The Bionics

by Alicia Michaels

Eighteen

  Gage Bronson and Dax Janner

  Stonehead Prison Facility

  Washington D.C.

  August 18, 4010

  8:30 a.m.

  “Got it!”

  I hold the small, palm-sized cartridge up in my hand, catching Dax’s attention from across Jones’ office. In a file cabinet in the corner, which is filled with classified files, I have found all the information the government has on the Rejects. “Good,” Dax says, pulling his COMM device from his back pocket. It has a handy slot for file reading on the back. “We’ve got to report to escort the prisoners to execution. We barely have enough time to copy the information and get back to the cell block.”

  I come around the desk and place the slim, rectangular cartridge in his hand. He quickly plugs it in and presses a few buttons on the touch screen to begin copying the file. The transfer happens almost instantly, and Dax hands it back to me. I carefully place it back where it came from.

  “Let’s move,” Dax says, leading the way toward the exit swiftly. A solemn silence falls between us and I know his mind is on what will happen next, just as mine is. The information about the Rejects, we can’t do anything with now. It’s of no use at the moment. Now is the time to focus on getting Olivia and the others safely out of Stonehead.

  When we arrive at the cell block, a team of twelve officers is assembled, led by Captain Jones. Behind the glass doors on one side, I can see Jenica chained to a steel table in one room, the Professor in one next to her. The raised voices of interrogators are muffled as they pace back and forth in front of the tables, fists flying and blood splattering the walls as they work to get the information they need. It takes everything in me not to cringe as an officer’s palm makes contact with Jenica’s cheek. To her credit, she barely winces, her human eye narrowed murderously at the man abusing her as he takes out his frustration on her. The Professor is in worse shape, one eye nearly swollen closed, his wild curls now beyond repair and hanging in a battered face.

  Hang on.

  The thought echoes in my head as if I’m trying to project it at them, and I wish that some higher power would carry the message on from me to them. Soon, this will all be over. I trade glances with Dax as we fall into the formation of officers and I can see by the tight set of his jaw that he is not happy with what we’ve seen. But there is nothing we could have done to avoid it. By volunteering themselves as bait for this mission, Jenica and the Professor had to have known it wouldn’t be easy. As America’s most-wanted criminals, they had to be aware of the possibilities. That doesn’t make it any easier to watch them beat senseless.

  On the other side of the circular space, cells are being opened and shackled Bionics are emerging in chains and linked together. Blythe is first and her hair and clothes are rumpled as if she’s been in a struggle. Laura is next, and the angry burn on her neck, which had started to scab over, is bleeding and raw. There is a bruise on her left cheekbone that wasn’t there before and she’s bearing all her weight on her left leg; I believe she has injured the right one. Sayer is next, followed by four others who were taken with Olivia. Sayer is a bit battered too, like Blythe and Laura, but it’s the condition of the four other prisoners that turns my stomach.

  Their faces are nearly unrecognizable masses of purple and black bruising, swelling and blood. One of them sports a bandaged and bleeding stump and I can only assume a bionic arm used to be there. I choke back bile as a red haze of rage slides over my vision at the sight of the armless young man. Execution just isn’t enough; they had to mangle him too, subject him to the pain and humiliation of losing his limb before death. The girl chained behind him is wearing an eye patch and I shudder to think of the now-empty socket behind it.

  And then, they bring out Olivia.

  They make a big production of it, walking her slowly past the other prisoners as if on parade, before shackling her in front of Blythe to lead the procession. She has to be held up by two officers, as she is clearly unable to stand on her own two feet. She is wearing only a paper hospital gown, her petite frame swallowed up by the thin garment. Across her collarbone and shoulders, ugly bruising is turning green beneath her skin. Her shallow breathing hints at broken ribs and the bridge of her nose is at an angle—clearly broken. Her eyes are ringed in black, the normally vibrant blue of her irises muted and lackluster. Her lip is split right down the middle and dried blood is gathered and caked at the corners of her mouth. Her head has been shaved, leaving only a fuzzy patch of blonde down. Just like the young man with the missing arm, I can see that Olivia has been under the surgeon’s knife as well. Her bionic hand is gone, the wound dripping and bleeding beneath a white bandage.

  One of the other female prisoners begins sobbing at the sight of her, a loud wail that echoes from the walls around us. “You monsters!” she rails at the guards, yanking against her chains and causing those attached to her to shift a bit with her movements. “You sick sons of bitches! What have you done to her?”

  She’s answered by the butt of a gun. It slams into her face, filling her mouth with blood as she crumples to the floor. The guy beside her kneels to help her, propping her up in his arms and glaring at the officers through swollen eyes.

  “Was that necessary?” he growls defiantly. “Haven’t you taken enough from us?”

  He is treated to the butt of an MP’s gun as well, with a foot to the gut for good measure. The officer is cocking his foot back for another go when another voice intrudes.

  “That’s enough!”

  My body tenses from head to toe at the sound of Blythe’s voice as she jerks against her chains, staring rebelliously at the officers closing in on her, prepared to punish her for daring to speak up for the others.

  “Yeah, big tough group of guys you are,” she sneers, her lips curling as if she’s smelled something putrid. “You gotta beat up on a group of injured people chained together.”

  One swing from the officer closest to her and her mouth is filled with blood and dripping down the front of her shirt. My gut clenches and I feel Dax jerk violently beside me as if it physically hurts him to watch.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, you Bio whore, and get back in line. All of you! Next one to open their goddamned mouth gets a laser in the ass. It doesn’t make a bit of damn difference to me if we have to drag you before the firing squad stunned and drooling.”

  Blythe spits a mouthful of blood in the MP’s face and the motion sets off a chain reaction. The officer raises his weapon at the same moment I lunge for him, taking him down to the floor. By the time I bash his head against the ground and knock him out cold, all hell has broken loose.

  The officers converge on the prisoners with weapons drawn. I hear the crunch of bones connecting and groans of pain as Sayer takes one of the officer’s down with a well-timed head butt. Laura and Blyth grab the heavy chain linking them together and swing it out like a whip, catching a third officer across the face. An alarm is triggered as Dax sprints toward the holding cell where Jenica’s captor is emerging from the doorway in response to the commotion. A roundhouse kick to the face knocks him out cold and I find myself jealous of his long, titanium legs. Goddamn showoff.

  As Dax unchains Jenica, I work my way toward the Professor’s holding cell, taking out two more guards by stunning them with my weapon before kicking the door in. The MP that guards him lunges at me and pins me to the wall. We struggle for a moment before I manage to take him to the floor and crack his temple open with the butt of my gun.

  No killing. It’s the Professor’s policy, one the members of the Resistance try to follow whenever possible. At this point, though, I’m seeing red and don’t give a rat’s ass if the man at my feet bleeding from his head ever wakes up again. After what they did to the Olivia and the others, they don’t deserve to live.

  I quickly unchain the Professor, noticing that he is limping as well. Obviously, the beating he took while being questioned has taken its toll on the scientist. I tuck him under my arm and bear half of
his weight, guiding him as fast as I can back into the vestibule. Dax and Jenica have managed to unchain everyone and gunfire is being exchanged across the space—the MPs hunkered down behind the large, circular desk where prisoners are processed, our guys scattered and crouching in cell doorways and behind interrogation room doors. Only Dax and I had weapons, but I can see that Blythe and Jenica have picked up the discarded guns of the men we took down.

  Jenica and I exchange a glance as the gunfire continues and I know she’s realized the same thing I have—we are going to have to make a run for it. The alarm is blaring and reinforcements will be here at any minute. She gestures toward the door leading down the tunnel that will bring us back out to the tarmac with her gun before firing across the room and stunning another officer. I take the silent order and crouch low, my sights trained on the doorway.

  “Cover me!” I shout at Dax before motioning for one of the captives to follow me. The girl with the eye patch crawls across the floor toward me, careful to keep her head low. I place her between the wall and me, careful to shield her with my body as we make a run for the tunnel. Sayer is standing watch there, a handgun clutched between his fingers as he guards our way out. Eye-Patch Girl makes it to him safely and hunkers down in the doorway as I reach for the girl who got smashed in the face for speaking up against the MPs. She makes it easily as well, clutching Eye-Patch Girl tightly as they cower beside Sayer, trembling with fear.

  “Go!” I command Sayer once the fourth one has made it safely. “Don’t wait for us; we’re right behind you. Go!”

  Sayer hesitates for a split second as he shoots a glance at Jenica. She ordered no such thing, but I know it’s better this way. If Sayer makes it to the hovercraft first, he can get it fired up and ready. Besides, it’ll be slow going with Olivia, Laura, and the Professor injured so badly. He nods once, his jaw clenched grimly as he ushers his rescued hostages down the tunnel and out of sight.

  Jenica appears at my side. “Time to blow it,” she says. “Do it now and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  I nod, reaching for the hand grenade on my belt. “Dax, roll out!” I shout, just as I pull the pin. Dax swiftly crouches to lift Olivia, who has been cowering and trembling on the ground through the whole fight, before barreling toward the tunnel at a sprint. Blythe has the Professor under her arm and is practically dragging him toward the exit, while Laura brings up the rear, limping but still moving and providing cover fire.

  “Shit!” I curse as I realize my grenade toss is coming up short. Blythe’s eyes jerk up toward mine just as the grenade sails over her head. Before I can blink, she’s shoved the Professor to the floor and is leaping to snatch up the grenade—which would have landed near Laura’s feet—out of the air before chucking it further across the large space. It’s barely left her hand and began traveling in the right direction when it explodes, throwing her back into me before rocking the room. Bits of ceiling tile fall and crumble on the MPs’ heads and the large, circular intake desk is blown to bits. Pieces of the steel frame are bent and warped, while the fiberglass has broken apart into shrapnel and injured several of the officers.

  I hear the sound of popping and crackling and glance up to see blue lines of electricity dancing down Blythe’s bionic arm, which is now missing two fingers, before a whirring sound and then silence. The arm goes limp at her side and she slumps a bit, thrown off balance by the heavy piece of machinery that has just gone dead. Blythe simply shrugs and bends to pick up the two metal fingers before shoving them in her pocket. I must be wearing a look of horror because she laughs as she runs past me toward the exit. Bloody and battered MPs are struggling to their feet, disoriented—we don’t have much time left to get out of there.

  “Get a grip, dude, it’s fixable,” she teases, grabbing my hand with her human one and propelling me through the exit.

  Get a grip. I fumble for one as we run, trying not to dwell too long on the fact that I nearly killed her with that grenade. As she runs, she holds the bionic arm close to her body with the opposite hand, cradling it as if injured, but she’s keeping up just fine. Bursts of gunfire are going off behind us, interspersed with the sound of pounding footsteps. I sneak a glance back over my shoulder and see that Jones has managed to scrape a few guys off the ground. They are joined by reinforcements, who arrive just in time to join him in pursuit down the tunnel.

  “We’ve got company!” I shout to the rest of our group.

  Jenica spins on her heels, barking orders over her shoulder as she runs back to where Blythe and I are bringing up the rear. “Janner, get Olivia to the hovercraft and make sure Strom is ready for takeoff the minute we reach the tarmac.”

  Dax stops and turns, shooting Jenica an annoyed glare. I can tell he can’t stand being left out when it’s time to fight. “Are you shitting me?”

  Jenica points her gun at a door leading to another series of tunnels and fires. She blasts the hinges off and the door falls out of the frame. I reach out to catch the heavy door just before it hits the floor.

  “Shield,” Jenica explains curtly before turning back to Dax, who’s holding a trembling and silent Olivia. I lay the door on its side and it spans the width of the tunnel. I pull Blythe down beside me just as Jones opens fire, and crouch down beside her. Dax—clutching Olivia tight—the Professor, and Jenica follow suit, crouching to take shelter behind our makeshift riot shield.

  As we aim our weapons over the door and return fire, Jenica proceeds to rip Dax a new asshole. “Janner, you are never again to question a direct order from me, do you understand?”

  “But—”

  Jenica growls in frustration. “But nothing!” she says, her voice still surprisingly calm, while edged in cold steel. “Saving Olivia and the others is our priority and I am trusting you to see to their well-being until I can get there. Now, you can stand here and argue with me while we’re being shot at, or you can suck it up and follow orders. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Dax doesn’t hesitate because, really, we all know Jenica is right and he is nothing if not a dedicated member of the team. “Yes,” he throws over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway at a sprint. Olivia’s haunted eyes peer at us from over his shoulder as she clings to him, her white paper gown flapping against her body like a sail in a storm.

  Once they’re out of sight, I turn my attention back to Jones and his cronies. Blythe and Jenica are returning their fire from either side of me, and the Professor is crouched on Jenica’s other side. From between shots, I hear her berating him for not leaving with Dax.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she grumbles as she takes aim over the side edge of the door and stuns an MP. They’ve broken out the riot shields, but they have to poke their heads from around them to see us and there are too many of them to take cover behind the shields, so it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. The problem is the sheer number of fish and it seems we’ll never be done with it.

  “I’m not leaving your side for a second,” the Professor answers.

  The murmured exchange is heard only by me and I can’t help but think of the private moment I witnessed between them on the hovercraft. The statement is loaded and I find myself, once again, feeling like the worst sort of intruder.

  After a few more minutes of exchanging fire with no leeway on either side, I’ve had enough. “Fuck this,” I mutter before turning to Jenica. “I’m making a move. When I jump over this door, make a run for it.”

  Jenica shoots me a scowl that’s hot enough to burn the eyebrows off my face. “Do I need to remind you who’s giving the orders here?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, Jenica, you’re the man. You have big brass balls of steel. Now that that’s out of the way, would you just freaking run for it? We’re not getting anywhere fast and we’re outnumbered. It’ll be better if you guys just go and let me catch up to you.”

  Blythe’s hand clutches my arm tightly and when I turn to look at her, she doesn’t speak. She merely shakes her head, her eyes wid
e. She doesn’t have to say anything. We all know I won’t be catching up.

  “Do it, Jenica,” the Professor says firmly, his fingers biting into her skin as he grabs her forearm. His eyes are dancing wildly behind his glasses. I’ve never heard him speak so authoritatively before. The meek scholar is gone and in his place is a man in love protecting his woman… even if she is a stubborn bitch with ice in her veins. Another silent moment passes between them, in which all the emotion in the world arcs and flashes in their eyes. I’ve decided not to give them any more time to reason with me. Once I’m gone, they would be foolish not to run.

  Their shouts fade beneath the pounding of my own heart in my ears as I vault over the door, immediately drawing the MPs’ fire. I shed my helmet, finding my vision is better without it, and open fire. My legs are pumping faster than they ever have in my life as I zig-zag down the tunnel, dodging the red glow of lasers now set to kill. Adrenaline surges as I switch my weapon’s settings from stun to kill without hesitation. Screw this peaceful, kumbaya, holding hands in harmony shit. I promised Blythe last night that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her as long as I live. I intend to keep my promise, even if it means taking out as many of these shithead MPs as I can before I die.

  A red laser beam grazes my temple, burning on contact as I take down an officer just to the left of Jones. He’s removed his helmet too and has murder in his eyes as he lifts a second pistol from his belt and proceeds to double his efforts at killing me. Somehow, I manage to last a full minute before someone kills the lights. The shots continue and I wait for death, knowing that in the few seconds it takes for the MPs’ night vision to kick in, I’ll be a goner.

  What happens next defies all reason. I hear the scrape of a metal door in the frame behind me seconds before a pair of hands grasps me and propels me across the threshold. When the door slams again, I find myself in a darkened room, with the sound of heavy breathing indicating another presence in the room. A beam of light cuts through the darkness, barely illuminating the face of a woman.

  I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut as I stare into blue eyes identical to my own… at least they would be identical if I weren’t borrowing Jack Knightly’s gray ones. My mouth goes dry as my sister, Trista, stands in front of me in a prison employee’s uniform, her eyes wide with fear but her mouth set in determination beneath the glow of a flashlight.

  “What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?”

  I am unable to speak for several moments. I’m too busy drinking her in, running my eyes over her to make sure she’s okay while simultaneously wondering how she ended up working at Stonehead. “Trista.” I don’t realize that I’ve said her name out loud until she wrinkles her eyebrows and frowns.

  “How do you know my name? Have we met?”

  My heart sinks as I realize she can’t possibly know she’s standing right in front of her own brother. The time we’ve spent apart has not been good to her. She looks exhausted and grieved. I swallow past the lump in my throat and shake my head.

  “No, we haven’t met but I know your brother.”

  Life pours into her expression and she grips my arms tightly. “Gage? He’s alive?”

  Pain lances through me as I realize she’s thought me dead all this time and probably Agata too. So much has happened since we left home that I hadn’t thought to try to send word that we are all right. I hate myself for making her worry.

  “Yes,” I answer, dropping my voice to a whisper as the pounding of boots sounds just outside the door. In the meager glow of her flashlight, I see that Trista has propped something up against it, but it’s only a matter of time before they get the lights back on and start checking doors. I talk quickly. “He is safe with the leaders of the Resistance.”

  Her smile lights up the dark room. “Oh, thank God. And Agata?”

  I smile reassuringly. “She is well. She misses you, but is well taken care of. There are lots of other kids at Resistance Headquarters and they even have a school and several pets. She’s happy.”

  Tears roll down Trista’s cheeks and she trembles, her fingers tightening as she clings to me, presumably a stranger. “He did it,” she whispers. “He actually did it.”

  “What are you doing, Trista?” I ask, hoping to get some answers before I have to run again. I could never forgive myself if she’s found with me and punished for committing what amounts to an act of treason. “You could get yourself killed if you’re seen as being in league with a bunch of terrorists.”

  She raises and eyebrow at me and crosses her arms over her chest. “So could you.”

  That’s my sister. The girl I know gives as good as she gets. “Point taken,” I answer. “I have my reasons.”

  Trista nods decisively, grabbing my arm again and propelling me through the room—which turns out to be a large storage bay. “We don’t have much time. Your friends got away, but you’ll have to hurry if you don’t want to hold them up. I assume you need to get to the tarmac?”

  “Yes,” I confirm as she leads me through a maze of shelves storing uniforms, armor, and weapons. “If they have any sense, they’ll leave without me.”

  “I’ll try to get you there as fast as I can and maybe you can catch up with them. If you stay here, they’ll kill you… after they’ve tortured you for information on your friends. First, you gotta ditch the armor.”

  I quickly oblige, peeling off the heavy pieces and laying them gently in a dark corner so they don’t clatter. I stand there in my black flight suit as she rifles through containers on a shelf beside me before tossing a bundle in my hands.

  “Put these on,” she said. “It’s a pilot’s uniform. Put the hat on and yank it down low. Hopefully, no one will look too closely at your face. It should work just long enough to get you to the airstrip.”

  I pull the slacks, button-down shirt, belt and hat on before slipping into the boots she tosses at me, cringing as I realize they’re a size too small. But I’m not complaining. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, not because I don’t know, but because it’s a question Jack Knightly would ask, and right now, that is who I am.

  She turns to me, the light of her flashlight casting shadows against her haggard face. “Because I refuse to live in a world where an innocent child—my daughter—is considered an enemy of the country. I refuse to stand by and watch this government persecute the innocent. If you are for the Resistance, then I will help you in any way I can.”

  I don’t like it, her involvement. I took Agata away so that she wouldn’t have to fight this battle. By taking my niece out of the equation, I’ve put myself in the position to fight for her. Yet, I realize now that none of us can be exempt from this. Revolution is here and the time will come when we all have to choose sides.

  Trista gives me a once over, sweeping me from head to toe with the flashlight and nods her approval. “Good enough. Once you’re out this door, take a left and follow the tunnel out to the side of the building. Stay close to the wall; you’re less likely to get picked up by the cameras. Keep walking along the building—to the left—and you’ll see the tarmac when you round the corner. Once you’re there, run like hell and don’t look back.”

  I nod and tuck my weapon into the belt around my hips and turn to face Trista. “I have a message from Gage.”

  Her confusion is evident but I don’t have time to explain. There is no way for me to tell her how Jack Knightly would know she’d be there when seconds before he’d been surprised to see her. None of that mattered when I was facing the possibility of never seeing her again.

  “He says he loves you,” I say, my voice hitching a bit on the last word. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “And he says to stay strong. He’ll come for you.”

  Trista smiles but her eyes say it all. She knows she can’t go on double-crossing the government forever. She has signed her own death sentence by siding with terrorists. I steal one last glance at her before I open the door and slip out into the empty tunnel. As I walk—as quickly a
s I dare without drawing attention to myself—I fight the urge to look back. Yet, I am resolved to return for her, to rescue her from certain death when she is found out. I now add Trista to the list of people counting on me. One more reason why I cannot fail.