by Brian Cody
“Hey”, Bryen moaned through pouted lips as he dragged his right knee under his body and placed weight onto it.
“You can move—that’s good—you have to help Garcia and Turrisi.”
“Give me a couple…hours”, Bryen grunted as he collapsed onto his left side.
“No, B, you have to get up now. I can’t move”, David replied. “My knee burns when I think about moving it.”
“Why your knee?” Shawn asked.
“Because a giant needle drilled into it?” Bryen suggested as he rolled to the wall and dragged his back up it to sit.
“My ACL”, David replied, “I tore my ACL before I transferred to Igneous while_”
“Playing basketball”, Shawn interjected. “Yeah, I remember, but then I found out you had powers… I thought…you had made it up, maybe as an excuse to limit your activities, and lessen the odds of you accidentally using your powers.”
“Basketball…right”, David hummed as he watched Nate lift his hands and conjure a bolt from his right which jabbed into his left and drove him to rear forward. “Right before I started at community college…back home”, David began as he reclined, “my family went on a camping trip. On our way back from the mountains, I saw a guy lying on a set of train tracks—he was trying to kill himself, and he was about to succeed—the train was thirty seconds away. I was alone, and I”, David lifted his hands and placed them over his eyes, “I hesitated. I didn’t want the government to find out, to give me crap for that one moment, or to use that moment as leverage, and I continued to hesitate until the very last moment. I finally ran as fast as I could, cradled him, and nudged him away with enough speed not to hurt him, but I had hesitated so long that the train hit me before I could get away. I had eight, fully loaded cars roll over the back of my right knee before I could drag myself free. My ACL was shredded, but because of my powers, a normal surgeon wouldn’t have been able to cut me open and do a proper repair.
“My parents drove me to a Vet hospital and told the doctors that I had been in a train accident to keep them from knowing that I used my powers ‘unlawfully’. They agreed to do surgery…but that didn’t happen for another week. By then, the damage had been done. It healed…mostly, but, ever since then, it’s been my weakest spot. I can’t move right now… Arthur knew to shoot me there. He somehow figured out to hit me in the one spot where it mattered, and, because of it, I’m down.” David lowered his hands and looked to Bryen motioning himself onto his knees. “B, please do something. We can’t leave Erik or Turrisi with him, not if he’s involved in Sterling Blue’s murder.”
“I…” Bryen lifted his discarded syringe, placed it a foot from his face, and squinted, “I can’t_”
“B-money, I’ll be right behind you”, Shawn called. “I just need a minute. I feel weak right now, but once I’m rested, I’ll grab Nate, and we’ll meet you up there.”
“My pupils”, Bryen replied as he looked over his shoulder, “my pupils aren’t contracting.”
“So that means…?” Nate mumbled as he ripped out his syringe.
“It’s because this room is bright enough that they don’t have to”, Shawn replied. “B, no offense, but we’ve got_”
“No!” Bryen interjected, “my pupils are constantly readjusting, both subconsciously due to changes in light intensity, and consciously when I want to zoom in on something or widen my peripheral view. I want them to contract, but they’re not. No matter how hard I try, they won’t, or more…they can’t.” He turned to his empty vial. “What he injected into us… took away our powers.”
“What?” Shawn grunted, “Are you sure?”
“I want to say you’re crazy”, Nate began as he lifted and balled his right hand. In sporadic flashes, bolts rushed from his grip before dissipating. “But right now I’m using enough force to shock everyone in here.”
“No, wait”, David began as he sat up. “That doesn’t work at all—powers are genetic. It doesn’t matter how you get them, they stay with you, and, depending on your other genes, they’re passed to your kids. They can’t just be…taken away; we’d be in worse shape.”
“I know this sounds crazy”, Bryen began as he dropped the syringe, “but there is a way.”
“How!?” Shawn wailed.
“Vitamin B-17—I don’t have too many specifics, but I know it’s a cyanide found in apricot seeds, and it was believed_”
“That it could cure cancer”, David interjected as he glared at his own syringe. “I remember going over it in one of my classes. About twenty years ago, it was purported to cure cancer, but it was a fraud. It didn’t work.”
“No, that’s the thing”, Bryen continued. “It did work. This sounds insane, and I’m still having trouble believing it, but it did cure cancer. However, after that cancer was cured, the B-17 remained in the body for too long, and, being a cyanide, it did what cyanide does pretty well, and killed the test subjects. The government did its best to keep it from being used in alternative medicines, and then erased most of the evidence of its studies. But then I heard a rumor.” Bryen lifted his syringe. “Around ten years ago, someone was in the process of militarizing it so that it could recognize and attack the genetic markers that most often reveal the presence of superpowers.”
“And we were hit with that? The militarized version, and…” Shawn looked at his hands, “our powers are gone?” he continued as Lamback dug his hands into the wall and rose to his feet.
“No, not gone; Piekarsky’s right”, Bryen continued, “We’d be in a much worse condition if parts of our genetic code were excised.”
“Arthur said it was temporary”, David noted. “I barely remember it, but it was right before I awakened. I think it’ll last until our cells regenerate and the drug itself is worked out of our systems.”
“And how long will that take?” Nate asked.
“In as little as three hours, or, in the worst case scenario, as long as a few days”, David replied.
“So you’re saying we’re helpless here for an indiscernible amount of time”, Nate stated, his gaze slanted. “Because I’m really disliking the prospect of being someone’s livestock. I still have a slight charge, and, I don’t know about you guys, but once my strength returns, I’m leaving; hopefully Erik and Turrisi_”
The thud of collapsing flesh sounded along the floor and drove Nate, Bryen, David, and Shawn to turn to Lamback, whose eyes were closed and whose body lay still.
“Lamback!” David called as he rolled onto his side. “Lamback!” he blared while grabbing Lamback’s shoulder. “He’s not moving!” David exclaimed as he dragged himself to balance on his left knee, and then hoisted his chest off of the ground to grasp Lamback. “B, what’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t…” Bryen looked to his syringe. “But…”
“He doesn’t have powers! So it shouldn’t affect him, right?” Shawn asked, while David pressed his hands on Lamback’s neck and wrists.
“No, no, that’s_”—Bryen glared at his syringe. “That’s wrong! That—this is bad—Lamback doesn’t have powers! He’s got nothing buffering the B-17. Without anything specific for it to attack, he’s just being poisoned!”
“I can’t find a pulse!” David wailed as he squeezed Lamback’s neck.
“Well what are we supposed to do!?” Shawn exclaimed.
“We need to restart his heart”, David exclaimed as he spun. “Klinge, you said you still had a charge!?” Nate lifted his hands and squeezed his fingers, but flashing into view were only a few bolts.
“No, wait…” Nate shuffled his hands into his pants pocket, yanked out his phone, squeezed it in his left, and, in his right, conjured a stronger, seconds-long burst. “I can redirect!” he exclaimed to David. “But I can’t channel unless I’m in immediate contact with a strong charge!”
“Phones!” David exclaimed as he dragged himself aside. Nate crawled to Lamback, knelt atop him, and spun for the nearest device. Shawn threw his phone, and Nate caught it, squeezed it with his lef
t, and then, his face tightening, squeezed his right, and slapped Lamback’s chest. An electric shock sped through Lamback and caused him to seize, but nothing more. Nate lifted his right and slapped Lamback’s chest again, but, once more, aside from the initial jerk, Lamback lay still.
“Next!” Nate called as he looked to David shuffling through his pocket. Nate spun to Bryen, who was pulling his phone from the center of the table and lobbing it to him. Nate caught it and recommenced, shaking for a moment as he tightened his grip around Bryen’s phone and then lifting his arm.
“I don’t get it”, Shawn muttered as Nate restarted those smacks, “why haven’t his powers failed?”
“Different body type, different power, and he was probably the last one to get hit”, Bryen murmured. “He could have another minute, another thirty seconds, or…” he turned to Shawn, “they could vanish in the next moment, or the moment after that.”
“Next!” Nate gasped, his face covered in sweat and the fingers of his left twitching as he dropped the phone. David handed him his phone, and Nate clasped it in the center of the cooked skin of his left. Nate swatted Lamback’s chest twice, but found no response. “I need more!” he exclaimed as he dropped David’s phone. David scoured the room and locked onto the landline phone in the center of the table. He hobbled on his hands and knees, clasped the end of the cord hanging off of the table’s side, and jerked the phone to the floor. Then, David wrapped the power cord connecting into the wall around his right knuckles, held the end connecting into the phone with his left, and pulled, his human strength loosening the rubber exterior, then stretching it, and then ripping it from the device to expose its copper wires. David tossed it, and Nate caught it, closing his right over the open cords and convulsing before tightening his torso. He swatted Lamback’s chest, lifted and swatted again, and again, thrusting in sharper and more haphazard hits; yet, the body was unmoving. “Come on!” Nate grunted as he smacked his knuckles into Lamback’s chest. “Come on!” he growled as he swung with greater and harsher force. “Come on!” he roared as he jabbed Lamback’s chest and made him convulse.
“Klinge!” David gasped as he reared forward, “what in God’s name_!?”
A liquid expectoration sounded in front of David and below Nate. As they looked on, Lamback’s chest thrust downward, his mouth opened, and a hoarse exhalation screeched from his nose. Neither David nor Nate moved or blinked, their eyes concentrated on that body and for assurance that what they had seen weren’t the signs of life but a reaction from a deceased form. After several moments, Lamback’s chest rose in a sweltering thrust, and, as David and Nate looked on, with both tensing, Lamback’s nostrils flared, and his eyes, in small flashes, opened halfway, while his breaths recommenced in slow wheezes. Nate then looked to David while throwing down the severed cord, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the burned center of his right hand, and sighing.
“This is kind of awkward”, Lamback murmured as he found Nate straddling his gut.
Groaning, Nate rolled off of Lamback and crawled away, while David pulled himself to Lamback and felt his neck. “Glad to have you back.”
“Lamback, you scared us for a bit”, Shawn remarked as he reclined along the wall.
“My bad”, Lamback mumbled.
“You’re not out of the woods, yet”, David replied. “The poison’s still running through your system. The only way to guarantee that your heart doesn’t stop again is by neutralizing it and flushing it out.” David looked to Nate, Bryen, and Shawn. “We need to get this guy a glass of water; it might help expedite the drug from our systems as well.”
“Well”, Shawn grunted as he scanned that room and the office behind them. “Where are we going to find water around here?”
Chapter Thirteen: Sunday, 21 February [Part Two]
The sensation of weightlessness acted as the first conscious signal within an otherwise inactive mind. Following was a barrage of miniscule and overlapping impacts along the body. Then came the feeling of solid ground pressing against that body, and, with that, came the tingling of water undulating along skin, soaking into clothes, and then seeping into the nose, the mouth, the throat, and then the lungs. Erik gagged and heaved as he opened his eyes. The side of his head rested along a cement surface and waded within an inch of rainwater, while his back felt the myriad drops descending from the bluish-grey expanse overhead. Erik scanned the dark brown cement upon which he rested and then dragged his arms to his sides, the act inducing a strain in his shoulders and chest. He placed his palms along the ground and pushed. Fifteen seconds passed before he could pull his upper body from the ground, his torso enflamed with a burn that seemed to strengthen with each breath and simple motion.
After almost a minute, he rested on his knees, and, there, looked out to the rectangular plane upon which he regained consciousness, and to its edge thirty feet before him. Beyond the drop and blanketed in a constant downpour was the Roanoke skyline—the silhouette of silent buildings and empty roads. As Erik looked on, then recalling his location, he cradled his fingers. He then looked to his right, to where another object sat beside him: his katana.
A jagged radiance erupted through the tempest above, illuminating the open space in a white glow which dissipated after a few seconds and caused Erik to sight motion to his far left, towards the doorway leading to the stairwell and the radio tower rising from fifty feet. He turned and found a figure, barely distinguishable from that night, who knelt and pulled at a form outstretched along the ground. In a lurching sway, Erik stood on his right, then, with a rearward tilt, he leaned back to stand on his left. He turned towards those forms, and, as another fulguration dashed across the sky, he made out Arthur Grant reaching to Turrisi by clasping the vest under Turrisi’s shirt, tearing it from Turrisi, and dropping it. The vest’s removal stirred Turrisi to a semiconscious state, but he was limp as Arthur reached to his sides and rent his pistols before tossing them back. Arthur looked from Turrisi to find Erik standing across the roof. Then, after clasping Turrisi’s right ankle, Arthur turned, flung Turrisi overhead, and tugged his grip before Turrisi slapped onto the ground behind him.
Turrisi awakened a moment after impact, both from the slap along his side and the dislocation of his ankle. He wailed as he curled into a ball, with the bottom of his leg engulfed in burning pain. Arthur ignored the cries as he faced Erik and stepped twice before cracking his knuckles. “Do you know what the papers will say, Erik?” Arthur called as he stretched his shoulders. “The story that’ll be told to explain your death in tomorrow’s news reports? Well, Erik, to be honest, there won’t be one.” Erik was silent, his fists squeezing and his shoulders arching. “You were never officially employed by the government, so your death—your decapitation and then the launching of your headless body from this roof—will be covered up. Your parents and your family—we’ll have to tell them, but rest assured they’ll be misinformed. As for Mr. Turrisi, I’ll kill him once I’m done with you; shoot him in the head with his own gun, inject him with some sort of illegal drug—they are very easy to come by—and blame his death on an addiction-fueled murder-suicide. The murder, of course, will include your gaggle of friends who will be helpless for the next four hours, and who, like Mr. Lamback by now, will be nothing more than powerless corpses.”
“No”, Erik grunted as he stepped back, reached to his right, and picked up his katana.
“I’m sorry, ‘no’?” Arthur replied.
“I’ve worked with you, I learned from you, and no matter how begrudgingly you did it, you gave me a chance”, Erik replied as he clamped his scabbard onto his right side. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do or prove, and I’m not going to fight you.”
“Not going to fight me?” Arthur repeated.
“You still have a chance”, Erik replied as he shook his head and stepped back.
“A chance? Redemption, Erik? You, perhaps, think me_?”—Arthur paused as thunder resounded behind him, “misguided, maybe insane?”
�
��I don’t know”, Erik interjected. “It seems like I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know what’s going on with this program or with you, I just_”
“No, Erik”, Arthur interrupted. “There’s no more pleading—not from you. I have no appropriate justification; no means or excuses that would allow me to sleep with my decisions. I know what I’m doing, I know it’s wrong, but, at the same time, I know that it’s right—the greatest good that I could do for this world and for the human race. You see, Erik, your kind, your ‘gifted’, ‘blessed’, or ‘more-evolved’ kin—you all are the multitudinous constituents of a plague—a pandemic of indescribable magnitude, if not to the entirety of the human race, then to me, and to me alone.” Arthur glanced to his left, to that cityscape, before turning back. “Did you know, Erik_?” he stopped as he lifted his left hand, while a crooked smirk slinked across his jaw, “did you figure out that I was the one who was supposed to ambush you?” he asked as he grabbed onto his left shoulder and pulled at the form-fitting grey material covering him. “However, at the last moment, after I had given you and Mr. Lamback orders to report to Quantico, I recalled how you, with little effort it seemed, laid waste to three of Richie the Worm’s guards, whom, like myself, were momentarily endowed with unnatural traits. I suggested that your own abilities needed to be tested further, so I sent, in my stead, one of those same guards, the most irate and the most disgraced of Richie’s cohorts, in a weaker variant of this same suit. He was the one with fighting experience, and he was the one most apt for revenge, making him just manipulable enough to meet my requirements.
“But wait”—Arthur pointed skyward—”I know what you’re thinking: you’ve fought this suit and someone wearing it, so you have no worries of losing. You, after all, proved victorious against it once you became accustomed to that lackey’s abilities and fighting style. As I said, that was a weaker variant. The item I’m wearing, the item I’ve worn for months, augments my speed, strength, and reaction by a factor of twelve, and protects me from forces and conditions that would pulverize a ‘normal’ human.”
