Annihilation: A YA dystopian adventure (The Mind Breaker Series Book 3)

by Marina Epley

  “Come on in and we’ll talk face to face,” she suggests. “Do you remember how I offered you the opportunity to meet with me alone? We can still arrange that.”

  She’s bluffing. No chance she would meet me alone.

  “How do I know you wouldn’t bring back up?” I ask.

  Cynthia begins laughing. “Do you really think I’m so scared to meet you alone? You still believe that you’re the stronger breaker, one who could overpower me?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “I guess we won’t find out unless we meet.”

  “And what exactly would you do being left all alone with me, with no guards for your protection?” Cynthia asks.

  I’d break your neck, I think, but instead I say, “Cynthia, let’s just quit with the nonsense. You know Elimination won’t permit your full request. It’s just not gonna happen. You can’t have Kitty or Holtzmann. But you may still get a chance to capture me. I’ll bring myself over if you’ll agree to free the hostages.”

  “Careful now,” Cynthia says. “You may anger me.”

  “There’s no reason to be angry,” I answer. “I’m offering you a deal.”

  “Six hundreds lives in exchange for one? I wouldn’t exactly call that a fair exchange. Holtzmann, Kitty and you must walk in together. I won’t accept anything less.”

  “Do you realize that Elimination won’t let you escape, should you kill the hostages?” I ask.

  “Is that what you think about me? That I’m scared of Elimination?”

  “No, I guess not,” I sigh.

  “Would you really sacrifice yourself for ordinary people?” she asks.

  “Yes, I would,” I answer. I’m not sure whether I’m lying or not. What would I do if Cynthia agreed to make a deal with me? Would I enter the refugee center and then… what?

  She doesn’t answer right away. I hold my breath. Come on, I think, agree to do this.

  “You’re even more an idiot than I originally thought,” Cynthia says.

  I hear a burst of gunfire before she breaks the connection. I take a step away from the phone. I wonder whom it was she killed this time. I hope it wasn’t Rebecca or any children. My stomach suddenly churns. I stagger out of the room, double over and throw up in the corridor. I don’t know whether it’s the result of Holtzmann’s drug or stress from my conversation with Cynthia. It’s probably a combination of both.

  “It’s not your fault she didn’t believe you,” Kitty says, handing me a bottle of water. “Everybody knows you did your best.”

  I wash out my mouth, return inside the room and stare at the phone, waiting for it to ring. Thirty minutes later we receive another call.

  “Listen up, traitor,” Cynthia says calmly. “I want you, Kitty and Holtzmann to turn yourselves in before sunset. I’ll begin systematically shooting hostages, should you fail to execute my request. Every hour after dark will cost you twelve hostages. These deaths will be on you.”

  She breaks off the connection before I can answer.

  “Looks like we have no other option available, but storming the building,” Chase states.

  Chapter 22

  It’s 4 AM and I’m standing in front of the refugee center, waiting for the lights in the building to be shut off. As soon as officers cut the electricity, my team along with a group of Elimination soldiers and Oliver’s recruits will go inside.

  Thirty minutes ago, two officers managed to climb unnoticed to the rooftop of the center and have already piped the sedative gas into the ventilation system. It’s a strong tranquilizer which veterinarians usually only use on large animals such as horses or cows. Holtzmann says using it on humans may cause severe side effects and possibly even death. It looks like we’re going to have plenty of casualties amongst the hostages. But this tranquilizer is the best Holtzmann could come up with on such short notice. We simply couldn’t wait any longer, because Cynthia has already begun gunning down hostages, a dozen at a time, at the end of each hour. So people are dying anyway.

  I look toward the entrance of the refugee center and can see a pile of unmoving bodies through the glass doors. Wasted lives. The terrorists brought them down to the hall, so that we’d fully realize where our failure to satisfy their requests had led.

  I force my eyes away from the dead, although doing so brings no relief. Because all I can see now is a crowd of crying and hysterical people. These are the relatives and friends of the hostages. Medics already had to hospitalize somebody’s mother who had a mental breakdown, as well as an old man who suffered a heart attack from all the stress.

  The officers finally contact Chase on the radio. He exchanges a couple of words with them, breaks the connection and says, “One minute to go time. Get ready.”

  We pull on our breathing masks. The lights inside the building go off and our squad carefully proceeds toward the entrance.

  The next thirty minutes become a blur.

  The gas apparently didn’t reach every section of the building, because we run into a group of terrorists on the first floor. They’re fully awake, and begin firing their rifles upon noticing us. We shoot back. It’s very dark inside, and hard to see anything. I get a sensation that I’m back in the Elimination prison, fighting guards during a riot. I also remember our night battle with Guardian’s breakers. It seems that I always wind up in the same situation. There’s an attack in the darkness and I’m killing somebody, while trying not to get gunned down myself.

  When we finally make it inside the main room, I can see hundreds of motionless bodies spread across the floor. Hostages. It’s hard to tell whether they’re dead or just sleeping. A few terrorists in camo uniforms move unsteadily toward the center of the room, where the canvas bags with explosives are placed. Two of them fall unconscious, knocked out by the still present gas. We fire, killing the others before they can activate the explosives.

  Some of the hostages try to sit up, but quickly fall back down. I see several unconscious guys in camo lying on the floor. More of Guardian’s terrorists. The officers quickly handcuff them and place blocking collars around their necks.

  We need to remove these hostages from the building as soon as possible. They seem to be in very bad condition, and there’s still the threat of explosions. Unfortunately, we can’t help anybody just yet. It’s necessary to capture or kill all the terrorists first. A few of them could have escaped the auditorium. It’d be virtually impossible to monitor who enters and exits the center once evacuation begins. So there’s no choice but wait until we clear the entire building.

  “Cynthia isn’t here,” Chase states after the officers check all the unconscious terrorists in the main room.

  I wish I had time to locate Rebecca amongst the victims, but we can’t spare any time. Although all the exits are blocked by our men and there’s no way Cynthia could get outside, she may still be able to activate concealed explosives.

  My team leaves the auditorium, searching for Cynthia. We find her hiding in a doorway on the first floor. She was obviously heading toward a back exit. I realize Cynthia is dressed in civilian clothing, wearing the same poorly fitting sweater and jeans as I remember. She probably planned to slip away during the evacuation, mixing in with the hostages.

  “Freeze!” Chase yells, pointing the barrel of his rifle at her.

  Cynthia suddenly tosses a small round object under our feet and runs for the door. A grenade, I realize. And there’s no place to take cover. We all drop onto the floor, although doing so won’t protect us from an explosion. I fall on top of Kitty, shielding her from the coming blast. I hear a muffled explosion, but no fragment of grenade hits us. I raise my head and see Dave spread across the corridor where the grenade landed. He lies motionless on his stomach and a puddle of blood spreads slowly beneath him. I realize Dave has just saved our lives. He sacrificed his own, throwing himself on top of the grenade and covering it with his body.

  Kitty lets out a horrified scream, shoving me away and approaching him. Marcus also runs toward his brother. He kneels be
side Dave, shouting something. I watch them for a moment in some sort of daze, then rise to my feet, picking up my rifle. Chase and Jessie have already exited the building, searching for Cynthia. I follow them outside, leaving Kitty and Marcus behind.

  Once outside, I see Chase and Jessie standing beside the bodies of five officers spread across the concrete. They’re lying on their backs, staring into space with wide open, glazed eyes.

  “She’s put them under,” Chase states.

  Apparently, Cynthia is an extremely strong hypnotist. I doubt I would be able to hypnotize these officers. Only the most resistant soldiers serve in Elimination.

  “Where did she go?” I ask, receiving no answer.

  Chase contacts headquarters, requesting a helicopter search of the area. He commands the officers to blockade all roads surrounding the block. Then we begin desperately searching for Cynthia, walking along the dark empty streets. We have to find her before she takes more hostages or kills someone else.

  I concentrate on her image. I try to imagine where I would go if I was in her place. My head hurts and I can’t focus well enough. I haven’t slept for two nights, and the shootout with the terrorists back in the hall sapped most of the strength left in me.

  Squadrons of Elimination officers march through the neighborhood, knocking on the door of every house, methodically searching for Cynthia. They can’t find her anywhere. I become worried that she could have already broken through our perimeter. What if she managed to hypnotize those officers as well?

  I can’t let her escape, I think. I can’t let her go on living. She’s a dangerous, vicious terrorist.

  I somehow wind up standing in front of a large building. It was probably supposed to become a mall or business center, but remained unfinished due to the financial collapse. I take a long look at the building, staring into the black holes of windows with no glass. Something tells me to go inside. She’s here, I suddenly realize.

  I don’t know whether it’s just intuition or I actually have some sort of telepathic connection with Cynthia. But what I do know is that I have to check it out, by going inside.

  “What are you staring at?” Chase asks, approaching.

  “She’s here,” I say.

  “How do you know?”

  I shrug, not having an answer.

  “All right,” Chase says. “Let’s check it out.”

  We proceed toward the entrance. Inside the building, I can’t hear anything aside from our own footsteps. We move slowly along a wall.

  “We need to take her alive,” Chase whispers. “She’s their leader and may know something important.”

  I nod.

  “Remember when you wondered who leaked the information about the mission to obtain the drug?” he continues. “Rebecca probably complained to Cynthia about Holtzmann going on a mission and…”

  “Quiet,” I whisper, worried that Cynthia may hear us.

  My worries about being heard are probably pointless. She likely already knows we’re inside the building. No matter how cautiously Chase and I attempt to move, we produce too much noise. The floor is strewn with broken glass, so it’s impossible to walk silently.

  We stop ever so often to spend a few moments listening. Nothing. No telling where Cynthia is.

  Chase and I continue further into the building. We climb a staircase, entering the second floor, when somebody fires at us from the darkness. Chase groans in pain, falling. I return fire, catching a glimpse of Cynthia running along the passageway. I turn to check on Chase. He’s pressing a hand against a wound in his thigh, blood seeping between his fingers.

  “Go!” he yells.

  I take off after Cynthia. I pass through the corridor and stop at a staircase, hesitating. Should I go up or down? I climb the stairs, coming to the third floor. I stop again, listening attentively. I can hear footsteps, but can’t discern the direction from which they’re coming.

  Holding my breath and trying to be as quiet as possible, I proceed down the hall. I carefully check each room, anticipating to be shot at any moment. Suddenly, I’m hit with an odd dizziness and the floor begins to sway. I recognize the sensation, but can’t place it yet.

  I see Cynthia standing a few feet away from me. She’s aiming a gun at my face. I raise my rifle and fire. She backs off, still holding her weapon on me. I pull the trigger again, but I’m out of ammo. I drop the rifle and charge into Cynthia, trying to tackle her. My arms grab nothing but air. I fall onto the floor, realizing that something is terribly wrong. I hear gunfire, but the bullets don’t hit me, even though she’s firing almost point blank. And my shot didn’t hit Cynthia.

  I’m hypnotized, I finally realize.

  As soon as I come to understand the situation, Cynthia’s image disappears. I stare at the place where she just stood, but now can’t see anybody.

  Nice job, I think, feeling like an idiot. She’s fooled me again. My rifle is now empty and I don’t have another weapon. And I know for a fact that Cynthia is armed. The memory of Kitty offering me Butcher’s knife as a souvenir haunts my mind. Damn it, I think, I should have taken it. I’d at least have a knife to take into the coming gunfight.

  I understand I can’t just walk away, although right now I really want to. I can’t give her a chance to escape again.

  I walk a little further into the darkness, projecting my thoughts. Give up, I repeat in my mind, drop your weapon and surrender. Nothing happens. Cynthia is obviously too strong to be put under, unlike myself.

  I stop again, listening and trying to concentrate. I feel disoriented. Only now, I can fully realize how much my blind eye and loss of hearing limit my abilities.

  I force myself to remain calm, telling myself that a gun is the only real advantage Cynthia has over me. I’m much stronger physically. I just need to grab hold of her weapon and then I can easily bring her down. I only have to take care she doesn’t hypnotize me again.

  “We’re finally alone, aren’t we?” I hear her voice. “Just you and I. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  She’s somewhere nearby. I carefully back into a room, concealing myself inside the entrance.

  “You’re out of ammo, aren’t you?” Cynthia asks. “Come on out, Rex. Let’s see who is better. I’m unarmed.”

  Nice try, I think, though I know she’s lying.

  I realize she’s walking along the passageway, slowly approaching. I ready myself. I suddenly think about Vogel, Dave and all those children burnt alive in the hospital. Hatred fills me. I want to kill Cynthia.

  A moment later she comes to the doorway, but hasn’t noticed me yet. She’s holding a handgun. I leap out from my cover, tightly grabbing her gun hand with both hands. Dropping her weapon, Cynthia reaches for my face with her free hand. Her fingernails dig into my good eye. I flinch, instinctively letting go of Cynthia. She knees me into the stomach and I double over. She instantly slams the same damn knee into my face. I lose balance and fall. My left eye is burning and watering. Cynthia dives for her gun, but I grab her ankle, stopping her progress. She kicks me in the head. Bleeding, I manage to lunge forward, landing on top of her. Cynthia is flat on her stomach, squirming underneath me and still reaching for the handgun. Her hand is only inches away from the weapon. I grab the back of her head and slam her face into the floor. Cynthia groans, but remains conscious. She tries raising up to create distance for a head-butt. But I happen to know this little trick very well. I lower my face out of harm’s way and chop at her elbow, bringing her back down. I then begin smashing her face into the floor until her body becomes limp and stops moving.

  I pick up the gun and feel her neck for a pulse. It’s steady. I keep a knee on her back, taking a moment to collect myself. The desire to kill Cynthia is almost overwhelming. I want to shoot her in the head. I’m tempted to grab her chin and break her neck.

  Not just yet, I remind myself, she may know something important.

  I raise her up by the neckline of her sweater and drag her toward the staircase. I watch attentively in
case she awakens. I’m sure Cynthia will begin fighting again whenever she comes to.

  Chapter 23

  I sit behind Vogel’s desk, studying Cynthia’s file while waiting for Chase to return from the hospital. I carefully read the documents, although I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for.

  I learn that Elimination initially captured Cynthia when she was in her late teens. She hadn’t committed any crimes and had only been suspected of being a breaker. The officers transported Cynthia to a research facility where scientists implanted electrodes into her skull. They utilized various forms of torture, including burning her hands and electroshock while conducting their brutal experiments. Cynthia often misbehaved and attempted to escape, so the guards frequently would beat her and throw her in solitary confinement without food or light.

  Reading her file gives me vivid flashbacks from my own incarceration in a different research facility.

  I close the file and spend a few minutes thinking. Something is bothering me. Cynthia was a falsely accused and tortured inmate who initiated a riot and escaped from Elimination. She’s embittered, manipulative and violent. It sounds all too familiar. Although I hate to admit it, Cynthia’s story closely resembles my own. Only she chose a different path.

  I can’t feel sorry for her and won’t bother trying to justify her actions. There’s simply no justification for what she’s done. Terrorists don’t deserve any forgiveness or sympathy, period. What I’m hoping to understand is why Cynthia chose to become a terrorist at the first place. Why did she start killing innocent people? How much hatred does it take to be able to commit such heinous crimes?

  Could I ever pour my anger and hatred out against the innocent? Could I ever justify the killing of children?

  The problem is that I don’t know for sure. I want to believe that I’m somehow different than her, but how certain can I be of that? There’s just so much similarity between us. And what if at some point I make a bad choice and become a hater like her? What if I turn into a full-fledged criminal, murdering ordinary humans just because they’re different?