REBELLION (Book Three of The Criminogenic Trilogy 3) Read online

  REBELLION

  Book Three

  of the

  Criminogenic Trilogy

  By B.T. Murphy

  Chapter One

  Peter Ronin stood on the shore. He could feel the salty ocean breeze sweeping over his face. He finally felt free again. Water lapped over his feet while he stood watching the horizon. The sun was setting on another day, and he needed the calm of the ocean to soothe him after a long day. He couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing in his life; like he was lost in an unknown dream and he had no chance of escape. He just needed to get to Maggie. Maggie, his beautiful beacon of hope, his shining light in a world of darkness. He could hear her calling him from afar, but when he turned around, he couldn’t find her. She still called to him with a frantic urgency, but he couldn’t see where she was. Terror started to wash over Peter when he realized that he couldn’t move; he was paralyzed, frozen with fear, and unable to help the love of his life. The calls started becoming frantic, but Maggie wasn’t calling him anymore, it was Shannon. He could see her walking toward him, he couldn’t make out what she was holding in her hands but her face was bloodied with anger. Shannon’s stalk toward Peter has started to quicken, yet he still wasn’t able to move. Panic-stricken and unable to make out what she was wielding, Peter crouched down and covered his head with his arms. Trying to drown out the hysterical cries that started to circle him, he felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

  Suddenly, he felt a wave of heat rushing over him; daring to lift his head he saw Shannon’s bloodshot eyes staring at him wildly. He saw that she was clutching a bloodied machete in her small crimson, stained hands.

  “Peter,” she breathed sadistically into his face, “wake up!”

  Peter Ronin shot up out of his bed screaming. It took him a moment to realize where he was and who was around him, but still bewildered from The Treatment, he was confused.

  “Peter, are you all right?”

  He didn’t register what was going on around him or who was desperately calling him out of his slumber. When he came to realize where he was, he saw the grey walls of the Facility surrounded him. He was being comforted by a familiar presence that tried to pull him from his comatose state. Looking up, he recognized the large, blue eyes that he had looked into so many times before. Her soft features and freckle splattered nose crinkled with concern for the sweat drenched Peter. He knew her face; he felt her breath close to his face and her warm hands encircling his face.

  “There you are.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Peter looked up at the angelic woman who had been luring him out of his nightmares, he knew who this was. He wanted to be afraid of her, even repulsed by her presence, but he felt safe in her arms. Every instinct warned him that being close to her would mean trouble for him, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was in a private sanctuary.

  “You had us worried there for a minute,” she said with a warm smile.

  Peter gasped, “Shannon.”

  Shannon calmly wiped the sweat from Peter’s face while he processed his surroundings once more. It had been two months since he was detained in the Facility, and the Treatment had taken its toll on him. He kept having reoccurring nightmares of being trapped in his own body, not being able to do anything to help himself or Maggie. Maggie was a constant in all of his dreams; her sweet voice was all that he had left of her. He could hardly remember what she looked like, but he held on to the hopes that she would change her mind and come to his rescue. For two months, Peter lived with the blind hope that his world would return to normal and that this was all just a nightmare. Peter realized where he was before Shannon told him. The windowless room that he called home for two months was empty except for a row of iron beds. Wards that were meant to house two patients at a time were now full to the brim with State detainees, who had become nothing more than test subjects for The Facility. Peter shared his ward with four other patients, their only possessions being the beds they were given and the red jump suits they wore.

  Patients in The Facility were divided into three categories. Would’s and Could’s who were being rehabilitated were assigned to the White Ward. This was where patients who were complying with The Treatment were kept; they were responding to the Treatment positively, and the State used them as poster children for the cause.

  The Red Ward included patients who had negative reactions to the Treatment. Side effects were common with the Treatment, but there were some patients who displayed all of these at once. Facility doctors, who wanted to study the long-term effects of being exposed to the Treatment and the side effects thereof, used them as test subjects.

  Finally, the Black Ward housed inmates who were beyond being affected by the Treatment. Patients who were violent and resistant to being treated were kept from the general population within the Facility. These inmates were considered to be society’s murderers by the State, and they used them as examples throughout the Regions to strike fear into the citizens. These inmates were wild, broken shells of the people they once were; their will and strength destroyed by the Treatment. Black Ward inmates were isolated in the bowels of the Facility, away from curious eyes.

  Peter Ronin was experiencing all of the side effects the Treatment had to offer. He and Shannon were part of the Red Ward. Peter looked at Shannon with despair; he had been riddled with guilt since he was transported to the Facility. His putrid surroundings reminded him further that he was responsible for the exile of so many innocent people. The harsh realities of the Facility had finally opened his eyes to the police state society that he was merely a pawn in, but he wasn’t ready to let anyone else know yet.

  “How long was I out this time?” Peter asked between sips of water.

  “Not long,” Shannon said, “they only kept you for a day this time.”

  Peter took a deep breath in, he couldn’t remember what they had done to him this time and he didn’t want to try either. He knew that his head was pounding again, but he was so accustomed to having headaches since they started the Treatment on him that it made no difference anymore. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes; his ashen face matched the walls behind him. The Treatment was draining the lifeblood out of him, and he was powerless to stop it.

  “At least I made it out alive, right?” He forced a little humor into their conversation. Shannon was still wiping sweat from his brow as he took slow sips of discolored water from a plastic cup. That was all they left you with after a Treatment, a jug of discolored water and stale bread. Peter felt too nauseous to put anything solid into his stomach just yet. He was just thankful that he would have a week to recover before his next treatment.

  “Have they taken you in yet?” He asked Shannon, who just nodded sadly in response. Using the energy that he had left, Peter reached for her hand while watching her sad eyes well up with tears. “I’m so very sorry for what I have done, Shannon.”

  Peter had apologized to Shannon Wright every day since he had been sent to the Facility, and he planned on apologizing for his terrible deeds for the rest of his life.

  ***

  Golden rays of sunlight washed over Evelyn as she sat silently, watching children playing in the nearby playground. A serene calm surrounded the clandestine Matriarch of the Foresworn. Her daydreams were interrupted by a warm kiss on the cheek by Calvin as he joined her on the park bench. There was no doubt that they were mother and son, Evelyn thought while studying her jovial child. Calvin had his mother’s caramel complexion and her wild curls, but his eyes were someone else’s all together. Sparkling green and playful eyes that could lure even the coldest of hearts in. Calvin’s eyes wer
e those that had girls throughout the Region swooning, the same effect that his father had on all the women in the Region. Evelyn thought about Jonathan Phelps and his hidden reputation with the ladies. His trophy wife, Beatrice knew of all his conquests and mistresses, but none infuriated her more than Evelyn and her love child. The idea of Beatrice’s processed face scowling at the sight of them together made Evelyn chuckle. She relished the idea that the Zone One clone was nothing more than decoration to the Director, and that she was easily disposed of.

  What are you thinking, Evelyn? She shook off the shallow thoughts that slipped through the cracks every now and then.

  She cleared her throat quickly before turning to Calvin; “How was your day my dear? Did anything lovely happen?”

  “You were far away,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  Evelyn smiled warmly at her son; he was so intuitive to those around him that it was impossible to keep feelings hidden.

  “Isn’t the winter sun lovely?” She said, “It has this magnificent way of making everything around you lazy.” Calvin looked at her suspiciously, but let her carry on talking. Evelyn motioned toward the children playing happily ahead of them, “Notice how there are no parents around anymore because winter has made them lazy. It has given them a false sense of security that everything is all right. Look at how the leaves start falling and the grass dies when it is winter. It is like Mother Nature isn’t bothered to fight through the cold anymore.” Evelyn turned to a confused Calvin; she studied his features for a while before she finished; “That is exactly what we have to fight against. We need to fight through the cold that is the State; we need to fight against their lazy hope that we are too afraid to stand up for ourselves. We can’t be falling leaves anymore.”

  Evelyn got up and stretched her long arms toward the sky, “Come on!” she exclaimed, “This stuffy Zone 1 air is bad for my complexion. Let’s go get some food, I’m starving.” She reached for his hand, and led Calvin back to their Zone 3 haven.

  Walking through the different Zones served as a reminder of a person’s standing in life. Zone 1 was a flourish of wealth and excess, and the residents matched the pretentious exterior of the Zone. Walking through the streets lined with designer stores and overpriced eateries, Evelyn noticed the vacant citizens consumed with materialism. She saw the State’s idea of perfection, and it repulsed her.

  “Just look at all of these sheep, Calvin. Look at their naivety and waste and their obsession with themselves. It is disgusting,” Evelyn exclaimed with frustration.

  Calvin rolled his eyes at his mother, every so often her passions would become so inflamed that he feared that she would explode. “You’re a card carrying member of this club, mom. Why do you keep coming here if you hate it so much?”

  Looking toward the grim zones that lay ahead of them, she said, “To remember what we’re fighting for.”

  Chapter Two

  “Send him in!” Jonathan shouted to his latest secretary. It was his first day back at work since the attack, and Jonathan Phelps was more chipper than expected. Doctors and specialists warned him to take it slowly after he was discharged just the day before, but with so many targets on his back; he needed the protection of his office. His recovery was a long and arduous process, and many doubted that he would recover at all. But he did, and was more determined than ever to rid the Region of Would’s and Could’s. Not knowing who was responsible for his attack made him more nervous than ever to begin the final stage of his extermination plans.

  The large doors of his office swung open, and a flustered Oliver greeted Jonathan. Scanning the room with urgency, he carefully placed his tablet onto Jonathan’s desk.

  “Have you seen the news, sir?” Oliver asked nervously, “Every story is on the mysterious murder of a D.A.E Agent.”

  Jonathan glided his finger along the tablet, absentmindedly scanning the articles on Maggie’s death. He had learned not to invest himself in any of his conquests, least of all one that could derail his plans entirely.

  “Was she really a Could, sir?” Oliver blurted out the question before thinking about whom he was talking to. He could very well become tomorrow’s headlines if he wasn’t more careful, he thought. Jonathan just raised a curious eyebrow in the direction of the agitated D.A.E Enforcer. He understood the pressures that Oliver felt. It was unusual for a story to be highlighted in the news for so long. For over two months, the Zones were all obsessed with the mysterious murder of Maggie Kingsley, and it showed no signs of slowing down either. Fueled by rumors of an uprising, citizens on either side of the fence were frantic with curiosity over who was behind this and if they would strike again.

  Jonathan took a deep breath; “Agent Kingsley was a liability, a lovely liability too. But this operation just could not afford to have any more liabilities. You understand this don’t you?”

  Oliver nodded in agreement, he was well aware of the unrest within the lower zones, and having that filter into the higher zones would spread chaos. Jonathan continued to read through the newsreel on his desk. It was unsettling that this story would not go away. He needed to think of something that could distract the guerilla media from the suspicious death of Maggie a day after her fiancé Peter Ronin was detained.

  Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose with frustration. His body started to ache again, but he brushed that pain aside. He took a deep breath while tapping the mahogany desk. Something on the tablet had caught his attention. “Don’t worry about this media fodder, Oliver. We have more pressing things that need our attention.” He turned the tablet to show Oliver, it was the weekly Facility report on the rehabilitation progress of the patients. It was a watered down account of the Treatment being administered by the new Supervising Specialist, Dr. Andrea Clinton. Jonathan knew that putting Clinton in that position would keep his plans running smoothly, but it seemed as though she wasn’t able to contain her experiments. It wasn’t the report that had Jonathan’s attention, but rather the comments below it belittling the Facility and the information they had posted. No one commented on the weekly Facility report, and fewer read it to begin with. The sudden surge of interaction had Jonathan worried.

  “Look here,” Jonathan, pointed, “all of these comments say that the subject is Giselle Harmon and not Shannon Wright. Who is she? Who are these women, and why does the public care about them? They are criminals, the both of them! Surely they should be overjoyed that either of them is behind bars.” Jonathan stopped himself from a full-blown tirade. He could feel stitches in his side pulling painfully. He needed to calm down before he did any more damage to his healing body.

  Oliver looked perplexed, “I don’t know about the dealings at the Facility at all, sir.”

  “I didn’t think so. Never mind that, I think it is time to cut media coverage entirely. I don’t like that so many people are speaking out against the State.” Jonathan’s usual cheerfulness was fading quickly. He waved Oliver out of his office abruptly, and clutched his side in agony. The pain was starting to take his breath away and send cold shivers throughout his body, but he tried to block it out. He had more important things to worry about now. He had to put a stop to this rebellion before it could begin.

  ***

  Her resident entourage of guards was leading Giselle to a new ward. Her risk status had been lowered from black to red. She had been responding to the treatment the way that Dr. Clinton had hoped she would, but she still needed to be monitored. Dr. Clinton wanted to see how well her experiment did in the general population of the Facility, especially since she now believed that she was Shannon Wright. Andrea Clinton was obsessed with reconditioning her patients into believing they were other people with archaic electric shock therapy and a plethora of medication. All of the patients in the White Ward were her success stories, and most of them believed that they were high ranking D.A.E officials. This made them the perfect citizen in the eyes of the State once again. Being able to tame the resilient Giselle Harmon would be her crowning glory! The fina
l test was to see if Giselle would reject her own father in the Red Ward, and if she were able to do that, then Dr. Andrea Clinton would be a celebrated success.

  Giselle was led to a common room where fellow patients gathered in their worn jump suits. Each displayed various scales of discoloration from years of wear and tear. Her new jumpsuit stood out with the blood red hue that seemed to glow around her. Her mess of blonde locks were hanging loosely around her face, while vacant eyes scanned the room with disinterest. The guards signed her in while she picked at her shackles aimlessly. They hadn’t been needed in months, but it was protocol to keep any patients in irons during a transfer. Other patients watched her with cautious curiosity. She looked more like that of a White Ward patient, with her far away eyes and permanent sway. Shannon was the first to realize that something was not right with their new neighbor.

  “Hey,” she whispered to Peter, “what do you think the deal is with that one?”

  Peter was staring out of the only open window in the common room. He was reluctant to, but turned to see who Shannon was talking about. When his eyes met the fragile, young face of another Could that he had exiled, his blood ran cold. “I don’t bloody believe it!” he exclaimed, “I’m being haunted by D.A.E reports of the past.”