The Kidnapped Army

by Shiloh White

  With each cut, Stark took a step forward. He came closer and closer until I could see his irises—so dark and devoid of color, they just looked like circles of darkness with a thin line of white around them. He was almost in front of me now, and I tried one more time to swing at him. My paint whip barely two feet long now, I didn't even know where I hoped to hit. It didn't matter.

  Stark dashed forward and swatted the paint away with his bare hand. Then he grabbed my arm and twisted it, forcing my body to turn around so my shoulder didn't break. At the same time, he stepped forward until his breath was disgustingly hot in my ear. He chuckled—a deep, guttural sound that was definitely being added to my mind's subconscious arsenal of nightmare stuff.

  “Your Handle isn't all it's cracked up to be, girl,” he whispered. “And I saw that footage of you in your Depression Zone. You know, against that insane upstart, Damian.”

  I did know, although I didn't give him the satisfaction of telling him. The memory was fresh in my mind. I dreamt about it often. Even tried to paint it once.

  The first time I was here, Damian pushed me to my physical and mental and emotional limits. It made my body act on its own, and my paints moved as a literal extension of my arms.

  The power I felt...Just thinking of it felt like enough to break free of Stark's grasp. Almost.

  The sensation was amazing. All calm tranquility. No anger or fear or panic.

  “It’s a shame to have that much power,” Stark said, “with no idea how to use it.”

  I bit down on my lower lip. I swallowed my fear and built up the nerve to ask what he was talking about. Stark made his nightmare sound again.

  “Not sure why it matters now, but I suppose it's fair to tell you,” he said. “It's something one of those pansy Officers told me. He said, 'them Topsiders have wicked hidden ability in their Handles,' but I swear, you can't seem to manage anything but the bare bones of yours. That last fight must have been pure luck."

  “You're saying I don't know how to use my Handle?” I asked, in a higher voice than I intended.

  “Shaddup!” he yelled, leaving my ears ringing. “Did you miss your awful display of childish garbage just now? You oughta be ashamed. Your Handle is wasted on you.” Stark's scowl stretched further across his face. His right eye started getting a twitch.

  “I can't stand watching that—the ability to kill being squandered like that. What's worse, I have to do the squandering!” He squeezed down harder on my hand and my mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then the pressure loosened, just a little.

  “Ugh,” he growled. “You went and got me pissed off with your weakness. I almost forgot I hated killing the ones like you.” I felt his knife against my neck and my eyes betrayed me by closing.

  I didn't want to die here, but my body tensed up, as if taking in its final breath. It wasn't fair. Not to Chloe, or to Anna. But here I was, in this situation again, thanks to this same evil man. Then, a female scream filled the air.

  I forced my eyes open and looked up carefully, trying not to cut myself on Stark's knife.

  Lara flew toward us, coming down on top of Stark with a gun in her hand. No, not Lara. A clone. And not just any clone. She wore the black band-tee underneath the black leather jacket that flapped as she fell, all a size too small for her. And the gun, of course!

  It was Chug! I didn't even have time to worry about what happened to the kid when all of Lara exploded, but I was glad he was still here. I didn't know why he still looked like her, but one thing at a time, right?

  He held the gun by the barrel, bringing down the butt of it on top of Stark's head. Stark threw me aside, and I fell to the ground again. He used the free hand to catch Chug's gun, stopping all momentum and leaving Chug hanging in midair. Then he slashed his knife across Chug's chest.

  Chug howled in pain, but it came out sounding like Lara. Stark tossed him aside like a rag-doll. He hit the ground and lay motionless.

  “Chug!” Woodstock shouted somewhere to my left. He started to run over to him, but Stark cut him off, stepping in front of our friend.

  “This would have been a lot easier if you'd just cooperated,” he said. “Or maybe,” he continued, “I probably should've just tried to kill all of you. I'll fix that now—"

  The ground launched into another intense tremor all around, causing us all to lose our footing. Chunks of the ceiling began to fall—or rather, reach the bottom of the corridor and crash to the ground.

  Woodstock was the first to regain balance. He quickly planted his feet and raised his fists at Stark. I forced myself to stand up and began backing away from Stark.

  “Look out!” Woodstock pointed up. I looked, and saw this massive chunk of the wall coming straight for me. Fortunately, I had enough time to dive out of the way. Unfortunately, I dove towards Stark. I rose to my feet and quickly skittered backwards, but Stark just grinned. I took a few steps back and hit the chunk of the wall. I was trapped! Stark chuckled and took a step closer, bloodlust fueling his grin.

  “It really pisses me off that you and the kid are here, but the guy who cleaned my clock is nowhere to be found.” Stark growled. “I guess you'll have to do."

  He was right in front of me now. I stared up at the face of death and it was really scary. But even as Stark raised his knife, I didn't look away. I breathed my last staring right up at his black, soulless eyes.

  ✽✽✽

  Well, that and the giant pile of rubble coming down from behind him. A giant cracking sound made him look up too. The building up above was coming apart—and coming down now. He stumbled back, but his eyes were glued to the SUV-sized chunks of metal flying down at us.

  I took the chance to crawl away from him and scramble to my feet, just before they collided.

  The first pieces crashed into the floor behind him, splitting it open. He lost his balance and fell onto the ground. Right underneath where the rest of the rubble was coming down. I looked away as it came down on top of him.

  I couldn't tell you which was worse: the sound of it crushing his body, or the sound of his scream as it came down. (I still can't either sound of my ears when I think about it...) When the avalanche finally stopped, I turned to see what was left. Stark was buried from the waist down, but pieces of the pile on top of him continued to spread, quickly covering his back.

  “Lucy, where are you?” Woodstock shouted behind me. I turned to see where he was, but the dust from the collapse was still clearing. I looked back at Stark, bruised and battered, and bit down on my lip.

  I'd already seen Lara die. Plus, Stark was a Depression Force Officer. If he died, the Depression Force might use it as credible cause to take me in. I mean...I didn't do anything. The Zone didn't start falling apart until after he killed Lara. But if I left him, wasn't that as good as killing him?

  I looked the amount of rubble crushing his back and legs. I couldn't move all that in time. As I stood there, more fell onto his left arm and he shouted in what sounded more like anger than pain. Maybe both.

  With just his right hand, he struggled to pull himself free. No, wait...he wasn't trying to get free. He was reaching for his comm. He started speaking into it, then dropped it and looked up at me with his bloodthirsty grin.

  “What did you do?” I demanded.

  “Just some insurance,” he said. But his voice came out as a gurgle. “In case you survive the fall.” Then he tried to laugh, but just spat out blood.

  “What fall?"

  “Lucy, this way!” Woodstock said. I looked and saw that he had Chug slung over his shoulders, still looking like Lara.

  The taste of copper filled my mouth, waking me up. I'd been biting down pretty hard on my lip. I took one last look at the man being buried by the falling building, with eyes now closed, and the same bloodthirsty grin on his face.

  I shuddered, and turned around catch up to Woodstock.

  “I can't Zone-Hop down here,” Woodstock said as we ran back into the hallway. I was glad to see it still in one piece. “We need
to get to the surface."

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Must have been Lara,” he explained. “It took me the entire time you were locked in just to change to smoke-mode and break down that—"

  CRASH! Up ahead, a piece of the wall blew up, letting in debris. The hole sent cracks up ahead and back towards us, causing pieces of rubble and mechanical building to fall.

  “Time to go!” Woodstock exclaimed, narrowly sidestepping a chunk of the ceiling.

  We dodged most of the bigger pieces on the way back to the ladder, but on the way, I cut my left shoulder on a jagged piece of metal. As we neared the ladder, I hoped that the hole to the surface was wide enough to fit Woodstock and Chug-Lara on his back. Woodstock must not have cared either way. The second we reached it, he jumped to reach it and started climbing up. I jumped up and stayed on his heels the whole way up.

  Strangely enough as we climbed, the only thought that filled my head was how I had to eat my words that no one got piggyback rides down in the corridor we were swiftly leaving behind.

  Before long, we reached the top and Woodstock pulled himself and his friend to safety. I rose out next, and we dashed out of the tent and froze.

  Whoa.

  I'd seen—and escaped from—a Depression Zone falling apart once before, but I was lucky enough then to stay in front of the destruction. That experience had nothing on being smack dab in the middle of it, where I could see just what kind of tinkering Lara did on this Zone.

  All of the land was gone. Our tent was floating just above a patch of dirt. The same thing was going on with all the other tents. Underneath our patch of land was a long tube connecting to Lara's base. As I gazed out at the rest of the tents, a few of them had straight tubes like the one we stood on. The majority of the tents had a flimsy tube underneath that flopped around like a spaghetti noodle. Those must have been fake entrances.

  Lara must have set this up to move the tents and keep her entrances hidden. It also must have been why Lionel was able to find the entrance in a measly three minutes—he was fortunate enough to arrive when this entrance was near the front. And smart enough to identify it for next time.

  Down below, all of the tubes connected to a huge underground green metal dome that must been Lara's base. Although now it looked more like a pincushion than a dome. Some of the tents' tubes had either collapsed in or pulled out and were floating away like strange fluorescent balloons in the darkness above

  Beneath us, the dome rumbled, shaking the tents still connected—including us. Then the dome started to sink in and collapse on itself. I heard a horrible sound of shattering underneath my feet, like breaking glass amplified about a billion times.

  “Is that—” I started to say, then our little patch of land flung forward and fell, causing me to almost bite my tongue off. The dome collapsing must have caused the tubes to snap.

  Woodstock used the time wisely, grabbing onto the edge of the tent itself. As we gained speed like a swinging pendulum, I started to slide off. I tried to grab the edge of the tent as I flew past, but it was no use. The entire series of events from the tube shattering to falling had only taken about three seconds.

  Woodstock reached for my hand as I slid off the platform, but barely brushed my fingers. I screamed as I fell with the rest of the rubble.

  Then Woodstock jumped off after me. He quickly closed the distance between us, one hand holding Chug on his back, the other reaching for me. Only, with the added weight, he fell too fast.

  He shot past me before I could reach him. In the process, Chug came off of his back and was now flailing like a flag in the wind. The only think that was keeping him from flying away was Woodstock's grip on his arm.

  I laid my arms flat at my sides, and tilted my chin down until my face was aimed at Woodstock. Thankfully, the flailing slowed his fall a little. He was just below me now, and over to my left.

  “Woodstock!” I shouted. I tried to reach for his hand, but I just wasn't close enough. The dome was coming up fast. The middle of it cracked, exposing a huge black gap to the center of Lara's base.

  Pretty soon, we were going to delve into that rubble and splatter on impact. Then Woodstock saved us.

  “Grab Chug!” he yelled.

  “Don't you need to touch both of us?!”

  “We're going to find out!” he answered. Then he twisted his body so his free hand was pointing down, which sent Chug upward to me. I grabbed his hand the dome disappeared behind a big swirling gray circle. Then the world went black, stretching me into nothing.

  27. Can We Stop With The Delusions?

  It was so much harder to hold on while Woodstock Zone-Hopped us. If holding onto the Agent traveling stretched you into pasta noodles, then holding onto someone who was touching the Agent traveling was like grabbing hold of a pasta noodle while you were a pasta noodle. I just wanted to let go. Every second felt like a day, and every second I wanted to just let go.

  Give up.

  Everything was black. I opened my eyes, black. I shut them tight, still black. The pressure pulling me from all directions grew unbearable. I screamed. No sound came out. I passed out.

  No, I didn't.

  Passing out meant no thinking. No feeling.

  I felt horrible. I felt like I was being stretched, and I felt pain.

  I felt torture.

  That's what this was: torture, for leaving Bartholomew Stark to die. For letting Lara get stabbed through the back. No one deserved that.

  But because of that, I deserved this pain.

  I wondered if it would ever end, but did I even deserve to have that answered?

  Whether I did or didn't, I was thankful when the pain stopped. Or, stopped isn't exactly the right word. It was more like all the pain froze in place. Like when the nurse leaves the needle in your arm so she can take your blood. Stupid thing still hurts, but only when you move your arm.

  Suddenly, I wasn't surrounded by darkness anymore either. Moving as little as possible, I found myself in a large room. To my left, there were lots of rows of massive wooden tables, with plenty of chairs around each one. I looked down and saw that I was sitting at the table in front. To my right, where the chair was tilted, a flight of stairs led up to an open stage which was dimly lit.

  At the top of the stage I saw a few moving silhouettes. One threw its hands up at another, and exclaimed in anger: “What good is Dart to me if there's no other half to complete the ceremony?!”

  I knew her voice from somewhere...the alleyway! It was the woman Takao had been smuggling the Abandoned to. Woodstock called her the Headmistress.

  Another silhouette started to pull a big pile of...something away from the Headmistress, keeping its head low as it moved.

  “I'm telling you, one of the Depression Agents will work. They have to.” He said. His voice was also familiar. I squinted my eyes to try to see who it was, but I wasn't close enough. Then all of a sudden, I was.

  In the blink of an eye, I had moved from down by the table to on-stage. I was still stuck in my chair, but now I could see who the rest of the people were. The one who just spoke was Takao—no surprise there, right? The real shock came from the other two silhouettes.

  Next to the Headmistress stood Dart. His hair was raggedy, twisted up in every direction, and he looked like a vampire under the poor stage lighting, but it was definitely him. His eyes were glazed over, and he held something just longer than a ruler in his hand. The Headmistress reached over and wrapped her hand around Dart's wrist, and pointed with the object at the dark pile in Takao's arms.

  “It's rather clear that these Agents haven't worked yet,” she said, “and I suspect they don't plan to. To complete the army, it has to be someone close to Dart."

  I took a closer look at the pile in Takao's arms, and moved my arms over my mouth to keep noise from escaping. At first, I thought it was just a sack or something. Now I realized it was a Depression Agent. And not just any Agent. Around his arm was a knotted scarf. It was too dark to make out any colors,
but I didn't need any extra confirmation. It was one of the Abandoned, laying in Takao's arms. Not moving.

  Even with my hands over my mouth, I made a sound. A squeak, a whimper, or just a breath, I couldn't tell you because I don't remember. I didn't have time to think about it. Takao shouted “Who's there?”

  But the Headmistress saw me. She took the object from Dart and threw it at me. Right before it drove itself into my face, it glinted in the dim light long enough to make it out.

  It was a dagger.

  ✽✽✽

  Before the knife connected with my face, the entire scene disappeared, and I was dragged along at ultra-warp speed back into darkness.

  The pain continued, and I had no time to comprehend what I just saw. Then, as I began to scream with no sound again, we shot back into existence in Lionel's top bedroom room, and my wailing voice came too. The three of us crashed into the far wall, shooting right past Lionel on the mattress where we left him.

  “WAH!” he screamed, falling back until his feet were in the air and his head on the wooden floor.

  I envied Chug being unconscious at that moment, unable to feel the pain I'd felt. It was quickly subsiding, but my limbs and bones still felt like Jell-o someone lit on fire.

  Woodstock rose to his feet next to me. “That wasn't so bad, was it, mija?” he said.

  “How did it go?” Lionel said, rising to his feet.

  “We survived, senor,” Woodstock told him. Lionel nodded.

  “Good, that's good. And the Zone?” he asked, looking from Woodstock to me, sprawled out on the wood floor. Then they turned to Chug and my heart hurt more than the rest of my body at that moment. Our friend still looked like the old man's granddaughter.

  “Lara...” he said, his legs buckling. He found support on one of the mattresses, and ran his hands through his hair. The hood of the cloak fell to the ground, leaving his open face vulnerable. I watched in guilt as tears began to glisten in his eyes. Woodstock walked over to him, putting his hand on his shoulder. I didn't envy him taking the hard job of explaining what happened. Instead, I lied on the ground, emotional torture joining my physical and mental pain.