Supernormal

by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway

  She caught the pilot’s reflection in the windshield as he said it. On your own. She saw the grim, apologetic look. Ashley glanced around the helicopter, at Agent Phillips’s silent, determined expression. At Brody, right next to her, watching the facility grow closer, his mouth pressed into a thin, unsmiling line.

  I know what it’s like to be on your own, Ashley thought, still looking at Brody. This wasn’t it. And the realization that she wasn’t on her own—that she hadn’t been for a long time—that she wouldn’t ever been again—cut through the numbness she had built around herself like armor in one brutal stroke.

  Ashley had to cling to her seat to steady herself. She couldn’t fall apart. Not now.

  The helicopter came to hover over the roof of the building. “There’s no way he doesn’t know we’re here!” Brody hollered over the beat of the helicopter blades. “We have to move fast.”

  Phillips was already clipping a rappelling rope onto his harness. He caught her eye and swung over to her. “Do you need help, miss? With your harness?”

  “No,” Ashley said. “Thank you.”

  Brody clapped a hand on her shoulder. He hadn’t bothered with a harness either. “Me, you, Phillips. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Ashley said.

  He grinned at her. “Ready kid?”

  Ashley took a breath, in, then out. She nodded.

  “You look ready.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stepped out into the open air—

  —and landed. Snow billowed up under the impact. He stood, rolling out his shoulders.

  A door at the far end of the roof burst open. Underneath the beat of the helicopter blades, Ashley could hear an alarm blaring as guards rushed out—two, no, three of them—and she could see a red light flashing inside before the door slammed back into place. Somebody had activated lockdown, then.

  Agent Phillips tossed out a length of black rope. It raced down towards the roof and danced as the helicopter bucked against a rush of wind. He clipped himself in place and nodded to her. “Ready?”

  Ashley jumped.

  There was snow starting to fall as Ashley hit the roof. She tried to roll, mostly managed it, and felt the impact shudder through her. She stood, quickly, braced for—Brody, pulling the unconscious guards off to the side.

  Because she didn’t want to, because there was a voice inside her screaming for her to walk away and leave them, unconscious and bleeding in the snow, Ashley forced herself to go over to them, help Brody check their pulses and their pupils, and drag them into a comfortable position, secure their hands behind their backs with the restraints clipped to their belts. “Didn’t want to wait for us?” she asked casually. Trying to sound casual.

  Brody shrugged. “You were taking your sweet time about it.”

  “You didn’t kill them,” she said.

  “No, Ash.”

  She looked up at him. “I won’t. I’m not going to kill anyone.”

  “I know.”

  No, but she needed to say it. “I’ll hurt them, but I won’t kill them. I promise.”

  He smiled at her, but his eyes were serious. “I know, Ash.”

  Agent Phillips was inspecting the access door. “Reinforced steel. And there’s a retinal scanner.”

  Brody pulled a knife out of his pocket and flicked it open.

  “Lieutenant—”

  He didn’t stop at Phillips’ objection, but he did when Ashley put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t promise not to hurt anyone,” Brody told her.

  “It won’t be necessary, Lieutenant,” Agent Phillips said in a slightly louder voice. He was rolling up his shirt sleeves, and Ashley caught sight of something…silver. It glinted in the muted light; it looked almost like a computer panel, melded into his arm so well it wasn’t clear if it was more arm or circuits. Agent Phillips pressed his fingertips against the door’s lock and tapped the circuits in his arm with his free hand.

  “I don’t remember them offering us that upgrade,” Brody remarked.

  “It’s new,” Phillips said, his fingers working fast. “I’m also a wifi hotspot, in case you’d like to check your email.”

  “Proom did that to you?” Ashley asked quietly.

  Agent Phillips glanced over at her. “No. This was—in house. I volunteered, Miss Garrett,” he added. “I am an adult, and I understood exactly what I was signing up for. And the director stopped when I told him to. And…”

  There was a buzz, a click, and the door drifted open like a white flag.

  Phillips smiled. “It does come in useful.”

  Ashley nodded. She went to the open door, and stepped inside.

  Inside, an alarm was screaming. Ashley winced at it, the sound battering into her. She could feel the vibrations of it coming through the floor, and red alert lights were painting bloody flashes against the walls. The white walls, just as she remembered. Just as she knew would be there. And the smell of antiseptic and bleach and machines and rubber gloves; it swam in her head and threatened to choke her. Just the same. Just the same—they hadn’t stopped, they had to be stopped—she couldn’t breathe. Her heart climbed into her throat and threatened to choke her.

  She felt Brody’s hand on her arm and shook her head. She could breathe. She could focus. She knew why she was here. And she could smell…Ian. And Liz. And others. The scent of them hung like ghosts in the recycled air.

  And through it all was the smell of mint, and sawdust, and the cool, clear scent of Cam. The scent that had come to mean safety and comfort and the warmth of his skin. It filled every breath until it soaked through the fear and the fog. She could think—she was in control—and she could smell Cam. The beautiful blue ribbon of it twisted through the air, and showed her the way.

  Ch. 26

  Cam didn’t notice the alarm at first. It was very loud, but so was the screaming in his head.

  He didn’t notice the vibrations either. Not at first. At first he only thought it was the water, it was the waves, it was—

  Real. It was real.

  Signals crept up along his skin and were trying to shout something at the storm raging inside his head. He was feeling this. Cam held out his hand, and the vibrations rippled against his palm, and he felt them—they were real and they were now. He crawled, lost his balance, fell, hand still stretched out towards the sensation. His fingertips brushed—GAP—brushed—GAP, RAGGED, BROKEN, REBAR, SHARP, WIRES SPARKING, CHOKING DUST, GAPING INTO THE OTHER ROOM—a wall. His mind told him it wasn’t there, WASN’T, CRACKING, BREAKING APART, CRUMBLING DUST but his hands said it was solid and there. His fingers splayed out against the smooth white paint. DUST, HOLE, FALLING—

  LANDING

  —Cam lurched as the image shoved itself into his mind like a battering ram, strong and certain enough to push past everything else for a blessed, clear moment.

  The vibrations came again, and in a brief moment of clarity, he understood. They had a rhythm.

  Words.

  He heard them in a way that had nothing to do with his ears and everything to do with his skin. He felt them in his bones. They said:

  Cam.

  Not the future, not, not—Now. This was the Now. Cam dug his fingers into the wall, trying to hold onto it. He felt the tears run down his face, drip off his chin. God help him, god help him.

  Cam. Back up.

  Cam tried to cling to the wall, to the knowing WALL BREAKING APART, REBAR WARPING, HANDS REACHING THROUGH, WHITE TILE, LANDING and an endless second stretched out, where everything was silent, more than silent, where sound was sucked away until it didn’t seem to exist—and then he felt it. The wall, vibrating under his touch. Felt the pops, felt cracks seam under his fingers. His body moved before his mind understood, legs kicking, arms scrambling, his back wedging into a corner. The walls were roaring now; Cam clamped his hands over his ears but it didn’t help. The sheer force of sound sang in his bones like a tuning fork.

  The wall burst in a roar of concrete and metal. Cam coughed frantically as dust clouded the room, co
ating his skin in a thin, gritty film. It went quiet again, except for the soft rattle and occasional ping as debris softly showered down.

  And then sound rushed in again with the scream of an alarm. Sheer, blaring, the lights in his room flashing red behind the cloud of dust.

  “Cam?” IAN Ian Reese SHOVED—TRIPPED—climbed through the hole. He clapped a hand on Cam’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “You okay?”

  IAN. Hands on his arms. Real. Now. WHITE TILES, STAIRS LEADING UP AND DOWN. Cam had to focus on his head to nod. He thought—NODDING—thought he managed it.

  “Good. We got to hurry. Something’s going down. I don’t know what, but we’re going to get out of here, I figure this is our chance. We’re going to get Danny and Liz and anyone else we can and do a jailbreak, okay?”

  It would be okay. It had to be okay, because she was coming. For them. For him. “Ian.” His voice. His. He said that.

  “This floor and next is prisoner bunks, and I’m pretty sure they’ve got Liz on our floor. I heard her giving them an earful the other day when they were herding me back to my cell.” Ian strode over to the opposite wall and rapped a knuckle against it. “We’re gonna go straight through, okay? Walls are a bit easier than doors.”

  “Ian?” He said it again, and he and Ian seemed to understand at the same time. It was a question. Cam reached out, touched a wall, and tried to hold on to stop the shaking. “Ian.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not—a zombie.”

  Ian grinned. “Nah, man.”

  “You were.” He was. “I saw.” Cam was pretty sure of this. The past was easier. There was only so much past, but there was an unlimited amount of future.

  “‘Course I was. No one suspects zombies. But then alarms started going off, so I figured carpe alarum, right?”

  Cam’s neck was moving. He realized he was still nodding.

  FIFTEEN IANS looked back at him, and one said, slowly, “Are you all right?”

  Cam felt the yes building in his chest and tried to force it out and wasn’t entirely sure if it worked.

  “Okay, you, uh—you go here.” Hands on his arms again, gritty from all the dust, guiding him back against a wall. “Stand back, and maybe put your hands back over your ears.” When Cam didn’t move, Ian took Cam’s hands and tucked them carefully into place. “There you go.”

  Doesn’t help, Cam—said? Wanted to say? Thought?

  Said. Because Ian replied, “Then sorry about this,” and he raised his hands to the opposite wall.

  But it was better, when it wasn’t coming straight at him. There was still the sickening suck of silence the moment before, followed by the wall of sound. It was dizzying, watching three different WALLS CRUMBLING AWAY as Ian just pointed, only realizing which one was Now when the rubble clattered to his feet. “All right, let’s go.”

  Cam stepped forward, one foot and then the other, fighting to concentrate, hands out in front of him like a blind man. He found the wall, the edge of the hole, felt his knuckles scraping against something. Cam tried to climb through the hole but IANS, all of them, confused him and he fell but the IANS reached back and one—real—Now—grabbed his wrist and helped him through.

  Another cell. Empty. But THE ONE AFTER it TWO DOWN the one after DANNY wasn’t. DANNY. “Ian,” it was a croak, but it was a word, a real word when it was getting to be too much to think words. DANNY.

  But IANS nodded at him. “Somebody in there. Yeah, I know. I can hear them. Or feel them. It’s sort of a hear-slash-feel superhero thing.” There was a ripple as EIGHT different IANS SHRUGGED, and then the real one shrugged. Cam’s eyes saw it and his brain tried to process it, and the sheer overwhelmingness of it knocked Cam back and he smacked his head on the wall.

  This time Ian took a moment to step up to the wall and place his hand against it. Then he stepped back and there was the vacuum of silence, and the earthquake of sound, and the balloon of dust.

  Ian stepped through and spoke to someone. Cam tried to follow him through, but the wall, the real, sure wall, was in his way and he couldn’t move past it—

  HANDS—HANDS—Cam tried to fight, uselessly, and would’ve sagged to the floor but Ian held him up.

  “What did they do to you?” Ian muttered.

  Cam laughed. That came out. Temporary. They’d told him temporary.

  “Shit, man, I hope so.”

  There was a person in there—had been—was—but the room, Now, was empty. Cam knew it was because Ian called out a couple of times, “Where’d you go?” and, “We gotta get out of here” and, “Head for an exit if you can!” When no one answered, Ian dragged Cam on.

  DANNY Danny TWO CELLS DOWN. Cam yanked Ian back as the wall to Danny’s cell collapsed, A CLOUD, FILLING THE HALLWAY, MIST, SHARP, STINGING that had Cam and Ian doubling over, hacking. DANNY Cam saw it ON THE FLOOR—DANNY COUGHING ON THE FLOOR—NOT MOVING Cam pushed himself forward, the gas, mist, whatever it was still pouring out from a vent in the ceiling. Cam could feel it softly blowing GAS over him, and it CHOKING GASPING DANNY stung like a wasp when he took a breath. But Danny, standing, coughing—real—bounded out and latched onto Ian, then Cam. He was laughing. It was a little hysterical.

  “Dude, what is that?” Ian choked. His hand was at Cam’s elbow, and it guided Cam away from the GAS stinging clouds and into the next cell. It wasn’t much better, so Ian positioned Cam and Danny behind him, and then broke through the cell wall into the hallway. The air was clearer there, but the alarm, no longer muffled by the walls, tore into them. “Jesus, Danny?”

  “What? Oh, come on, it’s just a little ammonia, dude. One of their tests, you know? I told them, underwater, noxious fumes—I haven’t tried them all, but I told them, I’m good.” Ian shook his head and offered a comment about assholes, which got lost in the alarm, but Danny—DANNYS—THREE—SEVEN—oh god god, they shrugged. “They figured I really should try them all, I guess. Stings like hell, but what can you do?”

  “Jailbreak.” Ian grinned as he shouted the word over the alarm, and all the DANNYS grinned back. “Something’s going on. I don’t know what, but I doubt we’ll get another chance. If we’re going to get, we get now.”

  “Let’s get,” Danny said. “You two okay?”

  “Not too bad, all things considered. Don’t think the whole ‘held prisoner by some sick bastards who are way too into science’ is really my thing. And seems like Cam’s been fucked over pretty good. You know what?” Ian suggested affably as a second alarm started up in screaming harmony, “maybe we could grab a coffee and chat this all over later? I’m thinking we should keep moving.”

  “Liz,” Danny said, and he wasn’t grinning now.

  “We’ll find her,” Ian said.

  3D CAM SAID.

  “You sure?” Danny asked, but Cam couldn’t say anything else. It was too much. His head was splitting, splintering, cracking apart like the ground during an earthquake. If he could only see coffee, if he could know that they would be there, that it was waiting for them. If he could have something, he could bear the everything. But he couldn’t see anything because he could see—he could see it all—he could see it all— He felt the pain, but didn’t realize, didn’t understand, until ONE OF THE IANS GRABBED took hold of Cam’s wrists and slowly, firmly, pulled them away from his face. “Naw, you don’t want to do that. Here, dude, gimme your shirt.”

  “What?” Danny was still staring at Cam.

  “Shirt, Evans, before he’s all Tiresias on us.”

  “Who’s Tiresias?”

  “History lesson later. Shirt now.” Danny handed over his shirt, and Ian ripped it into strips and wrapped them around Cam’s eyes like a blindfold. “Better?”

  Cam swallowed hard. Nodded. Better. Not gone. He could still see, he could still see so much—but it helped. With his eyes tied shut. It helped. It was better.

  “3D?” Ian asked.

  “Liz,” Cam gasped. And others. FOUR. Five? He wasn’t sure why five was right, because it was wron
g, he knew it, he knew there were only FOUR.

  “Okay, Danny, you keep an eye out. And also another eye on Cam. So both eyes, is basically what I’m saying.” Ian’s voice was already heading down the hallway. “I’ll get the rest of the cells.”

  “He’s my hero,” Danny joked, and Cam wasn’t sure if he was hearing the nervousness in Danny’s voice or if he thought it should be there because it was in him. “Are…are we going to get out of here, Cam?”

  LANDING

  “Landing?”

  Cam NODDED? LANDING. It was an island in the storm.

  There was a blast, and the alarm was louder, screaming into his head, almost loud enough to drown out the rest of everything. A jerk on his arm reeled him past another shower of dust, then down a slickly tiled floor and Danny shouted, “3D!” and Cam moved CRUMBLING BREAKING APART and smashed into Danny, CHUNKS OF WALL RICOCHETING OUT bowling him to the floor as an avalanche of sound roared overhead. There was a pause when the alarm blared along, and then Danny sobbed, “Lizzie,” and shoved Cam off. Then there was a moment of clear, quiet relief, almost shocking in its change, as everything crystallized into a similar—if not the same—point, because in the next moment, with Danny and Liz, there wasn’t much variation. Danny was chanting Liz’s name, and then he wasn’t, and after a long moment Ian cleared his throat. “Guys, sorry to interrupt, but we got to go. Right, Cam?”

  GAS. CHOKING. DOOR. Others, others, and Ian announced cheerfully, “Four more to go!”

  Ian dealt with the next cell, and the next. There was the sound, the crumbling, the dust, the alarm screaming, and new voices. A girl’s and a boy’s. Cam heard Ian’s voice, friendly, even above the sound, coaxing the boy out of his cell. It took time.

  GAS. GREEN GASPING STINGING CHOKING. DOOR. Cam felt that last one resonate in his chest and realized he’d shouted it. Beneath the blare of the alarm, there was a moment of quiet.

  “Liz, Danny, could’ya check the doors?” Ian asked. “And you, uh, miss—what’s your name?”