by Jeremy Flagg
“You cannot run. I am everywhere.”
Mark’s eyes opened.
He found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. The alarm clock next to his head read 2:47 am. They had released him earlier in the evening with strict orders to rest. Bed rest, he thought, a doctor’s way of saying he had no idea what was wrong. They had the leading experts in cybernetics, parapsychology, and medicine at their disposal and a simple diagnosis reminded Mark they were far away from uncovering the source of mentalists’ abilities.
The voice rang in his head. It was if an echo of the owner continued whispering just beyond his hearing. He shivered at the thought of the two solitary stones in the field. The many-faced man hadn’t scared him, but the thought of his wife and child dying, that terrified him. As soon as it was a reasonable hour he’d call. He would be going home in two weeks and no emergency here would keep him away from his family.
He rubbed his eyes, pushing away the crusty bits. Other than his breathing, the room remained silent, one of the few good things about being surrounded by this much concrete. Even if the robotics lab had another explosion, he’d be able to sleep. The downside was waking up to dingy fluorescent lighting and never being sure the hour of the day. Eventually he’d paint a window on his wall so he could at least pretend he wasn’t in a cement jail.
He tossed back the covers on the bed and sat upright. He pulled the gauze from his nostrils and inhaled deeply. As he pushed the light on his nightstand, the room shone a bright orange. He examined the pieces of rolled-up gauze and found only a small bit of blood on the ends. At least he didn’t have to stay in medical overnight. The last thing he wanted was to sleep in a hospital bed.
Mark stretched his arms and stood, working his way to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and flinched at the brightness. He lifted up the toilet seat and relieved his bladder. He flushed and started to turn to the sink, but eyed the open seat. He flipped it down. Every time he went home, Elizabeth yelled at him through the closed door that she had nearly plunged into the freezing depths of toilet water. Living alone for so long brought out his bad bachelor habits.
He stared at his naked self in the mirror. He wasn’t repulsed by what he saw, but Elizabeth was going to have a talk with him about his health. He had gained too much weight since he got the job and his stress eating was out of control. He gave a slight flex in the mirror. Maybe when he returned to the center, he’d spend the next three months at the gym and when she saw him next, he’d be ripped. He was sure one of the security guards would be more than willing to work out with him. She’d swoon over his giant biceps.
He chuckled. She’d throw the back of her hand to her forehead and fall back on the couch. She had no problem poking fun at him. He let out a sigh.
“I miss you, Lizzy-bee.”
He grabbed his robe and covered up, tying the plush belt around his waist. He grabbed the remote to the TV and flipped it on. He reached for the cassette sitting on his side table and pushed it into the VCR. He plopped down on the recliner and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The tech who dropped it off had been kind enough to only record a few minutes near when he passed out. His TV was large enough that he could clearly see the two different scenes. On the left, the room with Ariel and Ivan, and in the other, him. The tech lined up the time stamps on both videos so he could see what happened as it unfolded.
It felt weird watching himself start to stagger. It was as if he was having an out of body experience after the fact. Ivan guided Ariel on her virtual walk down the halls of the center. Neither of them seemed to budge for the duration of the video. He watched until Ivan collapsed on the floor without any warning. Mark clicked the remote and rewound the video.
He leaned in closer to the television and took note of Ivan’s shaking hands. It didn’t seem like much, but they were shivering just enough to be noticeable. It was difficult due to the angle, but it appeared as if they weren’t even touching Ariel. Mark sat back in the chair and pondered what it meant. They needed to stop testing and start developing theories of what might have happened.
The video played a minute beyond his collapse. Mark jumped at a loud sound from the television, the door busting inward. Goddard held up his gun, pointing it directly at Ariel’s head. The security guard pressed the barrel against her temple, yelling at her to stop what she was doing.
They all waited. Ariel pivoted her body toward the man. Mark thought he saw a smile flash on her face. Her voice was quiet, barely audible on the television set. “I did it.”
She collapsed to the floor. Goddard put away his weapon and pulled out a small ceramic gun and pulled the trigger, sending a small dart into the girl. The tranquilizing effect caused her body to relax, shoulders slumping. Mark tried not to grit his teeth as he watched the man abuse the girl with his Taser.
He hit the pause button and stared at Goddard on the screen. His concern for the young girl competed with the anger he felt for the guard. The man was becoming something of a problem, constantly belittling the research they were doing, constantly trying to undermine his authority by crying to the president. Mark sneered as he thought of how he would show the man a lesson.
A knock at the door jolted him enough to see his hands were balled into tight fists. His jaw was clenched and his heart thumped against his ribcage. He was a difficult man to make angry, but it seemed Goddard was more than capable.
As he thought of the man’s name, he had a flash of him standing on the other side of his door. He only hoped his imagination was right. Mark tried to put away his anger, but he was more than willing to give Goddard a piece of his mind. He didn’t condone violence, but there was a time when it would be necessary.
He approached the door and paused for a moment, his hand nearly resting on the handle. If it was Goddard, what would he say? What would he do? The little voice of reason in the back of his head laughed; what could he possibly do to the brute of a man?
He pulled the door open and there stood the security guard. The man’s bulky form stretched his uniform from spending too much time in the gym. His neck was nearly as thick as his head and the black turtleneck did little to hide the muscles in his biceps. Mark’s blood started to boil with each observation, noting the more he admired the man’s physique, the more he hated him.
“We need to talk about this…”
Mark’s fist went straight for the man’s chiseled jaw. He’ll block, thought Mark.
Goddard stopped the fist, blocking with his forearm, but he couldn’t stop the foot snapping outward, kicking him in the groin. Goddard fell backward, the air rushing out of his lungs so fast he spit.
Make sure he can’t fight back.
Mark brought up his knee as the man buckled over, cracking him in the face. Blood erupted across Mark’s thigh. As Goddard fell backward, Mark stepped closer, faster than anybody could have imagined a guy his size capable of. He snatched the gun from Goddard’s holster and took a step back as Goddard spat blood onto the floor.
“The president is going to…”
“Shut the fuck up, Goddard.” Mark flipped the safety on the gun and pointed it at the man’s head. “The president is going to hear about this, because I’m going say that her militant lackey has been found insubordinate. Depending on the next words out of your mouth, she might also hear about you attempting to kill our asset and how it could be seen as an act of treason. Do you understand me?”
Goddard licked his lips and spat more blood. He ignored the blood rushing out of his nose. He stared at Mark, his eyes darting back and forth over him, attempting to assess the situation. Mark stiffened as he held out the gun. “All it takes is a pull of the trigger and every problem I have goes away.”
Mark held onto the anger in the pit of his stomach. He recalled the numerous times the man used that condescending tone, trying to supersede him at the center. Mark had been unaware of the rage he locked away in the darkest corner of his mind. There was a bit of him that was elated, almost euphoric at th
e sensation radiating from his body.
“Do you understand me?” he repeated.
Goddard nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Chapter 12
2033
“We should have stayed,” Jasmine said. She hopped down off the platform onto the tracks below. Boston’s Red Line, part of the busy network of subway tunnels that connected downtown, was at least thirty feet underground. It remained their contingency plan since meeting the rest of the group, but she had never taken the time to explore the miles of winding tunnels.
Frozen escalators brought them down to the first sub-level, and a small tunnel filled with broken tiles lead them to another escalator. Darkness hid the disgusting floors. The air smelled odd, and she assumed this was the first time a living person walked here in years. Cobwebs created false walls, looking more and more like something out of a horror movie.
Bronze sculptures of famous Bostonians lined the landing where patrons once waited for subway cars. They emerged from the shadows like penny-colored ghosts. Dwayne’s body steadily produced light and Skits’s hand cast an eerie blue light. Jasmine wondered how many people died here, trying to hide during the nuclear fallout. What had once been the easiest mode of transportation about the city had turned into a catacomb.
“They weren’t going to stop,” Dwayne said firmly. “I’d rather run than be dead.”
She gritted her teeth, she wasn’t done fighting. She wanted to tear each of the machines limb from limb and stare into their cameras to make sure their operators knew her face. The rage in her eyes would terrify them and when she threatened to come for them next, they’d be petrified. She wouldn’t be satisfied until Genesis Division was destroyed from the inside out.
Jasmine held out her hand to Alyssa, helping the smaller woman down from the platform. She stumbled and Jasmine caught her from falling.
“Well, good to know I’m a klutz again.”
The girl’s abilities were limited; the more time passed, the more her muscles forgot. The more she forced them to learn, the shorter the time period she retained her borrowed skills. It wouldn’t be long before she could recharge and be a fighting machine, but in this moment, she was nothing more than a girl.
“It’s about a mile before the next stop. There’s a pretty big station, we’ll be able to find a way out without alerting the machines,” Dwayne said.
“If they’re not waiting for us,” Alyssa said.
Dwayne stopped walking, letting the others continue further down the tracks. Jasmine watched as he planted his feet on the rails and braced himself. The light around his body dimmed for a moment and he shoved his hands up into the air. The flash was enough to hurt the eyes. She shielded hers with her hands at another flash from his palms. The crack of the lightning pulverized the roof until dirt started to rain down, filling the tunnel behind them. Several more cracks and the earth had nearly blocked off the tunnel.
“Might as well make sure they don’t follow.”
The man’s glow dimmed considerably. For all the frightening power he wielded, the limitations were obvious. She noted each of them had similar limitations. Even her iron hide had to revert back. She didn’t want to risk finding more synthetics with her powers incapable of working. She could maintain them for long periods of time, but even she, the veteran, had drawbacks. Fighting machines made Vanessa useless, and Dav5d had been quiet for most of the descent into the subway. Even Conthan kept his sarcasm to himself.
“You were right,” she mumbled to Dwayne as he passed by.
“I know,” he said. He was an ass, but at least he was an ass looking out for their best interests. If it had been left to her, they would have fought until depleted, and one by one they would have died. She sometimes questioned why she followed the man instead of being in charge. These moments reminded her why.
“Ass.”
“I know.”
***
The distant tingle at the base of his spine faded until it turned to a dull ache. His powers had taken over, used his body as a vessel all without his consent. Pumping through his body, a sense of pride at the destruction he caused. He had taken down two airships, something the others wouldn’t have been able to accomplish. He walked a bit taller as he tried to think of the dollar amount attached to the damage he caused.
The downside in abusing his powers: they ignored his demands now, refusing to give them an escape route. In the meantime, he was nothing more than a liability. He took comfort knowing Alyssa shared a similar position, and even Vanessa couldn’t rely on her telepathy. They were a deadly fighting force, for several minutes, and then when they ran out of juice, they were as human as the people hunting them down.
A year ago he sat in a warehouse with friends talking about art. YiYi was in the midst of a revolutionary breakthrough involving motor oil and chalk drawings. He and Gretchen must have given her less than stellar facial expressions and she went into a spiral of doubt. Her screaming about the project she loved was almost dramatic enough to be a performance piece on its own. Eventually Trish called for shots and they’d gathered around the bonfire and toasted to their failures. These artists, the people he chose to surround himself with, they were his family when he needed one.
Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he picked up a pencil and drew anything. His passion had been traded for training and his skills as a painter now fell by the wayside. They had been the family who held him up whenever he felt doubt starting to tear away at his self-esteem. Other than the brutish Rocks, the rest of them were exactly what you’d imagine for a group of artists. They wouldn’t fit in with his current companions.
At first being a Child of Nostradamus had been thrilling, then grueling, but now, now he was concerned that running for his life barely stirred a response. His closest friends were a gargoyle and a human lightbulb. He had to stop and wonder if any of them considered themselves friends. Or were they compatriots by necessity? He knew Jasmine only stuck around out of a mutual need, which he respected, but it kept her from ever being anything more than a super-powered officemate.
He stole a glance of Dwayne and his perpetual stoic visage. The man wore jeans, but left his upper body exposed. He rarely wore a shirt, citing he didn’t like the burning fabric scorching his skin. Conthan wondered if the human lightning bolt was able to produce electricity from any point on his body, or if it was easier from his hands. He had a lot of questions, but for months he barely spoken two words to the man not related to team responsibilities.
Perhaps it was coming down off a high from his powers, but the pit of his stomach housed a cage of butterflies laced with regret. He shared a dozen picturesque sunrises with the man, each one more serene than the last. However, as Dwayne tried to maintain a line of communication, Conthan had been a dick and shot him down. In the last year, wrapped up in his sanctimonious bullshit, he missed the one man trying to connect with him.
Conthan silently admitted to being an asshole.
He thought of Dwayne the night before, waiting for him on the balcony of the church. It had become a game for them to meet there. They’d exchange a few tense words and Dwayne would leave. The man didn’t push himself onto Conthan; he just left the doors open for discussion if the kid needed it. Conthan hated to admit it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the watchful eye.
He held his breath as he reached out and touched Dwayne’s hand. A short jolt snapped between them. Neither acknowledged the gesture until Dwayne gave Conthan’s hand a slight squeeze. Conthan returned the gesture and pulled his hand back, a crack of lightning jumping between them. He didn’t think the gesture quite summed up his emotions. Even the momentary contact calmed his worry. He only hoped it did the same for Dwayne.
***
“What are you thinking?” Vanessa asked.
Dav5d reached out in the darkness and rested his hand on her shoulder. His thoughts were a blur, moving too fast for her to comprehend. All of the others we
re in their heads, having a dialogue with themselves, and for the first time, she felt guilty listening to their thoughts.
“Who were you talking to?”
She didn’t know if it was the time to share or if she should wait until they reached safety. She decided if there was a chance any of them might not make it out alive, they deserved to know. “I spoke to Eleanor.”
“The dead psychic?” asked Skits.
Skits’s hands cast an eerie blue light in the narrow tunnel. They hadn’t been walking for long, but the sounds above them had already vanished. Dwayne would stop every now and then to check the rear of the group while his sister pushed forward. At the mention of Eleanor, both her hands flared brighter for a split second, almost as if the light responded to her excitement.
“Yes.”
“She’s been dead for forty years,” she responded.
“I know.”
“This is going to require a bit more explanation,” Skits said as she continued walking down the tracks.
“I’m not sure,” Vanessa said honestly. “How could I see a woman dead for four decades?—and even more so, I believe it was a much younger her.”
She didn’t need to see Dav5d to know his eyes were growing distant as he processed the information. “A younger version of Eleanor comes to the future. She witnesses Vanessa in the middle of a firefight. Vanessa may be able to see her because of her telepathy. There are too many uncertainties to know for sure.”
“I get worried when Dav5d says he doesn’t know something,” Alyssa confessed.
“If we look at time as a non-linear system, it is possible that her coming to the future will indeed change the past. However, if you apply the grandfather paradox, by her coming to the future, she would have that knowledge in the past and everything remains on its current course. But there is also a possibility that by affecting the future, she has created an alternate timeline from that fixed point in which the future diverged with new rules.”