Unique

by Starr Z Davies

  Even though the tunnel was closed off, I can’t shake the sensation that Jimmy is on our heels, glancing over my shoulder repeatedly.

  But we are alone down here. Isolated from the world.

  ~

  We have walked for at least a mile, allowing Sho to guide our group along.

  “It’s here,” Sho says, pointing up at a manhole cover.

  “You’re sure?” Willow asks.

  Sho nods, and Noah doesn’t need further encouragement to start climbing. He easily hefts the cover and slides it out of the way. Chase and Sho follow, then Chase sends down the thin cable and clip. Jayme fastens it around Bianca, and Chase hoists her body up. I watch as her long black hair waves in the air. Miller starts climbing under her, keeping her steady so she doesn’t hit the walls of the passage.

  I climb out, followed by Jayme and Enid. Chase slides the cover back into place.

  We’ve moved into the business section of Pax, all brick and stonework buildings with old, rusting roofs and broken solar panels. Windows of the shops are covered by posters reading Sale! and Deep Discounts!—among other things. Bodegas and second-hand clothing stores. A shoe emporium with a gigantic Going out of business! sign in the window. Lights are on, but only a few people walk the street. Many of them look like they could use a set of new clothes from the second-hand store. They all avoid our group, casting wayward glances when they think we won’t notice.

  At the end of the road, a DMA shuttle waits idly beside an empty canvas DMA tent. I hesitate, then step back. Everyone else follows Willow onward. Do they not see the shuttle or the tent?

  “That’s our ride,” Jayme says, nudging me forward. “Get a move on, Ugene.”

  Right. Our ride. Willow said we would be in a DMA shuttle before we started this mission.

  Willow speaks briefly to the driver, who wears a DMA uniform, and the shuttle door opens. Chase guides everyone inside and helps hoist Bianca up into the back. Willow climbs in and checks on Bianca.

  I reach for the rail to pull myself up and in, and the air suddenly thins. The shuttle and the street under my feet tilt to the left. I stumble, catching my balance on the edge of the shuttle. My body feels heavy. Too heavy to move on my own. I try to call Chase for help, but all I can do is gulp for air. These sensations are all too familiar.

  A deep male voice raises from up the street, but I can’t focus immediately on it. “Leave him and you can go.”

  Chase grabs my shirt and yanks me into the shuttle. I catch a glimpse of the figure down the road. My vision narrows on his arrogant smile and swaggering attitude.

  Jimmy found us.

  “A few more seconds of this and his brain is toast,” Jimmy says, stepping toward the shuttle with slow, cocky strides. “We only need the body.”

  “Go,” Noah says to Chase.

  “Noah,” I gasp, but I’m not sure if anyone heard me.

  “You can’t expect to enter battle without some casualties,” Noah says, then spins around and rushes at Jimmy, barreling into him. They tumble to the ground. Noah lands on top. He wraps his hands around Jimmy’s neck and squeezes. As the doors slam shut, the connection between me and Jimmy is lost. I gasp for air, rub my throat. The engine of the shuttle hums with life and the shuttle bursts up the road as my vision rights itself.

  Clawing my way toward the doors, I plead for them to stop, but they either don’t hear me or don’t want to. I pull myself up on the door, peering through the darkened window at the diminishing forms, watching in disgust.

  Jimmy destroys Noah in one of the most horrific displays of Power I’ve ever witnessed.

  Blood streams out of Noah’s pores, forming a swirling red cloud as Noah screams. The muscular Somatic body withers. Silence follows as we round the corner and they both disappear from view.

  Gasping for air once more, horrified, I scramble backward as far from the door as I can manage, pressing my back to the wall behind the pilot’s cab.

  Jimmy has become what I always believed him to be.

  A monster.

  27

  Occasionally, sniffles rise from in the group. Otherwise, silence settles over the group as we ride away from danger, with the exception of the hum of the shuttle’s engine. I can’t blame the tears. Jimmy may not have a hold of me anymore, but I still find it hard to breathe. Everything has shattered.

  How can the Directorate allow this sort of thing to happen? They are supposed to protect the people, the city. Their sole job is to fight for our survival.

  But this isn’t survival. Willow was right. This is war.

  How can things be so blissfully wonderful on one side of the city and so horribly wrong on the other? How can the DMA justify tearing a father away from his child or shooting a young man in the street?

  Why do these people allow it to continue?

  As we ride toward the edge of the city, I stare out the darkened window. On the horizon, Paragon Tower twists into the sky, shrouded in clouds. Once a thing of beauty, majesty, and promise, the building now represents as a perverse symbol of everything that has gone wrong.

  My thoughts begin to tire me. When was the last time I slept? I lean my head against the unforgiving metal wall of the shuttle and close my eyes.

  “Word just came in,” the pilot says from the front cab, jarring me back awake. “Exits are closed.”

  “Take us to the safehouse on Portland,” Willow says.

  The hum of the engine and sway of the cab lull me to sleep.

  Soon, I dream of parents being torn away from children. Innocents getting shot in the street. The DMA bombing the Shield, killing everyone within. Jimmy bloodletting those I care about while I’m helpless to stop him. And Noah, blaming me and asking me why I allowed any of this to happen.

  ~

  The shuttle stops and the engine cuts out. I rub my eyes. Several of the others are already gone from the cab. Enid hops out as I sit up straighter. I call to her and get no response. Just a tension in her back as she disappears around the corner of the shuttle. She either doesn’t hear me or she’s ignoring me.

  Chase slides Bianca out and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  I follow right behind. Once out of the vehicle, it takes a moment to get my bearings. We’re in a closed house garage. The others have already ventured inside the house. I scramble to follow Chase through the dingy kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor as he drops her down on the bed. A puff of dust flies up and I wave my hand to get it away from my face.

  “Secure her,” Willow says from over my shoulder.

  Chase pulls out a braided nylon rope from a wooden chest in the corner, then binds Bianca’s wrists together and tethers her to the bedposts. It won’t hold her if she wants to break free.

  “Wait, let me talk to her,” I say.

  “We have more important things to deal with right now,” Willow says. “And you reek. There’s a supply closet at the end of the hall. Get fresh clothes and a shower.”

  Can I trust these people to care for her? Willow didn’t even want to bring Bianca along. I open my mouth to disagree—getting information from Bianca is the whole reason they agreed to bring her along—but my stench wafts in. It’s a horrid mingling of body odor and sewage, which convinces me Willow may have a point.

  Before leaving, I glance back as Chase begins a similar wrap around Bianca’s legs and ankles. They brought her along, knowing it could bring the DMA right to us. I’m just thankful for that much.

  I venture to the closet at the end of the hall, rummaging through the shelves of supplies. So many interesting items line the shelf in a surprisingly organized fashion. Some are innocent enough. Towels, clothes, a defibrillator and emergency medical kit. Other items are more aggressive. Smoke bombs. Guns. Knives. I fish out a set of clean jeans and a t-shirt in my size, then grab a towel.

  Just how safe are we in this safehouse?

  28

  Bianca’s alive. As I shower, the reality of those two words sinks in. The sense
of joy I expected doesn’t settle over me. No fluttering stomach or racing excitement. No tingles of heat. Instead, my relief mingles with a sudden coldness and a massive knot growing in the pit of my stomach, tightness in my chest, and an overall sense of a weight pressing down on me.

  She’s alive. That’s a good thing…right?

  I press my forehead against the shower wall and warm water rolls down my back. When I close my eyes, all I can see is Bianca’s dead body on the ground as the ceiling falls around her. Something doesn’t add up. How did Paragon rescue her from the collapse when I couldn’t? She was in my arms, and I couldn’t make it out with her. They were nowhere in sight. How could they have retrieved her after I left the building? There’s just no way.

  But she’s alive.

  I turn the shower off, wiping the water from my face before drying off. The only way to solve this is to talk to her.

  The smell of food drifts up the stairs, and my stomach moans. Before I talk to Bianca, I need to eat.

  I don’t even make it to the stairs when I’m distracted by sobbing coming from one of the open bedroom doors. I stop at the doorway.

  Bri sits on the edge of the bed with her face buried in her hands. Enid sits with her, offering hugs and backrubs.

  Only one reason I can think of for this grief comes to mind. Noah. Bri has been attached to his side since we arrived at The Shield. Now he’s gone. Guilt wrenches at my gut and I blink back my own tears.

  For a moment, I can’t move from the doorway. Does she hate me or blame me for Noah’s death? I do.

  Enid notices me but doesn’t wipe the tears in her own eyes as she rubs Bri’s back. It’s the first time she has looked at me since the alley when Bianca reappeared.

  I want to go into the room, sit with them, try to help Bri, but the guilt presses down on my body. Noah’s death is my fault, as is her grief. Nothing I say or do can change what’s happened. I hang my head, stuff my hands into my pockets, and manage to shuffle my feet along the hallway and down the stairs.

  Leo, Rosie, Lily, and Sho sit in all four chairs around the small table in the kitchen, poking at the food on their plates. My jacket hangs over the back of Sho’s chair, and I quickly retrieve it and slip it on. Mac and cheese isn’t much of a meal, but I grab a plate, then I lean against the counter near the living room doorway.

  The living room houses several occupants. Willow, Chase, the shuttle pilot, and three others, only one of which I recognize. Harvey. These must be the operatives Willow wanted to meet with before.

  “I’ve never seen so much DMA enforcement out at once,” Harvey says, his deep voice carrying easily to me in the kitchen. “Seaduss isn’t wasting time.”

  Willow nods. Her back is to me and she leans over the coffee table, but I can’t see what they are looking at. My view is obstructed by the sofa and bodies.

  “How many do each of you think you can gather?” Willow asks. “We have to get as many people out of the city as we can before the DMA forces them into service. Lord only knows what happens to these people once the Directorate and Paragon get their hands on them. I think it’s highly likely that whatever they are injecting in these people turns them into mindless drones.”

  Another man shakes his head, staring at whatever is on the coffee table. “I think this plan is too risky. Besides, even if we get some people out, we can’t help them all.”

  “He’s right,” Harvey says. “That many people will be impossible to transport without more DMA shuttles.”

  So, their plan is to try and shuttle DMA targets out of the city to The Shield before they are forced into service. It seems reasonable, but Harvey has a point. There are so many.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Willow asks, gazing at each of them for answers.

  “Each shuttle fits what, fifteen DMA troops?” the third man says. “We can probably double it if we really pack people in, but even if we steal more shuttles—which is unlikely now—we don’t have enough people to pilot them.”

  “We take what we can,” Willow says, “families first, and able fighters.”

  “And the rest?” Harvey asks.

  Willow crosses her arms, her back stiffening. “We pray.”

  Silence falls in the living room as the weight of her implication settles on the gathering. I look at my friends for advice, but they are in the middle of a conversation about Noah. A small memorial of their own. Miller just pokes at his food, eyes glazed over.

  I step into the living room. “It’s too late to evacuate.”

  Everyone spins to face me. Harvey’s face breaks into a grin. Chase hovers over Willow from behind like a protective shroud.

  “We have no choice,” Willow says.

  Doc’s message to me just before we left for Pax rings in my head. I would like to see as many people survive this as possible.

  “We always have a choice.” I take another bold step toward them. “I’m guessing you have what, maybe four shuttles? Five at most. Even if you can cram thirty people in each and manage to make a second trip, it doesn’t put a dent in the number of people who need evacuation.”

  “This isn’t your concern, Ugene.” Willow’s expression hardens. “You’ve done enough.”

  Harvey steps forward. “Wait. I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Think big. I cast a grateful glance his way. “The Directorate is causing division because they know if we rally together, they won’t stand a chance. It’s the same fault we exposed when we escaped Paragon. What you need to do is get everyone to unify at once to fight back.”

  “That sort of planning takes time and quite a bit of coordination,” one of the operatives says.

  “No, it doesn’t. It just needs a spark to light the fire.”

  “And what would that spark be?” another operative asks, bushy brows narrowing into one thick line.

  “Information.”

  He barks out a laugh. Willow just shakes her head. “If we had what we needed, don’t you think we would have done this already?”

  “Hear me out. Half this city turns a blind eye to what’s happening in Pax. The other half is completely clueless. We just have to convince them—”

  “With what? The drive you won’t give us?”

  “I will.”

  Willow shakes her head. “I’m done playing your games, Ugene.” She leans over the coffee table and touches something, then picks up a tablet and hands it to Chase. “You’ve done more damage to our cause in a single night than you can possibly imagine. We do things the way we do for a reason. It protects everyone. Your impulsive schemes end in disaster.”

  “I’m telling you; this will work—”

  “I want him and his friends sent back to The Shield tonight,” Willow says.

  No! Going back to The Shield is a step backward. If the Protectorate wants to win this war, they need to stay on the front lines and stop falling back into hiding. I need to stay in Elpis.

  Doc asked me what I would do if the Protectorate failed and the Directorate carried out their plan and I had nothing to offer society. If you can inspire such dedication from your friends, imagine what you could do for Elpis. Think big.

  I need to stay here. It’s what Doc would want me to do. It’s what Celeste would want me to do. Arguing with Willow further will probably end with me bound beside Bianca, so I clench my jaw shut and storm out of the room and up the stairs. Let her think she’s won.

  29

  The third bedroom is small, with room for little more than a bunk bed. I drop down on the lower bunk and unzip the lining of the jacket, pulling out the bundle. Information is power, but just what did Dad leave behind?

  The twine wrapped around the fabric is knotted tight. I struggle with it, unable to get the knots free. Dad’s Somatic strength bound it too securely together. I pull a switchblade I stole from the supply closet and start sawing at the twine. It snaps. I carefully unfold the red fabric on the bed beside me and inspect the contents. The cloth holding it all together is my old Memorial
High T-shirt.

  On top of the shirt, folders stuffed with pages of research notes, papers, and correspondence between Dr. Cass and Directorate Chief Seaduss. I thumb through the pages, but everything is out of order. Pages of reports date back more than six years about the radioactivity levels both in and outside of Elpis. Some of the data is redacted with handwritten numbers corresponding to each blacked-out line. Dad spent years gathering this information, stealing or memorizing the numbers to make note of later.

  The first report dates back just over seven years ago. The radioactive levels are unlivable but not as high as the Directorate led us to believe. Even more shocking is the most recent report, dated a few months ago, right before Proposition 8.5 passed. The numbers are almost livable. At this rate, the world around Elpis should be survivable in just a few years. Which makes the Directorate’s argument that regression will end life as we know it a lie. But why bother lying about it? What does the Directorate have to gain by fostering this fear of regression? It will end life as we know it, but it won’t be the end of life.

  Among the papers, a report addressed to Directorate Chief Seaduss from Dr. Cass catches my attention. A formula with a quick note at the bottom: Power-removing serum success and weaponized, as requested. The date on the report is during my stay at Paragon.

  My stomach churns, but not just because Paragon created this weapon for the Directorate. I unzip my pocket and pull out the formula Leo gave me, spreading it out beside Paragon’s.

  They’re identical.

  Willow is reproducing Power-removing bullets.

  After seeing how losing his Power effected Miller, the use of Power-removing bullets in all-out warfare would be catastrophic. If I don’t stop this war, the fight will get out of control very quickly, and anyone who survives the bullet will seek death anyway.

  Hundreds—maybe thousands—will die no matter who wins.