The Invincibles (Book 1): Trapped: A girl. A monster. A hero.

by Brittany Oldroyd

  He moves back, keeping the gun pressed into my skin, keeping me still. His fingers curl around my arm and he’s dragging me to my feet, dragging me to the door.

  I scream. “No!”

  The gun is loose, his grip slack. I push the gun away from my head and he drops it, surprised, caught off guard. I run and he loses his grip on my arm and I have to get out of here.

  The kitchen. My father’s last gift. The handgun my mother gave me. Sitting on the kitchen table. Just a few feet away. Just a few paces. Just a bit more.

  My fingers slip off the gun and it drops to the ground. He’s spinning me around, an arm across my waist, another over my mouth.

  I’m bucking and screaming and it’s not doing any good and I think he’s going to kill me now.

  He throws me down onto the kitchen table. Kneels over me. Presses a hand against my lips.

  “Stupid girl,” he laughs. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.”

  Wrong.

  I reach down, feeling for the pen I know my mother always leaves on the table. I saw it when I ran, saw it lying there with a pile of papers. It was there.

  My fingers grasp it and I’m glaring at him and he’s still laughing at me, not seeing the pen clutched between shaking fingers. He’s practically on top of me, with a hand on my mouth, another by my shoulder, but my hands are free. And he thinks I’m harmless with my father’s gun out of reach.

  I take the pen and shove it into his side as hard as I can. He screams. I push him off me. Run back into the living room. Snatch up my phone from the floor. Run into my bedroom. Lock the door.

  The moment I picked up my phone I started calling someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter. Because someone has to know, someone has to tell the police, someone has to help me.

  It’s ringing and I can hear him pounding on the door so hard everything shakes and I wonder how long it will take him to break it down.

  It’s still ringing. I pull it away from my ear to see who I’m calling. Alec Chancey. A small grimace.

  Come on, I think. Come on, come on, come on. I’m sorry. Just answer. Please. I need you, Alec. I need you.

  It’s still ringing.

  I go to the window, slide it open. The phone stops ringing and I can hear his voice, telling me to leave a message. Because he didn’t answer. Because he’s still mad.

  “Alec!” I scream. Frustrated.

  The door swings open and I’m trying to slip out the window and there’s a gunshot.

  I scream. Catch myself with my hands. Still inside the room. Fingers clutching the window sill. Ready to vomit my heart out of its cage.

  I look back. He’s wearing a good-natured smile, sauntering over to me, grabbing me by the throat, tossing me like a ragdoll, slamming the window shut.

  Feeling the blood on my leg, seeing the wild look in his eyes, I grit my teeth. Because he just shot me and I’m going to die in here and I will never see my mother again, never apologize to Alec, never see my father avenged for the crimes done to him.

  He walks over, crouches down, wraps his fingers around my throat, drags me up. And now I’m kicking, gasping, blacking out. Because I can’t breathe and my body is dangling from his grasp and everything is darker than it should be.

  He lets go of me and I fall on my bed. Sucking in air. Lungs heaving. Heart burning. He grabs my arm and drags me to my feet.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, as if coaxing a nervous child out of hiding. “You’re coming with me.”

  “No.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. Touches his side. “I’m impressed, really. You’ve put a good fight. Especially for being so young.”

  I glare, pull away from him. My leg gives out.

  He’s crouching over me again and I spit. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He shakes his head. “This game is growing old, sweetheart.” And now he’s cupping my chin in his fingers. Smiles. “Oh, they’re going to have fun with you.”

  “Who?”

  He doesn’t answer. Just takes his gun from the holster again and smashes it against my skull. And I fall, against him, eyes rolling back, body going limp.

  I’m gone.

  Nineteen

  I’ve never been knocked out before.

  My head feels like it’s about to explode. Like there’s someone knocking on my brain and each pounding sends a shudder through my skull. It’s agony.

  I groan, put a hand over my eyes, swear I’m going to make him pay for knocking me out, for shooting me, for looking at me. I will make him wish he was never born.

  As soon as I figure out how. As soon as I figure out where I am.

  I blink, move my hand away, push myself into a seated position. And then I freeze.

  There are metal bars on every wall and the floor is metal and it’s only light enough to see a few feet in front of me. But I know what this box they’ve put me in is. I’m in a cage.

  I try to stand but my leg burns with a kind of sharp pain I couldn’t feel until I moved. I look down. A bandage with red bleeding through, wrapped around my leg. That’s when he shot me. That’s where the bullet slipped past my skin, dug itself in. I yank on the bandage, unraveling it with slow fingers.

  I drop the bloodstained fabric, touch the hole in my skin, wince at my light fingers. It stings and it burns and it feels like someone drove a hole through my body. But the bullet is gone. Removed already. I start rewrapping my leg but then I know I’m not alone. Because he’s laughing at me again.

  “You really are something, sweetheart.”

  I glare. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “You handle being kidnapped very well.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  He grins. Strides forward. Strokes the bars of my prison.

  “It doesn’t matter what I want from you. The boss asked me to get you for him.” He taps his fingers against the bar. “He isn’t happy with you. You made quite a scene. Stabbing soldier with a pen, screaming for the whole neighborhood to here, calling someone for help. He’s very angry.”

  “Good,” I spit.

  “Who did you call?”

  Nothing. I will not betray Alec. Because I am not a coward and I will not tell him anything. Because, even if we haven’t spoken for days, Alec doesn’t deserve to be thrown into this mess. Because there is nothing left but anger and defiance in me.

  He opens the cage and steps inside. Shuts the door again. “You’re going to want to tell me,” he says. “If you don’t, I’m going to have to do some things that you won’t find very fun. Tell me who you called.”

  Be brave.

  I glare. Because he’s trying to scare me, because he has scared me so much in the past. Because I will not let him do it again. He has stalked me every day and attacked me and shot me. And I refuse to let him intimidate me a moment longer.

  I am Kate McCallister and fear is not in my vocabulary.

  He shrugs. “Fine.”

  And then I’m screaming and he’s digging a knife into my skin, into my cheeks and lips and jaw. Everything is bleeding and he’s yelling at me, demanding I tell him who I called.

  I never say.

  Twenty

  After four days, they take me out of the cage to shower.

  I’m led down the dark hallway and into a room with steel walls and a glass shower. The door shuts behind me and I take a deep breath before sliding out of dirty jeans and a ripped sweater. I turn on the water, step into the shower, and completely fall apart.

  I am brave and I am strong but I am not emotionless. Because I’ve been kidnapped and I have no idea what my mother thinks and I haven’t slept in days. I sit on the shower floor, cold steel beneath my feet, and cry. Tears rack my body and I’m clutching a steel wall and water runs down my skin like acid rain.

  It takes me a long time to sew myself back into the bold young woman I have convinced myself to be. But I do it. I stand up in the shower, wash myself, and turn off the water again. I dress in the shorts and t-shirt neatly pi
led on the floor, clean clothes left by my captors. Only then do I look in the mirror hanging on the wall.

  My skin is painted with messy scars. Lines crisscross my cheeks, my nose, my lips. Every inch of skin on my face is marred by the knife of my kidnapper. I run my fingers across a scar, tracing the line that splits through my lips.

  He gave me these scars. Tortured me. All because I tried to call for help. All because I protected Alec. He will never know who I called. Not if he tortures me, not if he holds a gun to my head, not if he kills me.

  Alec will be safe.

  Twenty-One

  I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve spent in this cage, lost track of how long since I was kidnapped, lost track of when the last time I showered was. Everything blurs together here.

  I have a visitor today.

  Two visitors. Along with my captor and torturer, there is another man standing outside the cage. His hair is white and his face is tense and his eyes are a mess of anxiety. I’ve met him before.

  I clench my hands into fists. Glare at the two of them. Because they are keeping me here and torturing me and I hate them. I wish there was nothing standing between me and them. I wish I could kill them. I wish I could strangle them.

  Violent thoughts fuel a violent heart, I think.

  Because hatred is a powerful thing and I would do anything to see them both dead. Because violence is my first thought and hatred constantly burns holes through my heart. Because I am violent and reckless and anger replaces all the fear in the world.

  “Hello, Miss McCallister.”

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  He smiles. “I suppose you really weren’t paying much attention,” he says amiably, as if this is a simple meeting of new friends. “My name is Dr. Pelletier.”

  I’m on my feet. Staring at him. The scientist. The tour guide. The man I barely glanced at while in Glass Tech.

  “You work for Mr. Glass,” I say, stating the obvious, still staring.

  He doesn’t respond to that. Nods to the man with him. “Grab her.”

  My captor opens the cage door, grabs my arm, pulls me out. I don’t struggle. I can see the gun in its holster, ready to be used. I hate him and I want him dead but I don’t want to get shot again.

  They’re leading me down the corridor. Through dim hallways and passed steel doors. Into a bright room with cages and—

  No. No, no, no, no, no.

  He’s still dragging me through the room. Even though I’m making a sound that can only resemble a dying animal. Even though I’m digging my heels into the floor. Even though I’m doing everything I can to stop myself from moving another step forward.

  Monsters. Grotesque beasts. Nothing I’ve ever wanted to see.

  The walls are lined with cages. To the left, animals. There’s horse with the wings of a giant bird laced into its back. A snake with bizarre legs melding into its scales. Other animals I can’t even identify, ruined by strange parts and a combination of other animals.

  To the right, there are caged humans. Or what might have been humans at one point. There’s a girl hunched over in the corner, spikes ripping through her spine. A boy with eyes far too large and a beak replacing his mouth. The cages go on and on, both sides becoming more and more sickening with every step.

  About halfway across the room, I break free of my captor. Fall to my knees. Press my forehead against the cool ground. And throw up.

  “You sure she’s the one, Doc?” my kidnapper mutters.

  I’m breathing in shaky gasps, ignoring them, avoiding the monstrosities around me. Because I don’t know how to deal with this, because I know I don’t want to try. How do you be strong when you’re staring at something horrifyingly inhuman? How do you be brave when everything around you is fear?

  My kidnapper yanks on my arm and I scream. He pulls harder and I’m glaring and trembling and yelling. “No! I am not going another step. I refuse to see what other monsters you have cooked up here. I would rather die than see more!”

  “Bring her over to this cage.” Pelletier’s voice is rigid. “She needs to see this.”

  An arm around my waist drags me to my feet, pulls me in the direction of Pelletier’s voice.

  I scream and buck. No. I will not go along with this. I will not see whatever he wants me to look at. I refuse.

  I’m dropped in front of a cage, next to Pelletier. I wasn’t truly free of terror until this moment, wasn’t truly brave until they brought me here. But now my anger is more powerful than my fear. Now, I can’t believe they would do this to people and animals, torture them like this.

  Now, the rebel inside of me breaks free, snaps from its bonds.

  My head is down. I won’t look. If Pelletier wants me to see something, I will keep my head bowed, my eyes closed. I will not see.

  “Come now, Miss McCallister,” Pelletier says. “You’re acting like a child.”

  I’m tempted to look. To show him I am not afraid, to prove I am not a child. I am a very angry woman and I will not stand for this.

  I glare at the ground and grit my teeth. No. I will not look. Rebellion will not allow me to see.

  A scream pierces through my resistance and a voice splits the air. “You’re an idiot.”

  I’m frozen.

  Because that is not I voice I expected to or wanted to or should hear. Not here. Not in this dark hole of monsters and madmen. That’s Alec’s voice.

  I stand and lunge for Pelletier, grabbing his lab coat. “Where is he?”

  I’m yanked back in the arms of my kidnapper and Pelletier points to the cage. Another scream. “I’m right here.”

  I stare at the woman in the cage. Her hair is everywhere, a torrent of wild red curls. Her eyes are a bright gold, her pupils are slivers. Cat eyes. She’s staring at me with an agonizing smile.

  “I’m right here,” she says again.

  “Miss McCallister,” Pelletier is saying, “Did you know that tigers can imitate the calls of other animals? A way to draw their prey out into the open.” He smiles. “This young woman has a similar ability. Miss Johnson here has the unique ability to imitate voices. Like the voice of your dear ex-best friend, Alec Chancey.” I glare but he’s not done talking. “You wonder how this girl knows Alec Chancey’s voice. Well, a simple hacking job. Surveying the Chancey home for a couple of days, recording his voice.”

  “Why?”

  Pelletier smiles with usual amity. “To separate the two of you. You see, you needed to be fairly isolated before you were brought here. Alec was your only friend. You have no relationship with your mother.”

  Wrong. I didn’t have a relationship with Mom. But that’s changed. And, somehow, they’ve missed it.

  “We needed Alec out of the way. So, we hacked into his phone, had Miss Johnson imitate his voice and call your mother.”

  No.

  “You texted him and we sent false messages back. Then we called you and Miss Johnson fought with you in Alec’s voice. It was never him. He never had a clue. And now he’s probably sitting at home, trying to figure out why you hated him.”

  No.

  Because I fought with my best friend over nothing. Because it was never Alec. Because I was arguing with no one and hating for no reason. Because I gave up his friendship, thinking he’d betrayed me, when he’d never said a word to my mother.

  “Miss McCallister, there are fates worse than death,” Pelletier says. “You may think that death would be ideal, that it would be better than seeing the things around you. But you do not have that option. You know what we can do. Do not make this difficult.

  “You are here because we need you and nothing you do can prevent the fate you are given. And if you continue to rebel, I will see to it that your mother and Alec are found and killed. You may not care about your life but I imagine their lives mean a great deal to you.”

  Fingernails digging into palms, I curl my hands into fists. He’s right. I am not afraid to die. But I will not sacrifice my family and friend. If it will
save them, if it will keep them alive, I will not fight them. I will keep them safe.

  “Now, come, there is someone else you must meet.”

  They drag me out the room and into an adjoining one. With more cages. And now they’re dragging me past empty cages.

  Until one isn’t empty.

  He’s there. The man from Glass Tech. The one dragged through those open hallways. The one with dark hair and beautiful eyes. The one I dreamt about.

  I can’t help but think he’s just as gorgeous as before. He’s not wearing a shirt and every muscle is tense, pulled taut in anger. He’s on his feet in an instant, glaring at Pelletier with the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  A look at Pelletier. He’s only smiling. “Hello, Zane.”

  Zane is silent. Staring at me. Glaring at the man keeping me captive.

  Pelletier sighs. “Really, Zane. You and I both know you do have the ability to speak. Stop this nonsense.”

  I stare. Mute? He can’t talk? He won’t talk? Why? What difference does it make?

  You don’t know that, Zane mouths to Pelletier slowly, an angry frown setting his features.

  Pelletier shakes his head. “Very well.” He glances at me. At Zane again. “Have you met our newest addition?” he says, like he’s describing a new pet. Like I’m nothing more than an animal. “Miss Katherine McCallister, the daughter of Lindsay and Jackson McCallister.”

  Zane looks at me and his eyes are dread. I wonder if mine are too.

  “Zane.” Pelletier’s tone is curt now. Going from amiable to rude in a second. “Katherine doesn’t know anything about the Project.”

  Lucky her.

  “Show her what you can do.”

  Zane shakes his head, clenches and unclenches his hands. No.

  “No? Don’t be stupid. Transform, Zane. This is for her sake as much as it is for yours.”

  You know I can’t do it on command.

  “You have never tried.”

  I never will.

  I’m staring at Zane. Because I don’t understand. Why is he mute? What are they asking him to do? Why doesn’t he want to do it? The world doesn’t make sense down here.