FLOOR 21: Judgement (The Tower Legacy Book 3)

by Jason Luthor

  “How is the dark angel alive?” His voice is so loud it’s like listening to another explosion. “Cracked ribs. Displaced shoulder. Burns over majority of body. Fracture in lower leg. Internal bleeding. Major organ perforation. All others would be dead.”

  “Guess I’m . . . just a lucky girl.” It’s the only joke I have left in me.

  “Luck is human construct. Luck is illusory. Luck is unquantifiable. Science the only path to knowledge.”

  “You get off on this, don’t you?”

  “What does she mean?”

  “I’m dead. I get the point. I couldn’t be like you. Couldn’t be super adaptable, or whatever. I guess I’m just not as good at surviving as you are. So, maybe you should get this over with . . . or just shut up.”

  “Not my desire. Take no pleasure—”

  “You think I really buy that? Look at you. I get it. I get why Judge didn’t do to you what he did to Kelly. He likes you. You’re sadistic. I don’t know what type of scientist you were, but he probably kept you alive . . . because he saw how much you got off on this kind of thing. How many people did you torture, huh? Did you like it? Like hearing them beg? Because I’m not going to be one of them.”

  “Not the anticipated reaction. Does the angel concede? Does she admit defeat? Does she put down her pride? Admit she is not as adaptable as the one she sees before her?”

  “Why are you still talking? I told you . . . whatever.”

  “What ever?”

  “You want something more than that?”

  He just sits there in the hall for a second, and I can actually see the muscles in his face shaking, like a gigantic twitch. The arms growing from his cheekbones start flexing and crushing the walls. “Not sufficient. Confession required. Was not good enough. Is not good enough. The one she sees before her is superior.”

  “Yeah, I got that, but my answer’s not going to change.”

  “Beg.”

  “What?”

  This time, he screams, and his breath slams me against the wall so hard that I drop to the floor. “BEG.”

  The hit puts a new wave of pain flooding through me, and I feel like the whole world’s just turning circles. Even with everything going blurry, I’m still able to look at him. “No. You’re not getting that from me.”

  “Judge will not be satisfied. Does she not want to live? She must humble herself!”

  “I told you. You want to call yourself the best? Fine. Want me to say . . . that I can’t do what you can do? I can’t. Isn’t that good enough for you? I thought the point of this was . . . you wanted me to be humble or whatever.” I have to stop for a second just to inhale. “But begging doesn’t mean being humble. Do whatever you’re going to do, but if that’s what you want, you’re not getting it. Even if I die, at least you’ll know you couldn’t get what you wanted. You couldn’t win. Yeah, you were stronger, or more adaptable . . . but you couldn’t make me beg. You couldn’t get the one thing you really wanted.”

  That must be all he can take, because before I know it, one of those arms whips at me. I feel a claw sink into my shoulder, the same shoulder I’d just pulled, and I scream so loud you can probably hear it on the other end of the Tower. It lifts me onto my feet and pins me into the wall, and the whole time I can feel the edges of my eyes going black. The pain’s so intense that I can barely hear myself screaming. It’s like hearing something in a dream. Then, I feel the arm pumping, like it’s draining me. “Answer in DNA. The angel refuses to bend. Refuses to break. Refuses to die. Must find out why. Must find what is different. Different. Different.”

  The blood’s literally being sucked out of me as I’m hanging against the wall. I can feel it. Whatever energy I’ve got left is just . . . going. That black at the corner of my eyes? It’s spreading, like it’s closing in on me. My ears are full of Geller screaming at me and telling me to submit. Honestly? Whatever he’s trying to get out of me, I couldn’t give it to him if I wanted. I’d have to know what it is in the first place.

  It’s not long before I can feel my breath slowing. It’s weird. I’m just thinking, I’ve felt the world slow down half a dozen times, but never like this. I start seeing these flashes of everyone I miss. The team, obviously. Dodger, the only girl I could ever talk tech with. Mike, my tragic romance. And, oh, God, Tommy. At some point, he became the guy I’ll miss most. Just thinking about that last time he hugged me makes my chest feel tight. At least it makes me smile a little when I think how unfair it is that he’s going to be the guy I want to see last. But, even that’s not completely true, because with the black closing in, the last thing I see is my parents. Mom, when she’d hug me after I got back home from school. Dad, when he’d wrap his arm around my shoulder after a game of basketball. When I first came down here, I wanted to find something better for them. I realized I wanted to do like they taught me and just . . . just do something right for everyone else. Especially them. As stupid and miserable as our lives were for a few years, I loved them.

  I love them.

  That’s the last thing I have time to think because, suddenly, the warped arm that’s been holding me in the air yanks out. It happens so fast that I just collapse to the ground. I barely have the time to get my hands up, and I pretty much just hit the floor. Hard. It’s enough to jolt me awake, or at least awake enough that I’m able to see the geneticist backing away. That gigantic tongue of his is slashing around in the air, and his arms are shaking. “The dark angel . . . truly, a magnificent killer . . . a plague . . . destruction . . . death . . . it . . . is . . . in . . . her . . . blood.” The Creep covering his face is trembling, like it’s in a muscle spasm, and Geller’s mouth is just heaving, like it’s choking on something. The whole world is swimming around me, so I’m barely able to see it happening, but it really looks like he’s going into a convulsion. The entire hallway is shaking as his head slams back and forth, and his tongue slaps up and down from the roof to the floor. The more he tries to drag himself away, the slower he gets, and one by one his arms just drop away from the wall. You can see the color draining out of him and his whole form slowing down. Finally, his head just rests there for a second. What passes for his eyes narrow on me, and I’m left watching him heave out one final time. “Something . . . different . . .”

  Then he’s gone.

  I almost join him.

  I don’t know how long I’m sitting there, listening to the fires burning around me. Everything’s hazy, and every time I manage to open my eyes, it’s like I’m swimming underwater. Everything’s distorted, and my eyes are sizzling. It’s impossible to tell how much time is passing. My body’s trying to hang on, but I don’t have any strength left to move.

  That’s when I hear the screeching. The sound of metal dragging along the ground. It cuts through the air, bouncing off the walls and tearing into my ears. The second I hear it, I can feel the tension building up in my stomach. Then there’s that voice, singing into the air.

  “Down, down, to London Town.”

  My heart starts to pound in my chest, and my fingers start digging into my palms as I try to find some strength to get off the ground. I can’t. My legs squirm along the floor as I’m trying to push my way up the wall, but I barely move a few inches before I settle back to the ground. Just that much effort makes me exhausted. I’m breathing hard, feeling my lungs fill up with smoke that sears my chest, and the whole time, that screeching is getting louder and louder.

  For a second, I’m staring at the giant, dead face of Geller. Then I blink, and suddenly there’s someone standing there. His torn-up cape slides around his brown boots, and that giant scythe of his is throwing off sparks as it slices through the floor. He’s towering over me, looking at what’s left of the geneticist. When I blink again, my vision’s suddenly filled up with his face. Those hollow eyes set in his decaying skull are blazing with orange fire, and his smile just fills the air with fear. It’s like seeing the face of terror. When he speaks, his words are filled with a coldness that soaks into me, seep
ing so deep that I can feel it in my bones.

  “Jackie Coleman,” he growls. “You continue to surprise. I can sense what you did to him. The deadliness that courses through your veins.”

  “Judge . . .”

  “You have come this far, dark angel. I could be merciful. I could make this your last moment, but I’ll let you see all this through to the last. Let you see what true fear is. What despair tastes like. That’s the least I can reward you with for your valiant efforts.”

  I try to say something, try to argue with him, but I can’t. My throat is burning, and I can barely cough, let alone speak. He just shakes his head, but he’s smiling the whole time. “No, no, Jackie. Words aren’t necessary. Grand speeches and heroic theatrics are for legends and history books. You’ll see that all this, all your efforts, are doomed to the same fate as the rest of the Tower. The same fate that I will soon bring to everyone you knew and loved. To your friends. To your parents.”

  He mentions them, and I feel my chest clutch up. My eyes are watering, but I’m still so weak that I can’t even respond. “I’ve finally come to understand you. What it is you fear most. And soon? Soon, you will see for yourself where all your vain efforts have taken to you. You’ll see the fate I have planned for everyone you’ve ever loved. And then? Time to die.”

  I blink my eyes one last time, and then he’s gone. That’s when I pass out right there on the floor.

  Mike’s Recording 10

  When I have these visions, or whatever they are, they don’t care what I’m doing. Might be setting down to sleep, or fighting my way through a crowd of Creepers. Impression I get whenever they come is that I don’t have a choice about any of it. Most times they’re vague, but enough to give me an idea of where Jackie’s been. I can tell Dodger and Tommy still aren’t comfortable with it, but the last few days since our talk, they’ve been trying pretty hard to have my back. I’ll be straight: That’s what counts to me. Guess I like the feeling of people believing in me. Makes me feel like I can keep holding onto my sanity a bit longer. I’m starting to think it might not be the best thing to be plugged into the Creep like this. Really makes me want to get out of here, out of the Tower, but I have to hold on a little longer. Until we find Jackie.

  But it's worse the deeper we’ve gone. When we’re walking around, there’ll be voices or images I see. Not shadow men, nothing like that. Shadow men are hallucinations. What I’m seeing . . . I dunno. Best I’d say is they’re memories. Little bits of them come alive, like I’m the one remembering them. One second, I’ll be listening to people talking about going on a date, and the next, I’ll be hearing gunfire. Sometimes I’ll see people talking in the hall, then when I blink, they’re gone. It’s really starting to trip me out. The only good thing that ever comes of it is whenever I see a flash of Jackie. That, and the supplies we find while we’re wandering around. Even found two spare rifles and some ammo. Can’t really complain about more weapons in a place like this.

  Overall, it feels like we’re making progress, and that would normally make me happy, except . . . just, between all the conversations, memories, and visions, I keep hearing that one voice. Judge. It’s worst when I try to sleep at night. I’ll try and pass out, just to hear him whispering. I’ll see him in the dark, staring at me and smiling with those bony teeth of his. I’ll hear him laughing and wake up feeling like I’m choking. Then I’ll sit there in the dark, panting and breaking out in cold sweats as I hear his voice cutting through my ears.

  “I’ll take that power of yours, pre-cog.” I’ll sit there clamping my ears, trying to block him out because his voice is so clear, it feels like it’s calling for me from just the next room. “I’ll discover what David Marshall could not. I’ll see what you’re capable of. And then? I’ll let you watch me break the bones of the people you care for. I’ll hang them from the rooftops and let you hear their screams. Then, I’ll drain the blood from your veins.” His words always feel like pain bleeding into me, like a sickness spreading through me. His voice makes me feel like I’m on my death bed, and it gives me this feeling that something’s wrong. Can’t explain it or pinpoint it, but it feels like there’s something growing inside me that’ll eventually kill me. It always makes me panic. Even with everything I’ve learned while I’ve been a Scavenger, all the breathing techniques and ways to calm myself, I usually can’t settle down before the night’s over. I wake up exhausted, feeling like I can barely keep pushing myself. Just, hearing him talk about what he’s going to do to Jackie and everyone else, it makes me feel like they’d be better off if I wasn’t here. I’m worried he’ll kill everyone just to get at my power.

  Can’t think like that though. When I wrestle with that voice in my head, I try to remember how Dodger and Tommy’ve been there lately. I should trust them, should believe them, but I keep feeling like I’ll be the death of everyone. Wish I could say I feel that way just because of Judge, but the honest truth’s that I still miss my old friends. Nothing makes that feeling go away. Truth is, I’m still twisted up about a lot of things. Only reason I don’t completely lose it is because, after all the talks I’ve had with Tommy about everything Jackie did to carry the team, it’s made me realize I . . . I just can’t use my connection to the Creep as an excuse. Especially can’t use my guilt as an excuse, and I won’t let Judge win. Won’t let him use me to get to my friends. Yeah, I’d take brain surgery if it meant I could unplug, but if Jackie could keep carrying that weight for all of us, then I have to find some way to get this done. Disconnecting now would mean losing my connection with Jackie, and I’m not . . . I won’t do that. I have to show that I can give back. Jackie was ready to die to save me. The least I can do is put up with Judge.

  So, I keep fighting that fear and sadness. I go back to my talks with Tommy and Dodger. Remind myself I’m not alone. It’s those thoughts that make me feel better. It’s why, in the end, I’m still fighting. Pretty amazing how quick your mood can lift when you feel like people really care about you. Not to say life’s getting any easier, but I’m managing to keep going. Plus, there’s always Jackie. I’m constantly thinking of everything she would do for us. When I think about her and Tommy and Dodger, and how they’re fighting for me . . . look. Maybe I lost whatever it was I had when I first became a Scavenger. Maybe I’m not that old Mike. Still, if Jackie taught me anything, if Tommy and Dodger are showing me anything, it’s that you have to fight for others. I’m trying. I’m trying for her. For them. Those moments, when I really believe? I do feel stronger, like maybe I can stick this through. Just so hard with Judge whispering to me all the time. Plus, that sound. That metal screeching sound his scythe makes. Feels like I’m hearing it all the time now, cutting away in the dark. I don’t think anyone else hears it. Just hope I’m not crazy.

  Dodger’s Recording 28

  So, Tommy’d just walked off for a second to look into something, leaving me and Mike to just stand around in awkward silence for a few minutes. After an extended period of feeling like the most uncomfortable odd couple, I realize he looks like a mess. Poor guy looks like he hadn’t slept all night. “Hey, so, everything okay over here? It’s just, you’re normally not very talkative, which is totally understandable considering your brain’s linked up to the Creep and all. I guess I’m just a little worried because you’re even more quiet than normal.”

  Got to admit, it kind of hurt when he looked at me and asked, “You care?”

  “Well, I mean, I don’t think I deserve that.”

  “Nah. You’re right. Sorry, just . . . you know how it’s been.”

  “I think you might be referring to the fact that we’ve been ignoring each other for most of the trip.”

  “Not just most of the trip.”

  “Okay. Okay, you may be right. We might have started talking even less after the jump.”

  “I get it. Hard to talk with a crazy guy. Probably would have ignored me too, if I were you.”

  It’s definitely a little bit frustrating talking to Mike because he�
��s all about his self-persecution complex most of the time, but dammit, I’ve become pretty determined to put in some effort. “Mike, I’m not here to tell you we’re going to be best friends or anything. I’m pretty sure we both know that’d be a huge lie, but we can’t go walking around here acting like we hate each other. First of all, if we do that, we’ll be creating perfect Creep conditions. But second, and this is just a little more important, I think you’re a pretty good guy.”

  That seems to get his attention, and after staying quiet just a little too long, he asks, “You do?”

  “Mike, I’m the least physically functional person on this team most of the time. My shooting skills are sub-par, at best. I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t have this going for me,” I tell him as I tap at my skull. “You think you worry about contributing? Sir, do you even know how I feel during a firefight?”

  That makes him smile. Thank the Builders. “Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’m always thinking about how little I’m doing. Hadn’t stopped to think how you might be feeling about things.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think I’ve been giving you a fair shake either. It’s way too easy to just get self-absorbed in your own problems and then forget about everyone else’s.”

  “Think that’s what makes it so easy to get angry at other people. You stop looking at them like they’re human because you’re so focused on why they frustrate you.”

  “Yeah. We’ve got to stop doing that to each other, Mike.”

  “You might be right.”

  “I want us to talk. Is that okay? I know that’s not going to come easy.”

  “No, but it’s probably best. It is a little hard for me to just open up though.”