The Herd
(Working Title) This was inspired by the Hunger Games trilogy. I apologize in advance if that offends anyone, but hey I just read the books for the first time.
One hundred years after the events of Alcatraz Island, the entire landscape of the country has changed. Mutants are not only outlawed, but identified early – and often, and the top ten thousand are slated for the Arena, an annual bloodbath where the top prize is to live…if they can defeat the champion of the Arena – The Animal.
Chapter 1 – The Culling
He watched the flow of traffic, both human and vehicular through the electrified bars of his luxury apartment high above what had once been a small Midwestern town, but now was the thriving, if oppressive, seat of the Theocrat; a shadowy figure that ruled the county with soft words of praise and an iron fist of fear. He couldn't see it, but down below him was the dusty blood-soaked floor of the arena, his bane and the reason for his continued existence. The holiday traffic of people back and forth, brightly dressed, and full of a false cheer nauseated him.
He'd never liked the holidays in the first place, and with the Culling happening in two days, he could smell the overriding fear wafting up to him from the street below. He turned from the window and dropped onto the buckskin sofa, feet out on the table as his publicist listed the order of events for the Culling.
"Monday is your photo shoot; we want new pictures for this year." He just growled and nodded. They always ran photos in all the newspapers. "Tuesday you will interview with all the major media networks."
"Can't they just use the same footage from last year?" He growled.
"NO." She glared at him. She was his fifth publicist in three years. All the others quit claimed he was impossible to work with.
This one at least had the guts to look him in the eye.
"You will do the interviews, or we'll put you back in the cell under the arena for a year." He shrugged. It really didn't matter to him, a cage was a cage. He had to admit, he liked to be comfortable, and his apartment was beyond that. He also had his pick of the frails, and the only rule was they had to be alive in the morning. He only killed in the arena.
"On Friday, once the Culls have been identified, you will tour the dungeons, in your fighting harness, and I don't have to tell you to be intimidating. The event will be Saturday morning, and is expected to last all day. The schedule has been changed this year. They Culls will be put in together at first to narrow down the field.
"You're actually expecting that many Culls? There's that many carriers of the X-Gene left?" That surprised him. Over the last ten years he'd killed hundreds of thousands, mostly whelps and cubs, they tested them starting at the age of twelve and into adulthood. Even he had nightmares about the whelp's faces, begging him to help them, as he gave them the only help he could, a quick and relatively painless death.
"No, to be honest; we haven't had a true positive for almost three years." He growled. He'd been killing normal cubs, not even true mutants, but just normal children, for no real reason.
"WHY!?" He roared at her. She smirked that damned irritating smirk of hers that said she'd been playing him for a fool.
"It keeps the population under control and loyal. If you think your child will be taken, put in the arena with "The Animal" to be slaughtered, or on your better years when the survivors of the first rush are female, raped and slaughtered, you don't think about things like rebellion, or how things used to be when the Constitution was more than just an old moldy historical document, now do you?"
He was actually shaking with rage. He had to perform, had to keep the arena bloody, the first three years after his capture had been pure hell. He'd begged for death many times during those years. He hadn't thought anything could break him, thought he'd been through everything a human could thing of, and a few twisted mutants too, over the last century or so, but the Theocrat's torturers were a new breed. They'd broken even him.
The first year he'd agreed to the arena he'd been thrown in with all the rest, in a free for all, fought to be the last man standing and crowned Champion. Every year since, the whelps were given one hope, kill him, and be crowned Champion, it was the only hope any of them had, and going against him, it was a completely false one.
"So get some sleep, you have a big week ahead of you." She smiled. "Oh, just to make sure you're in true fighting form, you're restricted to one female a night, and no bruising or major injuries, we want you not only ready to fight and kill, but frustrated too, the ratings are through the roof when you get to rape little girls on screen." She pushed a buzzer on the solid steel door, and it opened. He clenched his fists as she walked out. He waited for the buzzing of the electricity through the steel before he let out a primal roar of rage.
XXXXXX
Andrea looked up, the ear bud tucked into her ear. White fluffy clouds passed overhead and she could feel the warm sun on her cheek.
"So anyway, Lance asked me to the dance next week, but, you know with the Testers coming this week, I told him I'd go, if we're both still here."
"I thought you hated Lance?" Andrea said as she looked at the person sharing the ear buds. Megan, her best friend since first grade was twisting a ring of fire through her fingers. "Don't DO that." Andrea hissed.
"I do, but if I survive the test again this year, like I did last year, then I'd even kiss him." Megan said.
"Do you want to get caught?" Andrea hissed.
"I think it would be better than someone else being taken, someone we know doesn't deserve it." Megan extinguished the flames in her hand. Andrea just nodded. The two of them had the biggest, and worst secret of all, they were mutants - active live mutants -and had survived the last two years of testing without being caught.
Andrea had just turned eighteen, and graduation was only a few months away. The unseasonably warm December day was suddenly as cold as frost. She slipped the eight inch talons from under her nails and looked at them. They weren't the only sign, just the most obvious, if she used them.
The old music player switched songs, an old, hard beat and the screaming lyrics of a song about a girl who 'fucked so good' came on, and they jumped. She knew they were going to have to stash the music player and its banned music for the afternoon. Her sister would be home soon and the little Theocrat in Training would be sniffing for anything against the Doctrine of Purity of Thought.
"We'd better get down and start helping mom with dinner." Andrea said. "At least your mom is out of town, and you can stay with us." Actually the last four years it had been the same. Megan's mother took a trip every year during the Testing. No one knew where she went, and considering how hard it was to get travel permits this time of year, it must be important. Megan usually stayed from the Friday before testing until after the close of the Arena Games.
Andrea hated the games, hated watching, but she knew that the tracker in the television recorded every person watching, and anyone who missed the live broadcast had to watch not only the recorded version, plus all the replays and highlights broadcast the week after, but also attend a re-education class and spend three days with a Church of Humanity priest to remind them why the games were so important.
Andrea had been sick last year, and had to spend the three days at the church. She could still hear the words of the Priest.
The Games exist to remind us that Humanity is the true vision of God. God made Man in his own image. Anything that alters God's image or plan is an abomination, as evil as the Deceiver himself, Satan. Mutants are the Devil's attempt to destroy the perfection of Man. An evil seed planted deep in the Map of God's Plan, our genes. It was the work of the Theocrat, and his scientists who gave us the means of detecting this seed, ferreting it out, and destroying those who carry it. You cannot feel sympathy for them; you cannot see them as Human Beings. They are not, they are abominations to be destroyed by one of their own, The Animal, for that is all they are.
She felt another chill down her spine as she followed Megan down the ladder to the ground. The roof was really the only place she felt safe, it had a terrace with a wall around it, couldn't be seen from the ground or any of the other houses around. Only someone flying over could see them, and during testing week, all flights, except government sanctioned ones were grounded.
Her mother was in the kitchen and the two girls quickly asked what they could do to help. The music player was stashed behind a loose brick in the wall, and no one was the wiser.
"Are you girls ready for the Testing this week?" Andrea's mother asked.
"As ready as we can be." Megan answered, sounding a little down. Andrea elbowed her and glanced at the eight year old walking in the front door. "I'm just missing Mom." Megan quickly recovered.
Nothing was safe when Essie was in the house. She would slink around, eavesdrop on any conversation, go through closets, drawers, and even guest's luggage to look for anything that might look remotely suspicious. Last year, Andrea's dad nearly lost his job because Essie accused his boss of harboring a carrier. It took every bit of string pulling her mother, a former Tester, could do to convince them that it was just the wild imagination of a child.
"Good afternoon, little bit. How was your Theocracy class?" Andrea's mom asked.
"Okay. We were discussing the Testing, and why it has to happen, even though we couldn't have that many carriers left. Even one carrier, or worse an active Mutant could be so dangerous, that we can't even let the idea that they can exist live." Essie had an almost feverish, fanatical look in her eye. Andrea smiled, and pretended to listen. She'd gone through the same classes at that age, but she'd never felt the devotion her sister had.
Andrea had no doubt that if her sister suspected she actually was a Mutant, she'd turn her in, and their whole family.
Her dad came in from work and the family sat down to dinner. The Meal Prayer was said. "God bless this food we are about to receive, bless it to the nourishment of our bodies, bless our home, bless our family, keep us safe and pure in your plan, in the name of your Human Son, Amen."
There wasn't a whole lot of conversation as they ate; Theocratic law insisted that meal time was to consume the food necessary to nourish the body, not the mind, and that conversation was not necessary. Each person focused on their plate, without looking at the others at the table, and when the food was consumed; each took their plate to the trash and scraped it, then stacked it neatly on the counter next to the sink.
After dinner was Family Contemplation time and Andrea's father dutifully pulled out the family's Theocratic Bible and began to read. "And God created Humans in his own image, man and woman he created them both." They sat quietly for the proscribed twenty minutes, contemplating the verse read. Every family in every house in every town was doing the exact same thing, under penalty of arrest and fines.
The Laws of Theocracy had to be obeyed, with no exceptions. If you were ill, you still had to have your Contemplation time. If you were sleeping, unconscious, or otherwise unable to read the verse for the day yourself, then someone was required to read it for you.
There were all sorts of laws controlling every part of your day. The Cleansing Laws dictated how, when and where you could bathe, The Laws of Education dictated when, and how children were educated, there were stiff fines for parents who violated the laws and tried to educate children at home. There were even laws on when and how a family could add children; Andrea knew her parents were coming up on a required attempt at conceiving a son, since they'd only had girls so far.
Andrea and Megan went upstairs, and closed the door to Andrea's room. It wouldn't matter; they couldn't discuss anything important anyway. They played around until the nightly required music program; tonight's being Gregorian Chants from the Middle Ages. Andrea cringed through the hour, and the girls covered up and turned out the lights at curfew.
Neither one of them slept. They both had reasons for the room to smell like fear. Andrea waited until she could hear Essie's snores.
"So I guess we'll have to change our pact." She said softly.
"Yep. Quick and painless for me." Megan said with a sob. "I still haven't figured out how we're going to get past that healing of yours to be able to kill you before he catches either of us."
"We don't have a whole lot of time." Andrea said back. "But, I promise, quick and painless for you."
The next morning the girls dressed quickly and were downstairs for breakfast and the mandatory departure prayer from Andrea's parents before her dad left for work. Women stayed home, and Andrea knew it drove her mother crazy sometimes, not to be able to work anymore, but she kept herself busy at home.
Andrea didn't want to get married, she wanted to be able to work and support herself for a while first. The mandatory marriage age was twenty five, the same as the age limit for the Testing. Her mother had Tested until she met and married her father, and then, dutifully given up her career and given birth to Andrea almost exactly nine months to the day.
The morning at school was uneventful, and the Testing crew wasn't going to get there until Wednesday, so they had a few days to breathe. Andrea's stomach bothered her all day, but she tried to pass it off.
By the time the girls got home from school, she felt better. Her mom was waiting with their after school snack, the only time they really got to eat and talk, and their prescribed round of nutritional supplements. Andrea noticed a new pill, a darker red than the rest.
"New supplements?"
"They changed the casing on one of the pills." Her mother said. Andrea looked at her. Why the hell was her mother lying?
Her mother looked back at her, then gave a slumped shrug and nodded to the laundry room. If they kept their voices low, and the dryer running, they could have a mostly private conversation, especially when Essie wasn't home.
"What the hell…" Andrea started when the dryer was running and the door partially closed. Megan looked at both of them in confusion.
"I ran out of the other casings." Her mother said softly. "It's the same pill I've given you since you were six…it hides the X-Gene from the testing equipment." Andrea's jaw dropped in shock.
"You mean you've KNOWN!?"
"Yes, your father and both are class two ferals. We can hide it, our healing isn't enough to get anyone's attention, but last year when you broke your ankle, and reset it when you got home, I knew you were far more powerful than either of us."
"I faked that sprain for six weeks."
"Then you know about me, too, Mrs. Wilson?" Megan asked quietly.
"Yes, your mother's had you stay with us so I could hide yours as well. She goes to stay with your grandmother, who is the great grand daughter of a powerful mutant named Pyro." Andrea's mom pulled herself up onto the top of the dryer to sit. "I guess its time for the whole story."
"Yes!" Andrea said, folding her arms across her chest. "And fast before the little snitch gets home."
"That little snitch will probably be as powerful as you when she develops." Her mom said, and then settled in to her 'storytelling' mode.
"Your father and I have been a part of the rebellion for years. We've slipped as many mutants out to the recovery parties as we could for years. What we do is dangerous, but it has saved thousands of lives, us and others like us, have managed to move most true mutants out of the Theocrat's clutches."
"But, if there aren't that many, why do we still have so many test positive?" Megan asked.
"Because the Theocrat, the year I stopped Testing, ordered that all the Testers were to be set to random. There hasn't been a real Mutant in the Arena for almost ten years, with the exception of Victor."
"Victor?" Both girls asked.
"Victor, The Animal. He's a friend, and believe it or not, is serving a purpose in there, one that the rebellion needs desperately." She flipped the control on the dryer from gentle cycle to regular, and the thumping of the wet clothes grew louder. "Victor is in place to try to rescue a certain mutant that is being held by the Theocrat. She was captured about fifteen years ago, and he's the only person she'd truly trust to rescue her."
"Why?" Andrea asked, caught up in the story.
"Because at some point they were lovers; they even have at least one child together, and there were rumors of another, years ago. They're both well over two centuries old, maybe older, Victor's at least three hundred."
"Why so old?" Megan asked.
"They both have at least a class four healing ability, something I think at least one of my daughters has as well." Andrea swallowed. Immortality that was a sobering thought. If she was Tested, and positive, she wouldn't die, just be tortured until she was insane, perhaps even longer, but she didn't think she'd care after that.
Andrea heard the front door open, and Essie's footsteps. She grabbed a shirt from a pile of laundry that needed folding. Megan did too and they quickly folded enough to look like they'd been helping.
"Mom, I'm home." Essie said as she opened the door.
"Here, grab a basket." Andrea said, thrusting one at her.
"Ewww, laundry day." Essie said, but started to fold.
Andrea hoped Essie wasn't developing the heightened hearing, or she'd be able to tell that Andrea's heart was racing.
The two older girls took the basket of Andrea's clothes to her room to put away, and then used their scheduled time to take turns cleaning up before dinner. Bathing in the morning was a sin, as was bathing before bed. Bathing in the afternoon, before dinner was considered the least sinful time, and was believed to prevent self-harm by boys, and prevent lustful thoughts in both genders. Hot water wasn't allowed, only luke warm, unless prescribed by a doctor, and then only for the period allowed.
Both girls quickly dressed in clean 'home clothes' a simple pair of drawstring pajama pants and a pull over top after their baths. They took turns brushing their teeth and drying their hair in the small mirror allowed in bathrooms. No other mirror was allowed in a home, vanity was a sin and avoided at all cost.
They hurried downstairs and helped get dinner on the table. They had so few moments to think, but Andrea had suspected for a while that the Theocrat planned it that way; the less time that wasn't strictly controlled, the less time a person had to think about just how bad things were in life.
Andrea had heard rumors, that other countries weren't like here, that there were places in the world where people could still think and speak for themselves without being controlled every moment of every day. Someday, maybe she'd go there, and maybe they'd know how their country had turned from the "Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave" into a place where freedom was killed before the seed could even be planted.
She shook her head. What was she thinking; her only future lay in the Arena. There wasn't a chance she'd pass the Testing this year. She knew it in her gut. She just had to figure out the best way to use it, the best way to try to save as many people as possible. The last few years, the Testing had lead to Cullings of hundreds of thousands of children. Usually only ten thousand were allowed into the Arena, the rest were suffocated by gas and their bodies burned and destroyed, ashes not even returned to the families.
Families gave up their children, in the one place they were supposed to be safe – school. The Testers came, they pricked a finger, and somehow, enough were picked, that no family was unaffected by it. If a family was lucky enough to have a child picked to go to the Arena, they at least KNEW what happened, they had to watch it. Andrea wasn't sure what was worse. Knowing – or not.
She could feel something lurking in the back of her mind, something important, but she just wasn't ready to face it, not yet. She had another day and a half, Testing was scheduled right after lunch on Wednesday, why they couldn't do it before lunch she didn't know. Everyone was so nervous; they didn't eat much and ended up hungry before the end of the day, and if they were selected, most of them lost their lunch on the floor anyway.
The forced silence of the meal, and the contemplation time just gave her time for everything to swirl around, increasing her confusion. By the time curfew came, she was ready to close he eyes and shut out the world to sleep.
XXXXXXXXX
The photo shoot sucked, standing in different poses in his Arena Harness, waiting for them to tell him he could move while they snapped pictures. The woman that night hadn't even been given him the satisfaction of an orgasm. She was too pliant and submissive, he could smell drugs in her system, and that was always a big turn off. The interviews were interesting, but he knew what would happen if he didn't stick to the script they gave him. And still no sign of Mystique. He hoped she'd be in one of the Culls, for him to kill, but for some reason she was being kept secretly. He'd been surprised, when they'd first captured him. They'd been looking for him specifically.
Finally he turned off the light. He didn't even want to bother with a frail, not tonight. Somehow he had to get a message out tomorrow. Certain children were being targeted; he'd figured that out during the interviews. Somehow, someone in the government had figured out which families were descended from known mutants, and were targeting those children this year. The Theocrat must have problems, to so blatantly target such a small population. Maybe the rebellion was making a difference, this time.
He tried to remember how the country had changed. It started with his idiot son, Graydon, becoming president. No one expected his blatant bids for power, executive order after executive order. First it was gun control, for the safety of the children, then national control over nutrition, to fight a national epidemic. In the eight years Graydon was president, there were very few of the basic rights left to the public.
When it came time for a new election, Graydon pulled a strategic move, he died. Victor had actually grinned at his son's televised corpse. His grandson ran for president that year, Graydon the second, and won, and suddenly he realized his offspring would never be sane. The son continued the father's work until, before the end of his second term, he managed to get himself declared Theocrat for life, and there'd been five other generations since.
It was at that point that Victor and most Mutants made a beeline OUT of the country. The persecution of Mutants started not long after, and many old friends were rounded up. At first they weren't killed, just imprisoned, even exiled. It took a good fifty years before the surviving adults were executed. Twenty years ago, they'd started the screenings, the Testing as they called it. At first it was just to catch those just becoming active, and then, those who carried the gene without it activating. He'd never really figured out that part, but he was beginning to see his publicist was right. They didn't really care if they caught mutants; it was to keep the population under control.