by Stevie Barry
"All right," he whispered. "We'll do this. But we're going to be careful."
She gave a reluctant nod, and he hoped to God she wasn't going to kill half the Institute tomorrow.
----
Katje thought Lorna was insane, Hansen thought she was suicidal, but to her surprise, Geezer agreed with her.
I thought you said we ought to wait, Lorna said. I thought you'd be the hardest to convince.
We did wait. Something's supposed to come to this place, but it won't unless we get out and go get it. He wouldn't say anything more, damn him, but it was always possible he didn't know anything more.
Katje was a lot harder to talk around, and Hansen wouldn't listen until Lorna all but took him over. She pointed out that he'd go mad if he stayed, knowing what he did now about this place.
I need you to trust me, Hansen. Gerald. If we stay here, he wins. Even if he doesn't kill us, he'll wear us all down to nothing in the end. Now you know how much damage I'm capable'v doing. If I wreck all the aircraft but what we leave in, they can't follow us and shoot us down. Geezer says he can pilot a chopper, so we won't even need a hostage.
And where will we go? he demanded.
Anchorage. Katje can make us some normal-people clothes, and then we can work on getting the hell out'v North America. She hadn't figured out just where they could go, but Ratiri suggested a destination: India.
If this thing's spread as fast as I think it has, we might be safe there. Mysticism is a broadly accepted thing in many areas, and it's a crowded country. There are probably thousands of cursed there, and Von Ratched would never find us. In the cities a fair number of people speak English, and I speak Hindi. It's just a matter of getting there.
They could work on that once they were free. There was no way they could land in Anchorage itself; they'd have to touch down somewhere in the wilderness and hike. They didn't dare use the airport there, since Von Ratched would undoubtedly be watching it, but if they could make it down the Al-Can highway they could theoretically fly out of Montreal. And once they were safe, the Institute was going all over every news channel that would take the story. They couldn't leave everyone else up there to rot.
Lorna was far too wired to sleep, and she wasn't the only one. Ratiri was tossing and turning on his bunk, and she watched him a while in the darkness. There was just enough moonlight that she could make out his form. Ratiri, allanah? she said, a little hesitantly, would you be upset if I kissed you? Only if we're all going to die tomorrow, I don't want to die having never done that.
He rolled over to face her. I'll do more than kiss you, if you'll let me.
She grinned, and tiptoed across the cold floor to his bunk. And then neither minded that they couldn't sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day was the hardest thing any of them had ever endured.
Fortunately, Von Ratched was busy in F wing, probably doing something nasty to Wrigley. The day was clear enough that they were let outdoors again, so at least they could burn off some of their nervous energy.
Geezer couldn't share in the excitement, though. They were meant to escape, he knew, but it wasn't going to go as Lorna planned. There were people they had to find, but not in India, and his vision had been so vague that he couldn't even be sure they would all survive. For once he'd seen something of himself, very briefly -- he was piloting a helicopter, and he wasn't alone -- and an Australian woman as tall as Ratiri, who would help them. Who she was, or what she would do, remained frustrating mysteries.
The only thing he was sure of was that not all of them would make it out. And that made him miserable.
He'd learned a long time ago that changing the future was damn near impossible. He'd tried more than once, but the outcome had always been the same, no matter what he did to the events leading up to it. Things had to play out as they were meant to, and trying to alter it often made them worse. Bitter experience had taught him to keep it to himself.
It was how he'd ruined his hands. He'd known they'd be attacked if they went to a specific location, so he'd held the platoon up, naively believing they'd escape that fate if they weren't there. Of course they'd been attacked anyway, the casualties far worse than they would have been if he'd left well enough alone. It was a lesson he'd never forgotten, although he wished he could.
So he hacked at the earth with his shovel, and tried to ignore his mounting dread.
----
Katje was terrified, but oddly, keeping Gerald's panic down helped her. She wasn't used to having anyone need her, but he did, and soothing him gave her something to focus on. Ironically, nervous though they both were, they calmed each other. They could allow themselves to fall apart when they were free.
To keep them both occupied, she taught him Dutch swearwords, and a few phrases he would find useful if they ever visited Holland. Someday she wanted to take him there, though they'd have to avoid many of her old haunts. He might be pushing thirty, but in some ways he was endearingly naïve, and he flushed brick-red whenever she said anything that shocked him.
Honestly, she wasn't so sure what she thought of going to India. She burned so terribly that she'd never be able to go outside. Her English was still terrible, and she certainly didn't speak Hindi. Thank God Ratiri did.
Geezer was so tough and leathery a sunburn would probably take one look at him and flee, and Lorna's complexion was awfully dark for someone supposedly pure Irish.
Focus, Katje told her wandering mind. But she was afraid to focus, afraid to hope. In this place, hope was more dangerous than despair.
----
By agreement, they waited until two in the morning before they began. It was late enough that Von Ratched would likely be asleep, or so they hoped. Certainly, everybody else was.
Gerald had the codes necessary to release them all without tripping any alarms. Wrigley was still absent, and Katje remained without a roommate, so they didn't need to worry about waking any other inmates. Lorna was prepared to deal with anyone else they might encounter, to make any stray staff forget they'd seen anything out of the ordinary.
Fortunately they met no one, but when they stepped outside, the cold took her breath away. Moonlight glittered on scrub brush furry with frost, that crunched beneath their slipper-clad feet. They hadn't dared take the time to raid the closet with all the winter clothing, and in her scrubs and bathrobe she shivered so hard her teeth chattered. Helicopters had cabin-heaters, right? Without one, she thought they might freeze to death.
Getting into the base itself was going to be problematic. Gerald didn't have the codes or clearance to get into the military end of the Institute, but fortunately they found a lone, very bored guard at the back entrance. He was disabled easily enough, and he did know how to get inside without setting off all the alarms. Lorna took as much from his mind as she dared, and then they were inside.
The hangar was massive, and only marginally warmer than the outside. The overhead lights were dimmed, but the group could still see the crates upon crates stacked all along the walls. They were stamped with black ink: food, medical supplies, weapons. Von Ratched had indeed been stocking up for winter, to an extent the craziest of survivalists would approve of. It smelled of chilled concrete and motor oil, bittersweet gasoline and some chemical she couldn't identify. Ratiri wrinkled his nose, and she thought it must be a downright stench to him.
The tarmac was where they hit trouble. There were more guards here -- four that she counted, but odds were good that there were more she couldn't see. They were a lot more alert than the one at the hangar entrance, too, big men in black uniforms that weren't any kind of military at all. What was the word? Mercenaries? Great. They probably didn't have anything like military rules.
Lorna's palms were sweaty as she tried to plant a gentle suggestion in their minds, her heart jackhammering so hard she'd bet Ratiri could hear it. She just wanted to convince the men to go around the far side of the base, out of sight of the tarmac. Sure, they worked for Von Ratched, but s
he didn't want to kill them. While it might be safer, it was the kind of thing Von Ratched would do, and she wouldn't be like him.
Thankfully, the men moved, though the one nearest her looked puzzled. Ratiri, allanah, what do you hear? Are there others?
He swallowed audibly. Yes. They're a ways away, but there's another five I can hear.
Well, shit. The range of her telepathy was pretty limited when it came to anyone but Ratiri; she could hear, if she was lucky, but she doubted her ability to influence. Geezer? she asked, turning to him. This is your area. What do we do?
Geezer looked more alert than she'd ever seen him. He was tense too, but it was an anticipatory tension. He wasn't panicking -- he was calculating. Let's go, he said. Nearest chopper. Get ready to bust up everything soon's we're airborne, or we won't stay up long.
As much as she wanted to destroy the entire damn base, Lorna was also terrified. She'd never willfully tried to wreck so much at once; all her previous acts of major destruction had been largely unconscious. Oh, she'd caved in the Activities Hall and taken out two helicopters, but this was a lot bigger proposition. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself --
A gunshot cracked the silence, a shot so close it made her jump, and Ratiri winced and covered his ears. Chips of concrete stung the side of her face -- oh God, that was way too close.
Pure adrenaline kicked in a half second later, and she no longer needed to worry about her ability to smash things. A helicopter on the edge of the tarmac crushed like a pop can, windows shattering and blasting outward with a crash. It startled their sniper so much his next shot went wild, pinging off the pavement nowhere near them.
Katje let out a strangled shriek, but it cut off when Geezer grabbed her hand and yanked her forward. Two more helicopters tore apart as they fled across the tarmac, one sparking its gas tank and exploding with such force it shook the ground beneath their feet.
So much for waiting 'til we're airborne, Lorna thought, picking up a third and throwing it in what she hoped was the sniper's direction. A scream told her she'd been close enough -- but another shot rang out, and another, and she swore.
"Get in," she snarled. Anger overtook her panic, and her resolution not to kill anyone went right out the window.
She turned, and focused as best she was able on the hangar. Her rage leant her a force she hadn't known she possessed, and the building literally imploded, the roof caving in with a deafening roar as the walls collapsed. That shook the ground so much she almost lost her footing, staggering like a drunk as dust puffed through the still air like fog. Oh God, that hurt, pain shooting through her every nerve like molten metal, but she wasn't done yet.
The air was so thick with pulverized concrete that Lorna couldn't see their escape chopper, but she heard it cough to life -- and then she heard Ratiri scream. Agony not her own joined her searing pain -- shit, had someone shot him?
Get in, she ordered the others again. I'm still not done. She had to get more of the aircraft, enough to give them a decent head start. But oh, it hurt so much she couldn't focus, couldn't direct her telekinesis at all. It earthed itself in anything it could, heaving and buckling the ground itself. Her eyes stung, filled with grit, and in spite of the cold she was drenched with sweat.
A stray shot pinged off the side of the helicopter, and that was enough. She gave up her assault and ran for it, stumbling over the uneven ground. Pure instinct drove her now, lending her energy she'd pay for later --
Burning pain lanced through her left shoulder, and a second later something all but tore her right calf apart. Down she went like a sack of lead, and Katje was screaming again, shrieking in Dutch like a banshee.
Go, Lorna ordered Geezer. Her consciousness was fading as fast as the hot blood that soaked her clothes. Get the fuck out'v here. She forced every bit of compulsion she could summon into the thought, and the last thing she heard was the helicopter taking off, wind buffeting her where she lay. Its artillery roared, blanketing everything on the ground, and to her relief the sound faded, the helicopter soaring off into the night.
Okay, she thought dimly, you can die now. And with that thought, darkness took her.
----
The chopper's cabin was filled with choking dust, and it was all Geezer could do to even see. His own instinct had taken over, an instinct very different from Lorna's. He might not remember a whole lot about Vietnam, but the skills he'd picked up there had ingrained themselves into his subconscious. This was a far more advanced helicopter than he was used to, but the basics were still the same.
He was dimly aware of Hansen and Katje cursing in symphony behind him, her voice thick with tears. "Katje, put pressure there, as hard as you can." The sound of ripping fabric was almost inaudible over the thwap of the rotor, and Hansen had to shout to be heard. "It missed his artery or he'd have bled out by now. Shit, he's going to need a hospital, and how are we going to do that?"
They weren't. They couldn't. All Geezer could do was hope the woman in his vision could help, or Ratiri would be in serious trouble.
He wouldn't let himself think about Lorna. She wasn't dead and she wouldn't die, and his visions had shown him she would escape at some point, but that was all he knew. Whatever awaited her back at the Institute was a mystery to him, but he could guess. And he really didn't want to.
----
The explosions woke Von Ratched along with everyone else.
He wasn't a man who woke up by degrees. His eyes snapped open and he was at once fully awake -- and furious. While it was possible there had been some accident, it was far more likely to be Lorna's doing. How had she gotten out of the main building without setting off any alarms? He didn't know, but he meant to find out -- and kill whoever had helped her.
He dressed in a hurry and stalked to the military compound like an avenging Fate, ignoring his panicked staff. The cold outside barely registered, but the sight of what was left of the base actually halted him.
It took a lot to startle Von Ratched, but the sheer magnitude of the devastation was more than sufficient. It rivaled anything he could have managed, and in spite of his fury, some small part of him couldn't help but be impressed.
The strident wail of sirens accompanied dozens of voices shouting at cross-purposes. Black smoke that stank of gasoline obscured the stars, what looked like half his aircraft aflame. It cast the scene in hellish red light, the heat so intense it made him sweat as he approached.
The hangar was gone, blasted to smithereens, and it had to have taken most of his supplies with it. All that careful planning, done in by one tiny, maddening woman. This would take weeks to fix, weeks they might not have.
The smoke was so thick on the tarmac it stung his eyes, though the mercenaries fought to douse the fires. Every few feet there was a body, most done in by pieces of shrapnel from the ruined helicopters. Their blood was already freezing on the wrecked tarmac, creating stinking slush and macabre patches of ice. Where were they? Lorna wouldn't have gone off and left Duncan, but his thoughts were nowhere to be found. Had they actually managed to escape?
Lorna hadn't. Von Ratched found the thread of her mind, though it was very weak. She was unconscious, but alive -- though once he found her, she might not remain so for long.
Those murderous thoughts vanished when he spotted her. She lay facedown on the tarmac, dropped like a broken doll, and the back of her bathrobe was dyed with blood that almost looked black in the firelight. Her hair was frosted with pale dust, and to his very great surprise, dread seized him.
He knelt beside her, checking her pulse -- weak and thready, more blood seeping onto the pavement with every beat of her heart. Some idiot had shot her in the back -- it was no wonder she'd destroyed so much. Next to fear, pain was the biggest catalyst to Lorna's telekinesis. Damn it.
A soot-faced mercenary approached, half-carrying a wounded comrade.
"You," Von Ratched said. "Go to the main building and summon all the medical staff. They will attend to your wounded, but I want a str
etcher here. Now."
The man set down his injured compatriot and ran for it. Von Ratched put as much pressure as he dared on Lorna's wound, ignoring the blood that wicked up his sleeve. He needed to know what kind of round she'd taken, but there was no way of knowing until he could perform her surgery. He fashioned a makeshift compress out of strips from her bathrobe, and found that her right calf was essentially hamburger. Hollow-point bullet -- no wonder she was bleeding so badly. If the slug in her back was the same thing, she might lose her lung. Why would she do something so incredibly, stupidly dangerous?
You pushed her too hard. Hitting back even harder is all she knows how to do.
They would have to work on that when she recovered. And Lorna was going to recover: he would allow nothing less. She wasn't going to die on him, no matter how much she might want to.
"She had buddies," the injured mercenary said, his voice hoarse and weak. "We shot at 'em, but I think they got away. She's…what is she?"
"The most dangerous person I have ever met, aside from myself," Von Ratched said, dry. "And something will have to be done about that."
He got his stretcher, as well as a bag of saline and a proper compress. The staff were left to deal with the rest of it, under the supervision of Nurse Grieggs. Hansen, damn the little rabbit, was nowhere to be found. That meant DaVries was likely gone as well.
The operating room was entirely the opposite of the mayhem outside, and Von Ratched felt himself relax a little as he scrubbed down. This was going to be a difficult bit of surgery, but he was in his proper sphere now, doing what he did best. Ideally he should have a nurse, but he could manage without one -- and in his current mood he might kill anyone who so much as breathed wrong.
Lorna, he found, was lucky. A standard 9mm round had pierced her shoulder, and though it had nicked her lung, it wouldn’t do any permanent damage. Her calf was another story: the muscle had been all but shredded, and he spent the better part of an hour and a half picking out metal fragments. He couldn't say he was sorry for that, either; all things considered, her immobility would be in his favor. She couldn’t try to escape again if she couldn't walk, and she'd be off this leg for a month at least.
