A PSS SUV waited for us, idling in the middle of the parking lot. Another guard sat in the van, waiting to deliver us to the nearest base.
Without warning, the guard behind me fell limp to the ground, and two more, the one directly in front of me and the remaining one behind followed. Three guards down—all before Michael Dean had enough sense to cover himself, jerking me closer to his body and making me his human shield.
The few guests in the parking lot began screaming and running for cover, some with raised cell phones.
The asshole security turned around, his shotgun ready, but there was no one behind us to shoot.
The shooter was upstairs, shooting through a window.
The window of the room Logan and I had previously occupied. The asshole security guard realized that a few seconds later and raised his weapon, aimed, and shot blindly a couple of times, moving back towards the van to take cover. Before he reached it though, he jerked, then fell limply to the ground. I could see the neat hole in his forehead as we passed by, and in contrast to the front, the back had a fist-sized hole where brain matter and gore oozed.
Michael Dean angled towards the van, pressing me closer to him; a weapon to my temple hard enough to bruise.
Meanwhile, the driver in the van shot a couple of rounds up at the hotel window.
When Dr. Dean had moved far enough that I could raise my eyes up without having to move my head, I realized why no one got a shot in. The sun reflected off the glass of the windows, making it impossible to see the person on the other side.
The Elites were returning fire, but they had no idea behind which window the shooter was, much less which floor.
There was another single bam from the hotel, followed by the van's blasting horn as it slowly began to move forward. When it passed by us, I saw the guard slumped dead on the steering before crashing into a red Lincoln parked on the far side.
Just then, Logan emerged from the hotel's back door, gun raised at us. I heard sirens approaching through the blasting noise of the SUV's horn.
“Let her go,” Logan said in a tone I had never heard before. It had no inflection, no… life. His face was cold, his eyes empty. The face of the killer I met once in the desert.
Dr. Michael Dean just kept the gun on my temple, his breathing harsh on my ears, bringing back awful memories.
“Let her go,” Logan repeated.
“No, you back away or I'll shoot her,” Michael Dean shouted back.
“You have no way of getting away without giving me or Rafael an opening. I won't shoot if you let her go, and neither will Rafael.” His voice was smooth, too smooth. It was a lie, and we all knew it.
He held the gun in front of his body with both hands, his aim never wavering. He was barefoot. Neither he nor Dr. Dean seemed to care that the parking lot was littered with dead bodies.
“I'll shoot her if you so much as take a step.” Michael Dean called. Unlike Logan, his voice shook with anger.
“If you shoot her, you'll have nothing to bargain your life with. I promise I won't shoot you if you let her go unharmed.”
“All I have to do is wait until the police get here,” Dr. Michael Dean said.
It was true, once the police got there, it wouldn't take too many brain cells to figure out who the villain was. Especially if one factored in that Dr. Dean carried government credentials.
The sirens were getting louder, and all he had to do was wait for the police.
“Are you that sure that Rafael won't find an opening before then? Look at your men down at your feet. It took him what, about thirty, forty seconds to dispose of them all? He could even now be…”
Logan's voice began fading away, muffled by the nonsensical words Dr. Dean mumbled under his breath.
No not mumbled, chanted. He was chanting.
Words I didn't know.
In a language I didn't know.
Logan's lips still moved, but the sudden rush in my ears prevented me from hearing it, as if I was trying to hear someone speak while underwater. Then the world started tilting around and I began falling.
Chapter Forty-Five
I fell, rolled, skidded and straightened only to fall and roll and lurch again. After a lifetime of repetition of that same cycle, over and over, I lay, face down on a rocky ground, pointed splinters cutting my face and palms with a dozen different small lacerations. My head spun, and the world was trying like crazy to spin out of axis. My stomach churned and roiled, and I had to raise my head to puke and not drown in my own vomit.
After a few minutes and lots of dry heaving, my stomach began to settle.
I looked around me. It was dark, very dark. Even my enhanced vision couldn't see far in this sort of dark. The ground beneath me was rocky and cracked, parched soil that hadn't seen water in centuries. The rocks weren't the normal, usual stuff you see everywhere either, but jagged, pointed pieces, some as sharp as needle points.
I looked around and found myself facing a pair of shiny black shoes. My gaze went up and up, and there stood Dr. Michael Dean, over me. His attention was focused far away, and I followed, seeing nothing but the vast, dark emptiness.
“You finished that disgusting thing. Good,” he said, and I jolted at his voice. It didn't resonate or bounce around us, so I figured we were not in a cave.
I wondered how long I had been out. Back at the Hilton it had been late afternoon, and here, wherever here was, was definitely night time—which meant I had been unconscious for at least a few hours.
Dr. Dean grabbed me by the crook of my arms and hauled me up. “Stay still,” he commanded.
He hadn't yet realized the spell had worn off.
I wiggled my toes, I closed a fist. Yes, I had full control of my limbs again. I didn't do anything though.
I remained the way he left me, facing what I thought was east and searched our surroundings, moving only my eyes.
There was nothing but cracked soil and more rocks. I couldn't hear any sound of traffic or animals or birds. It was eerily quiet.
* * *
Being helpless with Dr. Dean was not something good. Being helpless with Dr. Dean in an unknown situation was worse.
The quiet, the frigidity, the silence, they were all unknown. There were no lights on the horizon, no stars in the sky, no night animals.
In fact, I couldn't see past twenty or so feet ahead.
Nothing.
Nothing but Dr. Dean beside me.
He took something from his pocket and flicked it on. There was a small stream of light, illuminating a thin path ahead of us. He moved the beam in a sweeping motion, left to right, right to left then back again. “We will be moving straight for now.” He gave me a not so gentle tug to start me moving, but he didn't let go.
Every couple of minutes he'd look at his watch, and then flick the light around. The scuffling of our feet and breathing were like thunder to my ears.
Eventually, I began hearing tiny, far-off sounds. Eventually, those noises grew louder.
We were no longer alone.
But whatever made those scuffling noises seemed to have something against Dr. Dean's penlight, because they kept away from it. Once, one came close enough to cast a small shadow, about the size of a large cat.
But what were they?
Foxes? Antelopes? A mob of meerkats? Did we even have meerkats in America?
Beside me, Dr. Dean seemed oblivious to them.
About ten minutes later, I was sure they were stalking us. They made scuffling noises but remained far from the light and never crossed in front of us.
My eyes strained to see, but either they didn't want us to catch a glimpse of them, scuttling away as soon as some illumination got near, or they really were sensitive to the lighting.
“Don't mind these little creatures,” Dr. Dean said, catching the direction of my gaze. “They're fascinating, though viciously carnivorous, with an unlimited and a voracious appetite. In some ways they're as harmless as teacup poodles—providing you're on the other s
ide of the fence.” He chuckled at his words. “Of course, once you try to pet one of them, that's where the resemblance ends. You're as good then as a bleeding cow amidst a gam of sharks.” Dr. Michael Dean chuckled again—nervously. He was trying to sound unaffected, but the edginess in his voice told another story. “We learned this the hard way, you know? One of our scientists, Dr. Jenkins, you remember him? No? Well, he tried to conduct some experiments on one of them. He took pictures, did some tests around him, and foolishly decided the creature was harmless. Once he touched it,” Dr. Dean shook his head in mock sorrow, “he was gone in less than fifteen seconds. All we got from his experiments was disturbing carnivorous footage.” He chuckled again.
Meerkats then. Weren't they carnivorous?
“No other scientists volunteered for the next experiment,” he continued in a monotone, “no matter how much we raised the bonus fee.”
Was he babbling? “Fascinating little creatures, aren't they?”
I didn't answer him, and he finally seemed to have realized his verbal diarrhea and shut up.
We walked some more in silence, our breathing, shoes and meerkats scuffling the only sounds I could hear. It's starting to realize how much white noise is present in our lives and how little we notice it.
It was so quiet here.
Even in the most remote places there is the sound of rustling trees, buzzing insects, and a breeze or two.
In this place, there was nothing.
No sounds of electricity, no buzzing insects, no faint music, traffic, or just plain anything. It was as if I had fallen into a vacuum.
It was just me, meerkats, and Dr. Dean, who kept checking the time without seeming to mean to. I could tell he was afraid. I could sense it, like a tremulous wave pulsing off of him. I could also tell he was waiting for something. Expecting. Anticipating.
Something that frightened him. Because his fear kept spiking ever so slightly with the passing of time. Maybe that's how I would kill him. Slowly suck the life out of him. Although sucking the life out of Dr. Dean was a disgusting concept to me.
But first I needed to know where I was. I kept looking around, searching only with my eyes, trying to catch a familiar landmark, anything that would help me identify my location or point me to the nearest civilization.
Nothing stood out.
Nothing but darkness and the cracked soil.
Suddenly Dr. Michael Dean stopped, leaving me to walk a few steps before stopping me with a hand to my elbow. “Where are my manners? I bet this is your first trip to the Low Lands.” Then he took hold of both my arms and turned me around.
What I saw then shocked me enough for an involuntary gasp to escape my lips.
My heart began pounding so hard I could almost hear it beat—if the rush of blood inside my head hadn't been so deafening.
This was not possible.
It was not real.
Had they given me a hallucinogenic in that spell? Even so, hadn't it worn off already?
In the far horizon, among the dark starless sky, was a cluster of what could only be called planets, but not those that orbited the sun.
In fact, that was definitely not the solar system.
Yes, there were some planets in orbit around what looked like other planets, but no sun that I could see. Instead, each planet seemed to be lit from within, each possessed a glow of its own. There were also a few nebulous clouds—like the Milky Way—behind which there were more planets. Some were so far, they looked nothing more than pinpricks on the horizon, some were the size of eggs, some were even as oval, others were as big as soccer balls. Some of the planets were dull orange, some were a glowing onyx, and others were just opaque, lacking the self-glow. Others were so brightly colored, it looked like a few glowing rainbows had exploded inside them. Even some of the colors were strange; I bet they didn't exist in our spectrum.
It was surreal, to say the very least.
I felt like I was standing on top of the moon with some sort of enhanced goggles that let me see into another dimension.
It was beautiful.
It was beautiful beyond words.
And…
Oh, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore, my inner voice informed me shakily.
It suddenly dawned on me, with a chilling and frightening certainty, that I was in a strange world, stuck with Dr. Dean, no less.
The scuffling around us took a new meaning, and when one ventured just a few feet to my right, I couldn't help it, I jerked away.
Dr. Michael Dean laughed merrily.
“Don't worry, my dear. Unless you come into physical contact with one, they can't harm you.” He let me look for a second more, then turned me in the opposite direction, towards the darkness again, still unaware—or uncaring—that I had made a voluntary move. The fact that my shoulders were tense didn't bother him either. But then, why should it? I had no idea where I was, or how to get away from there.
Chapter Forty-Six
We had walked for what felt like days when I began feeling a difference in the landscape around us. I could see in the beam of Dr. Michael Dean's miniature penlight some small slopes and what looked like burnt twigs and branches. To complete the misery, I had nothing but the green blouse to protect me from the frigidity of the land. And ah, let's not forget the killing sores on my feet from the unending walking, scrubbing raw with every step I took.
And of course, I was so thirsty and hungry that my stomach snarled and grumbled in protest every other minute.
As we covered more and more ground, we began seeing dead branches and dead trees with more frequency, until we entered what seemed to me like a forest of dead trees.
I wondered what had happened to this land. The silence around us was broken only by the scuffling and the scratch of rocks beneath our feet, and those of the creatures behind us. No night sounds, no calls of night owls, no night predators. Not even the wind disturbed the cold, still night.
We stopped at the edge of the forest sometime later, and Michael Dean checked his watch again.
“Too long,” he muttered under his breath.
Then, he suddenly looked at me and said, “You're awfully quiet. I know the spell wore off a long time ago. You don't need to pretend. We should talk.” He waved a hand casually. “I heard time goes by faster when you have something to do.” He leaned closer, his beady green eyes gleaming. “Unless you have something more productive than talking in mind?”
“Come near me, and this time I'll kill you with my bare hands,” I threatened, and he laughed.
“My dear, haven't you noticed that there's nothing here? You kill me, you lose your only ticket back.”
“Ah, but it would be worth it. Every last breath.” I put on the cold, deranged smile I had practiced many times back in the PSS.
“You know,” he continued in a conversational tone, choosing to ignore my threat as if they were only empty words, “you would have ended up here today, anyway.”
That caught my attention. I knew he was baiting me, but I couldn't help it, I had to bite. “Why? What's in here?”
“A rendezvous point.”
I looked around at the barren land. “Who are we meeting?”
I heard the smile in Michael Dean's tone when he said, “Your new owner.”
There was a stunned silence before I repeated, not sure if I had heard right. “My new—owner? You sold me?”
“I exchanged you. Sold is such an ugly word. It implies slavery, of which I'm not fond.”
“Exchanged me?” I repeated dumbly. “With what?”
Michael Dean rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I got one of the most dangerous of the rejected—one of the oldest Dhiultadh still alive today.”
Rejected. There was that word again.
Only, I had no idea what he was talking about. General Parkinson had mentioned the rejected before—but if I was one of them, then I really was the reject of the rejected, because I had never heard about them.
“But why?” I a
sked, and I didn't know what part the question was meant for.
Dr. Michael Dean seemed not to share that problem, because he leaned forward conspiratorially, his face full of maniacal glee. Something foreign and inhuman darkened his expression. What was that black ring in his aura?
“Let me tell you a secret.” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “When the PSS gained custody of you, there were some stipulations cast upon the agreement. You know, you being underage and all. One of them, Clause 18 Paragraph 1, said that 'upon reaching her maturity at the age of twenty and one, and subject is found competent and capable, subject is to be released from custody of the guardians, free of any obligation of any capacity toward the facility, whereupon subject is free to pursue a normal life.' Unless there was an intervention of a third party before said time, preventing our research to continue as scheduled. Or you proved to be too unstable or dangerous to be left free among mankind.” He leaned back, his eyes gleaming unnaturally. “For, you see, we were also a disciplinary facility. Like an obedience school with benefits. Ah, I see Mommy Dearest never told you about that, but you shouldn't blame her. Keeping these stipulations a secret from you was actually one of the clauses in the contract. You should not know, lest you behave only to get free and unleash your true self upon mankind.” He chuckled at whatever expression he saw on my face.
All I could do was stare at him in disbelief. For a long time, my mind stayed horribly blank. Then I said, very softly, very quietly, “I've been free all this time? All along I have been hunted like a rabid animal, and I have been free?”
Dr. Michael Dean laughed, slapping his hands together as if I had just told him the most hilarious joke. “Not at all. You see, Clause 23 (a) Paragraph 6 states that if there is any intervention preventing the PSS from conducting its research to its fullest capacity, then for each month the intervention occurs, there's a three-month compensation penalty.”
“I was less than a month shy of twenty-one when I left,” I pointed out. “Then all you have is about two months and change.”
“Not at all, my dear. The minute you left, the adult-age freedom was null. All that counted was that for each month you were away, there would be a three-month penalty added to your sentence.” He spoke like I was a convict that had committed an unforgiving felony.
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