“Exactly!” Elias said, his smile spreading across his face, oblivious to her rising anger. “Armond’s abilities were genetic. Some manner of defect or mutation at the cellular level that impacted upon his natural healing ability. We were never able to replicate it.”
“Do you realise what that means?” Janan cut in. “It means that either this ability of yours is a skill—something that could be learnt by almost anyone, or that there is some biological element that we cannot detect. And if it is a skill, then it could be taught. I just need you to understand how you are doing it. I need you to teach me.”
“Unlike Armond,” she said again. “Which is why you tested him to death.”
“We had to know what his limitations might be,” Elias chided her.
“Oh my God, you knew!” She had him. The words had slipped from him without a thought and she had him caught in his lie.
Elias glanced at Janan for a second.
“You knew about the fire, didn’t you?” Mackenzie pressed. “About using Armond to goad me?”
Elias flinched back from her anger as if she’d tried to hit him. “It was in the interests of—”
“You son of a bitch! You fucking burned him to death in front of me just to see if I could put it out! Then you lied and tried to convince me I’d dreamt it all up when on your fucking drugs. I bet the whole thing was your damned idea.”
He grimaced and looked away as her eyes bored into him.
“You bastards. You sick, fucking, bastards!” The rage was familiar to her now and she didn’t fight it. Instead she slipped into it like a warm bath, reaching out to embrace the power that surged within her.
The fire came easily, bursting to life in the air before her and she welcomed it. She took a single moment to relish in the heat of it against her skin and then, with a scream of rage, sent it rushing at Elias.
The cry was agonised as it tore from her throat. Pain wracked through her and she shook and convulsed as the electric current ripped through her flesh. The fire was gone, winking out in an instant. Any attempt at concentration died almost before it began, and she hung limp from the restraints as the smell of her own scorched hair filled her nostrils.
“Now, Mackenzie,” Janan chided her. “That was just a bit rude, don’t you think? There really is no need for all this unpleasantness.”
She bit off the words, spitting them out like broken teeth. “You have me chained up, like a fucking animal. What the hell do you expect?”
“And why do you think that is?” he snarled at her, lunging in at her face as his own temper snapped. “You have behaved like a rabid dog, and so you are chained up like one. You had every chance, Mackenzie. We brought this power out of you. We showed you what you could become, took you out of your cell and into a place of support and comfort, when we could easily have left you in here. And how do you repay this kindness? By attempting to flee, and by butchering anyone who stood in your way.”
His words cut into her, leaving her reeling, and she stopped really listening as he went on. Dear God, he was right. She was like a wild animal, locked away from the world in case she bit someone.
“What do you want from me?” Her words were soft, barely more than a whisper as his rant faded.
Janan looked to Elias and nodded.
“We need you to talk us through the process of it, Mackenzie.” The big doctor’s voice was soft, gentle. The voice you’d use with a trauma victim, or a frightened animal. “We know a large part of the process lies in believing you can do it, we may have bypassed that by means of hypnosis, but there is another component, another step that we’re missing somehow.”
“If I do this, will you let me go?”
Janan exchanged a long look with Elias and sighed. “Yes, Mackenzie. If you give us what we need then you will have your release.”
She looked at him then, holding his gaze for a moment as she considered it. Was this a real offer, or just another game? And then that word. Release. It could mean any number of things. It didn’t matter, she decided. It wasn’t like she had many options. She was drowning, anything she snatched at to save herself would be better than simply slipping under the waves.
“I don’t know how it works, not really,” she sighed. “I’ve told you this a thousand times. It’s like… it’s like breathing.”
She looked at them both expectantly but received nothing but frowns.
“How do you breathe? I mean you could take a breath for me now but most of the time you don’t even think about it, you just do it. How do you make a fist? Lift your arm? Nobody thinks about these things, about the mechanics of making your muscles work, you just do it.”
“Are you saying that your abilities are more like a reflex?”
“Yes… no, I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s easier when I’m angry, and there is a feel to it, but I don’t know if I can explain it.”
Janan had faded into the background as they spoke, leaving the questions to Elias. He stepped forward now, whispering something into the big man’s ear and handing him the trigger to the shock collar. Elias grimaced and took the thing, turning it over in his hands like it was a live snake.
Elias came alone the next day, bringing in a stool and sitting close to her as he made notes whilst she summoned the flame, breaking down the process as much as possible. It was frustrating and exhausting, but by the end of the session she felt that some progress had been made.
The technicians came alone on the third day, running fresh tests as she produced the floating flame over and over. They barely spoke to her unless asking her to summon the fire, but pored over the EEG results as the paper spewed from the side of the machine.
She woke early the next day, ready for the blast of cold water from the sprinklers around her frame, and eating early. She shivered as she dripped dry and then wondered at her own stupidity.
She could create fire at will, why was she suffering through the cold and shivering? Could she do it without being angry? The power seemed to feed on her rage, but was it actually necessary?
It felt different. Always before she’d reacted, her anger providing a fuel for the fire. Without it she felt like she was snatching at moonbeams, there was nothing tangible to grab hold of.
The sweat beaded on her forehead as she strained. She became aware of every sound as she worked in the silence. Her own breathing seemed suddenly impossibly loud, overlaying a periodic muted thud somewhere in the distance.
A spark blinked into existence and vanished just as quickly as she stared at it in shock.
Mackenzie swore and tried again, closing her eyes. She could feel the flame, a raging fire just out of reach. She bore down, clenching her teeth. Fire bloomed into life in front of her face, she could feel the heat of it even before she opened her eyes. Then a scream came through the wall—a muted howl of pain and anger followed by a distant crashing as something mechanical was beaten to pieces.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Mr Carver!” The man beamed as he came through the doorway. His grin was pure excitement that had bubbled up into his big face. There was nothing small about this man. Everything about him was large, from his ham-like hands to the exuberant smile on his bearded face. That said, there was something about him; before I’d even drawn breath to reply, I’d decided I didn’t like him.
“He’s stepped out,” I said sourly from where I was still chained to the wooden frame. “You can leave a message with me if you like?”
The man chuckled. “Very droll. They told me you had a good sense of humour. I’m Dr Toby Elias, and I cannot tell you how much of a pleasure it is to finally meet you. You have quite the collection of stories circulating around you.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular fucking legend. What do you want?”
His smile wavered for a moment before it rallied. “I’d have thought that was obvious, John. We want to study your ability with a view to replicating it. You’ve shown remarkable progress in such a short space of time. With other subjects we’
ve had to resort to mild sedation, or a cocktail of consciousness expanding drugs, to really see their abilities manifest, but with you…”
He waved at the wreckage of the tennis ball launcher laying in the corner of the room as if that was all the explanation I needed. I wasn’t really listening, my attention caught on that one word. Others. He’d said there were others.
What in the hell had I fallen into here?
“So, you want me to be your volunteer guinea pig?” I shook my head. “Sorry, Doc, I’m not really up for that.”
The smile slipped, taking on a false, used-car salesman quality before it gave up entirely.
“Mr Carver, we can gather the data we require with or without your cooperation. It will just be easier for everyone involved, including you, if you’re a willing participant.”
“Who’s this prick then?” I didn’t need to turn my head to know it was Turner. Even without the accent, he’s the only man I’ve ever known who can squeeze that much contempt into words of one syllable.
“Or what?” I snorted at Elias. “You’re going to strap me down and shoot me in the leg again? Make a mess of my chest? Short of killing me, I can’t see that there’s much more you can do to me; and I can’t see you bumping me off just yet, not while you still want something from me.”
Elias sighed, giving me a look that told me a lot of what he thought of me. “No, you’re right, we won’t kill you. Given your recent advances, I would like to see what you can do against a bullet again though.”
“Fuck that,” Turner spat. “He’s having a bloody laugh!”
I gave Elias a look. He had to be joking. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.” Elias said without a hint of a smile. “You’ve done it before, in Kabul in 2013, I believe. There are a whole host of tales about it, even aside from the first-hand accounts, that’s the reason you were acquired. Plus, look what you managed to do with the launcher here.”
I paused, letting the silence fall before I spoke again. “It’s a bit risky though, isn’t it?” I asked him. “What if you nick an artery or chip a bone? All it takes is one tiny bone fragment making its way through my arteries and you’re looking at a stroke. That happens and you can kiss goodbye to your data.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s too likely, Mr Carver. We can be quite precise.” He made his way to the door and turned back as he reached it. “I’ll have some people set up the weapon experiment. Please think on this as a learning experience. I had hoped to speak a bit more with you, I have a great number of questions. Perhaps when you’re feeling a little more cooperative.”
I watched him go as Turner made a slow circuit of the room, squatting down to inspect the wreckage of the tennis ball launcher as blood dripped from the bullet hole in his forehead.
“Don’t look so miserable, Carver,” Turner said. “If you don’t manage to pull this off then we’ll have matching holes.” He grinned, pointing to his forehead. “We can be bullet buddies!”
I shook my head, lying to myself that it was the situation I was shaking it at, and not Turner. Rule Three again, it was going to the dogs lately.
The techs came in a few hours later. Thanks to the clock on the wall, I could enjoy every second of my captivity and know just how long I’d been in here. The apparatus they set up wasn’t much more than a broad-based bracket with some kind of remote trigger mechanism.
To be honest, I was more concerned with the gun. It was a small-calibre, which was the one thing I had going for me. If and when the damned thing shot me, at least it wouldn’t be blasting a tunnel through my flesh.
The laser sight wobbled as they adjusted the gun until it was aimed at my upper thigh. The opposite leg to the one they’d already shot.
“At least it’ll match the other side, Roasties,” Turner said with a grin.
“Fuck off,” I muttered. The techs working on the gun gave me an odd look and exchanged glances. “Yeah, and you lot can do one as well.”
This was bad.
I almost laughed at the thought. ‘Bad’ was an understatement. This wasn’t a stupid action film where the hero gets shot in the leg and five minutes later is climbing stairs and doing bad kung-fu moves. I’d been lucky the last time, and this time they’d chosen the best place to shoot me; but taking another bullet, even from a small-calibre handgun like this one, carried a high chance of something going wrong. All guns are basically miniaturised, and slightly modified, canons. Causing minor, and non-lethal, wounds just wasn’t what was in mind when they dreamt them up.
I had the good grace to wait until the techs had gone before I started to really panic. I’d managed to stop the tennis ball on my own. The problem was, I still didn’t have the first bloody clue how I’d done it. Rage had definitely been a part of it, but I wasn’t angry right now, I was shitting myself.
“Turner!” I called out. Rule Three be damned. “Turner can you get Johnson for me?”
The Scot gave me a look. “What am I now, your bloody PA? Shall I fetch some teas and coffees in too, Mr Carver?”
“Jesus, Turner,” I said, looking down the barrel of the gun. “Now really isn’t the time.”
“What are you worried about?” he asked, looking genuinely curious. “Just stop the bullet like you did with the tennis ball.”
“I don’t know how, you dick! What am I going to do?”
“Get shot, I imagine.”
“Thanks a bunch, arsehole. Will you just fetch Johnson?”
He vanished, leaving behind a filthy laugh.
“What do you want, Carver?” Johnson said from somewhere behind me. “I thought you had your rule about not talking to us?”
I twisted on the frame until I could see him, realising as I did it that this was a stupid idea. The gun had been aimed at a very specific point on my thigh, twisting like that had just shifted all of that.
“Fuck, I’m an idiot.”
Johnson barked out an ugly laugh. “Finally, something we can agree on.”
“This thing’s going to fire soon, Johnson. Can you stop it?”
Johnson shrugged. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Because I don’t fucking know how!” My voice rose to a frantic shout, echoing off the bare walls.
Johnson moved around me to squat down in front of the gun, peering into the barrel. “What makes you think I do?”
“You did it before!” I burst out.
“So did you!” Johnson said with a laugh.
“Are we about ready, Mr Carver?” the voice came from the speakers in the ceiling.
“No, I’m bloody not!” I yelled back. I looked down at Johnson. “Johnson, will you stop pissing about?”
He sighed. “Fine, I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“Thank you!” I broke off as the gun shifted slightly and the laser sight painted a red dot on my thigh. “Wait, do you mean you’ll stop it, or that you’ll help me stop it?”
“Is there a difference?” Johnson laughed.
“Johnson!”
“Please try and focus, Mr Carver. The only person in that room is you.” Elias’ voice sounded almost as tense as I was.
I focused on the gun. Maybe Johnson was doing this too, maybe he wasn’t, but I couldn’t take the chance. I used my frantic state, scraping up every last ounce of fear, anger, and frustration at the whole crazy situation, and hurled it at the gun. A moment later it fired.
The gunshot was loud. They’re always loud, but this was a small, enclosed room with stone floors. The sound was enough to make me flinch but I’ll admit I’d already looked away at that point.
My next thought was that I wasn’t in pain. Either the damned thing had missed somehow, or Johnson or I had stopped it.
I’ve never seen a gun backfire. It’s a misleading term since guns don’t really backfire in any real sense, but it was the best thing I could think of to describe what had happened.
It tends to happen with faulty ammunition—either too much powder in a ca
rtridge, or not enough, which eventually leads to a blocked barrel. The second situation is usually worse than the first. A gun works by way of a controlled explosion, forcing the bullet itself out of the cartridge and down the barrel, propelled by superheated expanding gases as the powder explodes. If the barrel is blocked somehow, then all of that force has to go somewhere. If you’re lucky, it’s not into your hand.
The gun was in ruins. Pieces of the barrel and slide were scattered against the glass wall and a spiderweb of cracks surrounded one of the larger impacts.
“Looks like you’ve made a bloody mess again, Carver.” Johnson made his way over to the gun, crouching down to examine the remains before he went over to the glass wall, and then carried on smoothly into the corner as the door hissed open.
Elias pushed his way through the gap before the door had reached even halfway, rushing first to the gun and then the cracked window. He ran his fingertips over the glass and shook his head.
“Remarkable. Just remarkable. You realise what you’ve done here, don’t you?” he asked, looking over one shoulder at me.
“Managed not to get shot?” I muttered.
“Ha! Yes,” Elias snorted. “More than that though, you’ve somehow not only stopped the bullet but destroyed the weapon. I wonder if you didn’t somehow stop the bullet in the barrel itself?”
“Yeah, well, I’d like to say I’m sorry about that…”
“That’s not important,” Elias cut in, waving away the non-apology. “There is something vitally important that we need to talk about though, if you’re prepared to listen?”
I jiggled the wrist restraints enough to make the metal clink. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, is it?”
Elias nodded, letting the accusation pass. “You’re aware there is a microphone system in here? Of course you are, you’ve spoken to us over it. We’ve heard you talking to other people in here. Turner? Johnson? These are names that several of us have heard. Would you like to talk about that?”
I’d heard these types of lines before. Therapy wasn’t anything I’d ever really put much stock into. I don’t have unresolved issues with my mother, I’m not angry at my father, my issues are a bit more specific: I see dead people who, as it turns out, can stop bullets. Somehow, I doubted a group hug was going to help with that.
The Lore of Prometheus Page 21