Born

The draining chamber was located deep within the tunnels. Torches were fewer and farther in-between here, as less eyes demanded less light. “This is the last fork,” Allora hissed, casting a look behind them. Cormack didn’t bother—he knew the Borns followed them down, eager for a show. They would watch the life be sucked out of him and then return to their gluttonous feasting.

The overlord stopped them at the opening to the draining chamber. “It seems as though there is a backup, many naughty Breds acting out today. I’m glad I came down here to bump you up the waiting list. There’s one who just started, so it’ll be an hour or so, depending on how much life is left in the shell.

Don’t worry though, you’re next in line.”

Hatred welled deep within, but it was his old familiar loathing for the Born who abused their powers. “This will not last forever, Overlord. One day the Bred will rise up like a nightmare to pay you back in kind.” He leveled his gaze at the other man. “On that day, we will meet again.”

11

Allora propped Cormack up against the wall to wipe sweat from her eyes. It was sweat, damn it, not tears. She didn’t have time for emotion, had to figure out a way to get Cormack to the surface, find him some protective gear and get the hell away from the overlord’s grasp.

They had no provisions, nowhere to run, no plan in place. And precious little time left.

The Bred in the draining pod was a woman.

Younger than Cormack but older than herself, she knelt on the floor of the glass tube, blond hair covering her face. Allora glanced to the indicator screen, seeing that the draining had been going on for several minutes. On the accusation board the plaintiff had written, stole nutri packets from the kitchen.

Allora frowned, momentarily startled out of her frenetic mindset. Surly that must be wrong. Since when were the Bred recycled for stealing food?

A row of Born stood watching, the mortician who would take the body for recycling, garbed in his outdoor armor and leaning idly on his gurney. The kitchen supervisor, who must have reported the theft, looked over to where they stood, examining Cormack’s genitals with sick interest. Allora stepped in front of him and glared until the woman looked away. Beside her, the doctor tapped his foot, waiting to declare that the soul had been properly harvested.

The minister mumbled in a monotone voice, passionlessly entreating the universe to care for the departed. Not a single one of them stirred so much as a hair when the woman threw back her head and shrieked.

“Lara,” Cormack breathed, staggering forward.

His gaze locked on the suffering Bred dying by the will of the overlord.

Allora blocked his path, using all of her strength to push against him. If he hadn’t been so weakened from his attacks on the overlord, she never would have succeeded in restraining him. “There is nothing you can do for her.”

He looked down at her, his expression inscrutable. “She did it for me. I asked her to take the packets.”

She squeezed his arm, filled with fear that she would soon have to watch him die the same way.

It’s not over until it’s over.

Behind Cormack’s left shoulder, a cage rattled as one of the waiting Bred lost his composure. “My turn next! No cutsies, no cutsies, no cutsies!” Bloodshot eyes with expanded pupils glared at them.

The madness has claimed him. It truly was a crime to make this man wait any longer to die. If she had seen him in the barracks or anywhere else in the compound she would have slit his throat. A grin split his dirty face and he nodded eagerly at her, as though he had read her mind and liked her conclusion. Chills shook her to the soul and she turned away, sickened.

A weapon, we need something to fight with.

Though Cormack physically couldn’t help her and there were too many for Allora to best on her own.

She eyed the lock on the Bred cage, wondering if there was any way she could set them free so she and Cormack could escape in the chaos.

Yet where could they go? More than a mile of labyrinth tunnels stood between them and the surface and countless Born troops might patrol in between.

Well over six feet tall and completely naked, Cormack would draw interest even if he wasn’t an escaping prisoner.

If they did make it to the surface, they had no supplies, no animals to speed them away from here.

Without fresh water they might wander for days until ultimately dying from dehydration. Cormack had no clothes and would be at the mercy of the elements.

Come on, Allora, if you are ever going to think up something brilliant, now is the time!