The Awakening

The Awakening (The first book in the Servant series) A novel by L L Foster

Chapter One

'Be very, very still now. Don't move.'

Gray eyes, faded from years of living, cloudy with dementia, gave only a blank stare.

So amusing, the lack of mental acuity. 'Yes, I know you hear me, even if you do look hollow and empty. But I suppose it's okay that you don't understand everything happening. Better, even.' Humor tilted the corners of the physician's mouth. 'It makes my job that much easier.'

The personality of this human shell was long gone, eaten away by neglect, age, and disease. There could be no soul, not in something so pathetic and uncomprehending. Now the frail, emancipated body would serve a higher calling. Science would benefit. The extent of possibilities learned had no boundaries.

Exciting, that's what it was. Challenging and, though some would never admit it, honorable.

The overhead light glinted on the heavy-duty steel wire snips. Proper surgical tools would be better, but they were costly and not easy to steal. The fewer chances taken, the better.

For the sake of science, a carpenter's tools would have to do.

Carefully, the physician guided one gangling finger into the jaws of the snips. Not too far, just deep enough to remove the very tip.

The fingerprint.

Evidence of any life. Of any background.

Such precautions were necessary in the event the discarded bodies, the ones that couldn't hold up under the trials, were ever found. There could be no evidence to trace, no way to be implicated.

Ready.

One breath. Two. Squeeze.

Brittle bone crunched, severed, between the razor-sharp blades; shock stilled the subject, and a second later, a tearing, agonizing scream bounded around the cavernous room, stirring the others to rail and groan in helpless fear.

Disturbed by the ballyhoo, the doctor glanced around at each of them. They might be incoherent and utterly useless to functioning society, but they still perceived the trials awaiting them.

Fortunately, they'd come to this remote location drugged almost comatose, and before the hallucinogens and painkillers wore off, they'd been strapped down securely with crude, makeshift restraints.

Those same straps kept this body still, and no one was around to hear the eerie wails of agony. No one who mattered.

The next finger found the same fate.

Warm blood pooled onto the rickety table and stained the rough linens. Sterilized stitching took place between every two or three removals. Boring, tedious work, but necessary to stop the blood flow and assist in healing.

Effective experimentation could not be done on a dead body.

'Now.' Smiling, the doctor looked down to find the body unnaturally still. Pain had carried the patient to the oblivion of unconsciousness. Annoyance replaced the amusement; every great doctor appreciated an attentive audience to witness strokes of brilliance.

But perhaps it was better this way. There'd be no more need for small talk. No need to soothe.

On to business.

The right hand still waited.

The crimson sunrise spilled into the cramped but tidy room, bringing with it the monotony of responsibility and the taint of rancid malevolence. Funny, how people always assumed evil lurked in the shadowy night, that it wore a face of frightening proportions, that it could—in any way—be predictable.

With the nine-millimeter resting in her hand, her finger curved around the trigger, Gabrielle Cody lay unmoving. The knife strapped to her back dug into her spine with reassuring familiarity. Even in sleep, her muscles stayed taut, her body prepared.

Today, her twenty-first birthday, dawned no different from any other. Had she really hoped to have a respite from the grueling duty?

The sounds of birds awakening, cars driving by, and the relentless, rhythmic beating of her heart swarmed her mind. She wished she could deny the morning. She wished she could be reborn as someone else, someone… normal.

But no matter how Gabrielle strained and resisted, she couldn't deny the pull. With each second that ticked past, the clawing from within swelled, screaming louder inside her head, making her guts churn and her blood rush hot until the walls of her chest burned like fire. With a tearing groan and a stiffening of her legs, she narrowed her eyes and did her best to focus on the cracked and stained ceiling.

Leave me alone.

The silent command resonated within her head, just like the inexorable draw that refused to be ignored.

Battling it brought a light sweat to her skin, leaving her naked body slick. Her breath soughed in and out. The lumpy mattress took on the appeal of hard gravel, urging her to start the day.

Resistance was futile.

'Fuck it.' Gabrielle thrust herself off the bed in a rush of acceptance. Her bare feet padded in hollow silence across the floor to the open window, where she stared at the hazy sunrise swimming on the horizon. The mid-June day would torture with heat and humidity—perfect for her birthday.

As long as it didn't storm, she could function. But if black clouds moved in and the thunder began to belch and bluster… Just thinking of it made her palms damp and her throat tight. Shit. She might as well fear the dark or the occasional spider while she was at it.

She snorted, scrubbed at her tired eyes, and surveyed everything within her range of sight.

As usual, her attention landed on the playground first, surrounded by a sturdy chain-link fence that couldn't stop a damn thing and would offer no protection from the real threats. By midmorning, laughing, innocent children would be at play with an excess of noise and excitement.

The now-abandoned elementary school drew her notice next. Once, long ago, it taught dreams and encouraged illusions. They'd put up the fence to keep the kids in, ignorant and oblivious to the true dangers lurking beneath a veneer of social acceptability.

All along the road, traffic multiplied in a scorched wave of colors and sounds and exhaust fumes. It hadn't rained in weeks and brittle tree leaves rustled under the encouragement of a hot, restless breeze.

Gaby drew a breath—and held it.

Somewhere out there, somewhere that no one could see or suspect, horrible things waited, taunting her senses, painfully pricking her nerves, making her vision slide within. She knew it. She always knew it.

She fucking hated it.

Wrenching away from the window, she unbuckled the knife strap from around her waist and carried it, with the heavy gun, into the bathroom. In her efficiency apartment, it was the only closed room. A single large room housed everything else: her bed, her hot plate, an old rickety desk and a minuscule dresser, a microwave and small refrigerator.

After setting the weapons aside, she double-bolted the special door she'd installed for her peace of mind, and then turned on the shower. The original door and flimsy lock hadn't taken much more than a single punch before giving way. Now, when the rush of water impaired her perceptions, it'd require a talented locksmith or a true behemoth to break in.

Whenever circumstances like sleeping or bathing left her vulnerable, Gaby did all she could to protect herself. The shower, with its old rattling pipes, made more noise than most. At times, it sounded like the demons from hell