The ARC 03: Fractured

  Fractured

  THE ARC BOOK THREE

  Alexandra Moody

  http://alexandramoody.com

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by Alexandra Moody

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Edited by Pete Thompson

  Cover Design by Alexandra Moody

  For Pete.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  I wake to a high-pitched, repetitious beeping noise and the strong stench of disinfectant. The bitter odour tingles my nose, tempting me to sneeze. In my sleepy haze I lift my hand to rub at the prickling sensation. But as I do, I feel something hard attached to the back of my hand.

  My eyes fly open as I jerk my hand away from my face. At first, my vision is blurry and the bright world around me is an array of indistinct blobs. It gradually clears, but this does nothing to settle my confusion. A long tube extends from my hand to a machine beside the bed, which dispenses a clear liquid into it.

  Where the hell am I?

  There’s a dull ache in the back of my head. My mouth is dry and there’s a strange metallic taste on the tip of my tongue. I don’t feel like myself at all. My regular clothes are gone. Instead, I’m dressed in a thin blue gown that reaches down to my knees.

  I struggle to push my heavy body up in bed to look around. Clean, white tiles and stark, white walls frame the cold and bare room I’m in. There are no windows and harsh white lights shine down from above making it unnaturally bright in here.

  This place feels all too familiar and though I’ve never been in this room before, it has the same sterile look and suffocating feel to it as the last place I want to be. I must be back in the ARC.

  The enclosed white space rattles me more than I would like and my breathing becomes shallow as I try to process my return underground. I had risked so much to escape this place and go after Sebastian. I gave up everything to journey to the mysterious Hope City and find him. I try to remain calm, but I’m slowly starting to freak out.

  Why would they bring me back here? Did they figure out I escaped?

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I try to recall what happened before I went to sleep. My thoughts are muddled though, and the details of my memories flutter just out of my grasp. Why can’t I remember?

  The last thing I clearly remember was being at school. Recruiters had just arrived and I was trying to get out of there with Hunter. I don’t know what happened after we left though and everything is hazy.

  Did the recruiters find me? Did they discover I don’t belong on the surface and return me underground? Trying to dredge up memories that would rather stay hidden makes my pulse run quicker. It shouldn’t be this hard to recall my last waking hours.

  I open my eyes to check my CommuCuff, hoping to find some information about the last few hours of my life there. The memory has been wiped though and is as empty as my own. I tap the clear glass surface again, attempting to access the cuff history, but it’s all gone and even my contacts have disappeared.

  Looking to the door at the end of the room, I can see one of those slick metal security pads mounted on the wall next to it. Over the doorway are two small dark glass cylinders, which I suspect house cameras inside. I want to get a closer look, but I can’t go anywhere while this tube links me to the machine at my bedside.

  My pulse races as I consider the domes. Who is watching me? But, more importantly, why?

  A shudder runs down my spine at the thought, but I push the questions out of my mind to focus on my current task. I raise my arm to inspect the tube attached to the back of my hand. It doesn’t look particularly difficult to remove. I’m sure if I just give it a strong tug … I suck a pained breath in through my teeth as I yank the tube out and throw the cursed thing away from me.

  Blood slowly drips down my hand from where the tube had entered the skin. I clamp my other hand over the bleed and swing my legs off the bed to stand. The movement causes a sudden rush of blood away from my head making me sway unsteadily on my feet.

  I reach out and grasp the bedhead. The edges of my vision are still blurry and the walls in the room aren’t as solid as they should be. Holding my arm out, I use the wall for support as I stagger over to the door.

  It’s freezing out of the bed, with only the thin gown I’m wearing. The ground is cold beneath my bare feet and the draft that comes in under the doorway bites against my skin.

  I’d always intended to return to the ARC, if I could, but not like this. Not stolen away, without a choice, without finding Sebastian to bring him home. An angry tear finds its way down my cheek. My short life on the surface had been on borrowed time. I was never talented like the others. I was never meant to be there and I knew that.

  I just hoped I would have longer, a chance at least to see the sun, high overhead, one last time. To say goodbye to the friends who had helped me attempt to find Sebastian. Will Hunter and Lara have any idea what happened to me? Would April even care I’m gone?

  The last thought slips in unbidden. There was a time when I knew without doubt the answer to that question, but now? Well, April has become a different person up here. I guess we have both changed.

  I place one hand around the handle to pull the door open, but it won’t move. The door is locked.

  ‘Hello?’ I croak, my voice rough from disuse. ‘Is anyone there?’ I tap my hand against the cold metal door then place my ear up against it. I don’t hear any movement beyond it though.

  ‘Hello?’ I call out, one more time. Still, no one answers.

  I slowly ease my way back to the lone bed and sit down on the edge of it. Again, I am hit by the strangeness of all this. Why am I in here? Why don’t I remember anything? My memories only reach as far as yesterday afternoon. Hell, I hope it was yesterday afternoon. What has happened since then?

  I hear a scraping noise outside the door and several clicks as the bolts unlock. The hinges groan as the door opens and in through the doo
rway steps a woman. She’s wearing a long white lab coat and has a stethoscope hanging around her neck. I crane my neck to see what is on the other side of the door behind her. I catch sight of a man in black standing in a white hallway beyond, but the door is slammed shut before I can get a good look at him.

  The woman approaches my bed. ‘Good morning Elle,’ she says, as she takes my wrist with her icy hands to bump my cuff against the sensor on her tablet.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks, her eyes giving me the barest acknowledgement as they flick up to look at me, before returning to stare at the screen.

  She drops my wrist and I wrap my arms around my body. ‘I … ah. I feel fine?’

  The woman moves to check my temperature.

  ‘Except, how did I get here? Where are we? Why am I here?’ Panic rises inside me, as the questions continue to pour out. ‘Who are you? Why don’t I remember anything?’

  ‘You’re in the hospital. I’m the nurse on duty and you’re here to get better,’ she says.

  ‘But, I’m not sick. There’s been some sort of mistake.’ I try to stand, but the nurse firmly places one hand on my shoulder.

  ‘There hasn’t been a mistake,’ she replies. ‘I’m afraid you are sick. I will take you to the doctor after I’ve finished examining you. He’ll be able to answer your questions.’

  ‘I’m sick?’ I whisper, a wave of doubt rushing through me. The nurse seems certain. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘The doctor will explain further,’ she says, lifting her hand off my shoulder and pulling the stethoscope from around her neck.

  I become increasingly tense as she checks me over. The lady is trying to be gentle with me and is saying all the right things, but her shoulders are rigid and her eyes alert. There’s something off about this whole situation and I don’t like it one bit.

  The nurse pulls back from me and stands straight. ‘I will take you to the doctor now. Would you like me to fetch a wheelchair?’

  ‘I can walk,’ I reply, standing and decidedly ignoring how dizzy the small movement makes me feel.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she replies.

  The woman taps her cuff against the security pad and there’s a heavy click as the bolts on the door retract and the door opens. The man in the black suit I’d spotted earlier stands just outside the doorway. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, though the nurse gives him a slight shake of her head to which he gives a small nod in return.

  He steps back, allowing us to pass. As I follow the woman into the long corridor I glance over my shoulder at the man. He doesn’t follow, instead moving off in the other direction.

  I want to ask the nurse why he was there, but I stay silent. I suspect she won’t answer and that his presence had a whole lot to do with the locked room I found myself in.

  ‘Keep up,’ the nurse calls, the sound more distant than I would’ve expected. I turn and find I’ve already fallen far behind and stagger to catch up with her.

  Like the room I was in, there are no windows anywhere to be seen and only artificial light guides our way as we move through the building. I had hoped there would be windows out here and maybe I was wrong to think I was back in the ARC, but the corridor only proves my first instinct was right.

  The place is eerily quiet, with the exception of the incessant tapping of the nurse’s shoes against the tiled floor. My own bare feet barely make a sound. The hospital in the ARC was usually abuzz with activity, but this place is more like a morgue than a hospital. It just feels wrong.

  The nurse knocks on one of the doors and opens it a crack, poking her head inside. ‘Dr. Milton, I have Elle Winters here to see you,’ she says. ‘Are you ready for her?’

  ‘Yes. Send her in,’ a man responds.

  The door swings wide and I am ushered into an office. A large wooden desk, covered with thick medical texts, dominates the centre of the room and behind sits an older man. He barely registers I’ve entered and it seems like his mind is somewhere else entirely. His forehead is creased from too many years of frowning, and his eyes squint as he strains to read the book in his hands.

  ‘You can sit down,’ he says, abruptly, causing me to scurry to the closest chair. He runs a hand through his greying hair, but doesn’t acknowledge me as he continues to focus on his book.

  When he doesn’t say a word to me after several minutes of waiting, I begin the conversation. ‘Can you tell me what’s wrong with me?’ I ask. My words don’t come out as strong as I’d hoped. I sound weary and the nerves I’m trying so hard to keep at bay sneak in, making my voice tremble.

  He looks up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features that suggests I’ve spoken out of turn. ‘Elle, I’m glad to see you’re finally awake,’ he says.

  I look the man up and down. His words are said pleasantly enough, but there’s a wariness to his eyes that makes me cautious of him. ‘Why have I been brought here?’ I ask.

  He shifts back into his chair, crossing one leg. ‘You had a routine check up and we noticed some irregularities in your blood work.’

  ‘But I’ve never had a check up…’ my voice trails off. My memories are murky. Maybe I did have one? It doesn’t seem right though. Getting a check up is the last thing I’d do. I wouldn’t risk them finding out the truth about my lack of talent. Why can’t I remember?

  ‘Yes, you had one yesterday. You were struggling to sleep last night so they administered a sedative, which can make things a little muddled for a few days. Your memories will come back to you in time.’

  ‘Sedative?’ I shake my head. ‘But I’m not sick. There must have been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.’

  He doesn’t take a moment to even consider what I’ve said before responding. ‘I can assure you, you are. It will only get worse if you don’t get our help.’ There’s genuine concern on his face, which is difficult to ignore.

  ‘What do you think is wrong with me?’ I ask.

  ‘It seems you were taken to the surface too early. With the increased Lysartium exposure, your cells are mutating too fast,’ he explains, talking slowly to make sure I understand.

  I swallow uncomfortably, not liking what I hear. ‘What does that mean?’

  The doctor’s eyes soften. ‘It means if we don’t do something you will get sick.’

  ‘How sick?’ I ask, my voice becoming quiet. I can practically feel my nerves crackling in the air around me.

  ‘Sick enough that you won’t be able to leave your bed. You won’t be able to go to school or see your friends. Your headaches will become increasingly worse, you’ll lose your appetite and the little food you do get down, you’ll throw up. The mental stability of patients with your symptoms has been known to deteriorate…’ he pauses, his eyes weighing me up before he continues. ‘Without treatment your illness is terminal.’

  ‘What?’ My voice sounds frail and my body feels weak. He thinks I’m dying? ‘You can make me better, right?’

  ‘That depends on how you respond to our therapies. We’d like to run a few tests, if that’s okay with you?’

  ‘Tests?’ I hesitate. ‘I … I’m not sure.’

  ‘If we don’t do them you’re only going to get worse.’

  ‘I don’t even feel sick.’ Maybe a little tired, but not sick. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

  The doctor shakes his head. ‘You’re only in the early stages. If you get our help now, we can stop the progression. If not … well, it won’t be good.’

  I fold my arms across my chest and struggle to take in a deep breath. My body shakes as the air moves down into my lungs and then out again. ‘And the treatment will work?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My gaze drops to stare at the medical text lying open in front of him. There’s a large, colourful picture of a DNA molecule on one page, with lots of writing on the other.

  ‘Elle?’ he asks.

  I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what to think. All I can seem to do is focus on the bright blue and red
strands of the molecule on the page.

  ‘Elle, it’s best if we start the treatment as soon as possible.’

  I aimlessly nod, as his words pour over me, not really hearing and not really listening either. He keeps on talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying. There are no words that can change the prognosis he’s given me. I don’t want to be sick and I definitely don’t want treatment or any tests. I just want to leave this place.

  ‘Are you happy to start the treatment?’ he asks, his words finally cutting through the fog that clouds my mind. I recoil back into the chair.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I whisper. This is all happening so quickly.

  He doesn’t respond immediately and, when I look up at him, he appears annoyed by my response. ‘We should start straight away. The sooner we can administer the gene therapy, the better odds you have of making a full recovery’

  I nod in response. ‘Okay. You can start the treatment.’

  ‘You’re making the right choice.’ He flips the book shut on his desk, his cool confidence quickly covering the moment of anger I’d caught in his eyes before. He places his lips to his cuff, to let his team of doctors know I’m ready. The way he addresses them, it’s as though they had been waiting for me. As though they had already been certain of my answer. When the nurse enters the room to collect me mere seconds later, I wonder if I ever had a choice.

  I sigh and take a moment, before I move to follow the woman from the room. ‘I never thought I’d be back here,’ I say, melancholy as I take in the generic white room around me.

  The doctor, who has already turned his back to me, freezes. His shoulders tense and he slowly turns around. ‘What are you talking about?’ he asks, his face a total mask.

  I frown. ‘I never thought I’d see the ARC again.’

  ‘The ARC?’ he questions. He lets out a small laugh when I nod, his shoulders relaxing. ‘Child, you are not in the ARC. You’re in West Hope Hospital. No one returns to the ARC.’