by Patrick Wong
The staff needed no second invitation to flee. Head chefs, waiters, sous chefs and sommeliers alike all moved at once — 25 panicked people running for their lives. And the desperate stampede was all aiming for one exit.
At the moment 50 hands pushed on the swinging doors, one man on the other side felt unexpected resistance to his efforts to get through.
“What the? …” Max screamed in anger.
Nicole smiled when she caught a glimpse of Max’s frustration through the doors’ windows.
She had seen the surprise in his eyes. For all of their research, neither DuBois nor Professor Barnard had ever found out that a Taker could not defeat a Balancer.
There was no time to lose. With panic kicking at her heels, Nicole ran forward, dodging the clattering pans and slippery floor as she went.
The secure offices at the back of the kitchen were now abandoned, everyone having decamped to the safety of the bunkers below. Nicole, Amy and Jason heaved a heavy desk to block the doors from the kitchen. In this time frame, every second counted. The imperative was to reach the elevators and get to the president before Max did.
Ben was first to arrive at the elevator, but by the expression on his face, something seemed to be wrong. He began to hunt all around the elevator’s metallic frame, panic beginning to fray his nerves.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked.
Ben pointed to a card slot on the side. “It’s ID-activated. Without one, we can’t get down.”
Amy ran to the landline phone on the secretary’s desk, searching for a number — anything. She picked up the receiver.
“It’s dead!” she cried.
“Damn!” Ben responded. He kicked the elevator door.
“Can’t you do something?” Amy asked.
“What? What do you want me to do?” Ben shouted.
Amy stared at him. “You’re a computer geek. Just pop off the panel and hack the elevator. That’s what guys like you do, right?”
Insulted, Ben shouted back, “Guys like me? Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean! You’re the smart one — go do that thing you do. And do it now!”
Nicole and Jason took a half-step back and huddled.
“If our lives weren’t in danger, this would be such an awesome moment,” Nicole whispered into Jason’s ear. They fist-bumped. “It’s their first lover’s quarrel.”
The gunshots were getting less frequent now, and a creeping realization took hold of them all — that Max would be on them any second. Then the door to the offices began to move from the impact, presumably of Max’s fist.
“He’s coming in. At least he’s not telekinetic,” Jason whispered.
Nicole stood in front of her friends.
“He can’t hurt me,” she said. “And I won’t let him hurt you.”
They waited.
BAM BAM BAM.
It was the sound of the rhythmic pounding of Max’s kicks and punches as he attempted to breach the door. He may have supernatural powers, but his physical strength was limited to mortal standards. Inch by inch, the desk moved back, allowing the door to open further each time.
Nicole was going to have to face Max again. This time, however, she was ready.
All of a sudden, a cheerful ding caused them all to turn.
The elevator doors opened, and there stood Velasquez, gun in hand.
“Need a lift?” she inquired.
It’s a Street Fight
The lower corridors were eerie and abandoned as Max stalked through them, stepping over the dead bodies of guards and FBI agents. Upon leaving the elevator, he had mown them down like a bulletproof mirror to a machine gun. He headed now toward the deepest chamber, where the president would be hiding. Cowering like a rat in a trap. The sheer spinelessness made Max’s skin crawl.
DuBois’ ID card had enabled him to gain easy access to the elevator — that part he hadn’t failed at. He had negotiated this corridor alone, as his guards were suffering side effects from Nicole. She ended up being stronger and faster than he had expected.
A nondescript door — bulletproof — with an ID-card slot next to it loomed up ahead. Even after all this time, all these casualties, Max took a breath before swiping the card through. He remembered the promise he had made to his mother — to leave Tazhbekistan and avenge their family. Their nation.
He slid the card through, and the door unlocked.
The door opened to reveal the girl he recognized to be Nicole, standing in front of her three friends and flanked by two armed FBI agents. The room was a mock up of the Oval Office. The American flag hung at the back. And where the real Oval Office would have had windows, this one displayed pictures of a beautiful fall day in Washington, D.C.
Everyone standing was shielding the President of the United States, who was sitting at his desk.
“Good evening,” Max said. He stepped inside and surveyed the anxious faces. “I see you’ve been expecting me. Unfortunately for you, all of your comrades are now dead or dying.”
Bishop raised his gun. “Come any further and I’ll shoot.”
Max laughed. He raised both arms and stood in the shape of a cross. “Didn’t you get the memo? Go ahead, Agent Bishop. Take your best shot. I’m at your mercy.”
Nicole turned her head, her eyes resting on Max the whole time.
“Please don’t shoot, Agent Bishop. He’s a Taker, and he’ll just use it against us.”
Bishop wavered. This scenario had never existed before. The man who wanted to assassinate the president was standing right before his loaded gun with his arms outstretched.
Max watched Bishop like a hawk.
Nicole put her hand on Bishop’s shoulder and shook her head. “Please, Bishop. Don’t.” She touched his hand with hers and gently lowered the gun to his side.
“Oh, well. It doesn’t matter,” Max murmured as he opened his jacket to reveal a bloodstain on his chest. “Heavens, I’ve been shot. It’s a pretty good shot, too. And what’s this? I’m bleeding profusely and may die in less than a minute. Pity — less than one minute to live. What to do?”
Max cast his fist out high above his head and clenched it tight.
Behind them, the president let out a yell as the Taker took hold of his life force.
Within moments, Nicole had raised her hand. Max felt her energy intervene, and it almost took his breath away. He tried again, impacting and then removing the president’s life force. Nicole counteracted Max’s damage, however, and before he knew it, she had healed the president.
“Stop this madness, Max. What good will killing him do?” Nicole faced him.
Then Max leapt toward the tall figure of John Lane Percival and grabbed him by the throat.
Is this how it’s all going to end? Nicole thought. A street fight in the corner of the mock Oval Office?
Bishop lunged forward to grab Max from the president, but Max was stronger. He shoved Bishop toward the wall, and only stopped at the sight of the business end of Velasquez’s pistol.
“Velasquez! No!” Nicole screamed.
Velasquez froze in terror, afraid to shoot the man who was trying to kill the president.
“Please, allow me.” Max grabbed Velasquez’s hand and pulled the trigger himself, which caused the gun to fire and a bullet to pierce his chest once again. Max stumbled for a moment, but soon regained his balance. “You’d think I’d be used to getting shot, but it still does sting a bit.”
Once more, Max turned toward the president. John Lane Percival looked his attacker straight in the eye, and soon began to cripple over in agony.
Nicole summoned the life energy from the mercenaries she had taken on in the lobby and tried again to bring her healing force to the president, recalling again the weight of his daughter as though she were carrying the young John Lane Percival in her arms, just like she and Amy had done when babysitting Troy as a toddler years before.
As she channeled her Balancing energy force into the pre
sident, she could only wonder what was happening above. Those surrounding them watched in awe as Nicole struggled to save the president and Max attempted to kill him.
She had never Balanced for this long, and the strain was beginning to exhaust Nicole’s mind. She stumbled at that moment, but Jason stepped forward and took her hand. He supported her and held her close.
She could sense him now, and it gave her strength. Then behind her, she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.
Amy.
“You don’t need to do this alone, Nicole,” she said, staring at Max as though to make a point.
The president was beginning to recover. He got back to his feet and stood before the people who held his life in the balance.
“Maximilian Karakov, you have been lied to,” Bishop explained.
“Save your breath. You’ll need every one you can get,” Max sneered.
“DuBois doesn’t want to help you. He just uses your powers. Ask him where his funds really go. He won’t arm the Tazhbekistani people. No one will.”
Max kept his eyes fixed on the president.
“I’m willing to bet,” Max began, “that Nicole has never tested how far her powers can travel. All the life she’s destroyed upstairs — I can feel it. The well of life has run out, Nicole. You have nowhere else to draw life from.”
Nicole saw him glance up at her, and for a second her confidence faltered. She knew he was trying to psych her out — to undermine her abilities.
The president was on the floor now, clutching his throat and being held by Velasquez. Max was as determined as ever. And even with Amy and Jason at her side, Nicole could not hold on much longer.
Nicole started to tear up, and her mind searched for her memories of the hotel, the lobby, the resort grounds, the forest. She had drained all the life she could sense in her mind. There was no more life to give aside from taking the life from somebody she knew.
With a choking feeling in her throat, she began to speak. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I can’t save you.”
Class Is Over!
“Class is over, Balancer!” Max howled. “I think your grade will be a … D. For ‘dead.’ Or ‘dying’?”
Nicole felt Jason’s hand squeeze hers, and he looked deep into her eyes before returning his concentration to the president.
“Don’t give up, Nicole. Together!” Jason cried. “I’m with you.”
“You’re weakening, Giver. I can see it in your eyes. Face it — your life is finite. Death is endless.”
“Giver?” Nicole’s attention turned to Jason. He gave a little shrug.
Bishop cocked his gun again and aimed it at Max’s head.
“Even if it gives us only a second of reprieve, I swear I will shoot you until there are no more bullets,” the agent hissed.
“No!” Jason responded “Don’t you see? It’s your bullets and weapons that are giving him his powers.”
Then it all made sense to Bishop. Springing like a cat, his shoulder collided with Max’s waist as he brought the sleek Taker down. Almost immediately, the roles reversed. Bishop had Max pressed down on the floor and could feel him struggling beneath him.
Then the Taker reached for Bishop’s gun.
“No!” Bishop cried. But it was too late. Max had grabbed it and was ranging it at his own chest. Thinking fast, Bishop punched it out of his grasp.
The gun bounced onto the ground and discharged from the impact.
Stunned silence blanketed the room.
Then Max began to clap in slow motion.
“Bravo. Oh, this is just perfect. Thank you, Agent Bishop. I didn’t have to kill the president after all. You did.”
They turned to see the president then, blood pooling at his side.
At last, Nicole had her chance. She could sense the president’s pain, but when it came to collecting life from above, it was like a concrete wall was blocking her path. Perhaps all of the life force was gone, or perhaps she had no energy of her own left.
Bishop ran to the president’s side and ripped open his shirt, but he was surprised to find that the president’s wound had healed. There was no blood at all.
“Nicole! You did it?”
She was confused. “No. It wasn’t me.”
They heard the slump behind them as Jason slid down the wall with a bullet wound to his chest.
Nicole rushed to Jason’s side, as the room became a blur of activity in slow motion.
Bishop had manhandled Max into cuffs.
On the floor, Nicole held Jason in her arms. His breathing was hoarse, and he had taken on so much pain that it was muddying his senses. Nicole closed her eyes, and thought of everything in the resort. Her mind traveled everywhere — the kitchen, the lobby, the restaurant, the forest. She could sense nothing that provided a source of life she was willing to take.
“I can’t save you,” Nicole sobbed, stroking his hair. “Jason, I …”
“Remember Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan?” Jason put his forehead against Nicole’s. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
“Or the one,” Nicole whispered through tears.
Jason gave a weak smile and whispered through labored breaths, “I finally got one right, didn’t I?”
He closed his eyes then, while the spirit of life leaked from his body into the space around him.
It’s Like New York City After 9/11
“We need to get Jason outside — along with as many of the injured as you can bring with us!” Nicole ordered.
Bishop radioed up Nicole’s instructions to the federal agents scattered throughout the facility.
Security arrived to escort Max away — under strict instructions not to bait or injure him. Max fought to break free, but the guards held on to him too tightly to allow for escape.
“Nicole!” Max howled. “Nicole! Listen to me.”
“What? Haven’t you said enough? Haven’t you hurt enough people for one day?”
“Nicole, I’m sorry. But you and I are not really that different. These people around you, they aren’t your friends. They help you because they need you, and they fear you. Just like they need and fear me. You know what I’m saying is true. You know it. They are barbarians. If you won’t do what they say, mark my words, they will kill you.”
“That’s not true!” Nicole cried back, unable to maintain her composure.
“But it is true. How many times have they tried to kill you already? Once? Twice? Three times? How many times will you let them try to kill you?”
“Get that piece of crap out of here now!” the president shouted, no longer able to stand Max’s babbling.
The agents dragged Max from the room.
Nicole had to ignore Max’s comments and concentrate. She looked down and resolved to focus on the task at hand — healing Jason.
Bishop led the group through the corridors in silence. Bishop and the president carried him out on their shoulders.
“Clear a path!” the president ordered.
Confused police officers and federal agents filled the lobby. All had a kind of dazzled shock on their faces from trying to come to terms with the miracle of their own survival.
The first thing Nicole noticed in the lobby was the shriveled foliage of all the dead plants. It was everywhere. She pressed on to the resort exit. She could see an SUV waiting outside, as Bishop had arranged.
No one was prepared for the sight of the resort grounds.
Even Bishop gasped as they emerged from the revolving doors. A thick cloud of ash obscured the sun. It was as though they had been transported to some distant moonscape. Felled trees had crunched into the parked cars below, which were in turn covered with ash and debris. Leaves were gathered dead and shriveled on the ground, and what branches remained were stick-like, deadened and bare. Barrenness marked the length and breadth of the once lush and verdant grounds.
Not a single living thing had survived as far as she could see.
Did she do this?
“It
’s like New York City after 9/11,” Ben murmured.
On a nearby, unmarked car, a badly injured mercenary struggled to escape from the agents he feared were coming to find him. But his body was too weak to even stand up.
“Bring him, too. Nobody else dies today,” Nicole said.
From behind them, the doors revolved again. Officer Gillespie, blood on his clothes but as upright and determined as Nicole had ever seen him, emerged.
“Nicole Aaronson.” He held out his hand. “It would be the State Police Department’s honor to escort you. We cannot forget what you did back there.” Several officers behind Gillespie saluted Nicole. “Nicole, we are forever in your debt,” Gillespie continued.
Nicole shook his hand. Aside from the bullet-ridden uniform, Gillespie looked exactly as she remembered him from a few months back, but the way he was admiring her now told her just how much the circumstances had changed in that time.
“How far does the destroyed forest go?” Ben asked.
“We have some reports from troopers in nearby towns. The destruction stretches as far as a 10-mile radius around the resort,” Gillespie replied.
“We need to move,” Velasquez urged. She opened the back of the SUV. “Where to, Nicole?”
“Officer, I need to find as much abundant life as possible.”
Gillespie smiled. “I know exactly what you need. I’ll drive you there myself.”
Velasquez slid into the passenger seat, and Gillespie climbed in beside her. They had one final journey to make.
Can’t She Heal?
At the beginning of their drive, no music was appropriate.
But as the roads went on and on through the burnt and broken landscape, the desolate lands started to take their toll on the passengers of the SUV. They had all fallen silent, the ebbing adrenaline taking with it energy and leaving the chaos behind.
The relentlessness of destruction and decay suspended them in a kind of bleak limbo. They had found a radio station playing Johnny Cash. Nicole had recalled her dad liking his music, and so it had stayed. Somehow the deep voiced melancholy that spoke so poignantly of pain and loss resonated with every one of their experiences.
