The Academy

By Kitt Moss

Lynch is a prisoner. Kept in a secret facilty and subject to terrible experiments she thinks only of escape. And then one day an opportunity presents itself...

But escape it not the end of the road. Lynch must fight for every second of freedom, and struggle against impossible odds as she tries to find a way to bring down The Academy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kitt Moss
• Release date: Feb 25, 2012

Book preview

The Academy

By Kitt Moss

Copyright 2012 Kitt Moss

Smashwords Edition

#

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

#

Part One

Lynch

#

They've got me strapped in the chair, just like every week. By now it's almost familiar: the sterile smell of the lab, the cold metal of my restraints, the men in the white coats standing at their computers, watching as one of the assistants approaches me with the needle.

Injecting sample now, he announces. I can't stand this part. I try and make my body go loose, because it hurts less when your muscles aren't tensed. I try not to look at the guy who's sticking me, but it's difficult, what with my head strapped in place and all.

The needle enters. A sharp moment of pain, and then the hot trickle of blood down my arm.

I look up at the balcony, and there's Ingleman, standing at ease, hands in the pockets of his day-job suit, watching what's going on with that tiny little smile on his face. I don't know why he comes to watch this stuff; maybe it gives him some kind of thrill. Maybe he likes to see things in pain or dying. Maybe he just likes me. All I know is that he's there every week, rain or shine.

He catches me looking, and the smile tightens a tiny bit more. I hate him. I hate him more than I hate the scientists or the wardens. For all I know they're just doing a job, but Ingleman's the one who planned this all, who made the Academy happen. Ingleman does this by choice.

It's starting to burn now, around where they stuck me. The assistant tapes a neat square of cotton over the puncture and then retreats to the booth with all the others. They wait, watching, monitoring. Any second now, I think. I try to relax, make my mind go blank. Retreating, Syra calls it, when you hide away inside yourself and try to ignore the pain. I'm breathing like I've just run a mile.

The burning sensation is spreading now, and the whole lab looks kind of blurry. Suddenly, a migraine slices its way through my head, and I know that it's started. Whatever stuff they've put in me this week is finally getting to work. I tense up in the chair, feel the restraints biting into my arms.

There's Ingleman, still on the balcony, although now I can barely make out his face. Everything's fading fast under the waves of pain. Retreat, I tell myself, retreat, but for once I can't seem to escape into my head. Is he enjoying this?

Damn him. I'd kill him if I could.

#

I wake up back in my cell. Every part of me feels frozen stiff, and I know that as soon as I move it will be agony. I don't move. I lie still and let my eyes roam about the cell. There's a fresh bottle of water on the shelf, along with a paper-wrapped packet that contains my daily ration of dried concentrate. I realise that I'm hungry, but I'm in no shape to eat quite yet. It'll have to wait.

I lie there for a while, feeling cold and stiff. Feeling tired. You're alive, I tell myself. There's that at least.

From the next cell over there's a tapping on the wall.

Lynch, whispers a voice. You there, girl? It's Syra, my neighbour. Gritting my teeth, I roll over. A wave of fire seems to roll through all my bones, but it's not too bad, and it fades down to a dull, hot ache soon enough.

I'm here, I say. Speaking makes me realise how thirsty I am, and I long to get up and fetch the water from my shelf. Not yet though; I don't know if my legs will take me. How you doing?

I hear Syra hissing through her teeth. It's odd; I've never even seen her in my life. Her voice, her little habits are the only way I really know her. Not so bad. Just tired, you know. They had me on the treadmill 'till I damn near collapsed. What about you?

The lab, I say. It's all I need to say, because anyone of the kids they keep here know what it means to be taken to the lab. It means a chance of coming back missing something, or not coming back at all. I've been lucky so far. Either that or Ingleman likes me and he's been saving the worst for the others.

Syra's voice is low, suddenly. Hey, she says, you know the new kid? Cell opposite mine?

Yeah?

I think he's dead. I been calling for him since I got back in and there ain't been a word.

Shit, Syra.

I know.

For a moment I feel terribly sick. Another one dead; that'd be the third this month. And I never even knew who he was; just some scared little kid a hundred miles from home. It's obscene. I wish Syra hadn't told me.

I sit up. I do it quickly, all in one motion, and then double over and groan as the pain lances through my limbs and stomach. It takes me the better part of ten minutes to get across my tiny cell to the water, practically crawling on the concrete. Finally, I'm within reach, and I grab it and gulp down a half-dozen mouthfuls of lukewarm liquid. I sit back against the wall.

Syra? I call. Without warning the light on the ceiling dims out. Bedtime.

Yeah? says Syra. She sounds sleepy, or maybe sick.

Nothing, I say quietly. Just checking in.

#

It wasn't always like this. Not long ago--two or three months, I think, though it's hard to be sure of time in a place like this--I was just an ordinary kid. Seventeen at last count, living with