Subject Seven

by James A. Moore

  The air was fresh, clean and laced with dirt, soot and the faint smell of burnt gunpowder.

  “Come on then. Let’s dance, you losers.” The voice was deep, and the body it came from was so radically different from Cody’s that Joe had trouble believing they shared a body. Cody’s Other was almost twice the size of the little squirt. His shirt strained and stretched across his shoulders and chest and the waist of his pants was too tight for comfort.

  The door opened and two men pointed the business ends of their rifles in his direction.

  “Stand still!” The guy on the left came forward, his hands shaking just a bit as he looked toward him.

  Joe was tempted to answer them, to see if he could speak through Not-Cody’s mouth, but instead merely sent a command for the Other to attack and defend himself. Just the same Not-Cody’s mouth opened and he answered. Joe frowned, puzzled. Not-Cody was more . . . awake than the other Others.

  Not-Cody’s voice was loud and clear. “I got a better idea for you. You drop your guns and run away and I won’t have to beat your sorry asses!” Joe looked down from the rooftop and shook his head.

  The first of the uniformed men aimed and pointed, only what came out wasn’t a bullet. Joe knew immediately because he’d dealt with the box-shaped guns before. Tasers. The darts were moving at high speeds, Joe saw through Cody’s eyes, but they seemed to slow down as he looked at them and the two long wires that led back to the gun.

  Not-Cody dodged the darts with ease.

  Joe smiled as Not-Cody loped forward, using his hands and his feet alike to get him where he was going. The man was still looking at the dart, his eyes just starting to widen, his mind just registering that he’d missed his target, when his target delivered a vicious uppercut.

  Not-Cody had no combat experience. He just had his speed and his strength, his mind and his intuition. The sound of bones breaking reached his ears and he lashed out with his other hand, slapping the man toward the next gunman. The one with the automatic rifle. Not-Cody was excited, his emotions so easy to read: the men attacking moved so slowly—at human speed—while Not-Cody recognized himself to be far from human. Joe could understand the feeling.

  The second man let out a yelp that was cut short as his body smashed into the doorjamb. Not-Cody charged forward again, knocking both of the men out of his way as he headed for the next ones.

  On the left was a man with a pistol in one hand and a Taser in the other. He would have been a threat, but he didn’t seem to know which weapon to point. Not-Cody grabbed the man with both hands and heaved, swinging the soldier toward the right, once again using the meat he was fighting as a weapon. The guy on the right was still bringing his rifle up when his friend ran into him and sent them both staggering.

  Joe Bronx called out in Not-Cody’s head. Take them out. Break them. No mercy.

  And to his surprise, Not-Cody answered. “I don’t do mercy. That’s Cody’s shtick.” Joe frowned. This wasn’t what he’d expected. Not-Cody was so different from the others that he pulled himself from the other Other’s mind and merely looked on as the brute finished fighting the guards.

  Not-Cody’s hands hit the ground and he brought his legs up to his chest as he twisted his body around. When his head was close to the ground, he kicked out with all his might and his feet drove into the chest of the fifth opponent. The impact sent the soldier through the air and drove him into the ceiling’s tiles before he dropped back to the ground.

  And just that fast, the fight was done.

  Joe looked down from his position on the roof and stared at Not-Cody as the Hyde stared at the soldiers, all of them bleeding, broken.

  Despite his hesitation, Joe moved back to eavesdropping on Not-Cody’s mind, taking in his senses, his emotions, but not saying anything, merely observing. Not-Cody was interesting but also unsettling. He didn’t like that sensation at all. Not-Cody leaned over the first one, the one with the broken face. The man moaned and looked his way, but there was no sign of actual thought in those blue eyes.

  “That all you got?” The man didn’t answer. “Heh. Loser.”

  Joe wanted to call out—there were others to fight and Not-Cody could have helped—but instead he just observed. There was something going on inside the Hyde’s head that he wanted to understand.

  Not-Cody could have charged through the building, could have gone to help the others, but instead he looked at the broken soldiers for a long moment and then shrugged.

  Joe pulled away from Not-Cody’s mind when he realized what the Hyde intended to do. Not-Cody wanted to play. The first of the soldiers let out a moan and tried to sit up. He became the first toy.

  Not-Gene and Not-Tina stood together at the front of the building, their hands held over their heads. What had been Gene stood on the left. What had been Tina was on the right. Both of them fully understood how the other felt. This was intoxicating. This, all of it, was life, and they were not used to it.

  Joe Bronx spoke to them, his voice calm and smooth. Let them come to you. Let them think they have the advantage. When they come closer, take them down.

  Not-Gene shook his head. “Why don’t we just kill them now?” He was genuinely curious, Joe could feel that.

  Not-Tina nodded enthusiastically.

  There are too many of them. You have eleven of them coming your way. The view from the roof had its advantages.

  They looked at each other. “Eleven?” Not-Gene frowned. He was already cautious, like his Other. While Not-Gene was thinking, Not-Tina crouched down and grabbed at the cement near her feet. It was broken and her fingers broke it a second time, tearing chunks of the stuff away from the sidewalk. She squinted at the debris and heaved, pulling two substantial lumps of the sidewalk away.

  She hefted the pieces, each weighing easily twenty pounds, and then stepped back from the door.

  “What are you doing?” Not-Gene looked toward her, but Joe already understood. He could feel her thoughts, limited though they were. Neither of them was as fully aware as Not-Cody was yet. They were still waking from their fifteen-year naps, and they were not as capable of thought as Not-Cody. They were growing, becoming full personalities, but they weren’t there yet. What made Not-Cody so different? Joe had no idea.

  Not-Tina looked to Not-Gene. “Ever go bowling?”

  “No.”

  “Time to learn a new game, hon.”

  The door opened a moment later, and the soldiers started pouring out. They were not cautious enough. They were carrying firearms and probably thought that gave them an advantage. Not-Tina hurled a slab of concrete toward the men, taking several of them out at once.

  Not-Tina let out a battle cry and jumped at the doors and the men started retreating, probably ready to piss themselves. She was a savage and Joe had been in her mind when she attacked the mobsters and took the money from them. Not-Tina was filled with rage; it was a part of her as surely as Tina shared the same body with her. Tina was loud and brash, true, but this one? She wanted blood. She wanted to break things.

  Apparently Not-Gene didn’t want her to have all of the fun. “Save some for me!”

  She didn’t answer. She just screamed and threw her whole body into an effort to knock a man senseless. The soldier slammed into the wall of the building and his body left a dent.

  Not-Gene didn’t charge into the fray. Instead he reached for the pistol he’d shoved into his belt and checked the safety. Joe grinned again. Not-Kyrie had been trained in self-defense as a result of Kyrie taking the classes. The same was true of Not-Gene. Gene had been taught firearm safety by his father. Apparently the men in the Rothstein family went hunting. Joe could glean that much with ease. Gene was afraid of guns. Not-Gene didn’t share in that fear.

  Not-Gene shot two soldiers that would have probably killed Not-Tina. Joe, meanwhile, was marveling at how savage Not-Tina was and how careful and calculating Not-Gene was in comparison. Just then Joe felt two Taser darts slam into Not-Gene’s arm. Joe shut off the mental connection he ha
d with the Other just before the current blasted through him. On the rooftop he could hear Not-Gene scream in pain.

  Tasers are interesting devices. They send electric current through the body at a voltage level that closely mimics the charge the human brain and nervous system use. The end result is a complete and very painful overload of the nervous system. Muscle control is instantly removed and most people are paralyzed for as long as the charge is administered. Normally the only damage done is in the form of two small punctures that allow the charge to contact the body directly.

  Ah, but the pain they generate? That’s something else entirely. Joe had experienced it a few times and had no desire to feel it again.

  Gene’s Other had never experienced pain directly before. He had never experienced much of anything before, really. He howled as the charge hit and promptly dropped to the ground. His vision blurred, his teeth clenched, his hands jittered and a deep groan came from his throat.

  Just as quickly the pain vanished. The man on the other end of the long leads from the Taser looked down at him and stepped closer. “You got any kind of sense, you’re going to stay there and behave. I don’t want to juice you again.”

  Not-Gene let out an animal roar and tried to stand up. He reached for the darts in his arm, intent on pulling them out, and the man hit the switch and juiced him again. The pain hit again and laid him flat. Spittle flew from his lips, and the world through his eyes lost shape and definition.

  “Gunnnnna k-killl yhuuuuu . . . ” Without even trying, Joe could feel the Other’s frustration.

  “Stay down, you idiot.” The man was talking, his lips moved, his face started to smile or to sneer; it was hard to say which.

  Not-Tina took two darts in her hip and let out a shriek as the current hit her nervous system. She hit the ground, her body twitching and a long, drawn-out “EEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee” coming from her mouth.

  Joe felt their rage; their helplessness was almost as overwhelming as their fury. Not-Gene tried to sit up again and felt the current smash him backward again. There was nothing he could do, and that knowledge was worse than the pain moving through him. Joe understood that. So he sent for help, even as he and Not-Kyrie crossed the rooftop to look down on the fighting below.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Joe Bronx

  JOE CLOSED HIS EYES for a moment and reached out with his mind, seeing the Others around him. Not-Kyrie was right next to him, her fury abated for the moment. She was happy, enjoying the freedom that came from being awake and in control.

  Not-Cody was at the back of the building, looking down at his broken toys. He could see the creature, but it was harder to understand what was going through Not-Cody’s mind than he expected. This one, he thought, could be trouble. Time would tell.

  The pain he felt from Not-Gene and Not-Tina was dimmed because it was theirs. He could feel it, could register what it was, but it had little to do with him directly. Joe looked through their eyes and saw the situation.

  His commands were direct and required no words, no names. He directed Not-Cody to move to the front of the building as quickly as possible and at the same time he reached down and pulled the Taser from the belt of the man who’d been giving him information very reluctantly. Not-Kyrie followed his lead and pulled another of the weapons from one of the men sprawled across the rooftop.

  Not-Cody didn’t resist the commands. He simply moved, charging around the side of the building with astonishing speed for so large a figure. He didn’t bother with weapons. That was just as well. Joe was pretty sure the boy had no idea how to use any weapons.

  Joe walked to the front of the building and looked down. Not-Gene and Not-Tina were on the ground, both of them twitching and uttering small noises as they were jolted again. Even if the power were shut off, it would be a few minutes before they were recovered enough to do anything at all. The men in black uniforms stood around them, and two of them were preparing handcuffs.

  His immediate response was rage. But he knew that anger was a tool, and like everything else it had a place and a time—and this wasn’t it.

  That was what he understood that the Others did not. They brutalized their enemies with wild abandon, not caring about the consequences of their actions. They were too new, too young to fully understand.

  He aimed the Taser at the soldier juicing Not-Tina. Not-Kyrie took aim carefully and fired, and the other guard with a Taser dropped to the ground, screaming out a high-pitched yelp of pain.

  Nineteen feet below, the soldiers were starting to look in their direction. “Now.” He spoke aloud but also with his head and Not-Cody responded, moving around the side of the building and roaring.

  The men turned toward the sudden distraction and two of them opened fire with their weapons. They were not fast enough. In their defense, they were only human.

  Bullets cut the air and the ground around where Not-Cody had been. The Other had jumped, his body clearing the ground, then landing briefly against the side of the building. His hand caught the brick surface, helped him keep his balance for a moment as he repositioned himself, and then he jumped again, this time firing himself at the soldiers like a living missile.

  Joe and Not-Kyrie jumped down from above with one graceful move. They worked together as if they’d been trained to do so for years, but only because she trusted Joe and listened to his mental commands.

  The fight was over before it really started. Joe watched his peers as they brutalized the soldiers and nodded. They were as fast and strong as he’d hoped, as fast and strong as him. That was important because they’d be asked to do a lot more before everything was done.

  Joe flexed his arm and felt the muscles ripple and pull. A bullet had punched clean through his bicep and it hurt, yes, but it didn’t incapacitate.

  And it was healing fast. He could feel the muscles knitting themselves back together, and the blood had stopped flowing down his arm.

  He was alive. And he was no longer alone.

  Not-Gene crawled slowly back to his feet, his body shaking. A moment later Not-Tina did the same, her skin pale and sweating. Joe felt for them; he’d been hit by Tasers before and knew exactly how painful the sensation was.

  “Give it a few minutes, guys. You’ll feel better.”

  “Who are these losers?” Not-Kyrie sneered down at the unconscious and the dead. They were all the same to her—Joe could feel that. They were a good excuse to lash out, and as far as Not-Kyrie was concerned, they didn’t even qualify as worthy of consideration beyond that. If they lived or died, it meant nothing because they were not her. She, like all of their kind, was extremely self-centered.

  “Well, whoever they are, they want us captured or dead. That makes them the enemy.” Joe looked at his arm. The bullet wound had completely scabbed over.

  “They must really, really want us badly.” Not-Cody’s voice was strained, but Joe sensed a certain amusement from him.

  “Why?” Not-Kyrie was frowning, her full lower lip stuck out like a diving board. Even with the sour expression, she was a striking figure.

  Not-Cody pointed with his right hand. All of them looked where he pointed.

  All of them saw the helicopter coming for them. The vehicle was jet black and carrying two large black boxes perched just above the landing skids.

  Not-Gene was still recovering. Not-Tina was already on her feet and looked like she was ready to go again. Joe winced as he grabbed Not-Gene by an arm and started moving. “Run! Run! Run!”

  They ran. The five of them moved as quickly as they could, even as the black boxes on the helicopter opened, the fronts blooming like mechanical flowers, and vomited a hail of destruction on the warehouse where they’d been only ten minutes earlier.

  The shells shrieked as they struck the building and roared as they exploded. Ten, eleven, a full dozen mortars struck, blasting the building into a colossal fireball as the Others ran.

  The shock wave lifted Joe and his cohorts into the air, little more than rag dolls in a
hurricane, and Joe gnashed his teeth. He hated feeling helpless more than anything,

  They landed hard, scattered all across the street, and Joe once again took command, barking silent orders.

  As the flames expanded and the smoke rose in a thick black column from what had been the warehouse, Not-Gene reached out and lifted the manhole cover from the center of the road next to him and crouched low as the others scurried and scrambled their way down into the darkness.

  The copter’s blades sliced the air and blew the smoke away from the crater and Joe watched as the vehicle looked for them. They were lucky. Either the smoke stopped the occupants from seeing them or they’d been told not to blow up the rest of the block along with the building they’d already destroyed.

  Not-Gene dropped the cover back in place, sealing them off from anyone looking for them. Joe stood in the ankle-deep filth of the sewer.

  “Where are we going?” Not-Tina’s voice was only a little petulant.

  Joe grinned. “We’re going for a night on the town, kiddies. I think we earned it.”

  “We need better clothes.” Not-Kyrie’s voice was still agitated.

  “We’ll get them.”

  “We need—”

  He held up his hand for silence. “We’re going to get clothes. We’re going to get money. We’re going to eat like kings. And then, we’re going back to the hotel to leave a message for the failures.”

  “What’s my name?” Not-Cody asked the question casually.

  Joe shrugged and suppressed a wince as his arm reminded him that it was still hurting. “You tell me.”

  “What do you mean?” A quick frown.

  “I mean you’re not Cody. He already has a name. You have to decide for yourself what you want to be called.”