As he ran, tiny holes appeared along the side. Light and freezing wind funneled in through the holes, and the holes kept right on appearing as bullets pierced the sheets of metal.
“Tell them to stop SHOOTING!” Dr. Whaler’s voice had a high, frantic pitch.
He opened the door to the room which held the stasis tank. The lights flickered, and he saw his worst nightmare realized. Some of the bullets had struck the tank. Most had ricocheted off, leaving tiny dents in the metal, but there were two tiny holes where the bullets had pierced the tank. Thick, clear liquid flowed from the holes and pooled on the ground.
"No..." Dr. Whaler stood frozen in place. The tank held 519 gallons of fluid, but only a fraction of that would have to drain to expose the subject. Once she was exposed, Dr. Whaler had no idea what would happen. Under normal protocol, the subject would be woken up slowly, brought back to consciousness little by little so that the shock of coming out of a sensation-free environment would not be too much for her mind to handle.
But maybe the shock was what he wanted. If her mind didn't work, there was a chance that her power would not work either. Maybe he would have enough time to put her into a drug-induced coma. Maybe, maybe, maybe. His mind flooded with ideas, interspersed with ratcheting fear that nothing he did would stop her.
They would have to kill her. Harrison and his scheme would fail, but either she died, or they all died. He turned, intending to return to the control room for a gun. He would come back to the stasis tank and shoot her while she was still fully submerged. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
The thought struck a funny cord with the good doctor, and his laugh was an insane chortling. Yes, yes, she would die, and finally he would be free. She was a monster and needed to die. Him or her, and it didn't matter what Harrison said—he wasn't there. If he didn't put her down now, she would kill every last one of them. The subject had to die.
Chapter Forty-Three
Ryan slipped on the ladder as he climbed, bullets punching holes in the truck all around him. He had seconds to clear the top of the truck, or he was dead.
Another short burst of gunfire, and the Rover's engine roared as it pummeled toward him. He glanced at Adam, who was taking a wave of gunfire as he swerved. There were too many of them, too many guns. He wondered for a split second how the other two teams were faring, and for that split second he regretted dragging the Lit Dragons into this fight. He had to get up the ladder and only had seconds to do it.
Ryan heard the banshee screech of tires and looked back at Adam in just enough time to see the black car stopping, brakes and tires smoking. The Rover smashed into the back of the car, and both cars careened into the truck. The truck was pushed sideways and Ryan felt it lean for several sickening seconds before it regained control and righted itself.
"Good job, buddy," Ryan whispered and climbed. He reached the top of the truck, and his heart flipped when he saw the hatchway in the center. Ryan ran to it and popped it open. He looked up and saw his team still fending off the two Rovers. Adam was okay—the back of his car was smashed, but he was still driving. The Rover was likewise in rough condition, the front end mangled and bent, but it drove on. He saw a muzzle pointed at him, saw the flash of gunfire and he dropped into the truck.
It took several seconds for Ryan's eyes to adjust, much less time because the interior was brightly lit. He saw a large man with a thick beard and wild hair climbing a small set of stairs on the side of a large tank. The man's white lab coat flowed behind his immense body, and Ryan's chest squeezed when he saw that the man carried a short barreled machine pistol. Looked like an Uzi he'd seen in movies.
But what was the guy doing?
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to see a soldier running towards him in the short corridor, rifle raising. Ryan threw his entire body into the soldier, and the two tumbled. He brought his fist down on the soldier's face with a crunch of bones, and the man was unconscious.
Ryan picked up the gun and pointed it at the large man in the lab coat. He was struggling to open a hatch on the tank, but the swaying truck made it difficult to maintain his balance. Clear tubes of liquid and wires hung from several pieces of equipment, some of them overturned, and disappeared into the tank. The image was jarring, reminding Ryan of a hospital bed, but instead of the bed, there was the tank. And the large man with a gun trying to open the tank. The image didn't make sense to Ryan, unless... Unless someone was inside the tank. Someone...
"Stop!" Ryan screamed, rushing the man with the soldier's gun raised.
The large man laughed a maniacal laugh and continued to fumble with the latch. Ryan squeezed the trigger and fired a bullet. He wasn't intending to hit the large man, only scare him, but the shot went wild, nowhere near the man.
"Get down, right now!" Bits of spittle flew from Ryan’s mouth. Was Mae in that tank? They kept her in the tank?
From somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he remembered Heather's last text to him, but the thought was fleeting and distant.
The man opened the latch and pointed the rifle into the tank. Ryan pulled the trigger again, and this time the shot connected with the man's foot. Blood and shoe and bone splattered the wall and the man howled, falling from the steps to the floor, into a puddle of thick liquid. He screamed, pressing his hand on the bloody mess that was his foot. Ryan rushed forward, the gun raised and pointed at the man's head. He slipped in the puddle, nearly falling. Ryan caught himself and lifted his foot. The liquid was soupy and clear. Disgusting.
"What is this stuff?" he asked no one, absently distracted from the moment at hand. The man he'd just shot was moaning now, trying to squirm away from Ryan.
"Stop!" Ryan yelled. "Where is Mae Edwards?"
The man kept pull himself away, so Ryan stepped on the bloody foot and the man howled with pain.
"You... you shot me!" the man said, and then, inexplicably, began to laugh again, a high-pitched ugly sound.
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
"Mae. The girl you took from my home," Ryan said. He pointed the gun, but he did not want to be holding it. He'd only held a gun on a few occasions, shooting with boy scouts when he was younger, and only because his parents had made him. He had always thought of guns as distasteful, and the smell of gunpowder and blood now affirmed that feeling for him. His only frame of reference for holding and threatening with a gun came from the movies. But for some reason, the threat of the gun in this man's face didn't seem to have any effect.
"Oh?" The man looked up at him, focusing his eyes through laugh tears. "Oh, you must be her friend. I was warned that you might be trouble. Thought we'd taken care of you."
"Who are you?" Ryan demanded, jabbing the gun so it was inches from the man's face.
"Oh, it doesn't matter anymore. We'll both be dead, soon now. Any second. I've seen her do it before." The man twisted his head back at an unnatural angle to look at the tank and the streams of liquid pouring from two tiny holes.
Bullet holes, Ryan realized.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your girlfriend," the man said, motioning toward the tank. "Your girlfriend. It's the only way."
"You better start making sense, or I'm going to shoot. Is Mae in that thing? You need to get her out. Now!" Even the words tasted bad, coming out of his mouth.
"Get her out?" The man laughed bitterly. "So, I guess you don't know then. I'm impressed she was able to keep that a secret from you. But I've seen that girl in action, and I know. I've seen her, oh yes. I've seen her."
Ryan made a move to hit the man with the gun, but stopped short. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Violence in cars was one thing, where life and death and injury was left up to chance or god or luck or whatever you wanted to call it. But this man was clearly insane, and hurting him would only lower Ryan to a sick level he didn't want to be on. The man was disturbed beyond reason. He looked around and saw that the gun the man had been holding had fallen behind the tank, out of easy reach.
/> Ryan darted up the steps but stopped before reaching the top. He hesitated, unable to look inside the tank. Maybe she was already dead? But then why had this man been ready to shoot his gun into the tank?
He had the sinking sensation that he was walking into a trap. That somehow, he'd been tricked into coming here.
b crfl of M Dngrsaaa
Noctrn #6 Dnt lt thm plaaay
He wished so badly that he'd spoken to Heather before they'd reached the convoy, but it was too late now to know what she meant in her message.
"What is nocturne number six?" Ryan turned to face the man on the floor, who raised his head and smiled.
"Oh, so you do know a little about your girlfriend then." The man started laughing again, and the tittering sound grated on Ryan's nerves. Ryan jumped from the stairs he was on, knelt in the goopy puddle on the floor and took the man by throat.
"Tell me!" Ryan yelled. "What is it?"
"It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter anymore."
"What is nocturne number six?" Ryan was screaming. "You want me to shoot you? What kind of insane person are you?"
He knelt back and jabbed the barrel of the gun into man's gut, pushing until he knew it was hurting. The man yelped, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture.
"It was her trigger," he said. "It was her trigger, it made it happen. The flame to her fireworks. But not any more. She doesn't need the song anymore."
"What are you talking about? Who are you?" Ryan jabbed the gun harder in frustration. Nothing made sense, not the goop on the floor, all these people protecting this tank. And the tank itself. Mae was in there, he knew that now. But why was she in the tank?
b crfl of M Dngrsaaa
Be careful of Mae. Dangerous.
"Who are you and what are you talking about? Why is she dangerous?"
"My name is Dr. Whaler," the man said and then burst out laughing. "I'm her doctor, but it doesn't matter—"
"STOP SAYING THAT!" Ryan wanted to hurt him, and it made him feel sick. He took a breath, trying to keep calm.
"Is she alive?"
"She shouldn't be." Dr. Whaler laughed again, mumbling words Ryan couldn't understand. Something about entanglement, about sound waves entangling with her mind. He repeated fireworks as if this was the punchline, and insane laughter erupted. His eyes were crazy, as if the only thing tethering his mind to rationality had finally snapped. Maybe she was dangerous. Maybe this was all a mistake, but he was here to rescue Mae. He stood up and ran up to the top of the tank. He looked inside, afraid of what he might see—
It was full of that clear liquid, slopping around with tiny ripples. Inside the liquid, he saw Mae floating, her blond hair fanned out in the liquid, her eyes closed, and her body at peace. IV and breathing tubes were attached to her body, and he saw her lungs filling with air and then releasing that air.
She was alive. His heart leapt and he reached inside the liquid and pulled her out.
"Mae!" He said, pulling her body to his, and they fell together in a heap at the top of the stairs. He pulled the breathing tubes from her throat, slowly and gently. Ryan stroked her hair and kissed her face, whispering over and over her name, his face and hers touching.
He felt the flutter of her eyelashes on his cheek and pulled away, and she looked at him with that sparkle that hadn't died. She smiled up at him, touching the side of his face, tracing her fingers on his chin and neck.
"Ryan? Where, why?"
"I'm here, Mae. I'm here."
"Ryan—"
Her back arched and her body went rigid. She screamed as every muscle in her body constricted and contorted.
"Mae!" He held her tightly, but she was shaking and he didn't know what to do. It lasted for less than a minute, and then she was breathing heavy, her eyes closed.
"What—are you okay?" Ryan asked. Mae took deep breaths as she regained control of her body. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him. He could see the pain still in her eyes, along with something else. Sadness?
"You shouldn't have come," Mae said, touching her fingers to his lips.
The sound of metal scraping across metal drew their attention. Dr. Whaler had picked up the gun that Ryan had dropped and was aiming the muzzle at Mae's head.
Chapter Forty-Four
Outside the truck, the Lit Dragons were fighting a losing battle. With no weapons but their vehicles, there was only so much they could do. The soldiers inside the Rovers were getting smarter, anticipating their moves before they happened and taking better care with their shots.
"Get to the left," Brooke shouted, the front end of her car taking a beating from the gunshots. She weaved between the two Rovers, allowing Patrick to pass. He maneuvered around Brooke, aiming for the Rover on the right, his intent to smash it. The gunmen train their full firepower on Patrick and just before he connected with the Rover, a bullet smashed into the gas tank and exploded. His car lifted and did a slow pirouette, nose down, before landing on its side and sliding in a shower of sparks.
Adam pressed the accelerator, darted around the wreckage and t-swiped the Rover. Metal crunched and glass shattered as his momentum drove the Rover sideways. The wheels caught and it was airborne, twisting as it flew through the air, but never coming back to earth.
Adam watched, unsure of what he was seeing. The air in his car was suddenly warm and smelled like the air on a summer afternoon before a lightning strike. He felt his own car lift, the feeling of weightlessness churning his stomach. His prior momentum drove his car into a spin, and just before he lost sight of the truck, he saw that it too was several feet off the ground, already tilting to one side.
He had time to hear voices on the cell phones, shouts and screams, and then something pushed through and around him. An invisible wave with crushing force wrenched through the car. The windows exploded outward and the car landed on its roof. Adam felt his head bend too far to the side as the roof came rushing into his body, and everything flicked off into darkness.
Chapter Forty-Five
Dr. Whaler never had time to pull the trigger. He was lifted from the ground, screaming and laughing in that insane way, then begging for his life. Ryan watched it all happen so fast, felt the air whirling—had he felt this before? he thought so—and the truck was on its side, but not crashing. No, not yet. It was suspended in the air, and he slid to the wall of the truck. Mae fell from his arms, but she landed on her feet, her gaze focused on the doctor, as if unaware of what was happening around her.
The clear liquid sloshed from the tank, spilling out but not falling, as it too was held suspended in the air. Ryan scrambled to his feet. He was standing on the wall of the truck, the floor now to his left, and it was still turning. He stayed on his feet, stepping with the truck as it rotated, the roof now beneath his feet. His mind felt like snapping, the entire scene too incomprehensible to register, but Mae didn't notice. She walked forward toward the doctor, staying upright as the truck spun.
"Mae," Dr. Whaler pled, tears streaming up his face and into his hair. "Mae, please stop. I've been good to you."
She never said a word, just focused her gaze on the floating man who was now screaming.
"Mae!" Ryan shouted, but she never heard.
And then Dr. Whaler was gone—a pink-red splash of vapor in the place where his body had been, the thick vapor spreading outward, still floating.
He had disappeared—no, Ryan corrected himself—he hadn't disappeared, he had exploded into a million tiny specks, a combustion of blood and bone into nothing.
A scream caught in Ryan's throat just as a pulse of pulverizing energy swept out from Mae. The truck ripped apart, the walls and floor tearing away. For a split second before he came crashing to the ground, Ryan saw the cars that his friends were driving also suspended in the air, then smashing to the ground.
A piece of the truck smashed into him, and he tumbled with the debris outward from Mae. When he hit the frozen ground, snow and dead crops, he scarcely had time to see Mae standing at the epicent
er of the destruction before he lost consciousness.
Chapter Forty-Six
The warm air had spiraled and smelled of static, and she had held his body in the air, twisting and turning, suspended in the middle of the spiraling truck—his laboratory. Dr. Whaler looked at her with the same cruel detachment he'd examined her with for the all years she'd been under his care and study. Mae was his subject, his experiment, and she knew that. He was afraid for his life, and maybe he'd accepted that it was now over, but even in that moment he could not look at her with anything but strange fascination, the same look that a little kid has when incinerating ants with a magnifying glass.
Dr. Whaler would never let her go, would never let her have a normal life. None of them would, because they were the hunters and they would never stop hunting. He had smiled at her, a smile so vicious it was almost a snarl, his eyes full of deceit and lies. Always lies. They had never stopped lying to her, not from the very beginning when they'd taken her from her family and friends. She knew that now. There was no solace in running, no reprieve from hiding. They would never stop coming, and you gotta move before the devil gets ya.
Mae pushed with her mind. A simple push, a gentle flexing, and Dr. Whaler was no more. His body was made up of tiny particles, and they detached from each other instantly, a million billion tiny particles that together had been the good doctor, but was now a spreading mist. Mae pushed again, this time harder, and the world exploded out from her, tearing apart the truck and the tank. With her mind, she wrenched it apart and flung it away, waves of energy rippling outward.
Never again would she allow them to put her in that tank. Never again was she their subject and experiment. No longer running or hiding, but turning and facing the devil that hunted her.
Bits of metal and fire rained from the grey sky, clunking to the asphalt in a circular pattern of destruction. Mae got to her feet, the cold wind piercing her wet skin, but her mind so focused and connected to everything around her that she didn’t notice. She stood in the middle of the destruction, turning slowly to see her work.
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