Cloakers

By Alexandra Lapointe

Shapeshifting-a Blessing or a Curse?

Crystia is not a typical teenager-she's a Cloaker. She spends her time perfecting her shapeshifting abilities under the watchful eyes of the Black Coats, who use her powers to maintain order. The good news is, she's not alone. She's trapped in The Port with other shapeshifters who were taken

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637527887

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Thirty Years Earlier

It’s somewhat of a miracle, sir. I’m not sure how it was done, but it was.

The group of elderly men in lab coats shuffled their feet in anticipation. The young chemist, clearly the outlier, stood at the front of the group. Small beads of sweat traveled down his face, catching in his neglected stubble. He was standing in front of four large glass display cases. The lights in each of the displays were dimmed, revealing only vague outlines of what was trapped inside. The chemist turned to look behind him, making sure everything was in place for the critical reveal.

Well, Dr. Allen said loudly. Get on with it, son.

The chemist cleared his throat and nodded at his assistant at the back of the room. The assistant, standing by the light switches, flipped them up. The entire room was illuminated by four harsh spotlights, each pointed at one of the glass displays. There were several low murmurs from the crowd of observant doctors. The chemist gulped.

As you can see, gentleman, our final product consists of four different species, the chemist said, walking over to the first display. Inside sat a young girl. She wore only a beige tank top and shorts. She stared at the ground, her long black hair covering her eyes. Her legs were pulled up against her chest.

The first is the Saps. The chemist tapped on the glass, and the girl picked her head up. Squinting from the light, she stood up slowly. Then, as if by magic, the girl was instantaneously replaced by a small apple tree. The transformation was so fast that it could’ve been missed entirely with one blink. The doctors, astonished, crowded around the glass display in awe. They studied the tree for any imperfections. The chemist, however, knew that they wouldn’t be able to find any. What stood before them was a perfect replica of an actual apple tree.

After many failed trials, we were able to alter the human form in such a way that these individuals can, with just the thought of it, transform into any sort of greenery—from trees to bushes to single flowers. Nothing, no matter how large or small, is off-limits. The chemist studied the doctors’ faces as the apple tree, which was once a girl, changed once again into a group of daisies. The doctors leaned forward in disbelief.

This is much improved from our last viewing, Dr. Allen commented. The transformation time has been withered down to a matter of milliseconds, and the hyperrealism is impeccable, to say the least. Well done.

The chemist grinned at his accomplishments and moved on to the next glass case. Inside this one, there was a boy. He was standing, already expecting his turn to demonstrate his abilities.

The Beaks are next. The chemist tapped on the glass, prompting the boy to transform into an eagle effortlessly. The bird extended his wings to allow the doctors a closer look. The doctors examined each individual feather. They observed his large talons, his pointy yellow beak, and his beady black eyes. Everything about the bird seemed real. Even the bird’s mannerisms mimicked that of a real eagle.

Once again, this group can transform into any bird imaginable. The boy feels no pain while transforming. It’s as easy to him as changing clothes to you and me, the chemist added. He pushed his glasses up as they began to slip from the sweat that had collected around his nose.

They cannot talk or communicate in a human way while they are transformed? Dr. Allen asked.

No, sir, the chemist answered. Besides their intact human consciousness, they are in every way exactly what they transform into.

Dr. Allen nodded in approval. The chemist shuffled to the next glass case, quickly followed by the team of doctors.

The Menacers come next, the chemist stated proudly. As the name suggests, they are the most deadly and unpredictable. I suggest taking a few steps back.

The doctors moved backward, although they still leaned eagerly toward the glass. A boy, clad in the same beige tank top and shorts as the others, stepped forward inside the case. His hair was wildly unkempt as if he had just woken up from a long and disorienting nap. The edges of his lips curved upward when the chemist tapped the glass. Immediately, the scrawny boy transformed into a large, fully grown lion. Without waiting for the doctors to inspect him, the lion let out an ear-piercing roar that shook the glass. Several doctors clapped in approval.

Our most common Menacers can transform into bears, lions, and tigers. However, we do have several water Menacers who can do sharks, whales, and crocodiles as well, the chemist said.

Dr. Allen’s eyes widened in excitement. Very impressive, he mumbled. Shall we see the last one?

The chemist nodded. He escorted the group to the last glass display, where a tall girl with long black hair stood. She was scrawny, like the rest of them. Her bones seemed to protrude from her skin.

These are the Walkies, the chemist said. One tap on the glass and the girl transformed directly into Dr. Allen. She was now an elderly, balding man in a lab coat. Dr. Allen stumbled backward, stunned by what he saw. The Walkie waved eerily at him as he stared in disbelief. He was looking at an identical version of himself, down to the same mole on his cheek and plethora of dark arm hair.

It’s—breathtaking, Dr. Allen exclaimed.

As you can see, Walkies can transform into other humans with exact precision. They are virtually indistinguishable from the original, the chemist said.

Dr. Allen slowly approached the case and put his hand on the glass. The Walkie did the same. There was a moment of silence. Then Dr. Allen removed his hand, stood up straight, and began clapping. After a few seconds, the other doctors followed until the entire room erupted in applause. The chemist smiled and contemplated taking a bow. Not wanting to come across as cocky, he remained upright.

I am very impressed with your work, son. You have no idea how impactful it will become, Dr. Allen said, reaching over to shake the chemist’s hand. I just have one suggestion, if I may.

Of course, doctor, anything, the chemist said quickly.

There needs to be something discernable about these creatures so that the government can easily identify them. Perhaps uniquely colored eyes? Would that be possible? Dr. Allen asked.

The chemist pondered the question for a moment. He looked up to see his assistant, still at the back of the room, writing the suggestion in his notepad.

I’d have to revisit the genetic code, but it is entirely possible, yes, the chemist said.

Perfect. I think we’re done here, Dr. Allen said.

He turned to leave, the other doctors following in a herd toward the door. The chemist almost let them leave. Almost.

Um, sir. There is just one thing, the chemist added.

Dr. Allen stopped and turned around. Yes? He stared at the young chemist.

Could you follow me? the chemist asked.

The other doctors stood by the doorway in confusion, whispering among themselves. Dr. Allen nodded to them, then he followed the chemist across the room and out the other door. This door led to a corridor that opened into a larger room with one big glass display case. Inside the case, there were approximately a dozen individuals. Some looked completely human; others looked like a hybrid between a human and their transformation. A boy with a beak writhed unnaturally, contorting his body in agony. A girl with roots for legs lay motionless except for her fluttering eyelids. Many convulsed violently, screaming out in pain. Dr. Allen watched them as they writhed around, pushing against the confinements of the glass. Some of them had vomited from the pain. Chunks of regurgitated bile clung to their tank tops. They all looked pale as if all their color had washed away.

What on earth happened to these people? Dr. Allen asked, stepping back.

They are going through an inevitable process I call Solidification, the chemist started. As I was experimenting, I concluded that only relatively young children could transform effectively. There is a point where—around mid-twenties on average—their bones are unable to bend and reconfigure themselves as nicely as the young ones. As they grow older, their bones stiffen and completely solidify, rejecting the genetic mutations.

Dr. Allen looked at him. Well, what is there to be done about this? he asked.

Unfortunately, sir, Solidification is inescapable. At a certain point, every mutated individual will find it harder and more painful to transform until, one day, sometimes in midtransition, it becomes entirely unbearable altogether, and they are stuck in whatever condition they were in at the moment of Solidification, the chemist admitted.

So, theoretically, they could Solidify as the creature they transform into? Permanently transforming a human into a bird, tree, tiger, or another person completely?

Yes. With our experiments, we are permanently altering the bodies these individuals grow up in. We could end up with a whole new species of human-animal hybrids.

I see. Dr. Allen stared disapprovingly. Well, I’d like you to keep experimenting. We don’t want any limitations when we reveal these specimens to the government.

Of course, sir. The chemist nodded. He escorted Dr. Allen back through the hallway and out the door. The screams echoed in the chemist’s ears as he left.

CHAPTER 1

Tia

I blinked, and I was there. Among the dark looming trees that swung around with the wind. Between the tall grass that tickled my legs. Above the moss-covered rocks that sparkled in the moonlight. I was in the middle of it, sticking out like a polar bear in a scorching desert. For a moment, I felt vulnerable. I was disturbing the peace that existed before I showed up. Without time to elaborate that thought, I began to run. My feet, encased in tight rubber shoes, bounced as I sprinted over the slippery moss. Jagged fragments of rocks scattered the ground. I watched them carefully, attempting to avoid the inevitable injury if I continued at my current speed. But I knew that injury was only temporary. So I sped up.

Naked branches clawed at my face as I wove in and out of the trees. My loose brown hair tangled in the branches, but I didn’t stop to yank the strands free. Instead, I felt them rip out of my scalp, one by one, and leave a trail behind me. I felt like a dog shedding its coat. I didn’t know who I was leaving a trail for; my group didn’t need one to find me. We had already found each other.

By the time I recognized the brown, curly head of hair peeking out from behind the bushes, I was practically on top of him. I dug my heels into the dirt to stop my momentum, but I had been running too fast. We abruptly collided. I hit the ground with a violent thud, feeling the rocks push up against my back. His body landed on top of mine, his hair spilling onto my sweaty face. I groaned, unable to expand my diaphragm under the weight of his body. He immediately pushed himself off the ground with his giant hands and brushed the dirt from his jumpsuit.

Watch where you’re going, shorty, he said, breaking the silence of the forest.

I rubbed my forehead, feeling a sharp pain. He bent over me and offered his hand. I took it, and he hoisted me up.

I— I started.

He looked at my forehead, and his eyebrows crinkled. It’s just a scratch. You’ll be fine, he said, reaching to wipe the trickle of blood away.

My breathing was loud as it escaped my lips in large, quick clouds. I squatted on the ground and tried to steady my burning lungs. Pike, I said through shallow breaths. He looked down at me. Where are the others?

Should be here, he said. You’re too fast for them.

He smirked, and I chuckled, clutching my stomach. I felt a cramp in my leg, so I stood up to stretch it out. I wasn’t done running for the day. That had only been a warm-up.

Pike looked around the dark forest, spinning in circles as he watched for the rest of the group. I bent down and picked up a handful of dirt, pressing it between my fingertips. I brought it to my nose; it smelled fresh and earthy, all too familiar to me. I let it spill between my fingers and drop back to the ground.

Someone was here. Not long ago, I said to Pike, noticing the light outline of a footprint in the dirt. We shouldn’t be far.

Very good. You’re right, Pike said, leaning up against the nearest tree trunk and looking down at his glowing watch. He shook his head, disappointed. He was upset for wasting time. It was draining quickly.

My ears perked up when I heard the patter of feet on dirt. Branches cracked in the distance. Pike leaned over and pulled me to the ground. We squatted behind a thick, leafy bush. I could barely make out the figure in the darkness, but as he approached, I could see him stop in front of us, resting his hand on his knees to try and catch his breath.

Damn, Tia, how do you beat me every time? Cade asked, brushing his hair from his face.

I smiled and stood up. You shouldn’t be so surprised, I said, glancing around the shadowy forest.

Seconds later, two other figures emerged from the trees. Merly’s glossy red hair shone brightly in the moonlight. Both she and Sim panted furiously. Sim opened her mouth—most likely to say something snarky—but Pike couldn’t waste any more time. We gathered together in a tight circle. Our matching green jumpsuits were smudged with dirt.

Follow the light, Pike mumbled.

I looked at him and frowned. What li—

He didn’t wait for me to finish my question. He bolted into the forest and was immediately engulfed in darkness. I squinted, looking around for any light.

There! Merly said, pointing ahead of us. We took off in that direction, hoping to catch up with Pike. As usual, he hardly gave us a moment to absorb our surroundings before he plunged into the mission.

The Black Coats aren’t going to give you five minutes to stretch when you are out in the field, Pike always said when we complained. They want the job done, and they want it done fast. We all knew he was right and that he was only attempting to prepare us for future missions, but damn, could he run. And when he started, it was near impossible to catch up.

We were lucky enough to be running with the moon in front of us, so after a few minutes of sprinting, I saw light reflect off of Pike’s green jumpsuit, and I locked my eyes on him. He twisted in between the trees, almost as if his body was morphing around them. He was performing, a dance, for the rest of us. His feet hardly made any noise as they skipped over the branches and leaves. His torso gracefully dodged any obstacles, not once making contact with any part of the forest. Even his breathing was slow and steady. Pike wasn’t that much older than the rest of us, maybe five years at most, but his extra experience certainly showed. There was no doubt in my mind as to why the Black Coats asked him to become a Vet. The Vets were the best of the best. They needed to be highly skilled if they were to be responsible for training the rest of us.

Though at times he felt like an unnecessary babysitter, we all valued his presence. He was a Sap, same as us. He knew what it was like to be a Sap in a world where Cloakers were despised. He experienced the same humiliation of being part of the most unexciting group of Cloakers. And we admired him for it.

Pike’s dancing silhouette suddenly became larger and larger. It took me a moment to realize that he was slowing down. That meant we had to be close. I held up my hand to warn the others, hearing their footsteps quicken as they scrambled to stop. I managed to stop just short of running into Pike again, but he barely noticed. Instead, he crouched to the ground. The four of us did the same, staring into the distance. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for us to be quiet.

It was difficult to see at first, but after my head stopped spinning, I saw it—the cabin. It never looked the same in any landscape, yet I knew it was what we were looking for. Its rotting logs and rusty metal roof told me it was old, practically ready to be knocked down. The door was tightly shut, but I could see the light pouring out from between the logs. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. It was still there. A giant campfire blazed in front with flames licking the sky, almost too bright. The crackling overpowered the sound of the three giant men gathered around it, sipping beer and spitting into the dirt. A few empty cans scattered the clearing around the cabin. A cooler rested on the ground next to one of the men. The three of them wore thick, puffy coats and brown hats that drooped over their ears. Covered in facial hair, they looked more bear than human. Their teeth were yellow and drops of beer ran down their oily beards. They sat around the fire in flimsy white chairs. One of the men belched loudly, and I frowned, wanting to be as far away from them as possible—but they were our targets, so we were going after them.

I looked over at Pike after deciding that I’d seen enough of the filthy man-bears. He leaned in without speaking and pointed to Cade. Then he brought his hand to his ear and pointed to the cabin. Cade nodded, knowing exactly what he wanted. His instructions were to eavesdrop on the targets, which included getting as close as possible without them noticing. The men, being wanted criminals, probably had information to hide. And when the Black Coats wanted information, they turned to the Saps.

Cade slowly stood up and tiptoed closer to the cabin. I followed him with my eyes as he cautiously approached the men in their plastic chairs. They were oblivious to our presence as they stared into the fire, their hands tightly gripping their beer cans. Cade inched forward, crouching among the bushes. His eyes were wide; he knew that if the men saw him, he’d destroy the whole mission. But Cade was overthinking. While trying to analyze everything around him, he failed to notice the branch under his foot. When he moved, the branch broke in two, and the men snapped to attention. I heard Cade gasp, and before I had time to blink, he was gone. Instead of a cautious seventeen-year-old boy standing in the darkness, he had transformed into a short, thin sapling. Luckily, the three hairy men ignored their intuition and figured the noise had come from the fire. They stayed in their chairs and continued talking, unaware that the tree inches from their campsite was, in fact, a government spy.

From my position, I could hear only low mumbles coming from the men. They guzzled down their beer and chatted among one another. I hoped that Cade was picking up everything they were saying. It was risky, sitting alone at night in the middle of the forest like they were.

After a few minutes of silent crouching, my feet began to ache. I tried to shift positions without making any noise, but I stopped when I noticed two of the men rising from their chairs. They dropped their beer cans, standing a few feet from each other. At first, their conversation seemed fairly calm, but I could tell that it was slowly escalating. The two men threw their hands up in anger, their gestures becoming more defined and defensive. Their booming voices grew louder. I glanced at Pike in panic, but he didn’t seem fazed. His eyes were locked on the men, waiting to see how it would play out.

The third man stood up slowly, attempting to settle the tension, but his movements only set off a spark. One of the agitated men suddenly rushed toward the other, holding his thick arms out in front of his body. Unintentionally, I let out a small gasp, but Pike was too concentrated to notice. The two men had their arms around each other, slapping and punching at each other’s faces. Spit flew from their mouths. They both fell hard on the ground and began rolling around in the dirt. They threw powerful punches with their bear-sized fists.

In an effort to survive, one of them managed to wiggle free from the other’s grip. He stood up and lunged toward where we crouched in the brush. Sticky, dark blood pooled around his eyes, and he tried to wipe them clean. He groaned when he hit the ground in front of us. Blood flew from his mouth, expelling his few remaining teeth with it. His puffy brown coat was ripped, white fluff covering the ground around him. He groaned again and managed to steady himself on his hands and knees, then began making a desperate attempt to crawl to safety. The other man wasn’t finished, however. He stood up swiftly and tossed himself on top of his fleeing companion, straddling his limp body.

They threw punches at each other, a mere few feet away from us. If I so much as moved an inch, they probably would have noticed. Not knowing what else to do, I froze and held my breath. It was hard to watch the brutality. I heard the two men whimper in pain every time a fist made contact with a face. Their knuckles were bloody and swollen.

I instinctively glanced at Pike as they continued to roll closer to us. He nodded slightly, and without wasting another second, we all shifted into plants. We couldn’t afford to be caught by the deranged men.

Shifting was an odd sensation, one that I had grown accustomed to. When I was younger, I only shifted when I had to because it made my body ache. But after years of gymnastics and training, I had become numb to the feeling of my bones stretching and bending. It felt as though another force—one much stronger than me—took over my body and morphed it into whatever it liked. It was an intimidating feeling, to say the least. Even now, after seventeen years, I still dread the feeling in the pit of my stomach when my body shifts. On the inside, I still feel like a human. I can still wiggle my fingers and toes, although now they were the roots of a plant that I was wiggling. I can still feel my heart beating in my chest. I still feel my lungs suck in air and my hair sway in the wind. But now it is my branches swaying instead of my hair. And when I try to move, it seems like I am glued down to the ground. I feel my roots sinking into the soil. The damp dirt closing around my extremities. It is like I’m encased in a tight container of thick soil. Sometimes I feel insects and worms wiggling around my roots. I have to concentrate hard on my breathing because my chest is compressed into a pile of dirt. I can’t turn my head