An Army of One: The Extraordinary Series

by Eaton, Pam

  As soon as I say those words, the quiet starts to sink in.

  “I think we should leave,” I tell Tony.

  He puts down the jar he’s holding and looks at me confused. “Why?”

  “We’ve been here for ten minutes, and no one has entered this room.”

  “Maybe they’re off for the night?”

  “No.” I shake my head vehemently. “Every place we’ve raided, they’ve been doing things at night.”

  I walk towards him, ready to grab him and get out of here. His eyes dart around the room, and his hands shake a little. Has he been this nervous the whole time?

  “I want to check out one more thing,” he says, pointing to the opposite wall.

  “Let’s do it quickly,” I say, and grab his hand.

  He stares at the wall, and then tilts his head and squints. “Not possible,” he says so softly, that I’m not sure he knows he said it out loud.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He’s supposed to be dead.”

  Fourteen

  “Who—”

  I don’t get to finish my question, because Tony keeps ahold of my hand and rushes me to the door connecting us to the other room. He drops my hand and quickly whips the door open, rushing into the other room.

  The smell of antiseptic hangs heavy in the air, and it’s accompanied by the sound of beeps. I move around the door. Tony stops near the end of a hospital bed, and it’s occupied.

  “Tony,” I whisper-shout his name.

  He doesn’t move, so I walk quietly towards him, looking around the room for someone hiding. Because there’s no way they left this person alone in here.

  “Tony. We gotta—” The sight before me robs me of all my words. This can’t be real.

  “Gregory,” I say in an anguished whisper. My hands come up to cover my mouth.

  He’s alive. He’s alive!

  I wipe my eyes, but he’s still there. I watch his chest rise and fall, and that almost brings me to my knees.

  I walk closer to his still body laid out in a hospital bed. Wires and tubes run off of him. Machines softly beep behind him. I lift my hand, desperately wanting to touch him, but afraid that it’ll be an illusion that will shatter.

  My hand softly grazes his, and the warmth of his skin is what finally undoes me. My knees buckle and they slam to the floor, his hand still in mine. “What happened to you?” I say softly, holding his hand close to my face.

  My tears moisten his dry skin. And it takes several moments, but I finally drag myself to my feet and stare into a face I thought I would only get to see in my dreams. His eyes are taped

  closed and a breathing tube is coming out of his mouth. I bring up my free hand and gently run my fingers through his brown hair. I lean in and press my lips to his temple. I can feel the life in him, and my heart gives a hard thump. But he doesn’t smell like Gregory. He smells like Band-Aids and antiseptic.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t look sooner for you.” The words come out choked, forced. “I’m so sorry,” I say, the guilt and pain almost unbearable.

  “Becca,” Tony says from behind me. He places a hand on my shoulder.

  “We’ve got to call the others. We need to get him out of here,” I say, not taking my eyes off of Gregory.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding tortured. And I think he means about Gregory, but then he shoves a needle into my neck and plunges something into my body.

  What?

  I drop Gregory’s hand and reach back for the syringe, but he’s already pulled out the needle. I turn and face him, but I stumble to the side. A whoosh sounds to my left and I whip to find the noise. My eyes widen as I watch Chelsea walk through the door at the other side of the room. Her arms are crossed, eyes averted.

  I try to transport, but nothing happens. I start to lose feeling in my legs, causing me to sway, and Tony catches me. I try to slap his hands away, but I can’t lift my arms. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, and I finally look at him.

  “Why?” the word comes out garbled.

  He gently lays me down on the ground. “Because they have my mom,” he says.

  “I would…have…helped…” I can’t finish the words; my lips won’t form them.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again.

  His face starts to blur, and my eyelids start to droop. I hear the click of heels approaching, but I can’t keep my eyes open.

  “You know he’s not going to let your mom go,” I hear Chelsea say.

  It’s hard to latch on to what they’re saying. Who’s he?

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I hear Tony roar.

  Something crashes near me, but an insistent buzzing fills my ears, and everything else fades.

  * * *

  The soft sound of murmured voices reaches me first. What happened? Memories come rushing back. What am I going to do?

  I go to move my hands, but they’re secured by my sides. I try to transport, and nothing.

  Footsteps stop near my feet. I hold my breath. “You’re going to have to stay here the whole time. Did he tell you that?” a man says. His voice is deep, rough, like he’s been smoking cigarettes since he was ten. But there’s something eerily familiar about it.

  But he’s not talking to me, because the clack of heels walk across the floor. They don’t know I’m awake. I try to stay utterly still.

  “If I need to leave, I can just knock her out,” Chelsea says, like it’s not a big deal to have her blocking my powers, or keeping me chained to a bed, or injecting me with who-knows-what drugs.

  Chelsea sounds like an awesome person. But what am I going to do? “Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” the man asks.

  “One way to find out,” Chelsea says, and her heels click against the floor as she moves closer.

  The sound of metal scraping against metal causes the hair on my arms to raise. What is that?

  “Leave her alone!” Tony?

  Tony. His name feels like a curse even in my mind.

  “Little late to start protecting her, don’t you think?” the man drawls.

  Tony starts to say something, but I block out his voice at the feel of a hand trailing up my arm. I try my best to keep my breathing under control, but I want to open my eyes so bad. The hand stops just above my elbow, and then I feel the cool press of metal against my skin. And that wouldn’t startle me, but the sharp edge slightly sliding across and cutting me does.

  My eyes pop open and stare directly in Chelsea’s. “Gotcha,” she says, and if I could raise my arms, I’d punch her in her smug face.

  “Are you really that surprised considering that you’re holding”—I look at her hand—“a freaking scalpel to my arm!”

  “Enough.”

  I turn my head.

  Everything freezes at the smirk on his face. I’ve seen that before, that exact facial expression. But the last time I saw Henderson was in Myanmar. Something else is nagging me.

  “It doesn’t make a difference. No one will hear you.” The way he says that makes my heart skip, like there’ve been plenty of people trapped down here screaming.

  “Good to see you again,” he laughs. “Well, maybe not so good for you.”

  It clicks. That voice. He’s the man who kidnapped Gregory. Who “rescued” the kids.

  “Where’ve you been, Becca?” Chelsea asks me like we’re just friends having a chat.

  Woman is unhinged.

  I keep my mouth closed, because does she really think I’m going to tell her? My eyes stay on her hand; she hasn’t put down the scalpel.

  “Should be using a hunting knife instead, it’d hurt more,” Henderson says like it’s a common fact.

  Chelsea stares at him, a slightly horrified look on her face. If that makes her nervous…

  Fast, erratic beeps from behind me stay Chelsea’s hand. She curses and drops the scalpel on the metal tray. Both she and Henderson rush from my side. I try to turn my head, but I can’t see what they run too.

  “Do we need the crash cart?” he a
sks, but he sounds like he wants her answer to be no.

  Crash cart. Like the shocking thing they use to bring people back to life? What the hell is going on back there? I try to contort my body more, but it’s no use.

  “Don’t you die on me, Gregory,” Chelsea mutters.

  Gregory.

  “What are you doing to him!?” I scream at them, pulling against my restraints, but they don’t even acknowledge me.

  “What’s going on?” I yell at them again. I jerk my body, trying to move the bed, but it’s bolted to the ground.

  The beeping slows. Is that bad? Is he okay? Someone lets out a long sigh. “Think he knows what you’re doing?” I’m assuming he’s asking Chelsea.

  She scoffs. “How? Last I checked, people in medically induced comas aren’t thinking.”

  “Yeah, but how many of those people are mind readers?” Whoa. He does not like her. They might be forced to work together, but from his tone, he thinks she’s an idiot.

  “Doesn’t matter anyways. His vitals are fine now,” she snaps back at him.

  My body relaxes a little bit at her words, until her footsteps take her back towards me.

  Her face comes into view and we stare at one another for a minute. Real fear spreads through me. Not that I wasn’t scared before; it’s just that then I was coasting on adrenaline, but now…now things have sunken in. My heart is racing so fast that I swear I’m having a heart attack.

  Tony starts thrashing from somewhere past my feet. Footsteps storm over in his direction. “Enough,” Henderson commands, and the sounds of flesh pummeling flesh resounds in the room, cutting off Tony’s cursing.

  “Was that really necessary?” Chelsea asks, sounding more annoyed that he took so long beating Tony than him actually hurting Tony.

  “He wouldn’t shut up,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I’m being held by psychopaths. And I have no clue how I’m going to get out of here, never mind take Gregory and Tony with me. Even though part of me wants to leave Tony. He should have trusted me and told me what was happening. Too late now.

  A buzzing fills the room. Chelsea takes a phone out of her pocket and turns away from me. “Yes, she’s here. Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

  She lets out an exasperated sigh. “We need to go. Grab me the syringe,” Chelsea says.

  She stands over me, and I start to struggle against my bonds. “There’s no point,” she says matter-of-factly.

  Henderson walks over and hands her the syringe. Chelsea takes it and lifts up the sleeve of my shirt.

  “I will get out of here.” I look her dead in the eyes. “And then I’ll come for you.”

  She gives me a patronizing smile. “Good luck with that.” And she plunges the liquid into my arm, plummeting me back into a black abyss.

  Fifteen

  “Wakey, wakey,” someone says next to my ear.

  A low groan slips out and I try to turn away, but something won’t allow me to.

  “Open your eyes,” Chelsea says, but my body just doesn’t want to comply.

  A loud whoosh sounds and then a resounding smack. The sharp burn on my face follows closely behind the sound. My eyes shoot open.

  “You’ve got anger problems,” Chelsea tells Henderson.

  “And you take too long,” he snaps back.

  Did he just?

  He hit me.

  This grown man…hit me. My hands clench into tight fists. “What kind of man hits a tied-up woman?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t answer, but his eyes fix on me. There’s my answer. Nothing but pure evil stares back at me. There is no light in this guy. No redeeming this guy.

  My face throbs; any harder and I think he could have broken my cheek bone if he wanted to. Chelsea avoids looking at my face, like she doesn’t care what happened. “I’ve got some questions for you,” she says.

  I don’t answer her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, yet. But I track Henderson out of the corner of my eye; he’s the real danger in this room.

  “We know you’ve been the one infiltrating our labs around the world.” That makes my gaze drift towards her, but I keep my mouth shut. “What I want to know is who’s been helping you find them?”

  I stare at her dead in the eyes, lips sealed.

  “And also, what have you done with the experiments you took with you?”

  “Experiments? You mean the people, the kids, that you locked into cages? That you’ve tortured, treated worse than lab rats?” The unchecked words fly past my lips.

  She looks at me, totally unfazed by my words. She doesn’t care. She’s probably dead inside. I can see it behind her green eyes: the intelligence, the ruthlessness, and the lack of sympathy. She doesn’t care what’s happened to those people.

  We stare at each other, and I see the realization on her face that I’m not going to talk. “Henderson, bring in our other guest,” Chelsea orders.

  He walks out of view, but I hear a heavy door being pulled open. Two sets of footsteps approach the hospital bed I’m strapped to. I turn my head as far as I can.

  One very pissed-off Sariah stands next to a manically grinning Henderson. Her body shakes with anger. Under her eyes are deep, purple smudges, and she still has healing burns covering the right side of her face.

  We stare at each other, not saying a word. I wish I had Gregory’s power right now. I’d love to know what’s going through her mind. “Look, it’s your old friend,” Henderson says, draping an arm over Sariah’s shoulder.

  She shrugs it off. “Don’t touch me,” she tells him without taking her eyes off me.

  He backs up a step, hands up in the air. “Sure, sweetheart.”

  “Sariah agreed to come and ask you some questions since you don’t want to talk with me,” Chelsea says. “But first, Henderson, would you mind securing her to the wall?”

  His body splits into five, which is honestly downright creepy. As one they each remove one of my bonds. I start to thrash, but it doesn’t even faze them. The fifth walks over to Tony, takes out a knife, and stares right into my eyes. Dread races up my spine. “You don’t cooperate, we’ll take more than a finger this time.” His words are cruel, but they halt my movements.

  Tony’s eyes go unfocused, like he’s not here with us anymore. He’s gone somewhere in his head, and by the looks of it, this is an art he’s mastered. My heart breaks for him. A sick feeling wells up inside of me. Henderson must have been the one to torture him in Myanmar. I can’t let them do any more to him.

  Henderson number five keeps his eyes locked on mine as the other four of him undo my hands and feet. “Good girl,” he says, a smirk on his face.

  I’ve never wanted to punch someone so badly.

  They drag my limp body over to the corner, not too far from Gregory’s hospital bed. His monitor starts going crazy, but Chelsea silences the alarm.

  Dangling from the ceiling above my head are a set of cuffs. The two Hendersons holding my feet lift me, while the other two secure my hands. My toes barely scrape the ground. And when the four step back, the weight of my body pulls on my wrists. My shoulders stretch and burn. I try and grab purchase with my toes, but it’s hard. My hands grip the chains above my wrists, and I know I won’t be able to use that leverage for too long.

  “Now, how about you answer some questions?” Chelsea asks.

  I stare straight at her and keep my lips sealed.

  “We’ve got time. You, however—” She points at my body. “How long until your shoulders pop out of their sockets?”

  I still don’t say anything. So, Chelsea pulls a chair over and takes a seat, primly crossing her legs like she isn’t waiting to further torture me.

  I don’t know how long I hang there. It feels like hours—it’s probably only minutes—but it’s enough for sweat to start dripping down my back. My hands begin to shake, rattling the chains. I stay focused on Gregory, on his breathing, trying to use that to help block my mind from the pain in my arms.

  My hands slip, allowing my body to
fall a bit, and I let a low groan escape. But the pain, it’s excruciating. I’ve lost feeling in my fingers.

  Chelsea lets out an irritated sigh. “This is taking too long. Sariah, why don’t you see if she’ll talk.”

  Sariah moves from her spot against the wall and stands right in front of me. Her face is wiped of emotion, and that makes me more scared than Henderson’s crazy.

  A sick smile spreads across Henderson’s face, and my stomach clenches in fear. Why is he so excited? These people are freaking unhinged.

  Sariah takes a deep breath. “Becca.” My whole body locks. There’s no way. “I need you to answer Chelsea’s questions.”

  The world stops at the sound of my grandfather’s—my dead grandfather’s—voice.

  I shake my head back and forth. This isn’t happening.

  “Becca,” I hear Sariah say in his voice again.

  I close my eyes, trying to desperately be somewhere else.

  “Who’s helping you find the labs?” Grandpa asks me.

  No. Not Grandpa. This isn’t Grandpa. They brutally murdered him. Sariah is talking. Not Grandpa.

  “You need to tell us.”

  A low moan slips out at the sound of my grandma’s voice. Bile surges up my throat, but I choke it back down.

  Something sharp touches the underside of my chin. “You can’t escape,” Henderson’s hot breath whispers into my ear.

  I turn my head away, trying to block them all. He puts pressure on the knife, and I hiss at the burn of the cut. My eyes snap to his.

  “I want you paying attention.” He grits the words out. “Now answer her questions.”

  I stare at him, not saying anything. I feel the knife move. My toes grab for purchase again so I can brace myself.

  “No stabbing,” Chelsea scolds him, and some of the fear abates. “Can’t have you hitting an artery or something.”

  He grabs my chin and turns my face towards Sariah. “Better talk, or Sariah is going to have to be more…convincing.”

  I stare at Sariah, and it’s the first time I see anything but coldness in her eyes. It looks like she’s uncertain, but it’s gone in a flash. Henderson steps away and makes a gesture for Sariah to take his place.