Chapter 1: The First Death
The taste of copper filled my mouth as I spat blood onto the concrete. My ribs screamed in protest with every breath, and I was pretty sure my left arm was broken. Again.
"Look at this pathetic freak," Jake Morrison sneered, his boot connecting with my stomach. "Still think you're better than us?"
I curled into a ball, trying to protect my vital organs. Three against one wasn't fair, but when had life ever been fair to me? At seventeen, I'd learned that being different in a small town like Millbrook was basically painting a target on your back.
"Please," I gasped, "I didn't do anything to you guys."
"Didn't do anything?" Derek, Jake's loyal lapdog, grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. "You exist. That's enough."
The third one, Tommy, was already pulling out his phone. "This is going on social media. 'Freak gets what he deserves.'"
I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be over. This had become routine over the past year. Ever since the incident at school where I'd somehow survived that chemical explosion in the lab when I should have died, people looked at me differently. Whispered about me. Called me names.
Mutant. Freak. Monster.
The worst part? They weren't wrong. Something was different about me. I healed faster than normal people, could take more punishment. But I was still weak. Still vulnerable. Still just a punching bag for anyone who wanted to feel better about themselves.
"Hey, maybe we should dump him in the river," Jake said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "See if freaks can swim."
My blood ran cold. The Millbrook River was swollen from recent rains, moving fast and dangerous. Even good swimmers had drowned in it this year.
"I can't swim," I whispered, panic creeping into my voice.
"Perfect," Derek grinned.
They dragged me toward the riverbank, my protests falling on deaf ears. The water was black and churning, and I could hear the roar of the current even from here. My heart hammered against my ribs as they hauled me closer.
"Please, don't do this," I begged. "I'll do anything. I'll give you money, I'll—"
"Shut up," Jake shoved me toward the edge. "Time to see what you're really made of, freak."
The push came suddenly. One moment I was on solid ground, the next I was falling through the air, arms windmilling uselessly. The water hit me like a concrete wall, driving the air from my lungs and shocking my system with its freezing temperature.
I went under immediately.
The current was stronger than I'd imagined, pulling me down and spinning me around until I couldn't tell which way was up. My lungs burned as I fought against the water, but I was never a strong swimmer even in calm conditions. Here, in this churning nightmare, I was helpless.
Water filled my mouth and nose. I thrashed desperately, but my heavy clothes and shoes dragged me down. The surface seemed impossibly far away, a faint shimmer of light that grew dimmer with each passing second.
This is it, I thought with strange clarity. This is how I die.
My vision started to fade at the edges, black spots dancing in front of my eyes. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, but I couldn't stop myself from breathing in more water. The cold was seeping into my bones, making my movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
I don't want to die like this.
But wanting and reality were two different things. My struggles grew weaker, my body growing heavy and unresponsive. The last thing I saw was the murky water closing over my head as I sank toward the riverbed.
Then everything went dark.
I woke up coughing and retching, river water pouring from my mouth and nose. My body convulsed as I expelled what felt like gallons of water, my throat raw and burning. Sand and mud clung to my soaked clothes, and I could taste blood and silt.
But I was alive.
Somehow, impossibly, I was alive.
I pushed myself up on shaking arms, looking around in confusion. I was on a small beach about half a mile downstream from where I'd fallen in. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. How long had I been unconscious?
More importantly, how was I breathing?
I should be dead. I knew I should be dead. I'd drowned in that river, felt the life leaving my body. But here I was, waterlogged and miserable, but undeniably alive.
Something was wrong with me. Something more than just healing faster than normal.
I staggered to my feet, my legs shaky and weak. My clothes were torn and muddy, my phone was waterlogged and dead, and I had no idea how to explain where I'd been for the past several hours.
But as I started the long walk home, I noticed something strange. The cut on my forehead from Jake's ring was gone. The bruises on my ribs had faded to barely visible marks. Even my broken arm seemed to be working fine.
Whatever was happening to me, it was getting stronger.
And somehow, I had the feeling that drowning was just the beginning.