by Karen Hayes
Holding his gun hand in front of him, Chen peeks out.
His head explodes in flames. It's as if someone has poured gas over it, then thrown a match. Screaming, he recoils and rolls over the floor, wheezing and convulsing.
Ramiro shrugs off his backpack. He pulls off his jacket and throws it over Chen's head, then drops to his knees next to him, trying to put out the flames.
Too late. Chen's body convulses one last time, then lies perfectly still. His head looks like a burnt match.
I can't take my eyes off him.
I nearly jump when Chris takes my hand in his. I lace my fingers through his and look away, squeezing his hand. I feel a bit better now.
Belle and Ramiro exchange glances. Then they pick up the dead body and drag it to the wall.
Tyron scrambles from his bed and stumbles toward us, leaning against the wall. His arms hang listlessly.
Emma rushes toward him, supporting him by the elbow.
"Sarah baby, can you hear me?" Greene's loud voice is a mixture of hatred and sick celebration. "You'd better come out! Because if you don't I'll grill them all in front of you!"
I look at Chris. He shakes his head.
"He's trying to trick you," Diana agrees, handing Belle the gun. "Even if you do, he'll burn us all anyway. Or even you, maybe."
"Not her," Chris says. "Adam wants her alive. I'm pretty sure of that. Still, she's not going anywhere. She's staying with us."
With a shrug, Diana turns to Ramiro, "MA12. Do it."
He nods. A faint smile crosses Belle's lips. She seems to know what it's all about.
Tyron and Emma stop by the wall next to us. She supports him, even though he's huge and burly like most guardians and she is so weak and puny I doubt her help amounts to very much. It's just a show, a devious attempt to prove that she too serves a purpose.
I can't even stand next to her, let alone look at her. What a two-faced bitch! The best I can do is ignore her. She can come with us if she wants, I don't care. I'll just pretend she's not there. I can't treat her as a human being anymore. Just a nameless nonentity, a total waste of space.
Ramiro crouches next to his backpack and produces two black tubes. He connects them, twisting one against the other until I hear a loud click.
He stands up, holding what looks like a long rifle with a wide flat barrel and a control panel flashing a green light.
MA12, they said? But of course. This is their fabled neural suppressor. That's what they used to strip us of our memories back at the club.
Chris' grip on my hand tightens. He probably remembered it too.
"So Sarah, what did you decide? Will you come out or would you like me to barbeque your friends?" Greene's voice sounds closer this time.
Ramiro peers at the room's wall next to the corridor. He casts watchful stares right and left, then raises the weapon in his hand, taking aim.
Diana nods. Ramiro pulls the trigger.
Everybody shrinks back with the impact. Ramiro startles, too. The weapon recoils in his hands.
What feels like a powerful sound wave hits me and Chris. I can sense what we both are feeling. My vision blurs, my ears pop. Nausea floods over me. I gulp and try to breathe deep, suppressing the urge to throw up.
A scream comes from the corridor, followed by a groan. Ramiro fires again and again.
Only when the green light turns to red does he finally lower the weapon. He deftly unscrews it, crouches and lays the two halves back in his bag. Belle watches him, grinning with satisfaction.
Ramiro slings the bag over his shoulder and springs to his feet. He's the first to take a peek out the door.
I expect his head to explode in flames like Chen's but nothing happens. There's no fire. Now that Ramiro's removed his jacket I can see the black box of a portable radio clipped to the back of his belt.
"All clear," he steps back, pulls the radio out and extends the aerial.
Diana raises her gun and steps out while Ramiro is shouting into the radio, "Echo! Echo, come in!"
Finally he puts the radio down. "There's no signal."
Diana turns round and points at the air vent behind a steel grate under the ceiling. "Use the Little Boy."
He nods and reaches into his bag again, producing a tiny toy-like quadcopter drone.
Diana jumps up and punches the grate hard. It clatters down to the floor.
Guided by Ramiro, the drone enters the vent. Ramiro tries hard to control it but he's not as good at it as Chen was.
"I'll go have a look," Diana says. Pointing the gun in front of her, she steps out into the corridor.
"Are you using the drone as a signal amplifier?" Chris asks Ramiro. "But if it's-"
"Got it!" Ramiro interrupts him.
Clutching the control console in one hand, he pulls out the radio with the other and turns a knob, then brings it to his ear. "Echo! Echo! What? What did you say?"
As he listens to their answer, a deep furrow crosses his forehead. Something's wrong.
"Roger that," he finally says. "Plan B. We're coming. Yes, you can proceed."
Diana comes back. Without saying a word, she takes her place next to him. Ramiro presses a button on the drone's control console, throws it on the floor, and packs up the radio.
"All the exits are covered," he says. "Even if we get to the fire escape, we can't take the wounded down. What's in the lab?"
"Scorched," Diana says. "Everything is charred, people included. Is it plan B, then?"
"Which is what?" Belle asks.
Ramiro slings the bag over his shoulder and is about to reply when a dull rumbling noise reaches us from above. The lamps lining the corridor expire, then light up again, emitting a weak reddish glow.
Deep in the recesses of the building, alarms start wailing.
"This is plan B," Ramiro says.
"What's that?" I ask.
"We planted a bomb in the hall," Diana says, "just to give them something to do. "To the elevators, quick! Sarah, Chris, don't look into the lab. Not a good idea."
We hurry along the charred corridor. Greene must have used his little red explosive marbles. I can't see him anywhere, though.
"Where's Greene?" I ask Chris softly. "I'm sure Heaven was with him. She must have helped him out."
"They're probably hiding here somewhere," Chris suggests.
Ramiro and Diana run in front, followed by Chris and myself. Belle follows, supporting Tyron whose listless arm is draped around her shoulders. Emma follows in their wake.
I focus my gaze on the floor tiles. They're so bright and shiny. Our shoes slip on the blood, leaving a trail of smudged scarlet footprints behind. I'm not even trying to look in the direction of the lab door. All I can see is the fragments of the large observation window which exploded with the heat. Aussie was there, as well as those Hermetis lab workers. Greene is a total nutcase. If anyone deserves to die, it's him!
Emma punches in the code by the door. We barge into the small surveillance room. This time, there's no guard in it.
We cram into the elevator. Ramiro gets in last. The doors close, cutting us off from the charred, bloodied nightmare. The elevator begins to climb.
"Our objective was to get the albino and release the prisoners," Diana says pointedly, as if reproaching Ramiro for our failure. "And what do we have? We've lost two men and released three, if you count-" she casts a meaningful glance at Emma.
"I did all I could," Ramiro snaps back. Diana doesn't reply.
"You okay?" Chris whispers.
I look up. Our eyes meet. His eyes seem bright and brilliant in the weak emergency lighting.
I can't help myself. I put my hands around him and press my forehead to his chest. Let them watch. I don't give a damn.
He too wraps his hands around me. His chin presses against the top of my head. I can feel his heart thumping in sync with mine.
The elevator shudders to a halt. The lights go out.
"Shit!" Ramiro barks in the dark.
'They've swi
tched the emergency power off," Diana's voice replies.
Ramiro wheezes his indignation. He switches on a flashlight, its beam fleeting over our tense faces and the cabin's low ceiling.
"Right, whatcha stallin' for? Get out," he snaps.
We climb out through a narrow hatch in the ceiling. Chris lifts me toward it effortlessly as if I weigh nothing at all.
I look up. The elevator shaft goes on forever, studded with the crimson dots of the emergency lights. The taut cables produce a low humming sound.
One by one we climb onto a dusty service ladder and begin our ascent. The narrow steel rungs keep slipping out of my hands. I try not to look down. Instead, I keep staring up at the nearest steel door overhead.
It doesn't take our guardians long to open it. Belle and Ramiro pull the two halves of the door apart while we scramble out into an empty echoing corridor. There're no offices here yet, just a concrete void with bare wires sticking out of the unfinished ceilings.
"The stairs," Diana commands.
By the time we get there, the stairwell fills with the echo of many footsteps hurrying up after us.
We run upstairs. Chris helps Belle to carry Tyron who can barely drag his feet up the stairs.
Ramiro pulls his radio out again. He's not even trying to keep his voice down.
"Echo! Come in! Are you already there? ETA one minute!"
Emma keeps craning her neck as she runs, peeking fearfully down the dark stairwell. It's a good job the elevator has taken us almost all the way up. We're nearly there.
Finally, the last landing. Diana shoulders a door open. We run through a utility room, then up another staircase with steel mesh steps toward yet another door...
Then we find ourselves on the tower's roof.
A chilly wind rips at my clothes. A gray sky looms close overhead. The empty roof is enormous.
A helicopter is idling at a round landing pad nearby, its thudding rotors slicing through the air.
Suddenly a blast of air wafts my hair in my face. Losing my balance, I grab at Chris' jacket. He draws me closer.
A powerful force hits us in the back, throwing us onto the roof. The world around me is swirling; I lose Chris' hand. I hit a concrete bollard and cry out in pain.
Groaning, I scramble to my hands and knees.
The others are already by the helicopter. Whoever attacked us, targeted Chris and myself. Chris is in a much worse way than I am: he flew right over the bollard and is now sprawled out the ground, clutching his head and trying fruitlessly to climb back to his feet.
"Help Chris!" I scream.
Belle and Emma are busy loading Tyron into the copter. Ramiro and Diana turn to the sound of my voice. They run toward us, grab Chris under his armpits and drag him toward the landing pad.
Now I can see Trace standing by the open door of the stairwell. He's wearing a business suit with a white dress shirt, his tie flapping in the wind over the unbuttoned suit jacket.
He stretches his arm out in front of him, as if pushing the air forward.
Pressure pins me to the bollard. Still, I'm not his main target. Nor is the group which is saving Chris. Trace is aiming at the copter which screeches into motion, slipping slowly across the pad.
Trace's face turns crimson with the effort. A vein bulges on his forehead. Even for him it's not that easy.
A few more duals appear in the doorway behind his back. I've seen them before, either at the gym or in some of Hermetis offices, even though I don't know their names.
The only person I recognize is Heaven. Her face, usually so calm, is distorted by fury.
So she left Greene to lick his wounds and decided to come after us?
Diana and Ramiro make it to the copter and haul Chris' body into the open hatch. Tyron, Belle and Emma are already inside. Screeching, the copter keeps inching off the pad.
Trace moves his hand, sending Diana and Ramiro flying through the air. Diana is thrown into the copter through the hatch while Ramiro hits its side and begins to slide to the ground. Diana reaches out and pulls him in by the shoulders.
Behind Trace's back, Heaven raises a small assault rifle with a long, curved clip. A guy next to her reaches under his suit jacket for a gun.
I focus on Trace, penetrating his mind.
Cover us, I command.
He startles, trying to wriggle out of my mental grip. I break through his defenses, then make him turn round.
Trace spreads his arms wide, knocking the other duals off their feet. Heaven's head hits the corner of a small concrete structure by the door. The weird weapon falls from her hands.
Two more Hermetis workers take cover behind the structure. I can sense their powers: they kind of tickle my skin. What are they going to do?
Walk over to them and throw them off the roof, I command.
Trace steps toward them like a robot. The other duals are trying to scramble to their feet. Heaven reaches for her gun.
Still firmly focused on Trace's mind, I stand up and begin to back off toward the copter, walking as fast as I can without tripping.
Suddenly the sound of the rotors changes. Terrified, I glance behind me. It's taking off!
No! Wait!
I run toward it. Belle leans out and offers me her hand. I reach out to grab it. I'm almost there.
The copter keeps rising heavily and slowly, listing to one side as it takes off from the roof. I can make it! I know I can!
"Wait."
The voice paralyzes me. It crushes my will, crumbling it like a house of cards. I lose track of Trace's mind and trip over, collapsing to the ground in a helpless heap.
"Get up. Turn round."
Obediently I scramble to my feet. This is what a hooked fish must feel like, being tugged by an invisible line.
The copter is flying away. My gaze glides over the sky and the roofs as I turn round.
I stare at the golden blond hair. The pale eyes, the handsome face. Adam is smiling at me, drawing my mind in, hypnotizing. Next to the other duals still trying to get to their feet he seems to be glowing with an inner light.
I can't do anything. Nothing at all. I can't even speak.
"Come here," he says.
I obey. I hate to look at his smug face but I can't help it. He's entangled me in his web; he's everywhere around me.
He's within me, too.
I can't sense Chris. He's not my guardian anymore. I'm not his carrier.
Adam has become me. I have become him.
Chapter Sixteen
Chris
THE GENERAL lingers next to a long steel computer desk. "We can't save the girl now," he repeats.
I can't argue with him.
The copter's deafening roar is still ringing in my ears. We've just put down on a small landing pad behind the abandoned factory. Emma and the wounded duals have been taken to the hospital. The others are now here, on the ex-factory's production floor which now serves as a conference room.
Chairs are scattered around several computer desks. Three monitor screens are mounted on the wall next to a large electronic map of the USA.
"She was covering us! You abandoned her!" I shout at him.
My head is splitting. They've already dressed the deep cut on my forehead which I received in my fall. Every time I swing around sharply, my vision blurs.
A giant of a man walks over to the General. He's a guardian like myself. Everybody calls him Cox even though his real name is apparently Kostya. I think he's Russian.
The big woman with a crew cut walks next to him, sporting a huge bruise over one side of her face. Her name is Magna. They met us at the landing pad together with two more agents and a doctor who dressed our wounds. Then they brought us here.
"We have a deal," I remind the General. "We help you, you let me and Sarah go. Is that correct? You said you wouldn't hurt Sarah. You promised me not to eliminate her as you did other carriers!"
I already know what he's going to say. Which is exactly how he explains it,
"T
he agreement is still valid. We're keeping our side of the deal."
His smug tone infuriates me. "And so do I! Sarah did, too! Which is why we need to get her out of there!"
"Chris, please," the General says. "You're yet to realize that the life of one person means nothing. You either understand this or you die. Duals always have catastrophes in their wake. The medieval outbreaks of the Black Death, mass murders, the Black Thursday of October 29 1929 - that was all your doing. Here at the Agency, we aim to protect humanity from the duals' destructive influence. We intend to eliminate them all. This is our goal, our raison d'etre. That's what we live for."
Buffalo, Diana and Ramiro enter the room. The latter two look rather worse for wear. The ex-Seal makes up for them both: in his pale-green pants and black combat boots, a short-sleeved camo shirt hugging his biceps, his buffalo tattoo and the straight face of an honest soldier he seems to be brimming with energy. An unbending, dangerous, angular sonovabitch. Or at least that's the impression he gives me. Hostile, too. He seems to be ready to attack me at the General's first notice.
Buffalo nods to Cox and Magna, motioning them to the door. They walk over to it, shut it and freeze on guard next to it.
Ramiro drops the backpack onto the desk and perches himself on its edge, wincing and touching gingerly the small of his back. Then he hunches up, resting his bronzed arms listlessly on his knees. He's still holding the gun.
Diana slumps into a chair and throws her legs on the desk, then casts me a moody look. Ramiro too keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye. In this situation, grabbing a monitor and bashing the General's head in with it - which I'd dearly love to do - might not be such a good idea, after all. It might actually be the last thing I'd do in this life.
"Where's my father?" I ask.
"He's away on business," the General says. "In Minnesota. He's taking a closer look at their exclusion zone. So they were expecting you at Hermetis, were they?"
Before I can reply, Diana butts in, "Absolutely."
"A hundred percent," Ramiro waves an affirmative with his gun hand.
"That's the impression I got too," I agree. "Then again, there were people practicing in the gym on our way there. It looked like business as usual. But had Adam cleared our way completely, that would have been too suspicious."
