Supernormal

by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway

  “I am?” Steel was going slightly green now.

  Brody took hold of Steel’s shoulder with three fingers, and twisted. Obscenities shot out of Steel’s mouth like fireworks. “You’re going to tell me—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Steel leaned his head back against the wall. He’d gone pale with the pain. “Jesus, you fuck—”

  “Yes.” Brody gave him a thin, humorous smile and snapped his fingers. “Focus, Steel. I’ve never known you to pick the losing side. Don’t start now.”

  Steel swallowed hard. “Three doctors. Besides Proom, that is. They don’t leave the Medlab much. Five guards. One’ll be with the lab coats to make sure they don’t trip over anything or accidentally set the building on fire—fuck, fuck, fuck.” Steel nodded to his shoulders. “C’mon, I’m helping.”

  “Kids,” Brody said.

  “Nine,” Steel gasped, and then cursed explosively when Brody grabbed one of his arms and popped it back into place.

  “Proom,” Brody said.

  “How the fuck should I know? He pays me to do what he says, not to be his fucking babysitter. Told me to come down here, make sure none of the kids—” He stopped at that.

  “None of the kids what?!” Liz shrieked. “None of the kids got out?! Before he tried to gas us to death?!” She hurled herself at him, but Ian caught her hand, held her back.

  Brody stood abruptly. The red lights were flashing odd shadows over the walls. “Proom’s cleaning house. Danny, you’re with us. Liz, Ian, I need you to stay put and keep an eye on Cam and the girl. We’ll be back for you. Agent Phillips, I’m going to need you to locate the other four kids, wherever they are. I’m sure our friend here would be happy to help you with that. Steel, can I trust you to be a good boy and stay put? I’d hate to have to come after you.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Brody.”

  Brody ignored this. “Ashley?”

  Ashley closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Concentrated on the sick, stinging smell radiating off of Cam and her friends, on tracking it through the sterile air. She nodded.

  “I can help,” Ian said.

  “Help by keeping everyone safe ‘til we get back,” Brody told him.

  “And take Cam,” Ashley said, grabbing Danny’s wrist and heading towards the down staircase.

  “No,” Cam said.

  “Cam—”

  “No,” he said, and he held on tight. “I leave when you leave.”

  Ashley squeezed her eyes shut. She forced herself to take Cam’s hands. To pull them away. “Ian?”

  “No, no—”

  “I got him, Ash,” Ian said. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “No—Ashley!”

  It was dangerous here. She knew that. And Ian would take care of him. And there wasn’t much time. The stinging scent of gas was building in her head now. Her hand clamped around Danny’s wrist, Ashley forced herself not to listen, and broke into a run.

  The glass doors to the Medlab were shut, the room beyond it shrouded in a sickly green fog, turning slightly orange every few seconds with the flashing light of the alarm. Because she wanted to slow, Ashley pushed herself, sucking in a deep breath before she launched herself through the solid glass doors, so hard and fast that one door burst completely and the other was yanked off its hinges. The gas had a slick, slimy feel as it almost instantly coated her skin and burned where broken glass had sliced into her arms and legs.

  A woman in a white lab coat was slumped against the wall near the door, her arms stretched out towards the communication panel on the wall. Ashley hauled her up as Danny raced through the open doorway, skidding to a stop before he tripped over the broken door. “You find them!” Ashley barked, trying desperately not to breathe in. “I’ll get them out!”

  Danny nodded, already charging further into the room.

  Ashley raced for the door to the stairwell. Brody opened it before she could reach for the handle, and she dumped the woman into his arms, then turned and hurtled back into the room. The air was a bit clearer, the gas snaking through the broken doors into the long length of hallway. Danny called her name, dragging a man in a lab coat by his ankles.

  “There’s another doctor back there and one of Proom’s goons,” Danny told her as she hefted the man over her shoulder. “Hooked themselves up to the oxygen tanks. And the guy, the patient, on the bed.”

  “See to the patient,” Brody said, moving quickly into the room and quickly past them. “I’ll get the others.”

  Ashley raced out to drop the man down in the stairwell, passing Brody—a full grown man over each shoulder—on her way back.

  She found Danny in one of the sectioned off areas in the Medlab, standing by a hospital bed. There was a man stretched out in the bed, a thin blanket pulled up to his chest, tubes and wires trailing out of him and into the machinery next to his bed. Ashley looked at the man’s face, then reached out and touched his arm. She didn’t check his pulse, or if he was breathing. She didn’t have to.

  “Who…?” Danny began, but then he stopped. He sounded tired.

  “His name is Burke,” Ashley said. She didn’t mind the sting of the gas in her lungs as she spoke. “He was a doctor here.” He was paler than she remembered, and there was a scar by his ear, disappearing into his hairline. Blood clot, Ashley remembered; Proom had told her they had to operate, but there had been brain damage. “Until I hurt him,” Ashley said.

  “He do to you what they did to us?” Danny asked.

  Ashley didn’t answer. She heard the muted footsteps, felt the shift of the gas in the air as someone headed towards them. With the gas searing her nose, she didn’t have as much warning. She thought it was Brody. It was Craig.

  He looked…the same. Mostly. A little older—hair greying around the temples, more lines on his face—but the same towering build, the same bitter look on his face. Ashley felt the tension crawl up her back and pull her muscles taut, but Craig wasn’t even looking at them. He was looking at the body on the bed. He put his hand on Burke’s, almost as if to wake him.

  Then he looked up. At Ashley. Through the last wisps of green smoke, she could see that his eyes were cloudy and slightly unfocused. But what focus they had was on her. Ashley shifted on the balls of her feet, positioning herself in front of Danny.

  “You,” Craig said, and Ashley shoved Danny, so that he went skidding back along the floor. She pushed herself down as she did so, sliding under the medical bed even as Craig lunged for her. She kicked his legs out from under him, and he landed hard, half on the bed. She heard Danny yelling for Brody. The bed creaked as Craig levered himself up, and Ashley rolled away, out from under the bed, keeping the roll until she got her feet back under her. Craig launched himself over the bed as she aimed for door. She was fast, but so was he, and he had a long reach. His hand clamped around her hair and yanked her back, close enough to get a handful of shirt and haul her up over his head. Ashley twisted and kicked, and even as she did, he hurled her across the room. She smashed through glass partitions and knocked over trays of instruments before she met the wall. Ashley felt the floor—under her, yes—felt the slight rain of plaster dust, felt the sting and slice along her skin as she pushed herself up—going through the glass always cut you up. It was not entirely unlike being hit with a van, and, sweet Jesus, to be able to make that comparison.

  She heard Craig’s footsteps crunch over the broken glass towards her. He stopped when she shifted herself into a sitting position. Whether that was because he hadn’t expected her to just take a time out, or because he sensed Brody behind him, she couldn’t say.

  “Get up,” Craig said.

  Ashley shook her head.

  “I said get the fuck up.” The words sounded desperate, as if they had to be wrenched out.

  Ashley stayed where she was. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Too late. Get up,” Craig thundered. “Or do you only go after people who can’t fight back?” When she didn’t move, his eyes narrowed. “Fine.”

 
; Even as he moved, his arm was twisted up behind his back and Brody slammed him into the wall. “Try it and I will kill you.” Brody’s voice was calm. It wasn’t a threat. It was simply a statement of how things were.

  Craig’s eyes didn’t leave Ashley. “I don’t care.”

  “Burke would,” Brody said, and merely leaned back and lifted his eyebrows when Craig tried to head-butt him.

  “I’m sorry.” At Ashley’s voice, Craig turned back. “I’m so sorry about what I did to Dr. Burke.” It was hard to look him in the eyes. Hard to say it. But not as hard as she’d thought. “I hurt him. I did that, and I hate it. But I didn’t kill him.”

  “He died because he was here,” Craig said. “He’s here because of you.”

  “Yes,” Ashley said, but Brody spoke over her.

  “He’s here because of her. He’s dead because of Proom. Proom made that call. Not Ashley. Not us. And you know it.”

  Craig jerked away, and Brody let him go. He breathed in and out, hard. Once. Twice. Focused on Ashley. “I hate you.”

  He was glaring at her, but she could see the sheen of tears. “You should,” she said.

  Craig turned away, headed back to Burke’s bed. Craig stared down at the body for a long moment, then began to methodically unhook the tubes and wires. The air was all but clear now.

  Brody stepped up and crouched down in front of her. Took a long look. Then he put a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. The high she’d felt earlier, the soaring feeling of being able to do something, fix things, drained away, taking with it the sense of comfort and stability that seeing Cam—safe and whole—had brought. It left something hollow, gnawing away at her ribs like it was trying to get out. Brody squeezed her shoulder, ran a hand down her arm, and then, noticing, flicked out a knife and began whittling out the shards of glass that her skin had already healed around. Ashley shivered, tensed, and felt the wall press into her back before she realized she’d leaned away. Brody glanced up, then paused and looked around the room. At the Medlab. At the blade in his hands.

  “I didn’t think,” he said.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” He stood and pocketed the knife. “Come on.”

  He took her to the stairwell. The two men who had gotten to the oxygen tanks seemed to be fine, and Agent Phillips was working urgently on the woman. Ashley breathed in deep, and fought the urge to start coughing because if she started, she wasn’t sure she could stop.

  “Ash.” Brody took out his knife again, and offered it, handle first, to her. “It’s best we get everything out now.” Ashley took the knife, but the angle was strange, so she handed it back to Brody. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. He went to work, smoothly and efficiently. Ashley told herself she didn’t mind it as much, here in the stairwell. She could handle it.

  Ashley glanced at Danny, who was sitting in a corner. “Are you okay?”

  Danny nodded…and then shook his head. “He just tried to kill us,” Danny said.

  Ashley leaned her head back against the wall and nodded.

  “All of us. Proom—he just tried to kill all of us.” Danny sounded like he was trying to explain this to himself. “He just…just…what? Decided to cut his losses?”

  “Yes,” Ashley said.

  “He’s evil. He’s just straight-up fucking evil.”

  Ashley took a hard breath, held it. “Yes. He is.” She looked down at her arms, at the crisscross of red trailing in the wake of Brody’s knife. Brody examined her one arm before switching to the next, and for a moment she felt the rush of tears and panic, racing up her throat and threatening to choke her. “I want to go home. Tell me we’re going to deal with him, and then we’ll go home.”

  Brody inspected her arms, wiping away the blood to pull at the skin and confirm it had healed. Then he looked at her. “We are going to deal with Proom. And then we’re going to go home.”

  “Once we locate him,” Agent Phillips said, in the pause between chest compressions and giving the woman air.

  “Can you do your computer-brain-thing?” Brody asked. “Danny, take over for him.”

  “He’ll be in the basement.” Craig filled the doorway, carrying Burke. He paused as Brody stood, looking blankly at him, and then at Ashley. “Proom has a safe room down there,” he told them. “He had it built before he started taking on the second round. It’s good. He’ll have headed down there once everything started.”

  Ashley heard herself say, “Then we’ll just have to get him out.”

  Craig looked at her for a long moment. “He’s got access to the camera feeds down there. Tunnel to the forest.” He faced down the security cameras. “He’ll have been watching. He’ll know it didn’t go his way. He’ll make a run for it.”

  Craig turned away then, and started down the stairs. Brody turned to Agent Phillips, who was already focused on the panel in his arm. Ashley noticed for the first time the muted lights that raced along under the skin as he was working. “Outside cameras haven’t picked up anything. Neither have the director’s spotters.”

  “Then we’ll have to find him ourselves,” Brody said. “Ben, you take care of Danny. Get him out, regroup with the others, get Cole in here to evac them. Ashley—”

  “I’m not leaving without him,” Ashley said. It was strange, how all the fear and anger and relief and nerves had collided together and forged into simple certainty. “He’ll get away, and he’ll go someplace else and start this all over again. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Brody told her

  “There is a point-seven percent chance you’re wrong,” Agent Phillips said. “If we are going for accuracy,” he added, when they turned to look at him.

  “Thank you,” Brody said. “Basement. You remember where that is?” he asked Ashley.

  “I remember where everything is,” she said as they started to run.

  The basement was dark, the cement floor cold enough under Ashley’s bare feet to prickle her skin. She hadn’t remembered it being this small, with only space for a small garage and some storage. Proom kept the majority of his work aboveground and in the light, and he wasn’t ashamed of it.

  Finding the tunnel wasn’t difficult. Proom hadn’t shut the door behind him, and even without the faint lightening of shadows, there was the icy river of cold, pouring in from wherever it connected to the outside. But it wouldn’t have mattered, because underneath the sharp scent of snow and pine, twisting up with the tinny smell of recycled air and the ever-present echo of bleach, there was Proom, leading the way like an arrow.

  Ch. 29

  Ashley and Brody came out into the forest at a dead run. Trees stretched out around her. She wondered, briefly, dodging a branch, how far out from the facility were. If she stopped, if she turned to look, would she still see the building through the trees? But she didn’t stop. She didn’t look. She ran, even when the sound of Brody’s heavy tread faded behind her. He hissed her name, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She’d been training for this. Every day she’d run herself ragged on the beach, every time she’d pushed herself, past the pain, and the fatigue, pushed as hard as she could and didn’t drop.

  The snow wasn’t deep here, not with the trees stretching out overhead, but there was enough for footprints.

  The world around Ashley blurred as she shot forward. She could hear him. His heart beating. His breath rasping in the frozen air, the crunch of his shoes scraping, slipping, scrambling along the ground. He wasn’t much of a runner. Then, Ashley saw—Proom’s dark hair. The leather satchel bouncing against his shoulder. Saw a gap in the trees ahead of them and, against the snow, the silver glint of a car. He was almost there. And, stretching out behind him like the tail of a comet, the scent of aloe vera hand sanitizer, and the dulled metallic tang of electronics, and five-hundred-dollar skin cream. It curled out through the trees, it enveloped her, and Ashley found she could push harder. The world around her blurred, the distance between them disappearing—and then l
engthening again as the speed carried her past the car. She turned easily, her feet digging into the frozen ground, the cold cutting through straight to the bone, and launched herself. The icy air whipped through her like a blade, and she landed on the roof of the Tesla, on all fours, hard enough that the roof crumpled and the windshields burst outwards.

  Proom skidded to a stop.

  It took her a second. She didn’t…remember him like this. Smaller. Shorter—when he had always seemed taller, bigger. Maybe that was because she mostly remembered him leaning over her surgical table. In jeans, when he had always been draped in white. His glasses were cracked.

  “Well, this…certainly is interesting.” Proom gave her an easy grin—but she heard the nerves. Smelled the fear. Told herself she shouldn’t enjoy it. “Still, despite the circumstances, I must say it is very good to see you again, One-Eleven. No one told me you’d advanced so much.”

  Ashley sprang off the car. Proom started to take a step back, and then stopped. “I was a little concerned after your recent injuries, but I see everything has healed beautifully,” he said, and he meant it. She could hear that he meant it. He looked at what he’d done to her, and he saw beauty. “Not that I expected any less,” Proom continued, smiling at her. “You always did exceed our expectations. But you did appear to take a bit of damage during that last little incident.”

  “Incident,” Ashley echoed, still moving forward. “You took Liz.”

  “No lasting damage, though, I see,” Proom said cheerfully. “Now, as much as I would love to stop and chat, my dear, I’m afraid I don’t have the time, so I am going to ask you very nicely to step aside.”

  Ashley shook her head.

  Proom sighed and lifted his hand. He was holding a key fob. He pressed a button.

  The sound hit her like a train. It wasn’t simply sound. Sound was only heard. This was felt, every bone jarring with it, every muscle clenching in agony against the onslaught. Everything in her was screaming; she should have been screaming, too, but her lungs were in a vice and there was no air to scream with.