Outbreak
Page 3
David tries to interrupt. I place a finger to his lips before he can say anything else.
“I’m more like him than you’ll admit. I refuse to put you in the position of having to defend yourself against me. I just won’t do that to you.”
David’s face darkens as his voice lowers. “That isn’t going to happen, Dakota. You can’t hurt me any more than you could’ve hurt Josh. It just isn’t in you. No matter what that monster made you believe, how he twisted your mind. DNA or not, you aren’t like him. It just isn’t possible.”
“You forget that I’ve already hurt you. When we were kids. The training.”
“That was different. You bruised our skin. Our egos. Nothing more.”
“And if you’re wrong? If I wind up attacking you, or worse? What then?”
David reaches for me and I pull back again. “I’m not wrong,” he says.
“But—”
“Stop it, Dakota. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” David pins me with his stare, the intensity almost more than I can handle. “You’re more than he’s trained you to be, so much more. Let me spend a lifetime proving that you.”
I focus on the slim band of metal that circles my finger. I want to say yes, promise myself to him. Each day a few more of my memories return, and with them so do my feelings for him. But there are other memories that come too. Thoughts of the training and the killings. Memories of how much I enjoyed LeMercier’s praise. Echoes of the pleasure my power brought me. How am I supposed to ignore what I’ve done, what I am?
I stare into David’s eyes, wishing we could disappear into another life, one that never included our so-called gifts. In a moment, the world slips away. But instead of a beautiful life with David, all I see, all I feel, are bullets whizzing past.
Another moment passes and David shoves me to the ground. The rough cement floor grinds into my knees. David guides me toward the only door in the front of the crowded cafe. Bullets swarm around us, coming from every direction. People scream, their voices forming a cacophony of panic and fear that pushes out every other sound.
My worst fears unfold in the chaos . . .
Dr. LeMercier is alive.
And we’ve been found.
My mind spins into autopilot as we pour onto the street and lose ourselves in the mob. I picture the gunmen, their guns turning against them, their lives ending with deafening silence. Screams split the night air, along with the sounds of sirens coming closer and closer and the rapid fire of the assault weapons. I feel the lives ending around me, taste the panic in the air. Thoughts of the guilty and the innocent mix together in my mind and stop suddenly as David leads me away. A piece of me wants to go back to see if the men have died by my thoughts. Kill them if they haven’t. But I won’t succumb to that temptation. Not again.
Why was I so reckless? I knew this would happen? The accusations wind through my brain, adding to ever-present noise.
“Where are we going?” I ask David.
“Home.” David continues to pull me through the crowd, the sirens and screams growing more and more faint with each step.
“Home? We can’t go home! They’ll find us there.” I yank at David’s arm. It’s no use, he won’t stop pulling me through the streets.
We wind our way through the town until we are alone, walking through a sleepy neighborhood. The gunfire and screams feel like nothing more than a distant echo, a dream.
David stops, his breath coming in quick, heavy bursts. “We need to go home and get our things. We can leave tomorrow.”
“And if those creeps aren’t planning on waiting until tomorrow?”
“If they’re still alive, they won’t find us at the flat.” David scans the landscape, his eyes darting from me to the shadows and back. “And the Hawaiians will never tell them.
“You think they’re dead?” I ask, not really wanting his reply. I know they are; I know what I’ve done.
David looks at me, a sad smile covering his face. “It wasn’t your fault. You were acting on instinct. But I want you to try to control yourself more, learn to fight that urge.”
Everything tells me to argue back, to deny what I’ve done. The picture of the gunmen, their weapons turned loose on themselves ends my mental chatter immediately. I look at David and nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns away. My mind spins. How did they find us? I think of the dreams, the nightmares. Maybe LeMercier tracked me through my thoughts. The hair on my arm stands before the idea is complete. I led him here, I led them all here—me and my traitorous dreams.
“We have to leave,” I mumble as David finishes his call and returns his phone to his pocket. “This is my fault. I did this. I . . .”
David takes my hand and squeezes it. “Shh. There’s no time for that now.” He heads for a dirt path that flanks the neighborhood. “Come on. I found us a ride.”
Seven sat on the cot in his room, his mind at odds. He knew there was so much the Creator wasn’t telling him, so much he needed to know in order to make the right choice and stay alive. Seven shook his head, hoping to empty his thoughts. But it was no use, the more he tried to center his mind, the more his fears betrayed him. He needed to get himself under control and quick.
Seven stood and stretched. There was only one place he could focus. He left his room and walked away from his make-shift home, going deep into the surrounding forest. Pine needles crunched under his feet as he forced his way through the thick pines. The light grew dim as the canopy of trees thickened overhead.
After several minutes, Seven slowed and took a deep breath. The air was crisp and slightly damp. It cleared his mind, quelled the tempest brewing throughout his body. A few more steps and he was in the glade. Seven had formed this glade himself, clearing away the trees and low-brush with his thoughts. It was the only place he could think, the only place he could find some semblance of peace when he felt this unbalanced. Large boulders poked through the low grass, forming a loose circle. Long wooden staves littered the ground, blending into the moist pine needles. He walked to the center of the circle and took another breath.
Center your thoughts, he ordered himself. He exhaled and the last of the noise quieted in his mind. He picked up two of the shorter poles and began to swing them in rhythmic patterns punctuated with loud taps on the stones. It looked like a long forgotten tribal dance, swing-swing-tap-tap-tap-swing. The pattern repeated faster and faster as Seven lost himself to the ritual. Each swing cleared away his worries, each tap clarified his goals. After several minutes, he tossed the short sticks aside and picked up a longer one.
Seven balanced the weight of the pole in both hands and closed his eyes. Within moments, small rocks swirled around him, then darted toward him. He opened his eyes, his gaze pinned to the distant trees in front of him. He swung the large staff, batting away the flying stones. More rocks took flight and his arms moved faster. He contorted his body at odd angles, easily defeating every stone that tried to pummel him. His gaze never left the pines, despite the strange movement of his body and the increasing speed of the rocks.
The training continued, Seven’s mind focused only on his movements. No thoughts of the Creator and his next assignment. No worries about the Order and what they might demand of him. Nothing but his training.
Sweat beaded across Seven’s brow as the rocks began to slow and drop to the ground. He tossed aside the heavy pole and collapsed, his body and mind spent.
“Your strength is improving. Good.” The Creator’s voice pierced through Seven’s calm thoughts. “But, how focused is your discipline?”
Within seconds, a large boulder freed itself from the ground and accelerated toward Seven. He ducked and scrambled to his feet. Another boulder let loose and followed the first. Seven grabbed two of the poles still littering the ground and shoved the thick boulder from his path, splitting his pole in two.
“Why use the pole? It limits you,” said the Creator, now appearing in the glade. “Use your mind.
You need no other weapon.”
Seven nodded. Another boulder flew across the glade and narrowly missed his shoulder.
“Again.” The Creator raised his hands and unleashed a combination of rocks and small boulders at the young apprentice. They collided with Seven’s body and caused him to grunt with pain. “Focus,” the Creator said. More stones took flight.
Seven steadied his footing and narrowed his focus. He dodged and spun away from the stones, pushing them aside with his thoughts. But for every rock he escaped, three more smashed into his body, riddling his skin with bruises.
“Your mind betrays you. You are frustrated. Confused. Don’t give in to it. Don’t let it stop you. Use your confusion, the chaos. Harness the anger it represents.” The Creator barked more commands.
Seven resisted. More rocks pelted his body. Pain smashed into his thoughts.
“Don’t resist. You know what’s expected. You know what you must do.”
Seven’s eyes rolled back and he opened his thoughts to his Master. Blackness followed as his mind gave in to his Master’s orders.
Seven jumped and bent his body, avoiding the stony bullets. Panting, Seven took control of the stones with his own thoughts, and tossed them into the trees. He met his Master’s gaze with a look of both defiance and submission.
“Better. You must learn to face any challenge without losing control of your feelings. Doubt has no place in your mind—doubt about your mission, your training. Doubt regarding the Order. Me. When you can control this, then you will be ready for the task ahead.” The Creator motioned for Seven to sit.
Seven nodded. His muscles trembled as he plopped onto the grass. Memories swirled to life in his mind. Thoughts of the fire and the compound, as well as images of the girl who’d escaped. The pictures flooded forward and slowed. Seven noted every detail of the girl’s face: the depth of her golden eyes, the color of her tan complexion, and the angles of her cheekbones. He recalled her voice and her hesitation. The Assassin had been scared that night, unsure of her abilities.
Why hadn’t I noticed that before?
“You can defeat any opponent.”
“Yes, Master.” Seven’s anger grew as he noticed every weakness and flaw in the girl. She didn’t have his skill. He should’ve beaten her that night.
“You can beat her, yes. But don’t be fooled by her lack of confidence. Her talent exceeds anything you have faced. She is deadly, with or without training.”
“Am I to go after her then? Kill her?” Seven hoped for the chance to fix his past mistake and prove to the Order and the Creator how far his skills had matured.
“You are to track her. Monitor her. I must know if she is training and who is with her.”
Seven expelled a deep sigh. He didn’t want to babysit the Assassin. He wanted to prove himself.
“You understand your assignment, its importance.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, Master. I will take care of it.”
The Creator turned and walked away from Seven just as all thoughts of the girl subsided. He reached for the memories of her face, holding onto each image. He wouldn’t let his master down. Not again.
Seven closed his eyes and focused on the task, silently fuming. A loud bang boomed through the recesses of his mind, followed by a rapid series of images. The girl and the boy. Fire burning all around him. Faint pictures of a childhood he never knew. Emotions followed; sadness, pain and bitter betrayal. The images continued as a fire began to eclipse his thoughts.
More pain, betrayal. And white-hot rage.
The emotions consumed the images, leaving nothing but a picture of the Assassin burned into his mind. Seven wanted to find her. Hurt her.
Kill her.
The Creator’s voice whispered through his mind, fusing to the image still etched in his thoughts. “Yes, Seven. She is the cause of your pain. She is the reason you suffer.”
Seven stood and walked back to his quarters, the voice of his Master still echoing through his head.
The Solomon Experiments 3.0
The Order
Dr. Benjamin LeMercier’s Personal Journal -
January 28, 2015:
Things are not going as planned. The Order isn’t who I thought they were—they want too much involvement in my experiments, too much control over the outcome, over me. More than once they’ve expressed their distrust. Today’s meeting was the worst yet. They accused me of lying to them about the Assassin. My Assassin. They don’t share my vision for her potential involvement. They doubt she can be rehabilitated.
I don’t care what they want or what they think. It isn’t for them to determine the fate of my experiments. They are financial backers and nothing more.
I only need to hold their trust a little longer.
The Architect will not fail me. She wants acceptance too much, longs for positioning with the Order. She will return with the Assassin. She knows exactly what will happen if she fails.
As for the Assassin, her place is by my side. Christyn may have damaged her mind and blocked the memories of her true nature. But it will not last forever. I can make the Assassin find her true place, make her remember where she belongs.
The Assassin will come home. She will remember who she is and then the Order will understand. I am not wrong. She is still the key to everything. If the Order threatens to get in the way, if their plans continue to derail my own, I will execute a new plan. One that ensures the success of the experiments above everything else.
Such contingencies have always been necessary. I had them in place with Project Stargate. I planned for every problem with the first Solomon Experiments. Now it is time to protect this new project.
The Architect will help. She can obtain the information I need, anticipate the Order’s moves. But only if they are weak, distracted. I need them to grow too comfortable, believe they rule over my decisions. They must see me as subservient, afraid to lose their funding. They must find me weak enough to believe their idle threats.
It is a fiction I must create.
So I will submit, comply with their demands and lure them into false thinking. Anything to ensure the success of the experiments. I’ve come too far to fail now. I will play my part and convince the Order that I serve them.
At least, for now.
We’re home before I expect, the house as quiet and peaceful as when we left. David mumbles to the Hawaiians who gave us a ride, thanking them. His words float meaninglessly on the air around me. I stare at the quiet house, still afraid, still uneasy. Wind carries the scent of tropical flowers as birds continue to sing into the night. I grab the railing that leads to the porch, praying my knees don’t give out. The ground beneath me begins to shake and my body weakens. “David,” I whisper moments before my vision blurs and turns to black.
I wake to the feel of steady hands against my back and legs. Within moments, my body settles into a soft mattress, my bed. “What happened?” I ask as I try to push myself up.
“Shh. Don’t try to move. You fainted on the porch.”
“Fainted?” Images flood my thoughts—David’s promise, bullets whizzing past, LeMercier in my thoughts. Again I attempt to sit upright and again David refuses to let me move.
“You’re safe, Dakota. Just relax. You’re safe.”
More memories pour forward. The sound of the gunmen’s rifles and the screams that ended their lives.
All because of me.
“No one is looking for us here. We’re safe for now. You need to get some rest.”
Safe? I doubt it. LeMercier will send more assassins. Or worse, he’ll come himself.
“Just rest tonight,” David says, knowing my thoughts, my fears, as he always does. “We’ll figure out a plan in the morning and leave.”
My brow furrows in fear.
“I won’t let anyone get to you.”
“You can’t protect me now. He knows where we are and he knows I am using my abilities. He won’t stop until he finds me.”
“What? You want me to use my skills more? Are you crazy?” The words spill from my mouth like accusations. “Didn’t you see what I did? I killed those men with only a thought. I confirmed to LeMercier that we’re here. I’m never using those skills again. Not ever.”
“That hasn’t worked for you yet. Your instincts are too strong. You will always—”
“What? Kill people?” More accusations fuse my thoughts, more anger.
“I was going to say protect yourself.” David leans closer, his hands tightening around mine. “Your gifts are part of you. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can learn to control them.”
I pull away, untangle myself from the bed sheets and walk in to the other room.
“Dakota,” David calls out.
“I just need some air.”
I walk onto the porch, every instinct in me screaming to run as far and as fast as I can. David’s ring burns into my skin, along with the promises he made. I never told him my answer, never said I would do anything to live a normal life with him. My fingers worry the small band, rubbing against the cool metal.
“Dakota,” David whispers into my neck.
My body shivers in response.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. Please come back inside. You need your rest.” His words are barely more than a whisper. His arms wrap around my waist.
“I’m not upset because of you.” I turn to face him, his eyes reflecting the feelings I can never seem to be able to say aloud. “It’s just LeMercier, the experiments, everything. I don’t want this life—being on the run, fearing that we will die any minute.” My vision blurs as water fills my eyes and spills onto my cheeks. “I want a normal life with you, away from this. Can’t we have normal?”