Unbreakable Storm

by Patrick Dugan

  “Interesting. Tell her we’ll be in touch.”

  I did. A small smile crossed her face. “Thank you. I’ll leave the boys home next time.”

  “We’ve got company,” Abby’s voice came over the comm-link. “Three copters inbound from the north. Player, move now.”

  I spun to look for the helicopters, but they weren’t visible yet. “There are three helicopters on their way. You need to go.”

  Warden stiffened. “Someone betrayed us.” She glanced to where Jon and Turk stood. “There is no way the Reclaimers could have found out.”

  I followed her gaze. “None of us would survive meeting up with the Reclaimers or Protectorate. Something tipped them off.”

  Abby shouted into my ear. “PLAYER MOVE NOW!”

  “Everyone meet up at the rendezvous. Get going, Player! No Gifts unless you have to.” I heard the tension in Dad’s voice. Mom had fought him on letting me go, and now we were in trouble.

  Lights flooded the outside of the arch. “This is the Protectorate DEA. Come out with your hands up.”

  “There are boots on the ground converging. Head out the back; there’s more cover. I’ll buy you some time.” The sounds of rifle fire and shouts from the troops outside rang in my ears.

  “This is local drug enforcement, not Reclaimer forces.” Dad was breathing a lot harder. He’d be running to the ground floor to help me fight. “We’ll follow once you get past our position.”

  I turned to Warden. “Head out the back; it’s local DEA. We should be able to get away.”

  She nodded, signaling for Jon and Turk to follow. Jon paused to point at me. “We are not done, we’ll never be done while both of us are alive.” He ran to catch up with Warden and Turk.

  Even in the middle of a fight, Jon couldn’t let it go. The sad part is, if Marcel’s theory was right, his Gift fueled a constant need to hunt. He could no more let go of hunting me than I could stop absorbing energy. I fled the arch, leaping to the lower level that consisted of broken Roman pillars surrounding a cobbled patio with a pond at the end of it. Warden stood in the center of the ring, Jon and Turk flanking her. None of them moved as they faced me.

  “We need to get out of here,” I yelled as I jumped, not wasting time taking the stairs. Landing, I realized why they were doing an impression of statues. Six Protectorate agents decked out in dark blue uniforms with armored vests, utility belts, and leg armor held rifles at the ready. I’m not sure who was more surprised by my entry.

  I started at the bark of Abby firing the sniper rifle. “What are you doing? Get out of there!”

  Everything moved at once. The lead officer spun, leveling his rifle at me, or at least tried to as I kicked his knee out from under him. He crashed to the ground, gaining the attention of the others. I kicked the side of his head, knocking him out and sending his helmet sailing across the courtyard. “I’m trying to, but we didn’t check the downstairs doors. I’ve got company.”

  Arrows dropped the two soldiers to my right as my foot lashed out to the left. The blow landed, but his armor absorbed the worst of it. I saw Turk launch himself at the officer on my left, leaving me with two. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jon lower his bow. Asshole.

  The second soldier stood paralyzed, not sure who to focus on. I pivoted, driving my fist into his faceplate and shattering it. I felt his nose break from the force of the impact. He grunted and dropped to the ground. Momentum moved me past my other opponent, which afforded him the opportunity to slam his shock baton into my head. I heard the helmet crack; cool air rushed along the back of my head. The HUD reported the breach, the electronic voice sounding slightly pissy that I’d let it happen. Like I needed to deal with a passive-aggressive AI. Things kept getting better and better.

  I stumbled but kept my footing. Another sharp strike hit my back; power flooded through me like a tidal wave of molten lava. The third strike never landed. I spun to the left, using a two-armed scissor block to stop the baton under a shower of sparks. The shocked look on the soldier’s face said everything that needed to be said. I snatched the baton out of his hands and jammed it into his chest. Arcs of electricity leapt across his torso, collapsing him on the spot. From the spreading stains on his jumpsuit I was glad my helmet still mostly functioned. “Didn’t your mom tell you not to mess with electricity?”

  Turk had knocked out his man and stood over him. Somebody had leaked the meeting. Nothing had come in or out of here for the past eighteen hours. I’m not sure what happened, but it would have to wait for later.

  I strode over to Warden. “You need to get out of here; it’s not safe.” She nodded her agreement, her brown eyes flashing with anger. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you,” she said. The loud noise of helicopter rotors descended, making further conversation impossible. Two Protectorate ‘copters hovered just over the pond at the opening of the courtyard. “Throw down your weapons and put your hands up. You’re under arrest. Failure to obey will result in the use of lethal force.” They had machine guns pointed at us from the bay doors. I could survive the onslaught, but the others couldn’t, including the six Protector agents laying behind us.

  “Goose, can you hit one of the helicopters?” No response. “Raise comm-link.”

  The ‘ever so reassuring’ voice of my robotic overlord chirped in my ear. “Comm-link antenna is malfunctioning.” I sighed, thinking frantically what to do next, deciding it was time for a distraction. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the remote detonator. “Get ready to run,” I said to Warden, who raised her hands in surrender. I flipped the detonator cap up to expose the firing button. With a soft click, everything changed.

  A terrible explosion sounded behind me, concrete striking me from behind. I could see body parts and gear bouncing across the open ground. The power surged through me even as I felt the pain flare across my back and legs. The night sky turned white as the eight charges fired in unison. The gate groaned as masonry flew in every direction. Something hit the side of my helmet, and my HUD went dark. OMG, what else could go wrong with this mission? I realized I really didn’t want to know the answer.

  Warden didn’t waste any time. She swept her arms up before her. The clouds roiled and lightning flashed above, the sound of thunder on its heels. She pushed her hands together, and the wind responded. The helicopters rocked like boats on choppy water. The gunner from the first helicopter fell screaming into the pond below. Without my HUD, I couldn’t be sure, but I swear something plucked him out of the air. The pilots fought for control, gunfire spraying wildly as they flailed around. When the full force of the wind hit the first copter, it spun out, slamming into the other with a screech of tearing metal. The wreckage fell into the water below as the storm hit us.

  The wind drove the rain down in sheets, threatening our footing. I tried the comm-link, but it was dead. Between the darkness and the rain, I could barely see through my visor. At least my suit kept me dry, unlike the uniforms of the Protectorate officers who were trying to catch us. Warden grabbed my arm and gave me the thumbs-up. I nodded, returning the signal. She turned and vanished into the storm like a wraith in the night.

  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get my bearings. I moved into the wind, thinking the apartment complex Dad and Abby had holed up in should be that way. Debris flew everywhere before the onslaught of the wind and rain. Lightning strikes pounded the city, leaving gaping holes in the concrete and buildings alike. On multiple occasions, pieces of broken masonry hit me as I pushed toward the relative safety of the surrounding buildings. I jumped as a loud crash sounded from behind me. I wondered if the weakened arch had collapsed in the storm.

  After a few minutes of struggling, using the abandoned cars as handholds, I reached a building. I couldn’t be sure I had gone to the correct one, but it would have to do. I found a breach in the wall and climbed over the fallen masonry into pitch darkness. The wind still howled as if seeking revenge for having been summoned unexpectedly. A single bolt of my lighting paled i
n comparison to Warden’s storm like a bullet versus a nuclear bomb.

  I dropped to the grimy floor, exhausted from the trek through the storm. As I lay there catching my breath, I planned for my next move. With the storm raging, I’d have to stay inside as much as possible. If I was in the correct building, it wrapped around the corner, which would put me closer to the rendezvous site. As per Dad’s plan, I needed to get to the train tracks and follow them back. I couldn’t afford to wait long. Without the storm, it had taken hours to get here from the river, and I had farther to go now. I forced myself to sit up and get moving.

  I pulled off my near useless helmet, feeling for the crack to see if I could fix it. The helmet emitted a bit of light from the faceplate but not enough to let me do repairs. Marcel could fix it later. I looked out into the darkness, listening to the storm rage on unchecked. The storm would keep the Protectorate from launching any attacks against the Underground. After more than fifteen years of hiding here, they knew how to stay hidden; they had information I didn’t possess.

  I moved to the door, pulling it open and stepping into the hallway. I stopped dead in my tracks. In front of me stood a hooded figure, arms raised toward me. A hissing sound and something wet hitting my face were the last things I remembered as I passed out.

  I knew I didn’t want to know what else could go wrong today.

  12

  I woke with a steady pounding in my head and a sharp pain in my right arm. Without opening my eyes, I listened to see what I could figure out. Someone hummed a melody that sounded a lot like Sweet Caroline as they walked around, accompanied by clinking glass and soft bumps of closing cabinets. A musky smell I couldn’t place tickled my nose. Lying down, held in place by ropes, didn’t bode well for the situation. I cracked my eyes, expecting to be in a cell of some sort. Instead, wood paneling, caged animals, and a huge reptile awaited me.

  A voice came from across the room. “Oh, good! You’re awake.” The owner was a man in his late forties, bald with a long gray goatee. Large glasses perched on his nose, looking like they would fall off at any moment. His tone held a bubbly excitement that worried me. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but the work must go on, and I can’t get volunteers, so I have to snatch people when I can. I do hope you understand.”

  I gawked at him, unable to think of what to say. He stood next to the table he’d tied me to, but I couldn’t feel any power in me to break free. I glanced around, trying to make sense of it all. I saw my suit thrown over the back of a chair and realized my clothes were gone. I wore a green hospital gown under the ropes.

  The man tapped his fingertips together rapidly, almost bouncing with contained energy. He reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning. “Ahh, cat’s got your tongue? No worries, a minor side effect of the knockout spray. It also keeps you from using your Gift. Man, I wish I could get my hands on a dampening field. Oh boy, would that make my life easier. As it is, the spray works well, but I must keep an IV with the stuff running. Rest assured I won’t need you for long.” He stopped, tilting his head to the side. “Do I know you? You look so familiar.”

  I shook my head, part in answer, part to try to clear the fog away. “Who are you?” I whispered. My throat ached from the dryness, making me wonder how long I’d been out.

  His hand shot to his mouth. “How rude of me. I have many names, but for the length of your stay here, you may refer to me as Dr. Goat, or just Goat, like everyone else here.” He pulled his hand through his goatee in a vain attempt to straighten the unruly hair. “I am in charge of research and development for the cartel. Once I’ve completed a tissue sample, you’ll be released.”

  I tried to respond but couldn’t get the words out. Dr. Goat noticed, crossed the room, and retrieved a bottle of water. Unless my eyes played tricks on me, he wore a green plaid kilt and a faded black Harley Davidson t-shirt. He also had a pistol strapped to his hip. He held my head up and let the pure bliss of cold water slide down the rawness of my throat.

  “If they’d just relent and let me sample you people, this wouldn’t be necessary.” He knelt next to me, letting me drink until I pulled my head back.

  “Thank you,” I croaked out, but I felt much better after the water. “Why am I here?”

  He strolled across the room, dropping the bottle on a cluttered table as he passed. He returned, pushing a surgical tray covered with a blue cloth. “It’s a matter of supply and demand. The Reclaimers refuse to use Gifted in any matter, but they certainly want their powers. I’ve found by culturing cells of select Gifted, I can produce a drug that mimics, though to a much lesser degree, those powers.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the tray. “So, you test the drugs on these animals?”

  “What?” He reared back as if I offended his mother. “These are my pets. The Reclaimers test the drugs on people they don’t like; I’d never hurt my animals.” An angry glare had replaced the happy demeanor. “Well, good a time as any to turn you into a pin cushion.” He chuckled at his joke.

  He reached above my head and flipped a switch. A low hum of a motor started, and then the table rotated to the right until I hung suspended above another table. The table I was strapped to descended, gently sandwiching me between the two, making me the cream center of the Oreo.

  I heard the instruments being readied on the tray as he went back to humming. “I’m going to take a bone marrow sample. It might hurt a bit but Gifted heal quickly enough.” A scraping noise and a flood of cold air announced part of the table exposed my ass to the world.

  Cold metal pierced my skin, but the pain barely registered. A tapping noise followed, then the whole process repeated two more times. I drifted off only to jerk awake as the table reoriented itself to the original position. Dr. Goat wheeled the tray back and busied himself with whatever he was doing. A weight landed on my legs; a startled yelp escaped my mouth. The weight resolved itself into a small dog with a black, white, and brown patterned face.

  Dr. Goat looked over and laughed. “Booger, leave the poor boy alone.” The dog didn’t respond to his commands. Instead, he climbed up, put his paws firmly on my chest, and licked my face before he settled across my stomach, his head resting on my right arm.

  “His name is Booger?”

  Dr. Goat waved a hand. “His real name is Emerson, his nickname is Booger, because pain-in-the-ass is too long to say. Caviler King Charles always think highly of themselves.” He trailed off as he banged around the kitchen/laboratory. “Damn, where is the sample kit?” He walked out of my field of view. Emerson’s head lifted, and he nipped the IV line. He winked at me and put his head back down. The dog winked at me? These must be some great drugs.

  Dr. Goat stomped in, throwing cabinets open and slamming them closed. “There ye are, my pretty,” He exclaimed, holding the red plastic box before him. “Thought ye could get away, but not from this old goat.” He must be a few bullets short of a magazine to be talking to inanimate objects like that.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir. How long do you think before you’ll release me?”

  He stopped, looking off in the distance, all the while tapping his chin. “Hmm, by morning I should have what I need, I’d think. Please don’t call me sir; it makes me feel so old.”

  “Sorry, Goat.” I organized my thoughts, which grew clearer as time passed. “Why are you out here? I would think you could do this anywhere.”

  He chuckled, stopping to grab two glass flasks, one half-full, the other empty with some device hooked to the top. “Believe me, I wish I could.” He sat down at the table, pushed an assortment of dirty dishes, paper, and various scientific equipment to one side. Bending behind the table, he retrieved a rubber hose that he attached to the flask. He pulled a long straw-like piece of equipment out and dipped it into the liquid, and then he put it into small tubes from the kit. “You have no idea how much work goes into just surviving out here. Food and water have to be brought in, medicine needs to be made and given out.”

  “Medicine?”r />
  He nodded as he worked. He filled the upper chamber of the empty flask, which emitted a sucking sound as the liquid flowed through. “The death ray, or whatever you want to call it, left behind a mutagen of some type. Living here messes with you on a cellular level.”

  I’m sure my eyes were bulging out of the sockets like a cartoon character. “What does the mutagen do?”

  Vials clinked as he worked quickly, moving them back into the red box. “The Gifted don’t seem to be affected, though every child born to them are Gifted, which isn’t the case on the outside.” He removed the rubber hose and the attached device. He covered the open top with a waxy sheet that stretched as he pulled it to securely seal it. “The plants and animals that have come in since the attack have changed over the years. Some die off faster, some have abnormal abilities.”

  “Like becoming giant?”

  “Most certainly. I saw a deer with eight legs and razor-sharp antlers that skewered three Reclaimers before they took it down. It’s a marvel of evolution.” He stood, carrying the flask and red box into the kitchen area. Both went into a silver box. He set an old egg timer in the shape of the Death Star. He strolled over and pet Emerson, who still slept across my chest. “Aww, my good puppy.” Emerson’s loud snort was the only response he got.

  “So, I don’t want to be rude.”

  He cut me off with a wave. “Boy, don’t worry about it, ask away. I was a teacher before all this madness happened.”

  I decided to push ahead, who knew when this information could come in handy. “So why doesn’t the Underground wipe you out?”

  He spread his hands out before him. “As I’ve told you lad, supply and demand. I produce an antidote of a sort to the mutagenic effect of the Death Ray residue.”