by Dan Henk
I was paralyzed with indecision, and this was no time for it. If this was just temporary, I didn’t want to go back. My old life was shot. I peered back at the soldier. There were now two gasmask-shrouded faces peering around the corner. They apparently were at a loss for what to do. I shambled over to my old self and looked on in bittersweet recollection. I examined the face I saw every day in the mirror. But it no longer seemed to be me, as if it were a duplicate, an imperfect copy. I could see my life writ therein, the scar on my chin from a car accident in college. The subtle wrinkles forming near my eyes. The jowls that had just begun to show, unnoticeable to most but readily apparent to me. The two days worth of stubble, a sandy blond haze across gaunt white cheeks. The receding hairline, visible as a pale shadow despite the shaved head. If I thought about it too much I’d get lost in reverie and lose everything. I jolted forward and punched straight through the capsule lid. Extracting my hand, covered in gore, I watched as the soldiers opened fire. It looked as though I had just killed a human, and I’m sure they were taking no chances.
Bullets were bouncing off of me in all directions. I turned and advanced on the soldiers. The hail of incoming bullets was like being caught in a rainstorm on a motorcycle, minus the unpleasant sting. When I was upon them, they withdrew, firing away as they walked backwards. I could see now it was a whole team in the corridor, partially concealed by the increasing smoke. They posed no threat. I continued my approach. Out of the lab, the passageway grew much darker, lit only by the overhead glow, a few small lights marking the wall. My eyes, unlike the human orbs I was so accustomed to, adjusted immediately. The low light was being amplified, allowing me to see clearly into the dark corners. This promised a clear advantage over my would-be assailants.
I strolled toward the soldiers, six in all, clustered loosely together in the opaque smog. They maintained a constant barrage of fire, walking backwards and pausing only to reload, their teammates continuing to deliver a steady stream whenever one rapidly changed clips. A few of the bullets ricocheted off me and back into the soldiers, two of them curling over with pained animal sounds. One withdrew a Navy Seal SOG fighting knife, squared up in front of me, and delivered a couple of Philippine knife-fighting slashes. The blade cut across me with a scraping noise, like an edge over a sharpening stone, leaving no mark. I raised my right hand, extended two fingers, and jabbed at his face. My fingers struck the optical lenses of his mask, shattered them inwards, and continued halfway through his head. I was stuck and had to use my other hand as a brace against his throat to withdraw my fingers, now slick with blood and bits of gore. A sudden repulsion overtook me as I grew viscerally aware of my own strength. I wanted to get the blood off my fingers but didn’t have any clothes to wipe them on. The dead soldier collapsed, the gash in his face accusing me as his body dropped. I needed to get out of there. The others were backing away, and I could make out the porthole I had used for my descent. I was sure there was some anti-gravity or air-bed utility, something to make the transit between levels more comfortable, but we never figured that out. I took a running leap, the soldiers scattering and hugging the walls on either side, and jumped. Grabbing the rungs, I scampered up. The frayed nylon cord was still there, drifting listlessly to and fro. I was near the top when a soldier dared stick his head in. Then bullets began flying up at me, a few rebounding and striking the soldier in the head. I could hear his cry, followed by the sound of his collapse. I didn’t look back.
Two levels up I disembarked, crawling out of the tunnel and running toward the aperture. I encountered even more soldiers, clustered near the entrance. When they saw me they opened fire. What if I had been a friendly alien emerging to greet them? Then again, maybe they had seen some of the gore still clutching to my arm and deduced otherwise. Or maybe they were in radio contact with the team below. I charged straight through them, roughly shoulder-checking one, and burst into the harsh light of the hangar. There were now bullets whizzing all around me. I lunged forward, the spinning projectiles buzzing past me like annoying mosquitoes. Landing with a collision that cratered the concrete floor, I kept running without missing a beat. Out in the open they would probably use grenades. I didn’t know what the limits of the suit might be, and I didn’t want to find out while RPGs or mortars were being shot at me.
I headed back the way I came, ducking under the overhead walkway, and headed toward the stairwell next to the elevator. Picking up speed, I launched a flying blitzkrieg, smashing through the glass door in a cascade of glittering shards. My feet crunching down onto stone carpeted by fragments of silver, I bounced back up in one smooth motion and ascended the stairs. I twisted around a bend, and the steps let out onto a grated balcony, the metal latticework riddled with holes that only partially concealed the floor below. There was a door to my right. I pounced at it, grabbing the metal lever and jerking violently. I was still unaccustomed to my newfound strength, and the lever tore off like paper. Tossing it to the ground, I formed my hand into a flat plane and stabbed into the remnants of the door handle. Straight through, like a knife through butter. Bending my forefingers, I pulled the door outward, the latch catching briefly before tearing outwards in an eruption of flying metal debris. I grabbed the edge of the door and yanked my hand free. Immediately in front of me was a hall with a stairwell at the end of it. I raced forward. Normally my chest would have been pounding, my legs like lead and my brain telling me the pursuers were right behind me. But now I felt strangely detached. I hit the stairwell and flew up a couple of flights, my legs hitting each step in the right place and flowing onto the next one in flawless synchronicity. The stairs ended at a gray security door, and I kicked it open. The metal crumpled in the center and flew forward, crashing into a table covered with lab equipment. Beakers and flasks flew asunder, shattering in a rain of glass as they smashed into neighboring tables and onto the floor. Stretched out in front of me was the expanse of worktables, the crumpled body of the scientist I shot curled around the one nearest me. But there was one new addition: a horde of SWAT soldiers clustered around the far door, all staring at me with rifles raised. A brief pause was instantly followed by a hundred metallic clicks. Suddenly I was engulfed in a typhoon of bullets. They weren’t taking any chances. Not that I blamed them. They had no idea what they were dealing with. The tables and lab equipment were shredded, pieces of glass and particle board forming a mist of debris in the air. I charged at the soldiers, the volley now building up in a metallic crust of ever-expanding spots on my body. The mob parted as I closed in but continued to fire. I ducked my head and aimed at the doorway. They scattered, and I crashed headfirst into the wall of the corridor beyond. I spun around to see a hole in the shape of the upper part of my body now breaching the concrete.
I sprinted left, toward the emergency door at the end of the hall, and took a running leap, bearing down on it shoulder first. It crumpled outward, the whine of tearing hinges quickly replaced by the shrill of the fire siren. The disfigured door bounced off the pavement and skidded to a stop, while I kept flying forward. I spun in midair, my feet following a preordained path, and I hit the ground acrobatically, touching down in an elegant display of balance. The parking lot was black, but my eyes instantly adjusted, using the reflected light of distant street lamps to clarify the surroundings. I could hear the cicadas’ resonance in the nearby woods, the sound of soldiers running in the halls of the building as they barked orders back and forth. All sounds were amplified into a disorienting swarm. If I concentrated, I could pick out a wavelength and magnify it. But it wasn’t the time to break down and codify these sensations. I’d have plenty of opportunity for that later. My Jeep wasn’t far away, and although I was sure there were soldiers nearby, none would be guarding an empty vehicle. I could make out a couple of Humvees off to the right, near the main entrance, but they appeared to be unmanned. For now.
Bullets started to pepper my back as I ran. I didn’t know if they came from my original pursuers or new sentries that just happened to be close by.
I dove into the Jeep, my newfound strength warping the seat and almost bowling me through the cab. With apprehension, I flipped a switch under the dashboard, righted myself, and tapped the gas pedal. The Jeep roared to life. With a slight pop, bullets tore into the soft top. Soon they started to punch through the body with a loud metal ping, one bouncing off my lower leg. I spun the wheel and slammed it into second. The vehicle tore forward. I must have made it to fifty mph before I shifted out of second gear. I was sure they weren’t far behind me, the sound of engines firing up in the background and the fuselage cratering the pavement around me. I wasn’t taking the same route back—they’d cut me off for sure in the woods—so I had to take the direct route, right through the security gate and past the MPs.
Asphalt exploded in a fiery ball ahead of me to my right, shrapnel pelting me and cracking the windshield. It didn’t take them long to break out the heavy artillery. The small hut of the security gate lay just ahead, so I stomped the gas pedal to the floor. A head popped out of the small, brightly lit building, then quickly ducked back inside. The engine roared, and I tore through the thin wooden barrier. My Jeep, with all its engine modifications, was much faster than their Humvees, but I had no doubt they would call the local police into this, not to mention air support. The MPs would bring faster cars as well, but they wouldn’t have four-wheel drive, and that’s what my hope of losing them depended on. I stomped on my brights, spinning out with a screeching of tires onto the main road.
The street was black, with no moon to illuminate the night sky, and poorly paved. The stiff shocks on my Jeep bounced me around, pitching the vehicle toward the dark walls formed by trees on either side. I was on a roller coaster that might tip over at any minute. I skidded around a bend to the left, then another to the right. I had never come this way, which was a stupid mistake on my part. I should have planned this out better. I kept jerking the wheel, the small two-lane road twisting between black corridors of trees and rocky crags. After one last turn I could see the light of a small security hut. I magnified my vision, and a dark form passed by the window. It was populated, but that hut meant the border to Fort Bragg. I kept my sight trained on it as I approached, but the soldier inside wasn’t discernible. Probably notified by radio. I smashed into the wooden barrier, the striped plank splintering and flying off sharply to the left. After a short stretch of asphalt, I burst out onto the main street.
There was no traffic at this hour, but the police couldn’t be far off. It would be hard to catch up with my 454 V8, but I was sure they would be forming a roadblock somewhere ahead. As luck would have it, coming up on my left was the four-wheeling trail. The dirt road was big enough for my Jeep, yet too narrow for the mammoth Humvees. I stopped, hit the four-wheel drive switch, pulled the transfer case lever, and veered left. The Jeep bucked up and down through the rain gully, slipped slightly as the wet tires hit grass, and jerked forward once they ground into the dirt of the four-wheeling path. A black mass of pine trees engulfed me on either side. I switched on my KC lights, upshifted to third gear, and tore forward at about thirty miles an hour, a precipitous speed for such a poorly maintained road. The path went all the way up to Virginia, and I had a vehicle stashed there. That should buy me some time, if I was lucky.
CHAPTER V
HOT PURSUIT
My mind was racing, but at the same time I felt strangely calm, filled with a sense that I could handle anything, meet any challenge set before me. Things seemed to take on a new light, as if I had finally prevailed with some hard won accomplishment. I couldn’t even believe it was real. In a sense it felt more like some feverish dream. I looked down at my steering arm to reassure myself. Black and alien looking, the smooth contours on the forearm were interrupted by stretches of dark, dried matter. Little knotted lumps, probably gristle held in place by the blood, broke up the forward glide of silky black muscle. As otherworldly as the arm appeared, I could sense it as if it were a part of me. I looked out at the woods to my left, my sight intensifying the ambient light so I could see the individual pine trees. I concentrated, and my vision magnified. I could see the patterns in the bark as it flowed up the trunk. The small branches barely wrestling out of the oppressive layers of outer skin. A rough jolt reminded me I needed to pay more attention to the road ahead. I was lost in a daze and veering off the trail. Not that it was very discernible as a road. More like a rustic stretch of gutted yellow dirt crevices, raised patches of weeds and underbrush, and the occasional jagged rock. Flipping the Jeep was a real possibility. These things weren’t known for their stability, especially the old CJs, and with a lift it was even more dicey. The terrain angled downward, and I lightly tapped the brakes as it skidded down a small hill, the narrow tunnel created by the sheltering trees opening up abruptly into a manmade swath of asphalt. It was a small two-lane road, and I bounded over it quickly, not even pausing to check for traffic. That was probably a bad move. A crash up with a local would drastically slow things down, not to mention draw the attention of the authorities. Tearing back into the trail, I slowed down as the Jeep started to jerk and sway precariously. I resumed much slower progress, reasoning that if this were rough going for me, it would be hell on someone in pursuit. A little ways down the path I heard the soft ripple of flowing water. A dark stream overlapped the road ahead, its tiny waves surging in wavering rows beneath the onslaught of my off- road lights. I let my foot off the gas as I approached what must have been a small creek. I could hear the soft, hollow sound of gently moving liquid. Slowing down to ten miles an hour, I splashed into it, water shooting up the sidewalls of the Jeep and pelting me through the open doorways. I glanced upstream and could see the current trickling from around a raised bluff, the liquid so thin in the starlight rocks could be seen just below the surface. No sounds of pursuit yet. I kept going.
The trail through the woods started to seem interminable—endless rows of trees breaking into small open expanses of forest floor littered with pine needles. The stars infused the needles with a pale blue glow, blotting them together into clumps of decaying foliage. The trunks would occasionally thin out and make way for a small meadow, the dusty yellow savannas glittering in a thousand small blades before the all-consuming forest swept back in. I wondered how far I’d made it into the woods. I’d lost all sense of time and distance. I could probably change that, if I knew how, but I’d need more time to explore that ability. Instinctively I seemed to know I was headed in the right direction, just as I knew it was still quite a distance to the Mustang. Always impatient—that was one character trait that didn’t seem to change. I’d notice bundles of trees or outcroppings of rock that looked familiar even though I knew they weren’t, and it would seem like I was traveling in circles. It didn’t help that the surroundings all looked so similar in the dark.
I had no idea what hour it was or even how long I had been in the woods. When would the pursuit begin? A thought flashed through my mind. What if they already found the Mustang and are waiting for me? No, that was impossible! I hadn’t made a mistake. They would have had to track me for months. And besides, how would they know? There was no way they could have planned for this. If they had even an inkling of what was in store, they would have tightened security. And the hangar was a cakewalk. Unless of course they were watching me, even if they didn’t quite grasp what I was doing. There was nothing unusual about building up old cars, although driving one down to southern Virginia and hitching a ride back might raise some eyebrows. No, I was being paranoid. If they were on to me, I would have to deal with it when I reached the Mustang. Maybe I just needed to be more cautious in my approach.
The trees thinned ahead, and the trail opened up into a small road. I stopped just short of the tree line, shifted into neutral, stomped on the emergency brake, and climbed out. Walking up to the edge of the trees, I peered right and left. Nothing but empty expanses of black asphalt flowing off in both directions, eventually disappearing around dark curves. The night sky glittered off the dark surface of the road, a manmade s
tream forcing its way through the enveloping forest. Four lanes wide, and well maintained, this looked to be a fairly major highway. I wondered why it was so deserted. Maybe the late hour? It was down South, where people seemed to maintain more conventional sleep schedules. Then something occurred to me. Maybe the military had closed off the road at both ends? They knew I was coming this way! Suddenly everything seemed like part of a trap. I ran back to the Jeep and jumped in. Tearing forward, I bounced down through the drainage ditch, onto the roadway, and up again as I mounted the other side. Back on track, I lumbered through the trail, now plagued by a nagging sense of dread. The Jeep wrenched violently over rocks, tipping dangerously to the left. I had no choice but to slow down. I was pushing it, trying to navigate the trail too fast. It wasn’t even the possible ambush awaiting me—it was the anticipation! I want this over with! I want to face my assailants now!
Suddenly I was overcome with a sense of calm. I had come this far. Everything was going to work out. They had no idea what they were dealing with. I just had to keep moving. The greatest danger was in getting captured.