Aberrated: Tunnels, #3

By S. Elliot Brandis

IRRADIATED told the story of Jade and Pearl, sisters fighting for their lives in an harsh and twisted wasteland. 

DEGENERATED delved into the tunnels--a twisted underground society, at odds with the outside world. 

ABERRATED is the epic conclusion. 

Humanity is on its last legs. Only outlaws and outcasts remain. They are mutants, mongrels, and orphans. They are experiments, degenerates, and visionaries. Every last one is aberrated. 

Will they tear each other apart? Or will humanity find a way to survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. Elliot Brandis
• Release date: Apr 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533799982

Book preview

PART I

Scars

Jade lay on the ground, her head supported by a bundle of shirts. Her sister Pearl appeared in silhouette above her, blocking out the sun, her fine blonde hair illuminated like a halo. Jade squinted and held her breath.

This might hurt, Pearl said.

Jade breathed out, her exhaust vent popping open. It sat in the middle of her face, where her nose had once been. Her filters, permanently fused to her cheeks, whirred as she took in another breath.

Pearl looked closely at Jade’s mouth, evaluating the scar tissue. There’s going to be a lot of blood, I reckon. But the mongrel will help. If you don’t mind him licking your mouth. Pearl smiled, trying to lighten the situation.

Jade shook her head and breathed out again sharply, letting Pearl know her joke wasn’t funny. Down in the tunnels her lips had been sliced off, the raw flesh stitched together, allowed to set. A hard band of scar tissue sat where her mouth had once been. Now, Pearl planned to reopen it.

The edge of a blade glinted in the sunlight, tied to Pearl’s arm with strips of fabric. They’d sharpened it against stone, but still it seemed rough, the edge visibly jagged. Jade shuddered at the thought of it slicing open her face. She ran her tongue over her teeth and forced herself to re-notice the taste. Her hidden mouth was rancid, a tomb locked away, not to be unopened. A shiver ran down her spine.

Jade sat up and shook her head. I can’t do this.

C’mon, Jade. We need to get it done. One quick motion, like cutting off somebody’s arms.

Pearl crouched down lower, grinning at her own dark humour. She had no arms, only stumps. A crowbar was strapped to one, and a Shadow’s blade to the other.

Jade shook her head. She looked her sister in the eye. I know how much you want this, she thought. I know you want me to talk again, like it’s all back to normal. But it isn’t. This is me now. It’s not worth the risk.

She tried to convey this all with a thought. It disappeared into the world instead.

Silence

Flynn sat in the tunnel, surrounded by children and young adults. They sat in a circle, cross-legged on the floor, listening to his every word.

So if you notice something different, anything, you have to let somebody know, he said. Even if it seems minor, it may be important. You might see it as normal even. It might have been there all your life.

A child raised her hand. But differences are okay now?

Flynn smiled warmly. His hair fell down around his face in long, dark locks. It’s always been okay. You’ve just been trapped in a delusion.

But the Lord—

Forget Mira. Flynn stood up, pushing back the crate that he sat on. She can’t harm you anymore. He looked down the tunnel, brow furrowed. Okay, that’s enough for today.

The children stood up, excited. We can play wall-ball? a boy asked. He was partway to becoming a Shadow, his limbs long and deathly white, ears transparent. They called them shadelings; it seemed less harsh. The boy grinned widely with an open mouth, thankfully free of a grille.

Flynn nodded. Okay, but pair off by size. I don’t want anybody getting hurt.

The children ran up the tunnel to a clearing, organizing themselves into teams. Flynn watched on. There was a variety of children. Some were like him, born irradiated and locked away, others were subject to a different kind of abuse, slowly forced to become monsters. He pushed the thought from his mind. Things were different now. Things were better.

A figure appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, slowly slipping into the shadows, which gradually merged into darkness. He recognised her scent before he could see her face—Pearl.

How are they doing? she asked, walking towards him in long, slender strides.

Not bad, he said. Some of the younger ones still don’t get it.

She brushed back her blonde hair, tucking it behind her delicate ears. You have to give them time.

It’s almost been a year now.

I know, but remember back to how it was. It’s a big change. One second they’re maggots, locked away, told that they can never be anything. The next moment, they’re free. You can’t shift your perceptions in an instant.

Flynn sighed. Especially self-perceptions.

Exactly. Pearl stepped in closer and rubbed his back, working the curled end of the crowbar between his shoulder blades. They still jutted out further than they should. Food was starting to get tight again.

They both watched the children playing. They threw an old synthetic ball against the curved wall of the tunnel, then raced to catch it on the rebound. If one of them fumbled it, they ran to the wall, hoping to touch it before somebody could throw the ball at their back. The tunnel filled with the sound of laughter and screams of joy.

Pearl shook her head. You don’t think that game’s a little rough?

Flynn grinned wryly. I think it’s good for them.

Teaches them to inflict pain?

Teaches them not to be afraid of it. Not to be so afraid of a little hurt that it stops them from trying things.

Pearl sat down on the crate, its blue plastic an inky violet in the low light. Ah, Flynn, she said. Ever the philosopher.

He watched them for a moment more, then glanced up towards the mouth of the tunnel, a circle of white light. He squinted, eyes watering. The strength of the light was too much for him. He doubted he would ever get used to it.

So, how did it go? he asked.

It didn’t go, Pearl replied.

Again?

Yep.

I’m starting to think it won’t ever.

Pearl sighed. Even without looking, he could sense the tears beginning to well in her eyes. He could taste the salt in the air.

I just want my sister back, she said. She blinked hard and tears ran down her face. "And I know what you’re thinking, I have her back already. But really back. I spent so many years thinking what would my sister say to do, and I just wish I could talk to my sister. And now that I have her back, she’s happy to be a mute. Pearl let her arms drop down, the metal of blade and bar ringing dully on the pavement. I feel like I still miss her."

Flynn watched her carefully and his heart sank. After the tunnels had been opened, it had taken him a while to get used to near-constant vision. At first, pairing the visual of a person’s body language with the other sensations—the sound of their movements, their feel in the air, the smells, the electrical impulses—was disorientating. It was additional data beyond what his brain needed, loud, bright, and confusing. Now, he was beginning to adapt. When he saw Pearl’s shoulders slump the pain in his stomach was amplified.

He stepped forward and gave Pearl a hug. She felt so tiny in his arms. Often, she joked that she couldn’t hug back, her arms being stumps affixed with tools and weapons. Still, she did. He felt the crook of her elbow squeeze tightly around his back, the warmth of her breath on his neck.

She’ll be okay, Flynn whispered. She’s a survivor, like you are. The crazy surface sisters. He pulled back from the hug, wiping a tear from her cheek. You just have to accept how she is. She’s been through more than we can begin to imagine. Hell, she was locked in the dark, restrained, tortured for five years. That’s a long time without breaking. If she’s happier mute, then we deal with that. There’s worse things that could have happened.

Pearl smiled, her lips small and pink. Whatever you say, wonder boy.

Flynn pinched her cheek playfully. You coming to help prep dinner?

She shook her head. I have to go see somebody first.

Flynn’s eyes narrowed. You know I can do that. You don’t need to.

I want to do it.

Because you don’t trust me?

No, she said, her voice low, "because I don’t trust her."

Rot

Pearl walked down the tunnel slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the decreasing light. A year ago a mighty flood had washed through the southern tunnel, knocking down the passageway at its end, allowing light to trickle in for the first time in years. Pearl had convinced Flynn to clear the rest of the wreckage and allow light to shine through the tunnel. At first, Flynn was tentative. He was irradiated, yet he’d been raised to fear light. Finally, he relented. Now, the light warmed corners of the tunnel that had been dark for years.

She passed a group sitting in a circle around a tall boy and a much shorter girl. She held his hand and he stood up straight, recounting the story of the tunnel, its people, its rulers. It was a story recounted through visions, seen for the first time. His eyes were flicked back, showing only white, and the girl looked up, feeding him images through touch alone. The other children hung on his every word.

The girl smiled as Pearl came close and let go of the boy’s hand. He immediately stopped speaking, and his eyes flicked back towards them. He was pale and thin—another shadeling. He still bore the scars of experimentation, carried a look of sadness in his eyes.

Hi, Pearl, the girl said. Going to see the witch?

Unfortunately, Pearl replied wryly.

The children had all turned to face her, mostly impatient for her interruption to the story. They were a mixture of ages, a mixture of backgrounds. Some were irradiated, filtered away from the rest of the tunnel and held captive. Others were like the boy, once destined to become Shadows, enforcers for a twisted leader. Now, they were one and the same—curious children adapting to the new situation, accepting it swiftly like only the young can.

Pearl winked at a small boy with no ears and red teeth. Don’t go scaring the little ones, she said. Leave the frightening bits out.

The girl nodded and Pearl walked away. Behind her back, she could hear the children protesting to the girl and her conduit, urging her to let them hear the tale unaltered. Leave in the bit about the Lord, she heard one child say. Pearl felt a shiver down her spine.

She walked deeper down the tunnel, passing various groups, clusters of children engaged in different activities and tasks. Early on, they’d organised them into groups at Flynn’s suggestion. In a tunnel with hundreds of children and only three adults, it was the only way they would manage. So they’d sorted them all, keeping each group mixed—a blend of ages, backgrounds, abilities. The hope was to bring them together after so long apart. So far, it seemed to be working.

A woman called out as Pearl walked closer, Oh, here comes the princess of the tunnels herself. She took a step back, the chains around her ankle scraping against the gravel of the road base. To what do I owe the royal visit?

Pearl stopped, taking care to leave a buffer between her and the woman. Princess? she said, shaking her head. You can do better than that, Mira.

"Oh, you don’t like it, Princess?"

Pearl laughed. I know you get bored down here, but come on. Still pissed off that they nicknamed you the witch?

Mira went to talk but decided against it, catching the words before they came out. She slumped her head forward and her red hair tumbled down around her face in thick curls. She looked back up, face pale, eyes tired. You can’t keep me down here forever.

No?

It’s inhumane.

Again, Pearl laughed. "I don’t think you’re the one to be handing out those kinds of lessons, Lord."

Mira winced at the name, a title from what now seemed like an age ago. She sighed.

Pearl reached into her pocket and felt for a bar of food. They’d found a stockpile of them in two of the tunnel crossways, rations stored away in case things turned bad. Mira had been a harsh leader, but she had been prepared. Pearl pushed it from her pocket with the end of her forearm. It landed softly on the graveled ground and she kicked it towards Mira.

Mira accepted it, stretching her arm out to the limits of its reach, then quickly tucking it back to her body. You must be running low on these, she said. Freedom seems so wonderful until you realise you can’t fend for yourself. Whatever shall you do? A glimmer returned to her pink eyes, even in the dull, low light.

We’ll find a way, Pearl said. Never you worry.

Oh, I’m not worried, she snarled, her delicate lips curling like worms. I’ll leave the worrying up to you. Princess of the dregs of society, a bucket of shit. That camp still there, outside the city? How long before they’re thirsty for more blood? Ready for another genocide? What about these children. You never know when one of them will break, become bad. Maybe the dread will get to them, and they’ll explode in a fit of despair. Maybe they’ll infiltrate the rest of you slowly. Who knows? You can’t control what you don’t understand. She tucked a hand into her stomach and curtseyed. My Princess.

Pearl turned away and exhaled quickly. Have fun rotting down here. She walked back up the tunnels.

Tell Flynn I said hello, Mira called out. Tell him I miss his touch.

Pearl clenched her teeth and kept walking.

Adaptation

Jade stood on a rise, watching the setting sun dip behind the mountains. The air was still warm and humid. The seasons had lost any real meaning.

She looked back down towards the mouth of the tunnel. It was a strange thing, a swirling bronze structure shaped like a shell. A boy named Wind was walking towards her—a shadeling. He was a tall teenager with pale skin, curled ears, and a heavily scarred face. He waved when she saw him.

Jade waved back. She clapped her hands together above her head. One hand was her own, thin and nimble and long-fingered, the other had been grafted to her in the tunnels. It was large and brutish, with thick fingers and rough skin. A while ago, she would have considered cutting it off, but now she accepted it as part of her.

It was strange what she’d grown to accept.

Her clap echoed across the landscape, and the mongrel came running towards her from someplace distant. Its tongue lolled from its mouth as it bounded towards her, eyes wide and excited. Jade crouched down and greeted it with a ruffling of its fur and a scratch behind its ears. It barked loudly.

Ready for patrol? Wind called out.

Jade nodded and stuck both of her thumbs in the air.

Wind squinted and shook his head. That’s probably your weirdest gesture, he said. "Why do thumbs in the air mean all good? Most places you can stick a thumb aren’t that great."

Jade shrugged, the motion exaggerated. What about this one? she thought.

Wind laughed and shook his head. No need to shout, he said.

Many of the children had strange names. Before they’d been freed, they had none at all. When given the option to come up with their own, their minds had run wild with the possibilities. To many the conventions of naming meant nothing. They ended up named after things and ideas, rather than the people that had come before them—names like Wind and Midday. Jade’s favourite was Concrete. She loved the thought of a girl named Concrete.

The three of them walked together, woman, shadeling, and dog. They varied their path each night. Sometimes they would wander through the ruins of the city, eying off smashed windows and opened doors. Other times, they’d stay closer to the tunnel, circling around and around its outside. Tonight, Jade felt like going to the river. It hadn’t rained for a while, so it would be slow and peaceful, its murky brown water churning slowly past bridge piers and obstacles. Not that she could smell it; her filters screened out scents. She’d grown to respect the river. It could be violent, but it never intended harm. It was nature.

I heard you stopped them from cutting open your mouth, again, Wind said.

Jade shot him a fierce look. How did you know that?

Wind held up his open hands. I’m a good listener, is all. I heard your sister talking about it.

Jade’s face softened and her shoulders slumped. She walked towards a car, overturned and half-buried, and sat down on its rusting chassis. Wind sat down beside her.

She held out an open hand, tapped Wind’s chest, and then her head. What do you think?

Wind shrugged, a motion he’d picked up from her but not yet perfected. It was awkward, a conscious action rather than second nature. I don’t know. He looked at her sadly. "It would nice to talk to you. I mean really talk to you. He studied her face, reading her emotions. I don’t mean to say that I don’t enjoy your company. I do. It’s just, well, you’re limited in what you can express. It’s like you’re trapped within yourself. It makes me sad."

Jade shook