Revolution: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 3)

by Blou Bryant

  Five, one more time. He had thought of V32 as an alien, but it worked through him. It infected others when he told it to. It was his mind working with his body, with the alien, that changed people. And it was live within him, replicating again and again until he shared it with someone else. Could he sense the wound on his hand? He’d not felt it in years, the nerves burned away. Could he feel it now?

  Something. A brief pain in the palm of his hand.

  Five. Five. Five, he repeated, again and again. My mind, my body. My virus. Wyatt took a deep breath and was shocked to hear the sound, the confirmation that he had some control. Sticking to his meditation, he stopped himself from immediately exhaling, instead holding the breath for five seconds and then letting it out over another, slower five seconds.

  Wyatt wanted to cry out in joy. Control, he had control. He took another deep breath, simply to hear it.

  Taking another five breaths, slowly, in and out, he imagined the room he was in. No, it wasn’t imagination, it was sensation. There were senses beyond the five. Outside, he sensed the antechamber and beyond that a hall. With two guards, two Prats, standing at attention. He focused himself, and let his mind sense the building, the main hall, and everything beyond it.

  Ari! Teri! He sensed them. He felt Ari’s fear, and Teri’s preternatural calm. And they sensed him. Images of guards, of the Dogs being marched into the main hall, filled him. Nothing was clear, it wasn’t video, but rather—as Teri had said—a tickle at the back of the brain that told him what was going on.

  Wyatt tried to communicate with them, to ask questions, to tell them where he was, but it didn’t work like that. He sent them an impression of him coming to help, and was rewarded with a sensation of trust, affection, and even love.

  Comforted, he left them and pushed his senses out as far as possible. The countryside around was open, trees latched onto rocks that went miles deep. Lights off in the distance, no, not lights, people. Cities, huge cities packed with people and their distinctive auras. He felt the Zone, but didn’t have the ability to focus, to ‘zoom in,’ and, knowing time was short, he pulled his mind back into his body.

  A deep breath reminded him that he wasn’t locked in. He held it in and enjoyed the feeling—pain—of it pressing against his chest. Breath was life, and he was alive.

  One, he started over again. One, his feet, his legs. Wyatt thought he felt them, tight, immobile. The muscles didn’t respond.

  Two, his waist, his groin, his stomach. He took a breath and again felt his chest expand and contract. The muscles pushed the air out of him, and he kept breathing out until his lungs were empty.

  Three, his fingers, hands, and arms. A finger didn’t move, but he felt the hard plastic under his palm with the ever-bleeding wound. There was a tickle of pain from it, and he imagined—no, sensed—the blood slowly seeping out.

  Four, his shoulders, and head. Wyatt managed to open his mouth, taking in even more air, filling his lungs again, emptying them, and then filling them again. Moving his mind’s eye up higher, he willed himself to see. His eyelids responded, and shot open, blinding him with the sterile white light of Esaf’s laboratory. He was alone.

  This one small motion broke the dam, and his body came to life. Raising his left hand, he managed to pull the head restraints off.

  Flexing his muscles, Wyatt exalted in his freedom, and willed his body to function. His right hand was the next to move, and then his legs, slowly at first, but not for long. Years of training hadn’t been wasted, and it responded quickly. He only wobbled briefly as he stood up and flexed his muscles.

  Holding his left palm out in front of him, he considered the bright red blemish. It was the symbol of his infection, of the separateness of V32 from who he was. But that wasn’t right, was it? It wasn’t an alien intruder, it was part of him.

  He stopped moving and concentrated on the wound, willing it to heal. As he watched, a drop of blood on the surface flattened and drew itself back into the wound, disappearing in seconds. Wyatt sensed the injury now, he felt the pain of the wound. The pain was a good thing, he realized. It meant the nerves were returning to life, the wound healing itself.

  Standing still, his eyes glued to his palm, Wyatt marveled at the sensation, and at what had just occurred. With a whoop of joy, he strode to the door. He was alive, and in full control of his body—and his mind.

  Was Jessica coming? Perhaps, but let her come. He was ready for her.

  Chapter 28

  At the entrance to the second door, Wyatt paused. On the other side were two men. Beyond them was an army of Prats. Even further beyond, but close enough that he could feel her coming, driving them before her, was Jessica.

  His friends were captured, his escape unlikely—impossible even—and even if he was to free himself and them, the building was in the middle of the woods on the Canadian border. It was as far from civilization as he had ever been. There was nowhere to go.

  “Quit whining, right, Wilbur?”

  Pressing a hand against the palm reader, he activated the door, turned the handle, and stepped through.

  A Prat turned to look at him in surprise, and took a step back.

  Wyatt sensed—felt—their minds, their eagerness as they approached. On instinct, Wyatt put his hands up in the air, as if surrendering. He took a step forward, and let his hands fall, touching each of them on the forehead. As his fingers made gentle contact, he willed them to sleep.

  Both fell to the ground, unconscious. No explosions, no red ball of electricity, simply a command, a connection from him to them, and the fight was over.

  Wyatt reveled momentarily in his new power, no matter how little he understood or controlled. The connection wasn’t as strong as it had been when he’d been locked down in the chair, blinded, but he still felt… something… beyond his five normal senses. The hall seemed wider, he felt stronger, everything was clearer.

  He attempted to reach out to Teri or Ari, but found that the clear sense of them that he’d had before was gone. Moving down the hallway, he tried to not imagine why they weren’t reachable. Jessica had them… or Esaf, that traitor. The thought of the two of them turned his vision red.

  Esaf had been amoral, with science his only God, but to betray Wyatt and Teri, the Dogs—his family—was beyond the pale. He’d said something about it being for the best, and owing Teri… what could that mean?

  Rage filled him at the thought of his friends, betrayed, and captured or worse, and he increased his pace, his hands balling into fists.

  As he approached the end of the hall, he heard Jessica’s amplified voice. “Remember,” she said, sweetly, “it’s better to follow rules than to be shot.”

  His legs moving at double time to his beating heart, he sped up further and reached the glass railing. In the middle of the hall were black clad guards. Some were Prats, distinguished by their quasi-military outfits. Others, dressed in dark suits, were likely Watchers. The Dogs were grouped in the middle of the room, surrounded.

  “Jessica,” he shouted as he walked to the railing. “You want me?”

  She wore white. The dress was simple and yet elegant, flowing down her thin curves. Her face was no longer twisted and drained, her skin was again smooth and bright. A broad smile stretched across both cheeks. “Oh, Wyatt. How nice.”

  “Let them go,” he shouted. “And I’ll let you live.”

  Several Prats started to run towards the escalator, but with one hand Jessica stopped them in their tracks.

  “You’re looking good,” she said. It was a whisper, yet it carried through the room.

  Realizing he was shirtless, he didn’t hide, didn’t cover himself, and instead spread his arms out. “You’ve got guns, you’ve got men and women willing to kill for you, but you can’t defeat us.”

  “Nice abs,” Jessica said. She turned and looked to one side, where Esaf was standing, Teri next to him. “I thought he was unconscious. You said he was.”

  Esaf shrugged.

  “I don’t l
ike to be surprised,” she said, scowling. She turned back to Wyatt, a smile returning. “But I suppose Wyatt is a good enough surprise that I’ll let it go.”

  Wyatt glanced at Teri, she was softly shaking her head. What? he wondered.

  “Are you going to make me come up and get you? How about you come down so I can see you up close?”

  Wyatt stretched out his arms and tried to connect to the electricity that surrounded everything, to the power that’d been revealed to him in his induced dreams.

  She giggled. “Come on, stop playing around,” she said, strolling towards the escalator, her dress swaying from left to right as she walked. Guards that were easily twice her size moved quickly to get out of her way.

  With his eyes closed, he summoned the memory of his connection to the energy, to the world beyond himself, and felt the electricity. It surrounded him and those below. Pushing his hands further out from him, as if that would let him better connect, he willed the energy to respond to him.

  Remembering how he’d felt when he blew up the bulldozer, he pulled the rage into his core, and used it to connect to the energy that surrounded him, them, everyone and everything.

  “What’s he doing?” Jessica asked, halfway up the escalator. Her smile turned up at one side, quizzical.

  Through a red haze, he saw Esaf shrug.

  “It looks like he thinks he’s Jesus,” Jessica said.

  The energy filled him, flowed through him. He wanted to cry out with joy at the sensation, the feeling of connection to… something… everything. It was so right, so powerful, he couldn’t imagine how he’d lived without it, how he could have traipsed through his days without knowing the truth of the universe around him.

  “Your time is done,” he shouted out across the wide hall. “I’m going to destroy you.”

  “Men” she said.

  Wyatt balled his hands into fists, throwing his left hand out, pointing it at her. Concentrating the power, he willed the electricity to focus in his hand, to flow through him.

  Jessica glided off the escalator. Her hair seemed to flow behind her, a blueish-gold cape that glowed in the light of the power weaving its way between them. “You’re so dramatic,” she said.

  He exalted in the power that flowed through him. He was like a God, or like a superhero on a comic book cover. Either way, he felt awesome.

  Tilting her head, Jessica considered him briefly, raised one hand a few inches, and flicked two fingers. Pain coursed through his body as if the prongs of a dozen—a hundred—stun guns poked his skin from feet to skull.

  Wyatt fell to his knees.

  “How about,” she cooed, “you mellow out a bit?”

  Another flick of her fingers and the pain stopped, but the residue trickled through him, confounding his muscles. Struggling back to his feet, he threw a hand out at her and willed the energy he’d held to envelop her, to tear her body apart.

  Nothing.

  Swaying gracefully, Jessica took three steps forward and lightly took his hand in hers. “That’s better, Wy-Wy.” She gently tickled his palm with her fingers and smiled coquettishly.

  It was gone. Whatever he’d had, was gone, and he was empty, drained. On the edge of his consciousness, he sensed it, just out of his reach. Tendrils of power flickered in and out of his sight.

  “Come,” Jessica said, one eyebrow raised in vague confusion.

  He pulled his hand back from hers and reached out with his mind.

  She flicked a finger. The hundred prongs again pricked at his body, lighting it up, and he lost all control, falling to the floor.

  The pain continued for… he had no idea how long, time extended, or perhaps it slowed, it was irrelevant when experiencing the agony rampaging through his body.

  Staring down at him, she looked disappointed. “Will you ever learn?” she asked absentmindedly.

  It ended, but his body didn’t immediately recover, spasming out of control as Jessica stood over him and his friends watched from the first floor. He managed to get to his knees only briefly enough to throw up inches from her blue strapped shoes, making her take two steps back.

  Wyatt fell back to the ground, his face parting the vomit, making him throw up again from his prone position. This time, the ejectile making it only inches from his face, his mouth pushed up against the ground. It took seconds, perhaps longer—he’d lost track of time—to gain enough control to roll away from his own filth.

  “So gross,” Jessica said. “Someone clean him up and bring him back to me.”

  Rough hands pulled him to his feet and pulled him away, his heels dragging on the ground behind him. Jessica had already turned away.

  Chapter 29

  The Prats had dragged him down the hallway and dumped him into a utility room. One of them hosed him off with icy water as the other drizzled body wash over him. He saw the bottle… expensive stuff. Obviously, Jessica’s choice.

  “Wash yourself. I’m not touching you,” said one of the Prats.

  “Why not? You already did,” Wyatt said, gesturing at the clothing piled up in a corner.

  The second guard responded with a full hose blast to Wyatt’s face. “Clean up for Ms. Golde.”

  Wyatt spat out a mouthful of vomit and water and glowered further, but complied. I’m not doing this for her.

  As he finished, they took him to another residence. The first guard handed him a towel and a pair of lacy pink underwear. Women’s underwear. “It’s all I could find,” he said, straight-faced.

  Wyatt winced, and considered arguing, but why bother giving them the satisfaction. He felt he should feel shame for having failed, for having lain in his own filth, but couldn’t find it in him. There was nothing but a hard anger, a hatred.

  A guard gave him a dirty look and didn’t reply, instead touching his ear. “He’s clean. Ms. Golde can come up now.”

  They were only feet from him, and Wyatt considered taking them out. He might be still recovering from whatever Jessica had done, but he was fast, and they were out of position.

  Wyatt flexed his muscles, checking on his readiness for action. He tried to sense the energy he’d found, and then lost, but it wasn’t there. And now Jessica had the same control, or something like it. Was she infected as well?

  The wall monitor flickered and what had been an ocean view blacked out. Joe appeared. “Guard 42, turn so you’re facing Wyatt.”

  The guard who’d thrown him the underwear scowled, but turned to face Wyatt directly.

  “Step back, two feet.”

  The guard stepped back.

  “Guard 18, stand next to the door with your back to the closet.”

  With this, the guards were now on either side of him, both several feet away. There wasn’t any chance he could take them both out.

  “Hi Joe,” he said. There was no reply. “What, you’re quiet for once in your really short artificial life?” Still no reply. What’s with him? Crazy last time, silent now. He’s changed, but why? And how?

  Wyatt sat, crossing his legs, using his arms to cover as much of his near-nudity as he best possible. Hopefully a relaxed attitude would convince Jessica and her guards that he had surrendered, and that he wasn’t a threat. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Four guards entered, with her trailing behind. “Joe,” she said when she saw the AI’s face on the wall. She wasn’t smiling.

  “I let myself in,” Joe replied.

  “You’re not needed. Go stalk someone online.”

  Wyatt watched the interaction and for a moment wanted to smile at what was clearly a disagreement between them. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked.

  Jessica pointed two fingers at him. “Be a good boy. I don’t want to have them clean you up again.” She regarded him curiously and ordered him to stand up.

  He considered disobeying, just for the sake of it, but if he wanted her off guard, he needed to comply, at least at first. He stood.

  “Why are you wearing those?” she asked, pointing at his pink und
erwear.

  Wyatt indicated the guard. “He told me to.”

  Her pouty smile turned to a pouty frown as she regarded guard 42. She flicked her fingers, and he collapsed, his face tightened in agony, but not a sound escaped his lips. One more flick and he stopped writhing. “Give him your clothing,” she said.

  The guard immediately got to his feet and removed his shoes, shirt, and pants, throwing them at Wyatt’s feet, one by one.

  When he stopped, he picked his gun back up and stood at attention, just like the others, but without the trademark black worn by evil henchmen everywhere.

  Jessica let out a sigh and took two steps, so that she was inches from 42. He towered over her, easily a foot, foot and a half taller, and likely with a hundred pounds on her. She traced a hand up his chest and then wrapped a hand around his neck, her black eyes staring up at him. “I’m trying to decide,” she said, “if you’re stupid or disobedient.”

  As the big man looked down at her, a mixture of fear and confusion in his eyes, and a trickle of sweat fell from his brow.

  Wyatt found himself almost feeling sorry for guard 42. “She wants you to give me your underwear. And don’t, just don’t.”

  Guard 42 looked as if he could weep in relief as he understood what his mistress wanted. He quickly pushed his underwear down, pulled them off one leg with the other foot, and raised them to his hand, all without moving his neck or the hand that grasped it. He held the underwear out to Wyatt.

  “No way. Ain’t happening.”

  Jessica continued to stare at guard 42. The Prat didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even blink, staring straight ahead, over her head. Once whatever lesson she was teaching was taught, she looked down, her eyes pausing halfway. She muttered, “I thought so,” and released him.