SPLICED

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

September 19th, 2018

Three years ago, a busload of students from Highland Prep were declared dead in a devastating accident off Route Eighteen. That same month, Eden Laboratories, specializing in experimental sciences, made a press release detailing a breakthrough in an innovative form of transmutation. Twenty-eight empty coffins were buried, twenty-eight children mourned, and across the country one of the most extraordinary and significant scientific trials of all time was underway.

No one connected the dots. No one would. What could those two instances have in common? This was exactly the thing Eden Laboratories had banked on. And for us? For the survivors, this was the thing that sealed our fate.

My name is Charlotte Cruz and I am one of the twenty-eight. 

Today, like any other day, I wake in my cell to the sound of a horn, blaring over the audio system. Cupping my hands over my ears I scream for the noise to stop, but I know it won't until all my fellow prisoners are awake. There are only fourteen of us, now. Our numbers drop every day. To the laboratory workers, we are expendable... most lab rats are.

The pain in my head is intense, but I know if I don't move, they will set off the sirens next, and they are worse. So much worse. I clamber from the rickety cot and stand before my cell door, hands at my sides, waiting. A man moves from cell to cell. He does not know my name and he never stops to talk. He wears a uniform and stitched on the breast it reads STALLER. Staller is not a bad guy. I know this, because the look in his eyes when he stares into the square glass window of my door is a kind one. Staller is only doing his job. When he walks past my window today, and he taps the glass with his knuckle, I nod. He does not nod back, but I sometimes think he wants to. Staller is not a bad guy, but like the rest of us, he is also expendable and if he does not do his job, someone else will take his place. Staller is the third guard we have had in three years.

When Staller is done checking the cells, the horns fall silent and the next sound is the Voice. Fuzzy and distorted, it tells us to step away from the doors. I move back and with a buzzing sound, and a sharp click, the door swings opened. Next, we are instructed to step out. This is the first time in the day I am able to see the others. I count. Eight men and six women. We are still fourteen, and for a moment I can breathe. The voice tells us to line up and we do, then we travel the length of the long, narrow hallway until we come to a set of doors, painted vibrant red. These doors open with an automatic swish and we go through them, into a brightly lit chamber. Everything is white, the tiles, the ceiling, the walls. Even our gowns and the socks on our feet are white. A second voice comes from the intercom, a woman's voice, deep, exact and succinct. She tells us to disrobe. She adds 'Please', and for some reason I find the forced nature of her politeness offensive, but I obey. We all do.

The gowns are hung on posts by the red doors and we stand in the center of the room, naked, save for cotton underwear. I am vulnerable. Exposed. The lights flare brightly, like the flash on a camera as we are scanned. The woman's voice tells us to gear up and we separate, the men and women, and move to the lockers on either side of that stark white room. Inside are a pair of black sweatpants and a grey tank-top. There are also black socks and sneakers. Lastly, there is a black sweatshirt with a number on the back in solid white. When we are all dressed, we line up again and a pair of doors on the opposite side of the white room swing open. We continue on to the next room. In this room, there are elevators. Each has a grey steel door and above it, a flashing red light. They are numbered, one through thirty.

The number on the back of my sweatshirt is seven. I move to the door marked with the same number and it slides open. Turning to the others, I count them one more time before I step inside. There is always a chance there will be less of us at the end of the day. Over time, I have begun to experience a feeling, a sense when that may happen. Today is one of those days.

My eyes sting, as I step into the elevator. Maybe it will be me, today? Maybe I will be the one who does not return. Part of me hopes it isn't. Part of me prays it is.

The doors close and the elevator rides upwards without a jolt. The indicator light turns green and as the doors open again I step out into another bright, white room. Here, I am alone, but not for long. A door across from mine opens and I am welcomed by a man named Doctor Codrey Lang.

Dr. Lang is tall and thin, with closely cropped blonde hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses over clear blue eyes. When he sees me, he smiles. I wish he wouldn't. He approached and his brown loafers make a clacking sound against the floor tiles.

"Ms. Cruz," His voice is mellow and soft, a warm baritone, "You're looking well, this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I offer plainly. It is the same every day. I have never felt the need to give an honest answer because I do not imagine things would change if I did. Dr. Lang is not like Staller. He smiles and his voice is gentle and cordial, but Dr. Lang is not a good man. None of the doctors at Eden are.

"We have an interesting day ahead of us, Ms. Cruz." He gestures, and we move to the door he came in through. He calls this his office, and inside it is as cold and sterile as the rest of the facility. I am led to a metal table where I sit. Dr. Lang looks at me from the doorway and his stare makes me uncomfortable. As he approaches the table, I shudder, and his hand pats my knee, his smile amiable.

"Are you sleeping any better?" He asks.

"Don't you monitor that?" I know my response is toeing a line, but as I often find these days, I don't care. There is nothing this man can say or do to me that would be worse than what has already been done. As if to put this theory to test, he squeezes my knee. I want to kick him. I want to lash out and punch his shining white teeth down his lying throat. Instead, I sit very still, very quiet. It is not my day to die, I decide. I still don't want to.

"We monitor everything, Ms. Cruz, but tests can only show so much. You know this, of course."

"Right. Of course." My voice is flat, empty. It has been this way for some time, now.

"So?"

"It's the same. Staggered. Like I'm not supposed to be sleeping... like my body doesn't want to." This is only partially true. It isn't 'like' that, at all. The truth is, my body is rejecting sleep, entirely. Dr. Lang and I both know this is because of what they have done to me. Large felines are vastly nocturnal creatures, and in the process of Transmutation, this is the DNA that I have been injected with. We are all of us freaks in Eden's circus, and Dr. Lang is the most unfunny clown I have ever met.

Scribbling on his notepad, Dr. Lang looks up and his eyes rove over me as he checks along the list. It's a process I've grown accustomed to. It's a process I've grown tired of. Before the next question can come, I answer.

"The pills have had no effect."

Dr. Lang frowns. These aren't the words he expected to hear, I know, because the medication should have worked. It would have, had I taken it.

"Ms. Cruz..." His voice is chastening, and in the tone I can hear a note of frustration, "We cannot properly conduct our portion of this experiment if you fail to do your part. Cooperation is key."

"Cooperation." This is Dr. Lang's most favorite catchphrase, "And how exactly am I supposed to be cooperating? Or did you forget again that I didn't sign up for any of this? That none of us did? You want cooperation? Open the doors and let us out. Let us go home."

His smile falters, and his grip tightens on the notepad. When I bring up these points, though I don't dare to do it often, Dr. Lang very suddenly becomes the most honest man I know.

"You want to go back to your cell tonight, Ms. Cruz? You may not want to be here, but you don't exactly have a choice, now, do you? So unless you're looking to make it out of here in a body bag, which I assure is the only way you will ever make it out of here, I would highly recommend you shut your mouth and do as you're told."

I swallow, hard. I hate that he makes me afraid, but for all my bravado, I am terrified. Of Dr. Lang. Of this place. Of what they're doing to me. His words are a reminder of what I have thought all along, of what I have known since they first took us from that bus, three years ago. Unless we can find a way to escape, we are never, ever getting out of Eden Labs.