by Stevie Barry
Perhaps Duncan sensed him, for he stirred uneasily in his sleep. It roused Donovan just enough for her to shush him, her hand traveling briefly to his hair.
No, Von Ratched didn't like this at all. There was no way it wasn’t going to cause massive complications.
Chapter Nine
Lacking natural light, Ratiri didn't know just how many days they'd been in here before Von Ratched let them out.
Lorna had slept a great deal, and he paced rather like a dog. They had come into an uneasy coexistence, this animal and he, though he doubted that would hold in any other setting. If he was ever given a chance to try.
But eventually Von Ratched came for them, and finally said they were to be set loose. "You will go to your own rooms to bathe and eat," he said, "and then I will send you to your own space in the exercise yard. Duncan, should you prove adaptable, I will consider easing you back into the general population."
Lorna, who had been asleep, went from muzzy to scowling in ten seconds flat. Amazingly, she made no actual comment, not a gripe or a jab, and Ratiri wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "I'll behave," he said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. At this point he'd have settled for just the shower; he felt disgusting, and he knew he didn't smell very good.
Von Ratched looked from Lorna to him and back again, and something in his aura…shifted. It was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but any change in that flat black was disturbing. Please tell me he's getting bored with us, Ratiri thought.
I'm not sure we're that lucky, she returned, and squeezed his hand.
"Off you go," Von Ratched said. "Donovan, I would like to speak to you later, and I need to inspect your arm."
Now she made a face. "Can't Hansen do it?"
"He's not the one who broke it," he retorted, dry, and Ratiri was startled that he'd take ownership of that accident.
"That's kind'v the point," Lorna snapped. "You broke it -- why should I let you near it again?"
"Because I said so. Out. Both of you."
They went, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Lorna growled. "'Because I said so'," she mimicked, sounding more like a cranky three-year-old than Von Ratched, her American accent terrible. "Twat. I wonder if he knows how annoying he really is."
Privately, Ratiri thought she might be the only one not too terrified of Von Ratched to find him annoying. Which was odd, because she was afraid of him -- it just didn't stop her being irritated by him. "I don't think he'd care if he did know. I'll see you after breakfast, all right?"
"Right. Sure God I'll be glad to get outside again, if even if my ears do freeze off."
The shower, when he reached his room, was heavenly. It more than anything made him feel human again -- though the bacon, eggs, and toast he was delivered helped, too. Clean, fed, with fresh clothes and combed hair, he felt mostly like himself again.
Unsurprisingly, he had plenty of time to kick his heels before Lorna was brought to meet him again. He couldn't even imagine trying to wash all that hair, let alone brush it. And if it was wet when they went outside, it might freeze stiff.
The sun was slanting to noon before she showed up again, but it had looked like midmorning when they were released. She grinned when she approached, already dressed in cold-weather gear far too big for her, black pants and an anorak, her hair tucked up under a woolly hat. It made her look about twelve years old.
"Shall we?" she said.
A blank-faced orderly led them to a section of prison yard that was indeed empty. At first the cold almost took Ratiri's breath away, making his lungs burn, but he adapted soon enough. The air was so clean out here, pure as it had been on the moors in his childhood. True, the ground was flat and featureless all the way to the horizon, but even more tiny wildflowers were creeping into life. The low brush smelled sweet, and the sky was vast blue without a cloud.
He looked at Lorna, who had tilted her head back, shut her eyes, and started basking in it. The thin sunlight provided a little warmth to exposed skin, and she smiled faintly. "Nice to be out here when I'm not worried Von Arsehole's going to vivisect you," she said, opening her eyes and grinning at him. Out here they were more startlingly green than ever, but he was beginning to find them less unsettling. "I wonder what we're meant to do out here, though. They've not given us any gardening tools."
True. They hadn't been issued anything, but he suspected Von Ratched was reluctant to give him anything that might be useful as a weapon. Which was, he thought grudgingly, possibly wise. "Tell me about these plants, if you know anything of them." He wasn't likely to remember any of it, but her strange voice was so lovely he just wanted to hear her talk. She was an odd little figure in her bulky winter gear, and moved awkwardly in it, but she sounded like a little Irish angel. Even her undeniably heavy accent didn't detract from it.
Ratiri followed her dutifully, relishing the feel of fresh air on his face. If he shut his eyes he could almost pretend this was an especially cold day in Scotland, and that soothed his strange inner beast. Between that and the sound of Lorna's voice, he was closer to relaxed than he'd been since he came here.
And the way everything smelled -- it was so amazing that at times it bordered on overwhelming. He'd never had a particularly acute sense of smell, but he definitely did now. Locked in that little room, he'd just assumed things were especially stinky, but out here it was downright distracting.
"What is it?" Lorna asked. "You're miles away."
"Please don't find this creepy," he said. "I'm testing something." He leaned down and sniffed at her absurd hat, and found the scent of her hair incredibly clear. It wasn't just the shampoo, it was her, a mingling of fir and lavender and summer. Would all people have such distinctive scents?
When he stood back, he found her eying him skeptically. "Sorry, allanah, that was a little creepy. What're you doing?"
"My senses have…changed," he said. Bizarre and somewhat unnerving though it was, his inner doctor was intrigued. "Everything smells so much more strongly now."
She arched a dubious eyebrow. "Oi, I just had a shower. Don't you go telling me I stink."
Her indignant expression made him laugh. "You don't," he said. "At the risk of sounding creepier than ever, you smell good."
Fortunately, she smiled rather than recoiled. "Possibly the oddest compliment I've ever received. Would you show me?"
"Show you how?"
"Let me see if I can…piggyback onto your senses."
Now he was the dubious one, but he wanted to share it -- wanted her to know what he meant. He had to use his teeth to strip off one of the heavy gloves, but when he managed it he took her tiny hand in his.
Feeling her in his mind was still incredibly strange, but after a moment she must have found what she was looking for. "…Oh," she breathed, and immediately turned and sniffed him.
"Now who's creepy?" he laughed.
"I take it back," she said, and tugged on his hand, dragging him down when she knelt to smell the flowers. "This is…."
"Weird?" he offered. "Amazing?"
"Both. At least this thing you had foisted on you has an upside."
Ratiri had to agree -- at least for now. Within the Institute, it was more likely to be a liability than a blessing. At least if he had other people around, he could offset the chemical odors. While in their cell, he'd chalked it up to F wing itself, but out here the difference was marked, and he was sure it would remain so once he was inside again. That might be…unpleasant.
But he'd enjoy this while he could. If he had any amount of luck at all, Von Ratched would let the pair of them out here again soon. It would be a much better way to test his senses than whatever horrible thing the doctor cooked up.
----
Von Ratched spent the afternoon with Phil, one of the lethargic floating humans -- he'd neglected most of his inmates to a degree that was inexcusable. Geezer would be some days in recovering, Donovan and Duncan appeared to be functioning decently, and he had a lot of other people to stu
dy. Given the mood he'd woken up in, he finished the day in remarkably good spirits.
Of course, that couldn't be allowed to last. When he'd finished his dinner, he received yet another phone call from yet another idiot.
"We're pulling our military presence, Doctor, and I’m coming up there to relieve you of your post. Your benefactors won't protect you anymore."
For one dangerous moment, Von Ratched literally saw red. "Take your military," he said. "But I warn you, if you come here, it will be the last thing you ever do."
He hung up, disgusted. Doubtless the fool would bring his own military retinue, but clearly they had no idea what they were up against. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he'd toppled one government already, and he was seriously tempted to do it again. Nothing that annoyed him lived long enough to properly repent it.
He rose from his armchair, and crossed the dim apartment to his bedroom. This called for something stronger than a drink, and it had been too long since he'd indulged in his favorite vice. A small, highly polished wooden case resided in the right-hand drawer of his desk, containing a syringe and a vial of morphine. He'd become addicted to the stuff as a very young man, because at times it was the only thing that let him sleep, and by now his body had adapted to doses that would be lethal to anyone else.
The rush of the drug soothed him almost immediately. Von Ratched was not a man who ever gave into his temper; he didn't shout, didn't threaten, and didn't even hit anyone unless he absolutely had to. He had, however, killed more than one person for irritating him -- something he saw as an egregious lapse of self-control. He was fully aware that he was a monster, and had no qualms whatsoever about wearing the title, but he was a very controlled monster. Violence and murder were the province of lesser people; he considered his own killings executions. It was, he thought, Darwinism in its most pure form.
He'd had backup plans for this eventuality long before the construction of the Institute. Thanks to a combination of his telepathy and sensible investments, he was a very, very rich man, with money banked in a dozen countries in over a hundred different names. Combined with all he'd inherited from his dearly departed mother, he could run this place for a decade on the interest alone. And that would include the mercenaries he was going to have to hire, when the military pulled out. Assuming he let them live long enough to do it.
A very few in the American government knew what he really was, but none of them knew what he was capable of. From the sound of it, he was going to have to teach them the hard way. He knew the fact that he looked forward to it said nothing good about him, but he didn't care.
----
For the entirety of the next week, nobody disappeared for any 'experiments'. And Lorna, despite her telepathy, had no idea why.
Admittedly, she wasn't very good at using it on anyone but Ratiri, but she thought it odd that she couldn't find anything in any mind. It seemed most of the staff were as much in the dark as she was.
On the sixth day, though, she caught a random thought from Grieggs, who passed through the cafeteria in a tearing hurry. Lorna froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Holy shit. Holy shit, this could be -- could be --
Perfect.
Katje gave her a puzzled glance. It had only been two days since Lorna and Ratiri had been allowed back into the cafeteria, under close supervision of two beefy orderlies, and she had to be wondering why. "What?"
"Nothing," Lorna said aloud. "Think someone just walked over my grave." The thought she sent Katje and Ratiri, however, was very different. There's people coming. Military, I think. They want to shut this place down -- Christ, this might be our chance to escape.
Katje all but choked on her salad. They are not coming to save us, are they?
Doubt it. They'll probably kill us all if they catch us, but I can use this. Oh God, can I ever. If Von Ratched was as distracted as she expected him to be, they could -- what was the Americanism? Get the hell out of Dodge? They'd need food, heavy clothing, but she knew where the latter was kept now. I've got to tell Geezer. And hope to high heaven Von Ratched didn't call for any of them before then, or the whole plan, primitive though it was, would fall apart at the seams.
Lorna, we don't know where we are, Ratiri said. We'd freeze or starve or both.
Beats getting shot here, doesn't it? she retorted. And if we have enough supplies, we might have a chance. Feverish excitement had taken her over like a drug, making her almost giddy, and it was all she could do not to show it.
You're insane, Ratiri said.
If you've a better idea, I'd love to hear it. This might be the only chance we'll ever get, and be honest -- would you really rather face certain death here, instead of potential death out there?
No, he admitted, after a moment.
We could make a go'v it. We really could. Katje, could you transfigure things into food?
I…I don't know, she said, startled.
Try, as soon as you've got a chance. If you can, we won't need supplies.
You realize he'll just drug us all when he gets wind they're coming, don't you?
Lorna scowled at Ratiri. Not helping. If he does, he does, but I'm planning anyway. If this invasion force or whatever is smart, they won't let him know when they're arriving. She paused, considering. Katje, you know a lot'v people here. Pass it on to anyone you trust. Maybe a riot'll actually work this time.
She hoped. Oh, she hoped. If they could get away, she really didn't care if she froze to death. It was infinitely preferable to any more of Von Ratched's 'tests'. And maybe, just maybe, they could find haven somewhere.
But even that possibility wasn't important right now. Escape was what mattered; the rest could come later.
----
As it turned out, opportunity found them the very next day.
Ratiri heard it first -- the whap-whap of helicopters in the distance. It was something he'd heard before, but never this many. He had no idea what a group of helicopters was called -- a flock, maybe? -- but the terminology hardly mattered.
What convinced him this was truly out of the ordinary were the orderlies, who dispersed themselves around the Activities Hall and tried to forcibly remove the inmates. Some went, but others -- those Katje had warned -- refused to budge. Thank God she had so many friends, people who trusted her. Too many had refused, giving the orderlies more than they could deal with. Their auras told him they were worried as well as angry; yes, if there was to be any chance at all, this was it.
"Wait," he told Lorna. She was literally quivering next to him on the couch, anxious to let loose and see what she could destroy. "Get in their heads, if you can. Confuse them. Slow them down, if you're able."
Her expression was easily the most disturbing he'd yet seen on her. There was an intensity in her eyes to rival Von Ratched, a stubborn set to her jaw that made him glad he wasn't on the other end of her telepathy.
It must have been working, because orderlies all over the room stumbled, blinking in the morning sunshine that poured through the windows. As one the other inmates tensed, but Ratiri sat very still, listening as hard as he could.
The helicopters were landing, he thought, one by one, and lines of strain etched themselves onto Lorna's face -- she was listening too, in her way.
"Military," she said. "Oh God, lots'v--" She broke off, pressing the heel of her left hand to her forehead. "Allanah, I was right. They really have come to kill us all -- inmates, staff, maybe even Von Ratched. If we're to do this, we'd better do it now."
The tension left her face, and her eyes lit with a savagery that bordered on unholy. He wondered, far too late, how much control she really had over her telekinesis. He was equally uncertain if even she knew.
Enough, it seemed, to shatter the windows, blasting them out so thoroughly that crumbs of safety glass glittered in the sun. Sheetrock cracked and buckled, fine white dust floating like chalky clouds as the ceiling splintered, ceiling tiles and then the damn roof blasting apart with the deafening, tearing crack of wooden trusses stra
ined to breaking point.
Steel rebar screeched as it bent, and the sprinkler system kicked on for all of thirty seconds before the pipes crushed like an empty can of fizzy drink. The chill Alaskan air streamed in through the gaping hole in the building, stirring the pale dust into something eye-searing, and anyone with half a brain was legging it. It was destruction on a larger scale than Ratiri had anticipated, and it was spreading, concrete and metal roaring as they collapsed. And all the while Lorna watched, her face and hair and smock frosted white, eyes burning through the curtain of her fringe. The sight of her made him recoil a little, because in that moment, there was a kind of serpentine malevolence in her eyes that was almost worse than Von Ratched.
And then Wrigley happened.
The poor kid seem to have any control at all, for he set was was left of the damn room ablaze, burning so hot Ratiri thought he felt his hair singe. He grabbed Lorna's hand, snapping her out of it, and ran for it, dragging her after him. Katje and Geezer were not far behind.
They halted abruptly, as Lorna doubled over and threw up. Her face had gone ashy, and for a moment he thought she'd pass out. "Too much," she croaked. "Fuck."
He picked her up without a second thought. She was so small she didn't make much of a burden, and sheer adrenaline kept him from noticing at all. His breath was ragged, he had a stitch in his side that ebbed and flared with every step he took, but he felt like he could run forever.
Behind them, the tundra bloomed into another ball of fire, flames skyscraper-high licking at the flawless blue overhead. The heat of it hit his back like a solid force, and he thought, At least everyone will dry off soon. What he wouldn't let himself think about was how they were to control Wrigley later. That could wait until they were anything like truly safe. For now they ran, fleeing the closest thing to hell he hoped he would ever find.
----
Von Ratched met his intruders with an expression of pure stone. He had a little show to put on, before he killed them all.