The Clash (The Permutation Archives Book 5)

by Kindra Sowder

  I looked down and the metal that bound my wrists started to decay, the metal changing from bright silver to a rusted, orange-brown color as it curled and floated through the air like tiny dancers Leaning my head back, I rode the power as a growling scream tore from my vocal chords. All words – the sound and meaning of them – had left me.

  Another shout and then an electric zap. I felt a jab and then an electrifying torrent move through my entire body – back and forth from head to toe. My power snapped back into my body, and if I could have, I would have cried out in pain.

  Another jolt.

  Every muscle contracted, and then relaxed, taking my breath away. Exhaustion flooded me. The fingers of my right hand twitched, tapping lightly on my perch. Silence filled the room, the only sound the increased beeping of the machine that measured my heart rate and respiration.

  “Doctor Tee, is the injection ready?” King snapped.

  “Yes, sir,” the other man’s voice came closer.

  Lips brushed my ear and King whispered, “They begged for their lives. Is this fight really worth it?”

  Raw grief flooded me, the thought of everyone I loved begging to live in the face of King’s self-importance. I saw Gaia’s face, perfect and beautiful with shocking blue eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Each face played in my mind like a slideshow, slashing my determination into ribbons. Something at the edge of my awareness pushed at the thought – resisted it. They couldn’t be gone. My stricken brain believed it because I knew King was fully capable, but Cato’s presence just at the edges suggested it wasn’t the truth. Tears sprang to my eyes and burned hot trails from the corners and down into my hair, searing my flesh with the energy of my power that built up there.

  A strangled, animalistic cry tore from my lips, and the power poured into the center of my chest, my heart feeling like molten lava that threatened to explode from within. My eyes reflected in his, glowing bright with power that illuminated my face in startling clarity. I looked like a woman possessed, lips curled in a snarl as hot tears poured from my eyes, and the metal table underneath me rusting just around my head and shoulders like a halo.

  “Give it to her, dammit!” was all I heard, voice unrecognizable.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the doctor hesitate, but then his eyes hardened, and he shot toward me with a syringe at the ready. I recognized the liquid instantly, and knew what it would do if it made it into my veins. King had taunted all of us with it at the Spartan Compound.

  “No,” I screamed.

  Doctor Tee’s arm raised as I jerked against the restraints, but I couldn’t get free. I hadn’t been able to decay enough of the metal to free myself. The large needle plunged deep into my chest between my ribs with a pinch, followed by stabbing pain, and his thumb pressed down on the plunger. My scream cut off in a strangled sound, the massive gage of the needle resting deep within my chest cavity. It shifted with each rapid breath that fled in and out of my lungs, causing a new wave of burning agony. The serum felt cold, then warm when it hit my blood – spreading throughout my body swiftly. Each nerve fiber it met fired with intensity.

  Fire and electricity blazed through my brain and pressure built inside my skull. The whimper that left my slightly parted lips as Doctor Tee slid the needle from my skin was pathetic, but I couldn’t muster any more than that. Breath wheezed out of me, and the world shifted slightly, moving in slow motion.

  King leaned toward me, our noses almost touching, and pushed a stray strand of hair away from my face.

  “Why?” I croaked.

  “Power, Mila. What else is there?” He paused. “The drug does work, right? This new formulation barely made it through trials. Having to expand on its capabilities almost made it too weak.”

  “I can assure you, President King, it will render her power useless and concentrate it so that the reactor can extract it and produce the atomic blast. Just one more treatment after this takes effect, which will take only a few hours, and we should be close enough to Washington D.C. for it to be active by the time we reach the reactor itself. All of us at Fuji-O’Hara are confident,” he responded with short, clipped words.

  “Good.”

  King said the word with a sinister leer. My reflection in his dark eyes no longer shot back the image of my brilliant orbs. I was dull. Lifeless. Powerless. Weak as the serum concocted to steal abilities from Specials worked its way through my circulatory system. The room grew completely silent except for my ragged gasps.

  Everything shifted again, and when King backed away, it was as if a ghost moved alongside him. I groaned. My head felt full, as if someone had poured ball bearings into it. They rattled around, clinking against the interior of my skull. Thoughts flashed through my mind, and my hands began to tingle – numbness spread from the tips toward my elbows. I tried to flex my fingers, but the movement felt odd. Like they were restricted somehow, and much larger than I knew they actually were.

  He spoke again, his words garbled like there were two of him speaking in tandem.

  Without warning, all of my muscles clenched, and every nerve burst to life. It hurt. Felt like I had been prodded with twenty or more stun wands – unrelenting. A high, feminine cry pierced the air. The acrid smell of burning paper and ozone filled my nostrils. Another wail rang in my ears, and my muscles went rigid again.

  Everything sparkled with bright, glittering light, and then the lights went out completely – sending me back into the night.

  Chapter

  SIX

  My muscles, bones, and everything between ached as if I had lifted dead weight for hours on end. The rough texture of my cage they evidently threw me right back into after the injection of their serum felt odd against the sensitive pads of my fingertips. Like the crevices were jagged and sharp. I swallowed, squeezing my eyes shut more tightly to avoid the possibility of any light making its way in. Swallowing felt like glass had been forced down my gullet, and when I coughed, every part of me lit up with fresh pain. Especially my chest.

  The image of the gigantic needle being forcibly pushed into my chest, along with the sensation, barged into my thoughts. Pounding pressure made my brain feel swollen inside my skull if that were even possible. Even if it wasn’t, that was the only way I knew to describe it. Like, if I barely tapped it, it would break apart, and my brains would spill out onto the floor. I rejected the urge to gag at the thought of it.

  “Well, well. Look who’s finally awake,” King’s voice barked over the speakers.

  It was grating despite the deep bass of it, bringing forth a new wave of pounding pressure. The pressure was deep — lingering — as if implanted there for maximum effect. And it began to build again as I lie there, attempting to get myself together. It was no use. My stomach lurched. Nausea brought stomach acid —putrid and thick — into my raw throat. Choking it down, I opened my eyes and squinted up toward the lonely source of light. The metal barrier was clear, allowing artificial light from fluorescent bulbs and computer screens to bombard my senses. And there he stood — King in all his greedy, sadistically proud glory. The wide grin spoke of how happy he was with himself, showing far too much gleaming white.

  I had to remind myself that, even though I was literally below him at that point, I stood on moral high ground. That made it much easier for me to acknowledge his presence. Opening my chapped lips, I spoke after what felt like hours of endless screaming.

  “Something tells me you don’t get tired of torturing me,” I croaked.

  He clapped his hands together loudly, the slap of bare palms making the sledgehammer in my head only work harder to cause discomfort.

  “And here I was trying to hide it. Nothing gets past you,” he stated sarcastically. “How are you feeling, Mila?”

  His face never changed. He was still jovial, prideful, and smiled so wide I swore his manicured face would split in half. Oh
, if only that were the case. The drab medical garb was gone, replaced with the black suit and tie that was typical. Me? It took me until that second to realize I was sheathed in a thin paper gown, leaving nothing to the imagination. But I found I no longer cared, all modesty thrown out the proverbial window.

  “Peachy,” I replied, making certain he noticed the crassness in my tone.

  I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, leaning against the bench-like structure I had been using as such. My arms nearly gave out, but, with gritted teeth, I managed to keep from toppling over. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. In my eyes, it was much better than lying on the stone-cold floor while King glared down at me like I was pond scum worthy of no higher position.

  “Now, no need to be so bitter, Mila. This is for the greater good.”

  I rolled my eyes, which made my head hurt worse than it already had. The gesture was two-fold – mocking the continued use of my name to make me feel important as well as the statement that came after. There was no such thing as for the greater good when it came to Emerson King. It was him, and only him. His wants and his desires. Nothing rose above that.

  “Killing your own daughter for power is for the greater good?” I whispered.

  King looked off to the side, completely ignoring the question, and waved a hand at someone I couldn’t see, causing my heart to skip a beat. After what had just been done to me, and what the effect was, I didn’t want anyone else near me. If I could avoid any further human contact from those that worked for this megalomaniac, I would have, but I had a strong inclination I wasn’t going to be given a choice in the matter.

  “Doctor, if you would,” he muttered.

  The far wall slid open, revealing the massive room beyond it filled with computers and multitudes of equipment whose purpose I had no idea. Everything beyond that wall was foreign. I recognized some things easily enough, but the rest, I was completely clueless. Some glass containers even held bubbling liquids of varying hues and shades. The sliding wall also revealed the same doctor that had injected me with the serum, causing such a severe and intense reaction I had no idea what to call it. It was something I had never once experienced, and it would be too soon if I had to again.

  The only reason I recognized the man was because of his eyes. The shape and purely scientific interest behind them hinted at his identity, and I knew I would never forget him. He moved into the room, stethoscope and blood pressure cuff in hand. The white lab coat pocket was filled with other small devices used for various purposes, each I was naïve to.

  If my entire body wasn’t filled to the brim with fatigue, I would have backed away as far as I could, melting into the wall behind me. I had seen Jameson turn a solid concrete wall into something passable, but I wasn’t capable of that. My ability was much more destructive.

  “Make sure she is stable enough for the next treatment. After that seizure, I’d hate it if she had hurt herself to where we couldn’t use her,” King stated very matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” the slight Asian man mumbled with a curt nod.

  I barely paid attention to what the doctor did next, the only action that even elicited a response from me being a light shined directly into my eyes. I tried to swat the man away, but could barely move because my muscles were extremely stiff, and I was just too exhausted to fight any of it. King sauntered around to the open wall and studied my reactions.

  “You’re in for a treat, Mila. I have something to show you. Something that is going to render any change you and your,” he leered and removed a small remote-like device from his pants pocket, “people attempted to cause useless.”

  Pointing behind him with the remote, the button clicked, and a large screen much like a computer erupted from the wall. It was thin, much thinner than I’d ever seen, and tall. It dwarfed King, even at six-foot-two.

  Doctor Tee removed the blood pressure cuff and backed away. I had been so intent on King, I missed the entire examination. His eyes scanned me while he backed up as if I were a snake about to strike. I wouldn’t be moving. I barely had enough energy left to remain sitting, much less get off the floor and attack someone.

  “Vitals are stable, Mr. President,” he stated with a slight dip of his chin.

  King smirked, his eyes lighting up with glee.

  “Good. Thank you, Doctor. Please have Nero report to me right away. She may not look up to a fight, but I have a feeling I will be needing his assistance after I show her the latest newscast,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  With those two words, the doctor disappeared, leaving King and I alone. I was confused, yet intrigued, by his last statement. And he was correct. I wasn’t up for much. Dread rippled through my body. What could be worse than his blatant statement about how he slayed everyone, leaving only me? I didn’t want to believe he had, but a glimmer of doubt remained. He was fully capable, with the will and the immeasurable resources to do it. With that fact in play, why wouldn’t he?

  I couldn’t speak. I only watched as the screen sprang to life, portraying a young woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin that looked like it never saw the sun her entire life. She was talking with perfectly red lips, but no sound came out. King pressed another button, and the room boomed with the sound of her high, feminine voice. I grimaced, but King didn’t move or seem to be affected by the noise. He only grinned from ear to ear as he stared down at me.

  Looking at him, my eyelids threatened to drift closed, which caused him to act. He walked toward me, leaned down, and gripped my chin roughly in his soft hand – forcing me to look him in the eye. His breath was hot and sweet with mint on my skin. Fingers dug into my jaw painfully, but I didn’t attempt to jerk away. I didn’t have the energy to do more than what he forced me to do.

  “You’re going to want to watch this,” he growled, turning my head so that I could see the large screen perfectly past him.

  Commotion and a discordance of sound blared from the speakers, the woman in front of the camera nearly having to yell to be heard over the chaos. Blue and red lights flashed, signaling the presence of police as well as the fire department. A man, tall and broad, flashed across the screen, the large white letters on his jacket spelling out FBI. Confusion tore through me, but I didn’t say anything. Only watched in horror as the scene unfolded.

  “Our sources tell us that this attack is the work of Special terrorist regime the Fallen Paradigm. As you can see behind me,” she turned and pointed, the camera following her line of sight, “all of the flames have been put out, but it looks like a missile was launched, taking half a city block and fifty-four lives with it. Countless are injured, but we will continue to update our viewers on any new intel that becomes available.”

  The sight almost caused my jaw to drop. Tears stung my eyes and threatened to spill over. It wasn’t just because we would take the blame. This was an aspect of war I never intended for, but knew would happen, deciding to wage war regardless.

  “From what little information I have gathered here tonight, this was not the result of a missile of any kind. It was none other than fugitive Mila Hunter, whose ability creates atomic bomb-like effects. My question is, what will our President do to ensure the safety of his citizens?”

  “No,” I muttered, jerking my head from his vice-like grip. “No.”

  He launched himself toward me, rage evident in his face as spittle flew from between his lips.

  “What was that? I can’t hear you,” he taunted me.

  Renewed energy pulsed through me despite the lingering effects of the serum and the seizure. I wanted to get my hands on the man, and he was just close enough to grab the scruff of his beautiful suit jacket.

  “You’ve killed innocent people,” I spat.

  “It’s the price of war, Mila. You of all people should know that,” he sauntered toward the other sid
e of the room, easily avoiding my reaching hands.

  Shaking my head, I said, “We won’t take the fall for this.”

  He sighed and came toward me again, dropping down to one knee not even two feet from my bare knees.

  “And I’m waiting for you to figure out that you don’t have a choice but to do just that. You don’t call the shots here. The Fallen Paradigm will take all the blame, and when I get you to D.C., you’ll be blamed for another attack and no one will be around to refute it. Not even your little boyfriend.”

  “You didn’t kill them. I know you. You’d make sure I knew you had.”

  “How do you suppose I’d do that? Since you know me so well,” he questioned.

  “You’d show them to me. You have nothing. They are still alive, and I know they’ll come for me.”

  Just saying the words, believing them, took everything out of me. My back made contact with the cold metal, causing a shiver to move through my spine. King leaned in, breath sickeningly sweet, and his expression turned cold as ice. He bared his teeth. It made me cringe away, but I couldn’t go far. Another shiver racked me, and his smile grew wider, mistaking my disdain for terror.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Mila. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he breathed.

  I glared at him, spotting Nero enter my cage over King’s shoulder. The television played on, showing images of flames as people ran for their lives. Men, women, children — all screaming for a savior. A small child, a little girl that reminded me of Gaia, came onto the screen, tears streaking through grime and soot — her mother nowhere to be found. My chin trembled, a reaction I couldn’t hide.