by Carl Damen
Instead, Ken lunged into a back-flip, spraying bits of molten stone at Jack. Pain seared across Jack's chest as miniscule burns erupted on his skin, but he was too intently focused on the air around Ken.
The door into the room burst wide, a cold wind rushing in to fill the void left by the heated air that was now forming up in a dense sphere around Ken. Ken gasped, pushed out at his private atmosphere, his face red and drenched with sweat.
Jack was able to maintain the sphere, felt Allen supporting him, pushing in, smothering their enemy.
Ken was on the verge of unconsciousness when the heavy hum of the scramblers began. Instantly he dropped to the cooling concrete as the air that had surrounded him burst outward, slamming the door closed and knocking Jack—and the rest of the shelves—to the ground.
"It... it isn't too late..." Allen was pulling himself out of the metal embrace of the shelf, struggling to rise. "We can still kill him..." His voice lacked a certain conviction. It was as if he knew he were defeated, were just repeating words he thought Jack needed to hear.
And maybe he did need to hear them. Maybe he did need reassurance. Because without Allen's presence, without his voice directly in his mind, Jack felt scared. After all the years of planning, the years of waiting, they had tried, and they had failed...
The door burst open again, this time dissolving in a cloud of splinters that fragmented through the storeroom. Jack closed his eyes tightly, covered them, tried not to be blinded by the shards of wood that peppered his body.
When next he opened his eyes a fourth figure stood in the room, emaciated and weathered, wrapped in an over-large drab uniform. It took several long moments before Jack recognized the spray of snowy-fair that capped the figure as belonging to the General.
"Come, Wendleferce, it's time for the endgame."
There was no reply save for a weak gurgling.
Jack looked away from the General to see Ken trapped beneath a heavy shelf, a foot-long shard of wood protruding from his throat. Already, blood was pooling in the uneven surface of the floor surrounding Ken.
"Hmm, can't have that... not yet. Hate to say it, but there's more for you to do. And you," he turned to fix Jack with a bemused smile, "this might give you some motivation for later. Solve a lot of plot-holes, this way."
Allen. Where was Allen?
Jack looked around wildly, saw Allen standing in one corner, his body limp, his eyes vacant. The scramblers couldn't be affecting him that much, could they?
A wet sound, like tearing flesh, ripped Jack's attention away from Allen's limp form. Ken was jerking forward, as if something held him by the neck, even as the splinter twisted and moved of its own accord. And then it was out. Mistaren smiled. The sides of Ken's wound pressed together, bubbled as air escaped, then sealed tightly, the skin scabbing and flaking away, leaving behind fresh, pale skin. Not even a scar.
As Jack watched, three things occurred to him. One, the General had become one of them. In retrospect, it seemed obvious. This man was a power-hound; what better way to ensure his own survival than by giving himself the greatest power imaginable? Two, he had a way to bypass the scramblers. That... that had no obvious answer; Jack could hash it out later. Three... Allen never had a chance. As much as he had planned, as well as he had trained his troops, in the end he had been nothing more than a mild annoyance to the General—never a threat.
And then Jack awoke, kneeling on the concrete of the home room, his beard once more shorn. He looked up, saw his companions, his family, his other minds, kneeling as he was, shaved as he was, shamed as he was. Years waited, years lost, all in a moment. There wasn't a one of them that had made it through the battle unscathed: most were bruised, with bloody cuts and scrapes over there bodies, with eyes puffed-shut and joints bulging from sprains. Others were wrapped in brown-stained gauze, or splinted or sown or God-knew what else. Two lay on the ground, barely breathing.
Past the scrambler-hum that hazed the close air Jack saw a ring of armored forms spaced along the walls, weapons pointed in. And at the front of the room, in the same spot he had stood for countless days across countless years knelt Allen, naked as they were, bald as they were. He had finally become one of them.
Boots echoed through the room, the sound intruding through the ever-present scramblers. Mistaren strode in, passed before Allen, glared out at his charges. "And was it worth it?" He stopped, turned to face them, looked from eye to eye. "You killed five of my men, made it halfway out of the facility, and nearly ruined the program. I ask again, was it worth it?"
Jack rocked back on his heels, slowly pushed himself up until he was standing. He was nauseous, he was hurt, but he was able to look the General in the eye. "Yes."
Mistaren blinked, then slowly nodded. "I see. Crushed your bodies, but not your spirits..." He glanced down at his boots, then back up to Jack. "Doesn't matter, though. The things you've seen, you won't remember. It's time for scrubbing, boys and girls, time to wash this place from your pretty little minds. Then, you won't remember anything. Not me, not the pain you've endured, and not the words Allen has infected you with."
He strode to Allen, placed his bare hands on Allen's bare head. "What do you have to say to that, Major Fendleton?"
Allen jerked, his eyes widened. For the first time since the General invaded the store room, he seemed to be his old self. He looked up at the still standing Jack, tried to smile. "We are Defenders. We will defend. We must tick on," he said. "The Q-bomb must tick on."
With that Mistaren nodded, stepped away, raised a small pistol and leveled it at Allen's defenseless form.
There was a flash of light, an echoing crack, and somehow, despite the scramblers, a scream of pain and loss sudden relief...
Then there was black...
Once more Jack was sitting in the chair, looking at the place where Suzanne had died. This time, Ken was sitting in here place.
You ready to see this place go?
The scramblers were gone. Jack tried to fling himself forward, to attack his tormentor one last time—
All he succeeded in doing was sliding limply to the floor.
We've been starving you... You're too weak to pull anything funny...
He tried to push in at the little vein in Ken's head, to pinch closed a heart valve, anything... nothing.
Ken knelt down and wrapped his hands around Jack's head. "I'm supposed to do this fast," he whispered. "Blank out everything back to your car wreck. But... you and I, we have history. Have to respect that."
He released Jack's head, placed his hands next to Jack's shoulders, leaned in close so that his lips brushed Jack's ear. "You're never going to get back to her, you know that."
A beam of brilliant light split across Jack's vision as his eyes slowly opened. He couldn't make out much of where he was... it was too dark beyond the light that slanted in from the window facing him.
There was enough light to see the bed, the blanket, the reddish, pock-marked torso that rose from it, to see the burned, gnarled hands at the ends of his slim wrists.
Enough light to see the silhouetted form leaning over him. "Jack? Are you awake?"
The voice was at once familiar, at once monstrously alien, belonging to two parts of his life that were irrevocably over.
"Alice..." he rasped, his throat barely capable of human speech.
Alice turned away from him. "Naomi, he's—"
I know...
As Jack looked, he noticed other minds, far more familiar voices, elsewhere in this place. The minds connected to his, spoke to him, began the process of rebuilding the total unity they had once possessed.
And above all the others Naomi could be heard. She showed us what you had in the car with you, Jack... You have it whole, you can show me it in its entirety... Now, I will follow you...
13
Chapter 26
Part IV: Apocalypse
Chapter 26
Light filtered through the curtains, glowing in through Ken's tightly shut eyes. He blink
ed, waited as the red world slowly drifted back to normal colors, rolled himself so he could see Lauren sitting next to his gurney.
"Hey, baby..." he wheezed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "How long was I out?"
Lauren glanced at her mobile, then returned to stare into Ken's eyes. "About ten minutes. You're tired, I'll let you go." She stood, but Ken grabbed her wrist, silently implored her to stay. She lowered herself back to the small folding chair.
"Where were we?"
Around them soldiers and medical personnel and shell-shocked civilians shuffled by the make-shift hospital ward that took up what had once been Sky Crest Tower's fitness center. Gurneys lined the mirrored walls, stacks of equipment spread every which way, exercise gear clustered in one corner.
"Um, well..." Lauren reached down and picked up her tablet. She flipped through a few files and began, "They wanted to court-martial you. They're calling it dereliction of duty, treason, impersonating a military officer—"
"That should be a civilian charge."
"I know. Like I said, they wanted to do that. Most people still believe you're dead, though. Mistaren even saw to it you were brought in as a Jack Dolad."
He flinched.
"Sorry, Jack Doe, Jack Doe."
Silence stretched between them as Ken stared at the charred stumps his hands had become, and Lauren stared at Ken.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Huh?"
Lauren dropped the tablet and leaned forward. "Why'd you attack him? Putting aside my history with him, putting aside that he was a Defender, the president asked for him personally."
Ken's lip quivered, and he shrugged.
"The whole country's been in civil war for a week because you just had to kill Jack. And... and I don't see why. Or, or how even. I know you had friends in the service, but they couldn't be that good of friends."
Ken's nostrils flared and he looked up at the ceiling. He didn't want to have this conversation now. He didn't want to think of Jack, to relive the decisions that had brought him here, that had brought the whole world here. International relations had been severed by every country on Earth, no one was allowed into or out of the country, Mexico was on the verge of invasion and the whole nation was at war and for what? Petty jealousy? Revenge?
"Honestly," he wheezed, "I'm surprised it took you this long to ask."
Lauren opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, thought for a moment. "I love you Ken. I've loved you since the moment we first met... But I've also been afraid. Something about you terrified me. But since I saw you Tuesday, since I've started talking with you again, I haven't been afraid. So now, as much as I love you, I'm ready to ask questions."
Ken shuddered. He knew why she wasn't afraid of him anymore; he was a different person now. Before, he had been in control of everything, a successful man built upon a successful life, a happy life. He was the best of the best, and he wanted the whole world to know. But since Jack had touched his mind, had begun to scrape out the memories that made Ken who he was, he had fallen. Now he was a loser, a pitiful loner who had slunk through life, always trying to be better than he really was. His strength had been a reaction to weakness, a bully trying to better himself through violence, and he hated that. The worst part though... the worst part was that he knew none of it was true. He just couldn't remember it being any other way...
Lauren interrupted his thoughts. "Twice, after Jack came back, I thought about leaving you for him. The first time—"
"Was when he first called. You could barely believe it. You wanted so much for it to be true..."
He waited for a response, looked over to see her shivering.
"The next time was the day of the first riot," he continued. "You had forgotten about him again. Something slowly pushed him out of your mind. Then you saw him in the restaurant with that bitch Naomi and you though, 'It's real, isn't it? He's alive. I have a second chance.' But you were so afraid for me, so concerned that I was going to die, that you decided to stick with me, to see it through to the end."
Her hand shot out, latched onto Ken's wrist, squeezed.
"But this... this is the end. I'm going to die. I know that; you know that. You decided to put aside the fact that I killed Jack, try to work out that last little bit of paperwork so you could get a kick out of finally telling a boyfriend goodbye..."
Lauren's jaw pulsed as she silently chewed, her eyes turning red and puffing up. "How did you know that?"
"You remember our first date?"
Lauren nodded furiously for a moment, slowed, shook her head.
"I do. We met each other on the train. You tripped and spilled coffee on me. You were so apologetic, but I brushed it off. I said, 'Now that you don't have coffee, would you like to go with me to have some more?'" He stared wistfully at the ceiling for a moment, then glanced at her. "You know why you don't remember it? It never happened. I made it up. I slipped it into your mind, I made you believe it was real, just long enough to get you in the door and on the bed."
No reply from Lauren, just the sound of a hard swallow and teeth grinding.
"I'm one of them, Lu. I'm a Defender, or close to one. I was one of the military test subjects Latterndale won't shut up about. And the whole reason I came after you? To get back at Jack. At first, that was all it was; I was just trying to hurt him. But the more time I spent with you, watching you," he laughed, short, loud, "reading your mind... I started to love you. So you want to know why I killed him? I couldn't let him talk, couldn't let him name names, couldn't let him take me from you."
He rolled, tried to look at her; she ducked out of his sight. "It was stupid, but everything I did, I did for us."
"Then why tell me now?" Her voice was rough, thick with mucus.
"You wanted the chance to say goodby to a boyfriend. This is it. No more secrets from me. The real me, that's what you really want to see. That's what you're seeing."
Lauren leaned up, her face wet, tears and mucus dribbling down her chin. "Why didn't he remember me?"
Ken closed his eyes. "What were your first thoughts when you saw him again?"
Lauren didn't answer, but Ken didn't need her to.
"I couldn't risk him looking for you. I needed to make sure he didn't come and take you away from me."
"The way you took me away from him?"
Ken ignored her. "In retrospect, I shouldn't have stayed in Philly."
Lauren continued to weep. As Ken stared silently at the ceiling, hearing her gasps and sobs, he felt increasingly guilty. Why? A week ago he would have pushed into her mind, smoothed this over, convinced her killing Jack was for the best. He had come to know Jack down in the pit, had seen how quickly he was distracted by every woman who fell on top of him. But now...
Tentatively, Ken reached out and touched Lauren's mind. He felt despair, anger. Anything more and he became too tired, pulled back in on himself. There were limits to his powers; apparently, being burned alive and left on an IV drip pushed him to the edge of those powers...
God, if only he had another E.H.U.D. to push his body back together...
A hand lightly touched his arm, caused him to flinch at the momentary pain. He glanced over to see Lauren, her eyes wide, staring down at him. "Oh, Ken, I understand."
It felt as if a great burden had been lifted from him.
"What you did was wrong, but... You did it for love. You did it for me. I won't leave you, Ken. You can count on me to be with you forever..."
She bent forward to wrap his frail body in her arms. He fought down a scream as her clothes touched his raw flesh, tried instead to bask in the forgiveness she had extended to him.
In the new life Jack had given him he had been miserable, had made many poor decisions, had lived in constant regret. But this one thing, this moment of openness, he could be proud of as he died...
Sudden pressure clamped down around his chest as Lauren jerked backwards, pulling him from the bed, scraping his burned skin across the sheets, yanking needles and electrodes
from his arm. He screamed in blood-curdling agony as the catheter ripped loose. And then he was laying across Lauren's lap, looking up into her face and the ceiling beyond.
A nurse must have heard his scream, had come running to help him. A woman in pink scrubs came skidding around the edge of the gurney, took in the horror that lay in Lauren's lap. "Ma'am, I need you to step away from the patient."
Lauren reached into her purse, rummaged for a moment, came up with something. The nurse gasped and backed away. Ken followed the line of her arm up to the thick black 'L' of metal clutched in her right hand: his gun, from the second shelf up in his closet.
Lauren looked back down into his eyes, tried to smile. "You took away the only man I ever loved... You convinced me he was dead, you really killed him. Then you came into my house and raped me until I thought I loved you, until I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you. Well guess what? You're going to get it. The whole rest of my life, it's all yours, Ken."
