he said or what
she thought of it. She was a breeder, no more, no less, in spite of the sudden
reintroduction of her individuality. She was nothing in this grand scheme,
nothing but a body. She felt the motion of his shoulders rising and falling
against her back.
“It’s all right. I understand why you might be reluctant to believe me but just
hear me out.”
She closed her eyes. Evidently his mind reading powers were somewhat limited
since it wasn’t about what she believed. Still, she’d nothing better to do and
it felt too damned delicious to lay here, wrapped in the unaccustomed warmth of
another human body. But wait, if he was to be believed, he wasn’t actually
human. The thought made her smile sleepily. Ah well, whatever he was, he was
warm.
“Brendan wasn’t my first choice to lead the project, he was your government’s
choice. They said he was the best to be had and for a project this important,
we needed the best. I had my orders which were to observe and lend a hand
whenever necessary, but not to interfere.”
That was convenient, now wasn’t it?
He snorted. “No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t convenient at all. I had no
authority over anything. All I could do was advise and watch as he pulled every
tiny little experiment he’d been wanting to perform for years but hadn’t been
able to because of the extreme nature of the results.”
The crazy thing was that he sounded sincere. She couldn’t believe it, but he
sounded totally sincere and terribly distressed, because, after all, he was only
following orders.
“You can’t imagine the horrible stuff I had to watch him do…”
His voice broke though he manfully tried to control it. The effort was wasted
on Genevieve, however, because while she noticed it, she had just gone very,
very still and was no longer paying any attention to him. She hadn't been
moving much, but now she barely breathed. It wasn’t the utter stupidity in what
he'd said, though that was monumental and he'd never understand why even if she
could explain it. No, it was something else that set every molecule in her body
on alert, vibrating with fear. It was that thing she'd once wished she had,
that survival sense that activated on its own, without any sense or reason.
Peter had been lost in his own anguish but something about the blankness in her
thoughts or the stillness in her body must have touched him because his arms
tightened around her.
"Gen? What is it Genevieve? What's wrong?"
Shut up, she longed to say. Please, just be quiet for a minute. But her voice
had been stolen from her long ago and all she could do was lay there and quiver
in terror.
"It was an insensitive thing to say, I admit," he finally said with regret. "I
didn't mean to hurt you - "
It was the most daring thing she'd ever done bar none, suddenly twisting in his
arms, pressing cold fingers pressed to his lips, her eyes wide with the urgent
message she had to communicate.
He frowned, his gaze full of questions and concern and she wanted to laugh
hysterically. Only she couldn’t because it was too close. Whatever it was, it
was too close. He touched the back of her hand in silent question the instant
before his chest exploded.
She didn't know what to credit it to, stupidity perhaps, that she still didn't
move, even when a hot spray of blood splashed across her face and a huge lizard
hand stopped inches from her own chest, five sharp, glistening, evil fingernails
dripping gore onto the mattress. Peter's face reflected surprise bordering on
shock but behind the mask, she could see both resignation and understanding
lurking.
He wrapped his hands around the thick wrist helplessly, a froth of blood
bubbling to his lips.
"Sor - ry…so sorry…" he managed before the thing dragged him off the bed and
drove a second claw up through his groin.
Peter's ragged body was shaken and torn like a favorite dog toy, until pieces
lay scattered all over the room. Genevieve watched the spectacle unblinking,
frozen, knees drawn protectively to her chest. Bits of flesh and bone spattered
her face and blood soaked through the heavy comforter making the damp fabric
even warmer against her legs.
And when it was all over, the only sound in the room was harsh, ragged breathing
and a pathetic whimpering noise that almost sounded like sobs. Finally, she
closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent, desperate prayer. Not for
salvation or rescue, but for death to take her quickly. //Please, God, let it
be over right away. I've suffered enough to deserve that kindness haven't I?//
The soft snuffling whimper came closer, and closer yet. She heard the scrabble
of claws on the apparently uncarpeted floor and held very, very still, teeth
clenched against a wail of panic. It was coming for her now, coming
quickly…yes, please, make it quick…but the gentle touch on her cheek was the
last thing she expected. Her heart slammed in her chest and she flinched,
choking on fear, but the hand stayed careful, the skin sandpaper rough against
the delicate flesh of her face. What - ?
"Mrarma…"
She heard a guttural grunt, one that could have been terrifying but for the
shocking vulnerability in it. She tried to slow her breathing down and open her
eyes but it was hard with her body locked into a pure fear response.
Hard but not impossible. She focused on the thing standing at her bedside,
hesitantly stroking her face with one claw, and tried not to let hysteria
overwhelm her. It was a horrific nightmare, though how much of that was due to
the fine coat of congealing blood clinging to it's scaly skin was an important
question. No hair grew on its body and it wore no clothes, the lizard scaled
skin left bare. Its long, rabbit like ears had independent directional
capability, its claws like those of a tiger, and its eyes were as beady and
unblinking as a hawk’s.
"Mrarma…" the thing repeated around a mouth full of very sharp teeth as it
rubbed a gnarled paw against her cheek.
It was a weird and fascinating creature in a grotesque kind of way and this,
more than anything else Peter had said, convinced her that his story held a
grain of truth. She knew that cloning and genetic manipulation was possible but
not this bizarre mix of species and breeds. Whatever she'd known before in a
theoretical sense fell away into nothingness at the physical manifestation of
Brendan's efforts.
"Mrarma…." It whimpered again, this time lost and forlorn, its hand slipping
away.
She'd never have believed it, that she could sense the haunting feeling of
rejection, or maybe that it had the capacity to feel rejected at all but she
could and it was. What was more interesting was that it hurt her to think of
this creature rejected. She struggled and made a supreme effort to unlock her
muscles, unaware of the soft noise she made in her throat.
It was still turning, belly slunk low to the ground when she finally free
herself from the wet, sticky blanket. It was more than compassion for an
injured creature, more than empathy for its hurt feelings. She swung her legs
over the side of the bed, conscious of her breasts tingling, heavy and swollen
with milk and equally aware of an ache deep in her abdomen.
She'd expected to hurt when she woke but she hadn't, and she'd not expected to
hurt when she got up, but she was. A streak of fire burned down her abdomen,
the c-section incision, she guessed, and she gasped, pressing her hand against
the pain.
The creature immediately spun and rose to its full two-feet, hissing and
snarling in a fever of rage but she didn't flinch. Instead, she slid carefully
off the bed, wincing at the various aches and pains that rippled through her
body, ranging for bearable to severe, and limped on her fractured leg the two
steps it took to reach the blood smeared child. It quivered, golden eyes
simultaneously blank and full of expectation, and stared at her as she knelt and
stretched out her hand.
"Hurnry…" it snuffled cautiously. "Mrarma…hurnry."
Tears burned in her eyes and she wished she could talk. For the first time in
five years, she wished fervently that she could talk and wished even more that
she could explain. Though…what would she explain? She’d no idea what this
thing had been forced to endure and only the sketchiest of reasons why. So
instead of logically explaining things, she made a soothing noise and very
slowly brushed her palm over its surprisingly soft, bald head.
"Hunrnry…" it repeated, scuttling closer, and closer still, until it was close
enough to lift one claw to paw at her shirt with exquisite gentleness.
"Mrarma…hurnry…"
She rocked back onto her good leg, nearly overbalancing with surprise. Of
course…Oh God, now she understood and it was less of a shock that it could have
been because she'd already known, hadn't she? This was her baby and he was
trying to call her Mama…mararma must mean mama. And hurnry must mean he was
hungry. He could smell the milk and he wanted to nurse.
She looked at his mouth, wondering if the shape of it was formed such to allow
him to nurse, and then she wondered what the hell she was thinking. She wasn’t
seriously going to allow this freakish thing to touch her, was she?
She dropped onto the floor with a wince and settled her back against the bed,
taking a deep breath in to steady herself. Well, was she any less of a freak
when all was said and done? They were a pair of freaks and his sad, mournful
cries called to her on some subconscious maternal level, called to her and made
her breasts ache and the milk flow. Her baby was hungry…she carefully stripped
her shirt, exposing her bare breasts and beckoned him in, arms spread wide in
welcome.
He kept one wary eye on her face as he shuffled closer, making these
heartbreaking little whimpers, and knelt between her thighs. She wondered if
this had been offered to him before and taken away, perhaps as part of his
training. He seemed nervous and uncertain…it made her wonder what his training
entailed and further, how long he’d been in training. How old could he
possibly be? Was this her last baby? The one she’d hated so much? She thought
about all of that and more, largely to avoid the more critical question of
whether or not he would rip her into as many pieces as he’d done with Peter.
Only he couldn’t have been any more delicate. He fumbled for her nipple, as
clumsy as any newborn learning to nurse though the comparison between him and a
newborn wasn’t even ludicrous. When he finally latched on and began a strong
suction, she felt faint with the relief of having her breast emptied and stared
down at the perfectly round head with a curiously soft sensation in her stomach.
She didn’t know how to do this. She’d never had a baby before, that she’d been
able to hold and feed anyway, and she didn’t know what to do with him. His
cheeks were hollowed with the force of his suction and she smiled, suddenly
aware of a strong desire to touch him and make real his presence. Gently, she
stroked her finger down the satiny skin, and after a moment’s hesitation,
circled him in a tentative embrace. He snuggled against her body and let his
eyes fall closed with a deep sigh of relief
“Danley?” A Brendan’s voice crackled to life over a speaker somewhere in the
corner of the room and her baby leapt to his feet, teeth bared, claws extended.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Danley, how long does it take to say goodbye?” Brendan
sneered. “It’s not like you ever liked this place anyway.” He paused, as if
waiting for an answer then moved on in a brusque tone. “Look, we’ve got the
selected breeders transferred and we’re going to blow this place to hell and
back in about five minutes. You’d better have your ass out of here by then or
you’ll be ashes with the rest of them.”
Brendan shut the speaker off without waiting for a reply and Genevieve stared at
her son, heart pounding in her throat. They were going to blow the compound up.
The fucking bastards were going to blow the place up. Peter’s earnest face
flashed through her mind and his words ‘trust me, no one will ever hurt you
again.’ Lying sack of shit. And now her baby would die too, something the poor
thing evidently didn’t realize because his face was slowly losing its anger as
he crept back toward her.
Five minutes…all they had left was five minutes. Her mind spun madly, whirling
with the knowledge. Five minutes…she was far too damaged to make it out in
time, but he could. He could and maybe he could warn the others - ? No, his
speech was unintelligible and his countenance would only terrify them. She
gnawed on her lower lip, lost in thought. Shit! Maybe it would be a kindness
to let him perish with her, burn in the rubble while he nursed…but no, she
couldn’t bear the thought. She wanted him to live, freakish as he was.
“Mrarma,” he whispered, uncertainly, head lowered in submission.
She had to make him understand…but how? What would he understand? And then she
had it. She dragged herself over to the wall and dipped her fingers in Peter’s
blood, using it to sketch a map of sorts. She’d no idea what the compound
looked like or where the exits were but she made a crude drawing of the places
she knew, and beckoned him to her side. He loped over and looked at the diagram
then at her. She scooped up a handful of Peter’s flesh and smeared it across
her drawing so that it was utterly obliterated, aware of a mounting sense of
urgency.
Her son flinched, eyes fixed to the wall for another beat before he grabbed her
wrist in his hand and began to tug her toward the door. Genevieve shook her
head, eyes tearing. She pointed to her leg and mimed breaking something. //I’m
sorry, my darling.// She thought, then waved him away but he was stubborn. He
whimpered and snuffled and tugged at her but she just kept shaking her head.
Finally, he hissed savagely and she felt a wave of sad relief. //Good. Go now.
You have to go now.//
“Peter? Where the fuck are you, Peter?” Brendan’s impatient voice came through
the speaker. “It’s not like we’ve got all fucking day, here.”
She leaned heavily against the bed, eyes wide with fear. //Go…please, go!//
“Peter? Peter! Shit…you, go get Danley,” he ordered. “Pet-er…come on, man.”
Genevieve clutched the blood soaked blanket convulsively. ‘Brendan wasn’t my
first choice’. Lying bastard…
Reverberations from the first explosion rocked through the room but it was too
early and they were coming to look for Peter. There was no time left. Wildly,
she gestured at her son but he wouldn’t leave, not without her. Damn it.
She hopped toward the door, leaning on anything she could reach to spare her
leg, grunting with exertion. Her ribs burned with every gasped breath and she
wasn’t going to make it. Not like this.
She sobbed as another tremor shuddered through the walls. She wasn’t going to
make it….she leaned against the cold steel door frame, shaking her head.
//Please go on without me. Please…// She begged mentally, but her son was
implacable and ever so patient. He waited in the doorway for her, golden eyes
scanning the corridor with razor sharpness, encouraging her with soft grunts.
She sucked in another breath and hopped forward, into the wide corridor,
grateful to see a waist high hand rail all along wall. Her son dropped to all
fours and loped down the hallway, checking for danger down the way. She made
better time, now that she had something stable to lean on, but she still didn’t
think it would be fast enough.
Another explosion, and another, progressively coming closer and her son came
back toward her, whining low in his throat. He nudged her from behind and she
dropped her hand to his head to caress him gently. He rubbed his face against
her thigh and ran forward again, turning down the next hall to make sure it was
all still clear.
“Holy mother of God,” a shaky man’s voice came down the corridor. “What is
that?”
Genevieve glanced over her shoulder with a sinking sense of inevitability.
She’d known the first year after she’d been captured that it would end here,
underground, that she’d not ever see the outside again. But if she stalled him
long enough, she’d give her son would, so she turned all the way around to face
the ugly little barrel pointing at her chest and the black clad soldier poised
to pull the trigger.
“Spawn from hell…” he muttered to himself, sighting down the barrel.
Genevieve closed her eyes and waited for death. The soft pop of the gun was a
surprise; she’d expected it to be louder. The impact of the bullet spun her
back against the wall, where she stood panting, struggling to deal with the
searing, breath stealing pain, which was a surprise too. Somehow, she’d not
expected it to hurt so badly. She slid to the floor, leaving a bright streak of
blood behind her and smiled. Ah finally it was over. Finally…
The next explosion was closer, close enough that she could see the bright flash
and feel the wave of heat on her face. She swallowed, her throat so parched it
hurt. Her son’s grotesque face, backlit by greedy flames swam into focus, and
she lifted a bloody hand to stroke his face one last time.
“Go,” she whispered for the first time in five years, her voice as cracked and
dry as the desert. “Please live.”
He whined, nuzzling her hand and the last thing she saw before her lids slid
closed were the crystal tears filling his beautiful golden eyes.
Five years later
Excerpt from an intercepted government military transmission:
Project Adam was discontinued 29 April. All facilities have been destroyed.
All project participants were debriefed and reassigned. All offspring generated
by said project were eliminated upon destruction of the facilities.
Reported sightings of ‘creatures’ bearing any resemblance to project
participants has been deemed impossible.
The terse transmission was signed by Dr. Brendan Raie.
She laughed softly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Impossible, was it? Well, Dr. Raie was about to find out precisely how
impossible it was. She had tracked him down, though it had taken her five years
to cut through the mess he’d made to cover his ass, a mess that hadn’t been
nearly enough to stop her once she’d recovered her strength.
She picked her Glock up off the table and sighted down the barrel, imagining
Brendan’s terrified face on the other end of it and smiled. They’d made a life
for themselves here, in the shadow of the place that had once been hell. She
and Golden Eyes, her son, and a virtual army of others like him had escaped the
genocide planned for them and in the process, freed most of their mothers. Some
chose to return to civilization, the ones who’d not been there long and others
stayed with their mutant children.
They’d scavenged supplies from the wreckage of the base, clothing, food,
medicines, blankets and even a couple of computers. Working together, they’d
established a community of sorts and started on the long hunt to answer the
question why. Why had this been done to them? How had it happened? How could
such a thing happen here? The scary thing was, she’d found some information to
support Peter Danley’s claim that this was a joint effort between some group of
aliens and the government.
If that were so, then something must have gone wrong specifically with this
facility since she knew for a fact Brendan Raie had taken some of the women with
him and she had to assume he’d continue his little project elsewhere. Privately
she admitted that it wouldn’t matter if he hadn’t, she would not sleep easily
again so long as Brendan drew breath in the same world she did. She fully
intended to send the little bastard to hell.
The cabin door opened and Golden Eyes stepped in. She set the gun down and
caught him in her arms as he launched himself at her. He was the perfect
killing machine, tough, brutal and extremely powerful, and he was a first class
snuggler. He rested his head on her chest with a soft noise of contentment,
flattening his long ears against his skull to allow her greater access to his
skin. He loved to be stroked and would sit in her lap for hours, mesmerized, if
she let him.
He’d gotten her out of the exploding base after he’d taken apart the man who
shot her. He refused to leave her, even though he’d been badly burned in the
process, and they said he’d hovered over her as she recovered for days. She
owed her life to him, many times over and in the past few years, she’d ceased to
think of any of the children as mutants. They were a bizarre conglomeration of
genetic codes from a broad spectrum of the animal community, but they all shared
a single commonality, and that was some human DNA. It was enough to make them
more compassionate and loyal than many of the humans she’d known.
She pressed a light kiss to Eyes’ rough skin.
“I’ve got him, darling,” she whispered. “I finally found him.”
Golden Eyes made a soft snuffling sound she knew meant pleasure.
“Are the rest of the boys ready?”
He nodded and she hugged him close.
“Good. Then let’s pay Dr. Raie a visit.” She didn’t make any move to stand just
yet, immersed in the pleasure holding that hot little body burrowed against her.
“I love you, Mommy,” Eyes whispered, his voice low and clear.
“I love you, too, darling…”
