by Jade Kerrion
Focus. He had to deal with one problem at a time, or the volume and scale of his problems would overwhelm him. Danyael held his breath when footsteps crunched through snow toward the old tree house. If the enforcer got any closer, he would have to—
“Hey, there are tracks here,” the man called out, his voice excited.
A branch snapped, and then another, the sound farther away.
“He’s getting away,” the woman said sharply. “Over there.”
Footsteps raced away from the tree house.
“What just happened?” Reyes asked quietly after all sound faded into silence.
“I don’t know,” Danyael whispered. Silently he counted down five minutes. “Stay here, I’ll check it out.”
Reyes shook his head. “I’ll come with you.”
Together they stepped out of the tree house. The woods around them were silent once again. The moon hung low in the sky; dawn was likely no more than an hour away. Danyael looked around, trying to orient himself. “If we can make it back to the main road, we could—”
Several figures emerged silently out of the darkness. Danyael stepped in front of Reyes to protect the older man, but his heart sank. He could easily stop one or two opponents, but to stop many, he would have to drop his internal and external psychic shields. His unshielded emotions, sourced from memories of his hellish childhood and fueled by the power of alpha empath, would drive anyone to suicide. It would mean the death of the enforcers, and without any physical cover for Reyes, it would mean Reyes’s death too.
Blessing or curse?
The answer that had seemed so clear moments before was no longer self-evident.
Danyael squeezed his eyes shut, damned his weakness, and looked away. Reyes was innocent. He could not hurt Reyes, not even in self-defense.
To his surprise, the armed men walked past him, paying him little attention. A young man in military fatigues followed them. He paused in front of Danyael and nodded in polite acknowledgment. “I’m glad we got to you in time,” he said. He raised his voice slightly, issuing orders to his team. “Fan out. There are at least three teams of enforcers in the area. I want you to misdirect them and keep them disoriented until we can get Danyael to safety.”
Danyael stared in wordless bewilderment as the men spread out, moving silently through the woods.
Reyes seemed as confused as Danyael. The older man’s brow was furrowed and he blinked frequently, as if trying to clear his vision. “Danyael,” Reyes said quietly, nodding in the direction of another man emerging out of the darkness.
Danyael stiffened. That man he recognized. The man did not wear military fatigues, but he had the erect authority and crisp haircut that accompanied years of military experience. He was in his early fifties, tall, and superbly fit. His lean, hawkish face was unsmiling as he stepped forward to meet Danyael.
The man’s first words were the last thing Danyael would have expected from him. “Danyael, I’m sorry for the role I played in your arrest last year,” General Howard said quietly.
The depth of sincerity Danyael sensed from the general stunned him.
The general continued, “If I could undo it, I would, but I can’t. The least I can do is offer you protection, and I hope you will accept it. I would rather not stand by and watch the Mutant Affairs Council take you back to ADX.”
“I…” Words escaped Danyael. The Mutant Assault Group, headed by General Howard, was the enemy, wasn’t it? It had always been. And who told you that, Danyael thought bitterly. Alex Saunders, from the Mutant Affairs Council? The same Alex Saunders who turned you into a class-five criminal and sentenced you, without trial, to life imprisonment in a maximum-security prison? The same Alex Saunders who destroyed Elysium, the home and refuge of innocent derivatives and humans? Who do you trust?
Reyes coughed weakly. General Howard looked at Reyes as if seeing him for the first time. The general glanced over his shoulder at a waiting aide. “Get one of those heated blankets for the old man. Actually, bring two over. Danyael could probably use one as well.” The general turned his attention back to Danyael.
General Howard’s gaze was uncomfortably direct, but Danyael met it with equal directness. He could not afford any misunderstanding, not with Reyes’s life at stake. “Reyes Maddox is the leader of Elysium, the derivative haven that the council’s enforcers attacked several hours ago. He needs a blood transfusion and a safe place to recover. Will you help him?”
“Of course,” the general said. “Let’s get you both out of the wind and the cold. Come with me.” He turned and walked away, flanked on either side by an aide. He did not look back, nor did he surround Danyael with armed troops.
Who do you trust? Danyael looked toward Lucien’s home, glittering in the pre-dawn darkness. Lucien had turned him out. In the woods around them, the council’s enforcers hunted him after having attacked and destroyed an enclave of innocent, peaceable derivatives. Meanwhile, the general who he had been told was an enemy of the council offered aid without any stated penalty or cost.
Reyes coughed again, a hollow, pained sound. They were both out of time. Reyes needed medical attention, and if Danyael were to be honest, so did he. The choice made, Danyael slipped an arm around Reyes’s waist to support the older man, and they both followed the general to safety.
~*~
An armored personnel carrier deposited Danyael, Reyes, and the general at the private airfield just south of Aspen, where a military plane awaited. Four hours later, they arrived at the Bolling Air Force Base in Washington, D.C.
The general unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. He handed Danyael a hooded jacket. “Wear this when you disembark from the plane. I trust my team implicitly, but I’d rather the US military not know that I’m harboring a fugitive. You’ll be safe once we’re at our headquarters.”
Danyael nodded. While the general waited by the door of the airplane, Danyael moved to the back of the plane to check on Reyes, who lay swaddled in blankets, asleep on a stretcher. Danyael disconnected the IV system that pumped fluids and transfused blood into the old man. Reyes’s heart rate was steady and his color a great deal better. At Danyael’s signal, the soldiers moved in to lift the stretcher. Carefully balancing the stretcher, the soldiers disembarked from the plane. The general waited until Danyael pulled the hood over his head and then ushered Danyael out before him.
Danyael stepped out onto the tarmac, squinting against the bright sunlight. The general paused beside him and handed him a pair of sunglasses. “The car is over this way.” Together they followed the men carrying the stretcher. The general’s team marched on either side of them, deterring the curious who might have otherwise wandered close. Still, Danyael did not relax until the black suburban pulled into the walled compound of the Mutant Assault Group headquarters at Arlington Ridge.
“Welcome back to D.C.,” the general said, leading the way into the main building that towered eight stories over the surrounding compound. “You grew up here, didn’t you?”
“For the most part,” Danyael said. He had grown up with Lucien, and Lucien’s primary residence was a Spanish-revival home that presided over three acres of prime real estate in McLean, Virginia, northwest of Washington, D.C.
“I’ll show you the way to the infirmary. I know you’ll want to get Reyes settled, and then we need to talk about you.”
The headquarters of the Mutant Assault Group was as sturdily built as Elysium had been, yet differed from the derivative haven in every way. The walls were painted a stark white, the monotony broken by a few framed photographs of stern-faced men, their uniforms glittering with medals and insignias of their rank. The tiled floors were scrupulously clean and reflected light from glowing florescent tubes overhead. Men and women dressed in the navy blue and black uniform of the Mutant Assault Group moved through the corridors with orderly precision. If anyone was startled to see Danyael, no one displayed any signs of it.
A medical team consisting of a doctor and two nurses awaited them at the
infirmary. A thin man in a white lab coat stepped forward. “I’m Colonel Smith. You can call me Carson. Get the patient into the bed.”
The soldiers carefully transferred Reyes Maddox from the stretcher to the bed, and the nurses bustled into action, hooking Reyes up to the medical equipment. Terminals hummed with activity, monitoring and reporting on Reyes’s condition, cutting-edge technology replicating what Danyael could do with a simple touch.
Carson studied the information streaming across the computer screen. “He’s stable. I’ll arrange for another pint of blood, but it can wait. Rest is the most important thing for him at this time. As for you…” He turned to Danyael. “Please, sit.”
The examination was quick but thorough. When it was over, Carson stepped back and pulled off his latex gloves. “I’ll prescribe a high-protein diet. You’ll need it to recover your strength and rebuild muscle.” He gestured to Danyael’s left leg. “That injury will require surgery at the Army medical center—”
The general shook his head. “He can’t afford the exposure. What are our options here?”
“Limited,” the doctor said. “Unless you have access to a mutant healer.”
“They all work for the council. Not a viable alternative at this time,” the general said. “What about physical therapy?”
Carson pursed his lips. “It’s not a solution, but as a stop gap, it’s good. Physical therapy will build his strength and make the injury less of a burden until we can get surgery scheduled.”
“Good. Schedule his sessions. Start today.”
“Yes, sir,” Carson said. He turned to Danyael. “Jana Earden will come by your suite at fourteen hundred hours today. That should give you sufficient time to settle down, eat, and rest before your first session. Jana is also a licensed dietitian. I will brief her on your situation so that she can manage your meals, therapy, and recovery.”
“Thank you,” Danyael said.
“My pleasure, sir. If you have any questions about your medical care, do not hesitate to contact me.” He glanced over at Reyes, asleep in the bed. “Now, if you will both leave, my patient needs his rest.”
Danyael and the general walked out of the infirmary. The general said, “Your suite is down this hallway. I thought you might like to be near your friend.” He paused and swiped a key card over the security panel beside a door. The door slid open silently, and he stepped aside, gesturing to Danyael to enter.
Still wavering between confusion and disbelief over the general’s kindness and hospitality, Danyael stepped in and looked around. The suite was larger than it appeared on the outside. A narrow corridor led from the furnished living area and kitchenette into a small bedroom and its attached bathroom. The brand-new furniture was military issue, its lines clean and severe, solidly functional and relentlessly practical. The suite offered comfort, and more importantly, privacy.
The general watched as Danyael explored the suite. “I’ll arrange to have some clothes sent up along with other necessities. If you need anything, let me know.” He tapped the key card against the telecommunication interface. “The kitchenette is fully equipped, but I expect that your meals will be prepared specially by the main kitchen in accordance with Carson’s and Jana’s instructions. And this is for you.” He held out the key card and waited until Danyael reached for it. “It gives you full access to all public rooms in the building, including the exits. You’re not a prisoner, Danyael. You are free to leave whenever you choose, though I cannot guarantee your safety beyond the boundaries of our compound.”
Danyael’s dark eyes narrowed. Everything that had happened since he heard the first screams ring through the Elysium hallways less than eight hours prior seemed like a confused dream. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you helping me when no one else will?”
“Can you accept that I am sorry?” the general asked. “I always believed you had the most amazing potential. I should never have believed the council when they labeled you a class-five threat. When the council approached me two days ago seeking my help in hunting you down, I took it upon myself to find you before they did. You don’t belong in ADX, Danyael, and I’m not going to help the council send you back there.”
“But you’re harboring a criminal.”
The general shrugged. “Everyone here is personally loyal to me. No one will betray you. In fact, they are all under orders to protect you with their lives, if necessary. What happened to Elysium will not happen here. We are armed to the teeth with the latest in military technology and mutant powers. The council will never be able to reach you here.”
Nothing was ever that simple. His short-lived experience with Elysium proved it. “What will your protection cost me?”
“You are blunt. I hadn’t expected that.”
“I have nothing, General. I can’t repay your hospitality.”
A slow smile spread across the general’s angular features. “Danyael, it costs me nothing to be kind, and knowing that you are not suffering at ADX will allow me to sleep better at night. What you choose to do with your life is up to you.”
The general left the suite, closing the door behind him. Danyael turned away. He would have paced the room if his crippled leg permitted it. His empathic senses were too finely tuned, too precisely trained to make a mistake. The general’s sincerity was genuine; he had meant every word he said.
Who do you trust now?
Danyael did not know. Not anymore.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The backlash was immediate and intense. Within four hours of the attack on Elysium, the first rumors began circulating. By noon of the same day, all major media channels had condemned the Mutant Affairs Council attack on Elysium.
Xin, nevertheless, appeared oblivious to it all. In her airplane seat, she idly flipped through a magazine while occasionally sipping from a bottle of water. Zara sat next to Xin, apparently similarly occupied. Across from Zara, Alex Saunders shook his head, frowning. To the exclusion of everything from the view of scattered clouds outside the airplane window and the exhausted enforcer snoring in the next seat, to the cup of cheap coffee long gone cold on the tray table in front of him, his attention was focused on the reports pouring into his tablet.
“There was supposed to be a media blackout on this,” Alex said. “What the hell happened?”
“Lucien happened.” Xin looked up from her magazine and met Alex’s gaze. “You pissed him off by searching his home. Was it worth it? Danyael was not in his home, just as Lucien said, and all you did was make Lucien furious.”
“How can he circumvent a media blackout authorized by the government?”
Xin shrugged. “As long as people need money, Lucien can circumvent anything. He and his employees are on the board of a half-dozen leading media companies in the world.”
“The news is out.” Alex sighed. “And it’s spun in the worst possible way. Hundreds of people died at Elysium, and unless we can figure out the cause of the explosion, all those deaths are on our heads.”
Zara spoke up, “I’m surprised the media is coming down hard on Elysium’s side. It was a derivative haven, after all, and the media typically treats havens like doomsday cults.”
Alex grimaced. “By the time the media is finished with this, Elysium will be composed of saints and angels. The media’s onto Danyael too. According to this particular article, the council attacked Elysium to recapture Danyael Sabre, an alpha empath who was labeled a class-five criminal and sentenced to life imprisonment without trial in a super maximum-security prison for killing twelve men, including two of the council’s enforcers, in self-defense.”
“Those facts sounds reasonably accurate,” Zara said. Her cool smile contrasted with the dangerous gleam in her narrowed eyes.
“Zara, there were other reasons.”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to imagine that there would have been any reason at all that would justify sending an innocent man to ADX.” Zara held out a hand for the tablet, and Alex handed it to her. She scanned the article. “This is
a smart, well-written story. Sakti comes across as a bold, brash hero for breaking into ADX to free Danyael; Elysium is the martyr, slaughtered because it dared offer sanctuary to an innocent man; and the council…is going to need some serious PR, because its reputation is toast.” She handed the tablet across the aisle back to Alex. “I’m surprised Danyael’s story is articulated so clearly. Lucien never wanted to speak about it before.”
“It serves his purpose now.” Alex’s voice was bitter. “It tells a good story, as you say.”
“What is the plan now?” Zara asked.
Alex turned his attention to the next article, scanning it as he spoke. “According to Miriya, Danyael’s signal is coming from the east. We’ll drop off the teams in D.C. and then try to pick up his trail again. I still don’t understand how he could have gotten away. He’s on crutches and— Goddammit!”
A startled silence filled the plane. Sleeping enforcers jerked awake and looked around sharply, as if anticipating a fight. They exchanged uneasy glances before settling down, too tense and wary to return to sleep.
“I guess you don’t like that article,” Zara said.
“It’s an interview with General Howard of the Mutant Assault Group, and he says, ‘It’s clear that the council, purportedly established to provide fair representation for mutants, is also the greatest persecutor of mutants. Nowhere is it more evident than in its treatment of Danyael Sabre.’ We were trying to save Danyael.”
“It’s a pity you can’t build a strong case to prove that,” Zara said.
“But Howard was the reason…it doesn’t matter anymore.” Alex’s shoulders slumped. “We just need to bring Danyael home now.”
Zara stood up and peered over the seat in front of her. “Miriya, are you sure of Danyael’s location?”
The blond-haired telepath had pulled her legs up to her chest, and her arms were wrapped around her legs. Her compact posture combined with her small frame scarcely filled half the airline seat. “He’s that way.” Miriya pointed toward the front of the plane. She did not look up.
