Ash On The Tongue (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

AUbrEY

I never thought I’d say it, but I kind of missed the smell of rain.

There was an undercurrent of fear-drenched sweat in the basement—an acrid scent the sterile environment of the facility I was in couldn’t quite mask. It was this fucked-up miasma of vomit and urine and terror that mixed together and lingered even after they sprayed the cleaning chemicals.

I wanted to say I didn’t contribute to it, that I was nothing but a brave face and defiance in the hands of whatever pharma company had their scientists round us all up in the name of The Greater Good.

But I knew better. I was afraid every second—I just made sure I didn’t let them see me cry. The rain outside was red. I wasn’t about to give the assholes a taste of clear water with my tears. The only thing they were getting from me was blood .

More of the same—everything came up red around here.

Once upon a time, life hadn’t been a complete shitshow. Of course, once upon a time, humans had fucked the world over so much that scientists releasing toxic shit into the clouds and causing the apocalypse hadn’t been noticed until it was too late.

We were already feral, so it wasn’t weird when people started to act even more aggressive.

We were already broken as a society, so it wasn’t a surprise that no one took the red rain seriously until it was too late and half the world was rotten.

By the time I was born, the storms were commonplace, especially around here.

It rained more than it should have in the little town we were in, and we were just unlucky enough that the storm system that carried the infection around the world had broken up into pieces, and one had been hovering over our area for almost sixty-seven years.

Our rain was red more often than not, which meant we were the perfect location for scientists to pull subjects from. Half the population had already turned, and the ones who’d had kids were healthy enough to survive the infection. Their babies had babies, and by now we were something stronger.

We were optimal for testing because we weren’t immune, we were something people liked to call long-haul carriers. The rain made us feral, and half of us were vicious raiders running on base instinct from the virus pumping through our veins and eating away our humanity, but we survived.

Sometimes the infection overtook one of us and we completely turned, but more often than not it was other sicknesses, starvation, raiders, or the rabid that killed us.

Or, apparently, scientists.

I hadn’t expected that one when I ran away from home at fifteen.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, heading out into the ravaged lands alone, but it was better than staying in a run-down apartment with a dad who beat the shit out of you.

I’d learned from the age of six not to cry—I’d learned from the age of six that loving someone was the best way to lose your life.

I’d cried when my dad killed my mom, and I was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t killed me too was because he knew a kid would be a great distraction if the infected got into our apartment and attacked—a kid would be a great bargaining chip if raiders came through and tried to rob him blind.

I was nothing but an object, and objects weren’t allowed to cry. He’d beat me until my tears dried up, and told me if it ever happened again, he’d take my eyes out.

When I turned fifteen, I realized there were other things he could trade me for—other things he’d happily trade me for. My body for a little baggie of drugs.

It happened once .

I left the same night with a limp and his blood on my hands—I’d killed plenty of infected in my life, but my dad was the first time I killed someone and they said my name while they died.

It was also the first time I realized that killing someone—danger and blood and the thought that I might die—could numb pain. It could steal away the ache in your chest .

Violence and agony could make you forget everything else that tried to break you.

I wished I could say it was the only time I’d learned that lesson.

I was eighteen, and the soldiers from the Order who the scientists had hired as guards looked at us like we were nothing but meat.

They’d taken the entire camp. I’d only stopped there long enough to resupply on food and water, but I’d stayed to listen about the kids who’d gone missing the night before.

I cared. That was my mistake.

They captured us that night while we slept.

And now we were here… well, half of us were here. I didn’t want to know what they’d done with everyone else, and I didn’t want to know why one of those missing kids was clinging to me like a second shadow with wide eyes and a pale face.

I couldn’t save her.

I couldn’t save anyone.

The knowledge didn’t stop me from stepping in front of her when the scientists came to pick out who they wanted to fuck with next.

It didn’t stop me from going with them willingly so they had no reason to look for someone else, or when they led me into a room and started stabbing me with needles.

It didn’t do anything, as far as I could tell.

Neither did trying to save her, because I saw her little body prone and unmoving in a puddle of dried blood when they led me past my usual holding cell and took me into isolation.

She couldn’t have been more than seven .

Fuck .

That was the first night a soldier came into my cell. They beat the shit out of me and left me lying in a pool of my own blood. The next day, they dragged me back into that same room and injected me with more needles.

It was rinse and repeat until the days blurred and I wasn’t sure what was going on, until I started to realize that as hard as they hit me, I was still getting up the next day and moving.

It made me wonder if they’d brought us here to look for a cure at all.

It made me wonder if the world really was so fucked that even after it had all ended, the people in charge were still doing what they did best. The strong exploited the weak for power.

My dad had done it before I ran, and now the people in charge were doing it again, using my body to further their own agenda.

I wasn’t here for the Greater Good . There was no Greater Good.

I was here to become a weapon.