The woman looked up, her face suddenly aware of an urgency.
“Come with me,” the woman spoke calmly, pulling Alan with her out the doorway and into the white-tiled hallway. Alan saw a great deal more soldiers rolling around in the halls as they went.
“They think they’re on fire,” the woman said plainly, her voice soft and lacking any emotional fluster. “Alright, let’s go.”
“We aren’t going anywhere. Not until we find her,” Alan pleaded with the mysterious woman, his hands shaking from the adrenaline rush.
The woman opened the metal double doors in front of her and motioned for Alan to leave. Alan moved his hand back, and the doors snapped shut. The woman looked back, partly impressed and partly annoyed.
Alan’s eyes narrowed. He straightened his uniform and pointed back the way they had come.
“I said no. Athena is in here, and I’m not going to leave her because you’re scared of the boogeyman.”
“Scared? You’re damn right, I’m scared. Did you see what they did to me in there?” the woman questioned, her tone shrill and upset. “I’m not going back.”
“You won’t have to, but we have to find my friend - and now - before they scramble her brains,” Alan said firmly. “You have my word; I won’t let them hook you back up to that machine.”
The woman composed herself, then nodded in agreement. “She’s probably in the neural data mine. It’s over there.”
The woman pointed to the hallway heading to the detention area. Alan rolled his eyes. Of course.
“How do you know that’s where it is? You’ve been unconscious.”
“I can read minds, dummy. Just as easy to pull information as it is to put in.”
“Fair enough.”
Alan shrugged. If Athena could read minds, and this woman could make people see things, he supposed that there was an overlap somewhere in there to do both. It wasn’t in him to protest the gifting of other freaks. He thought he could only move metal, and now he was moving anything he felt like… with his mind. Best not to question a fellow freak.
“Good point, -,” Alan held his hand out, waiting for her to finish with her name.
“Elizabeth,” the woman held out her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Alan,” Alan replied and pointed to the hall awkwardly, “To the brain thingy.”
✽✽✽
Athena looked up at the circular dish standing over her head.
“Please, try to relax, ma’am. Struggling will only make it worse,” the doctor said calmly at Athena’s bedside.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll relax just fine… once you unplug me, Dr. Frankenstein.”
Athena tensed up, more to spite the amicable mad scientist. The doctor cleared his throat and placed electrodes around Athena’s temples. The doctor pulled some switches, and Athena could hear a faint ringing sound in her ears.
The doctor typed a few deliberate keystrokes into his computer, and the machine over Athena’s head began to light up and beep. Athena closed her eyes, as the machine spun, emitting a sound like a loud vacuum cleaner. Then shattering, metal crashing, and the doctor screaming. Athena could feel her restraints lifting. She opened her eyes.
“Hey,” Alan said, his voice soft. Athena could feel a smile overtaking her face. It was automatic. She couldn’t tell if it was about the rescue or that she saw Alan’s friendly face again.
“You idiot. I told you to run.”
“I mean, I could hook you back up if you’d like,” Alan teased, then brushed the hair out of her face. “Let’s just get you up, and you can yell at me some more later.”
Their moment was broken up by the blood-curdling screams of the scientist, whose arms were spastically pawing at the floor. Both Alan and Athena jumped at his first panicked cry. Alan felt the hairs on his arms stand. Athena, the same. The scientist’s glasses had cracked at the bridge of his nose, as his face desperately pressed against the concrete floor, trying to escape some illusion.
“I’m going to drown!” the doctor shrieked. “Save me! Someone help!”
“How?” Athena looked around. “Should we do something? Who did this to him?”
Elizabeth walked into her line of sight. Athena gave her a confused look. Elizabeth put a hand to her chest.
“Elizabeth,” she replied to Athena.
Athena groaned, as her shackles came off. Alan pulled her up, embracing her tightly.
“I hate to rain on the parade, but it’s time to get out of here,” Elizabeth said in a dry tone. “Let’s go.”
✽✽✽
Marshall barreled his way through the crowd of guards standing in the circular hallway near the hub, pushing them off as he ran. Castor ran behind him, punching with fire-laced fists and melting firearms in his burning grip.
Marshall and Castor were about to be overwhelmed from both sides when the C Block hallway door blew open, slamming guards into the ringed hallway’s metal siding. Alan came walking through.
“Nice trick,” Castor said, exhaling and hunched over. He wasn’t used to so much cardio.
“Follow me,” Alan said, “Let’s get to the exit. I have some more friends coming, but we can pave the way.”
Alan slammed his way through a group of guards and into the exit door, startling a teleportation operator on the inside. The Asian woman’s eyes were terrified when she realized what was happening. But it was too late. She lifted her hands up to initiate a portal, but Alan raised one hand out, and she became stuck like a statue.
Marshall grabbed her, holding his hand around her mouth.
“Listen, don’t scream, ok. We’re not going to hurt you,” Marshall said in a calming tone. The woman nodded. Marshall let her go, and she tried to punch him. Marshall grabbed her arm like she was a child. “I told you we wouldn’t hurt you. I forgot to mention: don’t hurt us.”
The woman struggled for a minute, writhing around, trying to get a holding that would give her leverage. Marshall looked up at Castor, who was trying to fight laughter. Marshall rolled his eyes and lifted the woman over his head.
“I can do this all day. All. Day.”
She took the hint and gave up.
“What do you want?” the woman said through an annoyed groan.
“We want out of here, lady,” Castor replied sharply. “What the hell kind of question is that? You ever hear a prisoner say, ‘Oh, come to think of it. I was going to break out, but - nah - just give me some steak and we’re square.’ Jeez, these people, right?”
The woman gave Castor an annoyed eye roll, then looked back at Marshall. “So, you want to escape.”
“But not before our friends get here,” Marshall said, and he put the woman down gently next to him.
The hallway door creaked open, and Marshall was stunned at the sight of Elizabeth.
“Lizzie?” Marshall shouted with joy.
Athena and Alan glanced at each other with confused looks. Marshall gave Elizabeth a huge bear hug, while Castor welded the maintenance door shut. The guards would have to circle around the other side of the ringed hall to get back to them. The teleporter tried to run, and Alan - while still making eye contact with Athena - held out a hand to hold her in place with his mind.
“What’s going on here?” Athena asked.
Marshall looked at Alan and Athena, a huge grin on his face. “This is Lizzie. She’s my sister.”
sixteen
“We have to get out of here,” Elizabeth said. “They’re coming for us. He’s almost here.”
“Okay, okay, you’ll go through with the teleporter and make sure she keeps the portal open long enough for us all to make it through,” Marshall explained, his eyes on the woman standing idle next to Castor.
“I have a name, you know,” the woman replied rudely.
“I bet you do,” Castor said, arms folded and voice annoyed. He looked at her uniform, “Song? What kind of name is Song?”
“It was my mother’s,” Song answered.
“She shoulda’ kept
it,” Castor replied jokingly.
“Shut up,” Marshall snapped, “Let’s go, now.”
Athena looked at Song.
“Whatever her name is, she’s going to betray us,” Athena said nonchalantly. The woman’s eyes bulged, bewilderment stricken on her face. Athena looked in the woman’s eyes with a searching, piercing expression. “She’s going to drop us in… a quarry.”
The woman cleared her throat.
“That’s a lie. I wouldn’t…”
“We can read minds, you idiot,” Elizabeth chimed in. “Lying isn’t going to get you anywhere. But if you cooperate, you’ll be fine.”
“Do you know what they’ll do to me if I help you?”
“Do you know what I’ll do?” Elizabeth replied sharply. The woman flinched as she felt bugs crawling on her skin. She looked down and saw hundreds of spiders climbing up her arms, winding their way to her face. Hundreds of tiny, bristled legs tapping away at her goosebumped skin. Song screamed.
“Oh god, get it off. Get them off!” Song shrieked.
“Lizzie, cut it out,” Marshall complained.
Elizabeth stopped, and Song was fine again, save for the hyperventilating. Marshall put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“We don’t have time for this,” Elizabeth said coldly to Marshall. “He’ll be here any moment.”
“Who?” Castor asked.
“The Director,” Athena said. “He’s back from DC, and if I’m reading this right, he’s totally pissed.”
The doors to the hub creaked where Castor had welded them shut. Alan looked back at Marshall, who seemed to be growing more concerned by the minute. Marshall turned to Song.
“Open a portal. Somewhere remote.”
Song hesitantly nodded, flicked her wrist, and opened a blue portal next to the group. Elizabeth looked at Marshall, her eyes frantic.
“I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”
Elizabeth went through the portal with the operator. Castor nodded to Athena for their turn.
“You did good, kid,” Castor said to Alan. “Sorry for giving you so much shit.”
Alan nodded, but his eyes were on Athena. Ever since that first day they met in the lobby, Alan’s eyes had been on her. Now there were silent words passing between them. A message Alan couldn’t forget. He’d never forget that moment bathed in red light in the closet. It seemed to be the only moment worth remembering now. But they didn’t say a word. They just stared at each other, as Athena walked backward into the portal, and vanished. Castor walked in after her.
“We’re running out of time, the portal’s starting to weaken,” Marshall said, as he looked at the hub door beginning to split under the pressure of the Department’s full force.
“Go. I’ll hold them back,” Alan said softly.
“You can’t,” Marshall shouted. “That’s an entire army through those doors.”
“You have a family that needs you, Marshall. You need to go. Now.”
“I won’t,” Marshall refused.
“You don’t have a choice.”
The doors split enough for a guard to stick his handgun through and fire a shot. Alan held his arm out and stopped the bullet in mid-air.
“Don’t worry about me. This is what I want.”
Alan turned his other arm and pushed Marshall with his mind, watching him dissolve into the portal as it disappeared.
✽✽✽
Marshall fell backward into a misty forest. The others were standing around the operator, who was passed out on the ground. He watched the portal slowly dissolved as he sat up. Marshall looked at his friends with panic.
“No, no. No, I have to go back. Open another portal,” Marshall begged.
Elizabeth looked down at Song, who was lying on the grass, her eyes closed and sweat covering her glossy face.
“It took too much out of her, Marshall. We can’t.”
Marshall stood up and punched the nearest tree he could see as hard as he could. The tree splintered like a twig, sending shards and chunks of wood into the air and into other trees, knocking them down as well.
✽✽✽
A lot of bullets. Alan could feel his brain boiling as he tried to stop them all. He pushed back on the guards with all he had in his tank. They flew through the air like dolls. Then the operators came. At first, he could defend himself. The punches and other telekinetics were easier to block than a hail of bullets. But eventually his mind couldn’t handle the workload. There were too many, and their blows pierced through his defenses.
Punched to the floor. Alan coughed blood. He strained to see through his swollen eye. The operators had parted.
The Director had arrived.
The gray-haired man, in his navy suit, with his perfect smile, and his piercing eyes stood before the kid with the smart mouth, the failing brain; the instigator of an insurrection.
“Mr. Mitchell,” the Director said, his voice loud and authoritative.
“You know, eventually I’m going to get your friends. Every last one of your little band of freaks. Anyone who planned this little cabal is going to get what they deserve.”
Alan could feel his knees bleeding as they scraped on the metal grate floor, his eyes peering up into the fluorescent light of the teleportation room. Luckily, the Director didn’t know their faces, so he wasn’t sure who he was dealing with; save for Alan and probably Athena.
“Such excruciating pain awaits the terrorists who think they can oppose us,” the Director said with disdain, and he nodded to the operator looming over Alan. The operator pushed his hand into Alan’s shoulder, releasing a jolt of pain inside Alan’s brain. Alan groaned in agony and lifted his head up as best he could.
“It was me. It was all me. I roped them into it. Everyone else wanted to keep working. It’s all my fault; all of it,” Alan said through clenched teeth, tears of pain streaking down his face, mixing with the blood and sweat into a stinging concoction.
The operator standing over him pressed further into Alan’s brain, tormenting Alan with images of his friends dying. It was all fuzzy chaos, but Alan could feel the raw emotion of loss and tragedy, even though the faces were blurry.
The Director kept a straight face, his emotions under control. He looked at the operator, and then back down at Alan. Little more than twenty years, the Director guessed, but he was trouble regardless.
“Good. I don’t want to waste any more time. We’re going to clean this up in one strike. Do you know what I’m going to do, Mr. Mitchell?”
The Director bent down, staring at Alan’s wincing visage. Alan looked at the Director’s cold, icy-blue eyes, and knew it would be truly horrific.
“No,” Alan groaned through his teeth, “But I have a feeling it’s not going to be pleasant.”
The Director let a rumbling laugh slip through his diaphragm. His eyes peered into Alan’s wavering gaze. The operator pressed his hand further into Alan’s shoulder, and Alan yelped like a kicked dog.
“I’m going to make it so you were never born, Mr. Mitchell. Not a soul will know you ever existed on this mud ball. Your parents won’t even have an inkling of your soul,” the Director’s quick-worded tirade was laced with venomous hate. He paced as he spoke, as if his hatred gave him energy to carry on.
“How is that-,” Alan winced as he started to lose feeling in his lower legs, “How is that possible?”
The Director looked down at Alan with pity. The boy had clearly gone through hell to save his friends, but he had grown from an inconvenience to a threat; and the Director could not abide threats. The Director placed a gloved hand on the top of Alan’s head.
“When time is on your side, anything is within your grasp, Mr. Mitchell. Anything,” the Director was waxing poetic, the situation truly within his control.
“Time?”
“I’m going to go back and keep you from being born, and we’ll be able to put this whole thing behind us. Maybe I won’t have to kill your friends, or maybe I will just for the hell of it. Wh
o knows?” the Director enjoyed his threats. They gave him power. Even now, as he began thinking about the past, he could feel the world swelling around him. It was a great symphony of light and warmth. He put a hand on Alan’s head.
“Goodbye, Mr. Mitchell; I’m afraid, for the last time,” the Director walked backwards as a bubble - its contents a mirror of the world around them - grew out of thin air. Alan looked at the Director and realized - in seeing his devilish smirk - that he wouldn’t stop at just killing Alan. No, this would continue until his blood lust was sated. Alan felt a thumping in his chest, his heart beating with a ferocity he’d never known before.
The Department for Mutated Persons (Book 1): The Department for Mutated Persons Page 11
