Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  We are not prepared. We’ve never been prepared.

  We’re scared.

  The popping of gunfire in the distance urges me to whisk up the steps to the lab three at a time. I see my reflection in the row of glass panes that line the front the minute I reach the top step, and the sight of my disheveled self stops me in my tracks. My hair juts out all over my head in a tangled, blond mess that hangs too long over the back of my neck, and I’m in the worst need of a shave. I rub a hand along the bristly stubble of my cheek. When did I last shower? When did I last sleep for that matter? Or eat?

  With a shake of my head, I shove on the door, and my unkempt image shoves back. Of course, it’s locked. I cup my eyes and peer inside. The lobby is completely empty of all staff, every computer at the main desk dark. I move to the side, study the darkened keypad, punch a couple of buttons uselessly.

  I face the street, hands on hips considering my other options. Breaking the glass would defeat the purpose of securing the building, so I push that idea out of my mind.

  And Justin’s mom speeds up the steps toward me.

  “Mrs. Phillips?” Surprised, I drop my hands as she pushes past me toward the entrance. “The place is locked up tight,” I explain.

  “I know.” She lifts a ring of keys, letting them dangle from her fingers. “It took me over two hours to find these. The keypad entry has been deactivated, and David won’t answer any of my communications. We’ll have to do this manually.” She shoves the first key into the lock, turns. Nothing. She flips it out of the way. It slides over the curve of the ring and clicks against the last key, and she inserts the next. “The problem is every key to every lock in this building is on this old back up ring. And no labels.”

  There are at least forty keys, and a nervous vibe runs up my spine as I watch her work. But even in her frustration, her hands move with sure speed and accuracy.

  The sound of shouts reaches us. I spin, shift my bow from my chest to my hands, and Mrs. Phillips pauses for a split second to look over her shoulder. The sound of marching feet taps against the street—lots of marching feet. Gunfire tatters in the distance, and my defenses flicker to life. The guard didn’t get the barricade up in time.

  “They’re coming,” I whisper.

  Daphne Phillips shoves the next key into the lock, curses under her breath, slides the key over the ring. I race down the steps to peer up the street. Several more panels above us flicker out, but in the dimming light, a cloud of black Vortex uniforms parades toward us, Eden-killers pointing upward above each shadowy head. I stare in disbelief as I consider the impossible for the first time in my life. An enemy has managed to infiltrate Eden, and they march on the lab as if they know exactly where it is.

  Because obviously . . . they do. I take in a deep breath. Someone broke Code in the worst of ways.

  A thunderous explosion shudders the foundation of the city, shaking the ground beneath my feet. I wobble, struggling to stay upright. The Vortex soldiers halt, regain their footing and continue their cadence. But gunmen in the shadows take a few shots, sending several Vortex soldiers to the ground. They pause, go to their knees, weapons ready in defense. I’m grateful for the stall, but it’s only a matter of minutes before they reach us. I reach behind my head, nock an arrow through my bow, and fire. My arrow pierces the thigh of one burly soldier, and he bellows in agony, slumping over.

  “Ian!”

  I turn. Mrs. Phillips stands in the open doorway of the lab, gesturing. I leap up the steps and slip into the building behind her.

  “Chairman Ryan ordered the building to be shuttered.” She nods toward a panel to the left of the windows as she slides the bolt into place. “We’ll do him the honor.”

  Fortunately, the blasts haven’t taken out the electricity to this circuit yet. She quickly punches in a code number, and titanium panels eject from the edge of the ceiling and slide downward inside the entire front face of the building. The ceiling lights flicker dangerously, but the panels ease into slots in the floor and click into place, locking instantly.

  “Come on,” she urges.

  I follow her down the large main corridor, flinging my bow back into place over my chest. We pass a few emergency exits along the way. Every one of them has been shuttered with the panels.

  “Why are the shutters titanium?” I ask.

  She keeps her eyes forward, speeding through the hallway. “A security measure.”

  I crease my brow, confused. “I don’t get it.”

  “I know.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “What you need to understand is that if the power cuts out, we’re trapped in here until it comes back on again.”

  The reality of her words hits me hard. She’s right.

  “Why titanium?” I pull up next to her, making her look at me. She purses her lips.

  “To keep things in that should never get out.”

  Her words send my spine to tingling.

  We round a corner, and Daphne Phillips stops at the first door. The words on the glass window read Tech Lab. She pounds.

  “David?”

  No response. She pounds again. When there’s still no answer, she flips open another code panel and punches in numbers. Nothing happens. She tries again, frowns.

  “Has he deactivated every panel?”

  Frustrated, she fumbles with the key ring and begins the process of trying keys all over again.

  “Why don’t you just bust it in?”

  She tosses me an exasperated look. “If those guys get in here, I don’t care to leave a trail of busted up doors. We’ll use the keys.”

  Good point. I leave her and make my way a few doors down the hall, testing the doorknobs on each. There are several, all with different labels and every one of them locked. Research Lab, Surgical Unit, Supplies . . .

  Confinement Room.

  I pause outside this one. The door has no glass window like the others do. Instead, the black lettering is etched across a solid metal door. I press a flat palm against it. Titanium.

  This door has no keyhole. Instead, a release latch handle tells me that it automatically locks once it’s closed, and that it cannot be opened from the inside. A pad lock hangs from a latch at the edge of the door, but it isn’t locked.

  I wrap my fingers around the latch handle and pull. The door pops and releases a long wheeze as I pry it open. I peer inside.

  It’s small, lined with thick padding that covers the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Long chains sprout from metal anchors in the back wall ending with large black manacles. I stare in disbelief.

  Why would there be a room like this in the lab?

  Mrs. Phillips words rumble over me.

  To keep things in that should never get out.

  I let go of the door; it falls into place with a thud.

  “Dad!”

  The muffled voice echoes back at me through the hallway. I spin. Mrs. Phillips pauses in her attempt to unlock the tech lab, her expression intense.

  “Dad! Open the door!”

  Mrs. Phillips looks at me, and we’re rushing together up the hallway. Justin’s voice rolls back to us, and we follow the sound of it until we find him, banging his fist into a closed door.

  “Justin.”

  He turns at the sound his mother’s voice.

  “Mom?”

  She pulls him into a quick hug, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead.

  “You’re all right?”

  He nods.

  “Is he in here?” Mrs. Phillips’ eyes are wary. Justin nods again.

  “I tried to reason with him. Tried to tell him about the Vortex. He wasn’t having it.” Worry filters into Justin’s face. “He just threw me out.”

  She studies the door, before she lifts the cover to the keypad panel. She punches a few buttons haphazardly before her eyes darken.

  “I don’t know the password to this door.”

  “What is this place?” I ask

  “The children’s ward.”

  I
raise a brow. Justin glances at me before turning his full attention to his mother. “He’s injected five babies. And they’ve shifted.”

  Mrs. Phillips eyes dart toward him, her hand hovering over the keypad. “You’re sure?”

  “Dad showed me,” he nods. “They’re alert, strong. He cut one little boy’s finger off; it grew back in seconds. And the baby felt no pain. I think—” He catches the thought for a moment. “I think they can survive anything.”

  “And . . . did he say this was a cure?” she asks tentatively.

  Justin shakes his head. “It isn’t, Mom. It’s just . . . another advancement.” He pauses, looks from her to me and back. “But if they survive, what will these babies be like in a few months? In a few years? And if the Vortex gets their hands on this Serum . . . ”

  His voice trails. I swallow the ugly bile that rises to my throat. Mrs. Phillips answers, her voice definite and firm.

  “We can’t let that happen.”

  “Then what do we do? He won’t listen.”

  Her eyes burn with an intensity, and she takes hold of Justin’s arm, tossing her gaze from his face to mine. “I’ll handle him. You get into that lab . . . and . . . you destroy the Serum.”

  She hands him the ring of keys. His eyes flood with tears.

  “It’s his life’s work, Mom.”

  “I know.” She offers a weak smile, tears glistening. “But look where it’s led him? He’s forgotten an essential factor that has always made us who we really are. Our humanity.” She shakes her head. “We can’t let him make monsters of us. And we can’t let him continue in something that brings an enemy to our doorstep.”

  “And the babies in the children’s ward?”

  She bites her lip. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to assess the situation. But—” She takes a deep breath. “They will be indestructible on a level we’ve never seen before. They may have to be kept on lockdown their entire lives.”

  Lockdown?

  I stare at her in sheer horror. She can’t mean it. But the silence that floods in as we stand here absorbing the shock of such an option grows loud, and my heart ices over with the truth of it. She means it.

  In that moment, I consider everything I’ve learned since I met Penelope. Eden’s lies have seeped down through the years, and with every generation, we become more ignorant. The lies become thicker, more blurred, until we just believe—even when to do so is unreasonable. We’re the best, the strongest, the most advanced, the most intelligent of all the other villages. Those are the lies they teach us.

  And the Board? They knew about the virus, and they didn’t share the information with the outside world, even though their children were dying also. The isolation the delegates hoped would preserve the world backfired on us, and Eden became responsible for damning us to a nightmare beyond all other nightmares.

  The ugliness of it all churns in my gut. These babies should not be punished for Eden’s mistakes. To cage them like animals because Doc was too ambitious? How can we? And what about Ava? Will they resort to putting her in lockdown when they learn of her abilities? The thought pulls my claustrophobia to the forefront, and my time in the Pit floods my memories. I’ve been there, caged and desperate. I can’t let something like that happen here.

  I take a deep breath and raise my head.

  “I can train them,” I announce.

  Justin and Mrs. Phillips both turn. Mrs. Phillips creases her brow.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, we are all products of Doc’s experiments. I’m faster than most; Justin is smarter. My seven year old sister has shifted, and she will be stronger and faster than all of us. And harder to train. But I believe with all my heart that she can be trained. And we can’t give up hope on these babies without at least trying.”

  “This situation is very different from Ava’s.” Mrs. Phillips’ voice cracks with real concern. “If they’ve shifted before they can walk, talk? It will be near impossible to teach them anything.”

  “We don’t know that,” I argue. “Look. I have hope in something bigger than myself that tells me we can teach them. Every life has a purpose, Mrs. Phillips. And the Serum is not who we are. I’ve felt it, communicated with it, and I’ve learned to control it—probably in ways that no one else has. We all have the same opportunity because we’re made up of something more. A promise God hands out to everyone—including those babies.”

  Mrs. Phillips stares at me, speechless. I take a step toward her, hoping she’ll grasp what I’m saying.

  “We have to thank the Vortex on some level,” I say. “Our secrets have been blown wide open. There’s no better time than now for everyone to know the truth about Eden. All of the truth. We can master this thing with truth, and these babies can be the last of our legacy.”

  Mrs. Phillips lifts her brows. She looks at Justin.

  “Aunt Penelope.” He shrugs, almost regrettably. Mrs. Phillips smiles.

  “Penelope.” She says the name affectionately, not a hint of bitterness. “I don’t know why anyone thought she was gone for good. I knew better.” She faces me, her expression serious again. “I appreciate your sentiments, Ian. And I hope you’re right. But if you aren’t, we may have to concede to the harder choice.”

  A crash resounds from the lobby, and a rumbling sensation shudders through the building.

  “We don’t have much time.” Mrs. Phillips addresses Justin, speaking quickly, her eyes connected on a desperate line with his. “Years ago, I created a failsafe in the system. It contains a secret backdoor password that only I know. As a precaution, the original digital files have always been in one place and have never been copied. You will find them on the main lab computer under the name PNSE4. Erase them. The minute you do, the mainframe will flush into every computer housing the data and wipe it clean—as if it never existed.”

  She pulls a pen from her jacket pocket and scribbles out passwords on the palm of his hand.

  “The bags of Serum ready for injection and activation are in a walk-in safe in the adjoining chemical lab. There may be a lot, but take everything. The incinerator is in the west wing. Use it. Work quickly. I’ll find another way into your father, and I’ll see you both soon.”

  She takes hold of our arms, squeezing. “I love you boys. Be careful.”

  She spins and races up the hallway. Another rumble shakes the foundation. We stand together watching her go, a fear pinning both of us to our spots.

  “Hurry!” she hollers over her shoulder.

  Justin jumps to life, fumbling with the keys. We reach the lab door, and he quickly tries key after key, working his fingers with rapid speed. I pace the hallway, bow in hand, eyes veered toward the direction of the lobby, and I pray.

  Kate is suddenly in my mind, and the fear that I will never see her again rises up like a monster from the depths. I pray harder. I’m not letting fear win. Not ever.

  Justin gives up on the keys, and with one kick, busts in the door. We hustle through it and into the clean, hazy-blue interior of the tech lab. I take in an astonished gulp of air.

  We’ve suddenly walked into the past. A lab that survived the Fall.

  At least twenty metal tables stand in rows, sterilized to ultimate cleanliness. White uniform chandeliers, plain and stiff, hang over each workstation which houses its own computer and robotic arms with long thin spindles capable of building tiny things. Things like microscopic nanotech machines. A myriad of cabinets with glass faces line the back wall, tall and rigid and full of various items from metal sheets to bolts, screws, and wires. I rub my hand up the side of my face in awe.

  Justin rushes to the adjoining door that leads to the chemical lab. “Ian, get in here.”

  I jolt myself back on task and whisk through the door after him. He already has the safe unlocked and open, and he drags a large cart with wheels over the tile, shoving it inside.

  “Start loading the bags while I erase the files.”

  He leaves me standing in the midd
le of the chemical lab. It’s just as mind-blowing as the tech lab with its test tubes and Petri dishes and burners, but I don’t have time to gawk.

  The safe is full of the clear I.V. bags of blue Serum. I pick one up, holding it in my hand for a few seconds. There’s no life in it, no surging power races through the liquid. It’s as still as a windless day. Harmless. For now.

  The last time I saw one of these, I had no clue that this seemingly innocent bag of blue liquid that was only meant to preserve us had the potential to bring the world to the very edge of war. Project Nephilim. A slow anger begins to brew beneath the surface of my skin. I stifle it and toss the bag into the cart. And I vent out the rest of my anger filling it to overflowing.

  Justin dips in the room. “I have another cart.”

  I slap a final bag on top of my own cart and shove it through the door. Justin rolls the empty one in and grabs up a handful of bags. I lean on the heel of my hand in the doorframe.

  “Did you do it?” I ask.

  “Done.” He snaps his fingers. “Click of a button.”

  He looks at me, drops three more bags into his cart.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.” He clears one shelf and moves to the next. “I wouldn’t be... if my mom hadn’t taken the lead on this. That’s the only reason it doesn’t feel like such a betrayal.” He nods. “It’s the right thing.”

  “It’s the right thing,” I agree.

  When the second cart is full, we race together down the hall toward the west wing. We have to pass through the lobby to get there. The titanium panels are thick and heavy, but the tinny sound of metal banging against metal echoes deep within—a clear indication that the glass windows are broken and the Vortex is planning their next move. I dip my head and rush past.

  The incinerator is clearly marked, and I don’t have to wonder what it is normally used for. We may never see the babies from Gaza who don’t make it, but we know what that means. I close my eyes, trying desperately not to think about what happened to Tabitha’s body after she died in that examination room.

  Justin yanks on the handle. It’s red hot, and he leaps back, hissing in pain.