by A. M. Rose
The cabinets are empty. Oh, come on. There has to be something in here I can use. I grab the handle on a drawer. It squeaks as I pull it open and my gaze shoots to the door. I hold my breath and wait. One. Two. When it looks like no one is going to rush in I carefully pull it all the way open. Inside is a machine, a handheld body scanner, and a small handheld light with a precision laser. The scanner is too bulky so I skip it, grab the flashlight thing, and set it next to my metal tube.
I open another drawer, this time with no obnoxious squeaking. Nothing. And another. Empty. My anxiety level increases. How am I supposed to plan my great escape with what I have? I’m screwed. One drawer left. I slide it open. Jackpot. It’s full of different kinds of pills and vials. My brain explodes with ideas as my eyes scan all the labels. I shove some in my pockets.
My stomach rolls. I press my hand against it, as I close the drawer. Then I brace myself against the counter, letting the edge of it dig into my hips to help ground me. This is it. Probably my one and only chance. If I blow it… No. I let out a breath. I can’t think like that. I can’t fail. I need to get out.
“Okay, Drea, you can do this. One step at a time,” I whisper to myself.
I lie down next to the door to peek underneath. The floor is cold against my cheek, but the chill reminds me I’m still alive. And that’s exactly how I intend to stay. I hold on to that feeling and peek out through the two-inch gap under the door. Just to the right is a set of black boots. Maybe the same man who killed Maddox. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. Beyond the boots, it’s too hard to tell.
I stare up at the ceiling, the feeling of hopelessness creeping in.
Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Wait a second. I sit up, pull a small vial of blue liquid and a bottle of pills from my pocket, dumping them in my hand. Large white pills stare up at me. I pause for a moment and let them roll around on my palm. Their shape and size are like the pills Mom gave me when I was sick. That seems like eons ago, when I woke up the day after falling at the ropes course. But these pills would never make anyone feel better. I pick up the bottle and check the label. It’s not what they’re made for. I shake it off. They can’t be the same. Mom would’ve known better. And lots of medicine looks the same.
Using the pills, I line them up on the floor side by side right inside the door, stand up and pull my jacket over my nose and mouth before I open the vial. If I inhale any of it, my lungs will burn, I won’t be able to breathe, and this will all be for nothing. And it can’t be for nothing. I need to succeed.
I steady my shaking hands, quickly spill the liquid over the pills, and hop up onto the counter before the reaction starts. This should get the guard’s attention. A low sizzle, followed by a thick blue fog starts to rise. I take in a deep breath from under my jacket and blow as hard as I can, hoping it will help force some of the mist out and under the door before it fills the room.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The door flies open. My heart bounces against my ribs. The guard stands in front of me with his weapon drawn.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The guard waves his hands through the air, pushing the smoke from the pills away and coughs, loud, deep hacking coughs. His head whips back and forth across the room, probably because I’m not in my bed. I steady my hands. He’s much larger than I expected, but I don’t have time to think. I jump on his back before he turns around. His body is solid as I wrap my arms and legs around him. I reach to press the metal tube into his neck, but before I can get it there, he throws our bodies against the wall behind us. My head knocks against it with a thud, and I expect the wind to be pushed out of me, but it isn’t. I’m stronger than I’ve ever felt before.
My grip on the guard tightens as I wrap my legs around his waist and one of my arms around his neck in a headlock. He grunts, struggling to breathe, and reaches toward the computer-type buttons on his left sleeve. I try to position the metal tube behind his ear, where it would be most effective, but he thrashes about, making it impossible.
“Get— St-op—” Sweat trickles down his face.
His finger hovers over the large red button. Screw it. I slam the metal tube into his neck and press the trigger. He drops to his knees, the fight draining from his body. I release my grip as he passes out face first on the floor in front of me.
This time, with a vial of orange liquid, I pour it over the pills, neutralizing the smoke. I cough a little, wave my hands around as the air clears, and shut the door quietly, closing myself in the room with the guard.
My skin tingles. I should be panting and scared to death, but I’m exhilarated.
Holy shit.
I stare at him. He’s sprawled out like a bearskin rug. A deep snore escapes from his lips, and mine curl up into a smile. I did it. I just took him down without a scratch or an alarm sounding or flashing lights. And I did it without hurting him either. A sense of accomplishment fills my chest. Maybe these abilities just take some time to get used to. Maybe I can control myself after all.
“Didn’t anyone tell you there’s no sleeping on the job?” I kick his foot and laugh to myself. If Dylan was here, he would laugh, too. My throat thickens.
I glance back at the man—drool drips from his gaping mouth. A shiver runs down my spine. He looks so lifeless. So dead. Like Maddox. Or…or maybe Maddox is like him. Nausea and excitement turn my stomach. Maddox might not be dead. That’s possible, right?
The guard makes a snorting sound and lets out a breath. Maddox didn’t make a single sound. I shake my head; I can’t think about it now. I have to get out of here. Not only do I have to do it for myself, I have to do it for Maddox. And I have to make it back to Dylan. It’ll be all my fault if anything’s happened to him, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself. My hand trembles and I ball it into a fist. Don’t. Not now. I can’t think like that, either. He’s fine. He has to be.
Getting out of this room is my first step. And that’s how I need to take this. One step at a time. The guard starts to mumble. Great. I can’t exactly leave him like this. What if someone comes to check on us? But he might be good for something. Carefully, I turn him over. Not that I’m worried I’ll wake him—he’ll be out until sometime tomorrow. His hand thumps against the floor as soon as he’s on his back, and my eyes shoot to the symbol of intersecting lines just over his heart. A piercing ring echoes inside my head. I grip it tight in my hands, my eyes burning, and look away. The virus.
Without looking at the symbol, I pull him over to the bed and drag him into it, covering him with a blanket. Thanks to my super strength, it’s easier than it should be. Under the covers his bulky body doesn’t exactly look like mine lying there, but maybe at first glance they won’t know I’m gone, and that should buy me a little more time.
I check under the door before slowly opening it. A dim hallway stretches in either direction, but I can’t tell how far either way goes. Now what am I supposed to do? It’s like a test. One direction is hopefully the exit, the other imminent death. I need to choose, but if I choose wrong I’m screwed.
I close my eyes for a second and concentrate. The air is clean and fresh as it enters my lungs. I tilt my head to the side. Freaking out is when things go bad, so I need to be calm. I need to believe in myself. A gentle almost imperceptible breeze comes from my right and tickles my cheek, so I turn toward it. That direction. Without making a sound, I run and run, careful not to breathe too loudly or let my feet hit the ground for too long. Everything about this place screams high tech, from the glossy surface of the walls and floors to the way the ceiling glows, but there aren’t any visible lights.
Turning yet another corner, the hall ends, and a heavy steel door stands in front of me. It looks so out of place. Whatever is behind it is something someone doesn’t want anyone to know about. It’s obvious, since the stupid thing doesn’t even have a doorknob. Of course not. That’d be too easy. No. Whatever’s behind here is special, and they d
on’t want just anyone inside. I inspect the glass pad on the wall to the left of it. It’s like the fingerprint reader on the box my biological father left me, except it’s big enough for a whole hand. There has to be a way to open the door, but I don’t dare touch it. That much I know would be a mistake.
I punch the palm of my other hand. Crap. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t exactly go back the way I came. Not that I want to. This, I’m sure, was the right way to come.
“Give up,” a voice in my head says. “It’s too hard. You can’t do this. Not without help.” And I want to. I want to lean against the wall and cry for Maddox. But then they’d win. The people who killed… No, don’t think it. I have to go on. If for no other reason than they can’t win. I can’t let them.
My fingers drum against my leg. I have to keep going; there’s no other choice. I peek under the door, but it’s no good. It’s too dark to see anything. But that could be a good thing. It means no one’s on the other side, right? It’s a weak theory, but it’s all I have to go on.
I take the light out of my pocket and shine it through the glass. It illuminates the pad and the components behind it. There’s a web of multicolored wires. Right in the middle of them is the white one I need. A blue wire is twisted around it as they run up behind the pad. But near the top, they separate—just by a hair. It should be enough to only cut the white one. But one little slip, if I miss and cut the blue one, it’ll trigger the alarm and things will get ugly fast. Uglier.
I hold my breath and activate the laser. My hand shakes just enough to make this even harder than it already is. Steady, Drea. Steady.
Footsteps echo nearby, and my head snaps up. No one. I quickly look back. A line of smoke rises from the plastic casing on the blue wire. Shit. I adjust my aim as the footsteps get louder. Come on, come on. Seconds tick on, and the laser doesn’t seem to be doing what it should. I bring the beam up a little, and smoke starts to rise and the light cuts across the white wire, breaking it in half as the door clicks open.
I exhale finally and shut myself in the room, my back against the door. That was close. Too close.
I’m standing in a shoebox of a room, its darkness accentuated by a giant illuminated screen to my left. The walls have the same smooth surface as everything else in this place, without any windows, and only the one door I came through. In the center of the room is a heavy-looking steel table with papers lined up side by side on top. But what the room lacks in width, it sure as hell makes up for in height. Past the rows and rows of scaffolding is a ceiling of glass, with a full view of the sky. The red hue mixed with blue tells me it’s sunrise. But of what day, I don’t know. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I try to shake off the uneasy feeling. I’ll figure it out once I escape.
The screen flashes and draws my attention back. It looks like some sort of building blueprints. When I step closer, I notice clusters of numbers and symbols. They’re different from the letter that my biological father left me, so as much as I try I can’t understand them. I do manage to figure out they aren’t blueprints at all, but some sort of elaborate plan. I’m just not sure for what.
The image vanishes and a map pops up. This. This I know. It’s Los Angeles, that much is obvious. But it has the same symbols from the previous screen and a list of numbers written all over. What the hell could it mean? I stare at them, begging my head to figure it out. But nothing. Just aching behind my eyes.
The map of L.A. disappears and another one comes up in its place. The vague outline in front of me looks like the map I just saw, but at the same time it’s incredibly different. Most of the roads are gone, and where I remember downtown being is now completely erased. The dull ache behind my eyes gets strong, but I ignore it, force my eyes open to study it. I have to figure this out.
It’s gone in a flash and another map comes up in its place. New York City. Chicago. Houston. Each map my super-powered brain names is followed by one my brain can’t figure out. Sharp pain shoots through my skull.
My eyes burn now, so I turn away, step over to the heavy steel table in the center of the room, and brace myself against it. More charts and diagrams with names, dates, and times down to the minute are spread across it. I stare at them, hoping they’ll make some sort of sense, but all it does is bring back that jackhammer feeling inside my head.
Could this be because of the virus? The one that was supposed to protect me? Maybe it had, at one point. But now? It’s making my brain feel like it wants to explode. Whatever I’m looking at, it’s important, and I don’t understand any of it. It’s almost as if the virus doesn’t want me to.
A rustling noise at the door makes me whip my head around. There’s a shadow underneath it, probably wanting to get in. Oh shit. I scrutinize the room, but nothing’s changed. Still no other doors. No windows. The only piece of furniture is the table dead center in the room. Hiding under it is not an option, unless being found is the goal. Which it’s not.
More rustling sounds. My heart races. I can’t get caught; I don’t want to die. I glance up. It’s my only option. I bend down into a squatting position, and, with all my strength, I push off the ground and jump into the air. Grabbing one of the ceiling beams, I hoist myself up and onto it. Then onto the next one farther up, and I position myself in the dark behind a cross section of a beam going down. I need to stay calm, but it’s hard with my shaking knees.
The door clicks open and a woman walks in. I hold my breath and stand as still as possible. She marches in wearing the same jumpsuit with the same symbol as the sleeping guard; except her jumpsuit has more of those strange computer buttons on her left sleeve and a stripe with three dots under it on her right shoulder. I cringe at the symbol and quietly exhale. But I’m still nervous. I wonder if she noticed what I did to the panel. To the door. Shit. Why did I spend so much time looking around?
Her long dark hair falls over her shoulder as she leans across the table, shifting through the charts and diagrams. She swipes her hand in the air, and a computer screen appears. There’s something eerily familiar in the way she moves, but her head is angled down, so I can’t get a good look at her. The screen has a series of numbers, a code of some sort. I scan over them and just like when I studied the maps, my head throbs. It means nothing to me. All I want to do is close my eyes to stop the pounding, but I force myself to keep watching.
She picks up each paper, runs what looks like a pen across every one, holding the instrument horizontally, and then stacks the papers neatly to one side. It must be some sort of scanning device. When the last page is neatly stacked with the rest, she points the pen directly at the papers, and with a flash of blue light, they disappear.
My eyes burn, but I don’t turn away. Now it looks as if she’s analyzing images that were once a stack of papers on the computer screen that’s in front of her. I quietly watch as she goes through each one, making notes using the same symbols and code. It’s unnerving how quietly she works. The pounding in my chest is thunderous compared to the silence surrounding me.
The woman clips the pen, or whatever it is, to a holster around her waist next to a weapon. My heart stops for a beat. The same type of weapon that killed Maddox. For a second, I’m frozen, rage and sorrow warring for the upper hand. My throat is thick, and my hands are clenched into fists. I take three deep breaths, but it does nothing to calm me.
I close my eyes, and all I can see are Maddox’s deep blue ones staring back at me. The memory of our last kiss floods my thoughts. It was full of passion and longing. And sorrow and apology. Did he know what was coming? He should’ve told me it would be the last time I’d see him. He should’ve warned me it was goodbye.
I’m overwhelmed with guilt. The last words I spoke to him… If I’d only known. It wouldn’t have changed how angry I am at him for what he did, but maybe my last words to him could’ve been something different. Something fitting for someone about to… I open my eyes to escape the feeling, but a clicking noise draws my attention back to the woman.
I glance down as a stray tear falls from my eye toward her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
In slow motion, the tear falls, aimed directly for her left shoulder. My heart stops. I want to reach out and grab it, but it’s too late. It’s headed straight for her. I hold my breath and watch as it falls. She takes a step toward the main screen, and the tear lands on the floor. I let the breath go. The woman swipes her hand, turns off her screen, and heads for the only exit.
Her fingers hover over the door release panel on the wall. I dig my nails into the wooden beam. Leave already… Please. Seconds tick by as she stands in front of it. Is she waiting for an invitation? Just get the hell out. Go. So I can get the hell out, too. My palms are starting to sweat as I wait for the door to click open. Instead, there’s a loud bang and the room’s flooded with light, exposing me in my hiding place. Shit.
The woman spins around, but doesn’t look up. “Please come down so we can have a civilized conversation.” Her voice is eerily familiar, too.
My gaze floats up to the glass ceiling above me, but I won’t be able to reach it fast enough, and even if I could, it’s not like I can open it and climb out.
“That is reinforced glass. Even if it was not, there is no way you could get to it before I fired this weapon.” Her calm, clear voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Well, at least my guess was right. That makes my decision a lot easier. Not that I had much of a plan to start with. But I’ll figure out something once I’m on the ground. I have to. Taking a deep breath, I make my way down, hang from the lowest rafter, and drop myself to the floor with a soft thud. I straighten, adjusting my jacket.
I gasp. It can’t be. “Mom?”
She presses a few buttons on her sleeve. “There. That is better.” Her voice is back to normal Mom. She walks around me in a full circle, not hiding the fact that she’s sizing me up. Her long dark-haired wig is pulled tight in a ponytail high on the back of her head and is a stark contrast to her skin—the color of fresh parchment. “Alexandrea.”
