by Shiloh White
Then it was replaced by a loud, old-fashioned-car alarm.
“Oh, what now?” Chug said.
“Get back,” Woodstock ordered, stretching out his hand to keep us from the open hole. A single hand reached over the top, something small in it. I couldn't make it out in the dark soil. Then another hand came out, and they pulled a frizzy pile of long, thin, curly light brown hair followed by a milk chocolate-skinned girl with bright eyes. One was a gold hazel color, and the other blue. I knew because she stared me down as she came up out of the manhole.
As she rose to her feet in front of us, she assumed a fighting stance. The small thing in her hand I could see clearer now. It was a double syringe, with two needles and two tubes—each filled with a light green liquid I had a feeling none of us wanted in our systems.
“Hello,” the girl said in an automated voice. “My name is Lara, and I'll be the defense mechanism today.”
✽✽✽
Lara tried to smile, but it looked more like a sneer.
“That's a little freaky,” Chug pointed out. Then it got even more freaky.
The other five shadows loaded themselves into the room, running to either side of Lara and pulling out their own copy of the syringe. And that wasn't all they shared. In the light, I could see all their faces, and what stared back at me were the same long and thin brown curls and the same gold eye and blue one.
They looked exactly the same as Lara.
And I thought one copy of me was bad. Granted, that copy was my opposite. And she tried to kill me.
The other Laras even followed her routine of getting into a fighting position facing us. Then, with their syringes primed, each of the girls behind Lara repeated her words:
“Hello! My name is Lara, and I'll be the defense mechanism today."
“I think we get the gist of it,” I said.
“You know, this is actually really freaky,” Chug said, “and really bad.”
The Lara defense-squad began to close in on us. Step after step until there was no chance of sliding past them and getting into the manhole, and as such, into Lara's hideout. Maybe we'd find with the real Lara. So much for that now. Another step closer, and Woodstock and I backed up. Then I heard it, before I saw the weapon:
BANG! came the sound of a gunshot, and one of the Laras stopped and clutched her stomach.
“You shot her! Well, one of her,” I told him, “but Lionel said—"
“It's fine,” Chug cut me off, gesturing at the injured Lara with his gun. “Just look.” I looked back at the girl clutching her stomach. She staggered back in pain, and when I thought her heart was gonna stop and fall over, she just shrieked and evaporated into a pile of dark smoke.
“Clones, or copies, or something,” Woodstock said. Chug nodded.
“The real one's probably not here,” he agreed. “And besides,” he continued, showing me his gun, “These aren't even real bullets—it's just little chunks of my smoke form loaded into the chamber. Gives the effect of punching someone at the speed of...well, a bullet."
“I knew that,” I lied.
“You thought I killed her.” he pushed. I pursed my lips.
“Shut it. Look, they're moving again.” I pointed. When all the other Laras saw their fallen member, they closed in around us, raising their syringes high. They moved strategically, trying to separate the three of us.
I dug into my art bag, reaching for my paint whip. Then I hesitated. A long whip in a small area might do more harm than good. As I looked for another color, the Lara in front of me lunged right at me. I froze, unable to pull a weapon out in time.
Woodstock intercepted her, grabbing her out of midair and throwing her to the ground. He gave her one good punch, leaving her nothing but a pile of gray smoke.
“Thanks,” I told him.
“You're welcome, mija,” he said. “Now let's get the others.” The second he charged at another Lara, Chug cried out in pain behind us.
I wheeled around and saw the three remaining Laras holding him down, each grabbing an arm or both legs. They karate-chopped at his wrist until Chug's gun fell out of reach and skittered away. Then one of the Laras shivered and shook, causing a bunch of smoke to pile around them.
“What's she—” Woodstock thought. But then it came together. Literally. The pile of smoke moved until it was in front of Chug, then POOF! Right there on the spot, the smoke was replaced with another Lara, who wasted no time inserting her syringe into Chug's neck.
“Oow! That's a big needle!” Chug screamed. “Get it out, guys!”
Woodstock ran to them, and grabbed the Lara who stabbed our friend by the neck. Then he threw her onto the floor, but she didn't explode back into smoke. Instead, it just knocked the wind out of her, immobilizing her for a moment.
“Whoops,” he said. “I think that may have been the real one, amigos.” Woodstock stood up, leaving the girl down there to roll around on the dark ground until she could stand again. I glanced at her, laying still in jean overalls and combat boots—different clothes than all the others, who wore a similar bland brown garb.
“Who cares?” Chug said. He struggled against the three remaining Laras holding him down. Luckily, they let him go. The not so lucky part was that now they were coming towards me. Whatever they shot Chug with, they wanted in my system too. I backed up, feeling stupid I didn't take the moment to grab a weapon.
Woodstock started running over, but they'd already taken my arms. I struggled against them, but between the three of them, I wasn't going much of anywhere. The cold tip of the double syringe danced on my neck. My breath grew sharp.
“If you're gonna do it, just do it!” I yelled. They got Chug and he was still fine, I mean. But then, Chug was also a boy. And a Depression Agent. Who know what this would do to me?
Right before the needle pushed into my neck, the three Laras stopped. They all took a step back, saying, “New intruder detected.”
Then the three of them ran out of the tent, leaving Chug, Woodstock, me, and the Lara who laid sprawled out on the ground—except for the fact that Lara wasn't there anymore. She'd shaken herself off, and was making a mad dash for the manhole. Woodstock and I tried to stop her, but she jumped in before we could grab her.
“What the HECK just happened?” he asked. I looked around the tent, trashed in every corner of the room. No one inside but us.
“They all just...left.” Chug observed.
I thought for a moment, then an answer came to mind. It was one I didn't want. I definitely didn't want to share it. I also didn't want to believe it, but it was the only one that made sense.
“They said there was a new intruder,” I noted. “You guys think it's..."
“That or we must not have been a worry for them anymore.” Woodstock answered hopefully.
“It's gotta be him,” Chug said. “I can feel it."
“Are you sure that's not just whatever they stuck you with?” Woodstock asked. Chug scowled.
“I'm fine,” he said quickly. “Let's go.” Then he ran over and grabbed his gun, tripping over his feet in the process.
He didn't wait for us to pick him up or to join him at the manhole before he started the climb down.
“I don't think he's fine,” I said to Woodstock. He nodded in regret.
“That's what I get for not being fast enough,” Woodstock said. “But you're right—we can't leave him alone. Especially not if Stark is here already."
And with that, I followed Woodstock down the hole—trying to lengthen the distance between the intruder and us, as well as keeping Chug from losing it.
24. Chug Gets in Touch With His Feminine Side
The ladder ran out of rungs a few feet above the ground—which, from my angle, looked a little high. My feet dangled for a moment while I thought about how to get down.
“It's safe to jump,” Woodstock called out underneath me. “Just bend your knees.”
Just to be safe, I lowered my hands down to the lowest rung I could without losing my grip,
which was pretty much non-existent at this point. Then I let go and dropped out of the hole.
I landed in a long corridor, the walls lined with green and blue and other colors of corded circuitry. The corridor itself was about wide enough for four or five people to walk side by side, and shorter than the height of the tents.
“I bet no one gets piggy-back rides down here,” I muttered.
“What?” Woodstock asked, his eyebrows furrowed together.
“I mean, which way did Chug go?"
He pointed down near the end of the corridor. The blond-haired boy ran as fast as his legs would carry him, no concern for the people behind him—A.K.A. us.
“Chug, wait!” I shouted. I ran after him, and Woodstock followed. At the end of the corridor, Chug turned right. I poured on speed so I wouldn't lose him. Instead, I almost hit the wall when I turned. (We're just gonna say the floor was slippery, okay? Okay.)
Before long, we were able to catch up to him. But he paid us little attention as he ran.
“Where were you going, Chug?” I asked.
“The Lara that came down here,” he muttered, “she went this way."
“How do you know?”
I got no answer from him.
“Wait,” I said, nudging Woodstock's arm. We stopped for a moment, and I pointed up at Chug. "Is it just me, or is has Chug always been that tall?”
“What do you mean, mija?” he asked. I guessed from our end of the hallway, it wasn't as obvious.
“Look at the ceiling,” I told him. “We could reach it if we jumped. Chug would fall short. But right now, he looks like he could reach it easily."
Woodstock nodded and we continued running.
“It's whatever they shot him with,” he offered. “Probably the first effect or two."
“How do we stop it?” I asked. “Before it gets worse, I mean.”
“I can't think of anything that'll fix it except for what we're already doing: finding Lara. For now, Chug seems to know where we're going. Just don't lose him.” As he said that, Chug turned left up ahead. We sprinted for a moment to close the gap between us.
As we turned the corner, I noticed Chug's hair bobbing up and down past his shoulders, way longer than it had been a moment ago. I bit my lip, and just kept running, hoping we'd get to Lara soon and have the chance to sort it all out.
With nobody dying, my brain chimed in.
Shut up, I told it.
Another corridor and right turn later, Chug led us down a hallway with a dark doorway at the end.
“This way, guys!” he called out in a voice definitely not his own, but a little higher. Then he disappeared behind the darkness of that doorway.
“Chug, wait for us!” I shouted, pouring on speed to catch up to him. I could see the darkness being slowly cut from view. The door was closing!
I threw leaps into each step, running faster than I thought possible.
“Lucy, don't go in there!” Woodstock shouted behind me.
Screw that, I thought. And screw my dumb brain for caring about dying. We had a mission, but I wasn't going to let Chug die because of it. Something was going wrong with that kid. That serum was changing him. I couldn't leave him.
But what are you going to do?
The question felt like it came from the dark, doorway-shaped hole in front of me. Before I could answer it, I was swallowed by the darkness.
SLAM! went the door behind me. Then for a second it was peaceful. Dark, all around. A sensation of having my eyes closed and feeling nothing. Almost like I was floating. Or flying. But I knew what it really was. A simple calm before the storm. I'd made a rash decision. What the heck was wrong with me?
I did a one-eighty, trying to find the door. I felt around the cold metal until I found a handle. I yanked on it, but the door just decided it was done doing it's job for the day. I could feel it taunting me. Open, for you? Nah. I don't really feel like it. I felt like hitting it. Great help that would do, right?
“Woodstock, you there?” I called out, pressing my face against the door.
Silence answered me with a shiver. How stupid. How childish.
Chug wasn't himself. The team was just me and Woodstock, and I left him behind. A rush of goosebumps sprinted down my arms and legs. The back of my neck lit up with the pinprick sensation too.
I pulled back from the door and wheeled around to face the darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to it, but not quick enough. Someone grabbed me from behind, pulling my arms behind my back. I screamed when they touched me, scaring the daylights out of me.
Shame your daylights weren't enough to light up the room, my mind mused. Sometimes, I wondered if we were on the same team. They only showed up when I was losing it. Why bother?
I struggled to get my arms free, to reach my art bag. But the assailant held me down in such a way that moving put stress on my shoulders and elbows. I felt a grinding in my joints. A realization washed over me: if I keep moving, I'm going to pop something out of place, or worse. Whoever was holding me down knew what they were doing.
As much as I hated the idea, I stopped moving and waited for something to happen.
“I did what you said!” the voice of the assailant called out behind me. “I got her!”
A few more hands wrapped around my arms, holding me down and in place. Then a flash of lights filled the room. We were in a large, open cylindric tube of a room. The same green and blue walls and circuitry ran through the entire area. I looked up and the chamber went on for what looked like miles.
Then I looked at my assailants—the Laras from before. And in front of me stood the one Woodstock had thrown into the ground; the one that got away. They out-played us. There was no other intruder. They were still trying to capture them. Capture me. But why?
“Where's my friend?” I asked. “What did you do to him?"
The Lara in front of me paid me no mind, instead looking at one of the ones holding me down. “Good job,” she said. “Come get your prize.” She held out a small vial in her hand, full of a neon blue liquid.
Then the one holding my arms squealed a little. She let go of me, releasing—not a lot but a bit of—pressure off my arms. As she walked over to the Lara in the middle of the room, my jaw fell to the ground.
The one who'd captured me wore black shorts, and a black leather jacket that all fit just a little small on her now. On the side of her shorts, hanging out of her pocket was the butt of a silver gun.
✽✽✽
She turned Chug into herself. That's what the stupid shot did.
Instead of giving the vial to Chug, Lara pointed it right at me with a frown.
“What's your name?” she said so cheerfully, I couldn't figure out how to answer. The look on her face gave every expression opposite to cheerfulness. It confused me. Made me upset. Then I remembered what was happening.
“What did you do with my friend?” I demanded. Lara giggled, just a little too much for my comfort. Then she pulled another vial out of her pocket. It was full of the green liquid all her buddies had upstairs in the tent.
“It's easy,” she continued in the the chipper voice that in no way matched her facial expression. “I poisoned him with some of my blood. Get this, right?” She took a step closer, her gold and blue eyes peering at me. Seconds went by and she said nothing.
“Get what?” I finally asked. Lara shrugged.
“I just wanted to make sure you were listening,” she said, waving the vial around in her hand.
I'd been around this girl for all of two real minutes of interaction, and I had the strangest vibe. I didn't know what to make of her except that I didn't want to be around her. Something was...off.
“Anyway,” she continued, “my blood turns people into me, you see? I can make clones of as many people as my blood absorbs, you see?”
To make her point, she spread out her arms. Then the room filled with Depression-Agent smoke, zooming in circles around us. Then Lara shouted, and all the smoke compacted in various areas around t
he room. When the dust settled, I was surrounded by what had to be like, a hundred of this girl.
“You see?” they all chirped simultaneously. Even the ones holding me down joined in the group creepiness. Then Lara snapped her fingers and all the copies exploded into smoke, and then flew back into Lara's body. Unfortunately, she didn't...what did she call it?
Absorb. She didn't absorb the ones holding me down. Then she stared at me again, and shook her head. When her curly locks of hair were clear from her face, I could see that her expression to an intrigued one. She rose her eyebrow and looked at me with fuller eyes.
“I've manufactured an antidote, of course,” she said, sounding completely apathetic.
Again with the opposites. Why?
“I'll give it to your friend if you tell me your name, and what you're doing here.” Lara ordered. “And you'd better make it snappy. I estimate your friend's got another minute or two before the process is irreversible."
Next to me, Lara—err, Chug nudged her—err, his head, gesturing for me to hurry up. I scowled at him, making a mental to note to be extra upset at him for dragging me down here like this. There must have been a way to get the antidote that didn't include me getting ambushed. Why couldn't we have gone that route?
“I'm Lucy,” I told her. “My friends and I are here to shut down this Depression Zone, requested by your grandpa."
“Ugh,” Lara scoffed. She lazily turned around and stared at something on the wall. I stretched as far as I could while being held down to see what she was looking at.
It was a lever protruding about two feet from the far wall. It had to be what we were looking for—the Zone shut-down switch. Which meant this chamber was the center of the Depression Zone.
Lara turned back at me, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. Her lips her were pursed tight.
“So you're here because of that back-stabbing idiot, then?” she asked gleefully. How could she talk about him like that? It didn't even sound like the person I was just around.
Or was that voice Disorder talking inside her?
