Song of the Ovulum

by Bryan Davis

  “You will soon learn much more about many things.” Semiramis kept her focus on Lauren’s hands. “Can I trust you? Or should I fasten the second cuff?”

  “You can trust me.” Lauren lifted her arm, letting the handcuffs dangle. “Can you take this one off?”

  “I prefer to leave it. You never know when I might have to attach you to something to keep you from escaping.”

  Lauren let her arm flap against her side, jangling the cuffs. “I’m in a jail yard. I don’t think escaping is possible.”

  “If you maintain that realistic outlook, you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  Lauren caught a glimpse of a man with a rifle standing in an observation tower near the border of the jail yard. Resisting seemed useless. There was no way to escape, at least not yet. For now, she just had to survive.

  She stuffed the ring into her sweatpants pocket and breathed out a quiet, “If you say so.”

  As she and Semiramis walked side by side on the concrete path, dim lamps atop tall poles gave light to the buildings far ahead. Rectangular and aligned in rows, they looked like barracks from a war movie, though cleaner and more modern. The dark narrow spaces between them might allow one person to walk without brushing the sides, but probably not two. The path divided the barracks into two sections, left and right, and a tall fence blocked the way at the far end. Since Portia was nowhere in sight, she must have already entered one of these living quarters.

  Between Lauren and the barracks, a rectangle of lush green sod interrupted the concrete. Beyond the rectangle’s left edge lay a field striped for sports, not nearly as green.

  As Lauren walked across the sod, moist and mushy under her feet, Semiramis spoke in a low tone. “I am told that this is the minimum security section. I have to take you to a political prisoner in maximum security. It’s very important that I see the two of you together.”

  Lauren glanced at her captor’s military boots. Although she walked with a normal gait, she never quite touched the ground. Maybe she really was a ghost. “Since when do we have political prisoners in this country? We’re supposed to have freedom of speech.”

  “Freedom of speech?” Semiramis laughed. “Your country allows freedom until it feels threatened. In case you haven’t heard, a war is brewing with Second Eden. Anyone with dragon sympathies is immediately suspect, especially anthrozils, so people with dragon characteristics are detained using a nonlegal pretext.”

  They crossed the far edge of the sod and proceeded on the paved path. “You might have heard,” Semiramis continued, “that some government officials are calling for all anthrozils to be eliminated. Supposedly, anthrozils aren’t human, so killing them for the benefit of society is the best option. Until that policy is settled, we have taken some anthrozils into protective custody.”

  Lauren let the words tumble around. Protective custody. That excuse was as lame as a one-legged penguin. The entire story was a crock, an excuse to imprison anyone they wanted—just claim someone has strange characteristics, slap the anthrozil label on her, and she can go to jail without a trial. For now, she would have to play along. Arguing with fanatical conspiracy theorists wouldn’t do any good anyway.

  As they passed between the two sets of barracks, Lauren’s tingling sensation returned, again stinging the skin on her back. Sounds poured into her ears—a quiet sigh from the barracks, a radio playing a country song, and Semiramis’s voice, though her lips didn’t move to speak. Her words echoed slightly, as if confined in an empty room.

  Tamiel thinks he has me trapped, but we shall see about that. After my son tests this girl, we will know if she is a Listener or has all of Shachar’s traits. Then, as long as she is in our control, we have the ultimate bargaining leverage, assuming, of course, she survives the tests. There must be a way to assure that Tamiel keeps his end of the bargain. I cannot let her escape.

  Lauren concealed a tight swallow. A Listener? What could that be? And who was Shachar? Obviously the story about her freakish abilities had gotten out, and now they planned to use her as a lab rat.

  Without moving her head, she glanced from side to side. Running would only delay the inevitable, unless somehow she could find someone who would listen, someone in command who would sympathize with her plight. And Semiramis, being a ghost, might be able to fly faster than an escaping girl could run.

  Lauren studied Semiramis’s boots again. Since she never touched the ground, and since she summoned that big guard to grab her, and since she didn’t attach the second handcuff, maybe this ghost wasn’t physical at all. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to stop anyone from doing anything. Yet, something moved those chess pieces. The facts weren’t exactly adding up.

  A crackle sounded in the distance. The lights darkened. Seconds later, sirens blared. Lauren jumped away from the walk and ran into a gap between two barracks. Guided by moonlight, she hurried into the darker recesses, holding the handcuffs to keep them quiet. Finally, she stopped and looked back. Semiramis was nowhere in sight, but being a ghost, she could be invisible, maybe even standing next to her.

  Lauren leaned against a wall and took in a deep breath. Her heart thumped wildly. A rollicking clamor drummed in her ears, the barking of dogs now combining with the sirens. Both likely signaled a warning to the prisoners. Anyone caught outside their rooms or cells or whatever they lived in could be in big trouble.

  She swallowed through a lump. There was no place to go. Since Semiramis knew where she went, she had to keep moving, get as far away from this area as possible.

  Jogging slowly to avoid crashing into a wall, she zigzagged among the barracks until she came out into the open near the side of a road. A tall chain-link fence stood between her and the road’s nearer edge, but it had no razor wire on top, probably because it was an interior barrier separating sections of the prison.

  A pair of buildings stood on the opposite side of the road. Two stories high and made of brick, they seemed out of place, more like an old-fashioned hotel than a prison. Yet, the two military jeeps parked next to each other in the middle of the road provided a stark reminder that this wasn’t a lodging where residents could check out anytime they pleased.

  Lauren studied the details. Dark bars crisscrossed the windows. Attached to the wall next to each entry, a tiny LED flashed at the center of a dark square panel. That area had to be the maximum security section. It would be the last place anyone would think to look for her, but how could she possibly get in? And once in, where would she go?

  Narrowing her eyes, she looked at an alley separating the buildings. It seemed to exit into a field behind the complex. Maybe there would be a tree to climb or some other place to hide until she could figure out what to do, but how could she get over the fence without being noticed, especially since she glowed in the dark?

  She scanned her body. The jacket covered her arms, but her face was still bare, probably enough skin showing to stand out like a human firefly, especially while climbing a fence. And no matter how quiet she tried to be, the combination of shifting fence links and clinking handcuffs would alert anyone within earshot.

  A short distance to her left, a guard carrying a rifle got out of a jeep and set a flashlight beam on the road directly in front of her. From her right, another guard approached, walking slowly with a leashed German shepherd at his side. This guard, hefty and balding, looked a lot like Hoskins, but it was hard to tell for sure.

  Trembling, Lauren took a step back. That dog would be the first to notice her, whether by sight, smell, or sound. Her back tingled again, but she didn’t need a reminder that fear coursed through her body.

  Something grabbed her jacket and pulled her deeper into the shadows. She jerked to free herself, but whatever held her wouldn’t let go. As she whipped around, a small hand clamped over her mouth and forced her to a crouch.

  “Shhhhh!” Her captor’s long shush sounded like a leaking tire, growing quieter as she uncovered Lauren’s mouth.

  Lauren stared thro
ugh the darkness and located a dim face. “Portia?” she whispered.

  Portia set a finger over her lips, again signaling for silence. As they both stooped low, the dog handler joined the first guard at his jeep, and the two began chatting. The shepherd lay on the road, its ears erect.

  Portia laid a hand on Lauren’s cheek, her eyes wide.

  “Yes,” Lauren said in the lowest tone possible, “my skin glows.”

  Using her hands, Portia began a long string of rapid gestures. Lauren pushed her hands down, shaking her head. “I don’t know sign language.” She then rolled her eyes. “What am I doing? You’re deaf. You can’t hear me.”

  Portia spoke slowly and carefully. “I read lips.” In spite of her efforts, her words came out slightly warped.

  “Even when it’s this dark?”

  Portia nodded. “I know much. Not an idiot.”

  Lauren cringed. This poor woman probably read Colonel Baxter’s lips when he made the remark about her being an idiot savant. It must have hurt her feelings. Yet, hadn’t she already gone back into the office when he said it? Maybe not. Either way, he might have said it in her presence at other times.

  As the two locked stares, Lauren’s skin continued to tingle, and a soft voice rose to her ears, echoing in the same way Semiramis’s unspoken words had. How do I get Lauren to believe I’m not an idiot, that I just can’t speak well? It’s too much to try to force into words. And if I stop pretending to be a prisoner, my whole cover could be blown.

  Lauren resisted the urge to blurt out the revelation. Obviously Portia had reasons for keeping her secrets. Besides, revealing her own newfound ability to hear thoughts might cause trouble. “I believe you’re not an idiot,” Lauren whispered, forming her words carefully as she helped Portia read her lips. “Why did you check my cuff?”

  “To see if … I have key.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Portia shook her head. “Different kind.”

  “Well, maybe you could help me hide. Do you know how to get across the fence? I don’t think they’ll look for me there.”

  “Wait.” Portia pointed at the road. “Watch.”

  The handler led the dog to the fence’s gate about a stone’s throw to Lauren’s left. He paused there and turned toward the other soldier.

  When the guard at the gate spoke, his words began in a soft voice, but her tingles amplified the sound until it seemed that he stood right next to her. “It’s locked as tight as a drummer.”

  Lauren couldn’t resist smiling. That was Hoskins, all right.

  “It’s the power outage,” the other guard said as he leaned back against a jeep. “The security system is on a dedicated generator, and the interior gates revert to a default code. It’s in the manual.”

  “I haven’t read it all yet. It’s only been a week.”

  “I’m coming.” The guard walked across the road and punched numbers into a pad. “You’d better read the manual before your next shift.”

  The shepherd’s ears perked up, and he let out a rumbling growl. Hoskins tightened his grip on the leash and looked around. “He smells something.”

  Lauren sniffed the back of her hand. Nothing obvious. But she hadn’t showered since the game. Maybe she reeked and couldn’t tell.

  Hoskins jerked a phone to his ear. “Yes? … Which door? … I’ll check into it.”

  “Whatcha got?” the other guard asked.

  “Someone accessed the research wing’s rear door—rather unexpected this time of night.”

  “Need backup?”

  Hoskins patted the shepherd’s head. “I have backup, but I wouldn’t mind the human variety.”

  The other guard shrugged. “Sure.” He led the way to the nearer building’s front door, held his wrist close to the panel, and disappeared inside. Hoskins glanced back. As he reeled in the leash to keep the dog close, moonlight illuminated his look of concern. Seconds later, he entered the building, and the door closed behind him.

  Portia pulled on Lauren’s sleeve. “Come!”

  The two ran to the gate. Portia touched a numeric keypad mounted inside a box hanging on a vertical pole next to the locking mechanism.

  Lauren mouthed her words carefully. “I heard him say it defaulted to a power-outage code, something that’s in their manual.”

  Portia nodded. “I know … that code.”

  As Portia punched in the numbers, Lauren took note of the sequence—five, seven, four, one, three.

  Portia swung the gate open. “Go,” she said, gesturing with an arm. “I must … stay here.”

  After Lauren passed through, she spun and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Smiling, Portia closed the gate, then dashed away along the path. Lauren watched her for a moment. What was she? An undercover agent of some kind? And why was she helping a girl she couldn’t possibly know anything about?

  Lauren shrugged. No time to figure it out. She ran across the road and into the alley. When she reached the far end, she leaned out and looked both ways. To her left, a hooded figure skulked toward her, staying close to the building’s rear wall. As he drew closer, moonlight illuminated his features. With a strong chin, clean-shaven face, and short, dark hair, he appeared to be about her age, though his bent posture made his height hard to determine—maybe five foot ten. Why would a teenager be sneaking around in the maximum security area of a prison?

  She backed into the alley and stepped on something hard and irregular. She picked up the two-handled object and drew it close to her eyes. Wire cutters? Who would leave wire cutters lying around here?

  BREAKING IN

  Matt detached and dropped the rappelling harness. After flicking on his penlight and raising his hood, he hustled toward the prison, wire cutters in hand. With the building’s power out, no exterior floodlights could expose his presence, but the penlight, as weak as it was, probably stood out like a beacon. And since everyone would be on high alert, he had to find the rear entrance to the research wing in a hurry and wait in the shadow of the alcove until the power returned. Only then would he be able to test the bracelet’s password.

  He ran over a grassy field for at least a hundred yards until he reached a chain-link fence. Above, at least six feet over his head, razor wire ran along the top. He began snipping the links, starting at waist level and working his way down. The blades seemed sharp, but the links proved to be rugged, forcing him to prop the handles between his forearms and squeeze them together. With each snip, a metallic ping sounded, swallowed by the surrounding racket. All he needed was a gap big enough to squeeze through, something that might avoid notice until the next scheduled power outage.

  After a final clip at the bottom, he pushed his body through the opening and continued his dash. The penlight now off, he stopped at an alley that divided the twin two-story buildings. According to the map, the rear door lay about a hundred feet to the right of the alley. It would be easy to step off the distance.

  He looked through the alley to the open area at the far end. A soldier leading a German shepherd walked by on an access road, but they didn’t seem to notice him. Beyond where they walked and behind a fence, a female wearing sweats and a jacket stood in the shadows cast by the barracks. Judging from her size and shape, she appeared to be a young woman, maybe a teenager. Normally the distance and darkness would keep him from picking up any details at all, but her face and hands seemed to glow. If she was trying to hide from the guard, she wouldn’t last long.

  He shook his head. No time to worry about her. He laid the clippers in the alley, then, bending low, scurried to the right. After thirty steps, the wall to the left gave way to a short corridor that ended at a metal door. To the right of the door, a black square panel no bigger than his hand hung on the brick wall. A tiny red LED blinked steadily at its center.

  With the roof of this corridor hiding the moon, a shadow veiled the lettering on the security panel. He turned on the penlight and read the words. Research Wing. Inv
alid Entry Attempts Will Alert Security Officer.

  Matt studied the panel. Apparently the LED was battery powered, but the computer that read the password couldn’t be running unless the system had its own generator somewhere.

  He nodded at his own idea. The security system probably was powered separately from the rest of the facility. Otherwise, moving from room to room or building to building would be a nightmare during an outage.

  He whispered, “Walter. I’m in position. Can you hear me?”

  “Not very well.” Static cut through Walter’s voice. “I assume you can’t speak up.”

  “Not really. Listen. Any idea if the security system works when the power’s out? Maybe I can try to get in before what’s-his-name restores it. Then I could sneak around in the dark.”

  “I suppose trying it won’t hurt. If it isn’t operational, you probably won’t alert anyone.”

  “Okay,” Matt said. “I’ll keep you up-to-date.”

  He set the bracelet against the LED. A click sounded, then a faint hum. When he grabbed the handle and pulled, the door opened, silencing the noise.

  Holding the door, he probed the dark interior with his penlight. It appeared to be a hallway leading left and right. Nothing stirred. Yet, a sense of danger pricked his mind. Something was wrong. Maybe the power outage wasn’t enough to keep a guard from noticing a suspicious access. After all, who would enter through the rear door at this time of night? Of course, he should have thought of that possibility earlier, and Walter counted on his danger-sensing talents to keep him out of trouble, so he didn’t mention it.

  He backed out, set the penlight on the threshold against the jamb, and let the door swing up to it. Good. It stayed ajar. Maybe if the danger settled, he could return, but for now, his inner alarm kept getting stronger.

  “Walter, I think someone’s coming.”

  “The baseball feeling?”

  “Yeah. A fastball.”

  “You’d better abort. Get back to the rope. We’ll have to come up with another plan.”