Infinity Lost (The Infinity Trilogy Book 1)

by Harrison, S.

It bounces off and the door shivers pathetically.

  I grip the chair tighter. This time. This time it will break.

  I hoist the chair over my head, take a huge, deep breath, and, screaming with rage, swing the chair at the door with all my might. It slams against the door and rebounds off, out of my hands, flying backward into the air behind me. I examine the door, and, to my delight, see that a hairline crack has cleaved the frosted glass from top to bottom.

  I feel a moment of pure elation. “I almost did it!” I spring forward and push hard on the door with all my weight, but it doesn’t budge. One or two more hits like that ought to do it.

  I turn to retrieve my chair. I take three steps toward it and freeze in my tracks.

  The third Drone has stepped forward from the line.

  Margaux lets out an ear-piercing scream as the Drone slowly turns its silver-hooded head and looks directly at me.

  She’s here. Nanny Theresa is here.

  Everyone else is staring at the Drone, and they all look as petrified as I feel. Margaux and Bit are backing away from it, Brent is hiding behind Brody, and Ryan has his chair gripped tightly in his hands, pointing its legs at the Drone like a lion tamer at a three-ring circus.

  I lunge forward and snatch my chair from the floor.

  The Drone advances toward me. I spin on my heels and run the other way, swinging my chair up over my head as I go. I heave it forward, yelling at the top of my lungs, and slam it against the cracked door. The glossy-white chair snaps at the base as the frosted-glass rectangle shatters, pouring thousands of tiny pieces down in a door-shaped cascade before avalanching in all directions across the white-tile floor.

  I lose my footing, slipping on the tiny fragments of glass, and fall onto my knees into the short white corridor beyond. I skitter around on all fours in the sea of frosted pebbles, desperately trying to get to my feet when I suddenly feel a hand clench my ankle with an iron grip. I kick back as hard as I can, but I can’t escape the Drone’s hold. It fiercely yanks me backward off the ground and I scream as I’m sent tumbling, arms and legs flailing, high through the air.

  I slam hard into the first Drone in the line and the wind is punched out of me as it dominoes into the second. They both topple over like giant pins in a bowling alley, and I crumple into a heap on the cold white floor.

  I look up, struggling for breath, and through the tangled mess of hair across my face I see the Drone striding toward me, straight-backed and regimental just like Nanny Theresa used to, its arm stretched out in front of it as it reaches down to grab me again. With a glossy-white flash and a loud crack, a chair smashes across the back of its head and it falls onto its knees, its quietly whirring hand clutching at the air three inches from my face.

  Brody raises the chair again and brings it down hard on the Drone’s back, flattening it to the floor as Ryan grabs my hand and pulls me sliding in his direction. The Drone lies motionless, Brody still standing above it with the chair at the ready, watching it for the slightest twitch. All of a sudden, the fifth Drone steps forward from the line and strides toward me.

  Ryan sees it coming and grabs for the chair beside him. He manages to get one hand on it and swings it at the oncoming Drone. It effortlessly catches one of the chair legs, wrenches it out of Ryan’s hand, and tosses it aside. With lightning speed, it grabs Ryan’s wrist and viciously jerks. I hear the pop of his shoulder dislocating from its socket as he flies through the air and lands heavily on his back. His head smacks against the floor and he’s knocked senseless, clear on the other side of the room.

  Panting uncontrollably, I kick my feet against the floor, sliding backward, trying to get away. My back hits up against the wall with a thud.

  The Drone walks forward and reaches down toward me.

  My heart is racing in my chest and I hold my hand up in futile defense. “No. Please.” It bends down and grabs my hand, crushing my fingers. I scream in agony as the bones pop and break; excruciating pain shoots up my arm as my fingers splay out in contorted angles from the edge of the Drone’s vise grip.

  It releases my hand and I quickly pull my badly broken fingers to my chest. Through the tears streaming from my eyes, I see the Drone’s oval mask morphing its shape, hissing softly, grotesquely sculpting itself from a shiny black plastic gloss into deep lines of wrinkled, leathered flesh. Lips and eyes and a pock-marked nose mold into being as its eyelids flicker and snap open. Looking down on me with an icy-gray glare is the all-too-familiar face that even death could not destroy: the fully formed and resurrected mask of Dr. Theresa Pierce.

  The face smiles before it speaks, and, when it does, its sneer seems to glisten with the bitter venom of absolute hatred.

  “Nanny Theresa is here to tuck you in, Infinity. And this time, child, just to be sure, your head comes away from your neck.”

  It reaches down. Its silver fingers are a hair’s breadth from my throat and I’m defenseless to stop it. I close my eyes. Maybe when I’m dead it will let everyone else go? A whimper escapes my lips and I sob as I brace myself for the pain. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear what I can only describe as a full-blown battle cry. I open my eyes. The outstretched hand is still hovering at my throat, but Nanny Theresa’s face has turned toward the roaring voice as Brody sails through the air and hits the Drone from the side with a brutal shoulder tackle, wiping it clean off its feet. Brody and the Drone slide across the floor, grappling as they go. Brody struggles to fight back, but the Drone is far too strong. It wrestles around and grabs him in a bear hug from behind. Brody arches his neck in pain as it squeezes him with a python-like death grip.

  “Brody!” I screech. I watch in horror as Brody’s face begins turning purple and his eyes roll back in his head. “Leave him alone! You want to kill me! I’m right here! Leave him alone!” I’m not sure if what I just said made any difference, but Nanny Theresa’s face instantly changes back to a smooth black plastic oval, like a switch has been flicked off, leaving Brody lying on the floor, groaning in pain, but thankfully alive, trapped in the Drone’s frozen embrace.

  The Drone at the end of the line, number six, moves its arms, flexes its fingers, and looks toward Margaux, who shrieks and crouches down on the floor, hiding her face in her arms. I stare at the back of its head, cradling my own twisted, buckled digits with my other hand, wincing with pain.

  I look over at Bit. She’s sitting on the floor against the wall with her knees against her chest, her eyes filled with tears. “Bit! Get out of here!” I yell, pushing my back against the wall, sliding up onto my feet. Bit doesn’t move. She’s staring into space. The gravity of everything that has happened has finally weighed her down and closed her off.

  “Brent!” I shout. He flinches, cowering behind his chair. “Break the outer door! Get us out of here! Hurry!”

  He nods, picks up his chair and, half-skidding on the small glass pebbles, disappears into the white corridor beyond door two. Ryan is still on the floor, dazed, moaning and clutching his shoulder.

  “Leave them alone!” I yell at the back of the sixth Drone’s head.

  It turns toward me, Nanny Theresa’s face fully formed on its lithe silver body. The effect is wholly unnerving.

  It glances at Brody on the floor. He’s straining to move the inert Drone’s arms but is clearly failing. He’s obviously no longer a threat to Nanny Theresa and is also in absolutely no position to help me, either. I’m grateful that he tried. The Drone steps over him and slowly continues walking toward me.

  “Why?” I whimper softly. “I know you’re going to murder me . . . but before you do, I need to know why.”

  It stops and looks at me, tilting its head, Nanny Theresa’s eyes narrowing as if she were pondering my final request.

  “Why?” it says in Nanny Theresa’s voice. A voice I never imagined would be the last voice I would ever hear. “I’m not going to murder you, Infinity. It isn’t possible to murder so
mething that was never human to begin with.”

  I open my mouth to say something but no words come out. I’m too dumbfounded to form any kind of response.

  Nanny Theresa’s expression is one I can only describe as bemused.

  “Poor Infinity. I have to admit, there were times when I almost felt sorry for you. You were always kept so deep in the dark.”

  All I can do is look at her with complete confusion.

  “That sentimental idiot, Major Brogan, is the one to blame. He is the reason for all your suffering, Infinity. He is the one who tried to make you into something that you are not.”

  My mind is reeling with bewilderment. “What . . . what are you talking about?”

  “He thought he had found a way to give you a normal life. The fool was even granted permission to send you to school, for heaven’s sake. But it was an existence you were never meant to have, Infinity. A life you were never meant to know. All he succeeded in doing was blinding you to who you really are.”

  “Who I really am?” I whisper.

  The Drone with Nanny Theresa’s face takes another step toward me. I back away, hitting up against the wall.

  “Tell me.” I can’t stop my voice from faltering. “Please . . . who am I?”

  “Did I say who?” The Nanny Theresa mask smiles snidely. “I’m sorry, please excuse my inaccuracy. I meant to say, what you really are.”

  It reaches a silver hand toward me and cruelly curls its artificial fingers around my neck.

  “Finn!” yells Ryan. I can see him over the Drone’s shoulder, struggling to his feet, wincing in pain, his arm dangling uselessly by his side.

  Tears stream down my cheeks. “Tell me, please, I need to know . . . what am I?”

  Its grip on my throat tightens and I flail at the Drone’s side with my good hand. It has absolutely no effect.

  Nanny Theresa’s face leans in close and softly whispers in my ear, “You, my dear, are the key to a door that should never be opened.”

  I shut my eyes tight and hope that this will all be over quickly. Splinters of light streak through the dark and my breaths get shorter as the Drone’s fingers squeeze even tighter. Flashes of faces explode in my mind. I see Jonah’s smile—a smile that I used to adore. The sky is blue above him, the clouds cotton white. I see Bit sitting at her desk in our dorm room, laughing at one of my terrible jokes. Carlo’s deep, emerald-green eyes look into mine, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight as he leans in to kiss me. Our lips softly touch and for a fleeting instant I’m thirteen again, reliving the happiest moment of my life.

  I don’t want to die, Carlo.

  I don’t want to die, but there is nothing I can do.

  There is no more air in my throat.

  There’s nowhere left to run.

  No more fight in my heart.

  And with a final gasp . . . everything goes black.

  The searing pain in my lungs disappears and my hand stops hurting. I feel like I’m floating, like I’m being taken away from my body, drifting away like smoke in the night. I’m gently laid down in the soft of the void and the dark is my blanket, wrapping around my body like a thick cocoon. I’m so very sleepy. All I want to do is close my eyes and drift away. Drift away and be part of the warm, dark silence forever. Close your eyes now, Finn. Close your eyes and sleep forever. Your spark is fading and will soon be gone. No more pain. No more misery.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  That sound . . . What is that sound?

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Is it? Yes, I think it is. It’s someone’s footsteps in the dark.

  I wearily look in the direction of the sound and see a figure silhouetted in a soft light glowing from somewhere in the endless blackness. Am I dead? Has death come to take me?

  The footsteps stop and the dim light begins to brighten and widen and rise up high above the figure’s head, shining down on its long, smooth, black hair.

  Suddenly there’s a voice, whispering from all around. It’s strange and distorted, tinny and cold; it speaks from nowhere and echoes into everywhere.

  “Do you know what your problem is, Finn?” asks the voice.

  I move my lips but nothing comes out. The voice speaks again, cutting like a blade through the dark.

  “Your problem is . . . you give up too easily.”

  This time the voice is so familiar that it chills me to the core. Suddenly a new light, harsh and bright, bursts forth from the darkness like a commanding beacon, directly into the figure’s face and I see for the first time who that person is.

  It’s me.

  Inexplicably, dressed all in black, standing before me in a cone of blinding light . . . is me! A smile curls at the edges of her lips. The mirror image of me has a look in her eyes that I’ve never seen in my own eyes before. It’s like the death stare of a stalking jaguar. She steps out of the light and it fades away as she kneels down beside me. She takes my hand in hers and gently strokes my hair, smiling down at me with what almost looks like pity. I don’t know why, but I feel . . . afraid of her.

  Suddenly I know. Suddenly it all makes perfect sense.

  She is the one I saw in my memories! She is the one who kills as easily as breathing. She did those horrible things . . . not me! She leans in close and I find that I can’t move at all. I’m paralyzed by my own presence. She’s not me. She looks like me, but we are as different from each other as night is from the day.

  “Close your eyes, Finn,” she whispers, her breath cold against my cheek. “There’s no need to worry.”

  She softly runs her fingers through my hair. Deep inside I find the courage to look up into her face. She looks down at me and her smile disappears. With one quick movement, she grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls it back, hard. I screw up my eyes in pain, my mouth open wide in a silent scream. She releases her grip and I open my eyes to find that she’s gone, vanished into the void even faster than she arrived. I don’t even have time to wonder what this could mean when her voice drifts down from somewhere up above and echoes in my ears.

  “Now, it’s my turn.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Deafening tones of warning punch through my skull. My right hand, my lungs, and my collapsing windpipe are all urgently insistent and annoyingly unanimous. Damage. Damage. Damage.

  I force my eyes open and find myself staring directly into the all-too-familiar, dead-eyed glare of Dr. Theresa Pierce.

  I always hated that bitch.

  I look down to see that her grinning face is gruesomely attached to the silver-hooded head of a Drone Template’s body. Her attention switches from my throat to my open eyes, and even though she’s only a few seconds away from completely crushing my windpipe, I take delight in the fact that her face suddenly flashes with shocked surprise.

  I hold up my right hand and assess the damage. All five fingers are twisted and badly broken. The skin is mostly intact apart from a short spike of red-stained bone jutting from the side of my thumb. I stare at them angrily and concentrate. I force what’s left of the oxygen in my blood to burn into energy. My crumpled fingers momentarily quiver; then, like resurrected soldiers being called to attention, they obediently pop and wiggle and move and straighten themselves back into place. The open wound on my thumb closes itself up from the bottom like a flesh-colored zipper, leaving nothing behind but a tiny drop of blood on the surface of my skin. I wiggle them to test that they’re working. Dr. Peirce’s eyes narrow fiercely as her grip clutches twice as tight as before. She quickly grabs my throat double-handed and squeezes even harder. With a Drone’s strength she could very likely rip me apart. I had better make absolutely sure that she doesn’t.

  I concentrate and immediately reinforce the calcium and iron deposits in the bones of my neck, hardening and fusing the ver
tebrae like a column of stone.

  I’m sure that the good doctor here would know that calcium and iron are common metals found in everyone’s bodies, and even though she has no idea what I’m doing, I’m guessing by the hilarious bewildered look on her face that she’s wondering why she’s having so much trouble tearing my head off.

  That’s right. It’s my body now, and it does exactly what it’s told. Just like a good soldier should.

  It’s time to turn the tables. I push my fingers up between her wrists, gripping the left one, locking it in place with my left hand. I increase the bone density in my right forearm and overstimulate the muscles in my arm. It pistons upward in a blur, palm striking the back of her elbow like a battering ram. With a loud crack, her elbow joint buckles completely, jutting toward the ceiling, releasing her grip from my neck. Her expression doesn’t change at all. From past experience, people usually scream their lungs out just from witnessing their own arm being snapped like a tree branch. Oh, of course. This isn’t really her body and she’s not really Theresa Pierce. Just her digitized brain waves and troll-like face in a quite frankly ridiculous foil wrapper.

  Focus. It still has you by the neck with its other hand. I concentrate and taper the edge of the bone inside my right forearm like a sword. The joint is the weakest part of any limb, be it flesh and bone or artificial like this Drone’s, so with one deft, lightning-fast axe strike, I chop completely through its other skinny arm at the elbow. I wouldn’t usually use such an extreme technique. Shaping my bones into blades slices my skin as well, and the repairs just mean more for me to think about, but this android thing is a lot tougher than a human. It had to be done. And to my delight, the desired outcome is joyfully satisfying.

  Stuff squirts out the severed end.

  It isn’t blood, though. It’s all thick and glowing orange.

  Gross. Freed from strangulation, I bring my knee up, push from my hips, and the android stumbles backward. I pull the dripping severed appendage from my throat, toss it aside, and finally inhale a massive relieving breath, soaking in the oxygen and silencing the loudest of the annoying alert gongs ringing in my head. In the next two breaths I repair my windpipe, refill my collapsed lung, and return the flexibility to my neck.